Wednesday, Dec. 06, 2006 - 9:46 p.m.

Sissy-poo's boo boos

Tragic news folks, the hottest pair of legs in North America are in bandages.

My sister and I used to dream up a frankensteined non-person made up of body parts from both of us, and we always picked her legs for the hottie-beast. They're long, hold a lovely tan, are muscular, and coordinated to a incomprehensible level. My legs? - more in the Betty Rubble (or if I'm in a self-depreciating mood, Fred Flinstone) category.

But back to Mz. Sexy-Legs:
As she snarkily (vicondinly?) pointed out, she isn't and doesn't plan on becoming a bikini model, but it would be a freaking shame if those legs don't recover to their former tap-dance-circles-'round-ya glory.

She is in the early stages of recovering from second-degree burns, from a kitchen accident involving a travel mug of scalding hot water tipping onto her upper legs. Her first thought? "Gee, I hope I don't miss any work today". Stubborn badass . . . .

Fortunately, the emergency room personell decided it was alright for her to heal up at home rather than remain in the hospital.

The only negative thing about this is that she is quite likely to go stir-crazy as soon as she gets bored with movies and napping. If she were stuck in a hospital, she'd be too ticked off and fussed-over to get truly bored.

So, oh blogosphere, I have a request for you:
On behalf of my soon-to-be-bored sister, please provide links to your favorite entertaining websites. No p*rn schtuff, or I'll send one of my kitty minions to shed (or worse, that ain't a prize!) in your cereal boxes.

Sissy-poo-head, I wish you the fastest, scar-free recovery possible! Love you very much!

And from your furry nephews and neices:
Mikey says: Mau? (with lovey-eye stare and smile)
Lydia says: Meh-Kack? (with enthusiastic headbonk)
Zachary says: Meep! (with a smooch then a whack to the head)
Suki says: haerRAAkaataaah! (with Cornholio pose)



Monday, Dec. 04, 2006 - 9:13 a.m.

Friday's booze collection

I showed restraint on Friday evening, and did not succumb to the urge to try every kind of alcohol available to me. In fact, for the most part, I stuck with selzer water and ice tainted with mere capfuls of liquor.

However, I couldn't resist the giddy "Hey you've gotta try this" requests of other people in mad-scientist mode.

One of the other guests stumbled into inventing a particularly fun drink

The Snow Cone
1 part Rasmatazz (raspberry liquor)
1 part Cherry Brandy
1 part Blue Curaco
best served with ice and selzer water

* ~ * ~ *

I may not post for the rest of the week, I'm (yeah, you guessed it) freaking busy at work, and have many home improvement
projects brewing at home.

Nanoo Nanoo



Saturday, Dec. 02, 2006 - 3:04 p.m.

Little in the middle but she got much back

Mr. Hubby and I were invited to a cocktail party where all the guests were asked to bring the tail-ends of their neglected bottles of alcohol and/or a snack to share, dressing swanky also encouraged.

A single word assessment of the evening?


Since I work with/for some wealthy mofos, I'm familiar with dressy, improbable-amount-of-fantastic-alcohol gatherings. This was, by far, the "kewlest" (nod to Alie's spelling there) celebration of alcohol variety I've ever attended; it was a low-budget yet classy, non-stuffy, amorous affair. I haven't been so cuddled, coddled and oogied over since I was a toddler. And all of this taking place in a creep-free zone!

- And now I get boring and self-obsessed, perhaps you want to stop reading now?
- No really, I'm about to go on a vain ass tangent.
- Okay, I warned you:

I approached the party with a bit of trepidation, the last time I attended a dress up cocktail party, it became a blender battle of Smurfy drinks, near-puking youngsters asking Mr. Hubby and I if were hired help, since we took it upon ourselves to moderate the booze table and were were wearing niiiiiice duds. I wore an off-white spaghetti strapped, satin, fitted, floor-length gown, high heels, and my (then long) hair in a bun to rival princess Leia.

This time around? My nearly-grown-out-Amelie cut improbably behaved to the point I pulled off a tattered french twist. Score one happy point.

As for the cocktail dress? My previous gown was long ago destroyed by Lydia when I stupidly left it hanging on the back of a door - the lure of unblemished satin was far too much for her kitten claws to pass up.

What I wore: a fitted scoooop neck black shirt, black tights, an above-the-knee stretchy (with thankful wispy over-layer) black skirt, red&black stripy socks w/ maryjanes, a belt to rival She-Ra, and a long black cardigan to cover my (newly acquired?) ginormous ass.

I had to reject more than half of my dressy clothes because they did not fit .

Normally I embrace change with enthusiasm.
^ Knees got cranky? I found an Osteopath and got rid of all my heeled shoes.
^ Wrists began crapping out? I developed an arm-stretching routine and faithfully wore my braces whenever required.
^ Hairline went crazy and thinned out when I was under hella-stress? I cut my hair short, got tiny short bangs, and eventually my scalp caught the hint and my still-toddler-esque-fine-and-thin hair began to return to normal.
^ Heartburn got out of control? I did the precription drug mambo for neary a year then found a Homeopathic physician who sorted me out with dietary changes and supplements, GERD cured.

However, this heeeeey, you're heading towards 30 and are cubicle-bound for 40 hours a week, and haven't been working out regularly, here's your big-butt-badge-of-honor gig isn't working for me at all. I want access to my entire crappy wardrobe. Sooo, I'll limit my hot-cocoa and cookie consumption at work and revisit my neglected work out tapes then hope for the best.

I haven't intentionally asked for opinions regarding my new-ish (or have I been delusional for a while?) acquisition, but so far all the feedback has been very positive. Either I am surrounded by very kind people, or Sir Mix Alot is not in the minority.

Your take on big butts?



Thursday, Nov. 30, 2006 - 8:32 p.m.

intoxicated zen

I spent a few hours this evening celebrating the wedding
Mr. Hubby interrupts, apparently he wants me to kick his arse at darts or something.
Mr Lee: No, let her write while it's still fresh in her mind! My backhair is coming in thicker than ever, it's starting to look like my lip.
Assholios. Where was I?

OH, I was out drinking with some of my "top of the totem pole coworkers/friends because one of my friends got married over Thanksgiving break, and was in need of a belated bachelor-ish party, since his new wife still lives out of the country.

Anyway - I came up with a very zen explanation as to why I'm not atteding my 10 year highschool reunion. My "official" excuse is that my nephews want to spend New Year's weekend with me, and I'm all for teaching them how to party at an early age. BUT after giving my sassy "like their Uncle, my nephews have fantastic taste" speach, I followed it up with "Besides, I've got a bad haircut and I haven't conquered the world yet".

Yep. Less than fantastic hair and lack of world domination is preventing me from reuniting with the bungholes I attended High School with

Mr. Lee: Oh, and your gut. . . . crap I spilled my mimosa!



Wednesday, Nov. 29, 2006 - 9:02 a.m.

A very special Elvis Wednesday

My very own Velvet Elvis

For the new visitor: Mr. Hubby and I inherited this from a deceased friend of ours. It proudly hung on an olive-green wall right next to a huge "leg lamp" ala "A Christmas Story" - and looked fantastic, at least through my eyes.

Anyone know how to clean one of these suckers?
I want to remove all the dust and fur without marring the surface.



Tuesday, Nov. 28, 2006 - 9:00 a.m.


No time for a proper entry, I'll fling you towards gapingvoid.com, a site first brought to my attention by Madame D.

Swing by tomorrow, when I hope post a photo of my very own velvet Elvis. Thanks for the suggestion, Nikki - one less thing to devote brain space to today!

In other news:
I want a raise.



Sunday, Nov. 26, 2006 - 2:22 p.m.

dogs playing poker

Contrary to my neutral (I'm a homebody) approach to visiting my in-laws, I had a freaking fantastic time spending time with them. Our stay was much less chaotic than usual since it was *only* Mr. Hubby and I staying with his parents, rather than other siblings and their children.

For instance? I got to sleep - as much as I wanted to.
No sneaky gee-since-you're-up-anyway-take-care-of-all-the-kids-while-everyone-else-sleeps mornings. In fact, Mr. Hubby took care of Suki-pup's late evening/early morning potty-treks.

Also? I got to spend some genuine partying-time with Mr. Hubby's parents; they had (self-proclaimed "Aged Hippy") friends over to play poker on Friday night, and all of us were up past 4am. I played very little poker, as I'm more of an euchere gal - my MIL was patient/kind/brilliant to let me be on her "team" rather than play my own hands.

Instead I finished up an Agatha Christie book while I DJ'd the evening from my iPod, which was a bit of a trick, because it only contains unrated, "to sort, possibly delete" music - a lasting side effect of the great-and-terrible laptop crash of Summer '06. Fortunately, there were plenty of Ray Charles, Duke Ellington, Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra and other non-sucky tracks to fast forward to when shuffle took us in ugly directions.
(On a semi-related tangent, I've only got 4.7 days worth of music left to sort from the original 12.1 days!)

Suki happily, sleepily staggered back and forth between our laps, determined to stay involved with the poker game, refusing to sleep on the couch.

Meanwhile, Mr. Hubby was busy winning enough money to fill up his car at least four times!

. . .

In other news,
Elvis has landed.
Yes, my deceased-friend's velvet Elvis painting is finally at my house.
I'm still not sure where it is going to live, but it will hang on a wall.
1) Because I love and miss my friend that much.
2) It's hypnotically attactive somehow.
3) Why bother trying to convince people I've got "good" taste - see reason #2.

On the other hand, we also brought home a Bob Ross-esque oil painting that I find absolutely painful to look at. I can make no claims of artistic superiority, but in all honesty, the nicest thing I can say about the painting is "at least it isn't huge".

Mr. Hubby's now-deceased great aunt took up painting in her 40s, and gifted the family several paintings over the years. (The tribute to Mary Poppins is so bad that it's actually good). Now my MIL has decided to spread Aunt M's paintings around, and since Mr. Hubby was very fond of his Aunt M, he is estatic about owning the visual atrocity, and wants us to hang it up also.

If it were *just* an ugly painting with no historical/emotional attachment to it, I'd have a snobby hissy-fit and demand we give it away. But I may be bound by marriage to make my decor even more questionable.

Perhaps I'll create and hang an "I'm not responsible for this painting" sign near it?



Tuesday, Nov. 21, 2006 - 5:10 p.m.

Elvis sighting from another realm - the realm of DORKITUDE

Have I mentioned lately that I *love* Google Image search?

"Turkey Elvis" gets you THIS image from angryorcs.com.

For the non D&D nerd, a simple translation:
An Orc is an imaginary monster (think mutated professional wrestler on perma-PCP) bent on wailing on imaginary characters that very real geeks obsess over whilst communally consuming crunchy snacks and caffienated beverages for hours on end.

Orcs bad. Very bad.
If your character sees one, either
1)Run like hell, throwing bombs behind you while running.
2)Hide and hope you don't smell interesting.
3)Completely suck up to whoever may be able to control said Orcs.

Now that I've completely outed myself as a role-playing geek, I'm going to slink off into the darkness (well actually to my in-laws's house) for the rest of the week.

I probably won't be posting, as I haven't outed my blog to family members, and don't have plans to do so yet.

Which begs the question, does YOUR family know about your blog?
Is there any particular reason TO tell them, or NOT tell them?



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