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.