Today is the Sunday before my birthday which means that I get allllll this week (up until Thursday) to be alllll about me!
And I'm starting it off with ordering something from this fun website!
Perpetualkid.com! I love it!
I like the smelly pencils, the PlayDoh cologne and the men with balls magnets!
AND I like the toast clock, too!
This place is too fun (even if it wouldn't let me paste pictures into my blog!)
Any suggestions as to what else I should order?!
Happy Hollydaze!!!!
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Drive me Crazy(er)
It happened again.
I didn't want it to.
But it did.
And there I was, standing in the middle of a showroom floor, surrounded by high end cars and smarmy men wearing matching polo shirts, and wishing I was anywhere else. The corvettes gleamed, blue ones, yellow ones, convertibles and coupes, all waiting to be purchased, driven, cared for and buffed to a high-gloss shine.
Harry lovingly stroked the hood of a bright yellow Z06 and, while I stood, feeling like a bull in a china shop, he asked to drive one.
Ten minutes later we were given a white corvette that was very un-Z06like and told to "have fun." As soon as I slid my hefty butt into the car I knew that "having fun" was not going to be achieved. The car smelled. It was like someone threw up after drinking one too many Pina Colodas and the coconut-vomit smell still lingered. As we pulled out of the lot, the smell seemed to intensify as a new annoyance presented itself.
The gear shift rattled.
This poor car, with 8,000 miles on it, was now a sensory assault weapon.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived back at the lot and I rolled out of the car, both hands on my throbbing head.
"How'd you like that?" The salesguy asked. "Pretty smooth, huh?" I shot him a look that should've equaled instant death but was deflected by his teflon-like coating of smarminess.
Needless to say - I will not be looking at any cars for some time.
Which, for those of you who know me and my husband, should equal out to about a week or two.
:) Hope everyone's weekend is going better than mine!
Monday, September 1, 2008
Our Song(s)
Harry and I have been together a little over eight years now. And with that time comes love, devotion and - of course - a song that has to be designated as "our song."
About three years into our loving relationship (maybe more, maybe less - I dunno - we're going on a decade here, folks!) I looked at Harry and pouted as I'm apt to do when I want something (dessert, sex, dessert sex, or, ya know, a pony) and said "I'm sad."
"What is it, my darling? What do you want and what can I do for you, my utterly wonderful princess-pants?" is what he SHOULD HAVE SAID, but instead muttered, sweetly, "Oh dear lord, what now?"
"We don't have a song. That's sad. Here," I said and reached for the knob on the instrument panel. "The next song that comes on will be our song. Forever." I smiled and clapped my hands like a trained seal.
"This is our song?" he said, doubtfully as the music filled the cab of whatever vehicle we had at that time (I can't keep up - we've had more than Jay Leno at any given time).
I tilted my head, squinted my eyes and hummed along like a Maestro at a concert hall. "Yes. Yes, this is perfect."
"So... Marilyn Manson's 'Tainted Love' is our song?"
"Yes, darling. Isn't it romantic?" I trilled.
But I was only fooling myself - we'd had a song way before that. And my bestest bud since I was a mere toddler found a new version of it - it's BEAUTIFUL! I mean, it's no "Tainted Love" but it's still prolific, ya know?
About three years into our loving relationship (maybe more, maybe less - I dunno - we're going on a decade here, folks!) I looked at Harry and pouted as I'm apt to do when I want something (dessert, sex, dessert sex, or, ya know, a pony) and said "I'm sad."
"What is it, my darling? What do you want and what can I do for you, my utterly wonderful princess-pants?" is what he SHOULD HAVE SAID, but instead muttered, sweetly, "Oh dear lord, what now?"
"We don't have a song. That's sad. Here," I said and reached for the knob on the instrument panel. "The next song that comes on will be our song. Forever." I smiled and clapped my hands like a trained seal.
"This is our song?" he said, doubtfully as the music filled the cab of whatever vehicle we had at that time (I can't keep up - we've had more than Jay Leno at any given time).
I tilted my head, squinted my eyes and hummed along like a Maestro at a concert hall. "Yes. Yes, this is perfect."
"So... Marilyn Manson's 'Tainted Love' is our song?"
"Yes, darling. Isn't it romantic?" I trilled.
But I was only fooling myself - we'd had a song way before that. And my bestest bud since I was a mere toddler found a new version of it - it's BEAUTIFUL! I mean, it's no "Tainted Love" but it's still prolific, ya know?
Sunday, August 31, 2008
How to Buy a Television
Here's how to buy a new TV:
1. Stop by Large Super Center in order to pick up a low-cost movie or cd on a whim.
2. Leave with a HUGE bill and a receipt showing you've just purchased a Plasma TV, a PS3, two SD cards and a partridge in a pear tree.
3. Go back to Large Super Center and return everything only to drag his wife back on the same day to pick out another tv that is bigger than the last one and spend three hours crediting back and recrediting your account.
4. GO BACK A FOURTH TIME to the Large Super Center with receipts to pick up new extra large tv and plop it in the back of your semi-bro-in-law's truck.
5. Spend five hours setting up the new tv, plugging cables into various receivers, devices, orifices, and what not and generally bore the ever-lovin' crap out of any female within five feet.
6. GO BACK TO THE F'N LARGE SUPER STORE AGAIN to get a price adjustment since the new, larger tv had the audacity to be on sale the next day.
7. Murder husband in his sleep with a set of Gold-plated, platinum-tipped Monster cables that cost more than your first car.
And that, folks, is how to successfully buy a new television set.
:)
(the tv)
(the pre-murdered husband and his new touch-screen remote control, his Otter Box'd Iphone and a Jollipop that almost won).
1. Stop by Large Super Center in order to pick up a low-cost movie or cd on a whim.
2. Leave with a HUGE bill and a receipt showing you've just purchased a Plasma TV, a PS3, two SD cards and a partridge in a pear tree.
3. Go back to Large Super Center and return everything only to drag his wife back on the same day to pick out another tv that is bigger than the last one and spend three hours crediting back and recrediting your account.
4. GO BACK A FOURTH TIME to the Large Super Center with receipts to pick up new extra large tv and plop it in the back of your semi-bro-in-law's truck.
5. Spend five hours setting up the new tv, plugging cables into various receivers, devices, orifices, and what not and generally bore the ever-lovin' crap out of any female within five feet.
6. GO BACK TO THE F'N LARGE SUPER STORE AGAIN to get a price adjustment since the new, larger tv had the audacity to be on sale the next day.
7. Murder husband in his sleep with a set of Gold-plated, platinum-tipped Monster cables that cost more than your first car.
And that, folks, is how to successfully buy a new television set.
:)
(the tv) (the pre-murdered husband and his new touch-screen remote control, his Otter Box'd Iphone and a Jollipop that almost won). Saturday, August 30, 2008
Mean Kitty
Okay, I don't know how many of you have seen this, but this video is hilarious if you happen to be a kitty lover. For those of you out there who have had or currently do have cats - you all know that the "sneak attack" is something often employed by a frisky kitty on a pair of unsuspecting ankles... or ears... or, well, anything that will bleed.
It's about four minutes but I thought it was cute enough to share:
It's about four minutes but I thought it was cute enough to share:
Friday, August 29, 2008
MC Hammer would be Proud...
As Harry and I walked toward the back of the chubby gal clothing store a young, beautiful child with gorgeous blond hair and enormous blue eyes started climbing up his father and whining "Is mamma a big butt? Is mamma a big butt? I wanna see mamma's big butt!" Without daring to meet Harry's eyes I dove, headfirst, into a rack of over-bedazzled tank tops and guffawed until my face returned to a normal shade of pink.
We have spent the day running errands as one is oft to do when presented with an extra day off work. We started by going to the bank and then ran to the DMV to quickly snap my picture for my brand new "25+5" license.
And then time stopped.
For the DMV is a great equalizer. It makes no matter of your age, ethnicity, gender or even how much cash you have in overseas markets. No, at the DMV you are a number, a problem, a person who must surely have the wrong form or a person who filled out the form clutched in your sweaty hand quite incorrectly. So as we entered into the area that Time Forgot I was given a number. A magic number that would tell me when to go to the numbered windows at the far end of the sad, tiny and dingy room.
C440.
Thirty minutes later and my nose has reddened from it starting to run and my hair, once curled, flipped and pouffed, had taken on the texture of old fettuccine noodles. Finally, my number was illuminated on the large red screen hanging from the ceiling and, not looking first for small children that had passed out from sheer boredom, I ran to window #7 and happily shoved all of my forms at the man behind the plastic safety glass.
He smiled, looked over my paperwork and then shoved it back toward me.
"Sorry, but I can't help you today," he said.
A small piece of me broke off, shriveled up and died on the grimy blue carpet.
"What?! Why?! What did I do?" I semi-shrieked at him.
"You forgot to answer all the questions on the Renewal Form," he grinned, clearly enjoying my panic-stricken face.
"You're kidding! I looked over that darn thing four times already! How'd I miss that?!"
He chuckled and then spent an extra ten minutes telling Harry and I about how he still drives his big Dodge Ram Diesel truck, gas prices be damned.
"Wanna change anything on here?" he asked me, referring to my height, weight and hair color.
I thought about it and since I filled out the information about four hair colors ago and more than a few pounds ago I decided to do what was right: "Nah - you can leave it all just like it is!"
So, as I sit here tonight and type on my Mac that hates me with a fiery passion that only a virtually inanimate object could, I realize that life is pretty darn good sometimes. I mean, if you can find humor at the DMV and life at a chubby gal department store - what's not to live for?
Oh - and cake. Gotta have cake.
We have spent the day running errands as one is oft to do when presented with an extra day off work. We started by going to the bank and then ran to the DMV to quickly snap my picture for my brand new "25+5" license.
And then time stopped.
For the DMV is a great equalizer. It makes no matter of your age, ethnicity, gender or even how much cash you have in overseas markets. No, at the DMV you are a number, a problem, a person who must surely have the wrong form or a person who filled out the form clutched in your sweaty hand quite incorrectly. So as we entered into the area that Time Forgot I was given a number. A magic number that would tell me when to go to the numbered windows at the far end of the sad, tiny and dingy room.
C440.
Thirty minutes later and my nose has reddened from it starting to run and my hair, once curled, flipped and pouffed, had taken on the texture of old fettuccine noodles. Finally, my number was illuminated on the large red screen hanging from the ceiling and, not looking first for small children that had passed out from sheer boredom, I ran to window #7 and happily shoved all of my forms at the man behind the plastic safety glass.
He smiled, looked over my paperwork and then shoved it back toward me.
"Sorry, but I can't help you today," he said.
A small piece of me broke off, shriveled up and died on the grimy blue carpet.
"What?! Why?! What did I do?" I semi-shrieked at him.
"You forgot to answer all the questions on the Renewal Form," he grinned, clearly enjoying my panic-stricken face.
"You're kidding! I looked over that darn thing four times already! How'd I miss that?!"
He chuckled and then spent an extra ten minutes telling Harry and I about how he still drives his big Dodge Ram Diesel truck, gas prices be damned.
"Wanna change anything on here?" he asked me, referring to my height, weight and hair color.
I thought about it and since I filled out the information about four hair colors ago and more than a few pounds ago I decided to do what was right: "Nah - you can leave it all just like it is!"
So, as I sit here tonight and type on my Mac that hates me with a fiery passion that only a virtually inanimate object could, I realize that life is pretty darn good sometimes. I mean, if you can find humor at the DMV and life at a chubby gal department store - what's not to live for?
Oh - and cake. Gotta have cake.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Sad-urday!
It's Saturday night and as I sit here in front of my space heater, laptop propped on my lap (covered in a Harry Potter throw blanket) and watching non-Olympic television I can hear my husband in the guest bathroom playing with his new GI Joes and I have to wonder: What have our weeekends come to?
Last weekend was a reunion and pageant filled stressfest that happily concluded by Monday so this weekend should have been a snoozefest. Instead, Harry hops out of bed at 7am to go to the mall to sit with other men equally as obsessed with a tall black man and his retro'd footwear packs.
I opted to stay in bed and had just flipped on the tv and begun to watch "Josh and Drake" on the Disney channel before my cell phone rang.
I sleepily lunged for it and flipped it open.
"Hello?" I said into the pink phone while I fought against falling back asleep into my cooling puddle of drool on the satiny pillow case.
"How much do you love me?" I smiled. Harry always does this before buying me something or bringing me something that he knows I want or must have. I grin and stretch.
"A lot, why?"
"Cuz I left my wallet at home and need for you to bring it up to the mall to me."
Bastard-head.
"Fine. What time do I need to be there?" I ask while peering at the clock on the bedside table that read 7:15am.
"Eight?"
Big Bastard-head.
"Fine. I'll be there by then."
I hung up the phone and contemplated running away from home before remembering how much I truly hate to pack. So I got up and slapped on some lipstick so as to not scare a fellow driver into a four car pile up from my ghastly pale face.
Forty minutes later I arrive at the mall with some Chick-fil-a chicken minis, a large diet coke and a man's wallet.
I swear, after last weekend's pre-ten-year-reunion cleaning fest and today's "fetch me my wallet, bitch" errand - I should have enough brownie points to earn me something really cool. Or shiny. Or both.
Instead - we bought a Plasma tv for our basement.
:) Oh - and I got a hair cut and a new hue for my impending 25+5 birthday:
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