Sunday, January 24, 2010
Sunday, the weather was awesome. Like-shorts-and-a-tshirt-and-please-say-that-I-got-enough-sun-that-I-am-no-longer-ghost-white awesome. Kenny cleaned the garage. I read a book in a lawn chair. The kids ran around in the front yard. I even drank lemonade. It was good times. Until. My neighbor, the vacation home next door part-time neighbor, came over. To let me know that my kids ride their scooter in the street. And once walked in her yard. And climb the tree. The tree that is in my yard. The tree in my yard that I don't give a shit if they climb. And. And! Those hoodlum kids who lived here before us used to jump off of things. The audacity of those kids. And those boys in our neighborhood? They are always doing horrible, horrible things like playing football in the street. Fucking brats. It wasn't until after she stomped off that it occurred to me that I should have mentioned how much I don't appreciate her spying on me. We catch her looking in our windows. Often.
So in conclusion:
I got stuck in the What-a-Burger bathroom, which would have made for better rapping if it had been Burger King. Go ahead...name that song.
Once again, we have crazy fucking neighbors. Kenny is already packing our boxes.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
So we all sat down for family dinner. I pulled out my snack wraps. Jill takes out her box of nuggets. She opens it. It is empty.
"What happened to my nuggets," Jill calmly inquired.
And that is when I knew. She did something to those nuggets. She was calm. And there was missing food involved.
Eyeing her suspiciously, I asked if she perhaps had accidentally on purpose dropped the nuggets in the car. She responded back with perhaps McD's had given her an empty box. When I pointed out the nugget crumbs in the bottom of the box, she suddenly remembered eating one nugget. But the others? Vanished. Disappeared.
I took her to the car to search.
Kenny and I checked the grass surrounding the car.
We checked her bags. Her shoe. Yes, I even checked her shoe.
But I know. I just know she did something with those nuggets, and one of these days I am going to figure it out.
Probably when the car starts to stink like dead nugget.
Guess Jeans. $12.48
Grey Suede Boots. Half-off.
The website claims them to be $40 more than I found them at the store.
Guess Bag. 25% off. Plus, the sales lady just liked me and gave me an additional 15% off. I smile sweetly sometimes.
And I am officially out of Christmas money.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
The last time I went to a hair appointment, it was just plain weird. Like salon owner harassing my hair dressed while I was getting my hair cut kind of weird. This time proved to be no better.
Ten minutes before my appointment, after I drove an hour, I got a call that my usual colorist called in sick. Someone else would fill in. Whatever. I thought it would not matter. Until I was greeted, or grunted at, by my replacement colorist. His sparkly scarf and heeled boots should have given away that he would love himself way more than me. He grumbled something along the lines of "What are you wanting done?" To which I basically said, "Can you look up my previous color? That is what I want." Without so much as a reply, he walked away. Fifteen minutes later, he magically returned. Silently. With color.
"Um. What do you have going on there? Is that the color I had last time?"
No reply. Just a prissy pursing of the lips. A face that said obviously.
Fine. Prissy Pants. Just remember, I tip based on how special you make me feel. Fail. Big fail for you.
At least the color came out right.
Which is more than I can say for my hair cut. And I don't get it. I even brought in a picture. Not just a celebrity picture with some impossible to recreate haircut. Oh no. I brought a picture of me. With my very own hair. Cut just like I like it.
And still hairdresser number two could not get it. What the hell?
PS Please send wigs.
I just broke out the scissors. I should be a fucking hairdresser. My hair looks awesome now.
It would probably be more impressive if I had a before shot to go with the after I attacked my hair with scissors shot. But my husband thought I was crazy enough making him take an after picture of my hair for my blog. Also, pretend that light fixture does not look like it is growing from my head.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
I just figured out I can post blogs from my phone. I know this is probably something I should have long since figured out, but I tend to resist change. Use a phone for email? Beh. Read blogs in the waiting room of the millions of appointments I go to a week. Meh. But finally the waiting room boredom drew me in. And then. Today. I got this idea. I wanted to know if I could blog while in the school pick up line. Or at the dentist. And I can!
Aren't you proud of me?
Now. I should also mention that I am seriously considering throwing my phone at the lady across from me if she does not get quit attempting to make small talk with me. See my wall? Respect it.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
I am so sick I can barely stand up. Some sort of combo sinus infection and bronchial infection. You would not believe the pain it causes to sneeze or cough, which happens roughly every three seconds. I started off with that cough syrup so nice they make songs about it (Mom, that's the codeine one, since you are really confused right now..... She doesn't get down with Purple Stuff.). When even that wasn't helping me sleep, they kicked it up a notch to some crazy medicine that taste like shit and gives me insane dreams. Honestly, I am not sure it it works or just makes me so damn loopy I don't care that I can't breathe.
On the way to the doctor the other day, I stopped by the mail box praying my new insurance cards were in. They were not. It was fun paying out of pocket for the doctor and two medications WHEN YOU HAVE INSURANCE. What I did find in the mail was a lovely packet from the IRS.
I was audited. I kind of blew it off at first thinking it was some dumbass from the IRS's mistake, because clearly I had not under reported my income. Obviously, they had transposed my 2007 income with my 2008 income. I certainly did not owe them money. Except I did, because it was my accountant who transposed my 2007 and 2008 incomes. Which is awesome because I more than doubled my 2007 income in 2008. There are a whole lot of zeros behind the number I now owe the IRS after the back due taxes, penalties, and interest.
During one of my phone calls with my accountant, also known as my ex-mother-in-law, I learned that my ex-husband's phone was not working because he shut if off since he is leaving the country for over six months. Awesome, since he had told no one, including his daughter of this plan. Best part? He is to go marry some girl he met while travelling, who I highly suspect is a prostitute, and bring her back to the US. I think their first meeting when something like this. "Me love you long time." "Let's get married. I'll take you to the US." When I finally did get in touch with him, I demanded he tell his daughter about his plans. He only bothered to tell her the part where he was leaving the country. I guess he just plans on showing up on the doorstep, "Hey Jill. Meet your new mommy. She speaks no English. Who is hungry for noodles?" Do they even eat noodles in Thailand? The good news is, I know for a fact that half blond, half Thai babies are pretty damn cute, right Zak? So there's that.
I am sick.
I owe the IRS thousands. That is thousands. Emphasis on the plural.
My ex-husband is marrying a hooker. Which is either a step up or step down from a stripper, depending on how you look at it.
I am going back to the couch now. Let me know when 2010 is fucking over.