A Rilly Rilly Rilly Big Shew

Genetically Resistant. That's the official diagnosis from T-N-T Tanning at the end of my street. I went in to sign up - against my better judgement, but still couldn't stop myself, kinda like getting fake nails once a year - I'm trying to get the glare off before our cruise next month. I just don't want to be so white I glow - which is my current status. Casper-White is the official Crayola color. I get zero sun nowadays. At least back in my Old Life, I would get some color to me because I would do yard work occasionally. Now there's Timmy for all things yard-related so I spend very limited time outdoors, except for sitting on my porch and there's no sun there. So I tried it again and was pronounced Genetically Resistant to Tanning. Oh, even that didn't stop me from signing up, I bought a 2-week unlimited tanning package just to try it again. Maybe my internal composition has changed since turning 40 and I now secrete mega-doses of melanin and I'll be a bronzed Hawaiian Tropic pin-up when the 2 weeks are up. I think this sums up my eternally optimistic mindset - who cares about a half empty/half full fictitious cup of water - every year I believe THIS WILL BE THE YEAR I TAN and buy a tanning package of some sort. Every year I'm disappointed and itchy after futile efforts, but still I keep trying. So we'll see what happens - fingers crossed :)

Update: By 10:00 p.m., the 4 minutes of "tanning" has settled in and I'm as red as a lobster, and my hoo-ha is on fire. No, I didn't wear undies, and now I realize that may have been a mistake.

The week was more of the same in my life: spontaneously predictable. I joined the guys at Mr. Peabody's Pub Wednesday night for the Karaoke Radio Contest and had a really fun time. Timmy showed up to keep me company and have a beer while Kenny was busy running his rilly big shew. Timmy peed on himself in the men's room while trying to carve an ice sculpture into the block of ice in the men's urinal. Why they have ice in them is a mystery to me - men and their wieners and all that goes with is always some complicated story. We don't have ice in the women's toilets, in case anyone was wondering.

However, someone at Peabody's defiled the 2nd stall so badly I gagged a little and felt compelled to show it to someone. Timmy had nothing better to do so he went in with me to check it out, but it was too late as some poor fool had already cleaned it. I'm not sure if it was puke, #2 (if it was, it was an ass explosion of great magnitude), or what - but nothing that looks like that should ever come out of any part of a girl. We're GIRLS, for crying out loud. Whatever happened to sugar and spice and everything nice?

My sore Cartoon Toe is on the mend, but still has a boo-boo on it. Some of my faithful readers received a special presentation of the Cartoon Toe, so I won't recap it all again. Suffice it to say, I wore bad shoes, they rubbed a bleeding boo-boo on my toe by 11:00 a.m., it throbbed like a cartoon thumb that gets whacked by a hammer and Timmy dubbed it "Cartoon Toe."

Shoes are since removed from the rotation. That poor toe has enough struggles as it is, it's the broken little piggy toe that doesn't lie flat, it rests up on it's little neighbor-friend toe and requires special attention with all shoe purchases. Apparently, I wasn't diligent enough when buying that pair I had on and I had to pay the piper. And my toe was the piper.

I believe I'm getting a sty on my eye - something is going on around my lash line and it's super painful. I better research a fix for this on the Internet as soon as I'm done prattling off about the nothingness of my week.

Golf season is ready to wrap up, only 2 more weeks left. Ryan and I held 1st place all season until 2 weeks ago, and now we're out by 1 point. It's our own fault, if we had made up even one of the forfeits we had we would still have the lead. Now we've got to make up ground if we're going to win. I think last Thursday was a push. Oh well if we don't win, I really don't like this Flight so I don't even care - I won't be playing with next year, they're a bunch of A-holes for the most part. There, I got to use "a-holes" in my blog, hooray! People don't use "a-hole" enough nowadays. I'm taking it back, just like Clerks 2 did with "porch monkey." If you didn't see the movie you won't get that.

Meggan helped host Anastasia's baby shower last weekend. Her due date is at the end of September, I believe I'll be cruising while she's popping out a bambino. I can't wait to see what she has and what she names it!

Last night we went to JB's Arcade for our potential last hurrah. The governor has deemed those games illegal (and really, they are gambling, there is no "skill" involved) and they had until midnight Saturday night to shut 'er down. So we played and had a good time seeing our friends from there and then we called it a night around 11:30. Just in case they were going to battering-ram down the doors at midnight we were gone.

Geri's house is coming along. She got pounded stainless steel backsplashes installed in the kitchen, which just sounds so cool I can't wait to see it. I was worried that they would be constantly mussed up looking, and Geri burst out laughing and asked me how that would happen - from all the cooking she does?! She does such a minor amount of cooking she didn't even want an oven installed at first! All her cooking can be accomplished with a microwave. But she does like to make Oven Fry chicken, and so she may use her kitchen more than she realizes.

I would have a field day with a nice kitchen. Ours sucks - space is horrible, cabinets suck, no place to put anything (the usual complaint here). But it's next to free so I get by and take a lot of vacations instead. It's all a tradeoff in life. So far I'm okay with it, I only have occasional breakdowns about wanting a nice new house with vaulted stuff. I can wait a few years.

For those of you who are wondering, the new coffee pot is working out wonderfully so far! Only 1 mishap where it leaked all over the kitchen, but that was a user error, I didn't have the pot pushed in all the way and well, chaos ensued.

Tonight I got to gueststar on The Karaoke Radio Show. I actually said words and everything. It was fun, the hour goes fast. I gave Emily and Kristen and Timmy a shout-out, and managed not to swear. All-in-all, a good night.

It's late, here's a picture of the cute little cross-eyed Girl Cat:

She's stopped terrorizing Widda as much as before, so she's allowed to continue to stay. She's really just so soft and pretty, she's hard to resist. Those cute cross-eyes just add to the charm.

Here's a cute picture of Newfie, she rarely gets featured so here's her moment to shine:

Peace, and be present in your life - enjoy your days, even if they may not be worth seizing!

Bossa Nova Baby

Kenny and I are working on getting ship-shape for our cruise next month. Which, by the way, is supposed to travel the course that Hurricane Dean is currently tracking. If Dean arrives in Haiti and Jamaica before we do, I'm not sure what will be left of the beautiful beaches next month, but I'm sure Royal Caribbean will take us somewhere pretty.

Anyway, I digress. We've been working out a bit and while at Wal*Mart today I purchased some 100-calorie snack packs to take to work, for that 3:00 break when the snack-attack strikes. Well, this is what 100-calories looks like. I have a quarter there next to the snacks to provide scale. Seriously, wow. Those are teensy! The picture on the box is misleading, they appear to be much more worthy snacks. Maybe they taste bigger.

Nothing says curl up under a blanket and watch mindless television like a drizzlie Sunday afternoon. I love these types of Sunday's almost as much as the beautiful 75 & Sunny Saturdays like the one we had yesterday. Both days require very different levels of participation. Yesterday was so beautiful, the need was felt to get out there and revel in the day; today requires no participation because of the consistent precipitation. It's a do-what-ya-want kinda day, and if you spend it couped up in the house or a dark movie theater, there is no associated guilt that you've squandered a beautiful day. I could, however, be doing more productive things around the house. Day's not over yet, perhaps it will happen.

I have a new cube-mate at work:

Found Ellen hanging out by the trash area at work. Who would want to toss out an Ellen standee when she is such good company to have hanging around?! I scooped her up and brought her to my cube. I should get a new nameplate for her and hang it underneath mine. Speaking of nameplates, Work is now doing some crazy money-spending thing with adding our photos to our nameplates. I would like to think that whoever comes up with this stuff has solid rationale behind it, but this is one that is just a huge waste of money. Now the AG Thief will know who they're stealing from, I guess. It's ideas like this one that makes me realize that there are dumber people than me in higher positions making stupid-ass decisions. I should give myself more credit.

What I'm about to admit to is somewhat embarrassing and shameful, but in the interest of truth in journalism ~tee hee~ I will give full disclosure: Monday night Kenny and I went to the American Idols concert sponsored by Pop Tarts at the Cleveland State Wolstein Center. We were just about the only 40ish-year old's there without a pack of 8-year old's in tow. There were a few others our age sans poptarts, but they were most likely weirdos of some sort. I mean, what 40-year old would go to an American Idols concert just because??? Weirdos! :)

The concert was really pretty good, but very long: 3 hours. That's a long night of Sanjaya and Haley "Leggs" Scarnato warbling some pitchy tunes. But there were some really good performances by my man Blake the Beatboxer. He can beat my box any time he wants. Whatever that means :) And Jordin was really great live, and even the bald dude was good, although that bald head combined with those large ears and floppsy hats casts an eerie resemblance to Fievel Mousekewitz.

Wednesday night Kenny and I went to his mother's for a quick supper with Kenny's old girlfriend Cheyenne and her family. Cheyenne is Michael's mom, the 15-year old who came up and visited earlier this summer. They still stay in very close touch with Linda and were up to do some clothes shopping for the new school year. Seems that the store selection is very limited in Bellaire, Ohio, with a Macy's that just opened, a Wal*Mart Supercenter and nothing else. Not even Kohl's. Her girls were very excited, because they get to go to school dressed in the latest fashions fresh from the stores at Parmatown Mall. Who knew that I lived in the heart of a fashion metropolis! We had a really fun night meeting them and chatting, with Cheyenne's husband Brock whipping up a pot of his signature Potato Soup. He's a chef in Bellaire. Not sure what they serve at that restaurant, but he should figure out a way to market his soup, because it is beyond fabulous. We're planning on going down in October for a day to see Michael perform with his marching band (Meggan, did that sentence spark fond memories for you??), and then of course we'll go to Wheeling for an evening of gaming fun.

Geri was having dinner with a group of girlfriends and the discussion of the Maloik came up and was the cause for great debate. Everyone had two cents to add to the conversation about how to ward off the evil eye, and one of the girls brought up that's why the Kaballah-believers wear a red string: keeps the evil eye off of you. You have to wear it on your left arm, because Evil approaches from the left. Did my fatass ex Fsteve approach me from the left?? Now that I think about it, he was sitting on my left when I met him. If I would have only had a Kaballah string, all forms of bad luck could have been avoided!

Luckily, I had a bag full of red yarn from my knitting era (never quite made it into the shape of a scarf, blanket or any other usable item), and I cut a piece off and strapped it on. It came off by Saturday, but I felt very protected on Friday night while we were in Erie having a spontaneous night of slot machine action. Kenny wore one, too, because I insisted. We ended up winning quite a bit, $600 on the dollar Wheel of Fortune, and we were both happy and now have all our faith resting on pieces of string.

Speaking of Faith, I am still trying to convince Timmy that we should start our own church, Burning Bush Ministries. The name is fun, cause it has "bush" in the title. We were driving past one of those homemade churches today on the way home from Wal*Mart (which some people think is a religious experience in itself), and it's housed in what used to be a movie theater on Brookpark Road. How holy is that??! They have services at 6:00 p.m. on Sunday, which would fit my schedule perfectly - I could never commit to an early-morning sermon. I even told Kenny that we could feature a weekly segment of Inspirations By Elvis - and make a sermon based on various songs. I could do couples-counseling to the tune of Suspicious Minds. You can't build your dreams on Suspicious Minds, Baby. And I could post crazy sayings each week on a Jesus Board, just like the church down the street! How fun would that be?? And I'd pass around my Longaberger Baskets as my "collection plate." Always trendy and in style. Scoff if you will, but L. Ron Hubbard made a religion based on science fiction and all of Hollywood has bought into that crap. Stranger things, is all I'm saying. I think we're on to something.

Wednesday afternoon I had an appointment with a new dermatologist, Dr. Dong. My boss said "good thing she's not a urologist." See, that name just incites 12-year old boy remarks from everyone - there's no way you can not make a comment about the name Dr. Dong!! Jill went to her many months ago and spoke highly of her, so I got the number and booked an appointment. Even with the co-pay, anything she can prescribe is much cheaper - and more effective - than anything I can buy over the counter. I've had some breakouts since I went off the pill, and have been paranoid about my freckles since some stupid young girl was trying to sell me foundation to cover my "age spots." Well, Dr. Dong informed me that they are indeed freckles and not hormonally inspired, and that I don't need to try and lighten them - it's just who I am. But she did prescribe some other pore-cleansing stuff that seems to be doing wonders. I seriously see a difference in 4 days. I even got carded at Erie when we went up there Friday night. Which is seriously crazy, I mean, I do look at least 30! At least :)

I'm off to ride my exercise bike for 38 minutes, that's about how long it takes to counter-act one of those 100-calorie snackpacks. I don't think that's a good tradeoff!

Peace, and if you get All Shook Up and Can't Help Falling In Love, That's Alright Mama, just Don't Be Cruel to a heart that's true or you could end up living at Heartbreak Hotel. See (See See Rider), I have my first couples-counseling sermon ready to go! Thank you, thank you very much.

Polka, Beers & Gyros: An American Trilogy

How life wastes a day:

1. 1.5 hours on phone with Verizon Wireless to figure out why I can't seem to get a decent signal with my $400 phone. All that time and effort of pressing special magic numbers into my phone, removing & replacing the battery, and now my phone refuses to ring in the house, it goes straight into voicemail and I get a beep-beep-beep hours later that there's a message. And I dropped a call in mid-sentence while in my driveway today. Nice. I'm Verizon's #1 Fan.

2. 45 minutes spent reviewing various My Space and blogger layouts before settling on one reflective of my homelife in the grand city of Parma - ergo, the Pink Flamingos on My Space....they need to update the offering for blogspot.

3. Reading various online news sites to make sure I'm not missing out on life, while I sit in my living room missing out on life
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God vs. Tomatoes

God wins.

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The crushing rains of this past week wreaked havoc on my struggling garden. The staked tomatoes were lying broken and twisted, the stakes not enough to keep them upright during the storm. I had one sweet little green pepper who was on his way to full-size growth, and now this:

Some type of rot got ahold of the bottom and had at it. The storm knocked all the flowers off the other potential peppers, so I don't believe I will see any fruits from these labors this season. Ah, well. Always next year! I was able to take a batch of grape & cherry tomatoes to Sophie today, so I'm getting some yield, but certainly not much.

Contrary to my post last week, I decided to try and breathe a second life into the flowers as well as the vegetable plants and gave everything a shot of Miracle Gro Organic Fertilizer yesterday. It will remain to be seen if it does any good.

Now for the question that begs an answer: Which came first, the hotdogs or the buns? Because I just purchased a package of Hebrew National dogs for dinner, and a package of buns to go with, and the hotdogs were packed 7-in while the buns were packaged 8-in. What up with that?? Why does there need to be a 1-off situation? For the record, we had heard great hype about the tasty all-beef greatness of Hebrew National's and I must say I was less than impressed. I also purchased a package of the brand my grandmother eats, which she happily recalled she purchased a pack for 13 cents a year and a half ago. They're a little more than that now, but certainly not the price of the Hebrews. God Bless Sophie, who ALWAYS remembers what she paid for something. We'll have a hotdog taste-off later and see how the Bar S brand Sophie enjoys stacks up against the Hebrew Nationals. Maybe we just enjoy the taste of lips and assholes more than all-beef goodness.

Kenny and I enjoyed a mid-week get-a-way to Atlantic City Tuesday-Thursday. It was another fun time, although we had flight delays on the way out on Tuesday due to the storm, and then again on the way home on Thursday because our Cleveland storm had just enough time to catch up with us in New Jersey and delayed us once again. The pilot had to do a last-minute SWAP (Severe Weather Alternative Plan)

which re-routed us down around Virginia. It tacked on another 1 1/2 hours in flying time and we weren't fueled for that length of a trip, so we had to wait for more fuel - which they can't load in if there is lightening in the vicinity of the runway. So it was quite a production, but we made it.

We met a couple on our flight who were something else. They're from Hinkley originally, made their millions doing something (they didn't go into details on that, but they have millions to be sure), retired at the age of 49 and moved to Vegas 10 years ago. The wife was sporting a 6-carat solitaire, which nicely complimented her Rolex and her diamond tennis bracelet. She was a salty one, let me tell you. Coarse & Salty. They spend their days visiting various casinos, eating at one or another for free each day, and doing nothing more than that. Linda told me they don't ever go to a grocery store because they have so much free food from the various places that she doesn't even bother with buying the basics. Even I would get tired of that - but it works for them. They spend the summer's here at their home on Catawba Island, and then usually take the opportunity for East Coast gaming action, ergo their trip to Atlantic city.

They have no use for small children, which was more than apparent at the airport on the way home. We were delayed, as I've said, and someone was letting their 4-year-old run amok - screaming and running through the throngs of people. Salty Linda blocked his path on his second pass through our area, with feet firmly planted in the middle of the aisle, shouted, "SHUT UP!!" at the little kid. I BURST out laughing because I have never seen someone just up & do something so socially incorrect, the thing that we all want to do, but don't. The little kid stopped dead in his tracks, jaw to floor, and then quietly turned around and crept back to his mother, where he promptly burst into tears. The mother marched over and informed Linda she was "a horrible person" to which Linda replied, "yeah, I'm horrible, while you let it (yes, she referred to the child as it) run around here like it's a daycare" and then said something along the lines of "I have dogs that are better behaved." At first I was slightly uncomfortable, but then I had to second her motion on all that. Why in the world should I have to be annoyed because someone is too lazy to instill manners in their child? As a child I, #1 never the luxury of taking a trip that included a plane ride, and #2 knew better than to scream and run around in public. It just wasn't an option. Period. And I turned out okay, depending on who you ask. Somewhat okay, at least. Well, not horrible for the most part. Anyway I told Linda she was Super-Super Nanny and all ill-behaved kids should spend 30 minutes with her. That'd fix 'em. Or scar them into silence for the remainder of their youth. Either way, whatever it takes.

When summer began I made two requests to Kenny: I wanted to drink many beers on nice patios, and attend a variety of summer festivals. I am happy to say that I'm accomplishing each of my goals to date. See, it's only a dream if you don't put together an action plan. I have a variety of local taverns with very nice patio options in the Que, and we've kept apprised of the festivals in the area to be sure we attend them. This weekend it was Brooklyn Home Days. Kenny was hosting the gig Friday night and all day Saturday, so I met him there after work on Friday and listened to the bands while enjoying a cold Coors Light and a gyro on an outdoor picnic table. What better way to enjoy a summer night in Cleveland?

Timmy and I went up there to say hi to Kenny and have another beer and gyro Saturday evening. All-in-all, a fun time. Kenny's back there now because his friend's Polka Band, the Casuals, are playing today. They are famous for their hit "Grab Your Balls We're Goin' Bowling." I declined Day 3 of Home Days. Someone needs to make clean underwear happen in this house. And there's my cue to sign off.

Peace, and I hope you all had dry basements after the gulley-washer we had this week!

Tippy Toes

By August everything begins to look tired. Summer smells like it's drawing to an end and the plants seem to take their cue, refusing to maintain their bouncy facades from Spring. More straggly, less lush, less blooms. They sense the end is near and quietly being the end of their season. I imagine I could fertilize them again, try to coax them back, but I'm tired too, and will end the struggle and let them fade away, beginning anew next Spring. One of my florals stopped trying sometime in early July; there was no real reason for it, she received as much water as the rest of 'em, but one day I came out and she had turned brown and brittle, seemingly overnight. I've kept her in the pot since then, a quiet reminder that sometimes things require more than a simple effort to keep them thriving. She obviously wanted more than a once-a-day-watering, but not knowing what that was - and not wanting to participate in more - I allowed her to slip away. Now Twinkle likes to come out onto the porch and chew on the brittle branches, and I let him. A dead plant to one is a nice whisker-scratcher for others.

And thus the season begins to wind down.

While the plants appear to be winding down in some aspects, they are just getting started in others; the vegetables are offering up their bounty. With "bounty" being used in the loosest sense of the word. I've received a straggly offering from the tomatoes so far, with an occasional ripe grape tomato or a very small fruit from the Golden Boy plant.

All that effort spent turning up the earth for this.

Barely enough to provide for a sandwich cold-set, as they say in the restaurant biz. Not that I'm in the restaurant biz, but I've eaten out enough to be considered an expert. Or something.

There's a church on State Road that annoys the holy hell out of me for some reason.They consistently post the absolutely dumbest messages on their bulletin boards, some convoluted retarded-sounding snippets of supposed wisdom that is supposed to make me want to turn right into the parking lot and go repent. Instead, I carry those nuggets of wisdom all the way home with me, all the while twitching with annoyance at their sheer stupidity. On some level, they've done their job: I think about them long after I've passed by. But the greater job of inspiring me to a holier state has failed. This week's posted message goes something like this:

Mom posts pictures of her kids on her refrigerator. I've posted pictures of you on my refrigerator - GOD.

What the fuck does that even mean???? Seriously. They've also had this one recently:

You fix your mistakes with duct tape. God used nails.

What??? What??!! What does that mean???! I get the whole Jesus was nailed to a cross inference. But what is the message??? Good Lord. Kenny is by now used to my rantings about the Jesus Board, as I call it, and always enjoys my angst as I go on a rant regarding the sheer stupidity of these messages. Maybe it does do it's job after all, because I do a lot of praying for whatever dumbass comes up with that stuff.

Kenny's putting together tonight's radio show. We're (well, he) is going to have an hour and a half thing after the first of the year, called That's Entertainment or something along those lines. I want to have a 10-minute segment on that one, with girl-focused activities and events to discuss. I need to map out the thought, but there's something there that could be fun.

My dreaded speech-week is over - hooray for me! They all went really well, particularly my Icebreaker speech for Toastmasters. I had the crowd engaged for my 7 minutes, and got a lot of really nice feedback. I was worried about it, since I had to talk about myself, but not the normal stuff I normally blather on and on about, like my pooping phobias and my ginormous post-surgery vagina. Speaking of which, that thing never did snap back down into it's pre-surgery teensy cuteness. It's like a super-sized value meal now, and I seriously think that's a disclaimer they should tell you about: Extra-large vagina's may occur.

The whole weirdness with the girl-group is still a factor. I find it to be another interesting facet of life that Jill pulls some "gotta find myself" crap and my life has to be affected by it while hers skips along without missing a beat, but that's the way it is, I guess. I imagine I could have just ignored her bullshit like everyone else, but I've never been good at that. Maybe that's why I'm in a perpetual state of struggle in life - I just can't let things be. It would really be so much easier if I could, just let everything go on around me rather than speak out and have my routine out of sync. I think about doing that. But then I think God maybe wants my picture on his refrigerator, but maybe he doesn't have any duct tape to hang it or something. Was that what the message on the Jesus Board meant?? Well, whatever.

I watched a new show (new to me) today on the Science channel, something called SurvivorMan. It's this guy who gets dropped in really remote locations and then has to survive on his skills and the land for 7 days. It was good enough to Tivo the upcoming new season. I learned that if our cruise ship sinks next month and I end up on a deserted island, that drinking coconut milk alone will give me diarrhea and that should I be fortunate to catch a conch, only eat the white parts (okay to eat raw) and some squiggly transparent rod known as the "style", which is a male energizer. And thus a rainy Sunday afternoon was wasted.

Twinkle has gotten quite accustomed to spending time with me out on the back porch, but he does not like it if I go inside for any length of time longer than the time it takes to pour a can of soda in a cup, add a bendy-straw and return to the porch. Longer than that and he gets very apprehensive and cries to come in.

But while we're out there together he is very good with not trying to walk the railing and he quietly lays down and enjoys the Dog Days.

We had a wedding to attend yesterday for a girl I met once (but we are friends with the parents), so I decided to find a place in Parma to give me "party hair" after I picked up my dry cleaning in the morning. I pulled into a place boasting "Parma's Finest Hair Salon" but there seemed to be a trickle of men in there and I didn't even go in, figuring it was really a man-hair shop and they wouldn't even know what a flat iron was. I then tried another little shop, and I was filled with apprehension upon setting foot in the place. But, since I was just getting my hair blow dried and flat-ironed straight, how much could she f- it up, so I sat down in a chair and waited for the gal to come over.

Now, I know what I'm about to say is not the nicest. I know that. But she was an older lady with the stank of old cigarettes clinging to her dried-out lank locks, with the looks of a "hard water" girl who maybe bartends at night after putting up some bouffants of the blue-hairs during the day. It's during these moments when I CANNOT speak up and just leave. I get paralyzed with fear in hair salons and let them do whatever they want to my head as they spin me around in the chair.

I dug my fingernails into my palms and just took it in silence. It felt like a head raping. I did ask - once - if she was going to leave it as pouffy as it was, and she stopped the chair in mid-swing and caustically asked me, "Are you serious?". I mumbled something along the lines of, "just asking, I normally wear it more straight and flatter" and kept my mouth shut after that. I did decline the hairspray, didn't want to "set" the look for good, and went home and re-did it before the wedding. Timmy told me it looked nice when I came in, but that's probably more that he was trying to diffuse the look of tense trauma I had on my face. I managed to get it looking decent enough for the wedding, but I still can't believe I gave "Hard Water Hairdo" a $5 tip on top of the $20 it cost me. They scare me, they really do. I tried to call Sarah, my gal from John Roberts, and proclaim my undying love for her, but the line was busy so I just hung up. Probably a good thing, because I more than likely would have broken down into tears upon hearing her voice on the other end of the phone - my saucy little Rachel Ray look-a-like, knows-how-to-do-hair friendly stylist. So. Another lesson learned. Maybe I needed to heal my hair with duct tape. Or put a nail in my head. Something.

I believe I'm going to watch Pan's Labyrinth. I have a bag full of work I'm supposed to finish up by EOD Monday, especially since I'm off work Tues-Wed-Thurs this week, but it'll wait. Maybe I'll just have some extra espresso in my Starbucks in the morning and work super-fast. I have cats to cuddle and it's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring.

Peace, and enjoy the lazy-hazy-greyzie days of August.