Posted on

So I really did watch the Oscars Sunday. We turned it on late (at 9 – what self respecting awards show starts at half past eight??) and…err… I fell asleep sometime around 11 or 11:30 and woke up in time to see Lucas, Spielberg and Eastwood (?) name Scorcese the winner of Best Direction. The camera panned at one point to Helen Mirren, holding her little golden guy and I thought, “When did Helen Mirren win? What did I miss?”

Well, yeah, the big awards, doofus. I stayed up long enough for Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson (who were both so good in the movie Reds) to name The Departed for Best Picture and then headed to sleep for real.

I am such a lightweight! I used to stay up for all of this stuff and now I can barely pry my eyes open long enough for the biggest night in entertainment.

Panic! at the Cleaners

Posted on

(And why my luck may be better than the Kennedys)

So, I finally got off my duff and took the dry cleaning to the cleaners Saturday. Once it fits into our fairly sizeable hamper and then gathers dust, it’s probably time to act. I felt fabulous finally getting that done until….

later that night Gene needed nice clothes to wear to dinner (The Melting Pot for V-Day, yum and no carbs at all). Umm, they’re at the cleaners. All of them (4 shirts, 3 pairs of pants – hey, he works from home!). Oh, fuckity. He finally decided to wear his least obtrusive hanging around the house pants and all was better.

But then…Sunday I was folding laundry and realized that he had a meeting at work on Tuesday. With his boss. Who would probably not appreciate his employee wearing shorts and a Corona beer t-shirt. And the cleaning wasn’t going to be ready until Wednesday. Oh, fuckity fuck fuck fuuuck. Party people, I momentarily considered breaking into the dry cleaners to see if perhaps the stuff hadn’t left yet (why else wouldn’t it be ready until Wednesday??). Fortunately I decided a life of crime wasn’t worth it. And visited the cleaners yesterday to beg for my stuff early. The lady said I could have it at 7 AM today.

So guess where I’ve already been today? Yep, 7:05 saw me running through the door. And the dry cleaning was there. I may live to see another day. (If I had failed at this, I was pretty sure I was going to have to assume a new identity and move to Mexico).


Lesson learned: Take your dry cleaning in more frequently. Or to the “In by 9, out by 6” place. They charge more, but it’s worth it.

Anyway, more later. This whole dry cleaning screw up has made me think about the big picture (yes, really) so I have another post in me, but now I need to get myself ready to go.

Oh the pain!

Posted on

Always a week late on things, Gene and I just finished watching the Grammy awards. Thanks to the PVR we were able to watch it at 60x speed and only watch the stuff we wanted to. 1) The Police reunion 2) The Eagles covers 3) Henley present an award with Scarlett Johannsen (ScarJo).

#1 – Pretty good. Gene wondered aloud if Roxanne is the seminal Police song. I thought perhaps Roxanne or Every Breath you Take.

#2 – Oh my god, oh the pain, OH MY EYES. Whose bright idea was this?? Yeargh. It was like the saddest cover band ever, or one of those wedding bands with the sassy girl singer.

#3 – Henley was not mean to poor old ScarJo, as I’d heard elsewhere on the Internet. She asked if he had advice on recording her album, he said “No” and that was that. He’s not Bruce Friggin Springsteen, he’s a terse guy (I tried, really I tried, to type mutha, but I couldn’t do it).

And in celebrity news…

Posted on

Is it me, or does the news this week seem to consist totally of some sort of Britney Spears/Anna Nicole Smith white trash dance-off? The last few months have been like this: …first ANS had the baby….then BS (oh, how appropriate) left KFed….then ANS’s son died (and yes, that was very sad)…then BS went dancing nightly with a calvacade of skanks…then ANS died….and finally, Britney has shaved her head. Really.

Next I expect KFed to reveal himself to be the babydaddy to unite the whole thing. Dumbass.

Hot Reading @ Work…

Posted on

So, I found this article on CNN.com. I surf there once or twice or a dozen times during the day to fight the feeling that maybe running screaming into the street might be a little better than living through another ten seconds of actual work.

The article is about 10 signs it is time to quit your job. While I feel that perhaps the article advocates quitting for less than four star reasons, I added them up Friday and came up with 6 that describe my mindset perfectly. If I had longer to go before I plan (Plan B, that is) to cut back hours, I might work harder about getting the hell out of there a little quicker. I love my job, I just don’t love my employer.

It just occurred to me that perhaps New-, Old-, Big- or Big-Big Boss is the one who Googled my first name, my husband’s first name, our last name and the state we live in. If so,

1) Fuck you.

2) Give me a decent raise

3) And my 401k match

4) And fire my boss. Unless you are my boss, in which case, quit.

5) And give me a printer that actually will permit me to cut all the checks at the same time. This 200 checks at a go stuff sucks. Not giving me the necessary tools to do my job is just unconscionable.

6) And I was kidding about the # of times I go to CNN.com. If you add up the # of times I go to CNN with the # of times I go to the website for the Cheesecake City Daily News, then maybe we’re around a dozen.

7) If by “around” you mean about eleventy billion.

Must Stop…

Posted on

1)Obsessing – Why on earth can I not stop Googling “Mountain Buggy Urban Single 2006 Cabana Blue”? (See? I was afraid to type it for fear it would start another round of obsessive staring)

2)Playing Diner Dash – How the hell do you pass level 5?

3)Wondering if a muffin top is called a muffin top because it looks like the top of a fancy muffin (seriously – do the muffins YOU bake come out looking like the muffins from the bakery?) or because it’s generally directly over a woman’s…err… anyway.

4) Debating baking brownies. The minute Dr. Hottie told me I was no longer prediabetic I’ve been on a crazy bitch eating binge. (For instance, lunch this week was Monday: Grilled chicken salad w/ fat free Italian dressing Tuesday: Chili cheese dog Wednesday: Breaded chicken sandwich and TATER TOTS Thursday: Cheese eggs, english muffin and bacon Friday: Fancy salad from the pizza place). If I make – and eat (which inevitably I will) – brownies, I will balloon up to thirty trillion pounds (again) and the only way I can get pregnant is with a doorway and a broom handle (don’t ask).

5) Worrying – you may have noticed the blog was dark earlier in the week, for about a day. Yeah. Umm. La la la la. I may password protect it for good in the future but that requires everyone get a WordPress login and unfortunately my latent exhibitionist blogging tendencies don’t support that.