Date Night and Spidey Sense

So - I'm alone again.

Big pitiful sigh from me and one anguished slap in the forehead for ya'all.

Yup.

Harry had to go work out of town again, but not before spending a wonderful weekend with me.

Lemmie explain.

Friday: A dozen pink and red roses walk through the door FOR ME! It was the commencement of "date night" which means that I wear matching undies and he buys me pretty things. It's all good.

Suddenly, out of left field, some old friends come in to town, so romantic dinner is pushed to the side to eat at a local Italian place with pictures from the 70's decorating the walls.

After dinner Harry asks me to tell him that he can't go out with the rest of the group to a "club of ill-repute" because he was supposed to spend the night with me.

I earn enough good girlfriend brownie points for a new car (hopefully) by selflessly declaring that he should go with the guys since one of them lives 10 hours away. I kissed him on the head and placed upon him just a few usual rules, "have fun, don't touch anything and don't bring anything or anyone home."

He got home at three a.m. and made it up to me. :)

Saturday: Slept in until one a.m.

Was very very nice.

Sunday: Air conditioner broke. Shower broke. And toilet remains broken (see one of the first journal entries for explanation of broken toilet and the hard times that involve flushing by sticking your arm in the tank! ew.).

Try to clean house - but instead opt for a drive and a big 'ol scoop of ice cream.

 

All in all - a very good weekend.

Had to call ex beau to ask if he would, pretty please, come and look at my air conditioning unit. And, no, that's not a pseudonym.

Spent last night painting.

It was very nice and calming. Like Zen and the Housewife - a way to be one with yourself.

Crap, that went weird. Oh well.

The Zen like state quickly vanished when I tried to kill a teeny spider crawling up my kitchen wall!

The nerve of the little bugger to set up house in my, well, house!

So I balled up a wad of tissues and went after him "Die! Die you little shit! Die!" Usually, they oblige - but this one had spidey sense and jumped a la killer cricket, two feet to the left! Undeterred I lunged - tissues first at him - dodged again!

Finally, I got out the big guns.

I stood over him, hulking, with an industrial strength can of RAID.

He looked like the last surviving member of a foam party when I was through with him.

Funny, don't remember much else...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Family Pictures

These are pictures of my niece and of me with my mother and sister taken while visiting my dear sibling in Richmond VA over memorial day weekend.

By looking at the three of us together... I really must say that upon closer inspection of the trio - I believe that I am, in fact, the mailman's daughter...

 

:)

Ten Year Reunion and Musings

I just realized that my ten year reunion was fast approaching - like an iceburg and the Titanic (no ass-jokes here, please). It made me think of a few things...

 

Middle school was a picnic compared to what was to come as freshman in High School.  We were to be the fresh fruit display on the smorgasbord of upper education. 

 

We were divided, deluded and devoured by cliques, formed shortly after man was created.  We were sorted based on our book covers – the things visible to the naked eye making the decisions for us.    Little did we know as we stood there in our Kmart shorts and matching tops that these new molds were ours to conform to for our entire high school careers – or worse – the rest of our lives.

 

The popular crowd selected the pretty kids, a big toothy wide white grin and a head nod towards the chosen ones as the only indications of acceptance.  The athletic ones were high-fived and chest-bumped by others sporting jerseys of different jarringly loud sports teams.  The geeks, nerds and Bill Gates fan clubbers were shuffled off to the library to lean the latest in HTML format.  The rest of us were the un-chosens.  We watched as the smart ones were given textbooks bigger than our dining room tables at home and sauntered off clutching their new college application schedules.  We stood there – unclassifiable.  A fate worse than death, some would say, at least in high school-speak.

 

We were forced to wander from clique to clique never really fitting in and never really being accepted until, horrors of horrors, the only listing that would befall under our Senior Class Picture/ Accomplishments was – Yearbook Staff.

Leprosy and you

About two weeks ago I went to a dermatologist because my eye had become itchy, red and swollen. 

 

I had heard from my most wonderful, caring, and concerned best bud that Hawaii, at one time, was home to the largest known collective colonies of Lepers in the world.  I thanked her for the tidbit of knowledge and didn’t think about it much until my eye started to look like an un-ripe strawberry.  Seeing as how my Hawaiian second honeymoon was only a few months ago – I was convinced that at any moment my face would sag and my eyeball would go rolling down the hallway.

 

I immediately asked my office mates to be on the lookout for stray eyes and to kick them my way should anyone come across one in the aisles.

 

Luckily, I am told that leprosy is not at work on my eye – that it’s just some sort of infection. However, when she told me that I was going to have to throw out a majority of my make-up I swooned. 

 

 My make-up was my treasure, the literal equivalent to a pirate’s booty

 

  I couldn’t bear to part with it.  But, for fear of office eyeball hockey, I did it. 

 

I was forced to go out, in public, WITHOUT MY FACE ON. 

  I could wear certain mascaras and foundations – but that was it.  NO EYELINER, NO EYECREAM, NO CONCEALER, BLUSH, EYESHADOW, CRÈME OR POWDER! 

 

I was horrified.

 

I wait two weeks. 

I am in cosmetic exile

I am a prisoner of the “nude face.”

 

And I do feel naked.

 

I anxiously await my two o’clock appointment today.

 

IN the waiting area I read my Laurie Notaro book while the lady next to me was "killing me softly" with her perfume.  It almost was like she had Glade wisps under each arm so that every time she moved, little invisible puffs would come out to choke me like  flowery carbon monoxide.

 

Then, she struck up a conversation with the gentleman next to her about "those Methodists."

 

Thankfully, my name was called and I was rescued.  However, the religious theme was not to end there.

 

Waiting in my little room, I noticed that the walls were filled with stark faces that had been condemned to a life of skin-disease purgatory for baking to a golden, wrinkly brown in tanning beds.  Basically unfazed and a little giddy about the prospect of wearing eye-shadow by nightfall, I had just hung up my coat and sat down to read a chapter of “We Thought You Would Be Prettier” devoted to the dreaded eye twitch when I heard a rather one-sided conversation wafting from the room next door:

 

"Ever wonder why the Devil's red?"  a gravelly voice boomed

"And blood, too, blood's red."  he went on.

 

"So the Devil's red and blood's red.

Think that's a coincidence? I don't.

The Devil and blood is red." He concluded. 

"Wrote a book about it - called it 'The Devil is Red' - that's what I called my book.  Cause the Devil is Red and the blood, it's red, too."  He ended matter-of-factly.

 

I hoped that whatever procedure happening next door that had prompted his obviously well thought-out tirade did NOT involve blood, of any color.  It was my belief (in order to keep myself from getting woozy and passing out on the Melanoma chart) that there was probably a 666 birthmark being sandblasted off of my roomies' ass (which would make it red - like the Devil - ya know - red).

 

I left shortly after speaking to my doctor who granted me limited use of other, formerly forbidden cosmetic fruit and who made me very happy by not sticking a piece of “allergy tape” to my back and sending me on my way.

 

 

Stupid Human Tricks

Why is it that when my pants have side zippers I often feel like a dog chasing it’s tail?  I stand in the bathroom and circle in front of the toilet, getting dizzier as I furtively tug at the enclosure.  Finally, after two minutes of circling and biting my lower lip in deep concentration I get it zipped. 

 

            Drats!  Why is there always a hook too?

When Deviled Eggs Attack

            I was attacked in my bed the other night.

            I was minding my own business, dreaming away a nightmare-less slumber that was beautifully lacking hair spiders or anything of the sort – when – OUCH! I rolled over and felt something poking me in the side.

Groggily groping around the upper waistband of my granny panties I reached down and pulled a cone shaped object off of my side.  Without my glasses, I could barely make out the culprit of my pain.  It was the large half of a plastic Easter egg.

            I had just been attacked by a Deviled egg…in my bed.

            “PHOEBEEEE!”  I yelled at my cat who undoubtedly planted the egg in my bed after watching me take a stomach pill and two sleeping pills and who obviously thought I would sleep through the night as she used my stomach as an eggy hockey rink. 

Throwing the egg in the floor I plopped back down on the bed, face-first and immediately felt a sharp pain stab the left side of my chest.  I knew what it was even before I awkwardly rolled over and removed it.  The Deviled egg had another half.  And it just bit my boob.

Shrieking, I threw it across the room like a steroid-induced Major Leaguer. 

            A furry thump hit the floor. 

I laid in bed on my back and stared at the slits of ceiling visible from between my four poster bed as Phoebe, reunited with her “kill” systematically smacked the egg halves against my closet door in pure kitty joy. 

            Peter Rabbit is now on my hit list.

Disney and 'Donald's

Three months and counting until my metro-sexualish hubby and I jump a plane to take us to the happiest place on earth. No, not the New York Premiere of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (sigh) - DISNEY WORLD!

I am beyond excited - and terrified, considering my daily aerobic activity to date is just about a centimeter above "dead." So - this week Harry and I have been foodie angels. Low-calorie and low-fat meals have been consumed with barely a grimace. We've done stomach crunches, rode stationary bikes and even bought dumbbells!

After a week of being downright angelic when it came to caloric consumption - we decide that no harm could really come from splitting a small fry and a diet coke from McDonald's (aka "El Diablo). So we pull up, order, and then pay. At the food window - the girl hands us a HUGE bag of food. Harry glances down in it, looks at me and then peels off like the fuzz was going to chase us down.

They had mistakenly given us - brace yourself - a 10 piece nugget and a large fry. We decided that it would be wrong to deny the food gods receipt of their gift to us, so we chowed down like two hungry, hungry, giddy, hippos.

Best part of all? Since we didn't order it - it's free! Free food! Free non-calorie food! See - free = zero calories!

Ahhh.... I am a genius!

:)