Skunk!

A Typical Wednesday Evening in My House:
8:37 OMG. Skunk in the backyard. OMG. OMG. OMG.

8:39 OMG.

8:40 Maybe if I pound on the door it will go away.

8:41 OMG it looked at me (run into the dining room).

8:45 ::Pound some more on the door:: Skunk looks up again, pound on the door some more. Skunk practically skips through the fence, a la Pepe Le Pew.

8:51 Dad suggests buying moth balls. Apparently skunks hate the smell of moth balls. Ironic.

Some Assembly Required

So I assumed that, with homeownership, comes a certain amount of DIY-iness. I expected it, and was a little prepared for it. Today, at 10:14 a.m., my television media console was delivered. The box is taller than me. The poor delivery man (who delivered it out of a conversion van, btw...I'm a little concerned this thing may or may not have "fallen off the back of a truck"....) could barely get it up the front steps. He more or less pushed it across the front hall. I'm not sure that Oola and I will be able to lift it.

I'll post pictures when I get the box open....if I get the box open.

It's been awhile....

So it's been awhile....over a year. Since the last post, Oola and I bought a house. Well, I bought a house, Oola found a place to put her shoes and wine. I'll try to keep better tabs on our home-owning shenanigans.

We turn 30 this year. I can't seem to get Oola to realize this, and I can't seem to forget it.

The day after the day after a night out

So today was the day after the hangover; the day after the day after the night of gallons of adult beverages being quite literally poured down one's throat straight from the bottle. I should say that for the first half dozen martinis I at least made some effort at etiquette and went through the ritual of pouring the gin into a glass with a couple of olives. But for the last of the bottle, I stopped going through the motions and just walked around with the bottle as my "bessfriend." How drunk was I? Well, I can't quantify it in scientific terms, but let's just say I spent half the night wondering where my pants went when I finally realized about 10 o'clock the next morning that I had worn a dress that day....

Anyway, back to today. Today, the day after the day after. Today is the day when one can finally eat solid foods. As Bridget Jones once wrote, the best cure for a hangover is to eat anything in sight that might possibly make you feel better. In her case, it was:
2 packets Emmenthal cheese slices
1 quart freshly squeezed orange juice
1 cold baked potato
2 pieces unbaked lemon cheesecake
1 Milky Way
1 chocolate Viennoise dessert thing with cream on top
Steamed broccoli
4 cold frankfurters

In my case, the menu du jour was:
1 cranberry smoothie from Robeks
1 french onion soup from Panera
2 bags of kettle chips
1 bag of honey wheat pretzel stick thingys
1 Auntie Anne's Pretzel
2 fried chicken legs
1 frozen Snickers bar
7 Diet Cokes
1/2 can of green beans

Hmm. Seems to be missing something....something from the dairy group, perhaps? Maybe there are some cheese slices in the fridge....

Biggest Pain in my Butt

So I'm on a conference call the other day and it is really, really boring. Like soul-crushingly boring. I tried to put my feet up on my desk but the desk is too high (my office mate says my legs are too short, but I prefer to blame the inanimate object rather than genetics). I finally got my feet perched near the edge when I suddenly feel the chair slipping out from under me. I scrambled to catch a hold of something and end up grabbing the phone as I plummet to the floor. I land in a "V" and manage to bring the entire phone down on my head. The only saving grace to all of this was that the mute button remained fully functional during the whole episode.

It now hurts to sit, stand and walk. I am so graceful.

Give me head with hair, long beautiful ha-air

So it's been awhile. Sorry.

When I was in second grade, I got my hair cut. The style at the time was the bobbed look, and my stylist decided that this would be perfect for a 7 year old with chubby cheeks. Also, in an attempt to be "hip" and "chic", she cut one side shorter than the other (I have no explanation for this other than it was 1987). Needless to say, the short bobbed look did not work with my swollen face and I could never, ever get the hair to line up perfectly....I always had a few stragglers on one side that we supposed to be parted to the other side. I was so traumatized by the entire episode that I really have not had my hair cut short since. Until now.

My salon decided to do a Locks for Love event in connection with Valentine's Day. They needed 10 inches of hair for the wigs. So I had a secretary in my office get out a ruler and we measured my hair. I had more than enough:

See? Just like Polamalu. And more than enough to spare. Ten inches went right to my shoulders, which is short (for me) but no where near the disasterous shortness of '87. So I made my appointment and went in.

The whole thing was televised on a local morning show. My stylist was nervous, and it is never a good idea for the lady with the scissors to be nervous. She divided my hair into four sections and made a ponytail of 10 inches long. Then she cut off the ponytails. It was heartbreaking to see my 10 inches of hair sitting on the counter. But my sadness turned to panic as the stylist continued to cut. And cut. And cut. And cut. And cut. I wanted to scream out "For the love of God, honey, please stop cutting or I won't have any left!!!!"

When the carnage was over, this is all that was left of my hair:

No, I was not happy. It's second grade all over again.

Analog TV

So my grandmother is one of the millions of old people who, for whatever reason, is still confused about the analog/ditigal switch. Even though she has been a loyal cable customer for many years, she had my uncle get her an analog converter. Which they attached. Somehow. To the cable box.

I'd like to think of this clip as a farce; however, I know all too well that it is reality.