Birds Fly (Whisper to a Scream)

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(Ah, song lyrics as blog post titles)

Anyhow… so I am getting the house ready for Gene’s return tomorrow. I was in the bedroom, minding my own business when, for some reason I needed to walk down the hallway.

And there stood Betty, our corgle, looking exceptionally proud.

And next to her was something that looked for all the world like a wet dark piece of cloth. My first thought was, oh, what did that effing dog eat now?

And then reality clicked.

THERE WAS A DEAD BIRD IN MY HOUSE.

A DEAD BIRD IN MY HOUSE.

My first instinct was to scream – not a loud shrieky “cause for the authorities to bust in the front door” scream, but more of a “Calgon take me AWAY there is no man in my house and today was Paycheck Printing Day” scream.

A DEAD BIRD IN MY HOUSE.

When I was a little girl and we lived in the ghetto, I found a dead bird and brought it to my mother. I think I put it in her lap.

Speaking of my mother, I called her because I had no idea what to do other than flip the fuck out. Leaving it for the dog walker to find tomorrow just occurred to me (dammit), so mom very kindly advised me to cover it with something and scoop it into something else. Thank you old Saturday edition of the Cheesecake Daily News and Macy’s bag. You have served your country admirably.

A DEAD BIRD IN MY HOUSE.

(Sorry, I’m going to keep saying this for awhile longer).


Down with the sickness…

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My name is Elaine and I have a BIG problem.

So, a few months ago I bought this totally cute shirt from the Gap. The neck is a little too wide (I apparently have very petite shoulders – well, at least something on me is small). While out in search of clothing yesterday, I saw a mannequin wearing a shirt a little like this one, but with a tank top underneath. Brilliant!

I go to the Gap (the tanks at Macy’s were too wide in the neck, to say nothing of too pricey) and I discover that while I don’t like the tanks underneath this shirt, the tanks really don’t look too horrible on me. So I buy them. Endgame = $20 at grownup Gap.

Across the hallway is Baby/Kid Gap and their “Come all Ye Suckers” sign is lit. They have the cuuuuutest little toddler shirts. I got one for each of my two nephews – one of the shirts proclaiming “Mr Mischief” and a “Star Wars” shirt (The Boy had always wanted to get his cousin a Star Wars onesie – the cousin is now 3 years old. Just another line item on the Evil Stepmother list). And yeah, I did a tiny bit of Plan B stuff. Endgame = an amount of cash I am no longer comfortable disclosing at Baby/Kid Gap. The two toddler sized shirts each were more than 2 grownup tank tops. Ugh.

Oh, and the clerk at Gymboree across from the house now recognizes me. ::forehead slap:: Soooo not a good thing.

I think Gene needs to come home NOW. I don’t do these things when he is home!!


I’m no longer not really a waitress…

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(This midday post brought to you by wi-fi I “liberated” from the sushi bar near the office. Note to self: get take out sushi from generous sushi bar while Gene is out of town)

So. I am a creature of habit. I dislike change. You know what I do like? Yes! Sexy red toenails. Preferably my beloved OPI I’m Not Really a Waitress. I don’t know how long I’ve had this color, but I would say it’s been a continuous 3 or 4 years. Last weekend, I was long long looong overdue for a pedicure (eecch) and no place had available appointments except the fancy salon across from the house.

But – cue dramatic music – they don’t use OPI for some bogus “We only use organic products!” reason…um, hi, no one in nature has painted toenails, why get all tree huggy about it?

So, my options were either no pedicure or no Waitress. Ugh. I considered buying a pot of it to take with me and I think we all know I am not coordinated enough to do my own toes. I decided to vote to go without my beloved Waitress and I swear I feel naked, even though I did pick the closest color they had.

I hope my toes are ready for sandals at work tomorrow!

Let’s file this under “Problems only Elaine has”.





A reason I love my mother…

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So, Thursday I realized I had to call my mother and tell her some baaaad news.

Me: “Mom, is it OK if your mothers day present is late?”

Mom: “Sure! You know how much I hate that stuff!”

My mother is almost like a tomboy in her dislike of girly crap. She is known to hate the following: baby showers, bridal showers, any occasion where a Hallmark card is involved, candle parties, basket parties, Pampered Chef parties, childrens birthday parties and the Republican Party.

(Whew – I wasn’t entirely sure how to end that sentence).

Which is why it makes sense that I dislike most all of that as well.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!

Love

ELAINE (your firstborn)


Whitedog’s big vacation…

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So I’m sitting here at Cheesecake City International Airport n’ Bait Shop (motto: Now with more Starbucks!), once again lovin’ the free wi-fi. I’m supposed to do something of value, but I really only have eyes for my two square inches of the internet, so, there you go.

My flight leaves in (oh geez) two more hours so I have a lot of time to kill. So, I will tell you a story… on my way to the airport, I realized I left my earphones for the iPod somewhere (probably at the house), so I stopped at Best Buy to pick up a new pair.

Well. For all that I claim to be 29, there’s a part of me that’s really 79 years old because I took one look at the display and grabbed a salesgirl to ask her where the real headphones were. I don’t want the creepy behind the head kind, I don’t want the enormous kind, and I sure do not want the icky shove in your eardrum kind (I have petite ears and nothing fits in there). I want headphones like the kind that came with the gramaphone Walkman my parents gave me for my 12th birthday.

All’s well that ends well – and cheap, too. Being an iPod anomaly has its benefits.


Hello, Ohio!

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Guess where I’m spending the weekend? If you guessed “Ohio”, to celebrate my older nephew’s third birthday, you are RIGHT. Pat yourself on the back.

It’s a good thing I’m here on the Internet, because I have nothing to do at all. No packing, cleaning, taking the garbage out and of course I’m not supposed to work a little tomorrow before rushing down to Cheesecake City International Airport n’ Bait Shop for my 4 pm flight.

The good news is that I’ll finally see Gene again. I haven’t seen him since last Sunday. He’s been partyin’ up in New Jersey. Would you believe that I have missed him?

If you’re wondering, my first 2008 visit to the Great State of Indiana is to be in July when my grandfather and his wife are visiting.