A Lump-o-Coal Would've Been Better

My Christmas sucked big balls of mistletoe.

Seriously.

I was tired, cranky and frustrated by the time I left work three hours early on Friday clutching my box of cookies, a cardinal encrusted pitcher and a half-dead poinsettia. The office party food was, for once, great - it was catered, hot and had flavor - it was a frickin' holiday miracle. However, during the gift exchange, the phone rang. I ignored it like a well-trained deaf mute. Everyone did the same except for Larry the Low-down Lawyer - he looked at me, sqinted and said, "Did you already fix the message?" I assured him that the voicemail reflected our holiday hours "So, you're going to let the voicemail get it?" I assured him that the voicemail would be sufficient. "Did you check with everyone to make sure that was okay?" By this point, my cheeks were blood red and my eyes were crossed with the exertion of biting back words of contempt and bile-filled condolences to his lack of a spine. During this titilating telephonic inquiry I had missed the Grinch of Whoo-lawyerville in all his glory playing the Dirty Santa game by snatching a lovely piece of decorative glass from the littlest Whoo-associate. Everyone laughed at the merriment.

The phone rang.

I answered.

I picked up the phone, ripped it out of the wall and whapped every Esquire I could find upside the head with my Meridia Lucent MLX-201.

No, not really.

But, oh, that would've been the best Christmas present ever.

Sigh. I guess I will just have to settle for the unique decorative wood and iron nativity scene from Value City, the Ho Ho Ho plaque, the "screw" bracelet (your guess is as good as mine) and, my favorite, the pink shortie zip up muumuu from Harry's stepmother. She even cut all the tags off so there is no hope for riddance of the muumuu monstrosity. I'm thinking of donating it to the homeless shelter - I'm pretty sure that with some intuitive thinking and a few trees - it would certainly make a rather roomy pup tent.

I did get good presents, too. I got a nifty knitting set, two gloriously complicated puzzles, scarves from my favorite designers, two pair of Manolo Blahniks, some purses (of course) and a pairof diamond and saphirre hoop earrings (thank you, babycakes, love you lots!).

Hope ya'all had wonderful holidays and - since I'm off to the Peach Bowl again this year - Have a Happy New Year!

--Holly

Twas the Night Before the Night Before Christmas!

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a granny-hermit-couch!

The stockings were hung by the chimney with string,

In hopes that Harry would fill mine with big shiny rings!

The cat was nestled all snug in my bed,

while visions of tunas danced in her furry head.

And granny in her 'kerchief and I in my hubby's tee,

Had just settled down to watch too much tv.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I pushed Harry from bed: "Go see what's the matter!"

Away to the hall he tiptoed in silence,

Tore open the door in a fit of vast violence!

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen show

Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.

When, what to his wondering eye should appear,

but the UPS man, dressed in brown, my dear!

He was a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment, he must be the courier, Nick!

More rapid than eagles, his packages came,

And he whistled as he called them all by name!

"Now Macy's! Now Tiffany's! Now Neiman Marcus!

On, Coach! On Dooney! On presents with sparkles!

To the front of the porch, to the top of the pile!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!

He sprang to his truck, and gave a slight nod,

And down the road he flew, like a UPS God.

But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

                          "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

This is what happens when one goes to the store to get hermit-couch granny food and forgets to bring her own list: she ends up eating a cheeseball, turkey stick and doritoes for lunch.

Sigh.

I must race home before my yearly doc appt, brush my teeth, wash my feet (they will be near doc-lady's head and nose ), tend to my cat and couch hermit and rush off. Hopefully I won't have doritoes bits stuck in my teeth to which my doc will shake her head disapprovingly.

I still don't see why I need to go yearly to have my girl innards checked - my dear hubby assured me that all is well in my nether regions - oh well - I guess I am due for a second opinion - I just hope that they don't insist on blood work. I don't think that Huntington is ready to see the likes of me, in a paper gown running down third avenue!

ON a side note - why the heck does Doritoes feel the need to "improve" upon their packaging and flavor on what seems like a weekly basis? These "new and improved" ones are so strong that I'm a bit glad that today is a gyno appt and not a dentist visit!

Wish me luck with the sadist doctor!

:)

It Came Upon a Midnight Clear...

After my last entry - things improved vastly on both the appetite front and the - well - other front, too. I think I was just out of practice and had developed into a bit of hermit crab myself, an occurance that is not too hard to believe since I prefer the controlled climate of the indoors rather than the "over-natured" outdoors.

Needless to say, I was thrilled when my husband came home and presented me with a large turkey stick and some rather lucious cheeseballs.

Infer away, people!

:)

Sexual Liberation, Concentration and Edification

Okay - here we go.

I feel as if my psyche is pushing me to write about things in this blog that may be deemed innapropriate or a bit crude at times by some.

However, if you know me at all - you will know that this is just me, and that this is my personality and no matter how many charm schools I fail out of - it's not going to help the matter at all.

So, onward I churn.

Sex is my topic of choice today - and the complexities of it. No, my dear readers, I am not talking about navigating the pages of the Karma Sutra - nor will I utter the word "Tantric." But I will talk about the nature of our desires for the horizontal tango with our partners. I have decided that sex is a lot like food (please do not analyze me and my chunky self right now, we'll get back to that later) and that just like food, sex can either be an appetizer, a four-course meal or a full-on uncensored glutton-fest (think Thanksgiving Day and Stretch Pants). And sometimes it can just be something you get a hankering for, like a Hickory Farms cheeseball.

Also just like food, once you skip a meal, or two, or even three, your hunger can subside and you have just become "past starving and not even hungry anymore." This loss of appetite can happen when partaking of food, ahem, or anything of the sort is not on your mind as often as it would have been before. Traumatic events, long absences or mucus-disaster colds can push food and quality snuggle-time to the back of one's mind.

I think mine got lost back there, it's stuck in between a massive amount of useless Harry Potter Trivia, a mental image of Nathan Fillion's delectable derriere and the schematics to Dawson's house on Dawson's Creek.

Case in Point: My dear hubby came home last night after a hellish week in Georgia and all I could do was shun his advances. Was it that I was just not having a craving for a cheeseball at the time? Was it the fact that my legs have been neglected for two weeks now so much so that if I were to appear in public the Boy Scoutswould attempt to chop down my legs and sell them as Christmas trees? Or was it the simple fact that there was a grannyhermitcouch within earshot of our first floor bedroom?

I still don't know.

But I'll make it up to him.

Now, where did I put my copy of "The Joy of Sex?" Oh yeah... right here... next to "The Joy of Cooking"....

Plumbing Tips from a Deranged Grape Picker

Last night, before I left to indulge in the genius of Mexican Cheese Dip, I asked my hermitcouch granny if there was anything she needed at the store.

"Well... Are you going?" She looked at me with wide Bambi eyes.

"Yes." Nope, just wanted to tease you! Left water in your bowl and some bread on the counter! BYE!

"Well... Are you sure?" Bambi-crab shifted in her shell.

"Yes." Must resist urge to use sarcasm which is oft' interpreted by the elderly as literal and thus producing confusion not seen since the War of the Worlds broadcast of days gone by.

"Okay, well, I could use some ..." Sixteen items and twenty minutes later, I was running late for dinner but I had made a little invalid happy by promising to pick out a glorious array of grapes for her snacking enjoyment.

Later, after my shopping trip was over and I had regretfully returned her VISA (my precious) we sat down to a snack of low fat vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup. We cackled and commented on the second-to-last episode of Martha's "Apprentice" and after assuring her that it was perfectly fine that she didn't help me fold my unmentionables ( um - no thanks) she nestled into her couch-bed-hermit-shell and I went upstairs to my big empty bed.

It's nice having her there - for what little inconveniences it may cause (which are few and far between) I sleep better knowing she's one floor down should I need her.

The funniest thing happened this morning. Her toilet broke and just kept running. The inside arm thing (why didn't I become a plumber? I'm so darn knowledgeable) kept getting stuck on the inside pipe workings - so I messed with it and just told her to let it run - no biggie. She apologized to me and looked so horror-stricken - like she had accidentally flushed my cat down the loo (which, for reasons left unsaid, I wouldn't be all that mad about) instead of recognizing the fact that the guy who built my house took extreme measures to ensure shoddy workmanship.

I was still laughing when I left for work this morning.

Ohhh - that little grannyhermitcrab! What will she come up with next?!

                                  

You Wouldn't Like Me When I'm Angry...

 

                  

Last night at 10pm I flopped on to my pink flannel Nautica sheets, removed my tasteful mauve toenail polish and slapped on a coat of lime green "Piggie Paint."  Now, with my green toes, I look like the passive agressive version of the Incredible Hulk.

Sigh.

Pinkie Pie Ponies and the Pretty Pretty Picklemeiser

My weekend in Richmond was too fun! The above pictures are one that I conveniently stole from my bestest buds' blog on myspace! She takes such good pics that I couldn't help but swipe 'em!

We left Friday night and drove the six hours from Huntington, WV to Richmond VA. I only slept for about the last hour and if you know me - that's good! I usually get in a car and develop an instant sleep apnea - the wheels roll and my eyes close! We got in at around 1AM. Instead of going to bed, we sat up and exchanged gifts. I got a "Beaut" - a Koala wrapped (strangled) with green tinsel among other wonderful things and Harry got a talking Stewie (suffering from an acute case of laryngitis) and some, ahem, love cuffs.

We had to immediately clean up the wrapping paper and the ribbons out of the floor. When I asked "why?" Summer said pointedly "Gillianwilleatthem." I was about to refute her statement, I was a little put off - like Gillian was some sort of animal! - when I noticed a small book about a puppy - that was half eaten. I kept my big mouth shut.

The next morning we helped Summer prepare for the party. I picked up Gillian's toys. She pulled them back out. She would cackle as I would put a plastic hot dog, an oversized Lego and a small Weeble-ish doll into a bin. "No - no!" And she'd pull them all back out!

Bully! :)

We're busy cleaning up the pile of Saltine's that were found under the ottoman when we hear the fridge door open. Looking over, we see Gillian sitting on the bottom shelf - eating a pickle!

I was nominated to bathe the little picklemeiser - so she took me upstairs, stripped down and hopped in the tub. She took great pride in splashing me. It would be my second bath of the day. "Hey, Gillian - where's the 'S'? Can you find the 'S'?" My little genius of a two year old niece swooped up the letter and showed it to me. She's just advancing so fast, it takes my breath away. I just miss her so much! I don't think that anyone realizes how hard it is to be so far away from a tiny creature that you can't claim as your own but would if you were given the chance! Okay - so I'm a slightly possessive aunt, but darnit! I will be the favorite aunt! "Do you wanna pony, Gillian? Do you? Harry - we need a pony - STAT!"

:)

 

We had a great time - I so hated to leave on Sunday - but we had no choice - we both had to work today... Darn jobs - they always get in the way!

:)

 

Back Among the Land of the Living...

 

The plague has left me more or less intact.

I counted my fingers, just to relax.

There was a time when the walls seem to dance

a feverish tango, a queer circumstance

to behold while in bed in a dayquil-induced trance.

I feel so much better, my head's not a fog

nor is it spinning (not that that's wrong)

but it seems quite normal, more or less,

not that that's better, it's still quite a mess

in there in my head where my synapses stress.

For a few days, it was still touch and go,

me and my fever, we had quite a row.

My nose did revolt and my tummy did rumble,

And my eyes did cross and my feet did tumble,

then all was calm, cool collected, very humbled.

So now I come to you, my dear blog readers,

To let you know "I'm alive" - not defeated!

It'll take more than a cold to drown me in snot,

and make my life harder then when it is not,

and lead me to victory against the phlegm rot!

 

Okay - so I'm not Shel Silverstein - but sometimes you just gotta rhyme!

By the way - did ya'all know that if you put a link to your AOL JOURNAL on your AOL PROFILE that AOL WILL THEN DELETE YOUR PROFILE?

Nether did I.... until I was deleted for "inappropriate content." Heh. I'm "inappropriate." Heh. And I have the email to prove it.

Reasons Why....

Here are two very good reasons for me to get better, and fast!  I'm supposed to leave tomorrow to go see 'em in Richmond.  I miss them both so much! 

The Plague! The Plague!

Alright.

I have tried to enter this damn entry three times and AOL keeps deleting it. Now, on top of being drippy, sick and a mouth-breather for an unspecified period of time in the near future I have to call in sick to two jobs and pray that my doctor will be able to fit me in at some point today.  If not, I go in tomorrow at three. 

I hate going to the doctor.  She's nice and all - but it just seems like they always have an excuse to want to stick things in you.   Like some PHd sadist.

I'm off to attempt to sleep sitting up.  Which sucks, too because if I lie down - I will suffocate on my own drool  (oooh pleasant) and I hate to sit propped up.

I need some drugs.  If anyone has any extra Z-packs or Emoxicillian - send 'em my way!

 

Thought Balloons

More tidbits from the life of Hollyk:

1. I have decided, after much soul-serching and Graduate-catalog searching - that I'm destined to be a sub-par receptionist for the rest of my life. It's humiliating, it's degrading, it's my life.

2. Harry took his laundry to his granmother's house on Sunday night, around midnight. "Just do a couple of pairs of pants for me, and don't worry about the rest" he said as he gestured to the Polo and Abercrombie encrusted pile of garments in the kitchen floor. She heard "Please work your tiny fingers to the bone doing all this laundry - tonight. Now." She loves doing his laundry - it makes her feel useful. So, she happily sorted, washed, and ironed his clothes (he had to beg her to stop ironing his boxers).

She tripped.

She fell.

She fractured her shoulder.

She ended up in the hospital.

Again.

Now she is our own little personal couch hermit.

We're just glad she's okay! My sis said it best when she said "I think she just doesn't want ya'all to leave town! 'Take that!' and then she throws her self on the floor."!

Summer's funny.

3. To boot it all - I'm sick. I don't know how I picked up the crud - but I blame those inconsiderate people who come to work while sick just to infect us all. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go get a box of tissues out of the office closet...

4. Told my mother I was seeking graduate admissions to contine my Criminal Justice education in a Counseling field to help victims of crime after a violent act has occured. She freaked out. Literally.

"What if you told someone's girlfriend to break up with them and then that man comes and rapes and kills you!!! Huh?! What then?"

"Mom, that could've happened when I told people what coat to buy their husband. People are nuts everywhere."

"You'll get hurt."

"Yeah, 'cuz I'm so tiny and non-intimidating with my tiny self."

"Here," she says, thrusting a pamphlet at me. "Here, it's Interior Design at the community college."

Makes me feel like a made to order Happy Meal - would you like fries with that?

5. We put up the Christmas tree the other night. Other than the fact that the bottom half was strung with enough lights to sear one's corneas out (It's a hand-me-down tree from Meme - she could only reach the bottom half to add more lights) - it turned out pretty cute. At midnight we turned out the lights, left the tree on and watched "A Mickey's Christmas Carol." Harry insisted that I sit on his lap where I was properly cuddled like the baby I am.

6. I finally found something for Harry for Christmas. I hope it comes in this week! AND I hope he likes it - I'm no longer a bad wife!

7. Yesterday, part of my job duties included cleaning up after a meeting of partners. They left food everywhere, empty cans and napkins! And they didn't even leave me a tip! The nerve!

8. Woke up to find my right eye swollen and bumpy - figure that either Harry smacked me a good one while I slept, or that the drug cocktail I had before dinner had some consequences...

9. Craved oranges for two months, bought some, went to Columbus, 'rents stole 'em, bought some more, taste like crap. Geez.....

10. Have been burping and vurping up Crunch Berries all day. Think it's time to switch to Rice Krispies.

 

So, on this chilly day, those are my tidbits - oh - and before I forget - I got ANOTHER IM from the "how big are your boobies" guy - only this time - he wanted to talk about him. All 11.5 " of him. It's amazing how men look at centimeters and see inches.

I have to share a story with ya'all that was told to me by a friend of mine last night.  Her little boy (first grade) wanted to know if "bloody" was a curse word.  Apparently he had heard Ron say it in the Harry Potter movies and was curious to know if it's true meaning was "bad." 

They assured him it was not a "bad" word, it was more like saying "darn" or "shoot."

He smiled,"Okay, then!  Bloody hell!"

ahahahahahah!

Some kids are just too cute! And the rest, well, that's why they make those little child leash things... now... if only they would make muzzles, too....

kidding kidding! No hate mail please!  I really don't think kids should be muzzled, but, c'mon, it's the 21st century and a gag wouldn't hurt them every now and then!  aahahahahah!

 

The Bad Wife

I'm a horrible wife. It's less than a month until Christmas and I haven't gotten Harry a thing. NOTHING. NADA. ZILCH.

And the worse part is, although I know him and love him more than designer garments (if you know me - you'll understand the magnitude of that statement), but I have no clue what to get him. So far, his stocking will be empty, his presents will be nill and his wife will be a failure. Merry Freakin' Christmas.

Well, no more!

I got my paycheck today (piddlience) and will take the mass of it (which isn't much) and go buy him some stuff. He's a kid at heart - and I've loved him since the day he donned a Santa Hat and stood on my front porch wearing a "Wanna Do IT?" smile and a poofy Abercrombie parka (back when A&F made clothes to cover ones body for warmth, not as an afterthought to indecency) - so I could get him toys. Kaybee and Toys-r-us - here I come!

I don't wanna grow-up, I'm a Toys-r-us Kid, there's a million things at Toys-r-us that I can play with!

:)

MERRY CHRISTMAS SEASON!

An Emotional Affair to Remember

Emotional affairs have been pushed into the spotlight by the canoodling of Angelina and Brad. And with the advent of internet dating, file sharing, picture swapping, instant messaging and blog writing, meeting people on line who share your taste and interests are plentiful and overflowing. The temptation to harmlessly flirt or share fantasies or to participate in seemingly inconsequential sexual quizzes are great and also seem to harbor no immediate ill-effects to your relationship in real life. Many even will adopt a more brazen personality on-line. The facelessness of the net has made this easier - but has it made marriage harder? Has on-line chatting and flirting made on-paper divorces that much easier?

Generally I will get a message from some guy wanting to chat, being a friendly person who is much better on paper than in person, I gladly agree and set about getting to know this guy. I usually get two questions in before (and I know I've written about this before) the "how big are your boobies?" man chimes in. Right now I am in the middle of a battle of wills with a guy claiming ownership of an 11.5" member and telling me that "harmless flirting" is okay on the net. This guy is resorting to Psych 101 to find out my cup size when I'm sitting at work seriously doubting that he spends his time shopping at Dick's for an XXL cup of his own.

I could sign off, tell him to trip over his master of all appendages and take a flying leap, but I'm drawn by curiosity. "What he doesn't know, won't hurt him" is his final stab at getting to my goodies. "Spoken like a future divorcee" I chime back. I mean, REALLY! Do these lines work on other happily married women? What am I supposed to say to Harry - "Hey baby, I told this guy that I was a c-cup and then he sent me a picture of his photoshopped dick - you're okay with that, right?" I seriously doubt that good times would be ahead for us and that the sea of Tranquil Marital Bliss would still be below us.

No and even though that he, being of male persuasion, does peruse the internet cache of fully-naked nubies out there, I am unbothered by it. Why? Because these air-brushed "barely legal" cuties are just that - barely real. I don't care. But should I find out that he has been swapping cutesy "what size is your member" emails with someone holed up in a cubicle in Texas, then hell hath no fury like a Holly scorned.

So - is the internet a breeding ground for emotional affairs? Can comparisons of intimate body parts eventually lead to more indiscressions? Can any couple possibly repair the cracks in the foundation if one or more members partake in the "harmless flirting" that occurs online? Until these questions are answered, I think that I will still to perusing the shelves of Amazon and Payless.com. My breasts should be safe there....

I'm Leaving (not) on a jet plane!!!!!

Lemmie just sum up my Thanksgiving Day Shopping Trip Extravaganza to New York City in one, all-encompassing word: CANCELLED.

Yup.

You heard me.

Harry's grandmother fell ill and we just weren't comfortable leaving her for obvious (and a few not-so-obvious) reasons. So we hung around town for the duration of the Turkey-devouring holiday.

Harry felt bad, though, so he took me to Columbus for Black Friday. Here is a list of the happenings of that tumultuous day:

1. Harry goes into a gas station after filling up on $2.01/gallon gas (sweet, dude!) to get a couple of beverages. A few minutes later, he hops in the car, throws it in drive and speeds off - sans drinks. "What's up? Where's my Fanta?" He looks at me, eyes wide and then busts out laughing "Some woman just drove through the side of the building! Right through the glass! THEN she tried to back out like nothin' happened! The little guy back there - he barely spoke English and he's trying to get to her!" At this point he's laughing so hard that he's gone silent, body rocking with severe chuckles. "Soooooo - no drinks, then?" I ask.

2. I lost my brand new, only worn it twice Coach scarf somewhere between DSW and the Steak and Shake. I have to wonder if the half-white, half-dark chocolate milkshake with whipped cream, hot fudge and sprinkles was worth the price of the beautiful accessory. On second thought, yes, yes it was. Anyway, Harry bought me a new one when we got to the Jeffersonville outlets. Hee hee

3. We were trying to find Filene's Basement. A place known for their killer deals on designer duds. We drive past a rather large sporting goods store. "Wow, that's a big Dick's!" Harry exclaims. Stops. Realizes what he says and then laughs sheepishly. A new catch phrase was born.

4. We find our Holiday Pattern at the Pfalzgraf outlet. Holly loses all self-control. We have to leave our driver's license with the cashier so that we can borrow two buggies to cart our over-flowing purchases back to the Denali. I now am the proud new owner of the Winterberry collection of: cheese tray, deviled egg tray, ice cream bowls, water pitcher, cracker tray, candle holders and a chip-n-dip tray! SCORE!

5. Played Trivial Pursuit via Xbox on the way down and on the way up - I BEAT HARRY BOTH TIMES!

 

So, it wasn't New York, by any means, but, heck,my hubby tried and I give him kudos for that one! He even braved the early morning rush of the "Professionals" that swarmed upon Macy's like a locust, destroying everything in their path. I had half a mind to take my $10 off coupon that was clutched in my red-gloved paw and throw it into the air to see how many would jump for it. One woman had taken advantage of the $29.99 set of pink Leisure Luggage and was using it to haul around her purchases. She looked like a retail Nomad.

Babies were kicked out of their carriages so that mommy could use it as an impromptu shopping cart. People forgot the idea of personal space and were walking so close behind us that I feared a small Asian Woman would be lodged between my butt cheeks as I neared checkout. Small children were being used as pack mules in Best Buy, forced to bare the weight of a tower of dvd's, a light saber, and Season Two of Arrested Development while Daddy patted his $99 dvd/tv combo lovingly. Christmas music accosted our ears and made us both have flashbacks to our days of yore when retail sales ruled our busy lives and the holidays were something to dread. To combat this fear I insisted on listening to XM channel 23 - the Holly station.

And singing along with every song.

Loudly.

I think it helped.

:)

Happy Holly-days!

Just Like Dad...

My daddy dearest just called to tell me that :

1. He just "gassed" himself while cleaning the stove.

He apparently sprayed too much oven cleaner into the unit and then didn't open a window.

2. He fell out of bed last night and landed on his back while simulaneously ripping the curtains down. Don't ever say he does anything half-way.

 

Promzilla! Promzilla! Run for your LIVES!

There are two types of people in the world  Those that save their prom dresses, and those that do not.  I,for one, had no clue whether or not I still had my Senior prom dress. The last I saw of it, it was sleeping peacefully in the back of my mini-closet in my old bedroom at the 'rents.  So, you can imagine my surprise when I go over there today for pity soup (I get free food all the time now that Harry's always gone - call it a perk) and there it is, in all its red satiny glory, laying across my mother's jade green sofa. 

My eyes light up like a kid catching a glimpse of Santa.  I grab it and tenderly finger the gathers that line the bodice.  It was clingy, it was red and it was - about four sizes too small. 

What.

The.

HELL!!!!

It dawned on me as I frantically tried to cover myself with the red satin hanky that this was the exact reason why women should not hold on to dresses from our youth.  Because we have not held on to the svelte figures from our youth to go with the beautiful ensemble. 

With some bitterness ( A LOT OF IT)  I put the dress back on the pile  from which it was snatched.  I noticed then that my dress from High School was not that much bigger than one of my sister's pageant gowns.  I held them up and measured them against each other.  Maybe an inch and a half difference.

Well.  Huh.

I always thought of myself as grotesquely gargantuan next to my iddy biddy sister, but in reality, we weren't that far off. 

I held up the dress again and looked in the mirror.  The dress covered my midsection like a bright red running stripe. 

Well. Huh.

 

Must be Tuesday...

My face is on the journal home page of AOL! Yup. You know what that means. I'm FAMOUS!!!

Hee hee.

I found a really interesting article in TIME magazine yesterday dealing with Ambition. So, being the ambitious type, I stuck a post-it in it and put it under my desk to read "later."

Still haven't read it.

My underwire has worked its way out of my bra and is now poking me fiendishly in my girly bits. Ow. The things we sacrifice for fashion: comfort, body hair, skin cells and blood.

And, my last rant: Why all the hospital-related crap on movies and television? And by hospital-related I mean, obvious and gratuitous displays of ucky insides! I like CSI as much as any other Criminal Justice lackey, but c'mon! Do we really need to "see" the bone break inside the muscles? Do we really need to "see" the knife twist in the ribs? Must we be subjected to the visual of a skull being cracked open with a sledge hammer? And now this stuff is popping up in the most unusual places! I was watching a movie with my hubby the other night and POOF there on the screen was a man using a paring knife to open up the stomach of another! THEN they stuck in a spout and continued on with the romantic comedy. I was like "What the hell?!" Was that really necessary?!

So, for all of us squeamish Americans - I say we unite! Show us the Over the Hill pop singer's boobie, show me my NYPD buttcheeks, let me bare (hee hee) witness to the Maximum Package of Bruce Willis in Pulp Fiction, and in return, I ask the censors to keep the things that were meant to STAY inside (blood, guts and the like) on the inside! I do not wish to share my tv with the digitally rendered innards of a television victim!

That's it.

My rant is over.

You can go back to watching "The Price is Right."

Ohhh - a new Carrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

:)

 

 

Open the (Flood) Gates and Sieze the Day!!!!

"Hey, what the- ?!" Harry yelled for me to come look. Usually this is the exclamation that follows a rather interesting pile of cat vomit. Which, as any of you who are fond of felines know, sometimes, you can't figure out what the hell Mr. Kitty has eaten and then regurgitated for your viewing non-pleasure.

Rolling my eyes, I troop down the stairs and shriek when I step on soggy carpeting. No, really. I scream like a 50's housewife that has just seen a mouse. The carpeting, already ugly on it's own, is now sopping wet. We don't know what to do. We're first-time home owners.

We call the plumbers. They tell us "Okay, so your basement is flooded. Okay. We'll be there sometime next week." Greeeeeat. Look for the bloated corpses floating in the ten feet of standing water you over-priced assmongrels!

We call a heating and a/c guy. We don't know what's going on and since our humidifier was leaking earlier - we figure it's just gone tidal wave-ish on us.

He looks like a non-blue papa smurf wearing company issued overalls. He looks in at the unit. Gets a flashlight and then makes his way to our little-used bathroom off of the air hockey table room. He shines a light around and then looks at us.

"You're toilet's broken." He smiles. "That'll be sixty-five dollars." To his credit, it was a holiday and it was after hours AND he turned off the leaking valve. But still - sixty-five dollars! That's six really cute throw pillows from Pier One! Grrr!

Luckily for us, we have friends in the Water Damage Business, and, even though that sounds a little like a Sopranos business, it's really quite a nifty company. They came over and sucked our carpet (Hey! Tenyearnap! That's still fun to type "Sucked our carpet"! Oops and a little perverted, too! )and left big Smurf-like snail dryers to de-soak our rug. Let's hope it works...

After all the big spiders that I see in my house normally, I'd hate to see the size of the one that was mutated by mold! AGH!

Irony and the Tinkle Tango

I dribbled some peach cobbler down the front of my shirt last night while sitting at the kitchen table. I looked around to find a napkin. Not seeing one handy, I used one of those little cards that fall out of magazines to scoop the cobbler off my chest. I glanced at the card: "How to Fight Obesity."

Hmmm.

I went to the little girl's room today at work. I had chugged a Sprite earlier and was now chugging along trying to run to the bathroom before I left a tinkle trail to the toilet. I had to undo a two-prong belt, unbutton a button, release two clasps and then unzip before I could find release.

If I have an accident today - I blame Tommy Hilfiger.

My mother just called to warn me that my father has joined my hubby in my front yard. They are pulling out the dead bushes and other suicidal shrubberies. Neither are very coordinated when it comes to manual labor. I fear one (or both) may come back missing a few digits.

Finally, Harry Potter is being released next Friday and, for shame, I already have tickets! I plan on getting the best seat, grade school kids be damned!

:)

I'm evil.

Deal with it.

How I Spent my Monday Evening

Forgive me Readers, for I Have Sinned....

My confessions for last night, Nov. 7th, 2005:

1. I didn't stop for gas even though my tank was so low it sputterd while I was driving up the last hill to my house.

2. I ate an ENORMOUS plate of spaghetti for dinner. Then went back for seconds. And Peach Cobbler. With ice cream. And then... a few bars of fun-sized Heaths.

3. Sobbed while watching a Kodak commercial. A room full of kids are trying to "hear" the pictures. A little old man stands alone, in front of a picture of (sniff, sniff) his wife and (sob, hiccup!) stares wistfully.

4. Watched Dirty Dancing, Havanah Nights. Loved it. I even clapped like a holy roller when the big dance number ended, much to chagrin of the sleeping kitty on my lap.

5. Couldn't watch the HBO special "The Making of" Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I was scared of seeing too much. In the past few years I have begun to hate how the film companies show you the entire film before you even step foot into the theater.

6. Drank a HUGE glass of ghetto grape soda before turning in... without brushing my teeth. Then, got royally pissed when I had to get up an hour later, stumble to the restroom due to grape pop-filled bladder.

 

Now, what are YOUR confessions?

Hmmm???

 

The Pursuit of Lunch, Life, and Liberty

My blog is worth $0.00.
How much is your blog worth?

How funny is that?  My blog - IS WORTHLESS!

ahahahahaahahhaaaa!

So - lemmie just share with ya'all another WORTHLESS anticdote of my WORTHLESS life to put in my WORTHLESS blog (okay - really, I'll stop - no more pity parties - sniff sniff).

The state of West Virginia, land of the WORTHLESS-named states (no, really, I'm done, swear), requires that all vehicles be inspected on a yearly basis.  This will somehow ensure that the people of WV do not drive unsafe vehicles (my guess is that the ban is lifted in Lincoln County - those people drive Flinstone-esque trucks down the main highway!).  Great. Wonderful.  Whatever.

I go to Jiffy Lube.  "OUT OF STICKERS, PLEASE COME BACK."

I go to Firestone.  "Yeah, uh, we's outta people to put 'em on."  Yes. I was turned away for lack of "sticker-putter-on-ers."

I go to Sears.  "Uh, we don't do that 'till November."  "Um, it IS November."  "Not until LATER in November."  "Ohhhhh."  Clear as mud.

I go home and while driving home, try to come up with reasons why I haven't had my car inspected even though it ran out a little bit ago - AUGUST.

Today, I am running late for work, but still find the time to switch out my purse since carrying the same handbags two days in a row is, I'm sure, blasphemy in the Fashion World.  At lunch, I order my healthy meal at Wendy's drive thru:  a cheeseburger, fries and a frosty ( My DIEt up and died.  RIP.).  I look in my cute Ocelot purse - NOTHING.  Not a bit of cash or plastic in sight.

Luckily, I had grabbed my paycheck and my bank - on the other end of town - let me cash it. 

So, now - I'm driving around sans inspection and license.

Yeah baby.  I'm livin' dangerously.

(WORTHLESS!) 

"Ms. Otis regrets she is unable to dine today..."

It is a mortifying reflection for any man to consider what he has done compared with what he might have done.

--Samual Johnson (1709 - 1972)

It is not what you are; it's what you don't become that hurts.

--Oscar Levant (1906 - 1972)  Humoresque (film, ad-libbed)

 

 Yes, once again I have pulled that too large book off the shelf and become immersed in the depths of its crisp pages and found so many truths that it actually pained me to close it.  Mainly because I dropped it on my foot, but I digress.  The first thing that amazes me is that apart from the few Woody Allen quotes I have found, most of the most profound thoughts were uttered by men and women alike long dead and gone from the world as we know it today.  Most I have never heard of, some, I knew of them, but was not familar with their popular medium.  Now, with the aid of my large book-o-quotes, I feel as if these people were somehow better than us.  That they had either simpler minds, or more complex minds that manifested into a phrase or uttering that was never tossed in to recollection before.  So - is this something that is a chance - that because they were here first - that they got "first dibs" on the profound and sucked the well of intellect dry before we were even born? Is this even a bad thing?  Or should we count our lucky stars that our time can be spent doing more fruitful things like shoe shopping or killing demons on  a mod'd xbox?

But back to the quotes above - I went on a tangent as I'm prone to do and got a little lost on the way - it happens and my sense of direction sucks in real time so on a page - well - you're on your own to muddle through - but I'll try to help. Promise.

These phrases, essentially, have to do with the "what do I want to be when I grow up" question that we all face.  And not just the end result of:  lawyer, bus driver, lion tamer, nuclear fissionist, fluffer, whatever.  But the decisions that we make that end up coming all together in a nice little fleshy pie that we call "me."  I have regrets.  Tons of them.  My guess is ya'all do too.  Like not taking that job offer two years ago.  Like getting married too soon.  Like not taking a chance and putting your heart on your sleeve and going after that one person who could "complete you" like in Jerry Maguire ( and MAN is that one phrase that has wornout it's welcome in general conversation!), or maybe your biggest regret is the thing you did do - like your best friend's boyfriend, or girlfriend. My regret to date is that I have no accomplishments in my professional life.  None.  Nada.  Zilch. I am a receptionist.  I hate admitting that to people. I tell them that I work in a law firm.  They don't ask too many questions after that.  I guess it sounds more intimidating than what it really is.  My intimidation ends when my power to hang up on you also ends.  I wield the power of the dial tone.  Wow.  I better get ready for my Superhero Endorsements to start rolling in.  Receptionist Girl with extra Dial Tone Power.  Sounds like soap. Anyway back to my lack of drive, determination, mild ADD, whatever. I figure that someday, hopefully before I hit 30 and my life as a care-freeish gal ends, I will get struck with inspiration or a prophet or muse will smack me upside the head with my mission in life. 

Until then, I have some Jimmy Choos to browse. 

Is that a Catepillar on your face, or are you just happy to see me?

Saturday night, Harry and I threw a Halloween party for a few of our closest buds(pictures above by Chris! Thanks!). About an hour before everyone was set to arrive, I sat down in front off the mirror and began to transform myself from "chubby-cheeked girl next door" to "Holly, the Black Widow Sorceress." First, I curled my hair - for oomph. Then, I mixed my normal foundation with a bit of white cake make-up which instantly turned my nose into the Sahara. Ew. I caked on some goldy-orange eyeshadow, black think eyeliner and an oddly alluring red and black mixture for my lips (which wouldn't stay put and kept ending up on my cheek). After taking down my rollers I then started applying these HUGE false eyelashes that I had purchased at HOT TOPIC. I thought they would be fun.

I thought wrong.

Twenty minutes later, I was wrestling the second one on to my lid, trying not to muss my eyemakeup while applying what looked like a mutated catepillar to my eye. I finally got it on. But then came the big problem. They weren't even. My left lash line started about half way across my lid, while the right one was snug in the corner. I had to remove one. Pulling on my temple, I grasped the wooly-wormish eye-piece and pulled. Nothing.

I pulled a bit harder.

Nothing.

At this point my eyeball is starting to feel a bit floaty, like, at any moment it's going to fall out and end up in my lap. Which grossed me out and made me flinch - and ripped the damn lash off. Now most people, at this rather painful point would have given up, laquered on another coat of mascara on their god-given lashes, but, no, not me!

I trooped on.

In the end, I had perfectly scary, drag-queen-esque lashes, a long black dress, matching spider web jewelry and - a lopsided updo.

"Oh well," I thought, lobbing bobby pins at my reflection, "can't win 'em all."

I left it down and stuck a big' ol skunk-like black streakin it. Messy fun.

 

The party was fun, we had a guard and her prisoner there, a witchy fairy, Druscilla and Spike ( didn't they break up? Where was the slime demon?), Britney Spears (pig-tail era) and her beau Scotty (of Eurortip fame - complete with speakers playing "Scotty Doesn't Know"), a damsel and her man, and a few others.

Prior to the guests arriving we locked Phoebe up in our bedroom just in case she would decide to make a break for it and try to escape. Lo and behold, about an hour in to the party, here she comes traipsing down the stairs looking like she owned the place and arriving fashionablly late. I still don't know how she reached the doorknob...

We set up a fog machine in front of the fireplace - it was really cool. When the light turned green, you could push a button and a little puff of fog would come out and coat the ground.

Or so I thought.

I happily pushed the button and WHOOSH! all this smoke came pouring out! I tried to fan it away from where the biggest gaggle of guests were standing using the bat wing sleeves of my dress for propulsion, but it was really no use. I just ended up looking like a deranged over-sized Batman toy.

Everyone laughed and pointed.  A well-deserved taunt, I guess.

:)

The next day I woke up with a headache and an upset tummy.

I really think it's possible to O.D. on artichoke dip, lemon bars and ghetto grape pop.

Ughhhh.

Happy Halloween ya'all!

 

READ THIS OR MY HUBBY WILL EAT YOU LIKE A PLAIN CHICKEN SANDWICH SMOTHERED WITH KETHCUP!!!

Tidbits ....

( I started this awhile back - so some "bits" of the "tids" may be slightly outdated - but they were too funny to rewrite - so you get it all!  Enjoy!)  

1. Must start with a story that was recounted to me last night by my dear bud, Stacey.  Seems that her puppy, Oz, decided that it would be fun to mess with Stacey's mind a bit.  Somehow prior to their twenty minute walk around the neighborhood, Oz affixed a sticker to Stacey's butt.  When they got back home, she found it (her roommate pointed it out) and read it :"Squeeze me, I Squeak." 

2.  I went to lunch today with two other people.  I was the only female.  I was the only one NOT wearing pink underwear.

3.  I somehow got stuck in the middle of a conversation comparing pretzel sticks and male genitalia size.  I was slightly curious, mildly appalled and a tad hungry when the discussion ended. 

4.  I had macaroni-and-cheese for breakfast yesterday.  And today.

5.  I smelled the expired milk today - twice.  Embarressed to admit that I contemplated the "How Expired is it?" question a few minutes too long.

6.  Took home a stack of fashion magazines the size of a small fort home yesterday from work.  None of them were over two months old.

7.  Am supposed to be working at the current moment.

8.  Got addicted to Rainbow flavored Nerds in June.  Kicked the habit ... by August.

9.  I once killed two large houseplants just to watch them die. 

10.  Put pink lipgloss on my kitty yesterday because she seemed to enjoy it and got in the way during a makeover frenzy among friends.

11.  Love to work Impossipuzzles - no edges, no distinct pattern and five extra peices that fit nowhere.  It's a challenge - and it's name is "Cows in Boots." 

12.  I hate to clean. 

13.  Would eat pizza every day, if allowed.

14.  Have an unhealthy obsession with all things Harry Potter.  Bought a "mischief managed" tee and have been too embarrassed to don it in public.

15.  Hate all things natural:  bugs, trees, dirt, non regulated temperature, hair color. :)

16.  Have an older sister - who looks younger.  How fair is that?

17.  Would paint murals on every surface in the house if hubby would let me.

18.  Am never temperate.  Hate the heat, hate the cold.  I'm bi-polar - but - ya know - not in crazy way.

19.  Currently am reading anything I can get my hands on by Mary Janice Davidson - her characters are snarky and speak like "real" people.  I didn't know you were even allowed to write like that.  Plus, her love scenes pull no punches.  They are so steamy, they practically wrinkle the pages.

20.  I keep a black and white picture of my niece at my desk in an ornate gold frame.

21.  Went to Border's the other day and let him browse through books and magazines.  Then I took him to Kaybee's and he picked out a toy car.  THEN we went for milkshakes at Sonic.  I was  baby-sitting.... my dad.

22.  I really do think that there are things in my closet and under my bed ready to eat me if I turn out all the lights when I'm home alone.  Not my fault, really.  Grew up on the Corner of Elm Street.

23.  Managed to squash a brand new pair of expensive Oakley sunglasses with my ginormous rear-end.  It was Harry's fault... somehow.  :)

24.  Was singing the oh-so-catchy xmas tune :  "I Wanna Hippopotamus for Christmas," when Harry decided to be cute and join in - only he changed it to "I Wanna Hollypotamus for Christmas."  I sat in the floor and cried until I laughed.

25.  Was once carded at an "R" rated movie - I was 21.  The only "of age" one in a group of younglins.  My curse will be a blessing when I'm 40.

26.  Played Harry Potter Scene It with Harry the other day.  Was going to mercilessly whip his cute butt like I did when I put the smack down during Family Guy Uno (Blast you vile hubby!  Wild Card!) - but he beat me - twice in a row.

 27.  Am still supposed to be "working."

28.  Can only sleep if someone is in the bed with me.  Rather that be man, sister, or furball is not of my concern.

29.  One of my boss' think that an appropriate morning greeting is :  "mint, please"  followed by a hand gesture of receiving.  To this day - have refrained from giving him a hand gesture of my own.

30.  My elbows are so dry right now- they're bright red.  With the rest of me being so pale, am worried of being recruited to guide a sleigh.

31.  Contemplated buying the  Billy Blanks Contact Bag in which one kicks and punches their way toa healthier bod.  Worried that I would confuse it with a Buffy episode and just watch it with a tub of popcorn.  So I passed.  Crisis averted.

32.  My  hubby can go out, buy me an outfit head-to-toe - and - miraculously - it will fit. I could do the same - and it would look awful, and make me look like a stuffed sausage.

33.  I have no clue how to change a tire.  Luckily, I married into AAA.

34.    I saw the movie "SKY HIGH."  Loved it.

35.  To this day, there are times when I still break into songs from the movie "Newsies."  What a film phenomenon that was.  Sigh.  Christian Bale, whether in a bat suit or a newsboy cap - delectable!

36.  Once, to my utmost horror, used the incorrect version of "your."    

 

--- and that concludes our Feature Presentation of "What I Always Knew About Holly but Was Too Afraid To Ask." :)

Insults and Injuries

"The success of an insult depends upon the sensitiveness and the indignation of the victim"

SENECA THE YOUNGER (5? BC – 65 AD)

“On the Firmness of the Wise Man”

 

 

So I bought this book on quotes and being one who is not essentially moved by quotes of famous dead (sometimes not so much dead) people I was amazed to discover that I could not put it down.  I was sitting in Borders while pretentious people sipped their over-priced lattes and sniffed at me and my non-caffeinated beverage.  I ignored them.  Mostly.

 

 

But this quote hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks.  I was reflecting on a conversation of days gone by and remember thinking to myself  right after, “Wow, they just made me feel really bad.  I feel horrible.  And it’s because of them.”  But that’s not really true, now is it?  Can someone really make you “feel bad” because you weren’t doing their bidding?  Or is it our fault, the ones who have that hole opening in the pit of our stomachs for letting our feelings get hurt?

  I am leaning toward the latter. 

 

I feel bad – all the time.  For things I didn’t do, things I won’t do, things I can never see myself doing and things that I don’t plan on doing in the near future.  A few examples of these are:  enjoying sushi (not gonna happen), balancing my checkbook,  refraining from biting my nails, maintaining an organized closet, enjoying the company of anyone pre-pubescent, knitting, exercise, meditation or yoga, enjoying a fine wine (yech),  “partying,” and reading poetry for fun. 

 

That’s just not me.

 

I guess score one for me for figuring out one aspect of my personality. 

Here’s hoping that I am not Sybil-esque.  Seems to me like finding out one bit of who I am was hard enough, I don’t even know where to start with the other parts.  What if there are too many?  What if I spend forever trying to figure out who I am, piece by piece, and find out that the parts do not equal a whole?  I’d be a little old lady, sitting by myself in a muu-muu and slippers reminiscing over my lost marbles.

 

So, if the success of the insult depends upon the victim, what does one do if they are one in the same?

Iron Chef - Huntington!

Awhile back, I decided, after watching a Marathon of Rachel Ray, that I, too, could cook a "stewp." A "stewp" is Rachel's way of saying a soup-like stew, pretty clever, huh? Or something...

Anyway, so I go to the grocery store all by my petrified lonesome and start gathering up the list of "simple" ingredients. By the time I'm done in the produce aisle my cart start to resemble that of a bunny's on a marijauna munchie spree.

I unload my treasure trove of veggie delights and fresh-picked yummies on to the chopping block and then dice and slice to my heart's content, according to directions of course. After careful measuring and systematically following all of the directions printed off of foodnetwork.com, I wait, let the "stewp" simmer and prepare to be dazzled by my culinary masterpiece.

I stoop over my "stewp" and ladle up a spoonful. It's gorgeous and smells heavenly.

I sip.

I spit.

Ew. Ew. EW.

It tasted like a mixture of tomato soup, curry and more tomato soup infused curry.

 

I dumped the whole batch in the drain and turned on the dispoal for pure vindictiveness.

I vowed never again to waste my time making "stewp" again. Ever.

Until last night.

I saw a recipe in JANE magazine - seemed simple enough: olive oil, onion, mushrooms and some paprika. Throw it all in a skillet and simmer and voila! You have Transylvanian Mushroom Soup.

So I tried again.

I chopped the onion and the mushrooms. I added a clove of garlic because, well, I kinda thought a soup inspired by the birthplace of vampires to at least contain SOME garlic! I tried very hard to follow the recipe to the letter, but I must've messed it up somewhere.

Thirty minutes later I had brown, runny mushroomy-liquid that tasted like oil. Not garlic. Not onions.

Oil. I poured it down the drain and then made myself a sandwich.

Now the regular readers of my blog know that I am not usless in the kitchen. I happen to make a mean peach cobbler and the bitchingest artichoke dip known to man ( yes, it even beats out the Olive Gardnen's!). However, I think that in the Kitchen Arena - I have been beaten. First by that too perky person's recipe for the nonsensical "stewp." TKO, baby.

And secondly by a Halloween-esque soup cut from the pages of an okay fashion magazine. TKO - again.

But that's okay. I will take my failures and let them manifest gloriously into other dishes. I will not stand by and let my culinary prowess be determined by the detrimental effect of something that begins as water! No!

I will strap on my apron with "HOLLY" emblazed across my ample bosom, grab up my pink Kitchen Aid Mixer and a tin of flour and get to work!

I may not be able to make a pot of soup, goshdarnit, but I will make a cake from - wait for it - scratch!

Well, I may have a little help from Betty Crocker on this one - but I'll crack an egg or two on my own, promise!

 

Precarious Pastries and Mullet Mullings

This past Saturday we threw my Dad a surprise 60th birthday party. It was up to my sister and I to go get the cake at Wal-mart.

I loathe Wal-mart.

So - the baker hands us this GI-NORMOUS cake. It was gorgeous - Mom had given them a picture of my dad's '79 Ranchero and they screened it on to the cake! The little hair-netted woman puts this cake in my hands and tells me to keep my arm in the middle since, being a half white half chocolate cake - it could crack and leave a big tear or bubble in the picture.

I am forced to awkwardly carry around this pastry monstrosity while Summer picks out the perfect ice cream "Whatkindshouldweget?" she asks, breathless with anticipation of the giant wall of freezers in front of us. One look at my red, shiny face and she goes, "Ohrightokay. Vanilla!" She throws open the door and pulls out a massive container and swoops down the aisle singing whatever tune that was looping through her brain at that particular time. I am left to waddle behind her, hair plastered to my forehead, cake-encrushed Ranchero cradled in my chubby, aching arms.

We get outside and I place myself carefully in the seat, balancing the precious pastry on my leg. Harry starts to move forward when some Frogger-esque four year old and matching stupid mother fusser WALKS OUT RIGHT IN FRONT OF US! Harry slams on the brakes and the vehicle lurches, I scoot with my cake refusing to succumb to gravity's evil lure.

Whew!

No harm came of the icing-laden box!

I slid back up, looked at Harry and yelled : "WHAT THE FREAKIN' HELL - RUN OVER THE DAMNED PEDESTRIANS! I HAVE CAKE HERE! CAKE! ALWAYS CHOOSE CAKE OVER PEDESTRIANS!"

Harry and Summer stared at me.

"Areyouserious?" she asked, incredulous.

"Shhhhhhhh." Harry said as I checked for cracks and bubbles in the Ranchero's whipped frosting finish.

The day of the party - everything goes off without a hitch. Daddy arrives to help Summer's friend "set up tables for a Baby Shower" - we all yell "SURPRISE" and he looks confused and then laughs as Gillian yells "WHEEEEE!" and claps at her papaw.

While dad was opening his presents, my parent's neighbor calls me over. To my chagrin, his live-in girlfriend (who likes to walk around sans pants and undergarments) grabs the ends of my hair.

"Honey, who cuts your hair?" she said.

"Sabrina at Barbie's - she's great, she-" she cuts me off.

"It's crooked. It looks awful, your layers are all uneven. You should let me fix it."

I was shocked. Still stooped over, I  looked at her eyeing me critically and bobbing her lemon yellow mullet.

Yes, yes, I said MULLET.

I smiled. What else could I do?

My dad was having a ball opening his presents and here I stood, speechless having just been insulted by a deflated version of Susan Powder.

At this point, she was talking about her own shop and how she could "fix it" and "make it better." I nodded and walked back over to my dad.

"What was that all about?" Harry whispered to me while giving me a big hug.

"Mullet-lady hates my hair." He looked over at where "Susan" was now happily bouncing on her live-in beau's lap. I shuddered. "But I think I'm gonna take it as a compliment."

BIG TOP, PEE WEES and other corporate matters

So, just when I start thinking that the armpit of Corporate America is NOT the firm for which I work, KABLLOOOEY, it blows up in my face! The aftermath which is the stench of decaying old people (which my office does, in fact, reek of on a daily basis).

Our office morale is the lowest it has ever been in my years of employment. We have gone from jovial days of working and playing to drone-like hour-by-hour torture sessions fearing to speak or squeak that we may be struck down by the "man."

Their oh-so-brilliant answer to their steaming employees complaints of ill-tidings?

Fire one of us.

Make an example.

Rule with fear.

"Welcome to Hell, please wipe your feet and leave your morals and values at the door, please."

So, I was called into the conference room today, apparently one of the partners had deemed it necessary to tell me, personally, that my co-worker/friend had been fired/"offered the choice to resign."

Duh. Like I didn't know that.

Yet on and on he droned, like most corporate professionals, he sooo loved the sound of his own voice, and I was forced to sit and stare.

I nodded occasionally, really, I was beyond livid, and I could not stare directly at his clown-inspired multi-colored shirt and tie in fear of an onset of severe nausea.

He then looked at me and said "We want you to continue doing a good job here... You know that Evaluations are coming up."

Oh Good Lord, help me from strangling him with his Krusty the Clown inspired neck tie!

Heaven forbid if I should be deemed "unacceptable" as a receptionist!

What were they going to do to me if my phone answering skills were not up to par? Not acceptable phone ettiquette? Not able to fax things at the speed of light?

Fire me?

Or worse yet, what if I wasn't given a raise? Oh lordy me! Last year I got less than a frickin' quarter. Gee Whiz! Don't take THAT much money away from me! I would be broke! Phoebe would starve! I would have to buy - discount handbags!

Don't think so.

Know what? They can keep their damn quarter this year. They can buy themselves new clothes, ones that don't look like they've been ripped out of the closets of the Ringling Brothers' Barnum and Bailey Circus.

Or at least buy the shoes to match... now THAT would be entertaining...

That's why they're called DIEt's...

I'm on day four of my DIEt.

I think that the food, in all it's fattening,sugary, carby glory was the source for my wit. Yes, my dear friends, I have decided that anyone who wants to have a sharp tongue need only to slap a donut on that baby and watch as the witty comments fly about - willy nilly!

I feel as though, since giving up caffeine and cutting out sweets and fats - that my brain seems to be the only thing losing it's oomph. Nowhere else can any improvement be seen. My belly still jiggles like a bowl full of jelly and my arms still wave "bye-bye" long after my hand has tired. Now, I'm not insane, I know that it takes months, even years, of DIEt and (ugh) exercise to make "bye-bye" arms go bye-bye, but c'mon! If my brain seems lighter, shouldn't my scale be registering the same?

For example, when talking to my friend today at work, he was happily reporting that his grandmother, who has cancer, was going to be getting out of the hospital because her condition improved so vastly.

I said, "Oh - is she in submission? I mean -uh - um..."

He looked at me, cocked an eyebrow and said, "You mean - REmission?"

"Oh, hee, yeah, that."

So you see - my DIEt has targeted my much needed brain cells rather than my much NOT needed fat cells! What gives? I feel myself getting dumberer and dumberer as days go by!

I just hope that I can remember to tie my shoes by the time day 16 rolls around, and for that matter, work the elevator, computer, phone, remember where the keys are on the keyboard (although "m" and "n" have always messed with my mind) and be able to shave my legs in a timely fashion!

Okay, so I lied on that last one, I usually resort to waiting until Harry sceams like a scared little girl 'cause my hairy legs have left him looking for a loose porcupine from 'tween our sheets.

So until next time, I will keep ya'all updated on the backward progress of my incredible shrinking brain and the (hopefully) diminishing stages of my butt.

I just know you are all riveted to your monitor right now.

:)

 

 

XXX - Things to Do!

As I swiftly approach the XXX portion of my life, that’s 30 for all you Roman Numerically-challenged folk out there, I have decided to start a list of the things I want to do before I enter the last three years of my mid-mid-life crisis.

There will be additions and omissions before d-day hits in September of 2008 - but until then, these are the things I strive to achieve!

Wish my luck, love, happiness, and berries of steel!

Thanks.

Things To-Do

(Before I’m Thirty!)

1. Learn to play a musical instrument (a tambourine does NOT count)

2. Learn to speak a foreign language - conversationally

3. Own at least one pair of shoes that are comfortable at all times.

4. Be able to shop at a grocery store without fear and anxiety of produce and soccer moms.

5. Find that perfect shade of lipstick.

6. Learn yoga.

7. Read at least one best-seller a week.

8. Designate one corner of one room as "all mine."

9. Write a book.

10. Learn to burn a dvd.

11. Learn to work my pink Ipod Mini.

12. Learn to knit/crochet/needlepoint - and have end results recognizable.

13. Grow a tomato.

14. Figure out what I want to be when I "Grow-up"

15. Watch the Indiana Jones movies.

16. Be able to wear a tank top in public without fear of others seeing my jigglies and jubblies.

17. Go to London - see Big Ben.

18. Pet a koala bear.

19. Volunteer.

20. Make Harry Kirby, a cartoon based on my hubby, into a real comic strip.

21. Quit my job.

22. Find a new job that doesn’t require an IQ in the gray area to exceed at it.

23. Paint a mural on a wall in my house - make sure hubby is still breathing - finish said mural.

24. Face a fear (ex: heights, falling, grocery stores, organized fun, wal-mart, spiders, bees, lawn-care…)

25. Learn to make my own pasta.

26. Learn to bake a cake - from scratch.

27. Learn to decorate a cake - with all the tricks and tools of the trade.

28. Learn to do crosswords - without cheating.

29. Watch at least one foreign film a month.

30. Learn to be happy with who I am, ‘cause I am what I am ( Popeye?)

It's ranting, it's pouring...

Why is it - when you get married - people expect you to be pregnant?

ALL THE TIME.

If I say "Ohhh - I feel sick all of a sudden." Their eyes double to the size of tricycle wheels and dart to my chubby middle, "Are you pregnant???"

Okay.

First of all - Noooooooooooooo - I'm NOT preggers! There is no bun in my oven, just a taco bell burrito doing the can-can against my sternum and an ill-advised cocktail of mentos and diet coke adding in to the fun!

Secondly, if I were "with child", if somehow one of my husband's mighty mini men of the spermy variety managed to get lucky - I still have been on the pill for YEARS - my eggs will stay over-easy until I decide to slap 'em up for service!

AND thirdly, shame on you people for having nothing better to do than to picture my tubby behind in the middle of a tantalizing horizontal tango with my hairy Harry! That's just wrong - and really, I've been there, it's not all that interesting for outsiders to have to view. Not that outsiders have viewed, um, well, never mind - let's just say that no one has had to witness the tubby tango - to date.

Which brings me to point number two on the Tirade of Holly of today: Why on earth would you want to video tape yourself having sex? I am not one to mull about in the nude. I don't even like the word "nude". I would dress in the shower if I didn't think that my shirt would get stuck halfway down my arms rendering them useless and would lead me to having no other choice but to run out of the bathroom like a right-side-up bat, arms up in the air, hands waving like I really do care, and have my poor hubby untangle me from my outfit.

So - I'm not real comfortable with the idea of propping up a Sony cam and recording the nasty act of coital bliss on film.

Why? Well, other than my obvious dislike for my own nakedness - I think that if I had to witness it omnisciently - I would NEVER DO IT AGAIN. And I think many others would feel the same. There are some things left to the imagination that should never come to pass into reality.

Like Lust Objects.

Yup.

I have switched subjects again.

"Lust Objects" is our new topic.

Please keep up.

No, really, take notes if needed.

So - Lust Objects are not mere crushes. Crushes are what you get in sixth grade when the boy you like makes your orange hyper-color tee turn bright pink in two seconds when he asks to borrow your eraser. Crushes are mindless, fun, flirty and never serious. Lust Objects are obsessions of body and soul. Crippling fear and paralization of lips and mind are often symptoms of a close proximity with a Lust Object.

I had one Lust Object who will remain nameless due to the fact that he is married with kids now and, of course, everyone who knew me from 1994-2000 knew my unquenchable desire to do unspeakable things to this cutie-patootie (sorry for the Rosie quote - but it hopped into my brain with little to no warning - I promise not to lob Kooshes at you now).

Anyway, I obsessed over this boy, went to the movies where he worked EVERY Saturday, daring, and promising myself that I would speak to him, make him mind by uttering that single phrase that would turn him on his cute pinkened ear: "One, please."

Oh well.

Six years later I finally went out with him.

It was going to be Heaven, bliss, pure magic, our chemistry would erupt before the date began and make our loving cups runeth over (holy crap - that was a BAD description! :) ).

It was awful.

He fell off of his pedastol so fast and furious that I mistook him for a real person.

We never went out again - I put him back on his pedastol. Tried to rekindle my lust, but alas, it was gone.

Sigh.

Things were so much better when all of our dates and important relationship milestones were taking place in the comfort of my own imagination!

My last, and hopefully final, rant is on a really weird subject.

Janis Joplin.

I just found out that she was 27 when she died. She was my age when her life ended. At that young age, she had bellowed out songs in front of thousands of people, all of them instantly judging her and deciding about her on the spot. She put herself up there and sang, unafraid of what people thought about her or her voice.

I'm afraid to go to the grocery store by myself.

How messed up is that?

It's not like I'm petrified of produce or anything like that - I don't fear the grapes of wrath, or the sour apples, or the - um- kumquats - I just find the whole place to be very intimidating.

So - I'm adding that to my list of thing to do before 30

- "become unafraid of scary-ass grocery stores."

Universal Issues

Yesterday morning I entered my workplace restroom rather quickly ( A breakfast of Pepsi and Nerds really made me have to pee!). As I'm sitting there for what seems like an eternity, contemplating the subtle jail-like stripes painted on the walls, I reach over and tug on the toilet paper.

"Eeee- aaagh!" The roll shoots off the wall, the holder flies under the door and the inner coil retreats to the next stall.

I laugh, cross-legged for a good ten minutes.

I then come out and tell Jeff, my runner/friend that I deserve hazard pay. He looks at me with his usual "You are so freakin' weird" stare and then laughs politely.

Works for me.

Bopping down Fifth Avenue at 5:03 PM I am abhorred to realize I have forgotten my sunglasses, so I flip down the sun visor and am immediately bonked in the head by automobile schrapnel! My tv monitor that was so prettily mounted in the shade had come loose and smacked me very rudely! It dangled in front of me from a veiny-wire and obstructed my view of the large Suburban in my path! I shoved the contraption back in the ugly hole from which it lept, flipped back up the visor and drove home squintily.

Later, Harry decides he wants ice cream, so we go to Baskin and Robbins. I mull over which variety I want to try. Which is a total lie, cuz my loyalty is with Rainbow Sherbert, Prailines and Cream and Chocolate Peanut Butter. Leaning towards a good chocolate fix, I change my mind and point to the Prailine bin, licking my lips heartily.

We hop in the backseat. He turns on his DVD player and I settle back in his car where I promptly drop my ice cream. ALL OVER THE BACK OF HIS BRAND NEW DENALI.

Oops.

I pick up the fuzzy cone and hold it out towards Harry. He takes it, gets out and comes over to my side. I frantically clean up the carpet while he mops up the door, the wall, the seat and the seat belt ( I never do anything half-way). Without a word, he goes back into the ice cream parlor and comes out with another cone.

Handing it to me, I ask him how much it was - I wanted to pay him back for my clumsiness.

"It was free - she didn't charge me 'cuz kids drop their ice cream all the time."

"Oh." I said. I didn't argue, since I had just literally iced his less-than-a-month old car, I thought it best to sit, eat, enjoy, and use two hands.

Moral of the story: If you think the universe is out to get you - you just may be right...

Kris Kross'll make ya JUMP, JUMP!

I should've known it was going to be a weird day when I left home soooo late and still got to work on time.

With my shirt on backwards.

Sigh.

At least it's almost lunchtime - I wonder what fast food I will consume today? And I wonder how long, post-consumption, will that food want to reappear?

EW.

:)

The Road Oft' Traveled...

A co-worker looked at me the other day, her pale face contorting with disgust when I told her that my husband and I had just purchased a Denali. "You'll spend so much on gas with that thing!"

The funniest thing about this situation was not that the woman before me was lecturing me on the importancies of petrol-economic vehicles (and, yet, she owns an SUV) but the fact that there was very little things about her that were real - her hair, her "tan" and her "designer" clothes are the first blaringly obvious things that come to mind.

Call me horrible -but the day that I choose a car based on gas mileage is the day that I stop spending hundreds of dollars on Coach purses, Kate Spade sunglasses, Louis Vuitton clutches and Dooney satchels!

That was funny - I said "the day I stop spending" - oh - wipe the tears from my eyes - oh. I totally should've said: "the day my hubby stops spending hundreds of dollars" on me. And we all know - that aint gonna happend anytime soon!

:)

 

Wheel of Fortune!

It started simply enough.

I was hungry.

I wanted lunch.

It was lunchtime.

So far, so good, huh?! Well- that's where the simplicity ended and chaos took the wheel, literally. You see, in my town, a college town where restaraunts and fast-food joints are jumbled together in a maze around Fifth Avenue, things can get a tad confusing as to where one should enter and where one should not. For example, the driveway for the "out" for Burger King is identical and within three feet of the "in" for Subway. So, you can imagine my surprise when I think I am turning in to partake in the wonder that is a Toasted Turkey Sub on Wheat and find myself bumper to big bumper with a Dodge Ram that could eat my little Escape along with the Double Whopper it had just purchased. My face froze in mid-sing-along to the Dirty Dancing Soundtrack and I gripped the steering wheel while trying to quickly come up with a way out of becoming a squished chicken McNugget.

So - I turned left, hopped over one curb, a sidewalk, and another, higher curb and maybe even a few pedestrians that soon abandoned their lunch plans in fear of the crazy, wild-eyed girl behind the wheel of the black SUV and careened into the Subway drive-thru - breathless, but virtually unscathed.

The silver lining?: I finally got to break in my Four Wheel Drive.

Oh yeah.

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream...

I drove six hours, one way, to Richmond, Virginia on Thursday after work. It was impeccable timing, seeing as how the cheapest gas I could find was over three freakin' dollars a gallon!

Can you say "price gouging"? I knew you could!

Not only that - but my mom went with me.

Six hours.

In a car.

With my mother.

"Lord help me be strong and fight the temptation to leave her at a travel plaza with nothing but her oversized beaded bag and her designer imposter eyewear."

We got there at a little past midnight - Harry came out to the car and our suitcases (mine was the size of Texas - but it was for FOUR DAYS - I needed lots of stuff for that amount of time...) and took them upstairs. Mom slept on the couch, Summer took the guest room and Harry and I slept in sis' room.

About three AM I woke up and turned over towards where my sleeping husband lay on his side. I reached over to lovingly stroke his back, I just missed him so much....

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaagh!" He screamed and pulled away from me like someone suffering from Battered Wife Syndrome. He almost fell off the other side of the bed - teetering like a deranged Weeble, stiff and tense and clutching on to his pillow for dear life while being - completely and soundlessly asleep.

"Well - Harry!" I said and then patted his butt. He snored and relaxed - but I couldn't help but wonder about my Homecoming and what was in store for me in the nights to come.

As usual, my assumptions were correct.

The next night we inadvertantly switched sides of the bed - which must be the only explanation for the events that happened soon after we went to sleep. I had just begun my dream about being Buffy the Vampire Slayer - when - all of a sudden, my pillows were ripped from underneath my head! My noggin' flopped against the mattress and I looked to the right just in time to see my dear husband folding my two pillows up under his chin, coupled with his two, he appeared to be sleeping soundly atop a large fluffy mountain. I stared at him and then did what any loving wife would do - I took ahold of the corner of the one nearest to me - and yanked with all my chubby might.

Needless to say I slept sans pillow that night.

Since I am in a state of Nocturnal Know-it-allness - I will share with you, you poor readers of my blog, the night I fondly call "The Ass of Fire." One frigid night in December, Harry stayed over at my apartment. Now, in those days of pre-marital copulation (yup - we did it - lots - now - moving ON....) we shared a twin bed. Lemmie put this in to a better mental picture for you - Harry - not a small guy - and me - NOT a small or medium girl - shared a TWIN bed. A tiny, not fit for anyone over the age of seven, TWIN bed. And Phoebe insisted on sleeping with us, too.

So, one night, we are sleeping when I hear a thud and then smell something burning. It's 2 AM so I just figure that Tiffany was up making herself something to eat - she worked odd hours and was always up doing something - I learned to ignore it. But the smell intensified. I finally looked up to see that Harry had fallen out of the bed and had landed with his boxer-clad ass against the space heater - STILL ASLEEP.

It was too cold for me to get out of my nice warm bed and assist him in his predicament - so I took to yelling at him in between my fits of laughter.

"HARRY! HARRY! HEY - YOUR ASS IS ON FIRE! HONEY -YOUR ASS - IS ON FIRE!"

He woke up, looked around in a confused stupor, glanced behind him and went, "oh."

Yeah. And he's ALL mine.....

:)