Thursday, August 31, 2006

I Love Getting Lei'd.

Okay - sorry about the subject line - but the "lei" pun is not one I'm willing to give up anytime soon - especially with my attendance being required at a Rehearsal dinner tomorrow night in which all guests are to wear Hawaiian shirts.

I don't own a Hawaiian shirt.

I don't even know where one could buy a Hawaiian shirt in Huntington, WV on a Thrusday night.

Nor do I want to even WEAR the Hawaiian shirt.


Because - once you wrestle a chubby gal into a short-sleeved, button-up floral monstrosity and present her to the world - everyone will see only one thing:  a Muu Muu.


So - I must go to a social event in a Muu Muu. 


I'm not distraught.  I will just sit in a corner, holding a pinapple and rocking, rocking, rocking...

"Resume of Life" - an Excerpt

Some time ago I decided to write a quasi-auto-biography.  I still tinker on it occassionally but with the advent of blogging I no longer feel the need - I like the immediate gratification of posting the ironies of my life as an overeducated receptionist on the bottom of the totem pole hierarchy and - well - it looks prettier, too.

So, here, for your reading enjoyment is an excerpt derived straight from the pages of my life - you're welcome to it!


Slumber Parties and Peacocks

            Annie knew better than to fall asleep first at a slumber party at my house.  She, like the rest of the other girls, all 12 and 13 year olds, had been warned that the first one to succumb to sleep, will be “pranked.”  Last week, we had dug Penny’s bra out of her night sack, put it in a bowl of water and put it in the freezer.  When she found it the next morning it was suspended in a huge chunk of ice. We had made the first ever “brasicle.”  The week prior to the nippley-bra incident, April had fallen asleep first and was treated to a makeover that only Ronald McDonald could have truly appreciated. She awoke to a rouged nose and smeared Revlon-red lips.  Her pillow looked as if Tammy Faye Baker had slept on it.  She glared at us, tossed her long dark curly hair over her pudgy shoulders and left, never to return to another sleepover. 

            Our victim at tonight’s festivities was the kind of girl who ate paste in elementary school, religiously dressed her Barbies daily and loved the movie “Grease” so much that she had her very own Pink Ladies satin bomber jacket.  She was socially inept, even for a twelve year old, so, naturally, she was our first choice as a target anyway.  She fell asleep during the séance, which always took place at midnight.  Lying on her stomach, arms straight down to her side, she drooled as we partied around her.  One-by-one the rest of the girls retired, each casting Stephanie and me a look of apprehension as they snuggled deep into their sleeping bags, trying to disappear. 

            We waited.

            Everyone was asleep now, it was close to three o’clock in the morning and I was just about to doze off, too, when I heard Stephanie: “Katie… Katie!” she whispered.  I popped my head out and stared at her, “yeah?”

“Whattaya wanna do?”  her hazel eyes were glistening with anticipation.

“I dunno, whadda you wanna do?”  I was tired and  not thinking with the usual evil genius streak that I often possessed.

            We decided to give her a makeover, too, for lack of better inspiration.  We sat on either side of her, my caboodles opened up like a surgical toolbox.  Stephanie painted blue circles on her cheeks with lovely yellow spots in the middle.  I sculpted her nose into an orange beak using my bonnie bell tangerine lip-gloss.  We spiked her hair with travel-sized aqua net and painted rings around her eyes with silver glitter.  Annie never once stirred during the whole process. 

            “We can’t just do make-up, we have to do somethin’ else, somethin’ bigger! If we don’t they’ll just keep fallin’ asleep too soon, and we can’t have that.”

            She was right.  We needed to do something drastic.  We needed an act of pure commitment and genius.  We needed her underwear.  Figuring that she was a pretty heavy sleeper, Stephanie grabbed on to the right side of her Tuesday underpants while I wriggled the left side.  We had revealed most of her butt when she coughed, rubbed her nose, scared the crap out of us and went right back to sleep with a little snort of contentment.  Quickly abandoning the underwear heist, we crawled quietly into the other room to regroup. 

            “We could tape her to her sleeping bag?” I suggested.

            “No,” Stephanie said, “that’s been done.”

            “Tie all of her clothes together with zip-ties?”


            “Whipped Cream in her shoes?”


            “Make flyers of her that say ‘I am Pee Wee Herman’s love slave!’ and post them all over the school/town/church.”

            “No - huh?  Wha-?”

            “Nothing.  Why don’t you come up with somethin’? I’m fresh out!”

            With that, Stephanie walked across the room, plucked a large decorative feather out of an arrangement on the dining room table and twirled it in the air above her head.  “I have an idea.”


            The next morning we awoke rather groggily to the sounds of shrieks of laughter of ten pre-teens gathered in a circle.  In the middle lay a sleeping Annie in all her made-up glory, with a foot-long feather sticking out of her nether-regions.  It was a sign to all others: Beware yee who seek sleep, or someone will stick a feather in your ass and call it macaroni.



Wednesday, August 30, 2006

God Works in Mysterious Ways...

My sister, Summer, didn't sleep so well last night.

She sent me the following e-mail:

i am veryvery sleepy. sliver (our 17 year-old Siamese kitty) sunggled me, yelled at me, pawed at my fae, arms and feet all night long to get under the covers and then he THREW UP ON MY BED!!!!!  TWICE!! 

so i am also MORE sleep deprived than ususal!
I laughed like the evil lovechild of a hyenia and a seal.

It's 9: 10 AM - Do you know where your brain is?

All  night I dreamt of work.

I think I should get paid overtime.

And when I get to work - the typically MIA Office Manager leaves me a long-winded voicemail about an unspecified death in the family, and how she was going to be late to the office due to having to explain the passing of "Frances" to her dearly deranged, older than the hills, Mother.  It never fails, too, that some Lawyerman will deem this the appropriate time to "have to have a check."   The checks are in a drawer, locked.  I don't have the key. 

What do they expect me to do?  Write an "IOU" on a tissue and hope the courthouse won't notice?  Pay out of my own thinning pockets?  Smack them with the nearest Southeaster Report tome?  Yes - I think that will be the proper course of action from now on:  Assault and Battery comes free with every Assinine Request (Purple Nurples and Headlocks - $ .99 extra).

So the office manager strolls in a bit later (earlier than expected - but still a good 45 minutes after the start of the day) and I tell her about the check request.  She screws up her face, wrinkles from forehead meeting her jowels and says "Holly, " (enter exasperated sigh) I LEFT you a voice message TELLING YOU where the check was and letting YOU know what was going on."  (Some parts she sneered - those are in all caps.  )  So I say, "Sorry - I only got one voicemail and it was you explaining how you wouldn't be here." 

"Well," her upper lip curled with the word, stretching her salmon-colored lips into a Jokerish smile. "I LEFT you a message."

I smiled and hurled a book of law at her face - which stuck to her many layers of make-up like a man-made adhesive and then slid down - revealing her true self. 

A crab-person.

I need a new job. 

And a t-shirt that says "Everything I need to know in life - I learned from Southpark.


Tuesday, August 29, 2006


People tell me too much, sometimes. 

I blame the chubby face, the crooked smile, the warm and caring look in my eyes (which is actually just my contact lenses reflecting in the sun, but, whatever...) and the fact that I never seem to be mad.  I'm always smiling.  I blame my mother for my damn sunny outlook on life.  "Holly, you may have one gimpy leg - but so what? Live with it!"  And if that isn't the best advice that a mom can give to her recently diagnosed disease-riddled child - well - I don't know what is! 

So - I get back from lunch yesterday and the phone rings - I answer it by correctly listing all the names on the wall and wait. 

"Hey Holly. It's me." One of the secretaries. "I'm home and not feeling too good."

"Oh - I'm sorry to hear that," is my required response of human compassion.

"Yeah, I'm crampin' real bad and have been sittin' on the pot forever," she continues the tale of her tale, "Yeah, so, as soon as I can get done here doing my thing - I'll be in."

"Okay," I finally manage. "I'll let the office manager know."

Why do people tell me this?  But the saga continues...

Later, in my night class I make a new friend who missed the last class due to "Diarhhea all day long.  I was in the bathroom forever!"  

Really, people, I think it's okay to skip out on a few details.

Until this is learned by the general population, though, I will continue to smile, nod and look sympathetic.

Until my head explodes. 


Cross My Heart and Hope to Die, Stick a Staple Remover in my Eye...

I have an Office Luncheon today.  

I'm wearing three inch Coach Spiked Heels - overpriced as they may be - I'm still thinking I could jam one into my ear far enough to do some damage - thus rendering me unable to attend the "luncheon."

However, I'm not sure if that would get me out of answering the phone.

My sister spent the night with me last night - and she of delicate features, skinny arms and full of grace - snored like a drunk truck driver for the majority of the night.   Since she sleeps very little - I was comforted in the fact that I was a good sister.  However, when Phoebe climbed on my pillow, pulled my hair and purred so loud it rattled my eyeballs - I started to think that my kindness may be the death of me.  Or either one of them.

This morning, as I was applying eyeliner to the tiny slits where my bright, shining eyes used to be - I had a wonderous idea:  "Chick-n-minis!"  I rushed my sister through the process of getting ready and we flew, Warp Speed Nine up to the mall and skeetered through Chick-fil-a's drive thru.   All day today I feel the need to screech:  "CHICKNMINIS! CHICKNMINIS!" like some terrets sufferer obsessed with tiny nuggets covered in a sweet roll.  Yum... Drool...


I ate four and then took a picture and e-mailed it to my hubby - he who can actually stick to a diet regimine:  "I was thinking of you the WHOLE time."

I'm evil. I know.




Monday, August 28, 2006

What's black and white and READ all over! MY BLOG! ahahah

I really have no clue what the title of this entry means - so - um- look inside yourself and divulge the inner meaning by meditating on it and - uh - eat some candy or somethin'...

So I  have some updates for you:

1.  Even though I am horrible about updating my vampire journal - I did today and feel free to check it out here.   Should you be a newbie at it and want to sharpen your teeth on something softer first, start at the beginning.  It's fun- Kat Freeman (the vamp at large) kills lawyers and mobs by the bushel.  It's quite fun.  But I'm stuck - so any story ideas from here would be great. I may have peaked when I impregnated my main character with the spawn of Satan... Hmm...

2. Have been editing my book and since Graduate School has been taking up most of my time, I haven't worked on it in a week.  But don't you worry.  I know I have a September 11th deadline and I plan on keeping it. 

3.  Harry's heading home on Wednesday to get ready for the bachelor party on Thursday night.  My idea is to scrap the cake and make cupcakes with little chocolate candy boobs on each one and THEN if I can manage - write funny sayings on them like "Boob."  or "Eat me" or "Not now I have a headache" - but that may be too long...

4.  My kitchen and tv room still look like a war zone in the post-flood (aka "Home Depot Must Die) area.  Albeit a very tidy, clean area. 

5.  I went to see "Talledega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby" on Saturday.  I laughed so hard I think that I may have tinkled a little. Oops.  The only thing I didn't like was the preview for "Grudge 2".  It gave me nightmares.  The PREVIEW gave me nightmares.  Needless to say I will not be going to see Buffy get whacked by the creepy kid ghost cat thing.

6.  Lord help me - but I think I'm caught up on my homework.   No, mustn't speak of it, mustn't jinx it!  ACK!



Big Boned? Nope.

"Is your work making you fat?"  That was the subject line for an e-mail in my inbox this morning.  First - I'm appalled that they just assume that my ass is of grandiose proportions.  Second - how the heck do they know?  It's like Santa has sold his list to telemarketers and next to my name, right beside the big ol' "N" is a frownie face denoting my rotund appearance and - just like that - I'm added to the "Is your work making you fat?" e-mail list.

And I have to say that my work may, in fact, be a contributor to my flabby middle.  Why is it that the fat girl always has to keep the office "candy bowl" full and that any excess will be stored  - in her desk drawer?!  I mean, come on, that's like telling a starving man to "hold this bucket of KFC - but don't you eat it! Don't you lick that chicken leg!"  Um - not gonna happen.  If I get a rumbly in my tummy at 3 PM - I'm sure as heck gonna plunge my dimpled hand into that candy drawer and come out with a tiny, chubby fist of Butterfinger minis!  It'd just be wrong to let it just sit  there!

Luckily for me - it's not even ten yet and the idea of food is making me a tad sick to my stomach - so there's no hope of me eating - ohhh - is that a Crunch bar?...


Friday, August 25, 2006

Going Up?

The picture above was taken earlier this week at a government facility.   It seems that a deranged man attempted to escape a non-moving elevator by prying the doors apart.

Oh - wait.

That's just my hubby.


Thursday, August 24, 2006

How to Eat a Pizza - and Crow.

Half-way through another rather long, dialect-filled passage by Chesnutt, who apparently uses the Deep South as a way to show the unfair acounts of slavery in a new light so that white folk in the late eighteen hundreds would actually read it and be fooled into learning something "new" ( yeah right - I'm SURE they were "taught a lesson" - that's why the KKK is no longer around....) I discover a rumbling in my pudgy tummy.

I decide that at 9 PM there is only one route to take - Pizza.  And before ya'all go and judge me and my duressed scale - let me just remind you that my kitchen is still under plastic and that my fridge is empty.  The former of which can not be helped even if the latter was present. 

Anyway - I call in my order and am told by a happy little fellow that it shall be thirty minutes.  I pop some man panties in the dryer and wait it out.  I know what you are thinking - "why not delivery?"  Well, I considered that but since the delivery boy would arrive, rumpled and smelling of garlic and Abercrombie, he would surely see past my rounded shoulders and notice the plastic swag draping my entryway.  He would instantly see me as a germaphobe and then , THEN how would I end my letter to Penthouse Forum?  Hmmm?  Hee hee

So I take my chances and drive over to the pizza joint.  I stare at the back of a man's large bald head through the double window until he turns around looking surprised to see me sitting there in my shiny red Jeep.

"Can I help you?"  he asks politely.  

"I had an order."  I give him my name and he hobbles back to the counter. 

He comes back and pops his head out again, "I'm sorry - what was that name again?"

I consider peeling off on two tires and going to Taco Bell for crappy "Mexican" food - but grit my teeth and repeat myself.

He leaves me again, gripping my steering wheel with white fingers and then comes back, shaking his head.

At this point - I'm pissed.  I'm pissed that this jackass didn't write down my order, I'm pissed that I've waited this long, I'm pissed that I didn't just go to Kroger and get coldcuts and a pack of Ho-ho's, I'm pissed that my shirt has an outhouse on it which renders me unable to get out and kick this brama bull's ass for NOT TAKING MY DAMN ORDER DOWN!

"I'm sorry ma'am - but we don't have any order for you."

I take a breath and then open my mouth, getting ready to spew forth a string of cuss words that would make even George Carlin, himself blush when an image flashes through my head.

In it, I'm on my bed, finishing up a literary passage when I look up the pizza place's number:  "Gino's. "

I look at the guy's shirt:  "Giovanni's"

I look at the glowing neon sign directly in front of my car: "Giovanni's."

I turn back to the large man in the window who could easily tear off my arm with one of his meaty paws.  "This isn't Gino's, is it?" I ask meekly.

"Uh, no,"  he says.

And then I peel out on two tires.


Trouble, Trouble...

Okay - by now it's no secret that I love the Harry Potter series just as much as the next 12-year-old (which I'm not) but sometimes I think that the merchandising on the series has become, well, a bit extreme:


Cool shirt - right?

It's from the WB shop and it's $90 FRICKIN' DOLLARS!   

How could anyone pay $90 for a SHIRT with a HOGWARTS BEJEWELED CREST on it? I mean really!  I don't get it!  How do they expect kids and slightly immature people like myself to promote their merchandise by purchasing it IF they keep pricing things at astronomical heights such as this?

AND - is it bad that I kinda want it?

tee hee.


I am sitting at work, headache-free for the first time in three days and I'm slowly working myself right into another skull-splitting migraine. 


Because I'm trying to plan a Bachelor Party.


Since my hubby is the best man in a wedding in two weeks - I've somehow been promoted to acting best man while Harry struggles in Texas doing such unfun things as riding go-karts, playing shuffleboard and going on Milkshake runs at 10 PM.  I don't mind, really - I figure I can make a boob cake just as well as the next person.  Heck - all I have to do is look down to check on accuracy! But, my dear perfectionist hubby has decided he doesn't just want a set-o-boobs (on which I would love to transcribe "Have a Titilating Bachelor Party!") or a vagina complete with anatomically correct details, nope - he wants the WHOLE WOMAN.  And not just any woman - preferably Jenna Jameson. 

Now - I consider myself a semi-quasi-sorta-kinda-artiste! But I can't duplicate the curves and bumps of a first-rate porn star! I mean - those things aren't found in nature - so how am I to re-create them?

So - any ideas, suggestions or comments will be happily accepted.  Otherwise, my role of acting best man will be put into jeopardy...

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Is it Foggy in Here - or Is That Just My Head?

I didn't make it to work yesterday - too busy at home re-enacting that scene from "Zapped" with Scott Baio where he projectile vomits into the sink.   

Only mine had no special effects - although my head may have exploded out the back of my noggin' and I've yet to be clued in.   Either way, I'm at work and typing away in a self-induced fog.

I slept all day yesterday - I fell asleep while watching the Today Show, while calling in to work (sorry!) and while trying to read a story by Charles W. Chesnutt called "Po' Sandy."  Think having a mind-splitting migraine was bad enough - try deciphering deep south dialogue.

For example:  "Sandy en Tenie had n'be'n libbin' tergedder fer mo' d'n two mont's befo Mars Marrabo's old uncle, w'at libbed own in Robeson County, send up ter fin' out ef Mar Marrabo could n' len 'im hire 'em a good hand fer a mont' er so."

Any takers?


Monday, August 21, 2006

Various Things from Holly's Brain

1.  When I type my name - EVERYTIME - it turns out like this:  HOlly, And I have to backspace and fix it.  Think it's a subconscious Fredian Slip?  Wait - don't answer that.

2.  Harry and Johnny found a hat for me at Cracker Barrel.  It was black and had white lettering:  "I think I'm confused... Wait. No I'm not."   I think I should've bought it.  Wait. No I shouldn't have... :)

3.  Harry found my "Oh - I MUST HAVE THAT" Palm Pilot hidden in a kitchen drawer.  Used once.  He said, sarcastically, "Well, THAT was a good purchase!" and then pulled out a crap load of electonics for HIM that have never been used.   I resisted the urge to bludgeon him with an old cell phone.

4.  Last night, Harry and I decided to perform a "Human Guinea Pig" experiment.  I would do all the things that one was "supposed" to do on a daily basis (brush teeth three times a day, floss, wash face morning and night, eat three meals a day, 8 8oz glasses of water, don't curse, don't talk behind other's backs.. etc...)   So what did I do this morning?  I woke up - hit snooze - seriously hindering my "get in 30 mins of exercise" time and then said "Well, hell!" - and I've yet to eat breakfast.  Somehow I think this experiment has failed.  Unless I can claim to be part of the control group.

5.  I can't stand fake people.  Or people who talk for ten to tweny minutes straight - without noticing  that I've conveniently nodded off.  Or people who baby talk.  Don't do that - EVER.  Even to babies.  I'm sure if they could talk they'd say "Knock it the f**k off!"

6.  I picked up a toy squirrel at Bob Evan's yesterday.   It said "Squeeze me" so I did.  Instead of chirping or squeaking - it sounded like a flying dino on acid or a dying squirrel, at best. I told this to my sister and she said "Howdoyouknowwhatadyingsquirrelsoundslike?"  I said "Well - when I hit one with my car - it went 'KER-thunk'.  Then again - it ran out of nowhere and then jumped UP into my bumper - so it may have been suicidal..."  Summer snorted and giggled for ten minutes after that - occasionally muttering "KER-thunk! KER-thunk!"

7.  Kitchen appliances I have - but rarely use:  Professional Kitchen Aid Mixer (Harry won't let me touch - I had to buy a small hand mixer so as to not "mess up" his big mamajama mixer!), blender, toaster, toaster oven, food processor, milkshake maker, smoothie maker, waffle maker, George Foreman grill (minus one leg ---OOOOps.), waffle stick maker, fajita maker, slushie maker, bread maker, deep fryer and a popcorn popper.  

8.  I start Grad School today and I kinda already feel like I'm the only one who doesn't know what's going on.  Like - I'll walk into my class full of tiny, trendy people who OBVIOUSLY knew that the entire book list was supposed to have been read BEFORE class and OBVIOUSLY knew that you must only use yellow highlighters and blue pens and I will stand there, clutching my unread texts and my black felt tip and will shiver as I feel my dignity die in Corbly Hall Room 354.   Or else I'll do fine. One or the other, I'm sure.

9.  We had to empty out our downstairs tv room so that it could be repainted and cleaned (due to water damage of MANY months ago).  Once the sofas were moved - I spotted it - the dreaded half of a purple easter egg - Phoebe's favorite toy and one that she like to put in bed with me so that it may poke me in my sleep.  About midnight last night she appeared in the hallway - purple cone over her nose and screeching.  She found it.   Arrrgh! 

10.   After dropping off the Denali to have the tire sensor fixed, get it inspected and to have the squeak in the passenger seat fixed - I picked it up and had driven about a half a mile when the "check tire sensor" message flashed.  After cursing like a seasoned sailor for a good twenty minutes I then looked at the inventory of what was "worked on."  They didn't inspect it because I told them I couldn't find the registration - but to look in the stuff in the seat - where it turned out to be.  I then noticed that they found no squeak in the seat - they had tried to duplicate the sound  - but couldn't get the driver's side to make any noise.  Yup  they checked the wrong side!  I would love to be a WV mechanic so that I would have license to prove I was an idiot.  "Here's yer sign."

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Heads or Tails?

Harry arrived home yesterday, kissed me a peck worthy of any grandparent and flew past me to my laptop - propped open for his immediate use.

He furiously typed in password after password until he ended up accessing his government issued e-mail.  Today was the day we were to find out if his was to continue to be stationed here in good ol' WV or if we were to pack up all three floors of our over-stuffed home and move to a foreign place.  Like Utah.  :)

He mumbled a bit and then threw his arms up in the air:  "Weeee're heeeerre!"  

Part of me was happy to be continuing our Hillibilly habitation. I mean, I grew up here.  Gillian's here, my whole family is in a thirty minute radius. But, then again, part of me was sad to not be going off on some adventure to go to lands unknown to my non-traveling self.  I was hoping for fun, danger and navigation through new malls, cities, villages and highway systems.  I was hoping to know the thrill of finding the cleanest McDonald's and dscovering a local eatery. 

But not packing three years woth of accumulated marital shit - well - that's nice, too.

And Harry's as giddy as he was when he first laid eyes on an Xbox 360 - so - all's good.

We go to tell the good news to my 'rents and decide to walk around the block of my childhood home.   Half way around a small kitty wanders up to us and meows.  He's tiny and cute and al black with brown spots. Looking like a small, but lovable, leopard, he walks towards us in hopes of affection.

"Don't talk to it,"  Harry says, eyes straight ahead, military-style.  

"What?! Why not?"  I had no clue what his aversion could possible be to this little harmless feline.

"I don't know.  Just keep walking,"  he said. 

I looked back and the cat followed. Squeaking and weaving, I noticed he had no tail. 

"Harry - he won't hurt us.  He's harmless.  He has no tail," I whispered, trying to be discreet so as to not harm his little fragile ego.  The cat's - not Harry's.   "It's kinda hard to be ferocious with no tail." 

"Just keep walking."


Friday, August 18, 2006

ER Trip #100, 457...

No - I'm fine.

No - my gallbladder did NOT shoot out of my bellybutton and attach itself to a passing by host.

No - all my teeth are still in my head.

No - I didn't run over any pregnant smokers.


My niece happened to find some very well hidden "candy" and - to be safe - we took her to the ER.  She was fine, but after four hours in a small Emergency Room with a hyper three year old - I was ready to duct tape her to the wall.  And my sister, too.  Just for fun...

The oh-so-hunky Doc walked into the room at 11 PM.  He looked at Gillian and said "So - she ingested some mild antihistamines - does she seem normal to you?"  The question was directed towards Summer who was currently trying to hold on to a greased pig (Gillian).  

"Um - yeah,"  she laughed as Gillian bucked.  Doctor McYummyScrubs raised an eyebrow and then said, "Well she seems fine - and I really don't think if she had ingested many pills that she would've taken off down the hall like she did a few minutes ago.  Which was quite entertaining for us, by the way."

Summer turned purple from embarrassment.

I grinned.  

Gillian kicked and giggled.

Pycho kid.

"Hey - have you ever had her tested for ADHD?" he asked Summer.

She shook her head.  

"Does ADHD run in your family?"  Summer's face flushed again - popping her freckles out to amazing clarity.  She slowly and timidly raised her hand. 

The good doctor laughed and then left us with pediatrician recommendations and some tips for keeping pills locked up away from tiny, hyper hands.

We finally leave the Emergency Area and are walking down the hallway when the beast gets loose and (666 birthmark on display for all to see) goes squeeeeeealing down the aisles.  Summer teeters after her, arms outstretched as me and about six orderlies watch in amusement. 

"STOPRIGHTTHERELITTLEMISSY!" Summer yells in the middle of the emergency room.  Gillian rounds a corner and keeps on running:  "Squeeeeeeeeeee!" she screams as she streaks past a guy in blue scrubs.   "STOP!"  Summer finally turns the corner and grabs her - all the while her milky white plentiful boobs hanging out for all to see.

I don't say anything.  And - since no areola is visible - I choose just point and laugh like the good sibling I am.  At this point  I can't fix her shirt and neither can she - she's holding Gillian in both arms as we walk out the sliding doors.

Sis finally looks down, sees her ample cleavage popping out of her shirt and then says "Well - I guess that's why no one was rushing to my aid, huh?"

I would've been mortified.

But not Summer.  No, she just thinks of it as her way of doing some good in the world.  A free peep show to some overworked male nurses in the ER. She's such a philanthropist!





my pet!

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Doctor Visit # 100,456.5


Yipppe Skipppeeee!

I just really didn't want to "have it removed" (I hate that phrase - it makes it seem so - simple! ) .   So the cute doc looked at me with those amazing blue eyes of his, perched a tiny hand on his chin and squinted: "How are you doing?"  His concern was apparent.  The waiting room was filled with wrinkly old people with various limbs and organs ready to de-plant themselves - so my newish, mostly functioning, chubby body was probably a nice change of pace.   Or so I'd like to think.  

Unfortunately, he didn't get to second base trying to "feel" my gallbladder - just sat on his stool like a good little MD and rubbed his chin.

Which is fine - but c'mon - the only time a married chick can get some non-betrothed action is during a doctor's visit!   It's like dating all over again without the intricate choosing of the pretty panties and matching lacy barely-cover-the-nipple bra or the agony of trying to eat pasta and NOT dropping any down the front of one's shirt to nestle in the cup of aforementioned lacy garment!

Where was I? 
Oh - yeah - so as long as I eat low-fat, low-spice, and low -taste - I'm fine and there's a good chance that my precious organ will get neither worse nor better!  Unfortunately - should it decide to revolt and leave me like an upturned turtle - stuck in the middle of my bed - again - I have to immediately call my Doc and say - "Hey - wanna round Second?"


I have to call him and schedule a time to have it removed should the pain return.  Am thinking of asking if they have a "Buy one, Get one" special - maybe I can get a tummy tuck, too!

hee hee.


UPDATE:  Only bad thing about my Doc's visit (well - if you don't count the lack of over-the-shirt action) is that my room was right next to the bathroom and - it wasn't very soundproof.  EW.

To Have and To Hold... in a straightjacket...


This picture was stolen off of Bridezilla's Myspace Page - she's the one in the middle with the pleasant "I LOVE Weddings" look on her face.  

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Judgemental v. Morally Reprehensible

I've been labeled judgemental by many a friend, co-worker, family member and perfect stranger - and I can pretty much agree and defend my stance as being one of opinion and then backhand a perfect "well - you're judging ME by calling ME judgemental.  ASS"  - and all seems perfectly well. 

But at lunch today - while I'm stuffing my face with Subway Pizza (sooo good!) and trying to hurriedly finish an episode of "Smallville" while sitting in my car - I notice a woman walking up to  the curb behind my behemoth bumper.

She is short, with mousey brown hair and small eyes hidden behind large glasses.   Her clothes are Kmart sale rack and her shoes are Nikes.   She plops down, one hand on her young swollen belly and the other reaching into her pleather purse.   This hugely pregnant woman then, in front of God (literally - I was parked behind a church) and everyone - smokes a big ol' cigarrette.  This is the equivilant to sucking on a ciggy and then giving a kid mouth-to-mouth.  It's  just wrong.

I wanted to do something -but short of slowly backing up in hopes of startling the cigarette from her grasp - I was at a loss.  So I sat in horror - no longer happily consuming my tomato and green pepper pizza and realizing the true irony of the situation.  A fat girl eating a pizza looking down on a pregnant woman smoking a cigarrette. 

We were an after school special waiting to happen.


Another Rhyme from Holly's Mind While She's "Doing Time."

'An Ode to Utter Boredom and the Procrastination of Jobly Duties"

                                                      by Holly K.

I stopped what I was doing,

jumping up from my desk,

walking down the hall,

heart beating in my chest


I noticed the dead eerie quiet,

that filled my place of employ,

and wondered what was going on,

and if they'd all gone coy.


I slipped into the bathroom,

to use the facilities,

and after, while I washed my hands,

I tried to see what I could see:


My eyes had gone quite dull,

sunken right in to my head,

the sparkle that was there,

Had become dead instead.


I'm not really sure when it happened,

When that light up and died,

Or when my brain stopped working,

Or when my brain got fried.


But somehow it has occurred,

And to you - this I lob,

How can I continue on this path?

This horrible, horrendous JOB?


It's killing my slowly with it's song,

of death, destruction and suits of law,

and just like anoerixia of the soul,

My mood's worse than that movie: "Saw."


But I've put my plan into action,

to light a fire under my mass,

To eventually quit this hellish career,

And tell them to kiss my fluffy, white, freckled ass!


Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Lunch = Vittles and Gas

I took a later lunch today so that my co-workers could tend to their "more important than mine" lives.


I perused the local eateries and finally settled on - Taco Bell.   I think I have a death wish or something. 

Anyway - I order my Taquitos - which kinda ended up tasting like a grilled cheese sandwich rolled up, with chicken, and Sour Cream - and decide to go pump gas.

Once I figure out which side my tank is on (I can never remember!) I pull out my brand spankin' new American Express card (thanks, babycakeshead!) and start the pump.


After I regain consciousness - my first thought is this:  I may have to start turning tricks for petrol.

I can see my sign now: 


Phoe-be Phone Home?

I wake up this morning at 6:30 and am instantly pissed at the world.   Really.  It's just one of those mornings where, if I turned on the news and found out that aliens had invaded, I'd probably just roll over and go back to sleep.  But, alas, I have to "work" for a living so I got up, took a shower, washed my hair (which had morphed into a halfl-curly, half-Medusa-ish look throughout the night) and sat down in the middle of my carpeted (ew.) bathroom floor.  

I pulled out my 1875 watt blow-yer-head-off hairdryer (with turbo action) and started the task of drying 25 pounds of hard to manage hair.   Thanks to Conair  - thirty minutes later my folicles are dry - and standing on end.  Which compliments the dark bags under my eyes rather superbly.  

I decide to combat the fatigue with a tall glass of Cherry Coke.  Yum. And a muffin which I made from scratch two days ago (I think it's still on my counter - I forgot to eat it!).  

Coming back to the bathroom, I hurdle the sleeping fluffy hulk of a cat and sit back down in the floor.  

"Hey! Where's my phone?"  I'm panicked.  Without my pink phone  - Harry can't get a hold of me from Texas.  Which then panicks him.  Which results in my parents having to rush to my house to "make sure I'm okay."  No lie.  He freaks all the hell out.   Which is cute in a "you're my whole world" kinda way - I can dig it. :)

I look under the towel, under my ass (it's rather large and I can sit on things and not even know it-  and I can't believe I just admitted that to the general public - oh well!) and under my discarded pj's.

No phone. 

I looked at Phoebe.   Was it possible that she - sat on it?

I gently grabbed each of her legs, gathered them up in a quasi-hog-tie and rolled her over.  She purred and her eyes closed to slits as I manhandled her.  Freak.  :)

No phone.

Hopping up, careful to avoid the flaming hot curling iron and the mess of cords from straighteners, two hair dryers and another, fatter curling iron, I make my way into the bedroom.  Shoveling off piles of papers and receipts, I finally located my never-used home phone. 

I dial my cell.  

I hear muffled ringing.

Rushing into the bathroom - Phoebe is looking around in alarmas Michael Buble continues to sing "Home."

She was sitting on it the whole time!

I laughed and shoved her with my toe. 

"I guess we both have fluffy butt, issues, huh, Phoebes?"  I said and shoved her with my big toe.   She purred and hiked up a leg.  

Like mother, like daughter!

Monday, August 14, 2006

Welcome to my Book Poll!

How cool!  I think I just made my first POLL!   Thanks DAN! and JOE!

Three showers and a party!

My Saturday was PACKED.  Harry and I were required to attend a mirade of social events that included: two showers, a fashion show, a one-year-old birthday party and a movie with my sister and Brian.  

At noon we arrived at the lovely (ahem!) Huntington Mall to see my niece in the Fashion Show.  She was modeling for JC Penny.  But that didn't stop her and her bouncing pigtails from squeeeeeeeeing down the stage at Mach 3 during the Limited, the Buckle and Charlotte Russe.   She's slippery.  :) 

Leaving there we went to Target and picked out a toy- oh- must stop here and describe Harry's "toy-picking" process.  He has to look at every box carefully.  He studies the pictures with furrowed brow and will push all buttons available.   Harry will then weigh in his mind the educational significance v. the funtime significance.  I was like "Ooh - this one has a sticker on it that says 'Top Toy Award.'  Let's get this one and go!"   He's still studying the box.   "See, honey - there's a sticker."  Finally I convince him and we're off!  We grab a gift card for Shower #2 and head out into the heat and to the outdoor Wedding Shower.

Now - you people know me - and if you don't  - here's a rather obvious realization.  I don't "do" heat.  And it seems like more and more people are holding events outside in the - heat.  So there I am - a chubby girl melting in the 90 degree sun and a freakin' smorgasborg for all things creepy, crawly, buggy and stingy. 

Now- rant is over - on to the shower!

I got to meet a lot of Harry's friends from High School as we ate everything in sight (bonus points for me - I wore white - devoured baked beans and even had mustard on my hamburger and managed NOT to drop a single morsel on the boob shelf! Yippee!).  Halfway through a fruit kabob the girl who will only be know as "She Who Perpetually Smells Something Bad" stopped in front of our table: "Hi Harry!"

I look around, look down, touch my leg, pinch my arm and then, once I've verified that I'm NOT FREAKIN' INVISIBLE, I look up and smile a big fake, hopefully food-ridden smile. She's pleading with Harry and invisible me to come to the after party at another girl's house.  I continue to smile largely and will myself to not smash a grape up her nose for sport.

Luckily, we party ways with the partiers a little while later - without having to make nose wine.  

Arriving at my psuedo-nephew's First Birthday Party (he's not really my nephew - but with those big day-glo blue eyes and perfect pouty lips - all he has to do is learn the phrase "Buy me a pony?" and I'll be frisking Harry for his American Express!) we talk to the Proud Papa who asks about the aforementioned Bridal Shower. 

He then tells us that he got a phone call from the girl holding the after party and that she said:  "Oh - you guys should try to make it to the party!  We're getting a keg!"  Ohhh - enticing - but I think, the last time I checked - this invisible gal was OVER the age of 23 and no longer needing a keg to "have fun".   He told her all about the fun times planned for the Birthday Party and - I can't make this gem up - she said "Well, if you can get away!" 

HA!  What was she expecting him to say?  "Well - we're gonna tie him to a tree - leave out a cake and then run away - so we should be there around eight!  See ya then!"  

People crack me up

Oh -and we didn't make it to the movie - the entire town of Hutington was packed into the two block radius of Pullman Square.  I didn't have the patience or the social skills to pull that off.  Not without bloodshed, at least...

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Lucky me!

Hey I'm the guest editor's pick this week! Whoo hoo!   Happy dance in my chair!

So - while I'm jigglin' like a bowl full-o-jelly on my tiny little computer chair - lemmie just share with you the events that transpired last  night. 

I had my gal's night - it was awesome and coined such phrases as "Don't put your tongue on that pie!" and "Would you like to Boba my Ganoosh?".

Classics, for sure.

Then, as my gal pals left, the menfolk started filling in.  Fresh from a trip to Hooters, their pervy repitoire was fueled by skimpily clad waitresses and hot wings.  I feared for my virgin ears (ha!) and decided to go to bed.  Timidly poking my head into Harry's office/playroom I said "Hey - uh - I'm gonna go on to bed."

"Cookies?"  Harry asked.

"What?  No, I said I was going to bed."

"Will you make us some cookies."

And Lord help me if I didn't smile like Holly the Happy Homemaker and go upstairs to make Chocolate Chip Cookies.  From Scratch.

I'm up to my elbows in sugar and flour when Harry comes in and skids across the white kitchen tiles.  He grabs me and starts furiously unbuttoning my purple striped shirt.

"What the  hell are you doing?"  I'm laughing.  I can't protect myself from the de-shirtenator due to my flour encrusted hands.

"My manhood has been challenged," he said and continued to unbutton me.  "I have five minutes to have sex and get back downstairs."

"Five minutes, huh?" I looked at him and slapped at his head. "Nope.  Go back downstairs before I hurt you."

He zoomed back down the stairs leaving me to finish baking with a gaping blouse.

Twenty minutes later - I deliver a batch of cookies to him and the boys camped out in the basement, each with new third hands that look like xbox controllers.  

"Here ya go," I say.

"Thanks, Holly!"  six voices say in unison.

Why do I suddenly feel like a mom?

"Honey?"  Harry starts timidly.  "I'm thirsty.  Can you get me a soda?"

Resisting the urge to pelt hiim with the He-man Action figures to my right, I oblige.

I come back, deliver the sodas and shake my head as I leave. 

As I retreat I hear:  "Marriage is cool, huh?"  

So - my job is done - for now...

Friday, August 11, 2006

Astrologically Speaking, of course...

I present, once again, evidence that my future is only as bleak as those forecasting it:

Virgo (August 23 - September 21)

You might have committed to a social event or two for today or this evening, dear Virgo, but now that it's time, you probably don't feel like going. You've been working hard, and you feel the need for some rest and relaxation. Nonetheless, you might feel obligated to go. If you feel this way, don't think you have to stay for the entire party. Put in an appearance, say hello to everyone, and leave. It's OK to do this!

Yeah, um, I'm as excited as a drag queen on prom night for tonight. I'm having a GIRL'S NIGHT which should be oh-so-fun and the menu is  so varied that my taste buds may explode with anticipation like popcorn in a microwave!

Okay- my analogies are sucking like a brand-new Dyson - so I'll stop with that horrible comparison.

What was I discussing?

Oh yeah - so my horrorscope tells me to not "stay for the entire party" - but it's AT MY HOUSE! What'm I supposed to do "Um - hey - yeah - I know ya'all are enjoying the eggplant caviar and dainty chicken salad sandwiches but - I'm pooped - so - scadaddle!" 


I'm gonna party until I puke.  Which, since this is my first time making the Eggplant caviar (which contains no fish spawn, I may add), it may be possible.


So- screw you fate! Screw the three sisters holding the thread of my life and the scissors of death! Buzz off you big ball of foreboding!   I'm gonna party like it's 1999!

Or seven years later.


Thursday, August 10, 2006

Moo ya'all! Moo.

I'm getting ready for bed last night (carefully checking the sheets for vengeful kitty wet spots) when Harry calls to check in from the Lonestar state.

"Hello?" I say.

"Hiiiiiiii!"  He's happy. "I'm at an 'All-you-can-eat' meat buffet!" Well.  That explains it. 

"Well - you have fun.  Make sure to eat at least a peice of lettuce for ruffage," I caution him.  

"Naw! That'll take up room!  Oh - gotta go - they're putting out MORE MEAT!"  He hung up and rushed off to eat another herd of cattle.

I go about the rest of my routine, changing clothes, brushing teeth, washing off the liquid eye-liner that sticks to my eye lids like an "underage" stamp at a local bar when my phone rings again.

"I ate some lettuce for you," Harry says.  He's proud.  I hate to burst his bubble. Wait - no I don't.  I live for it.

"One peice doesn't count," I remind him.  

"I ate two!"


"And some taters."


I found out that he got back to his room, bloated and happy around 12:30 AM.  I guess time flies when you are up to your eyeballs in cow innards.


Wednesday, August 9, 2006

"Honeymoon... in the month of June!"

I'm not sure if I've shared this story or not yet, so here it goes:

Upon marrying the man of my dreams, the love of my life, my knight in shining armor, our limo wisked us away and back to our house where we changed.  I quickly shimmied out of my wedding dress and "suckyinny" garments and then spent a good twenty minutes plucking confetti out of places where no confetti should ever be.  He leaft me to go out and speak to his grandmother, who had followed us home. 

Yup - we have twenty minutes to change, get our "frisky" on and leave and he's out in the hallway discussing lord knows what with a diminuitive old lady. 

"No problem.  There's always the limo ride to Columbus!" I think to myself.  I get dressed and start removing the 157 bobby pins that were holding my hair in an intricate up do.

We settle in to the back of the limo and nibble on the "to go" snack that the caterers so graciously packed for us.  We kiss and snuggle and then Harry looks at me tenderly and says "Wow - we've got a long way to go before we get to Hawaii - better get some sleep!" and just like that, just as instantaneous as a lightswitch being turned off - he's out.

I sit, freezing in the backseat of the Lincoln and wonder how to turn work the a/c.

Eight hours later we board a large cruise boat.  I was sleep-deprived, exhausted and still had not been given a chance to consummate my marriage.  Although the thought of joining the mile high club was tempting - until I realized that the odds of two chubby people getting wedged in the toilet compartment of a 747 was highly likely and entirely probable.  So I opted to wait for the ship.

Upon entering our room I noticed a disturbing thing:  There were two twin beds, made up separately and then pushed together.  I opened my mouth to complain, but instead - fell fast asleep.   Four hours later I awoke to the gentle rocking of  the boat and an immediate desire for a toilet.  I got up, walked into the bed, the dresser, the entry table and then tripped over the bathroom step before making it safely to the commode.  

I returned to the bedroom (using the same drunk-monkey walk) and  - didn't see Harry.  I'm about to turn on the lights when something poked out from between the beds. 

It was a leg!

Harry had fallen down in the crack, with one leg sticking straight up and was -  completely asleep! 

I could have been a nice new wife.  I could've pulled him from the crack that ate him, but I didn't.  I crawled into my bed and went to sleep. 

My first night of wedded bliss wasn't all that blissful - but it sure as hell gave me a funny story to share!  And that, my friends, I wouldn't trade for the world.

Tuesday, August 8, 2006


Take one fluffy kitty.

Add water.

Watch as she shrinks.

Point and laugh.  

Hey - it's not my fault she was stinky!   But, yeah, I enjoyed it more than I should have.  Heh heh.  Her fur - CURLED! ahahahaha!

Update:  While I was upstairs in my open-air office blogging away - I was completely oblivious to the tiny, wet kitty hatching an evil plan.  I found out late last night, just what that plan was:  SHE CURLED UP IN A LITTLE BALL AND LAID ON MY SIDE OF THE BED!  AND ON MY PAJAMAS!  I'm getting ready for bed last night - only to find out that the little hairball of fury had decided to make a nice wet spot for me to have to sleep in!  "Oh - you may have won this round, my furry nemesis - but the game is not over yet!"  

Morning Commute

Things seen on my morning commute:

1.  Gas prices at $3.08.  I contemplate taking the bus to work before realizing that public transportation in Huntington is comparable to an outhouse on wheels.

2.  A woman in a small blue Toyota swerving all over the road.  At one point - she's so far to the right that she's about to go up on to the concrete median.   I pull up next to her.  She's applying mascara.  Now, I've seen this before - but never with such reckless abandon for things like - oncoming traffic.  So I smartly zip around her and try to put some distance between us.  I'm almost to Third Avenue when the same little car speeds around me and then cuts in front of me.  Nope.  Not quite in front of me - since she was in the middle of the road.  One half of her car was in the left lane and the other was in the right!  I honked to display my pissed-offness:  Pick a lane, asshead!  You can't have 'em both!  The worst part is - she's STILL applying coats of mascara!   Tammy Fae was running late for work this morning...

3. Soon after the "mascara-or-die" chick pulled off the road - I glanced over at a young blonde girl walking her dog.  The master and owner had matching pony tails that bobbed as they ran.  Huh. I guess it's true - we do end up looking like our pets...

4.  I got to work, sat down and began eating my pop tart and grape soda breakfast when a fax came in.  It was from the YMCA.  The irony is not lost on me.

5.  Actual conversation with idiot:  "Why does Mr. Lawyerman have two conference rooms scheduled for this date?" I was asked by designer imposter lady at work.  "Well, he always has two when he is mediating," I respond.  "I know that - but why does he need them on that date?"  I'm getting confused, frustrated and a tad homicidal.  "Maybe because he's hosting a mediation?"  I venture.  "I know that - I'll just ask his secretary."  Did I miss something here?   Oh yes.  Yes.  I missed the fact that she's a freakin' loon!

6.  While standing out in the humidity this morning - my sleek 'do turned into a nightmarish don't - poofing and waving in places that no hair ever should.  So now, I'm at work sporting a long, thick braid down my back. Which, if I did it right, the plat looks cute and messy - if I did it wrong - I'll look like a chubby Heidi reject. Now - where'd I put my Leiderhosen?

Update: I have just realized that when putting on my big "O-face" Tiffany necklace this morning - I neglected to remove my diamond pendant.  I am now at work - sporting two necklaces  - in no way related enough to look like I did it "on purpose" and am at a loss.  Do I take one off and risk losing it? And which one do I choose?  It's like trying to choose between children.  I just can't do it!  Agh! 

What're you? CHICKEN?!

After a night or two of eating like a complete idiot ( hot dogs/cookies/mexican) I decided to make myself a sensible dinner last night of baked chicken breast and steamed veggies.

I thawed and oiled up a nice big hunk of chicken. Adding a generous amount of every spice in my spice drawer,  I plopped the bird in the oven and nuked some veggies in my too-cool-does-everything-but-eat-the-food-for-ya microwave.

Twenty five minutes later, I'm seated at the bar in my kitchen, tears welling over the lovely feast before my eyes. The chicken is perfect with a nice crusty herb coating and the veggies are bright orange, green and red. At this point I'm not even that upset over - BREAKING A NAIL WHILE MAKING DINNER!  UGH!

I take my knife and remove a small corner of the chicken.   Spearing a carrot I place the bite in my salivating mouth and slowly chew.

I must call someone and tell them of my homemade dinner! I think to myself.

Picking up the phone, I dial from memory and wait for the other side to connect.

"Hello? Papa Johns? Yes - I just made the most disgustingly bland dinner! Send me your biggest pizza, please!"


Monday, August 7, 2006


When my hubby and I first bought our house three years ago we had one goal in mind:  DECORATE! 

My idea of decorating:  Jewel-toned walls with cozy fabrics and overstuffed occasional chairs in stripes and coordinating non-flowery pillows.

His:  white walls. 

His reasoning for white walls was a simple one, formed from the very recesses of male logic:  "If we leave 'em white - they'll go with everything."

I calmly told him in my most docile, high-pitched voice,  that walls do not need to "go with everything" they will not hike up their drywall skirts and move - they stay in one place and therefore only need to "go with" one thing  - the room.

Finally - we settled on a color to paint the majority of the house:  Toasted Almond.  Which was the darkest cream color I could get. I wasn't happy.  I wanted reds and yellows and greens to adorn the walls - I wanted COLOR.  But it was better than white. So I let it go.

Now, we're having to repaint our downstairs living area due to the infamous water leak that left a good portion of the wall - on the floor.  They no longer make the paint we used originally - so we can either have one lighter/darker wall or choose another color.  I'm thinking  - "no biggie - we just go up to Lowe's - plop the old lid in front of that color-match camera doohickey and - VOILA!  Good to go."

Harry has a different idea:  "How about a real color?" 

After I pick myself up off the floor I ask, "What do you mean 'a real color'?"  

"Like, I dunno,"  he started, "Yellow?  Green?  Maybe even a red?"

My forehead breaks out in a cold sweat as I begin to think of the possibilities. 

So we go to Home Depot.  That's where Johnny, our friend and resident water damage expert, told us to go and look at Behr paint.

I loathe Home Depot. But I go because I'm giddy about the prospects of picking out real, honest-to-God-non-cream-colored-colors!

I'm trying to stay reasonable and picking colors sure to pass Harry's aforementioned "go with everything" test.  I pick a nice light green and then move on to the brick reds.

He picks out bright neon orange.

After standing in front of enough colors to make a gay pride parade blush, we go home with a color trio that Harry has picked out himself:  Eucalyptus, Applesauce and Cocoa. 

 I'm amazed. 

I'm proud. 

And - a little hungry.


Friday, August 4, 2006

Mr. Roboto!

Summer just called in to tell me of a funny story that happened to her on the way to pick up a Smashed Potato for Mommy Dearest at the mall (that was alllllll she wanted for lunch).

A little boy, about five started wailing: "I want to go in that store, Mommy, THAT store!"

"Honey, which one?" Mommy was trying to understand.

"THAT ONE!" he screeched.

"Um - uh," she stammered. Summer could tell she was trying to figure out what store was garnering such an outburst.

"THAT ONE! TAL -BOTS!" he screamed.

"That's a woman's clothing store. You don't want to go in there." The mom, thinking the crisis was adverted, tried to walk away.

"No - MOMMY! I want to go in there - I want to get a ROBOT at TAL-BOTS!"

"They don't sell robots there, honey. They sell clothes." Summer was trying not to laugh - and failing.

"Yes they DO! There are girl robots in the window RIGHT THERE!" He pointed a tiny little finger towards the mannequins.

Ever wonder if we were smarter at five than we are right now?

Even though I am older now and am able to do miraculous things like type with my fingers on the right keys - I still would like to remember what it was like to chase down the end of a rainbow - and still believing that the pot of gold was just behind the neighbor's house down the block...

Can I Get a Do-Over?

I think college is one of the worst places for "if you don't know the ropes" - they'll hang you with 'em. I had to go on campus today. I had three goals: to get my new I.D., to get my books and to eat.

And I had one hour to do it all.

Going into the basement - I am in line behind three jocks and an airhead. I'm not being mean. Nor am I shunning these folk. I am just describing what I saw. For fifteen minutes I watched as the guy behind the counter explained to the four of them that no college I.D.'s can be given without an official photo I.D. like a driver's license or a Service Card.

The airhead sighed and said, "Okay - we'll come back later - oh - but I do need to change the address for my friend - ya know - where they're gonna be mailing his I.D. card. He came in last week..." On and on the story ran as she detailed to the man (who really didn't give a flippin' rat's ass about this chick or her friend) her plight in a high-pitched whiny voice that she probably thought sounded like Paris Hilton's.

It didn't.

It was worse.

Finally, blissfully, they left and I was able to get up to the window. I had my new Student Number ready to go, my WV I.D. and even my Social Security Card, just in case.

"Name?" he asked.

"Student Number starting with 901?" he asked next.

I obliged.

"Okay, go have a seat and we'll get your picture."

I was confused. "You don't want to see my Driver's License?"


I sat, fluffed my hair and smiled for the camera. Catching a glimpse of the screen, I saw myself, looking not un-like a marshmallow with hair and furrowed my brow in horror.


THAT will be my new Student I.D.- I will now be greeting my chums of higher education - forever immortalized with a "What the Fu-?" look on my chubby, freckled, squinty face.


Welcome to Holly's Kitchen.

Last night, I once again ventured into the realm of culinary coordination - and tackled the succulant cheese sauce that is - Fettucini Alfredo.   I was using the recipe out of a book by Giada from Everyday Italian on (what else?) Foodnetwork. 

Arriving home after work, I scrubbed my hands and then got to work making a peach cobbler for dessert ( my own special recipe that requires less work than a traditional cobbler) I'm stirring the peaches and enough sugar to make a Dentist's convention cringe when I realize I need to start the Alfredo sauce. 

I fill a pot with water for the noodles and then add heavy cream and lemon juice to another deep pan.  My sister arrives just as I'm getting ready to thicken the sauce with parmesean cheese and am adding a pinch of nutmug.

Summer sticks her finger in the pot: "Tasteslikelemonandcream." 

"No - it can't!  It's a Giada recipe! It can't be bad!"  My faith in tv personalities scares me, sometimes.

I try it.  "Tastes like soured cream.  Okay - who wants pepporoni on their pizza?" I sigh and look at the mess.  I really wanted to be able to say that I made homemade alfredo and that it was easy AND good.   I want to be able to say "hey, I'm a cook," without bursting into giggles over the sheer stupidity of the statement.

I make a decision - I'm going to eat it anyway.

"Put it over the noodles, I'm eating it, damnit."  I lift up a noodle with half-melted bits of cheese stuck to it and hold it above my mouth.  Closing my eyes I lower it on to my tongue.  Summer and Brian look at me expectantly as I chew.

"It's good.  It's actually good!"  I squeal and then fill my bowl with the cheese concoction.   My dinner companions look at me warily. 

And then they try it.

Something about adding the noodles to the alfredo cut the tartness out and made it so yummy!   It even rivals the Olive Garden's alfredo - which I love!

So we sit down to eat our bowls of pasta.

"Hey, Holly?"  Brian calls from the kitchen, "do you have any bigger bowls?"  I point to the cabinet behind him and he pulls out a very large serving bowl.

"Are you gonna eat out of that?" I ask.

"Yup - it's my 'Jethro Bowl'," he grinned.  Filling it full of pasta, chicken, vegetables and bread, he sat down and ate like he was a starving 6'4" man - which he was. 

Thursday, August 3, 2006

I like it.

I could get used to this.

If you go to this link to a local Huntingtonian Magazine - you can see - I'm FEATURED!  Although you actually have to go out and acquire the mag (there is no link to the wonderful article I've written and am so modestly promoting)  it's still pretty cool to see my name in print. 

I could really get used to this...


Update:  Okay - now there is a link - with this weird pic of me making a "whateeeeeeeevvvvvv!" face.   hee hee

Wednesday, August 2, 2006

Hairy Harry!

Before Harry's government job and $1000 suit habit  - he was a Metal Head (see fuzzy pics above for direct reference).  Yes.  My dear, sweet, loving hubby was such a die-hard Metallica fan that he - only packed black t-shirts to wear when he went to the Middle East!   

Another time - he even got backstage one night to meet the Master of Puppets, himself, James Hetfield. 

Our first date?  KISS.  I went to the bathroom and got groped by a big sweaty guy who gave me an Ace guitar pick.  I gave the pick to Harry who accepted it without remorse and then looked at me full of wide-eyed innocence:  "What'd you have to DO to get this?" he asked. 

I refused to tell.

The hair is now gone - but the sweet man - well - he's still there... only less hairy of a Harry. 


Dun-a-dun-a-dun-a-dun -a- BATGIRL! BATGIRL!

About an hour ago, I decide to get up and water the plants.  It would give me an excuse to get up and, with it being hotter than hell around here lately, it would be nice to be back in the part of the office that's NOT 90 degrees.

So I fill the big green plastic watering can with water and make small talk with the balding "straighten the rug!" lawyer (and, yes, I can see the irony there).  I make my way down the hallway, waddling more than usual as I tug on the water-filled container. 

Reaching the conference room, I push open the door and gasp as the heat and humidity hit me straight in my pinkened, freckled face.   There are ten plants in here that I have to water, feed, and, most importantly, NOT KILL. 

The first two go over just fine, I manage not to water my shoes - which happens often - and is probably the real reason for the squeak they make with every step. 

I approach the third one and start the watering process.  It's a large Palm and has big fronds and two stems that need to be watered thoroughly.  I water the first half and hear my shoes squeak. 

Or so I thought.

I look closely at a brown leaf in the bottom of the pot.  It's nestled up against the biggest stem and then moves closer to the middle of the plant. 

Wait.  MOVED?


I scream and sit down my watering can.  Running into the lobby I kick up my feet and do what will be forever known as a "crazy person jig."  (I think Ashley Simpson did one similar to it on SNL a while back...)

A few heads poke out of office doors. 


I jog back to the Office Manager and tell her what has happened. 

"Well, how do you know it's a bat?" she asks me.

"I watered it... and it squeaked at me!"   I say in between fits of tear-streaming laughter.

We open the window in the conference room and sit a tomato on the sill to entice him to vacate his new home.  He sits and licks the bugs off the side of the plant stem.  His little pink tongue is alarmingly cute. 

 A little bit ago the building maintenance worker came, lifted up the entire plant, bat and all , and took him to the roof for relocation. 

Squeakity, squeak, squeak.   I miss him already.


How Gullible Do You Think I Am???

I just got an e-mail from "Exiled I. Ejaculation."

I know I shouldn't open it.

But it's sooooo tempting. 

What with that cleverly disguised sender's name.

Genius, pure genius.

ASS outta U and ME

For once, my work life is a bit busy - mainly because our time recording program 
is on the fritz and the only one the I.T. guy trusts to help him is
me since my ability to work a computer goes beyond the normal
troubleshooting and rebooting.
In the midst of all of this - I forget to turn on the older attorney's light
on his phone to let him know he has a call.  How does he respond?  He
goodnaturally ribs me for being "old."
I also can't recall if another attorney had buzzed me and told me to "take
messages" or if that was yesterday.   My mind drew a blank.  So I called him
and asked him:
"Um, are you taking calls today?" I ask tentatively.
"Didn't I already call up there and tell you I wasn't?" he huffed.
"Sorry - things have been a bit crazy and I was just double-checking!"  I
laugh and then wait.
"Okay, ass-monger-head - nice talking to you!" I yell and then slam the
phone.  Darting back to his office- I yank him out of his chair and throw
him out of his window testing the theory to see if asses can fly.

I wish I would've said that and done that.
I wish I would've said something else, more funny, more clever, more
biting - instead I laughed like a hyena on helium.

I guess this is why they say hindsight is 20/20.

Update:  Lawyerman just came out and said "I'm glad young people forget
things, too!" and then joked around with me, quintessentially making ME feel
like the ass for having written this tirade in the first place.  Sigh.

Tuesday, August 1, 2006

Welcome to My Dinner.

Yummy, yummy for my ample tummy!

Well - it's not deoderant, but...

Dan cracks me up.

I'm at work, reading his blog and burst into giggles that don't stop even when I have to answer the phone and be "professional."

Take this entry, for example - one line in it struck me as pure giggle-snortin' gold : "Oh my god!  I'm going to die miserable and alone in a house full of deodorant-covered cats."  

Mainly because my mind instantly fluttered back to a time a few days ago when I curled up on my couch to watch a movie and eat Jalapeno jelly on cream cheese and crackers.  Which is really delicious so don't wrinkle your nose at me! :)

Anyway, I am done with my snack and put it next to me on the couch.  I don't hear the approaching jingle (Harry has the bass turned up so loud on the receiver the windows rattle).  I don't see the furry head wiggle in anticipation.  I don't see the butt bob as she lines up the jump.  What I do see is her landing smack dab in the middle of my plate. 

I try to help her.

Try to catch her and remove the green goo from her tummy.

But it's no use.

She runs from me and plunks down on the carpet. 

At this point I can either fight my way out of the recliner or watch and see what she does.

I'm a horrible mom.  THIS is why I shouldn't have children

I choose to watch.

She licks at the jelly and then stops.  Her eyes grow wide and she cocks her head and then starts cleaning the side of her leg like a kitty possessed.  After the spicy jelly has left her little pink tongue - she then goes back to the sticky spot on her abdomen  - right above her seventh nipple.  Her eyes go wide again and she hurriedly licks her leg again. 

It's funny as hell to watch. 

I'm mean.