Solid Foods are the Devil

Chicken Sandwich - 1
Holly eating solid Foods again - 0

Oh well, I tried.  It just didn't work out as well as I had planned.  I'm obviously home from work today and trying very hard not to be sick and to not freak out too much about what made me sick and why I had little red dots all over my face last night that are still there today.

I work in a place where we serve real honest-to-God humans so it's very possible I contracted something there.  But why in the world would it show up on a Sunday?

Anyhoo - I'm babbling due to lack of brain power from not having any food.  And we all know my stance on junk food equaling creativity.  It's the combo of sugar and grease - it's what the geniuses of times gone by would've used if Opium and prostitutes weren't so widely available.

Whew...  floor spinning - back to bed I go... 

What goes down... must come up...

The morning was wonderful.  Harry and I slept in, had a little fun and then he made me lunch - gorgeous and thick burgers with real bits of garlic and Crazy Jane's Mixed-up Salt (sooo good!).   We ate heartily and I finished by making a beautiful salad of orange and purple cauliflower with bright green broccoli to take to the non-cookout party that mom and dad were throwing us for our fifth anniversary.

The salad was made, the pizzas were ordered and the cake was ready to be picked up.

And then it hit me.  I couldn't breathe.  I looked around wildly and helplessly for the elephant that had to have been perched on my chest.  My stomach clenched, my ears hollowed out and my face burned.  I was freaking out and didn't know what was wrong.  

"Hold me," I said as Harry lept from his couch to mine and rubbed my back. 

"Do you want to lay down?" he asked.   And I, grateful that he didn't ask if I needed to remove my panties, said, "No - I think - yeah - maybe if I throw up?"

So I did. Multiple times.   And then spent a good hour shivering afterwards.

Not sure what happened there.   

And no - not preggers.  Positive there. (Negative? Whatever -ya'all get what I mean.)

So now I am on the couch and looking up stuff on WebMD.  Here's hopin' it was a bug - cause that salad I made is just too pretty not to eat.  Ugh.  Eventually...

Forget me Not

My would-be delivery date came and went.  I pretended not to notice it.  Pretended not to feel that itchy and prickling notion that was teasing the back of my brain.  I was hoping to forget.  I went to work, I came home, I laughed, I smiled, felt the grins reach my eyes but still waited for the day to be over. 

No one really said anything and we pretended it didn't matter even though I knew that it kinda did. Hallmark just doesn't make cards that say "Sorry your fetus died - but have a great day!" or "You would've been a great mom - buckup and have fun trying again!" or even a "Miscarriage?  It's okay - you would've dropped it on its head anyway..." But really - they should make those cards  - especially for those of us with wildly inappropriate senses of humor.

However, my sister, the one who has always been there for me through nightmares about people putting tape on my head (not sure, either) and rubbed my legs when I struggled with the beginning of a rather complicated and long-winded lympatic disorder and she who seems to always forget things as soon as they are shoved into her already over-crowded, ADD-riddled brain dropped off a tiny pink package at my  house. 

There, in front of my television (where she knew I wouldn't miss it!) was this little gift bag with crisp white paper poking from it.   A note tucked inside was written on with her flailing scrawl: 

A butterfly lights beside us, Like a sunbeam and for a brief moment its glory and beauty belong to our world... but then it flies on again and although we wish it could have stayed, we aer so thankful to have seen it at all...

Another note read:

Sometimes miracles arrive so tiny that we cannot feel the weight of them and yet we are still cahnged and we are blessed none the less.

A small box was cradled within the pink bag.   Inside was a round mother of pearl necklace representing what would have been a new birthstone and a new title for me. 

It's one of the most wonderful and thoughtful gifts I've ever received and it made me realize, more than ever, how much I love my sister.

So even though there are no plans on the rather rainy horizon (really?  More rain?  Seriously - I am DONE with precipitation!) Harry and I have vowed to consider the possibility of trying for a Harry the IV within the next year.  And if it doesn't stick that time, well, I'm sure I can adopt one from another country.. or from Brad and Angelina - I'm sure they won't miss one of theirs...

 (Me, Tiff and Sis)

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Things They Don't Tell You...

Harry and I bought our first house right before we got married.   It was three stories, had lots of white walls, carpets and cabinets and it was ours!  Wasn't too long, however, that we realized we had no frickin' clue how to run a house.   We had a yard with no lawn mower and a big bed with no sheets.

Eventually, though, we figured things out through guessing and sheer dumb luck.   And more than a few tubs of spackle (not on the bed or on the lawn - but ya know - for when we painted and - uh stuff. Oh, never mind!).

So you can only imagine my surprise when one day, about a year or two after we moved in, I noticed that the air conditioner was only mildly blowing from the vents.  I adjusted the temperature and the fan settings.  Nada. 

Mustering up my pluck, I picked up my phone and called Robert, my ex-boyfriend who could probably take apart an AC unit and reassemble it blindfolded like one of those Rubick's Cube geniuses.

"Robert!  My air isn't working!  Well, it's cold - but it's barely blowing!"

After his initial sniggering came to an end he said thoughtfully: "Hmm... Well, when was the last time you changed your filter?"

I stopped with one hand still held over the vent.  "Filter?" I repeated.  "If I were this 'filter' thing - where would I be located?"

"Holly!"  he yelled into the phone.

"What?!  I grew up in a house where central air meant opening two windows on either side of room.  When we got fancy we'd stick a fan in the middle!"

"Go change your filter."

"But I don't wanna go outside!"

"Holly.  Listen carefully.  Go downstairs, look for a small door.  Find your air conditioning unit.  Pull the handle and pull out the filter.  Put in a new one."  His sarcasm was not well hidden.

So I did what he said.  I went downstairs, squealed at the single dead bug that had keeled over in the middle of the closet and made him stay on the line as I huffed and hemmed and hawed and further cemented his belief that our breaking up was one of the best things that had ever happened in his new (much more bland) life.

That being said, I have been diligent-esque about changing the filter.  So when Harry and I went to the evil Home Depot the other night and came home with two new allergen-reducing overpriced filter I told him to put them at the top of the stairs.  Putting things at the top or bottom of the stairs is code for "take me with you" when anyone traverses said stairs.  He picked them up and left the kitchen.

I followed two minutes later and noticed the filters leaning against the doors to the basement.   But where was Harry?  He wasn't in the bedroom and he wasn't in the tv room - so where was he?

"Harry?  Harry?!"  I called.

"Yeah?"  he answered - from downstairs!

"WHAT THE HELL?!"  I yelled as he busted out laughing and sheepishly peeked around the corner of the stairs.   "WHY WOULD YOU GO DOWNSTAIRS AND NOT TAKE THE FILTERS WITH YOU?!" 

He was red-faced and bouncing off the furniture now as he continued to laugh at my outrage over his lack of carrying the filters to the lower floor.  

"Oh that's too funny!"  he said as he continued into the bedroom and into the bed.

"You put them at the TOP of the stairs but you didn't take them with you downstairs?" I was flabbergasted.

"Yup," he said, putting one farmer's tanned arm behind his head and leaning back on the headboard.  "I left them at the top so that I'd remember to change it tomorrow."

His logic was so flawed and infuriating all I could do was stare.  And then laugh. 

After five years of marriage he still makes me laugh.   And want to kill him.  All at the same time.

Aint love grand?!

And - because I have to keep up the front of me being the biggest geek ya'all know - I bring you the link to a new Joss Whedon project :  Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog!   

So excited!

Teaser from Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog on Vimeo.

Happy Anniversary to Meeeee!.... and Harry....

Five years of wedded bliss can only be celebrated in one way. That's right - by spending too much time in a movie theater.  

Last Friday we saw "Get Smart" which was pretty cute and not too cliched or stupid.  After a refreshing meal of burgers and greasy fries we then decided to catch a second flick "Love Guru" which was a bit cliched and stupid.  Mike Myers may have hit his stride with Austin Powers but the Love Guru was just a bit, well, blah. Justin Timberlake, however, was awesome in it!   He actually sings Celine Dion with a fake Canadian French accent at one point.  

And then Harry looked at me with that twinkle in his eyes.  

And I ended up at the end of a row watching a third movie.  "The Incredible Hulk" was actually pretty good and Harry was salivating at the thought of getting the flick on a blu-ray disc.

Saturday morning dawned with our anniversary seeming very much like the d-day of 2003 with me in bed alone and groggy.  Harry had left me to go buy some overpriced boat-like shoes with little jumpy men on them and I decided to go with mom to the local Farmer's market that just started up down the street.  Only it wasn't there.  Hmm.

So we ended up at a produce stand and I bought some lovely non-tainted red, yellow and green tomatoes and some peaches.  The man who quickly put our produce in recycled plastic wal-mart bags told us of a lunch dish prepared by the Greenbrier here in WV.   After pan-frying not-too-thinly-sliced tomatoes in olive oil and slicing one of the large red tomatoes, I layered it on two pieces of white toast with a piece of American Cheese and some mayo on it. 

I expected it to me okay and it was WONDERFUL!!!!

And then we had a great meal at The Chop House.

:)

                    

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Bathing the Blind - and other fun tasks...

Silver is a blind Mr. Kitty.  He's also mostly deaf.  And, when I found him on Sunday stuck in a corner, bouncing off each wall as he tried to right himself and hollering loudly, I noticed he looked - ratty.

So what do I do?

That's right. I stuck his skanky siamese butt into the sink and dumped a handful of soap on him.   He proceeded to sit in the water and stare at me accusedly with those big blue sigthless eyes and, on occassion, try to crawl down the front of my shirt.  

Not that I didn't deserve to look like the last-place loser of a pathetic Old Girls Gone Wild Wet T-shirt contest - but I was trying to help.   And here is Silver, still wet from his bath and about two seconds away from slapping me, with cunning mad old ninja accuracy, across my reddened cheeks:

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In Summation...

This about sums up my day:

 

I have eaten everything I can get my chubby, dimpled hands on, today.  

And those bastards, Ben and Jerry, have made the most nummiest Pistachio Pistachio ice cream.  

Which I'm going to go have a second bowl now.  To drown the sound of the thoughts that are gyrating through my noggin':  My five year anniversary is on Saturday, this Wednesday is my un-due date and I'm approaching thirty like a runaway train on shortened track.

Now where'd I put that damn ice cream scoop?

Eight Things

1.  Betty White just made a pass at Regis on the new "Password" gameshow.

2.  I tried to phone screen someone for a job today who prefaced the call with "Sure, just lemmie change."

3.  I went to a Mediterranean Cooking Class today at lunch where I won a free bottle of Basalmic Vinegar.  However, the very old lady (who prefaced everything with "Would you believe I'm 60?!") had decided to rant at the end of the class about how Martha Stewart was framed (I can't make this stuff up) and I muttered, a bit too loudly, "Well at least she got a nice poncho out of it.." to which crazy cook lady zeroed in on me.  "What did you say?!" she demanded.  I felt like I was back in school again. So I looked at her and said, loud enough to fill the large meeting room "At least she got a nice poncho out of it!"   Everyone laughed and she mentally stabbed me in the head with a broken bottle of olive oil.  A lunch hour well spent.

4.  I went to the eye doc yesterday where he told me, in not so many words, that I was suffocating my eyeballs.    And that I owed him $120.00.

5.  I saw "Prince Caspian" again.  I'm still a dirty ol' woman.

6.  During a stupid argument about lord knows what my sister and mother were stopped cold when my five year old niece turned in her chair and stared at mom.  "Mammy? Do you have a brain in your head?"  My mother looked at her darling grandchild and tried to be insulted while under the gaze of her calculating deep brown eyes.   "Well, well -  yes.  Yes I do!"  "Oh," said Gillian.  "Is it pink?"  

We're still not sure where that came from but somehow I think Spongebob is to blame.

7.  I'm supposed to be writing - but instead I'm on Harry Potter fansites and wondering if I have enough marshmallows to make a large batch of Rice Krispie Treats in order to drown my sorrows.  Of which I really have none.  :)

8.  I was reminded again today that the people who are "nice" and "friendly" on the job don't make it in the long run.  Well, then.  I'll be sitting at the Start Line if anyone wants to join me.  

I have a plate of Rice Krispies!   :)   Happy Almost Friday! 

Whine and Dine

Myfirst clue that the free lunch we won wouldn't be gourmet fare was the fact that it was being sponsored by a retirement home.   The second clue for me came when I started to eat my lunch of pizza sticks, potato chips and hair - not exactly an appealing combo.   

So I decided to walk down to the pop machine where I started a one-sided tug of war with the dollar changer on the front.  I crammed my bill into the slot and waited for the mechanical pull to grab at my currency.  When nothing happened I continued to cram my dollar into the slot hoping for a miracle of machinery to result in my getting a caffeinated soda.   However, three minutes later I knew I was starting to look more like a client than an employee so I fished out the revolting $1.25 in change and inserted it. 

Somehow, as if I hadn't been insulted enough by the vending machines, I decided that a Twix bar would be the perfect combo with my Pepsi.  I held my breath as I put my rejected dollar up to the bill slot and - beamed as it was smoothly pulled inside and registered on the tiny screen.  My Twix fell smoothly to the bottom of the machine and I reached for it and my change.  Which wasn't there.  The machine had decided to stiff me my change.

So - in summation, I almost ate a hair (not mine) and was then outsmarted by not one, but two, machines.

Okay, fine, it was three.  For two days I had been trying to send a fax back to a company that sends applicants our way for open jobs and kept receiving a busy signal.   I was red-faced and huffing and more than a little mad when I picked up the sheet and began dialing the company's number.   And paused.

I had been dialing my own fax number.  Every time.  For two days.

Is it too late to join the Amish?

Dad Gets his Revenge

"I saw a cake in Kroger the other day that said 'Happy Anniversary 9-11," my dad said while slurping on his ice cream cone.  "And I thought 'well - nothing ever good happened on 9-11!'"  he finished and took another bite out of the chocolate covered cone.

I looked at my dad with my head cocked and my brows furrowed waiting for him to get what he just said.

My sister, sitting across from me, snorted with laughter as she watched my face redden with the effort of not bursting into laughter.

"So - nothing good ever happened on September 11th?"  I asked my dad who sputtered as he realized what he said. 

I dissolved into hearty laughs and closed my eyes as I clutched at my stomach.

And that's when my father squished his ice cream cone into the side of my face.

I feel the love.   :)

Stranded

The rain.

It hates me.

And it was coming for me.

The power was fluxuating, my doors were slamming and the rain and hail flecked my windows with liquid anger.

And then it killed my phone.

And my internet.

Nature knows I hate it - and it wanted revenge for the plants I've killed, the bushes I've hacked and the flowers I've let die.

It found out my secret.

I'm almost thirty - and I'm scared of the rain - and the dark.

                  

              

 

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Pizza for Mia

Coming home from work I was too tired to stop anywhere for food.  The rain was pouring, my cupboards were bare and my feet - they were sore. It was a long day of standing talking to people who pretended to be interested in Direct Care Work just so they can get a free pen.   A free .49  pen.

So I came home and got in bed with my "I survived the Newsies Square Explosion" t-shirt and hopped on www.papajohns.com.   Apparently, you really can order a pizza from the net and have it delivered - no cash needed.

That was 40 mins ago.

According to my email, my estimated delivery time is 35-45 minutes.  They're cutting it close and I hope to find a red-pocket-carrying pizza man on my doorstep in the next few minutes or else - ah - let's face it -  as an achey and crippled version of my former self the worst I can do is send a "Hey dudes!  Where's my f'n pizza???" email in a snarky tone.  

Oh! It's here!

Ack! The Pizza Delivery Boy was just here (I had a HUGE job fair today and the idea of making dinner for just me was about as appealing as having a root canal with no Novocain - again) and me in my oversized t-shirt and mussed-up eyeliner and frizzy hair answered the door.  Darn it - he was cute! I was like 'Hello Pizza Boy - wanna come in and feed me garlic buttery sticks of dough?"  What can I say - I'm a sucker for a boy in a Papa John's uniform who reeks of garlic.  Blame Harry for that one.

Instead I commented about the weather (proving again how freakin' old I am) and sent him on his merry way.

 

And there endeth any chance I had of being published.   In Penthouse.

ahahahah!

Grand Theft Auto-Erotic and - bugs

When Harry told me he was going to buy Grand Theft Auto IV I knew what I was in for - mild violence, a LOT of cussing and the occasional smack down of a hooker (which is actually really fun).
So when he just appeared in the doorway with his brown hair standing on end and his cheeks flushed I knew that GTA had upped the ante. 
A lot.
"You GOTTA come see this!  I'm getting a lap dance!" he practically yelled at me and then ran back to his man cave.  I followed and saw a pale skinny gal in pigtails and two black x's over each nipple rubbing her face and other parts against my virtual husband.
"You've got to be kidding me... What's this rated again?"  I asked as the girl stood on the couch, hiked one leg over the back of the cushions and gyrated.
"Rated M for mature!" he giggled as he quickly pushed the button that indicated, yes, he would very much like a second lap dance.
Like a kid in a candy store he laughed maniacally as a second stripped joined in the "fun."

As far as I know my loving man has only had one lap dance and that was during his bachlor party when he came home grinning and covered in lipstick.   But somehow, I thought as I looked at him and his very wide and toothy grin, he seemed to be enjoying this virtual dance better.  After all, this one will have better consequences than the last...  :)

And on an unrelated note - these damn locusts/cicadas/kateydeds are driving me nuts!   I know they're only around every 17 years but when one landed on me while I was supposed to be holding up a large sheet of glass table top - I freaked out and almost lost a toe!

I'm ready for them and they're little creepy skins to be gone. 
Ew.
                               
                   

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