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Mostly Wordless Wednesday…

31 Oct

Today is Halloween. My office is having a Halloween Costume Contest but I’m not a big fan of a) dressing up in a costume and b) joining in these reindeer games at work – so I opted out of the festivities.

So instead of dressing up, I decided to dress down. Wear something casual and fun. Here’s today’s shoes.

They have a six inch heel. They put me over 6 feet tall. #intimidation *ducking my head in doorways*

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Pandora’s box

3 Feb

Lawdy lawdy lawdy. This gal is over fawty.

I’m okay with that, really. Especially since I discovered the joys of Botox.

And in other news… I find myself wanting to know the meaning behind almost everything. It’s like I’m 40-something going on 8.

I’m always asking WHY. Why is it so cold in this house? Why am I not sleeping more than six hours? Why am I drinking a whole bottle of wine?

The constant litany of mundane questions bouncing around my head like a pinball machine is driving me crazy. And feeling a bit like the drip, drip, drip of an ancient water torture.

In reality, I know the answers of course. And my guess is, for those that know me, you do too. (3000 square feet of tile flooring; stressed; cuz I haz a fabulous wine cellar!)

So what’s really going on in my fruity pebbled brain? Besides the constant drone of little worker bees buzzing me with silly questions, I suspect I’m just starting to question… wait for it… wait for it… almost there… yep. LIFE.

Another four letter word we LIVE, LOVE and HATE at regular intervals. As a 40-something chick, I am questioning everything from my purpose at work to my choice in novelas.

In fact, one day I was so bored curious about something, I went to the online Confucius.

As I typed WHY  several interesting options appeared. And with my ADHD distracting me, I no longer cared about what I originally wanted to ask. Instead…

Google's answer to Bing?

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?”  I wish I had clicked that…

“Why are nerds unpopular?” Huh, what’d I miss?

How about “Please Rob Me”?  It shows us a listing of all empty homes out there. Sure. Why not?

Anyhoohaw, all this yap yap yapping about WHY this and WHY that got me asking another question… “Will the answer matter?”

I gave that a lot of thought. So, yeah… NO – I don’t think it will matter one bit if I get the answer to “Why is Snooki such a nasty ho?”

Take it from Pandora, some boxes just shouldn’t be opened.

Google’s giggle call

12 Nov

A burst of short he-hes is also known as a giggle call – that is, if you’re a hyena.

Which is sorta how I found myself  on this Friday afternoon.  I needed distraction. And some amusement. And while I didn’t laugh like a hyena, I did smile. Which was good.

So I’ll share my “Amuse Me Friday” fun with you.

Go to Google Maps. Get Directions. Enter Honolulu, HI to San Francisco. Note how long this will take you! Then check out step 12. Unh huh, why not?

Oh, and if you’re really bored, check out Japan to China.

They don’t call it “ear, nose and throat” for nothing

20 Oct

One day, back in 1994, the invention of Breathe Right strips hit the shelves. It was a god-send to me. I put my first one on and I could Breathe. Right. For a change.

Back when I was a road warrior and traveling every week, me and my little strippers would check into our hotel and rest comfortably. There were times when I would be in some podunk town back East (no offense East coasters…) and I would get all settled in, iron my dress slacks, set the clock, eat me some room service grub and then get ready to turn in only to discover… I ran out of my Breathe Right strips.

It was a calamity. I couldn’t sleep without them. I was quickly turning into a junky and knew I had to score me some so I could get some rest.

I’d throw my clothes back on, go to the lobby and get directions to the nearest drug store.

Which, in podunk-ville, was never nearby. It was usually “oh across the freeway, turn left and then go right at the second light” which always would confuse me. Since I never drive. And hate driving in podunk little towns.

At 10p local time, I’d show up just as they’re about to close, racing down the aisle to get my fix of nasal band-aids. I’d feel like a junky, but I didn’t care. I needed it.

For fourteen years I was addicted. It was a drug. Toxic even. Like most junkies, the signs of abuse were only noticeable when you looked close enough. The bridge of my nose suffered the most – if you looked closely, you could see the ghost of my Breathe Right strip past pulling my nasal valves open.

Pretty huh?

So one day, two years ago. I quit. Cold turkey. Withdrawals were pretty much to be expected, but I had had worse when I quit smoking. I could handle this. Right?

Except, I couldn’t sleep.

It was horrible. I couldn’t breathe. But I couldn’t Breathe Right anymore either. I mean, the skin on my nose was almost permanently imprinted. I couldn’t give up. I would prevail!! After all, tomorrow is another day. Or whatever your slogan is.

For the sake of brevity, let’s just say, I found a way to get through the tough times. But after a year and half, I couldn’t take it anymore. Doctor, doctor, it sucks when I can’t breathe at night…

He says he’s got an awesome set of tools and can fix it. He would have to take some cartilage from my ear, and some fatty tissue from my scalp to repair it but I’d breathe again. Are you kidding me? Would he have to cut my hair?? Really, isn’t breathing overrated anyway? I mean, I’ve lived this long without a good night’s sleep…  ‘Cept I was desperate at this point and knew I had to fix it or get a fix.

So I opted to fix it. As soon as I wake up in recovery, I touch my ears. I’m not even awake, but all I can think of is “did Tonto take my ear and scalp?” Nope – ok, exhale – through my mouth since my nose was nowhere near being useful. But my ears were intact. The nurse was watching and actually laughed. She understood perfectly.

At least I think she was laughing at my ear grab. It wasn’t until later when I got home and the anesthesia wore off that I realized I had what looked like a tampon stuffed up my left nostril and the string taped to my cheek. Had I seen that, it would have freaked the freak right out of me.

If Dr Van Gogh had cut off my ear, would I be so glib you think? Would I still think all of this worth it with a squishy ear and some missing skin? All’s I can say is, thank GAWD I don’t have to question this more closely… For now at least.

P.S. I’m writing this 1 day post op after taking some Oxy and maybe sipping a little bit of wine. Just saying.

What happens in Vegas… part 3

5 Oct

Our main objective in going to Vegas was two-fold:

1) Yummy food

2) Chillin at the pool

So Friday morning, when we opened our bleary eyes, I all but jumped out of bed and started packing the tote bag. Cute as hell cowboy hat for me: check. Baseball hat for the hubby: check. Coppertone suntan spray: check (it’s the best!) Books, blistex, etc: check.

The pool at the Wynn is pretty cool. However, the first day, we mistakenly took up some lounge chair at the edge of the pool that would face the sun ALL DAY LONG. As sweat trickled down my face, taking with it the carefully applied makeup and sunscreen, I decided to sit the other direction on Saturday. Nothing worse than a 40-something gal with red splotchy overly moist skin.

Friday’s are quiet pool days apparently. Except for the over-zealous and quite energetic ‘athletes’ who decided there’s no better time or place to get some exercise than to slap the water open handed near the hungover couple nursing mojitos. Cup your hand lady and you might actually move through the water as opposed to splashing the crap out of innocent (ok, not so innocent) onlookers.

I absolutely did not want to stay out late though Friday night. The idea was: chill Friday after Thursday’s clubbing and then get a good night’s sleep on Friday so we could hit it hard on Saturday. Mmmm hmmm.  After dinner, around 10:15p, we get a text from “Tony”. Wants to hook up for drinks.

No way Jose am I going dancing again – we can meet in a lounge somewhere. Except we didn’t – meet in a lounge. Tony said something like “let’s meet at the Bank” and we said “OK”. And we got into the cab at the Mandalay Bay (which is where we had dinner: Aureole), and the excursion goes like this:

Me: “We’re going to the Bank.”

Wahid the cabbie (his name was Wahid): “Which one?”

Me: “The nightclub.”

Wahid: {rolls down his window and yells at another cabbie} “Do you know where the bank is?”

Cabbie: {mumbling unintelligibly} “blah wah wah blah yep” and nods his head.

Wahid: Nods his head.

Me: “Do you know where you’re going?”

Wahid: “Venetian.”

The hubby and I start furiously googling the Bank but it’s too late. $8.50 later, we arrive at the Venetian just in time to get our google result: the Bank is at the Bellagio. Which I believe is the opposite direction. After $15 more, we arrive at the Bank. It’s like 11:00p now and I’m really rethinking the wisdom of being out.

The hubby texted Tony to let him know we were here, and eventually we found each other. Tony is a charming and likeable guy. I didn’t really talk much to Tina other than to find out that she and Tony are only dating. After a marriage gone wrong, she is in no hurry to settle down again. Mmmm hmmmm.

The first thing I noticed that seemed hinky to me was that Tina dances quite nasty. Now if you’ve seen me dance, I’m no shy flower. I throw my hands in the air and wave em like I just don’t care. But I noticed that girlfriend was throwing something else up in the air and hmmm wriggling it. OK, she’s having a helluva time. You go girl. Channel that inner crazy bitch.

In her short short mini dress, the big problem was that she would drop it drop it low low and spread em. Did I mention we were on the second floor balcony?

But we knew for sure something was off kilter when Tony put his arm around my waist and winked. You know that wink. Like “how you doing?”

The hubby and I looked at each other, the dawning of understanding on our faces, and ran out of there faster than Heidi Montag after looking at herself in the mirror. What were we thinking?

Well, we dodged that bullet. Schwew.

Stay tuned – part 4 is the final chapter and we’ll share our oh-so-very-European pool experience. Rock on Vince Neil wannabe.

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