Picture Perfect!

Turns out Santa had an extra goodie for me in his bag-o-tricks: a new digital camera!   It's the baby version of Harry's XTI -  a Canon PowerShot A710 with that all-important option: image stabilization! 

Here are some snap-happy pics from the "test run":

My kitchen, with the purple chairs from downstairs.  I have yet, too, to find some cute hooks for my three-year old, still pristine aprons!

A little reminder during the holiday season...

A way too-close up shot of me with a rather spotty complexion. I'd like to blame the camera - a malfunction or something - but nope - those are my massive amounts of freckles.  No wonder I still look twelve!

A picture of Harry taking a picture:

My living room mantle - complete with too much Blenko glass.  I'm really glad that Huntington, WV does NOT lie on a fault line...

Harry decided to go outside and take pics of our neighborhood and of our front door:

 

And - a picture of me - looking none too happy - in classic black and white - AND I found out that my camera has a color sapping action - so I took a picture of my bouquet Harry sent me on the "First Day of Holly"...

That's it for now, however, I'm heading to a New Year's Eve party (complete with a headache and an "I Heart Jack Sparrow" pink tee) and may be able to get some rather interesting shots of my buds - three (or four) sheets to the wind! 

--Happy New Year!

---Love, Holly

If I only had a Brain, doo de doo de doo doo doo!

While going through my outbox today I found some interesting tidbits that Outlook deemed necessary to "save as draft."  

I cannot say when, or even why, I created the following - nor even if I've posted them before - but - for your viewing pleasure/horror - I present to you - DRAFTS:

     For some reason my hair, even though it is harnessed in a very pretty
pressed black leather headband, is still revolting.
    Little stray follicles are standing on end and sticking straight up like
soldiers lining up for battle.
    The Battle of a Bad Hair Day.

       Coming to work today - I'm a bit groggy - as if I've slept through a very
important event and am quite pissed about it - but can't recall what that
even was or may have been.
    In this hazy fog of semi-consciousness I veer into the turning lane and
stop abruptly.
    A tiny white man, baked brown from days in the sun, and wearing tight
jogging shorts, is gently loping through the street.  Not on the sidewalk.
Not on the curb.  Nope.  He's jogging along the yellow lines - in the middle
of the street.
    I stare, oblivious to the horns of others, people more determined to end up
at work than I, and watch his bobbing head disappear down Third Avenue.
    I wonder - what kind of person does it take to, without fear, jog down the
middle of a busy street littered with bad drivers from neighboring Ohio and
Kentucky?  And more so - what kind of person does it take to don tiny red
shorts while jogging - after the age of eighty?
    At any rate, it was something to see and a sight that shall be seared onto
my brain for quite some time...


Twas Friday the Thirteen,
And all through the land,
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even a Lawyerman,
When all of a sudden,
there arose such a  clatter,
And I bolted from my desk,
To see what was the matter,
And what to my bleary eyes did appear,
But the littlest associate,
In work up to her ears.
I rushed to her aid
and presented her my hand,
Wanting to help her,
In this dreary lawyer land,
Instead she looked at me evilly,
And with one squinted eye,
And said "begone with you,
For I know you will buy,
too much stuff on your trip ,
And leave me here, you selfish, mean lil' sh... person!

(This one I'm pretty sure I've posted before...)  :

I have self-diagnosed an affliction that’s been plaguing me for years:  I
have Nocturnal ADD.  Yes, horrors of horrors, every night/early morning I am
awoken by the sound of music playing in my head, half-finished thoughts,
story ideas swirling in broken scenes, and things I should have said during
prior conversations.  In this torrential tornado of hyper happenings - I see
images, too.  Bits of the last Harry Potter movie, imagined instances in
Half-Blood Prince, scenes from Joss Whedon’s series, and childhood shows
that were near and dear to me swirl by in a mess of mixed-up media.
    I figure that, as I sleep, my brain begins to plump with unreleased
thoughts and ideas pushing at my consciousness.   This pushing eventually
turns to full-on ramming at the side of lobes.  Eventually, the mind takes
over and wakes me from a deep, dreamless sleep and then prevents me from
getting back to REM by forcing me, head-first, into a vat of dreams where
Harry Potter is casting me in his new movie starring Tucker from Disney’s
Flash Forward and where I will be wearing only a furry, Chewbacca-looking
towel for protection from the elements since we are to be filming atop an
iceberg.  I have a large number of lines, but no time to memorize so my best
bud, Tiffany will be off-stage prompting me while wearing a monkey on her
head and fighting off the vampires, Buffy-style, that keep trying to touch
it.   Eventually I get in front of the camera which looks more like the
Leaning Tower of Pisa, and start to sing words to a Lena Horne song.  I win
an Oscar made of Cheese for my efforts...

Lindsey Lohan - is that you?

My sister just called me at work. 

I really should screen my calls.

(I've taken the liberty to enter pauses between words even though, in reality, there are none in Summer-speak)

"Hey - thanks for bringing me those tampons when I needed them the other night.  But I didn't read the directions - were the flames supposed to shoot out before or after insertion?" 

"Huh?"  I had no clue what she was talking about. With Summer - that's not an odd thing.

"Well, I was fine until I left the bathroom and started walking around and - it was like instant fire!" 

"Why?  What happened?"  It's awell-documented  fact that I have an irrational fear of "involved" feminine products.  NOW I had to worry about them burning, too?!

"Turns out they were really, overly scented - I couldn't get it out fast enough!  The more my legs rubbed together as I ran for the bathroom - I thought I was going to burst into flames!"

By this point, I've laid my head on my desk and am weeping with laughter.  One of the partners here at Lawyerman, Lawyerman, and Lawyerman was settled in the large conference room not twenty feet away from my desk and I was sure he could here my gargling. 

"You're a - a -" I stop and wipe my eyes, "YOU'RE A FIRECROTCH!"  By this point I'm openly cackling when my Office Manager saunters by with a bewildered look on her overly made up face. 

The moral of this post is: Don't buy scented tampons.  Unless you want to make your sister's coochie spontaneaously combust.  tee hee.       

         +  = FIRECROTCH!

I'm a Mean One, Mrs. Grinch! I'm the QUEEN of SINFUL Thoughts!

Twas the Friday before Christmas, and all through the firm, everyone was stirring, wanting to go the heck HOME ALREADY!

In walks my runner and he says "So my dad's been standing in line for the Wii since 5:30 this morning and he was number eleven and turns out that Toys-R-Us only got in ten and the lady says 'we have 60 gig PS3's - anyone want those?' and no one wanted them - they wanted Wiis so -"  I cut him off.

"Whoah - Toys-R-Us has Playstation 3's - in stock?"  Harry had been wanting a PS3 like that kid in that horrible movie with the "You'll shoot your eye out" gun.  So I called Diane at the store and she confirmed that, yes, they had them in stock and yes, they were the 60 gig and yes, they were approximately the same price as a black market kidney. 

                                     

So I did what any other loving wife would do.

I called and begged my Mommy Dearest to go get it.  And she did.  She pulled her arthritic butt out from between the couch cushions, hopped in her Grannymobile and made it to Toys-R-Us in ten minutes.

She calls me from the store, confused, "Holly - they don't have that thing."

"Mom, I JUST talked to Diane, the manager, not fifteen minutes ago - what are you asking for?"

"A $600 MP3 player - they said they don't have anything in the store that costs that much." 

I sighed and said "Ask for Diane - tell her I called a little bit ago for a"  I paused for emphasis, "Playstation Three."  

"Oh -" I could hear her repeat it back and then a gaggle of laughing salespeople. 

"Yeah - they got it."  

Funds were transferred, moms were praised and some workers got to have a nice chuckle at my mother's expense on the last shopping weekend before Christmas.

I was happy.   "You're gonna get him a game, too - aren't you?"

Well, crap.

So, off I go to do some research and find out that the most wanted game is "Resistance:  Fall of Man"  which is kinda like Aliens v. Man in a WW II setting.                                            

Works for me.

I'm standing in line for about a half an hour after work when this guy in front of me starts getting chatty. "Oh - buyin' a game, are ya?"   No, nimrod - I have a wobbly table at home - needs a prop - thought a $60 game would be PERFECT for it...  People kill me.  But I digress.

I smiled politely and shrugged.  "Got him the system, had to have a game to play, too!" 

He tilted his head and said "Aw!  How old?!" 

"Twenty-six."

"Oh."  he quickly turned around and never looked back.

 

              Merry Belated Christmas, everyone! 

 

HAPPY FIRST DAY OF WINTER TO MEEEEE!

That elusive "Do Not Disturb" door on www.jkrowling.com has opened - revealing the title of book seven!  The FINAL book in the Harry Potter series! 

You can either go to the website - click on the eraser and figure out how to open the door yourself  - OR you can watch this nifty video - IT REVEALS THE TITLE OF BOOK SEVEN! 

 

 

I'm so excited! Oh -and - of course - I'm very excited for my sister - she turns THIRTY today!

 Happy birthday, sissyhead!

Quick Note...

My newly-married bud, Stacey, just sent me this link featuring an acapella men's chior singing a Christmas diddy.

WAIT! Don't judge it by that dorky intro - just watch it - I laughed so hard I nearly busted with Christmas joy!

 

Pepe le you?

I think, somehow, I've become a non -stinky Pepe Le Pue. 

I don't know when this happened, or when I stopped being the persued and am now the persuer - but it has occurred and I find myself vying for my hubby's attention every time he's within five feet of my grubby paws.

I stroke his hair, rub his chin, pat his arm, grope his - well - uh - never mind - let's just say I'm overly affectionate.  And I'm not really sure if this a new thing or an escalating version of me.  Whatever it is - I'm annoying myself as well as him.

Maybe my biological clock has started ticking. Or has started ticking louder - either way- it could be the cause of my heightened sense of gropeage.  Where's the snooze bar on this darn thing?  Undoubtedly my body is not ready for kids, for children, rugrats, spawn, hanger-on-ers? I still cringe when I hear a baby's cry - I still gag when I see a snot-encrusted toddler. I still recoil when I spot that woman who just could not say "no" to HER grope-happy hubby and is now doomed to spend the next 1-18 years pushing around a buggy full of screaming little people!

So, whether it's just the fact that I see him very little or the fact that my (gulp!) biological (warfare) clock is a'tickin' - I need to learn to keep my hands to myself.

Or just wait 'till he's asleep.

hee hee.

"What is this? Oh, but of course. This little one wish to commit suicide to prove her love for me. What a sweet gesture. Nevertheless, I must prevent it. " Pepe Le Peu