Crazy is a State of Mind; West Virginia is a State of Crazies...

I was just informed that glass tops on desks can spontaneously crack and gouge chunks out of themselves.

Well, huh.

This was told to me by the cleaning lady of our office who was also the one who told me that the spots in the carpet were from coffee stains that occur when lawyers talk and fling their cups about (it was actually grease from the wheels of their carts) and that the wasps that try to hump my head were figments of my overactive imagination. I may have had to agree with them on the last part if one didn't LAND ON MY ARM AND WAS THE SIZE OF NEW YORK COCKROACH!!!! Really - I kept waiting for it to flap its wings and carry me off like some freaky, stingin' bird of prey.

If you see a chubby girl in an argyle vest (what?! it's cute - I swear!) being carried off by wasps (and not the tennis club kind) please send help.

Or Snickers bars.

Sending up the White Flag.

My day started out bad so I knew today would be more fuzzy than peachy.

I overslept and had no time to shower (oh, relax, I'm not stinky or anything - so please don't come at me with an industrialized-sized can of Lysol) so I run into the bathroom, thunk down in front of the mirror and try to get a brush through my thick hair which has decided to revolt and stand up in bushy waves all over my head.

Great.

I then have a cat drooling on my knee, trying to get attention from me when I'm knee-deep in concealer, foundation and enough eye-shadow to make even the Olsen Twins swoon.

Getting out her "boyfriend" (my old favorite paddle brush) she makes nice with it while I tackle the dark circles under my puffy green eyes.

We chat awhile. I talk about the "Smallville" episode of last night (Oh- goodness - Tom's in his man panties - oh - SWOON!) and she purrs. I discuss the thrills and chills of my beyond boring book "The Bergedorf Blondes" and she purrs. I take the brush away from her and she tries to bite me.

Works for me.

I leave for work and hop into - no - scratch that - I wedge my large posterior into the grey velcro-like seat and then scooch around until both butt cheeks are in proper placement. Joy.

I then get to work and delve into the gossip of the office: all the attorneys are scattering for a weekend retreat by mid-afternoon. All but one. So what's wrong with this one that was so obviously uninvited? Is this attorney so repugnant that one does not wish to get too close in fear of convoluted conversation or an extreme case of halitosis? No. Does this Legal Eagle have hygiene problems that could only be rectified by a dip in boiling bleach. No.

She has boobies.                       

And there you have it folks - two very perky reasons why I'm glad my career in law is now limited to phone conversations that end in "No, sorry, but may I take a message?"

                                                   

Just Call me Clarabelle.

                                                               

      Apparently, I am to continue driving around the Bozomobile for the entire weekend.  And  - thanks to the aftermath of "The Period Fairy"  - I now have a shiny red nose to match.

     Wheeeeee -  and stuff.

        

Tears of a Clown

I'm driving a rental Ford Focus. It is tiny, has cloth seats that grab my ass like naughty velcro and has manual controls.

Upon entering the vehicle with a mighty PLOP - I can almost hear the Big Top Music play.  I shut the door quickly so that other clowns will not file in on top of me.

I hate it. I miss my car with its fun gadgets and gizmos and whirlygigs and doomaflatchies!

Warning : I am now gonna sound like the biggest, whiniest, self-important babyhead you will have ever met - so - beware and stuff!

I miss my pop-up head unit and dvd player to which ogling Tom Welling's firm dimpled backside has become standard lunchtime procedure. I miss my PS2 that is nestled into my glove compartment waiting in vain for me to come and push multi-colored buttons. I miss my leather seats and their un-ideally located heated button. I tear up just thinking of my moonroof not being used on the first warm and inviting day of the year. And, I miss my 12 disk changer filled to the brim with Michael Buble, SheDaisy, Mandy Barnette, Gretchen Wilson, and Buffy : the Musical.

They told me: "Darlin', we may have your car done by Friday evening."

"Okay." I said not thinking of the ramifications.

And now, upon looking out and seeing the oozing whitehead of a clown car they gave me (it smells like stale smoke and has a sticky steering wheel to boot NOT to mention the fact that when you barely touch the brakes they seize up and I'm thrown against the seat belt like a barely restrained monkey) I realize something:

I WANT MY CAR BACK.

Otherwise, I may have to beat up some mechanic with my clown horn!

Heh heh heh - BRAINS!

During the past week when my sister was in - the strangest things happened to me. First, I couldn't seem to form coherent thoughts, words, sentences or even proper word choices. I would start to say something like: "Wow, that woman's choice of wardrobe is both enlightening and inappropriate" and this is what would come out "Wow - ugly - ward- um - she look bad."

I have decided that God does make mistakes and that my sis and I should've been one person. We share a brain, I have the left and she is clutching to the shred of sanity left in the right half. When we get together, instead of our two halves meshing in perfect polarity, they fight like two positively charged magnets and end up making us a (literally) laughing, drooling mess.

Which is actually kinda fun.

Intellect v. Ingenuity - which would YOU choose?

Wanna hear how smart I am?

Well, this morning I was running around trying to get ready when I made mistake number one: wearing a large red turtleneck sweater (I'm melting - MELTING!). I then decided that since I had to, yet again, drop my car off at the dealership for repairs and would be forced, yet again, to stay in for lunch, that I would grab my handy dandy Ipod. I ran upstairs to my office and rummaged up to my elbows in stuff to find the USB charger (my Ipod is always dead - it's a gift I have - killing inanimate objects - and plants).

Good to go, I grab my bag filled with books, music, paper and,now, my pink Ipod with Coach Ladybug cover, and head out the door.

Later, after some dancing at the mechanics to get me to work (the shuttle service gal called in as I was standing there staring at my watch with big eyes) I arrived at hell, oops, 'scuse me, I mean, my office and promptly crawled under the desk. I find a USB port, plug it in and do a happy dance ( a limited one so as to not bump my noggin') and then realize my second mistake of the morning: I didn't bring the earbuds.

I am so frickin' smart that I grab my Ipod and the charger - but not the only way to listen to it!

Harry called and I told him of my predicament. His suggestion was to walk to Electronics Boutique and buy a PSP set of headphones.

I thanked him and hung up the phone, laughing. Like I'd really walk the block and a half to EB! ahahahha I'm MUCH too lazy for that!

I rummage through my drawers and find a pair of old earphones with HUGE ear pads. I cross my fingers, toes and eyes as I wiggle the connector into the earbud input and - yesssss!

There's Carrie Underwood asking Jesus to quit being a backseat driver!

So - my genius level may be a little lacking but my ingenuity - well - it's pretty darn impressive if I do say so myself!

I think I may be a tad MacGuyver-ish.

Now - I'm off to make me a smoke bomb (to confuse lawyer-types when I don't want to work - which is often) out of a water bottle, a can of canned air, a wheat thin and a staple remover.

BOOM!

:)

I'm a Wiener.

This morning I was sitting in the floor, hair products to my right, cat to my left, make-up in my lap and mirror to my front, when the radio announcer says :  "Alrighty, now it's time for Trivia Tuesday!  What do Bill Pullman, Jack Nicholson, Michael Douglas and  [some other guy] have in common?!" 

I drop my curling iron in the floor, apologize to Phoebe and grab my cell phone.  I ring once and no answer.  Slapping my flip phone shut, I reopen it and quickly dial again! 

I know this! I think to myself.

"What do they have in common?"  The DJ says in way of a greeting.

Startled, I answer, "Uh, they're all presidents.  I mean, heh heh, they all played presidents." 

"You're exactly right!" He says in a practiced baritone.

"Yayyyyy!"  I say like a deranged person.

So what did I win?  I won a meal for two at Wendy's and a gift certificate for car window tinting.  

Now I can eat my cheeseburger in shame, behind black glass and away from prying eyes.

Yayyyyyyyy.

"Call it self-sabotage" Seminar!

I have been invited to attend a workshop entitled : "Managing Emotions Under Pressure."

The helpful pamphlet has a large picture of a broken chain on the cover and a "self-help" checklist on the inside where I am to measure my performance in handling situations like "Motivating People," "Handling Crisis," and "Weight Control."

Huh?

Who puts me on this mailing list?

Who, on EARTH, could think that I lead a stressful life or that I have a problem dealing with stress in everyday situations.

Bastards.

 

And for $99 I can "have higher self esteem" and "spend less time feeling hurt, guilty, inadequate or worried."

Well, I didn't before - but I do now!

Okay- I'm done with this.

But C'MON peeps! Is my job really all that stressful that I need to take a class to deal with my anger over my wasted education, youth, energy, karma and creativity? NOOOOOOO!

I DIDN'T FREAKIN' THINK SO!

ARGH!

 

Better now.

Broke a Rolodex.

Sigh.

Happy thoughts... happy thoughts...

Phone Etiquette for Dummies

In my job as a receptionist I am often annoyed with people. Generally speaking, my co-workers leave me alone and tend not to bother me in my cocoon of silence at the front of the office. However, that cannot be said of the goons on the other end of the phone line.

The only thing worse than a caller who drank too much coffee and speeds through their return phone number at warp speed nine is the person who insists on speaking slowly and deliberately. The one who takes five seconds per number: "Three... Zero... Four..." By the time they are done giving me their number - I am so mad that I've forgotten to write it down and have to ask them to repeat it. This confirms their suspicions that I am but a moron with a number pad and they start again - slowly and deliberately: "Three..."

I will kill them all one day.

I will.

Kill them.

All.

With kindness, of course!

What did YOU think I meant?!

Ahahahahahahaah!

"I'm off to see the Wizard..." And ask him for a brain.

Why is it when we have to do something, either for work or for school and that it is required of us to do it, we don't want to do it? Or worse - we freeze up when expected to perform up to par?

I have found two writing contests - one is a challenge to rewrite a fairytale with modern elements and the other is humor-related.

Both are five hundred measley words.

I can usually write five hundred words without batting an eye, but, for some reason, my eyes are frozen open and no amount of "batting" can produce any amount of word count.

Perhaps the well of wit in my brain has been excavated until nothing is left? Do you think it's possible to use up all of one' s wisdom before the age of thirty? Or perhaps it isn't that the level has been depleted so much as it was never really there to begin with? Maybe when I hit thirty and after I have my sobfest at being an official "adult" I will awaken to a new world where I am witty, wonderful, wise and articulate, if not a bit puffy-eyed.

Until then I will just stare at the blank screen, waiting for inspiration - or for my computer to lock up - whichever comes first.

Kareoke of the Mind

Every. Single. Time I get my - um - ya know - Girl Time - I hear "I Enjoy Being a Girl" in my head - but it takes on a Life of its own.

My rendition follows - be warned, though - 'tis not for the faint of heart...

I Hate Being a Girl

When I have a brand new hair-don't
With my eyelashes all uncurled,
I float as the rocks on air don't,
I hate being a girl!

When men say I'm mad and bitchy
And my smile isn't sweet, but snarled,
I just say that I'm kinda itchy
I hate being a girl!

I cry when my fellow sends me flowers,
I weep over dresses made of lace,
I whine on the telephone for hours
Stuffing a pound of chocolate in my face!

I'm strictly a bloated female
And my future I hope will be
In the home of a cowering, scared male
Who'll hate being a guy, having a girl... like... me!

"Big sisters are the crab grass in the lawn of life." ~ Charles M. Schultz

My face is so dry right now that I keep expecting my smattering of freckles to burst forth into full bloom cactuses at any moment.

On another note, I can now report on the seminar my sister and I attended yesterday that was sponsored by the SBA.

Ahem, a one word summation: ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

It was very informative but they had, like, twenty speakers (outnumbering the class by about fifteen) and only 2.5 hours alloted. We learned and we listened. We wrote notes to each other. We held our laughter in check for the majority of the droning speeches. 

About two hours in, this little frog of a lady said: "Okay, we will now take a five minute break, please fill out your [horribly detailed and confusing] survey first." Summer and I bow our heads and scribble like the devil. We then ease out of our chairs and no sooner than we were standing then we heard the frog ribbitt loudly: "Five minutes are up - we will now be starting." She stared at us pointedly.

We smiled and ran like two possessed squirrels with full bladders, tittering all the way to the facilities. When we got back she looked at us and said, sternly: "Girls!"

Summer smiled and said "What, we miss a question or somethin'?" The class burst into giggles which didn't amuse frog lady one bit. I thought she was going to pop a lilly pad outta her asscheeks the way she was clenched.

We then finished the day with a trip to Jim's Spaghetti House (oh - yum) a trip to Goodwill, and then went home to put my niece down for a nap. I promptly fell asleep in my dad's recliner where I woke myself up by snorting so loud it jarred me from my dreams.

Summer was nice enough to point and laugh.

She then curled up on the couch with a Siamese cat under one armpit. A half hour later she wakes up giggling. Apparently something funny happened in her dream and she laughed and it woke her up.

In summation: I snort to wake myself up and my lovely, eathereal sis? Well she awakes to the tinkles of laughter.

Ever seen the movie twins? Where Arnold Shwarza-hardwordtospell is this wonderful person and Danny Devito was the accidental leftover crap? One guess as to which I identify with! :)

"Essentials of Managing the Front Desk"

I was just sent, via "Attn : Receptionist" a very colorful, very informative invitation to atttend "an intesive one-day workshop for Receptionists."

One of the perks:  Learning to deal more effectively with different (and often difficult personalities).  Another perk:  Manage the telephone with greater confidence and success.

No thanks.

I'm not paying $149 (equating to, I dunno, 50% of my crappy pay) to go to such nominal classes.

Now - offer me:  Dialing with your Nose 101, How to Smoke Out a Telemarketer 302, and Slamming Down the Receiver with Flourish 501 and - dude - I'm there!  

Throw in:  Productive Hog-tieing Techniques Using Paper Clips, Scotch Tape and a Well-placed Phone Cord - and I'll be first in line- with my headset on!

 

Disclaimer:  I don't really wear a headset.  I refused.  I take enough degrading comments on a daily basis to have to strap on a device that reminds me of the horrors of orthodontia.  Hmph.

Grammar is FUN!

The following is a list of fun, special or endangered words according to a website I surfed (wipeout!) into today:

 

atavistic -

A kind way of referring to something or person as "Neanderthal" or low-wattage in thinking and being.

barmpot -

A slightly deranged person.

bloviate -

To bloviate is to speak loudly and at great length without saying much.

charnk -

/charnk/n. 1. An item which is disgusting, smarmy, disappointing, or otherwise mediocre. 2. An expression of disgust. adj: charnky, charnkish

cockshut -

Unlike many other words on this list, this is one you have the opportunity to use every day. It means "evening time, or twilight".

 

And now, for your pleasure and mine, I shall use them all in a single, entertaining and thought-provoking statement.

Ahem!

 

The man, clearly an atavistic in nature, and a barmpot by nurture, began a bloviated charnky dissertation on the fruits of his labor: cock fighting as a participatory sport by cockshut.

 

Okay, WHEW!, that was fun!

Your turn! Send 'em to me - h0llyk911@aol.com

Tylenol, STAT!

Please.

Make.

The.

Jackhammering.

STOP.

There are four men standing around watching another man jackhammer the crap outta the alley next to my building.

The men watching have gone from two, to three, to four. I'm thinking that these males are springing from the hole that is being made.

I am tempted to take some paper, leaves, carpet, spare furniture and plugging the crevice - just to teach them a lesson.

Argh.

Fiesto Burrita!

I was sitting in bed last night, hair dripping on to the pages of my flowered journal, me waxing poetically and conjuring prose with the flick of my dainty (ahem!) wrist, when the phone rings.

"Hello?"  I answer politely.

"Come get me.  Get out of bed.  I'm hungry."  Summer demanded of me. 

"I'm in bed! My hair's wet!"

"Yeah.  Don't care. Hungry.  Come get me."  She repeated.

"Fine.  Be there in a bit. Listen for me to honk - my hair's WET so I don't wanna get out in the cold."

"Hungry."  She said in a way of agreement.

Of course, I have to go in and get her. My niece is still up and adorable in her Elmo footie pajamas. "Harry?  Where Harry?"  she asks me, eyes big like a doe's.  Thanks, twerp, it's nice to see you, too!  :)

I get Summer and toss her into the side of my Escape and we make our way to the Border.  Taco Bell. 

"Ask 'em what's in the Fiesta Burrito," she pokes me with one of her skinny needle fingers.

"Um - Hi - What is in your Fiest-O Burrit-ah?"  I ask and then burst out laughing when I realize what I've said.

"Excuse me?" said the man in the speaker. "Didn't get that."

"Um, okay," (snigger, snigger, snort) "What are the innerds of the Fiest- the Fiest -"  tears stream from behind my glasses as I laugh so hard that I begin to bark like a seal.

I look at Summer - "YOU - you - you made me - HORNK!" 

"What the hell is a 'HORNK'?"  She asks me in between bursts of silent laughter.

"The Feista Burrito has..."  An exasperated woman gets on the intercom and tells us what lies in the mystery of this Taco Bell creation.

"Yeah, we don't want that."  I say to her and wipe my eyes. We place an order - the same thing we get every time and pull to the window.

A very large man takes our money, "Ya'all having a good night tonight?"  he asked.

"Yeah, she just drove in and I was in bed and -"  he cut me off by shutting the window and taking the order of the car behind us.

This only made Summer and me laugh harder.  We arrived home ten minutes later, red-faced and hoarse.

Good times, fresh material. 

I sure am glad she's home!

One More and I'll Quit - PROMISE (well - for today, anyway...)

I added a new entry on my fictional Vampire Blog  - which I'm thinking isn't as wonderous as I gathered.  I think it's funny and clever and a great creative outlet - but I'm also thinking that the ones who share that school of thought with me are few and far between! 

Oh well, it happens. 

However,  ya'all know that you're only allowed to disagree with me on three things. 

You only get three.  That's it.  THREE.  Cuz we all know that I know everything.  Yup - EVERYTHING.  And that which I don't know - I fake.  Ahahahaha! 

 

 

hee hee

Irkfest 2006

There are many things in this world that bug me (all of which have been detailed in this here blog, for ya'all to read) but even more than that - there are TONS of things that irk me.

Like when you wait forever - years - on your band/grouper/singer of choice to release a new cd and it's - crap. It's self-important, not-much-thought put in it - crap. Take SheDaisy's new one - go listen to a snippet if you can - it sounds like every other country/pop/we can be cool, too, crap that's out there.

Crap, crappity, crap crap.

And when you go to the kitchen and you are expecting to see your water/soda/juice that you've painstakingly put there for enjoyment at 3pm and WHAM it's gone?! How annoying is that?!

And when you're trying to write - trying to concentrate on your report/blog entry/book du jour and someone stands over top of you discussing work stuff or cattle or horses or, worse, the fate of the country. Please - either say something interesting to me or leave me alone! Thanks - have a nice day!

How some people just aren't funny. I was in a book store the other day and this guy kept talking at this other guy who was - ahem - clearly trying to type up some sorta manifesto of life and this guy was saying: "Yeah, so I said 'Who are you - the manager?' and the guy said 'yeah, I'm the manager, Manger, Mr. Manger.' Dude his name was almost manager - Manger! So I said 'What?! Do you, like, sleep in a tent behind the store Mr. Manger.' 'Cause he's there so much - a tent!" I was ready to pick up my chair, hold it high above my flabby arms and whap him over the head with it all the while telling him equally lame Knock Knock jokes.

And I hate when people are condescending to me over the phone just because the level of job skill it actually takes to perform my duties are so contrite that a monkey with one arm could do it. Easily.

People bug me when they try to squeeze philosophical meaning out of every little instance. However, that being said, I truly hope that people come to my little slice of the www world out there, read a bit, chuckle a bit and then go off and are ready to face the world. Cause, goshdarnit, if Holly can handle herself against the trials and tribulations of a bulimic kitty and an accidental head-butting hubby, then I can handle anything that comes my way!!!

So, those are some of my irks. I have many more - but will save those for another rainy day.

Which, according to the weather station, that's every day this week!

Yay!!!

:)

 

And the Winner is....

 

                                                 

                                          The Corvette!

Just thought ya'all may be curious as to which automobile my ample behind shall be now nestled in - of course the only days I'm allowed to drive it are the following:  warm, sunny ones where rain, snow, sleet, hail, flurries or precipitation of any kind is not possible.  So - wheeeeeeeee!  

I was tagged by Cindy!

4 (pathetic)Jobs (NOT careers) I have had:

I sold shoes a la Al Buny.

I hocked dead animal skins.

I pierced ears.

I sold sno-cones. Yeah - your life doesn't suck until you've done three outta four of the above "occupations."

4 movies I love

Newsies - Yum.

Star Wars - Can't help it - that's just good story-tellin'.

Harry Potter 1-? - love them all. And sometimes think to myself: "Accio Remote!" Although I never really say it out loud... heh heh

Mickey's Christmas Carol - my hubby and I watched this six times in a row last Christmas - Scrooge -ya ol' coot - never gets tiresome!

4 favorite television shows

One Tree Hill

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Angel

Smallville ( I guess we know how I feel about the WB, huh?!)

4 favorite books

Undead and Unwed (series)

Harry Potter (series)

Autobiography of a Fat Bride (and anything by Laurie Notaro)

I will keep this spot open in order to reserve it for either - a book I love and can't remember or the parts of books I have read that could go here, even if the entire book didn't make me swoon with literary delight.

4 places I have been on vacation

Hawaii - Nothing beats standing on the beach and knowing that any iota of responsibility is miles and miles and miles and miles away.

Orlando - it's a small small world --- and it's filled with too many kids. Too many, too many kids..

Myrtle Beach, SC - got knocked under by a wave when I was just walking. Stayed under for a good minute before anyone noticed. Gotta love "selective parenting."

Home Depot - so many shiny appliances, and things to build, and trinkets to play with and - stuff! Oh - it just tickles my fancy!

4 of my favorite dishes

Pfalzgraf.. hahahaha - I know I know - you mean food - hmph.

Artichoke Dip - made by me!

Peach Cobbler with extra crusties. AND with a big ol' scoop of Vanilla Bean Ice Cream - yummo.

Green cheese. Which, of course, is a whole block of cream cheese stuck on a plate with jalapeno jelly smacked down on top of it. Oh - it's divine. Green goo-ishly deee-vine.

4 places I'd rather be right now

Anywhere else.

Anywhere else.

Anywhere else.

Anywhere else  x  infinity.

I tag:  Stacey, Tiffany, Sumsie the Bunny and April!

Deer in Headlights

             This morning, right after I had backed into the road and was ready to haul ass to get to work on time, I spied four deer. They were about to cross the road ahead of me but stopped when they saw the big black behemoth of a vehicle I was in. I could see the look in their eyes and conjured that their collective dialogue went as follows: "Elephant? Is that? What? Eat me? Hmm?!"

             I paused and let them pass. It occurred to me that I should, at that present time, while I watched their beautiful lean forms prance and slip on the unfamiliar pavement, be thinking about thier beauty and grace, about how their freckles, smattered on them like paint, were not unfamiliar to mine, that these were gorgeous creatures of nature and that they were just as significant or insignificant on this great green earth as I.

            But I didn't think that.

            Any of that.

            I thought: "Deer? Is that? What? Charge me? Hmm?!"

Popped Cherry... Limeade!

"Oh, yeah!  Oh, baby, mmm!"

I got me one.

A Large Cherry Lime-ade.  My teeth are pink and are aching with sweet satisfaction.  It was like sex - only without the messy goo afterwards and all that annoying "let's cuddle" crap afterwards. 

Sigh.  Crack in a cup - Cherry Lime-ade be thy name...

                              

What a Girl Wants...

Things I want:

1. A raincoat - just because I don't have one.

2. A yellow diamond - also just because I don't have one.

3. A cherry lime-ade from Sonic Drive-in. Those things are cherry-flavored crack bombs.

4. A pizza.

5. Nails that don't peel, break or get bitten off.

6. To be able to see my feet without bending over.

7. To be able to bend over.

8. Cute toes. It's a myth, people, it's like a frickin' unicorn, okay?

9. A magazine with no ads. Or just pertinent ads. If I'm reading a 'zine about shopping, please don't put an ad for vaginal itch on page 32.

10. Unscratchable cd's.

11. Less butt fat.

12. A stapler that never runs out of staples.

13. A house elf from the Harry Potter books.

14. A cat that doesn't pee, puke, or poke me in the middle of the night just to get a belly rub. 3 am is NOT time for Phoebe-cuddles no matter how loudly she purrs.

15. A car with bird shit deflectors. Like, it could sense when a bird was going to relieve its dinner upon your hood and THWAP - a big metal peice serves it up on to the car of your evil co-worker.

16. A hat with the same capabilities.

17. To have normal colored cheeks. No matter how much it is said to be "endearing" my streaked cheeks are not - so - pbbbt!

18. Oranges with pull tabs. It would make peeling much easier.

19. To be able to eat breakfast, lunch or dinner without spilling food down my front. Contrary to popular belief - that IS cheese dip on my blouse.

20. To be sleeping right now.

What do you want? h0llyk911@aol.com

 

WMD - take two.

Today is a day of Wardrobe Malfunctions.

Now, don't get your hopes up/down - my nipples have not been peeking from beneath my shirt all day, but lemmie tell you what is occurring in a wondrous pattern of pure aggravation:

1. My left bra strap is in constant retreat - what the hell makes it do that? And why only one?

2. My sleeves are too long on my gorgeous purple velvet blazer so I look a bit like I've stolen one of Harry's (or a random gay man's) suit jacket.

3. I have a hurt place in my mouth - and although this does not count as WMD (Wardrobe Malfunctions Delimna) it is quite annoying.

4. My socks keep slipping down into my shoes and no matter how much I tug, grunt, grovel, beg and plead, they refuse to cease retreating.

5. My white dress blouse, too, seems to hell bent on flying off as well. I am constantly shrugging it back down, in a battle I have won to fight the bulge - or showing my tummy bulge as the case may be...

6. My left earring is longer than my right one. They are gorgeous Swarovski dangles that were made with the utmost care except for the left one - the post has slipped out of the ball and no matter how much I try to cram the post back in - it just slips back out. So - I'm trying to bring back the eighties. And losing.

7. I have a large stain on my outter thigh. I don't know what it is, where it came from or what it wants. I shall leave it be and ignore it.

8. My underwear has snowflakes on it - and it's March. 'Nuff said.

9. My purse is a brown and tan Louis Vuitton. Purchased at Saks Fifth Avenue it is my coveted treasure in a sea of WV fakes - and it doesn't hold shit. I crammed my organizer in there only to realize that my keys, sunglasses and pill case (never leave home without it) won't fit. So I carry them separately.

Sigh.

The things we do for the Frivolity Festiveness of Fashionista-like Fun!

:)

I Drive, Therfore I am...

 V.

After calling me no less than 12 times last night, my hubby has proposed the following options to solve the "Holly wanna new car" problem:

1. Midway Ford will get me a T-bird - it can be here by Friday - but I have to take it - sight unseen. This option is not that appealing to me as I have never even sat in one and would have no clue if my ginormous posterior would even be able to matriculate the plush leather seats of this gorgeous machine - and - it may smell like dog poop, or berry delight, or worse - cigarettes.

2. Harry has offered to let me keep my Escape AND get me a second car. I can drive his grandmother's virtually brand new Corvette - it would be MINE - I would have two cars. The best part of this deal is not the fact that we would pay his grandmother back an interest-free loan - but that my bosses (a majority of them, at least) would die if they knew I drove a 'vette. And at least two would contemplate "ending it all." Sweet - bonus!

So what do you think??

E-mail me and let me know!  h0llyk911@aol.com

Oh - and don't forget to check out the new entry at www.bite-my-blog.blogspot.com !!!

:)

Fool me once...

I think it frightens my co-workers when I get up and walk down the aisles. Never fails, I get up and meander down the carpeted halls - Why - there are people in here - I'm not alooooooooooone! I think to myself as I mosey along. They stop and stare when they see me as if to say: "Holy shitmuffins, she has legs! It's alive! Aliiiiiiiiiiive!"

One of these days I'm going to run through the office, legs flailing, arms waving and screaming at the top of my lungs: "I am NOT a receptionist! I foooooooled you! DUMBASSES!"

Until then, I will continue to freak them out with my ability to walk and talk simultaneously. I may even chew gum as well...

Tri-Wizard? Don't mind if I do....

My cupboards are bare  - so last night, it was either go hungry ( a fate worse than having nothing to wear to a chubby gal like myself) or - go to the store. Neither option was particularly appetizing so I ate a pb&j sandwich, a bag of wheat thins and a wedge of Laughing Cow cheese. All of this was consumed while watching FOUR HOURS OF HARRY POTTER.

Now that I've lost all coolness points I may have had (I'm now at -5,998,001) I will enlighten you on my first reaction. That movie rocked the Kazbah! (-5,998,002) And the extras were great, too! The best part was following around three of the "Goblet of Fire Champions." All of them had to do things that made them feel like complete and utter dorks, but when they performed, you couldn't tell! They managed to keep their insecurities buried until "Cut it!" was yelled. It was amazing - like watching someone with multiple personalities switch back and forth before your very eyes!

At one point the director said to Daniel Radcliffe/Harry, basically: "Okay, we're going to stick you in a 20 foot tank, but balloon-things on your hands, take away your breather and you need to look contemplative." And he was like "Okay, let's go!" I don't think I would've been so brave. In fact, I think I would've been like: "Okay, I quit! Find someone else to drown, drag around, and push down the sides of buildings!" Reason # 587 why I could never be an actor...

After writing the last part of this blog, I now realize that I can no longer make fun of my hubby and his need to play with his light saber on a daily basis.

Bite Me.

I started a new blog.

Never fear, I'm not leaving this one  - no reason to throw  tantrums or threaten suicide!  I will continue to post here, too!

My new blog is http://bite-my-blog.blogspot.com/ and it's a creative outlet!  It's a work of fiction! How fun is that?!  So, check out my new venture (still in its early stages) and I hope you enjoy!

 

Vroom, Vroom, Vroom!

A description of my weekend's end

is not far from here, you see.

It's prescription was around the bend,

of fun and strict hilarity.

So listen well, my dear blog-readers,

to the story that I tell.

'Tis fell to you, to be a leader,

and warn others of my hell,

Oops I mean, my joy and bliss,

of the days fast gone by!

That's what I meant, I said, it was this,

this bliss, and more! Oh dear (Le Sigh)...

Okay - that's about all the rhyme I can pull out of my fluffy white derriere at the present moment. However, should any tidbit of interest come flying out - I'll be sure to let you know.

Okay - that went weirder than usual.

Anyhoo - back to my "Wild Weekend of Weird."

After driving my car all week Harry came home and pronounced "Holy Mother of God in Heaven, my blessed wife shall not be subjected to the Horrors of that Vehicle, ANY LONGER!" He then cried and made the heavens weep as well. Well, either that happened, or he said: "Hey, maybe we should look for a new car for you, it's about time, and yours is getting old." But who can remember such details?

So we hopped on Jumbo the Denali (whom I miss this week as I ride Dumbo, Jumbo's floppy earred, less coordinated, son) and go to test-drive Mustangs. Oh yeah, baby. MUSTangs. Mhm, hmm.

Where was I? Oh yeah, so I test drive a weird colored one, GT fully-loaded, custom dash package, pony center cap and a stereo that would make Jesse James himself smile (did I lose ya? Okay - reread last sentence as "car was pretty. Holly like.") and crunched some numbers. About this time I see it. A 50th Anniversary T-bird. Silver, black top and a puddle of drool next to it where I stood. But it was taken. Sold. Gone. The choir of angels that were singing in my ear dropped dead when this was announced.

We then leave and go look at other options. I test-drove an older Crossfire and took it back faster than you could say "Holy Cannolies, Batman! This thing smells like sour milk and berries! EW!"

After using the jaws of life can-opener to extract myself from the Crossfire's constrains I dragged Harry back to Jumbo and began talking of other options. I said, "Why can't I just have your grandmother's car - she NEVER drives it!" It's a gorgeous piece of garage decor (seeing as how this beautiful machine has only 1,000 miles on it) and - I'm pausing for emphasis here - it's a glass topped 2003 Corvette - white with RED interior. Bestill my beating heart!

Last option to consider: the Mazda RX-8 - it's bliss on a stick shift (but comes AT, as well) - gets good gas mileage and is not all together too expensive. And - I can get BLUE. AND fulfill my dream of having the license plate: SMURF YOU or SMRF OFF, or SMURFED. Yes. You got it. Oh, baby.

We went for a walk last night around our neighborhood and I came up with two things: Number one: Fushia is a color and NOT a paint choice for one's living room and, Number two: exercise sucks. Yes, it does. It sucks big sweaty leotards. After walking close to a mile last night I realized that my panties had crept up a crevice it did not belong in, and that my new Air Max 360's had burned off the skin on the top of both my big toes. So what did exercise get me? A free thong and burnt piggies - NOT a good combo.

Let that be a lesson to ya.

Foghorns and Furrballs.

I went to Border's last night with my Mommy Dearest. We gathered up some books of interest and went to look through them in the newly opened cafe. Everyone was reading quietly or clacking away gently on laptops. It was nice. And then - they sat down. You know the people I'm talking about. A mom with four children who think everything is a jungle gym and a grandmother figure that craves Christopher and Banks and was oblivious to the fact that her voice was louder than most foghorns. Finally, they left, but not before yelling at everyone about how "DENISE GIVES THE BEST MANICURES ON MAH TOES! SHE'S JUST WONDERFUL AND HER MANINCURES ARE GREAT FOR TOES!"

It's called a PEDICURE, ya old bat!

I drop mom off and then go home, parking Jumbo the Denali in front of the garage (I really miss my garage door opener, sigh...). I remove my packages and hop from the car, walking briskly to the front door.

You see, I always think there is someone behind me - some crazy old man, some deranged teenager, or some rabid Cujo-ish animal ready to eat my face if I don't get the door opened fast enough. So when I hear a distinct rustle behind me, I jump and whirl around, keys still stuck in the door.

A black animal was running towards me.

"OH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!" I scream as it jumps up and looks at me with big yellow eyes - and meows.

This cute black cat that looked like Sylvester of Looney Toons just scared the ever-lovin' crap outta me! And I had just cursed very loudly in my neighborhood - which I'm sure is against the covenants.

"Hey, you! Kitty! Who do you belong to?" I coo at the former wilderbeast.

Then I hear the most horrible sound ever - Phoebe slamming herself against the door and screeching. Jealousy really doesn't become her.

For the rest of the night, Phoebe sits by the front doors, staring, as if she possessed x-ray vision to see her Sylvester Nemesis, and that one day, one day she will get the chance to settle the score... Dum Dum Dum!!!!!

 

Grrr, Baby.

I feel restless.

Like a tiger stuck in an ugly wooden 5x5 cage.

With tormenters throwing faxes at me, and prebills and dull conversation pelting my brain with little thuds of consciousness.

I want to roar. But doing so would make my throat hurt (like that time I tried to sing Mariah Carey's "Hero" and stripped my vocal chords) and maybe produce an aneurism - which would, by default, release me from the doldrums of today.

Last night I lied on my bed with my traumatized kitty. She stared at me and I stared at the ceiling visible between the slats of my over-sized four poster bed. An hour and a half later I had finally come to a conclusion: my ceiling is friggin' ugly.

I finished a book last night : "A Total Waste of Makeup" by Kim Gruenenfelder and the first 3/4 of the book was pretty good. Not great, but entertaining. But the last 1/4 left me feeling - well - pissed off. I hate when I spend my time reading a book that fails to complete anything by the end of the last chapter. The main character was no more changed than she was in the beginning! I was literally worse off for reading this and that makes me mad. I am a firm believer that when someone spends their precious and fleeting time doing something purely self-satisfying in nature (i.e. sitting down and taking time to read) then it should be a two-way street of pleasure. Entertain me, dammit, or show me something funny, heart-breaking, fury-inspiring or invoking of awe by Chapter Two! Ugh!

The melancholy in my office is so thick right now you could choke on it. And I think I have. My guess? I have 24 hours left to live. After that - my spirit will have been devoured by the suckiness of my job and the little hell in to which I step willingly, every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and begrudgingly on Friday.

So, today I will remain a Tiger, restless, hungry, and slightly pissed off because my stripes will not change, and my stripes will not fade and my stripeswill not turn into something that's - more than this.

"Don't feed the animals - they may know a bit of happiness if you do."

 

 

 

 

Flying Fists of Furry Fury

Apparently, my sweet and innocent kitty is really a demon hell spawn in a fluffy, furry wrapper.

My Daddy Dearest picked her up, flopped her into her carrier (which I need to find a "CAUTION - DANGEROUS ANIMAL" sticker to put on it) and took her to the vet. She didn't make a sound until they got to the waiting area where she meowed a bit and Dad, being the greatest Daddy in the World cooed at her and soothed her (the savage beast).

She really did do fine.

Took her shots okay.

Then they decided to do some blood work since she has to have her teeth cleaned (again) next week.

It took three nurses and a doctor to hold her down.

Dad said she looked possessed - -eyes as big as black saucers and flattened ears - all eight teeth shining under the florescent lights - - and even managed to get one of the trained veterinary professionals to drop the needle.

So they had to start over.

She let out a horrendous yell of utter and unholy torment.

Dad said it lasted a full minute and a half.

When it was over, she flew like a hairy banshee into her cage leaving five very white, very shaky people in her wake.

Dad recounted this story to me over the phone. I immediately hung up and called Harry.

"Do you know what YOUR daughter did today???"

Can you hear me now?

The other day my dear sweet talkative sister calls me while I'm at work. I answer the phone and she immediately launches into a terribly funny and amusing story about an incident with my niece. I lean on to my desk and - the phone cord falls out of the headset.

I scramble for it, drop it, scramble again, bump my head on my desk and finally, after a couple of frantic minutes, get it reinserted.

She's still talking.

Summer has been conversing with a dead line for a good 60 seconds or more - and she didn't even notice.

ahahahahahaha!

Mama Mia!

Due to my hubby's temperamental automobile, which I have inherited for the week, I stayed in the office for lunch. Something I loathe to do.

I brought a Lean Cuisne Four Cheese Lasagna - easy and fast. Or so I thought. I had wrapped it in Glad Press-n-Seal. And for those of you not familiar with the product it's basically fly paper in big clear sheets. I spent a good five minutes wrestling the plastic off of my dinner. Then, I opened it and slit the wrapper. So far so good.

I then removed the wrapped and placed a paper towel over the tray so as to not coat the inside of the microwave with tomato sauce. Due to past experiences with exploding marinara, one can't be too careful.

Waiting for the beep, I perused my new "Writer's Digest" magazine.. Oh - an article on how to make your dialogue more interesting and believable... oh... okay. Nope. I don't like that. Stupid Article-writer that makes more money than me...

BEEP!

I'm starved by this point but wait to "let dish cool in microwave for five minutes."

I wait and then poke my head in the microwave. One half is bubbling, the other half - frozen.

Damnit. And only 35 minutes left on lunch.

Six tries and two cheese-removal processes later, I am sitting down to eat my lunch. It smells okay. I dig in. The cheese oozes off my plastic fork and lands back in the paper tray. Hunger takes over my brain and I shove a large noodley bite in my tender, pink mouth.

And burn the hell out of it.

I then say words that should not be used in a professional office and down half my coke to put out the flames in my esophagus.

I refuse to be beaten by a common Frozen dinner. The battle of wills has begun, Me v. the Lasagna.

Stay tuned for tomorrow's deathmatch: Me v. Spaghetti.

 

Back in the Saddle, Again...

A friend of mine and I decided to go see Brokeback Mountain last night. Yes, we saw the "Gay Cowboy Movie." And - my verdict? Kinda Oscar Fluff. Don't get me wrong, ol' Heath and Jake were very convincing as reluctant homosexuals, but it was touted as a love story - and I didn't see it in that light until the end. Oh well. I'm glad I saw it, and for the record, AND for all you men out there - you get to see Michelle Williams' and Anne Hathaway's boobies. Knew that'd perk up the eyes and ears of the menfolk.

I also have to wonder if the nipple-slips were there for the movie's sake or for the men's sake that will get dragged to the theater to see the "gay cowboy movie."

Upon leaving my office yesterday, the self-proclaimed idiot-savant runner (not orally, he proves just by being) spouted, "Yer not seein' that movie are ya? Don't go to that movie!" I then laughed at him and said, "It's an award-winning film, and you have no room to talk after saying how much you liked The Devil's Rejects." He didn't say much after that. I loathe that movie. And I would rather see funky butt-lovin' sex rather than sit through anything that has, or may have, a chainsaw wielding maniac in it. Because, let's face it, the weapon of choice nowadays, is the good ol' family station wagon.

Well, I better get back to the rat race. I think that I may have been tripped and am now doing my job, the office manager's job (karma bit her in the ass in the form of a dirt-filled dumptruck on one of her two hour shopping lunches) and, for a bit, one of the secretaries job (cat food can bit the hand that was feeding). Oh, and if you know a secretary - give her a hug - their job's suckiness is only rivaled by those who clean septic tanks for a living...

Congrat-ifications!

A few months ago I entered a Very Short Humor contest on-line.  And - I won!

What did I win?  Money?  Fame?  Naked Men with palm fronds and self-image issues?  No.  I won a permanent spot on her website and a blip on my resume.  Which excites me more than you can even know!  I am slowly trying to build up my "accomplishments" as a writer.  By reading this website, you have agreed that my writing is absolutely phenomenal and that you are never happier than when you have noticed I have written a new blog. 

You have been enslaved and enraptured by the wonderfulness of me.

Feels good, don't it?!

http://www.geocities.com/culbertsonmccaskey/shivel.html  (it's a cleaned-up version of my R.I.P. entry!)

Mine's Better Than Yours...

After my gratuitous display of opinion yesterday on this lil' blog of mine (I'm gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine! What? Oops - sorry - singing.) I started to reflect on the fact that people always say "Hey, you're entitled to your own opinion," but mean: "As long as it's the same as mine."

Like, when someone tells me how Calamari is great and like heaven on a plate - my first reaction is to say: "Yes, I too enjoy deep-fried rubber bands," because I know that Calamari is gross. For a split second, I really cannot fathom how someone capable of speech and saying "no" could really like to eat squid. Then, I am taken aback at myself and my complete disregard for their right to eat (nasty-ass) appetizers.

Or when someone insists that "The Island" was really a good movie - and I have to - have to - correct them by saying "Nope, it was quite the sucky copy-cat flick, but it did have Ewan 'Big One' McGregor in it, so you may have a tiny point, there."

And the same go for others. I was discussing, again, about how that Nickelback song about a guy looking at pictures was horrible. An abomination of the musical genre, it is, and I am instantly disputed. "No, he's passionate over the memories of the pictures, not the photographs, themselves." And I want to say, "No, he's pretending to be passionate over the memories, but as Randy Jackson would say 'I'm not buying it.'" But I keep my mouth shut and smile prettily so that all will be hunky dorey, yet inside I am slightly seething at this person for not seeing my point. Which, in itself, is pure humor gold even if you aren't in agreement.

Which brings me to my last opinionated point. I think I'm funny. There, I've said it. And if you don't agree - well I heard that the guy who was the co-host of American Idol in season one has a blog - go read his! But will he make soda shoot out of your nose? No.

Will he make you rethink buying side-zip pants? No.

Will he make you chuckle with delight at the office hi-jinx of a bored receptionist with an attitude problem? No. I think not.

Ye have been warned.