Holly Rants of November 8th, 2006:
1. My sister calls me last night sounding overly dejected because she has a divorce hearing this morning -understandable. So even though I have more to do than most football teams, I invite her over and even promise that I'll help to dye her hair (which I hate to do - messy!). So - she shows up and eats her Taco Bell and all the while hacks and coughs all over my house like a one-woman influenza parade. The doorbell rings. It's her boyfriend - she invited him over. I'm in old ratty pajama pants and a sweat shirt - sans bra. We all go about talking and dying Summer's hair and while she's sitting next to me and letting her hair air dry and discussing the real world version of "The Old Man And the Sea," I interrupt her and role reversal steps in: "OHMYGOD,Summer,yourhairisturinggray!"
Sure enough - the dye didn't take on the blonde part - it's red on the roots and gray on the ends. And Stacey's wedding is this Saturday.
Then, and I'm not sure if the dye had seeped through or if it was just a lingering "blonde moment" but during Harry's re-telling of a story of a man who ran fifty marathons in fifty states, back-to-back, Summer chimed in: "Well, wonderifhecamethroughWestVirginia?"
Harry stared at his sister-in-law like a man confused - and a little scared. "Well, since there are only fifty states, I'm pretty sure WV was one of them..."
She looked at him blankly and then burst out laughing and snorting.
We continued to stare at her in confusion and horror.
But it could've just been the bad dye job.
2. My office manager is sick again - so that means no one here can function without buzzing me at least fourteen times a minute. Case in point:
"Holly, (Incapable, Older-than-most-buildings, Office Manager) and I were to have a meeting today - can you take care of that?" Lawyerman said.
I pause. I have no f'n clue what he's talking about and have to find a delicate way of telling him that not only has his train of thought lost direction - but it's derailed at the station. No survivors.
"Okay. What exactly would you like me to do?" I asked as politely as I could while crossing my eyes and flipping off the phone on my desk for good measure.
"Well, call her and ask her if she'll be in and whether or not we need to reschedule." I'm assuming he wants me to call my "sick" co-worker and get the details.
"I'll figure something out!" I say to him cheerfully before slamming down the black, shiny receiver and counting to ten while envisioning a happier place. Like me, at work, with a large, shiny chainsaw. VRRRRRRRRRRRM!
3. The construction workers that are jackhammering the pavement RIGHT BELOW MY OFFICE WINDOW have a death wish. They do not know that seven stories above them - I am peering at their, tiny, helmeted heads and again practicing my telekinesis. With any luck - the one driving the back ho will soon turn on his cronies - and all will be according to plan.... And if that doesn't work - I will have to do what any other chick would do in my place. I will simply ride the elevator down, open the door, cross the street, unzip my pointy boot and start whapping them about their much unprotected nether regions.
4. AND THEN my building has the entire sidewalk, street and door marked off with "CAUTION" tape. A large cherry picker is parked on the sidewalk. I walked up to the tape that was strung across orange barrels and adjusted my bag, changed hands with my umbrella and plucked the tape off the barrel. I then stepped over the tape and strolled right into the building, obviously heeding no "CAUTION" to the yellow, useless tape.
Here are some pictures I took at work:
This one is my desk and me updating my journal:
The dreaded "Phone-a-sauras-Rex" not seen since ancient times....shhhhh be very, very quiet...
Two views from my window - PRE-Construction era:
5. After class tonight (in which we will be discussing the rather mirthless House of Mirth ) I am to go home and assemble the treats for the Bachlorette Party tomorrow night. And: fix my dress for the wedding, find my checkbook for the "naughty tupperware party," clean crock pot, add ingredients to my Amish Friendship Bread, try to figure out how to get 10 lbs of hair into a decent wedding 'do, and pack an overnight bag. AND then - after that - I will have to stand on a street corner with a sign that says "Crazy. Need Help. Give Prozac."
Update: Well, seeing as how the "Naughty Tupperware Party" was supposed to be a surprise and that Stacey is a faithful reader of my blog- Tiffany immediately accosted me before the first ingestion of cheeseball: " Yeah, Stacey read your blog and figured out what was going on - she found out about the sex toy party." My first reaction, as a friend, and fellow planner of the shindig was "Holy Crap - I didn't even realize I did that!" My second reaction came from the (majority) of my self - the writer: "I WILL NOT BE CENSORED!"