Sunday, June 17, 2007

That's What I Get For Being Nice...

Today for father's day Harry and I went to the 'rents house to hang out and to give Dad his presents (which consisted of non-knee-high socks and a tee shirt with a squirrl on it that said "Protect Your Nuts") and to watch Gillian splash in the pool. 

Summer is halfway done with Mom's hair 'do (Pollyanna braids much to mom's chagrin) when the squirrels descended.  Three of them ran along the fence looking for their usual peanut butter sandwich, bopped off the top of Gillian's playhouse and then ran up the side of the tree pausing occassionally so I could snap some really wonderful candids of the little nutjobs.  One particularly wonderful shot was a heads up view of one of the squirrels looking down upon me from the tree above. 

I'm only describing the pics because I managed to DELETE THEM!  I thought I copied and pasted them digitally - but nope - I made a folder, popped out the memory card and cleared it for my upcoming trip. Damnit.

Anyway, soon after I snapped the last shot of a disappearing tail, the assault started.  Bits of green chesnuts fell from the heavens as we scattered. 

"I'M TRYING TO MAKE YOU FAMOUS, YOU STUPID SQUIRRELS!  I WAS GOING TO POST YOU ON THE INNNNERNET!"  I screamed as I was pelted with squirrel slobber laced nut bits. 

On a positve note - Harry and I leave soon for Hawaii and I'm planning on being a complete tourista.  I will be wearing dreaded capri pants, annoyingly bright tops, and will be taking pictures of everything that will stand still long enough for me to shoot. And - Hopefully I'll be happier than this hair-challanged soul:


(Who also looks a bit - cross-eyed?  huh?) 

And I'll make sure I don't accidentally delete the card before copying them over to my hard drive.



Thursday, June 14, 2007

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

It (really frickin') Hurts to Be Beautiful...

Rushing from the office today to make it to my five p.m. hair appointment, I arrived right on time. And waited.  And waited.

I was fuming while trying to read "Undead and Uneasy" by MaryJanice Davidson.  I hated to be kept waiting.  However, if I'd known what was in store for me in the back of the salon, I would've run.  Far, far away!

My normal sylist is on a medical leave but another woman took over my appointment.  Since I really only wanted a trim and some highlights I wasn't worrying too much. 

Three hours later I was still sitting in that black spinning chair.  My  head was covered in foil and the stylist was heading to the backroom to mix up a THIRD bowl of color for my massive amount of hair.  Twenty minutes under the dryer, ten under the faucet and another thirty getting a blow out and I was done. 

Some people, even professionally trained ones, still have a problem dealing with long, thick hair.  This woman, Sherry, was really nice.  But as she stood behind me and pulled, tugged, yanked and hacked at my hair with a comb, I wished nothing more than to burn her repeatedly with a high-intensity curling iron. 

Four hours after I had originally stepped in to the salon, I left, $95 lighter, blonder and more than a little sore. 

So what has this taught us?

Well, me - nothing.  I was just looking for a good ending for this entry.  Tee hee. 


Who you callin' NUTS?

Here's a summation of my day yesterday:

Headache from Sunday night continues.  Dizziness and the inability to distinguish depth makes for fun interstate drive to work.

Lunchtime run to Bob Evans for "comfort food" ends in a $20 meal of dirty (no, really, I could wipe the visible dirt from the lettuce on to my finger) salad and hard pasta. 

Tanning bed (yeah, I know "BAD Holly! BAD!") room where I trip on pants around ankles and fall headfirst into a fake and rather dusty palm tree.

Dinner, parent's house, back porch.  Not being in the mood for more pasta after my horrible day, I sit and watch my sis, mom, dad, Brian, Connie and Lauren eat a nice dinner. And then we all get attacked my rambunctious squirrels who pelt us with nuts from the trees above. Repeatedly.

My gas light comes on.  I drive, slowly and without my air conditioning on, to the nearest gas station. I fear my car will e-mail my hubby and tell on me.

I try to watch my episode of taped "Veronica Mars" only to find the dreaded blue screen of death awaits me.  I get out of bed, smack the vcr around a bit and jiggle the cords.  My hair was wet from my late night shower and - I got shocked, totally explaining the frizz that greeted me when I woke up (late) this morning and had no choice but to go with a very 1994 side braid.  I called and woke Harry up to complain about stupid incooperative vcr. (On a weird note - it works fine this morning.)

And now I'm at work having survived a bad day on near-Apocolyptic proportions. 

My only fear is what lies in store for me today.

I need stamps.  So I must go to the post office.  Let's hope my bad luck ended with the at-home-electro-shock-therapy...

Saturday, June 9, 2007

It's Raining - Babies???

As I attended yet another shower celebrating the new life of people who weren't smart enough to wear a condom (TO-tally kidding, ya'all!) I watched as a very-pregnant Chandra opened up tiny gift after gift with all of us in attendence oohing and aweing at the appropriate times. 
I never before thought I would be sitting in a little yellow room while things like nipple cream and breast milk storage wold be discussed in serious exchanges. 

And then I had to give advice.  "Is it too late to say - 'wear a condom'?" I joked as the maternal women avoided their eyes. 

Another thing that struck me as odd was the sheer beauty of the pregnant woman, herself.  With smooth skin, a simple black dress covering an ample tummy  and simple baby pink pumps, Chandra really did emulate the "Movie Star Mom" that was the theme of today's shower.

The only other pregnant girl that I'd observed close-up through the majority of her pregnancy was sis, and she looked a bit like a bloated beached whale: round, swollen and horribly uncomfortable.

As I left the shower wearing my feather boa and large black sunglasses, I thought "maybe I could  have one kid."

About that time a young boy walked by me with his finger up his nose to the point I feared for his brain. 

Yes, I'll take that as a sign.  And that sign is STOP.


Thursday, June 7, 2007

A Bird in the Hand...

"Well, let's get to it," I said as I stooped to pick up a stray Care Bear.  It was 8 o'clock on Wednesday night and I was missing "One Tree Hill" to help my sis paint Gillian's room in her new house a fresh minty green.

With an armful of princesses, stuffed bears, various ponies and over-priced Fisher Price toys I waddled into Summer's soon to be bedroom and dumped the load in the floor.

"OHno. Well.  Thisisabadsign,"  Summer said from the other room. 

"What is it?" I asked.

"Look.  Poorthing."  A tiny dead bird, two little orange feet pointing north, sat in the bottom of the closet.  "Well.  That'sabadomen."  She sighed and yelled for Brian who came to retrieve the lost soul.

"Oh," he said when he ducked in the doorway (he's tall - but like - really freakin' tall - think Jolly Green Giant - minus the Green).  "Can we flush it?"

Summer tittered on about clogs and inhumanity and the like while Brian continued to stare at the bird.  Summer fetched a bag. 

"So, no flushing, then?"  he repeated.

I'm not sure if the dead bird is a "bad omen" or not.  Not even really sure how he got in there. But I do know that by the time I got home last night I looked like the offspring of a freaky threesome between Miss Piggy, Handy Smurf and Kermit. 


Wednesday, June 6, 2007

Pizza! Pizza!

It was eight o'clock and I was starving.  The only thing to eat in the kitchen was a pound of expired ground sirloin, some canned peaches and some questionable tomatoes. 

So I ordered a Baby Pan! Pan! from Little Caeser's.  Healthy? No.  Did I care? No.

Being the exceptionally lazy (and crazy hungry) person that I was I pulled up to the window and was given - a teeny tiny box.  I stared at it and handed the equally tiny woman my hard-earned cash. 

It daunted me from the passenger seat as I headed home.  Mocking me with its tiny boxy frame.  "I can't believe that you only get one tiny little pizza now - what happened to two?"  I said alound as I reminisced about the days of ol' when I could order a pizza from the orange-clad little dude and get one free. Now, they apparently hand over a little box and wish you many happy returns while starving to death on the floor of your white-tiled kitchen.

Getting home, I attempt to make a salad with the questionable tomatoes which revolt by instantly bursting and squirting juice up my arm before deflating into pathetic flat versions of their formerly rotund selves.  

Sighing, I sit down in front of my tiny box (think 3" by 3") and open it to reveal a little square pizza.  "I can't believe it.  Only one!  I'm gonna starve!" I moan to no one in particular since my hubby is off traveling, making due with large-sized portions of food from Bob Evan's, Cracker Barrell and Outback Steakhouse. 

I picked up the mini pizza, took a bite and looked back at the box.  Another, equally  cheesy and ooey gooeyily yummy pizza lay nestled there, hiding from me in plain site.

I laugh and quickly close out of Little Caeser's website's Customer Comment section. 

That'll teach me to doubt The Caeser!


Monday, June 4, 2007

Lucky Me

Many of you have already heard of my infamous bout with a bird in Hawaii, but I decided to relive it in the latest edition of "VoiceboxX."  Curious?

Happy Monday!  (ugh.)

Friday, June 1, 2007

Helllllllo Kitty!

Since quitting my last job as a receptionist at a hoity-toity law firm where my responsibilities included watering the plants, I have since been re-employed at a law firm where my responsibilities include watering the plants.

It's the circle of life, I guess.  Or something...

Anyway so I'm half-asleep yesterday morning, hose in hand and blearily staring at the massive amount of shrubs and flora that I'm to water.  I open the hose and let it spray on the bushes, the trees, the flowers, the poor kitty that peeked its head out from under the porch at the precise wrong moment, the ivy, the...

"OHMYGAWD, I'M SO SORRY! I'M SORRY!" I yell, frightening the now soaked furball into running back under the porch and staring at me with hurt and watery eyes.


This morning, I peeked through the bushes to make sure that my watering duties would only cover those things that had leaves and not paws.

Here is a picture of two of the cute and cuddly kitties (the left one which likes to eat with one paw in each dish, whapping violently at any of his siblings who may possibly also want to not starve):