May I Introduce ...

I'm sorry.

I've been rude.

I've yet to introduce you to the new chick I work with at the law firm of  Lawyerman, Lawyerman and Evil Lawyerman, PLLC.

Her name is "Annoying Girl."

Not very creative, I know - but my brain, as it is, immediately seizes up when she approaches my desk, bulky sweater wrapped doubly over her tiny, smoke-ridden frame and plops her elbows on my desk and issues a spewing bit of language that always, always  begins with "Heeeeeeeeeeeey, Girrrrrrrrrrrrrl."

Every. Single. Time.

"Heeeeeeeey Girrrrrrrrrrl, Good Morning!"

"Heeeeeeeey Girrrrrrrrrrl, are you counting down the days until you leave?"

"Heeeeeeeey Girrrrrrrrrl, you make sure you tell your replacement to keep the candy bowl full!"  Yeah. That's my number one concern right now as Unemployment looms before me like a hungry Jabba the Hut.

I just can't stand her.  I'm a nice person, one of the nicest you'll ever meet - no joke.  I will hold open doors for you, will not let the restaraunt door smack you in the face on my exit, will share my last bag of Fritos with you and slave over Google trying to find the perfect research topic for your twelve year old's report on "Famous Women of WV."

But sometimes, just sometimes, there are those people. The ones whom you meet and can't get rid of.  The ones whose voice alone causes an eye twitch that lasts long past their overdue departure.  The single person who can make one do actual work, actual honest-to-goodness "I'm workin' here!" work just to avoid conversation and the dreaded eye contact.

So, as I sit here and type this I can hear her eighty pound body slinking down the hall, her frizzy hair igniting in a glow of static electricity as she rounds the corner and then, before I can look away - she's heeee-re!

And I'm pretending to be busy.

Send help.

Or John Frieda's Frizz-eeze! STAT!

 

And Another Thing...

For those who have read the entire Harry Potter series, keep reading.  For those that haven't - well - keep reading, anyway!

I had a thought, just now, about the Harry Potter movies and about one scence in particular from "The Order of the Phoenix."  In this scene, Harry and the others have to mount the sometime-invisible large black horses called Thestrials to fly them to the Ministry of Magic. 

This, however, will be what I see:

Ahem! And this was one of the more tame ones!

So, during the dramatic scene in the fifth movie when Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna are scrambling on to flying horses - I'm going to try to watch and see if Harry gets fresh with the little Mr. Ed....

One more thing and then I'll let you get back to doing important on-line things like paying bills, shopping on ebay or looking up Jenna Jameson porn - I ordered a t-shirt from customizedworld.com that says "I [heart] Harry".

I wore it in to show my hubby and he smiled and then frowned. 

"Which Harry is that for?" he asked.

"Why you of course!" I said, turning around to remove my new shirt and hang it up in my closet, "and Harry Potter," I added under my breath.

He heard me.

Luckily for me he was still sick so his lunge was easily deflected with a headslap and a lunge for the coveted remote control.  

:)

Fund Raiser to Send Holly To England.

Here's what I need.  I need all of you out there to send me $5 so that I can go to see this play that I can't help but want to see. 

Except Gaz.  Because I will be staying with him seeing as how I have no money, no job and no way to support myself.

Why?  Because I must see this play! 

Just to be able to say "I saw Harry Potter's Patronus and - it wasn't a stag!"

 

 

 

"You're (not) Hired!"

Well, I just called to see if they had filled the position I had interviewed for a couple of weeks ago.  The interview went really well, as you may recall, but I didn't get the job.  Once again the fact that I'm inexperienced bites me in my big round bottom.

Oh well!

Strike one!

'Roid Rage

 

I had the weekend from hell. Harry apparently contracted some sort of form of the Beubonic Plague and spent the last five to seven days hacking up various parts of his anatomy. I feared for his life for the first few days, and then mine as I worried about catching it and then his, again, as I realized early Saturday that I may, in fact, kill him if he didn't go to the f'n emergency room.

So off we went, me as the wheel man and Harry as the slightly pale, weak and clammy passenger.

As his name is called we go through this song and dance:

"Do you want to come back with me?"

"Do you want me to come back with you?

"I don't care, do you want to come back?"

"Only if you want me to..."

Harry to the nurse: "Can my wife come back with me?"

"Only if you want her to" she says while scribbling on her clipboard what I can only guess is "DUMBASSES."

"Well, when you say it like that, I guess he has to want me to come back with him!" I joke and pick up my magazines, book, Harry's PSP, my sweatshirt and the latest copy of "Game Informer" and glance at the nurse. She's none too amused.

After a very short wait the Doctor arrives and starts to look over Harry.

"Have you seen anyone lately for these symptoms?" The nice doctor asks.

"Well, I went to a doctor in Princeton, WV but he told me to go home and take some NyQuil."

"Did he test you for influenza?"

The plague! THE PLAGUE! I think to myself.

"Nope. Just sent me on my way."

The doctor stands and listens to Harry's lungs and then looks in his ears and throat. He then announces that Harry is in the last stages of the flu along with a viral infection and a sinus infection.

The doctor taps away on his tablet pc: "Do you have any allergies to medicines?"

Harry shakes his head no.

"We don't know - he hasn't been to a doctor since his high school physical," I tattle from the corner, hiding behind my copy of "Blood Sucking Fiends" by Christopher Moore.

Harry looks at me like he could strangle me with the blood pressure cuff.

I'm not worried - he's as weak as a kitten. I can take him.

The doctor cracks a smile and tells Harry that he can come to see him in two weeks for a check-up - he'll be his new physician. He then gives him an antibiotic and a pack of steroids to combat the various ailments.

As we're leaving Harry's happily chatting up how he likes his new doctor and I turn to look at him: "Your penis better not shrink!" I say, lovingly and with concern (for myself).

"It will," he teased. "And I'm gonna gain weight and I'm gonna 'Pump You Up!'"

And other than the fact that I practically had to punt him out of bed this morning, he seems to be feeling better. But I shall wait at least a week to check and see if the 'roids had any, ahem, negative effects.

Blobs.

I stole this from Cindy!  I thought it looked like fun...

You know those Rorscach Ink Blot Tests? Here is a Rorrschach meme for you. Just tell what you see each blot as being.

1. Two crowns for a queen.  One to wear now, and one to wear later!  Okay - don't read into that too much! It's not like I want to be worshipped and fed peeled grapes by muscular, half-naked men, or anything!  heh heh heh.

2. An Alien.  His name is Bob.  He thought Earth looked like a fun place to go - but unfortunatly he arrived just in time to see Bush's State of the Union address - so he left. 

3. That Alien thing from that Aliens movie I refused to see since, ya know, "ew" and stuff...

4. Okay, I stared at this one for a bit before coming up with "Ink on paper."  I then felt a "POP" inside my head as my creativity officially died...

5. Fat girl, with chocolate on face, wanting a hug.  Gee, don't have to dig too deep to get to the inner meaning of that one, do ya?

 

So - am I totally crazy, partially crazy or just crazy enough?

You be the judge!

Happy Friday - and - yup - I 'm still a'workin'! Why won't they just let me go? WHY?!!!  :)

 

Please God, Make it END!

I'm still working. 

I put in my notice on Monday and it's WEDNESDAY - why have they not asked me to leave like everyone else? And why am I continuing to be nice to them and why, oh WHY can I not get "Me and Bobby McGee" out of my rattled head?

So - share my pain - here's Pink's rockin' version courtesy of YouTube:

 

Take This Job and Shove It.

After emailing my reasoning for vacating my position of receptionist at the law firm of Lawyerman, Lawyerman and Another Bloomin' Lawyerman, I received a response from the most vindictive of the bunch.  In not so many words he told me that he would be happy to accept my resignation and to give me a reference should I want to continue as a receptionist for the rest of my worthless life.  He then "respectfully disagreed" with my reasoning that pay should reflect the amount of work a person is required to do. 

I fumed at the email.  I stared at the screen until I was sure that two little red holes would appear in the flat screen monitor.  Then, I responded.

"I doubt that I shall take another receptionist position but should that ever occur, I will be sure to use your referece, thank you.  And, I reserve the right to respectfully disagree with your disagreement."

Why should I let them get the last word in?

Why shouldn't I be the one to ooze charm and professionalism until the day I leave, stepping foot into the elevator before turning and flipping them the "reserved for special occassions" double bird?

I'm just kidding... mostly....

Other than that incident yesterday, no one has said much except that they figured a "cleaning house" was subtly taking place.  

I'd love to find a way to get even, so, I've compiled a list of things I'd love to, but never would:

1.  "Forget" to water the plants for the last two weeks I'm here.  Watch Lawyermen cry as plants older than their former receptionist shrivel and die.

2.  Loosen two wheels on all leather rolly chairs in the office. 

3.  Buy some shrimp.  Put one in every vacant office's desk drawers.  Right now - that'd be a LOT!

4.  Make fake resumes from applicants seeking the now vacant receptionist's position.  Make up names a la Austin Powers:  "Ivanna Makalove" and "Bobby Upandown" are good examples.  Leave call back numbers for local strip clubs.

5.  Remove voicemail message.  And instructions on how to fix it.  And - every other instruction on how to work things at the front desk.  Their world will come crashing down as they fumble with complex messaging systems on the Merlin Lucent Telephonic MLX-20L! ahahahahhaah

Okay- off to check the want ads!

 

So Long! Farewell!

Printing and signing 14 copies of a letter of resignation was not an easy task.   Handing them out was even more difficult.  If I wasn't met with shocked expressions, I was greeted with "Well, I kinda figured... You're too good for this job, anyway..."  

Tell me something I don't know.

One particular lawyerman grinned at me, took my envelope cordially and said "Good Luck" - I wanted to toss his client chair at him, Springer-style.  But I've tried to remain professional and, so far, at 9:03 AM, I have managed to do so.

However, the day is still young.

I can't believe I actually quit this mind-numbing, butt-flattening, over-demanding, under-paying peice of crap job.

And that I'm actually upset about it...

Sigh....

Letting Bygones be Bygones...

On Friday, with one hour until I ran from my office with arms flailing, screaming "FREEEDOM!" with Mel Gibson-esque precision, the overly-wrinkly and under educated Office Manager shuffles out to my desk and leans over me like a buzzard.  Only not as pretty. I have the rogue thought of "If I spray her with Febreeze wrinkle releaser, will that make her taller?"before she annnounces, "Well, Holly, I hate to do this out here, but..."

Five minutes later she has explained to me that I will be doing all the duties as required as well as coming in for the additional 2.5 hours a week.

"So... they aren't compromising at all,"  I say.

"No, not right now.  They will review it later and make a decision based on your work," she says, peering down on me with eyes that have seen some 70 years of history pass by.

"So...  that means they will never give me a higher raise," is my retort.

"They are under the impression that there is a lot of idle time out here," she began before the phone rang, interrupting her now defunct point. 

"Sometimes, yes, other times, no,"  I say and smile.  "Listen, I'll think it over and let you know first thing in the morning.  I'm sure you did everything you could to help me out and I really appreciate it," I lie through my teeth.

I can either compromise myself and tuck my tail, accept the raise and bow my head.

Or I can quit.

With heavy heart and fast-typing fingers, I drafted a detailed email to the partners letting them know that my decision was not an easy, or expected one. 

I will then issue my two-weeks' notice.

I will be the ninth person to leave the tiny law firm in my three years of employment, and the third one in recent months.  

Wish me luck....

And Now, For My Next Trick!

My interview on Thursday went quite well.  I arrived (as usual) fifteen minutes early, managed to parallel park right in front and the meter even had money on it! So, quarter in hand I feed the person's meter in front of mine since it was about to run out.  I then gather up my cute tote purse, fluff my hair, straighten my glasses and stride smartly into the courthouse doors, promptly setting off the metal detector. 

I smile sheepishly at the guards who joke and laugh at me as they toss my purse on the conveyor belt and I re-enter the metal detector. 

And set it off again.

They laugh and blame my zippered boots - which I have to show off to them - and let me go on. 

Arriving at the Prosecutor's Office I'm told that the interviews are running a bit behind so I open up my "Bloodsucking Fiends" book by Christopher Moore and wait.  A few minutes later a petite blonde with a great smile leads me through the "authorized persons only" door and back through a cluttered office, a tiny hallway that made other hallways look fat and roomy and opens the door where THREE OTHER PEOPLE WAIT FOR ME.

I'm a bit stunned.  I had no clue that I would be interviewing with all involved parties, but I took a seat with the Prosocuting Attorney in front of me, a guy next to me and the smiling blonde and another guy behind me.  Sitting sideways in my chair, the interview begins with that same horrible question: "Sooooo tell us a little about yourself."

This question immediately makes me clam up like a Kindergatner with an uncool lunchbox.  So I hem and haw and immediately launch into "All About Holly" at Mach Eight.  Summer would have been proud.

I have just rounded out my college education, and then blurted out "And I'm a sort of writer.  I have a monthly column in the VoiceboxX-"

The man whose desk I'm sitting at slaps his hand on my resume "I thought  your name sounded familiar! You covered the Marshall movie! I read it while I was waiting to get my hair done! You're funny! You're really funny!" 

I grinned and glanced at the people behind me "I'm famous!" I whispered to them as they laughed along.

Needless to say, the interview went well. I had a great time but am very afraid that my inexperience may be the death of my professional career.  

Wish me luck and lets hope that they're more interested in personal skills and peppy attitudes rather than stupid ol' "experience"!

 

Moaning Myrlte's Got Nothing On Me!

I'm fairly sure I may bust from excitement before the Fift Harry Potter Film, "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix" ever comes out.   With months to go, the WB feeds this addiction of mine by releasing pictures from the film.   I'm a crack addict - Harry Potter-style!

                                           

So glad that they now have Harry sporting a less shag-a-licious hairstyle than in the previous flick.  Although - they really must do something with Neville's hair - he's to the upper right of Harry in this shot:

                

There are rumors that the next book may come out alongside the next movie - but I doubt it.  I have to wonder if the seventh, and final installment in this mega-bazillion dollar franchise might even be pushed back to 2008.  "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" - weird title, dontchathink?

Until then, I will wait, constantly checking J.K. Rowling's website and pray that the Room of Requirement opens again to reveal the date! 

Oh yeah. I'm a dork.  

Keep Your Friends Close...

In middle school and high school, whenever my best bud, Tiffany, would feel blue - I knew there was one way to always cheer her up - by doing this:

 It's a bit hard to see - but my hair is in dog-eared pigtails.  I don't really see the humor - but she thinks it's hysterical.  Then again, she's always been laughing with me/at me since we were a mere two years old. 

And now  - a typical Holly/Tiffany story from our youth:  In seventh grade we decided we were going to sign up for choir (mainly because neither of us could play an instrument).  For some reason - the bottom-heavy choral teacher took an immediate dislike to Tiffany.  And it wasn't subtle.  This was very apparent when, at the close of a song and the announcement of the next, EVERYONE in class got up to get the next sheet music and replace their "Wind Beneath My Wings" packets.

"TIFFANY!!! I DID NOT TELL YOU TO GET OUT OF YOUR SEAT!" Ms. Cobb yelled at the top of her lungs, which, for a singer, was quite loud.  The rest of us, some half way across the room, stopped like creatures in a hunt.  Tiffany, eyes wide and hovering two feet above her red laquer seat, looked around in disbelief. 

"B-b-but - everyone is up-" Ms. Cobb cut her off with a warrior cry that reverberated through the room and rattled the ceiling, showering us with ancient asbestos.

"THAT'S IT! YOU HAVE DETENTION! LUNCHTIME! HERE!" 

I had never eaten lunch without Tiffany.  We were Siamese-twin like - if not closer.  So, permanent record be damned - I was determined to get Detention as well.

Pulling a piece of Hubba Bubba from the depths of my acid washed jeans, I popped the sickly sweet gum into my mouth en route to the table where the sheet music was lined up in anal-retentive rows.  Chewing loudly, I grabbed two sheets of music, delivered one to my still in shock bud and then plopped back down into my seat.  

At the end of every line - I popped my gum. 

Ms. Cobb stared at me in horror - but refused to acknowledge that what I was doing was wrong.  Having gum in school was the ultimate in rule-breaking - popping gum in school was a flagrant disregard for the consequences of the ulitimate rule-breaking.  And yet - I popped on.  I snapped, chewed and chomped, loudly and proudly - but still - no detention. 

Frustrated, I glanced down at my watch. The bell would ring any moment and still - no detention. 

Pushing the pink wad to tip of my tongue I prepared for the ultimate in disrespect - a huge bubble - an insult wrapped in a pretty pink package. 

I blew, and I blew, and I formed the most perfect bubble that has ever been blown in the history of bubble-blowing.  Okay - so maybe I'm being a litthe cocky, but still, it was a darn big bubble.  Just as the bell rang to dismiss class, the bubble popped - all over my face.  Ms. Cobb waddled out, refusing to issue a just punishment for my ill-tolerable bubbling ways. 

"Hey, you tried," said Tiffany as she watched me pick bits of gum out of my eyebrows and bangs. 

Later, at the end of the school year, Ms. Cobb surprised us by swooping down on Tiffany and I and wedging us between each one of her massive mammaries.  Hugging us as tears streamed down her hardened face, she yelled "I AM GOING TO MISS YOU GIRLS SOOO MUCH!"

I couldn't help but wish, as we stood, helplessly being hugged and manhandled by a large rhinocerous-like teacher, that I had another piece of gum to wedge up her nose and therefore guarantee our relase and simultaneously avoiding detention - again. 

Feeling Flushed?

Harry's job goes right down the toilet as he snaps this picture and sends it to me:

"Excuse me?  Can you please pass the air freshner?"

 

 

 

Holly's Happenings

Since I have failed to mention a few of the more memorable occassions in the past few months - I will now list them for you in my usual witty-banter style:

1.  Last Friday I got a call from the Prosecutor's office downtown, after fainting for a bit I heard the woman ask: "Are you still interested in the Juvenile Advocacy position?"  I quickly said "Yes, I'm VERY much still interested in the position.  I have a job interview later this week and have even bought a snazzy new suit for it. Wish me luck!

2. Later that same day is when I was told that my responsibilities as receptionist will now triple to include the majority of the "paid much better than me" office manager's job.  For a piddliance of a raise - AND they wanted me to come in a half hour earlier.  I have submitted a slight change in their plan and asked for double the raise they were offering.  That was Monday morning. I've yet to hear back.

3.  Harry has instituted what I now lovingly call "The Fifty-two Month" plan.  In it, I must be employed for the next 2.5 years then, we will start our family and I will never have to work again.  Please pause while the choirs and angels sing.  :)

4.  I have submitted "Super Bunny", my novella, to Kensington after finding out that they do accept unagented submissions from the public.  Although I am positive that Bunny is probably holding up the bottom of a very large slush pile - all hope is not lost.  I will find a way to be heard - even if I have to self-publish - which - would give me creative license over Cover Art and Font... Ohhhhhh... My nose is wrigglin' just thinkin' about it...

5.  I spent last Saturday night at a "West Virginia Fairs and Festivals" pageant where 75 girls compete for one title.  There was even a midget.  No, I'm not kidding.  But even the little person couldn't take away my glee at seeing the Intermission Entertainment which was - noneother than - A  LASER LIGHT SHOW!  Yes - the very best in 1987 Entertainment Technology was presented on a large white screen while the laser-dancing figures acting out John Denver's song about WV.  They showed coal miners, mountains, nature and hills in the background framed by - "PALM TREES! OH MY GOD! THERE'S PALM TREE!" I shriek and point while the others at my table stare at me as if I've lost my mind.  I'm laughing so hard that by the time the word" AMERICA" is written across the screen with a pink laser, I can barely hold my pee as I read what looks like "AMEEENICA! AMEEENICA!"   The table in front of me turns to join in.  By the time we've endured thirty minutes of hysterical laughter - the show is over - but surely not forgotten.  As we're leaving the pageant I see a table piled high with dvds:  "Book The Laser Light Show for Your Fair!"  I grabbed one.  You never know when you're gonna need a light show, after all...

6.  I walked around Home Depot last night with Harry.  We argued over whether or not to get a buggy as soon as we hit the door.  We argued about hardwood flooring, bamboo flooring or carpeting various parts of the house.  We argued about looking at counter tops.  We argued about paint colors, paint placement, wall murals, wall paper, paint matching, paint patching and - finally - paint striping.  Ah - the joys of home ownership and having to agree on those "joys" with someone you have absolutely no style in common. 

7.  My sister just called to express her disdain and feelings of hurt over finding out that the hot Indian doctor on "Heroes" is using a fake accent.  Cell minutes well used, my friends...

8.  I caught my cat staring at me during a rather crucial part of an intimate moment last night.  Creeeeeeepy...

9.  When I think about starting a new DIEt, my first response is to eat everything in sight as if I have to pack on pounds for hibernation like a bear or stuff things in my cheeks to retrieve later some lard-assed chipmunk.   This can not be a natural reaction.

10. I'm now craving peach cobbler.

 

Watch Your Mouth!

I really need to watch what I say, because it seems, as of late, that when I complain - people die.  In less than a week, another fire broke out in dowtown Huntington, WV.  This building full of college students and families is visible from my office window.  The streets are still closed.  People are faced with the grisly truth that bodies may still be trapped within the structure while others shake their head and line the streets with buckets to fill with help. 

Eight people are confirmed dead. 

Others are still hospitilized.

 

"And I'll take my red stapler... burn this place to the ground... burn it... to the ground... "

I'm as much a fan of "Office Space" as the next cubicle dweller, but those above words have never rang as true as they did for me on Friday.  Basically, my office manager told me that I was getting a HUGE raise - but will have to work an extra half hour a day AND take on three times the responsibility.  Which means - no more work blogging, no more playing on Harry Potter related websites and no more having a cake job that requires less brain power than that of the average Taco Bell worker. 

All weekend I ranted, cried, pouted and came close to puking as I thought about my new "responsibilities" and how much this was NOT what I signed on for when I took a job as a receptionist.

So - I told them as much this morning.

Now - I'm just waiting to hear back from them - or for them to hand me a box for my stuff.  At this point, either works for me...

                                      

"I'm rubber and you're glue..."

I don't think I've shared this tale with ya'all yet - but let me paint a picture of a shopping event that clearly defines "sibling rivalry" at its finest.

Summer and I were shopping a few days before Christmas at the lovely Huntington Mall. Since I have a coupon for Regis Salon, we pop in there to look at O.P.I. nailpolish - I really want this crazy red color called "I'm not really a waitress."

"Thatcouponprobablywon'tworkonthat!" Summer squealed at me in one breath.

"I'm sure it will.  I'm not worried," I respond and fondly finger a blue vial of lacquer. 

I spy the much sought out "waitress" color, grab the blue polish and some half off purple O.P.I. as well and head to the counter.

"Sorry, this coupon is for salon services only," the woman is very apologetic. 

"See?Itoldyouitwouldn'twork. Stupid," my sister says. 

"I'm not stupid," I sneer, "I'm 'selectively smart' - big difference."

Summer shrugs and starts digging through my purse, "Needlipgloss" she mutters like some non-glossy beast.

"Selectively smart, huh? I'm so stealing that!" the cashier said with a big grin on her face as she handed me the pen to sign the credit card receipt. 

"Ilovethiscoloronme! Thanks.  I'mstealingit!" Summer cried from the mirror, clutching my lipgloss in her grubby, shoestring-fingered hand.

I looked at her, rolled my eyes at the nice lady and grabbed Summer's drink.  "I'm SELECTIVELY SMART" I wrote in large blue ink on the side of the styrofoam cup.

The lady burst out laughing and said "I always wanted a sister - now I'm not so sure!"

An hour later, while perusing the discount section of "Hot Topic" I found a cute headband covered in mini skulls.  My sister, however, found the note on her cup.

"Hey! When'dyoudothat?!" she asked as she sniffed a bottle of "Princess Bride" perfume. 

"About an hour ago..."

"Ididn'tseeyou!"

"I know - cuz you're selectively smart." 

Sibling Rivalry, more fun than most board games and twice as deadly.

 

Wave "hi" to the camera, sis!

Myopic Me...

Just last night I was telling my friend, Alison that I needed to renew my glassess prescription due to the fact that I can't see a darn thing when I slap 'em on my face.  My contacts are fine and dandy but my glasses are coke-bottle-esque nightmares.

I must've complained to loud, or somehow uttered a curse because last night, this happened:

Yup - that's my eye doctor's office - en flambe.

Luckily, no one was hurt - except me and my chronic Miopia.

I swear, why do these bad things always happen to me? (snigger, snigger, hee hee)

Strange Fiction

I saw a movie last night at the discount theater with Tiffany:  "Stranger than Fiction," with Will Ferrel, Dustin Hoffman, Emma Thompson and more - it was wonderful.  But this flick is the PERFECT example of Marketing gone wrong.  From the previews I had inferred that the movie was going to be like "The Truman Show" with a different sketch artist plugged in.  What I got was a story about a man finally finding a life worth living and then faced with the knowledge that it would soon end.  Self-sacrificing and full of wit, this movie has inspired me.  For one, to re-approach my forgotten dream of learning to play one song, no matter how frivilous on my un-trusty blue guitar.  Second, to be more adventurous. 

At one point, at a particularly poignant scene, the main character presents his love interest with a box of flowers.

Or so I thought.  They were wrapped in little brown bags.

"What're they?  Bulbs in dirt or something?"  I whisper to Tiffany who turns to look at me, the screen glinting off her reading glasses.

"No - they're baking flours," she said. 

"Ohhhhhhh." I then cackle for a good two minutes at my own stupidity - and missing a very important exchange between the people on the screen. 

I had thought that this movie was based on a book - but if it's been written - I can't find it.  The website's pretty cute, but doesn't tell me what I want to know.

So, my advice for the day is to do one thing, no matter how small, that either scares you to death or embarresses you to no end.  And do it with a smile.

I plan on going to the big bad post office.  The place where fashion died, polyester thrives and attitudes and big hair prevail.  Wish me luck, I'm gonna need it.

I Always Wanted to be Rainbow Brite...

Coming home from work on Friday, I turned from Fifth Avenue on to Route 60 and was greated by the most beautiful, sky-illuminating, full-bow rainbow I had ever seen.  The sky seemed to be spotlit by this rainbow that stretched from the banks of the Ohio River to the depths of the West End.  And if that sight wasn't enough to have me lookin' for "me Lucky Charms" a faint second rainbow was visible off to the right!

It was gorgeous!

I managed to snap a picture with my dinky camera phone - it's a bit fuzzy - but you can see the rainbow behind the Waffle House and directly to the right of the sign, the faint image of the second rainbow:

Oops, I did it Again.

I'm a young married woman with an allergy to most things children-related (including the little buggers themselves) so it probably comes as no surprise that I'm on the pill.  Well, due to my carelessness and non-realization that prescriptions can expire even before the refills are up, I missed the first four of my birth control pills in this month's cycle. 

No biggie. I wasn't worried.

On Saturday I awoke to find that Harry had snuggled close to me.  So close that he was on top of me under the covers.  I giggled and dove under as well.  An hour later we came up for air, had lunch and then showered to go out for a bit since it was dark and we'd yet to leave the house(what?! like YOU don't sleep in until 1PM on weekends?).  Well, needless to say the "getting ready to go out" ended with us under the covers again.

Twice in one day.  I was enjoying myself and my earlier response to Harry's comment of  "I love morning sex," and I said "Me too.  And afternoon sex, mid-day sex, night sex, two AM sex..."

So, imagine my surprise when as we're watching tv that night around midnight and I'm loving rubbing Harry's back, we end up going at it like rabbits yet again. 

It wasn't until last night, when I reached for my pills ( my Preciou-sssssss!) when I noticed something. 

I had forgotten, understandably, to take one the night before.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, sitting down next to me on the bed.

I pointed to the empty bubble I'd just popped on the blister pack as I chugged a bottle of water. 

"What - you took it." I pointed at Saturday's empty spot.  I continued to chug, hoping to, I dunno, flush myself out or something.

"Oh -HA!" He then looked down at his jeans. "Go boys, go!" 

I hit him with my empty bottle of water.  Needless to say - he sooo didn't get any last night!

Tiny Bangs and Crooked Smile - That's ME!

Stacey has decided to retaliate by posting the following, tiny yellow-banged picture of me and her:

I fear that this does, sadly, mean war.

I'm off to go home to comb through my old albums.  I believe I may have one of my dear, sleek-haird bud, with a - wait for it - PERM! 

aahhahahahahaah!

Jealousy is Becoming...

My covering of the "We Are Marshall" premiere is available on-line for those of you who aren't unfortunately residing in the Huntingon, WV area and can be seen here.

 

I'm not sure what pics actually made it into the actual paper - but the ones posted are the ones I took.  It's a bit surreal to see my writings about an actual event... Yup... Weird....

Anyway - if you're looking for serious coverage - check out E! online or something - this was just a funny jaunt on what it feels like to be granted an "in" when you're used to getting a "get the hell out!"  :)

Enjoy!

2007 is Looking Up...

My friend, Stacey, ringing in the New Year in style...

Harry and I right before the garlic butter incident - it's really apparent since I'm still smiling at this point:

AND right after the smiling shot above, Harry decided it would be funny as hell to tackle me in front of the Christmas tree while I was trying to take an artsy pic of the blue sparkly ball - in black and white:

And this is what happens when, once your hubby tackles you in the middle of the living room floor, he begins to hump you like a rabid dog, leading to the next picture:

 I figure I'll take down the tree... um... March-ish? 

 

 

And yet...I miss the jumpsuit...

I'm a devout follower of Wil Wheaton's blog.  Today, I came across a picture of him at Halloween:

Is it wrong that, as an almost-thirty-year-old - I still prefer gray-jumpsuit Wesley?:

In fact, it was this very picture that hung in my room for many of my adolescent years.

Sigh,  memories...

Chicklet, anyone?

Yesterday was my dental consultation with a dentist over in Ohio that specializes in "smile makeovers."  If anyone is a candidate for such a makeover, it is I!  My front tooth - the one I bashed in on a piece of mis-placed sidewalk just less than a decade ago - looks like crap - so I'm having it fixed.

My quote for Zoom! Whitening, Cleaning, Post Insertion (eeeeek!) and a lasering of my gum line comes to just under $2000.  When the lady wrote this number in pretty black ink on the back of a business card - I tried hard not to swoon. 

Leaving the office with my little white bag of pre-whitener ("I'm a Toad-ally Awesome Patient") I remembered that Harry had dental insurance.  I sped out of the parking lot, realized that I was a non-Ohioan and instantly crept back to a 25 mph pace.  Once I was back at the office I looked it up - it expired at the end of last year. 

Great.

Turns out that they've switched insurance carriers and Harry didn't even know it. Well, he may have known it but - like Harry tends to do - he forgot.  His inability to recall anything from his short-term memory is a running joke between me and his best friend, Mike.  After seeing Batman Begins for the third time, Harry asked "Wait - did Gordon die in that movie?"   We've never let him live that down.

So, I'm off to figure out what insurance coverage I have and then how much I shall have to pay out of pocket.  My guess?  At least $1200.  So - how to make the money?  Since my job here at Lawyerman, Lawyerman and Stingy Layerman, PLLC does not afford me the kind of life where luxurious items, like front teeth, are easily purchased - I must get creative with my money-making ways. 

However, besides posting myself on a street corner, praying for a chubby chaser John who's into half-price specials - I'm a little lost.  Perhaps I could go back to retail for awhile?

Shudder.

Or maybe a chicklet front tooth isn't all that bad...

                                           

Happy New Year! Now, go change your pants.

After attending Tiffany's festivities and exchanging presents with Tiff and Stacey (thanks girls! I love my stu-u-u-u-f!) Summer's nagging migraine had her turning a nice blue-green shade by 9 PM so we bid everyone a "Happy New Year's!" and ran out the door and into the rain.

Summer left a bit before midnight while Harry and I retreated downstairs and cozied on the couch after engaging in the culinary delights of Papa John's Pizza.  Tossing the boxes to the side we kissed and cuddled and poked fun of Christina Aguilera's straw-head for a good twenty minutes. 

Harry then decided to hand me his old pizza box - consequentally covering me in hot garlic butter. And, though we may be chubby, neither of us found it very arousing as I streaked to the washer while trying to remove one of the last sets of pants that actually slide on without the aid of power tools.  The remainder of the day went as follows:  sleep, eat, laundry, sleep, eat, Playstation 3 (we conquered "Resistance: Fall of Man", eat, laundry, sleep.  

It was a good day.

Until Harry decided to toss a pretty pink sweater my way.  "Here - fold this!" he laughed and giggled until the sweater bombed some drinks that were sitting to my left and ricocheted off. I sat in a sticky stupor and cursed up a storm while Harry scrambled to clean the mess.

In less than twelve hours - I had been covered in some sort of sticky or slimy goo on two separate occassions. 

And not in a good way.

I get it though, I do.

2007 is trying to get me to give up, to throw my hands up and start taking bets on how 2008 will surely be better - but I refuse to give in.  Bring on the goo, the sauces, the piles of marinara-laden pasta and stains galore! I'm ready.

Now, where did I put those Shout Wipes?