January 31, 2005
A Story Along the Lines of "The Princess and the Pea"
Oh, my sweet guppies, how I've missed you! I was home for THREE BORING DAYS last work-week, taking care of Billy while his parents were in beautiful, un-Chicago-like San Diego. He was sick enough to be sent home from school -- low-grade fever -- but not sick enough for me to call my friend and go, "Come get your kid outta here!"
Anyhoo, he was picked up Friday afternoon by his other babysitter, the fun one, the one who teaches 8th grade and can relate to kids and plays games with him all day long, who doesn't bring home work and sit in the dining room binding directories all day. So my plans to completely re-vamp the bathroom this weekend were not waylaid,... but more on that later.
So on Saturday, I was priming and painting and cleaning and working, and yet, I was not sweating. This is unusual because I work up a sweat making the long trek from the parking lot to my desk. So for me to be continually in motion for hours at a time and not have a sweat-moustache and smell like a yeti is unheard of.
I checked the thermostat, and altho' it was set to 69, the temperature of the house was 67. Okay, I thought, Husband had been in and out of the garage several times. That probably did it, and it'll be back to normal in a bit. In the meantime, I'll put on a sweatshirt.
But no, half an hour later, after even more work, my fingers and nose and ears were cold. Something was horribly awry. Sure enough, the thermostat said 66. Sixty-six degrees Fahrenheit! I could store meat in the living room at that temperature!
So I made Husband check out the furnace, and sure enough, it wasn't igniting or something. He was like, "Well, it looks like the pilot light is blah blah blah..." And I'm like, "Uh-huh. I'm gonna go turn on the oven."
The furnace repairman was called, and I was musing to my Husband, "If I wasn't here, I wonder how cold it would have to have gotten in here before you noticed anything."
"Prob'ly about 50."
Well, repairman was able to fix it, for a nominal fee of $bend-over-and-grab-your-ankles, and as it turns out, it was something with the pilot light and gas valve and blah blah BLAH quit talking to me like I understand or care!
On his way out, he said, "You know, this is the second one of these I've replaced today. But it had gotten down to 50 in the first house!"
"There wasn't a woman home, was there?" I asked.
"Nope, just a single guy."
Well, duh.
Posted at 09:06 AM | Comments (0)January 26, 2005
Why I Love PJ
She thinks -- not knows, mind you, thinks -- that one or both of her very allergic dogs may be allergic to goose down. So instead of, you know, finding out for sure what they're allergic to, or making the fidgeting, scratching, flaking animals sleep on the floor WHERE THEY BELONG, she's getting rid of her down pillows and comforter.
If I was guaranteed to be reincarnated as one of PJ's dogs, I would throw myself out of this window RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE.
January 21, 2005
And Now, A Very Special Uncurmudgeony Blog
Spellcheck says that uncurmudgeony isn't a word. I disagree.
And did you ever notice that, like, EVERY "Blossom" was a very special "Blossom"? Like "Blossom Gets Her Period" or "Blossom Says No to Drugs" or "Blossom Has Inappropriate Feelings for Her Totally Hot Brother, Joey."
Anyhoo, yesterday, we got a few inches of snow (YAY!). Not enough to warrant hording food, but enough to get my shoes really messy and wet. Husband had a meeting right after work and wasn't going to be home until 11:00, so I watched the "Simpsons" and wondered if he should snowblow when he got home, or before I left for work in the morning.
(No, it did not occur to me that I should do it. Get real.)
A little later, I left for Thursday Night Supper and THE DRIVEWAY WAS TOTALLY CLEAN!
I was like, "Did Husband stop home to snowblow? Cuz he is SO getting laid if he did!"
Then I figured, "Oh, it was probably Mr. Neighbor, trying out his new snowblower! I probably shouldn't lay him."
When I got back, I ran into Mrs. Neighbor and told her to thank her husband for doing my driveway, and she was like, "It was Neighbor Son! I told him to shovel ours, and he came in and said he did yours, too!"
AjerkamongaHUH?!
Well, thank God I was leaning on our fence a la Wilson, or I would have fallen over. A thirteen-year-old boy WILLINGLY AND WITHOUT PROMPTING manually shoveled a driveway that wasn't his!!! HOW SWEET IS HE?!
Oh, he is SO getting homemade (or ho-made) chocolate chip cookies this weekend! Talk about renewing my faith in humanity! I'm all Stella-Got-Her-Groove-Back now and loving the world!
And now I'm wondering what he'll look like in a few years, mowing my lawn with his shirt off... Cuz lemme tell ya, the kid is beautiful. (Those of you who didn't see that coming, I'm very disappointed in you.)
P.S. I'm wearing my new eBay bra today and lovin' the hogans! They're so perky!
Posted at 08:10 AM | Comments (0)January 19, 2005
There's a Monkey On My Back & She's Dressed to the Nines
Okay, see? This is what happens when Husband says, "Oh, just keep your Christmas bonus and spend it on Barbies," and Boss says, "I'm sorry I don't have much for you to do." I spend All Freakin' Day on eBay and end up buying TEN things in one twenty-four-hour period!
AND I'M STILL NOT DONE!!!
Seriously, five of my purchases were made while watching "Master & Commander" with Husband last night. (I now know more about ocean warfare than is probably healthy, and there wasn't nearly enough Billy to justify that, so I had to satisfy myself with imaging what this little darling is going to look like in five years (he's older than he looks, people, I'm not that sick! Okay, yes, I am, but... oh I don't even have a leg to stand on here).)
Anyhoo, I got:
1. The outfit "Blush Becomes Her" for my Fashion Model Barbie #4 because, well, look at her -- she'd totally scratch my eyes out if I didn't get it for her.
2. Some Levi's 515's, which are the only ones that fit my weird-ass body.
3. Two bottles of Bath & Body Work's lotion in Toasted Hazelnut scent, cuz that's Younger Sister's fav and the heartless B&BW bastards discontinued it (mine is Warm Vanilla Sugar, if anyone cares, cuz it smells like cookies).
4. This kicky, little, knit vintage number for Barbie because she saw it in the window and just had to have it.
5. A Victoria's Secret bra for a kick-ass price. No, I'm not telling you what size.
6. The skirt to this 1971 ensemble because Mattel (tm) has yet to make Barbie a plaid mini-skirt that I can resist (let's not even delve into the reasons for that, eh?).
7. The dress that completes my Buffy doll from the old t.v. show "Family Affair." At the moment, she's just in her polka-dot undies clutching her wee Mrs. Beasley doll, and she's quite chilly, doncha know.
8. A light switch cover featuring a vintage graphic of Barbie on the phone, for my new home office, once it ceases to be Ophelia's room. In seven months. Not that I'm counting.
9. This "Skiing Vacation" outfit for Fashion Model Barbie, the demanding bitch who runs my life.
10. "Boulevard Fashion" for guess who - Little Miss I Have Nothing To Wear.
Yet to purchase:
11. This dress from the "Lisette" Fashion Model Barbie. Seriously, that harpie is never happy.
12. The glorious and delightfully-tacky Hard Rock Barbie #1. I mean, I have all this money burning a whole in my pocket, and I've been worshipping her from afar for a year now, so why the hell not? I realize I could buy four vintage outfits for what they're going to rape me for her, but... Gawd, she's just so kewl, I love her.
13. A Christmas present for Big Gay Joe, who turned me on to the Barbie obsession in the first place. I'm thinking vintage Barbie jewelry, cork wedgies or other completer accessories, but it's so hard because, seriously, the man has fucking EVERYTHING. Dude has over 300 dolls. 'Nuff said.
I should just put down the mouse and back away. But I'm not gonna. Nuh-uh! And you can't make me! You're not the boss of me! Besides, I still have plenty of Christmas bonus left, and Barbie knows it!
Posted at 03:08 PM | Comments (0)January 18, 2005
Update On the Big Blog Debate
Well, Mom read the "Selections From" that I printed off for her all in one sitting and thought they were hysterical. As predicted, she especially liked the ones where I threw Dad under the bus. And she's gonna read it again because, apparently, it's hard to fit all that funny into her brain at once. So, yeah, she liked it!
And now, I'm seriously considering doing The Mature Thing -- giving Mom the link, warning her and letting her decide whether or not to make my freaky, smarmy, curmudgeony blog part of her daily life.
Unless someone talks me out of it.
Okay, this "daily life" thing just made me think of something. Along with step-daughters and E.R. frequent flyer miles, I also inherited a few aging aunts when I married Husband. Technically, they belong to his ex, but they're my family now, too -- just go with it.
Well, apparently, one of them thinks I need more churchin'. (A shock to no one.) For Christmas, she got me a subscription to the "Daily Word" magazine, which is, like, daily Jesus-Loves-You and What-Would-Jesus-Do affirmations. I would totally mock her, if she weren't so darned sincere and well-meaning. And rich.
Anyhoo, now I totally want to publish a book like "Daily Word FOR THE DAMNED" or something. And I totally call dibbies on this concept, if it isn't already out there, which I'm sure it is, but you still can't take my title.
Posted at 03:05 PM | Comments (0)Christmas Prezzies!
Awesome Gifts I Got
1. The third season of Xena on DVD! Woo-hoo!!!!!
2. A pink and white neon sign that says "I {heart} dick" (from Younger Sister, that rascal).
3. Yet another black, zip-up hoodie. Kick-ass.
4. A Barbie calendar, from my mother-in-law, God bless her. Probably incredulous, "And this is for my daughter-in-law, not my granddaughter..."
5. Four filet mignon from Omaha Steaks.
Awesome Gifts I Gave
1. 2005 Spike Calendar, and now I have to listen to sexually explicit details from Older Sister about what she wants to do to him, or did to him last night in her dreams. Ew, ew, EW!
2. A DVD player for Dad, so now he never has to leave the basement.
3. Book "The History of Sex" to Heather. Pure awesome for two reasons. One, she does all her reading on the train. Two, I think she's in a couple of the chapters.
4. To Boy Child, toy hammer that lights up and makes noises when you hit something with it. It rewards him for hitting things! Mwah ha ha ha ha!
5. Purification-scented Jesus air-freshener for Mom's car. Dad got a bobble-head Jesus for his dashboard.
[Hmmm. I guess the alternate title for Awesome Gifts I Gave would be Five More Reasons I Have a Suite Waiting For Me In Hell. Ah, well.]
January 17, 2005
The Pirate Wench Blog: Corrupting America's Youth and Elderly Since Late 2004
So I was at our weekly Thursday Night Supper, and as it always does, the conversation digressed to bodily functions. Usually it's Adam who starts it, with some story about how his brother called from California to tell him about a foot-long turd. Or we talk about how Husband couldn't even say "fart" in front of his ex -- let alone do it -- and now he's taking farting and burping to Olympic heights, and we admire his progress.
Regardless, we somehow got onto bathroom habits, and I proudly announced that that's exactly what I had blogged about that very day!
~cricket~ ~cricket~
"You have a blog?"
Oh shit. I should mention that both my parents are part of this Thursday Night Supper group, and despite the reading devotion of many other (read: younger) family members, I have kept my dirty little secret from the parentals. So it's ironic that I'm the fucking retard who beefed all over it.
Now, my mother thinks I'm a great writer. Always has. I can pen a heart-warming thank-you note, I brought down the house with a eulogy for my grandmother, and don't get Mom started on all the poetry and short stories I wrote as a child. [nerd alert!] I guess I'm not curing cancer or anything, so the woman has to funnel her maternal pride where she can.
(I should also mention that my mother is Martha Stewart and Edith Bunker's love child.)
"Can I read it?!"
"Mom, you don't want to read it. Even Husband doesn't read it."
"Just let me read it."
"No!"
"Why not?"
"Mom! It's completely inappropriate!"
"I don't care!"
"I use swear words!"
"It's not like I've never heard them before."
And for a nanosecond, I actually considered being a grown-up, giving my mother the benefit of the doubt, and letting her read some and decide for herself if she wanted to continue.
And then my brain started functioning properly again, and I remembered the one entitled "Masturbation", where I mention my Hello Kitty! vibrator in the first paragraph. And then there's my "List of Five", or even worse, "The Crossover Edition". And what isn't obscene or freaky contains pop-culture references that, frankly, she just ain't gonna get.
Plus, looking back, I realize that I make fun of my father more than I probably should, considering all the money he invested in my upbringing. Not that it would annoy Mom -- those would probably be her favorite entries -- but if she knows about them, then I can't guarantee Dad won't eventually come across them.
So, the question is: Do I make my mother (albeit probably temporarily) happy and just give her the damn link? Or do I spare her the agony of learning that her daughter is a bitter, vengeful, crude, bi-curious freak? (This is, of course, assuming she doesn't already know or at least suspect these things.)
In the end, I printed out the posts that I feel are okay for her to read. She may or may not get considered for full access, depending on her reaction to them.
Of course, I gave my 17-year old cousin the link without batting an eye.
January 14, 2005
Have I Mentioned I'm Going To Hell?
My good friend, who is a Pastor, is going out of town soon. Me and another friend have agreed to take care of her son; me for the first half of her trip, Kay for the other.
So, the Pastor emailed both Kay and I this morning with an itinerary:
"Since you two are tag teaming where Billy is concerned in a couple weeks, I'm copying you both on this email. We can have a 'three way conversation' if need be this way!"
And of course, Beavis and I are laughing hysterically that the Pastor said "tag teaming" and "we can have a three way!" In the same sentence!
And you know why that's pure comedic gold? She seriously would have no idea why I'm laughing.
Posted at 02:43 PM | Comments (0)January 13, 2005
Potty Talk
Oh, c'mon, you knew it was inevitable, what with me being so uncouth and all.
The Big, Scandalous Confession
I don't always wash my hands after I go to the bathroom. Know why? I don't pee on my hands. Okay, I'll wash before lunch, or after a poop, but I don't think a quick pee warrants that I wash all the hand lotion off my delicate skin. People, I pee, like, twice an hour. It takes up enough of my time as it is. If I were to wash my hands. Every. Single. Freakin'. Time. I peed, I wouldn't have time to do anything else, which is good because all the skin would slough off my hands, rendering them useless anyway. And you know what? My sporadic hand washing has not killed me!!!
Music To Pee By
They pipe-in music in our bathroom here at work, which I lurve because it drowns out the sound of me pooping, so I can poop and hum to my heart's delight, and no one will be the wiser! But I think the building staff fights over which station to pick because one day I'll be singing along with Bono; and the next day, it's show tunes; and the next, elevator music. So Nicholle and I e-mail each other with "MTPB" -- Music To Pee By -- and keep each other current with the music selections and our thoughts on them. Like, "They were playing that goddamn 'Titanic' love theme again, so I decided I could hold it a little while longer." My favorite day was when I walked in to hear a co-worker unabashedly singing along with "New York, New York," while peeing.
Speaking of Pooping (Dooce Would Be So Proud!)
They also have this little machine that sprays a bit of scented stuff into the air at regular intervals. Now that's classy! I want one of them installed in my bathroom at home because whatever it is that comes out of my sweet, little step-daughter's ass is fucking toxic, man. And God forbid she use the Melon Scented Lysol Room Spray provided!
Juanita, Patron Saint of Sparkling Porcelain
I think I'm a little bit in love with a member of the cleaning staff here. I see her all the time. She speaks Spanish and very little English. She's probably about my age, and fairly cute, with a nice smile. And although her job is to clean up after other people all day long, she never fails to be friendly and cheerful. I mean, if I have to pick up Husband's boxers off the bathroom floor, I roll my eyes and moan and rag at him for 20 minutes. How this woman cleans bathrooms all day and manages not to despise all of humanity is unfathomable to me. She's clearly a saint. I feel like I should leave her a tip or something.
Bathroom Habits
I think Heather is weird because she pees twice a day and poops once a week. She thinks I'm weird for having to pause "Desperate Housewives" twice so I can pee. And we both think her brother is weird for putting Jello in her shampoo, but that's a whoooole other story.
January 12, 2005
God Has a Sick Sense of Humor and I Have O.C.D.
So I was bemoaning the fact that I have nothing to write about because nothing funny ever happens to me and my life is a huge void. Why can't I have vertigo like Heather or a caved-in driveway like Nicholle? Waah waah waah.
And when I'm bored, I eat. Or in this case, drink. I cracked open a Clearly Canadian, only to have it GO INSANE AND SHOOT FIZZ ALL OVER EVERYTHING.
You know how there's that one second where you have no idea what's going on or how to react? It's amazing how it only took that one second for my bubbly, peachy goodness to betray me and go everywhere.
In my hair, all over my face and glasses and hoodie and pants, down my shirt, on my shoes, all over the carpet and desk, my phone, mouse, mouse pad, Barbie calendar, mail, Chandler's, computer, monitor and -- God help me -- my keyboard.
But nooOOOooo, God's not gonna help me, cuz God's too busy LAUGHING! "You want something to blog about? I'll give you something to blog about!"
So there I was, dripping wet with no napkins, and silently thanking my cruel, cruel God that at least no one was around to witness His Job-like smoting of me.
I didn't really know where to start, so I was just dabbing wildly with Kleenex, until I saw my keyboard. Oh fuck. I.T. is going to kill me. And then I remembered that Older Sister once mentioned taking apart her keyboard to clean it.
So I IMed her, "Come over here now. It's an emergency."
Did you know that they individual keys of the keyboard just pop right off? Who knew! It's amazing! And even MORE amazing was the 6 years worth of crumbs underneath the keys!
So I call to my boss, "Hey, T, you wanna see something gross?"
And that's what I love about men. They always want to see something gross. You ask a woman that, and she'll just look at you like you're retarded and go back to shopping online. But a man will stop in the middle of whatever he's doing to see something gross. Okay, he may not stop in the middle of getting a blowjob, but you know he'd consider it for a second.
(Oh. My. God. Microsoft Spellcheck just checked my spelling on blowjob and politely reminded me that it's one word, not two.)
I called I.T. and asked Doogie to bring me some computer cleaning supplies, with the specific command not to ask questions. When he arrived to see my keyboard in pieces, Doogie offered to bring me a new one, but I declined. Why should I get a new one when I have one in perfectly good working order right here? Because isn't that what's wrong with America? And if I do that, then the terrorists have already won! Or something.
And besides, cleaning it was infinitely more satisfying. I got to use that cool Air-In-A-Can stuff, and then there was shit all over my carpet, but I didn't care. The cleaning crew will get it... eventually (once had a Good 'N' Plenty under my desk for weeks, and don't ask me why I didn't just pick it up myself -- it's the principle, man!).
And once I had done the main part of the keyboard with the letters and Enter and stuff, it looked so nice, I did all the rest of the keys, too. I had a great time, wrapping a Lysol wipe around my car key to get the gunk out of the corners, and wiping down each key individually before snapping them back into place! Mind you, my bangs were crusty from dried soda, and my pants were sticking to my legs, but who cares! The keyboard was getting soooooooo clean!
But you know what happens when you clean one thing. Then everything else looks like shit compared to it, and you have to clean everything. So next was the phone. Then I took everything off my desk and wiped it down, and then wiped stuff down as I put it back in a very organized fashion. But it felt weird to have the desk surface look so brand spankin' new, when I knew that my desk drawers were a mess. So yeah, I cleaned out my desk drawers and reorganized them.
It's clear that my O.C.D. kicked in at some point there, but I'm not sure exactly when. Probably the Lysol wipe around the car key thing. But who cares! I'm, like, orgasmically delighted now with my sparkling clean desk! And it only took me four hours!
And I cut my pinky somehow in the process, so I'll probably get mad cow disease because God only knows how many times I've sneezed into the keyboard. (And God's not telling because -- did I mention? -- He's still laughing His ass off. "Did you see that?! It went in her hair!") And surely all the germs have been thriving on the Pop Tarts and Oreos in there, so my next blog will be from the I.C. Unit of Mr. Drillbit Hospital. Thank goodness we have our own wing there now.
January 10, 2005
Um... Yeah. What?
I'm so bored today, I can't even come up with anything remotely interesting to blog about.
Hey, you, in the back! The asshat who just said, "And today is different... how?" I'm gonna kick your ass at recess! You are so dead! 3:15, man!
So I'm thinking about the dozen or so bricks of cream cheese I must have consumed during the holiday season. Because, seriously, doesn't everything yummy have some amount of cream cheese in it? Think about it.
Tonight is Date Nite, Husband's Choice. And we all know this is going to end badly because, last time he picked, we ended up seeing "Alexander" (which I can't even bring myself to link to) -- and by "seeing" I mean "alternately napping during and laughing at" -- and I was forced to withhold sex as punishment. Drastic, I know, but if you've seen the movie, you'll know it was the right thing to do.
Adding to my boredom -- today's obvious lack of Nicholle and Anne. No random rantings or "Anne Is Dumb" stories. *sigh* And Heather is as bored as I am, so she's no help. And what do I keep her around for, anyway, if not to entertain me?!
Posted at 02:29 PM | Comments (0)January 07, 2005
Novelties Are Not for Wearing
As much as I rejoice that I came to work here after the switch to "business casual", meaning I don't have to wear skirts, nylons (apparel of the devil) and heels everyday, and as much as I love that today's khakis and hoodie actually pass for office-wear, perhaps... and I don't say this lightly... perhaps we should rethink.
Case in point: turtlenecks. Meant to be worn under things, like sweaters, preferably. But there are women here who insist upon wearing them alone -- the novelty ones from Kohl's with snowflakes or bears or whatever on them. It's just... gah! And as much as I'd love to see a couple of the guys here in a fitted, black, silk turtleneck, I'm going to have to outlaw them all completely, just so I'm not bombarded with an entire female torso covered in tiny shamrocks.
And more shameful than the novelty turtlenecks -- novelty socks. Socks should match your shoes and/or your pants. They should not have cows, flamingos or kitties on them. (If you're now going to argue that your shoes and/or pants have cow, flamingos or kitties on them, I'm going to have to ask you to assume the position.)
At Christmas, a woman actually wore Christmas socks with jingle bells on them. Not pictures of bells, mind you -- actual bells than jingled with every step! And in order to further share the joy of our lord savior's birth and the whimsy of her socks, she wore floods so that all could see them.
Now we get to mens' fashions and, in particular, my bosses, who are from downstate Illinois and, according to my female boss, dress like hicks. I've already had to forbid T from wearing anything pink. It wasn't a good idea in the 80's, and nothing has changed. Nothing.
And then there's J. Oh dear God, the Golf sweater. I laughed all fucking day when he wore that one. To his face. Okay, let's see if my description can do it justice. It was a v-neck cardigan, first of all. The back was solid, um... I don't know... maroon? And the front had big blocks of maroon, teal and cream.
On one side of the front, there were four letter appliqués that spelled out the word "GOLF." On the other side, was a big appliqué... of a golf club. Appliqués -- ON A GROWN MAN'S SWEATER. And then the plaid elbow patches were just the icing on the cake of the damned.
And this whole rant is totally hypocritical, I know, because I'm no fashionista. I've already admitted to pink, faux-fur-lined clogs, and I make no bold fashion statements, I don't keep up with trends. In general, I'm completely and utterly unimaginative when I dress myself. BUT. Boring is better than embarrassing oneself.
I only wear my Hello Kitty socks, undies and barrette when I'm going to see The Girl Child, because she thinks that's "cool," and I haven't the heart to tell her otherwise. Partly because I don't want to ruin that part of her girlish innocence, but mainly because I'm a whore for the "cool" points.
Posted at 02:24 PM | Comments (0)January 06, 2005
Mr. Drillbit Is Mr. Observant
My mom is a hummer. No, not the ostentatious car, and not that other thing, you sick bastard. I mean, she hums. To herself. All. The. Time.
And when she's not humming, she's singing. Only, at 69, the words often elude her, so she's all "Doot doo-doot doooooooo" or "Goobie-goobie rompie-blompie boo!"
Seriously. I can't make this shit up, folks!
So Husband comes home from church and goes, "Can I just say something?"
Oooooh, I love it when he says that because it means he's about to say something mean. Which is awesome because it's so rare. (I know, you're now wondering, "How the hell did you two end up together?" Honestly, I have no fucking clue.) So I pull up a chair, fold my hands and wait anxiously for his something.
My boss has a form of this, too. He's an old-fashioned Southern gentleman, like many of the men I work with, and therefore gracious to a fault. But every once in a while, he'll go, "I don't mean to be ugly, but..."
Which cracks me UP! Because of course he means to be ugly! Of course he means to be mean! It's the whole point of completing that very sentence!
"I don't mean to be ugly, but... the C.E.O. from Virginia looks like she's been ridden hard and put away wet."
But he somehow thinks that, if he leads with "I don't mean to be ugly," he's not really being obnoxious. It's kind of charming, actually.
So Husband is like, "Can I just say something?"
And I'm like, "Of course!"
And he goes, "Have you ever noticed that your Mom... hums?"
I nearly peed the kitchen chair laughing. He has known the woman for twenty years! And he's only now noticing the humming?! What the -- ?! But she -- ?! It's so -- ?! GAAAAAAAAAAAH!
The man just kills me sometimes.
Like when we were lying in bed chatting a few nights ago, and he looks at me and goes, "You know, you're kind of... bitter."
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!
Jesus! Where has this man been?! Totally slays me.
And again, no idea how we ended up together. But so glad we did, since he got up at 5:30 this morning so that I could get my warmed-up, scraped-off truck smoothly out of our snow-plowed driveway. The man is a saint.
Posted at 02:19 PM | Comments (0)January 05, 2005
DORK ALERT!
I totally wore my snow boots today. Proof that I'm old and no longer cool (if I ever was). But you know what? I'm glad I have no delusions of coolness, because my feet are warm and dry, and that, my friends, is kewl. Especially since the rest of me is cold and moist from cleaning off my truck.
Now here's the part where I curse Husband for being such an unorganized packrat that we can barely walk in our one-and-a-half-car garage, let alone park a car in there!
You $*@& stoopid &~*#^@$ #%*! son of a %?#*^©< what the $&*% #@*¥% !&~%£+@ garage?!?!
Phew! Just had to get that off my chest. It's already pretty crowded there. Ha ha ha ha!
Anyhoo.
In honor of Chicago's first real snow-that-will-actually-stick of the season, I bring you this utterly pointless I.M. duet between me and a co-worker:
Tom: Oh the weather outside is frightful...
Me: But the fire is so delightful!
Tom: Ha ha ha ha!
Tom: Stop it!!!!!!!!!!
Me: And since we've no place to go!
Me: Let it snow!
Me: Let it snow!
Tom: Let it snow!
Me: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
Me: Oh, it doesn't show signs of stopping,
Tom: Oh, it doesn't show signs of stopping.
Tom: You beat me!
Me: Ach! I had to spit my water out!
Tom: HA!!!
Me: And I brought some corn for popping!
Me: And your wife is a total ho!
Me: Let it snow!
Tom: Ha ha ha ha ha!
Me: Let it snow
Me: Let it snow!
Tom: That's not right!
Me: I can't stop laughing!
Tom: It's something about turning the lights way down low!
Me: The lights are turned way down low!
Tom: Yeah!
Me: I got a visit from my Aunt Flo!
Me: Let it snow!
Tom: HA HA HA!
Me: When we finally say goodnight,
Me: How I'll hate going out in the storm!
Tom: But if you really hold me tight!
Tom: All the way home I'll be sweaty!
Me: Ewwwwwwww!
Me: That doesn't rhyme!
Tom: All the way home I will moan!
Me: QUIT IT!
Me: Oh, the fire is slowly dying,
Tom: blaaah, blah-blah, good-bying!
Me: You've had too much eggnog.
Tom: Woo hoo!
Me: And my dear, we're still good-bying.
Tom: As long as you love me so,...
Me: So I'll give you the ol' heave-ho!
Me: Let it snow!
Me: Let it snow!
Me: Big finish...
Me: Let it snoooooooooooowwwwwww!
Tom: Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
January 03, 2005
Things I Regret Doing in 2004
1. Listening to Britney and the Backstreet Boys, and buying Britney's greatest hits and Backstreet's video collection for Sister for Christmas.
2. Trying to make "It's Koooool and the Gang, baby" my own personal saying.
3. Buying faux-sheepskin-lined pink clogs.
4. Going yet another summer without a tan.
5. Dressing my Barbies seasonally.
6. Baking approximately 1 batch of cookies every 10-12 days.
7. Watching "Fellowship of the Ring," "The Two Towers" and "Return of the King" so many freakin' times that they have become hilarious and I can't help but amuse myself with MST3K-esque comments.
8. Resisting the urge to buy the painted pink, sequined "Diva" plaque at Target and hanging it in my cubicle.
9. Teaching Husband that farting and burping are okay and perfectly natural.
10. Resorting to lists and other cheap tactics when I'm too tired to blog creatively.
Of course, that's not to say I won't do any of these things in 2005. I mean, c'mon. I'm not made of stone, ya know!
Posted at 10:50 PM | Comments (0)