The Simpsons!

Friday night, as some of you may know, was the premiere of "The Simpsons" in theaters across the nation and I, for one, was in line - alone.  Now before ya'all put a price on the larger than average head of my husband he was in line at AT&T (the place formerly known as Cingular formerly known as AT&T) getting me a new phone.  Funny how when one drops their hot pink Slvr phone on concrete once, dislodging the memory card, and then, soon after, drops the same phone (slippery little cellular, it is!) on the same bit of concrete and knocking out the sim card rendering the phone useless before so artfully wrapping a pony tail holder around the middle, that it is quite necessary to get a new phone.   So Harry went to get me a new phone (yippeee) and I stood in line to get primo seats for the first family of cartoon's feature film. 

Harry rushes to my side as the line starts to file into the theater and we pick our middle row, middle aisle seats- the perfect place to watch a coveted flick.  We settled in and began to watch the previews for the upcoming movies, tv shows, products, the Marines and for the important knowledge of knowing where our projector came from.  Twenty minutes later the previews still ran when three kids forced their way down the aisle and plopped next to Harry.  I could tell they were nary a day over fourteen and reeked of cigarette smoke. 

I saw something out of the corner of my eye.   One kid, greasey haired and skinny beyond reason, was flailing his arms and rolling his hands in time to the images that flashed on the screen.   Harry looked at me and in the dark I could see the whites of his eyes.  He was scared and more than a little pissed.  

"Wanna switch me seats?"  I offered, knowing that this movie starring Marge, Homer, Lisa, Maggie and Bart was his Holy Grail of flicks.   After many chivalrous turndowns, Harry finally hopped over me and sat in the empty seat to my right. 

I stared at the kid as he continued to play a game of bad pattycake with himself as Ralph toooted his own horn from the Twentieth Century Fox intro on the big screen.   Making hand motions that of a newbie flightdeck hand trying to land a 747, he continued to writhe and I continued to stare, wishing and pleading  inwardly with this stinky kid to stop his self-imposed convulsions or be forced to feel the wrath of me and my popcorn weilding left hand.  

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH THIS KID NEXT TO ME?!" I stagewhispered in a psuedo yell to Harry.  "SO WEIRD!"  So I'm not the Queen of Tact but c'mon - how in the world was I supposed to watch Homer save Springfield with Marlboro Boy sitting next to me having fits of artistic representation?

Anyway, the movie was great, stinky kid aside!   

Well phooey. I tried, AGAIN, to Simpsonize myself and - nothing.

You try:  www.simpsonizeme.com and see you if you can get it to work!  

Four Eyes? Yes, he's my Hubby...

At Tiffany and Pual's Luau Celebration this past Saturday, Tiffany popped this wonderful shot of me and my dear husband:

               

No, really, it's not Cousin It and her Four-Eyed and funnily Lei'd cohort, that's me and Harry. 

I could've killed him. I mean, c'mon, we haven't had a pic this cute of the two of us in over four years and even then those pics only turned out because it was our wedding day and the photographer HAD to make us look nice! HARRY - TAKE OFF YOUR OAKLEYS THE NEXT TIME SOMEONE POINTS A CAMERA AT YER MUG!

:)

And Then, it all Went Black... AGAIN!

I strode purporsefully toward the stove, a medium sized bag of frozen chicken stir fry held in my hot little hands.  As I reached the row of tiles in front of the large stainless steel appliance I heard a very loud KABOOOOM! 

I whirled around and stared at the fridge.  Had I dropped something?  Did something heavy fall off the counter?  Turning back around I looked at the oddly darkened stove.  The microwave was blank.  The overhead fan whirred to a staop.

"GOD FRICKIN' BLESS IT! THE MOTHERF'N POWER IS FRIGGIN' OUT AGAIN?!  YOU'VE GOT TO BE FRICKIN' KIDDING ME!!!"  On and on I raged as I tossed my packed of chicken and veggies back into the warming freezer and stamped out to the garage, keys held in my cold hands.

I pushed the button to open the garage before remebering that it won't work without electricity.  I opened the car door, tossed in my purse and keys and stomped to the large door.  I yanked on the red string that dangled from the ceiling with enough force that I feared for a moment that I would accidentally rip off the entire garage door.  I then yanked on the inside handle with all my might all the while cursing and stomping like a deranged person.

But can you really blame me? CAN YOU?  This is where you all shake your head encouragingly at your monitor, k?

On a better note - I've read the last Harry Potter book ever.  I'm happy to have been able to read it and sad it's over.   Anyone else read it?  Email me your thoughts:  h0llyk911@aol.com!

 

Blackout - Take Two

This time, the power outage will be self-inflicted.

Starting tomorrow I will be instituting a self-imposed blackout on all media.  No phones, no papers, no internet, nothing, until I am done reading "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows." 

I have already glimpsed reports of leaks and early reviews posted on the coveted pages of my Harry Potter text, and I refuse to be spoiled so, everyone have a wonderful weekend and have fun!

Just wanted to make sure ya'll wouldn't worry about me and think that I've tripped over something in my darkened house or have gone delirious from too many nights without cable!

--Holly

NOT cool.

Why it shouldn't rain in Huntington...

I sat in the driveway fruitlessly pushing my garage door opener.  Repeatedly I jammed my pionter finger into the button and waited for the magic of electricity to open the door and grant me access.  I was soaking wet from the monsoon I had just traversed and the puddle in front of the parking garage on Fourth Avenue which really snuck up on me outta nowhere. 

Trying to deny the fact that the block was black and that all the windows in my neighbor's homes were blank and unlighted, I sat in my car, pushing the graying button in hopes that, somehow, my house was spared from the wrath of the wind and rains and that my newfound loves, the tv, the cable box, and my precioussss - my laptop were powered up and waiting for me in my a/c cooled bedroom.

Instead, I moped to the door, used my rusty key (from un-use) in the door and was greeted with hot air and the endless possibility that laid before me.  My evening, in which I'd planned on using to unabashedly soak in a bubbly bath would now depend on me finding candles and, if candles could be found, then where were the f'n matches!!!

So, I returned from the land of the Amish to land in the land of the vampires.

I would've screamed in anger but that would've taken precious strength and air that I didn't have at the moment. 

Two hours later I had wrangled a bag of tea-lights, enough Yankee Candles that I should've bought stock, and a migraine from all the "triple-scented" wicks that were now burning my eyes. 

On that rather cheerful note I will bid you adieu and hope to write more tomorrow, pending any blackouts, cable errors, monsoons, hurricanes, fires, plagues or malfunctioning modems. 

:)                                      

 

Holly - Unplugged

For over three days I had no internet, no cable, no HBO, no Showtime, no bunny ears, even.  It was like living with the Amish.  But with no really good cheese to eat.  I watched movies, bad movies and good movies, in order to keep my mind occupied and sang, loudly, along with Michelle Pfiefer to "Cool Rider" in "Grease 2" - a horrible movie but with more catchy tunes than anyone cares to admit. 

And now that I have tv and internet I'm ready to - sleep. 

I must, after all, reserve my strength - FRIDAY NIGHT IS THE RELEASE OF HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS!!!

So excited!

:)

No Glove, No Love

Due to health concerns and crazy-mind-wrenching migraines, I decided to stop taking my "anti-baby-makin' pills."

Which led me to the Aisle of Shame at Rite Aid Pharmacy.  There I was, cowering before a wall of prophalactics, terrified that someone may see me purchasing a box of condoms. 

There are so many,  I thought as my eyes darted to and fro, searching for people who may know me.  I didn't want to be seen buying condoms.  When did there get to be so many?  I heaved a barely audible sigh, lest I draw attention to myself and looked over my shoulder.

"What kind did we used to get?"  I asked Harry, who was standing a foot behind me and very clearly giving off the air of "I sooooo don't know her!" 

"Dunno," he muttered and became very interested in a wall of toothbrushes.  I contemplated tossing vats of KY jelly at his head but decided instead to try to figure out how condoms got to be so plentiful, apparently flavorful and pretty darn expensive.

What the heck?!  I can remember buying a box of Trojans a few years back at Wal-mart and paying a reasonable, if not poorly chosen, price of $6.66! Realizing that my inner monologue was starting to sound like that of my father's "Why, I can remember when gas cost a nickel a gallon" stories, I grabbed a purple box off the wall and faced my nonhelpful husband.

"Got 'em?  Let's go!" And with that he turned and looked more like a blur of Polo and Jordans as he streaked up to the register. 

Me, on the otherhand, I took my time and arrived a few minutes later with my purple pack of prophylactics, a box of Cherry Icee Popsicles, and a jumbo-sized bottle of Tylenol.

"Well, that wasn't so bad!" I said to Harry as we peeled out of the parking lot like we'd just gotten away with robbing an ill-prepared bank.  "I mean, not like before we were married!"

"I never bought them,"  he said and laughed.  "You always bought 'em."  He apparently thought this was funny. 

I narrowed my eyes and put a hand on my forehead and decided, right then and there, that the next time we go condom shopping I was going to buy every size, flavor, virbrating ring, ribbed, spiraled, pleasure maxed, climax controlled rubber out there. 

I smiled and looked lovingly at my oblivious husband. 

"I love you," I said.

"Well, I love you too!"

He has NO idea.

:) 

 

Reasons Why...

Reason # 5,789,001 why I love my husband:

Harry, via email: "I just did something and I am not sure if it was a good idea or not……. I mixed a kool-aid single in with some of my diet mt. dew, it taste……welllll……different…."

"Posterity" by Summer

And now, another story of toddler woe as told by my sister, Summer:

Gillian is in the habit of stripping off her clothes and presenting her naked self to us (by us I mean anyone who happens to be in the house-or on the back porch, or in the front yard… you get the picture) with great flair. She is very very proud of her ability to make her clothes instantly evaporate. One can be talking to a fully clothed four year old then suddenly, she is naked. The kid is that quick. I know she is too old to be runnin' around 'nakey.' I am fully aware that CPS could very well take her away from me should Gillian disrobe while in the company of the wrong person.

And then there are those days that crazy toddler takes it up a notch. Mom and Dad were watching Gillian while I was at work.

"Mammy!! Look!!" Mom turned around from making dinner in the kitchen. Gillian was, of course, wearing nothing. "Where did your clothes go?" Mom asked her. Gilly threw her hands up and shrugged. "I wost 'em."

"Well, you need to get dressed. You are too big to be naked all the time."

"But wait! LOOK!!" Mom then noticed that my daughter was walking in stilted, halting steps. "Gillian, that's not nice. You know Mammy is sick and can't walk very well."

Gillian giggled and hobbled even closer to Mom. She had a HUGE ornery grin on her lil face and her eyes were dancing. Mom couldn't help but laugh. Then something caught her eye. A wisp of white crossed Gillian's backside. Mom asked her silly granddaughter to turn around. "OKAY!" Gillian exclaimed. She slowly turned her nakedness around and stuck her bottom out. "Look Mammy!! I gots a tail butt!!" "Butt" is pronounced "boo-utt" by my three year old, FYI Drema gasped then cackled. Gillian had nestled a pretty bright white gross-grain (hee hee 'gross' grain) between her nether cheeks. Gillian was pretending to be a cat.  With a tail.  Drema tried to tell Gillian not to put things…there, but they were both laughing too hard.

I wish Mom had taken a picture. Ya know, for posterior-ity!!!!

    

WAIT for it!

I am having a hard time concentrating on filing and putting things away in a chronological order due to the fact that in just a few hours I will be sitting in a theater watching "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix." 

So - I've been on You Tube and found this video.  Which cracked me up to no end.  I've seen all these pictures before, so no scandal there - but the actual video made me laugh so hard that I almost fell out of my rickety and raggedy office chair. 

Please Enjoy:

 

No. I don't want to and YOU can't make me!

So, since ya'all know I'm about the biggest Harry Potter dork in the universe, I decided to join Mugglenet Interactive and be sorted into a house like in the Harry Potter series.

I took the test, answered the questions and well, I quit.  I dropped out.  Done.  Finito.

Why?

Because of this:

Congratulations! You are most like Umbridge and you belong in Slytherin.

The NERVE!  And I'm not even wearing PINK today!

Er - really?

I don't want to make fun of this story.  I really don't.  I mean - a guy died while living in my "Open for Business" state (yes, that is seriously our new state motto - and no, we do not advocate prostitution) so that's bad.  But the REASON he moved here, to Hillbilly Central is HI-larious. 

See for yourself!

Open Mouth, Insert Size 9 Foot...

A snippet of the drama that unfolded as we tried to make it back to WV from Hawaii:

As I sat in the front seat of the ambulance and breathed in the familiar smells of antiseptic and near-death experiences, I found my eyes wandering over the landscape in front of me.  The bus bumped over the backroad of the airport as we followed a safety truck with a flashing yellow light bar announcing our transit to the nearest hospital.  In the back, Harry answered questions about his grandmother's usually good health, as he and the EMT tried to figure out why she fainted in row fifteen of the 737 as we taxi'd down the runway.

"Do you find it a little odd that the safety truck has a tail light out?"  I asked the cute paramedic who was driving the ambulance. 

"Wow," he said, his dimples deepening into his tanned face. "That's very observant of you.  I'm impressed!"  He smiled at me and I basked in the glory of my smartness in light of the rather detrimental situation unfolding in the back of the bus. 

"Thanks,"  I said and gazed at the buildings on the horizon as they blurred past.  "Well, I haven't been to Atlanta in some time.  It's kinda nice to be back here - even if it is under these bad circumstances."  I giggled and shrugged.

"Um, was that where you were headed on the plane?  To Atlanta?" he asked, looking a bit concerned.  "Because you're in San Francisco."

"Oh. Ha. Ugh."  I really need to learn to stop talking after someone compliments my intelligence because, sure enough, as soon as I open my big mouth again, some sort of idiotic verbal spewage will dribble down my chubby chin. 

 

Christmas in July

A little bit ago I ordered a sweatshirt and a can coozie from www.coolstuff4writers.com and was emailed almost immediately by Sandy, the site's owner, to let me know that the oh-so-cute "Writer" sweatshirt I ordered was out of stock.  She offered to refund my money or I could just wait for it to come in. 

I opted to wait.

Every few days Sandy would email me to let me know how the order was coming just so I wouldn't worry.

Then, today, I opened my door and found a box full of goodies all for me!  Sandy had made sure to send me a coouple of extra tidbits for my troubles and I tore through it like a fat kid in an all-you-can-eat candy store.  Which I've been.  Last week. When I got to the end of the box I was very tempted to put it all back in just to open it all up again!  Yes, I'm weird, but I'm from West Virginia, so it's allowed!

So, should you be needing some gear to accompany you on your future literary journeys  - check out Sandy's site www.coolstuff4writers.com and stock up!

                        (Here's a pic of the sweatshirt from the site)

I'm Such a TOOL.

It happened again. 

I didn't mean for it to happen, but it did.

I ended up at a TOOL concert. 

"But - I DON'T WANT YOU TO HAVE TO GO BY YOURSELF!" I sobbed into Harry's ever-moistening t-shirt.  My  head throbbed and my stomach was doing its best to gyrate from my body.  I sniffed and continued to wail.

"Why are you crying?"  Harry asked, stroking my hair as we idled in the car.  

"I DON'T KNOW!"  When I get a headache  - a bad one - sometimes I have problems communicating - or controlling my emotions.  "I DON'T WANT YOU TO HAVE TO GO TO THE CONCERT AND SIT ALONE!" 

Three hours later, Harry and I are sitting in Row J of the Big Sandy Superstore Arena awaiting a band I'd been a pseudo fan of since 1996.  Listening to the guy beside me, I was psyched, if not a bit woozy from the massive amount of Tylenol I had previously ingested. 

When the music started I was extremely happy for the earplugs Harry forced into my pocket as he dragged me to his car.  Then the lead singer guy took the stage wearing a bright orange sweatshirt, a cowboy hat and started doing some odd backwards swimming dance and a move taken straight from "Coyote Ugly" I was very pleased.  However, four songs, three overdone intervals and one too many videos featuring gray-bodied anatomically incorrect people pulling Mini-me worms from their stomachs, I was bored. 

So I started people watching and reflecting upon the crowd mentality.  Everyone seemed to be genuinely excited to what amounted to a live music video with scenes flashing on multiple screens above the stage but I wanted more.  I wanted to be entertained. 

I got my wish. 

Unfortunately.

A young couple landed in the row in front of us and immediately started writhing in unison.  As the soft core reached its peak, the guy, with his scarecrow hair and skinny arms began flailing as he ate the small woman's face.  He licked her cheek. Grabbed her face.  And then, teeth be damned, slammed some kisses on her mouth.  I found it hilarious.  I hadn't seen that ameuterish amount of making out since high school. 

"WANNA LEAVE AND SEE 'TRANSFORMERS' AGAIN?"  I yelled to Harry in between fits of giggles. 

And just when I thought "Mr. Eatsherface" couldn't do anything else to shock me, he whipped off his t-shirt and wound it around his head like a sweaty turban.  I lost it and slid down in to my plastic seat with a snort. 

"You owe me," I said to Harry when it was over.

"I know," he said as he hugged me, "I know."

And then he had to take pictures at a wedding shower today, so, yeah, we're pretty much even!

I'm WORTHY!

I got this from Cindy and I'm wondering - can I use this as collatoral on a loan?

 

$5605.00The Cadaver Calculator - Find out how much your body is worth. From Mingle2 - Free Online Dating

hee hee

Step on a Crack...

On an unrelated note  - my pants are low-rise and my shirt keeps riding up and exposing my rear cleavage.  I have closed my window blinds to prevent any pile-ups that may occur in traffic down below my office window.

                                                        

Is it Chili in here?

Yesterday, after a particularly long and trying day that started at 7 AM and ended almost twelve hours later, Harry and I went to dinner.  For lack of better options and opinions, we decided to hit "Chili's," a place not known for their culinary masterpieces but, most of the time will at least be nice enough to serve you with somewhat edible food.

Walking up to the front glass doors with the large red pepper perched above I  noticed a couple staring intently at the railings.  They were loudly discussing the paint color and how it would look "just great" in some room of their house.

I immediately decided I didn't like them.  Now, I'm not the most judgmental person around but I've got killer instincts when it comes to whether or not someone is a "nice" person  and this time, well, it was  no different. 

The male of the couple was shorter, balding and had a stance that suggested he'd rather be elsewhere.  He was one of my best friends' ex boyfriends and a major jerk to boot.  He was an overly critical moron who insisted that my friend was not good enough for his oversexed ego-maniacal self.  So they broke up.  Luckily, my good friend married someone this past October that is more teddy bear than unbearable. 

So where do they seat this couple of ill-repute?  Right behind us.  For the rest of the meal I had to listen to this woman, who resembled that of an ill-conceived lovefest between a pale Barney the Dinosaur and that little girl from "Curly Sue." :

"YES THE SURGERY WENT FINE.  I JUST WANTED TO CALL AND LET YOU KNOW.  I CRIED BECAUSE I GUESS I GOT SCARED, BUT I KNEW YOU'D BE WORRIED.  WELL, I GUESS THIS MEANS I CAN'T DRINK TONIGHT."  This was the conversation, repeated at nauseum as she picked up her cell phone and dialed everyone in her phonebook.  She was sitting facing me so each time she yelled into her phone, the words would smack me in the back of the head and drip down my neck like verbal schrapnel. 

She left to go smoke and I reveled in the quiet. 

"I THINK I'M GOING TO NEED TO CHANGE INTO LONG SLEEVES WHEN I GET HOME.  IT'S GETTING COLD," she commented from across the room as the rest of the dining room paused to look at this oddly shaped woman scuffing across the bar area in tattered flip flops. 

And if that wasn't bad enough, as we were leaving thedining establishment, a man in front of me let the door fall back on to me instead of holding it open for me. HOW RUDE!

"Thanks," I said, loudly and with more than a twinge of annoyance in my tone. "Ass!" 

"That's my wife,"  Harry said under his breath as I huffed and puffed to the car. 

"Well!  He was being an ass!  You don't NOT check to see if someone is behind you when you're going out a door - it's bad manners!"  I squealed as I dove in the car and promptly smacked my head on the apex. 

"You know you deserved that, right?" Harry said as he shut the door and I cradled my ego and my head.

"Ass,"  I said to no one as Harry merrily crossed in front of the car, laughing in spite of my pain. 

R-O-C-K in the W-V!

Oh yes.  I am cool.  I am so cool that Amy has dubbed me "rockin'" - oh yeah.

So, even though my baby blue guitar goes unstrummed and my shower singing voice leaves much to be desired, at least one person out there thinks my chubby, tonedeaf butt is rockin'.

Oh yeah, baby. 

I always knew I was cool. Even with my Harry Potter obsession, uncommon ability to draw caricatures of my bosses and my multiple pairs of shoes with eyes (yes, I said "eyes"), I always knew I was destined for greatness. 

And here it is: 

Thanks AMY!!!!

 

Hawaii-Yee

After three-plus days of traveling, an unexpected detour to a San Fransisco hospital with an unconcious grandmother, Harry and I are finally home.  Hawaii was gorgeous and we did little more than shop, beach hop and eat like our stomachs were bottomless pits, which, of course, is my ideal vacation! 

Here is just a small excerpt from our trip, but don't worry, I've kept a journal detailing funny incidents from the islands!

"Oh, you want another soda?" the tiny Asian waitress asked Harry.  She smiled at us and we, being born of good manners, smiled back.  That's where the friendliness ended.  "You drink too much soda," she began.  "I had a customer, he drink too much soda.  Ten in one day, and I tell him 'you drink too much soda' and he did and I had a brother, he drink too much soda and he had his - what you call them - eye bags? He had eye bags removed and they no heal.  A year later, they no heal so I told him - you drink too much soda - he diabetic." 

Uh - wha?

Harry stared at her with a frozen smile plastered on his expression.  I continued to nod at appropriate times and pointedly took large gulps of my sugar-laden drink while the petite woman lectured my diet soda drinking husband about the dangers of diabetes.

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing he drinks diet!"  I said loudly, to no avail as she continued on her never-ending tirade.

Finally, she wandered off, still muttering "too much soda... diabetic!"

Harry looked at me and I looked at him, one thought simultaneously ringing from our collective minds : WTF???

It became a catchphrase for the rest of the vacation : "You drink too much soda, you become diabetic!"

On less funny news, Harry's grandmother did faint while our plane began to depart from the terminal.  She was fine, but we still had to be careful with her as we tried to get flights back to our home, which, surprisingly, not many planes want to willingly fly to Huntington, WV. 

And, to load on some more bad news, Phoebe, the perpetually pissed-off Himalayan who enjoys such activities such as sleeping on my head and sneezing in my face in the wee hours of the morning is sick again.  The vet doesn't seem to think that she'll come back from this bought of sickness.  We are to keep her comfy and make sure to squirt more ooey gooey medicine down her throat once a day which leads to her drooling like Hooch from "Turner and Hooch." 

Here is a slideshow of the few pictures I took (don't worry - Harry took OOOOOODLES!):