Hi. You probably know me as hellohahanarf from my years of commenting around the world wide internetz, yet never having a blog. Well my friends, that has changed. Welcome to MY site.
Cinderella came over to my little house tonight. We had some chardonnay, some turkey noodle soup, some cheese and crackers, some pretzels with that awesome blackberry honey mustard dip from Robert Rothschild farm and some hoagies (that is a sandwich or grinder or I don’t know what else you nutbags who don’t live in Pittsburgh call the glory that gets delivered from the pizza shops). There was plenty of good conversation and solving all of our problems. And me giving her a bunch of crap from my place (mostly a huge painting and magnets, but she’ll get more next time…heehee).
ANYhow, of course “the internet” subject came up. At one point Cinderella mentioned a rash of sorts…a bunch of red spots that she can’t explain. I said something about lotion and she immediately shunned the possibility that it could help because she had tried it before.
“But have you tried Aquaphor? A girl on the internet says it is amazing. She’s a friend of my bloggy Godfather and wouldn’t lie. In fact, she’s having a contest right now. I’ll send you the link. All you have to do is leave a comment about what you want to use the lotion for and you might win a huge basket of the stuff.”
“Can I say I wanna masturbate with it?”
“Fuck yeah you can. In fact, I dare you.
End of conversation about a product I’ve never heard of.
Damned if I didn’t finish up the dishes and head for my lappy top after Cinderella headed home and, because I subscribe to comments on EVERY blog I comment on, find this in my email:
“My wonderful friend told me about this product to help my red spots on my arms, so I am VERY excited to try it. Oh…and I’d totally use it to masturbate too. ”
Love that girl.
Thanks for always being you, Cinderella. I’ll try to always be me. And we? Are wonderful. LOVE YEW!
I have no musical talent. We are talking *none* as in we are lucky that I can play a radio. Seriously. And I am cool with that.
Anyhow, last Saturday Fab and Turn took me to the UK – Florida game. After a little tailgating in bed and a little tailgating in the parking lot we were walking towards the football stadium when we heard the band. Perhaps it is because I can’t even bang on me drum all day, but I get all excited for marching bands. Just as they arrived in our general vicinity I had pushed made my way to the very front and whipped out my camera. Instead of paying attention to the photos I was clicking off I just danced along to the tunes.
After I returned home from Kentucky I got all the photos downloaded and took a moment to check them out. This one made me laugh out loud:
Since I have never been in a marching band, can anyone tell me why they make the members wear those awful hats with chinstraps that don’t keep the fuckers on?
And also, why don’t folks just use their hands to adjust a strap gone wild? Not like he was banging on his drum all day.
A while back I sent out a message to Twitter and an email to a few friends telling them I need new and good dirty jokes. I didn’t get anything exceptionally fantastic joke wise that I hadn’t seen before, but a former coworker who is still a good friend and working as the controller or CFO of a cool little company sent me this little gem:
“Not a good dirty joke, but a new guy started yesterday who is pushing 60 years old. He walked up to Frank and said “where do you keep the phone books?”. Frank replied “They are over there underneath the typewriter”. Needless to say, we don’t have a phone book or typewriter in here…The guy spent 20 minutes looking around for a typewriter and finally asked me where we keep the typewriter and phone books. I started laughing and said dude, just use google. He looked at me like I had 3 heads and said “what’s that?”. I replied with “you know, the internet!?!”. He looked at me very confused then walked away. About 10 minutes later, he came into my office and said “I’ll be back, I’m going to pick up a rental car”. I haven’t seen him since…..
I don’t know who is more confused, him or me…”
For some reason I found that little story hysterical so I had to reply, asking what his company hired this guy to do. The response cracked me up all over again.
“I think sales. I was on vacation last week and when I returned, he was here. I never met him before he asked me where we keep the typewriter and phone books. Haven’t seen him since, either.”
Wednesday morning I found out that a coworker sent an email to the big, big bosses that painted two of my other coworkers in a negative light. While I understood the idea behind the email, the manner in which Steve went about trashing the other two was incredibly unacceptable to me.
Which means I lost my shit. Damn nastygram email flew from my fingers. Naturally that led to a reply from Steve.
Annnnnd then I again went up one side and down the other of the poor man. His reply didn’t stand a chance and finally one of the big bosses stepped in with a firm “ENOUGH!”
I knew I hadn’t lost that one and was immediately willing to forgive and forget. So were the coworkers who had been trashed (thankfully grudges don’t last long in my world).
Next thing Steve knew was his printer fired up on its own and generated the following message:
hehe. I love my Cinderella Christina. Man, I’m gonna miss her. That drawing was the perfect way to end a crazy day. (Yes, we let Steve know that we set it up so she can print to his machine.)
A few years ago I had been running and running hard. Work, parties, travel, volunteering all Saturday at a charity golf outing, etc. Life tends to move fast all at once and I was balls (breasts?) to the wall enjoying life. It was exhausting.
Sunday finally arrived, but I had promised a good friend that I would work for her about an hour away in Ohio, at the Shaker Woods Crafts Festival. Once again I got up entirely too early, got my shit together and hit the road. It was a long and busy day, but I loved it. The drive home was pretty, one of those perfect August days that others describe better than I ever could.
Puppies were happy to see me when I got home. I didn’t even bother changing out of my dip shit Shaker costume (yes, we have to dress in period clothing while working), instead I fed the dogs, flung the back door open for them, grabbed a bowl of crunchy green grapes (also known as “dinner”) and headed for the couch. Instead of going outside after they ate, the boys came and stared at my bowl of grapes. Flipping through the channels I found America’s Funniest Videos. Mindless television is a great way to end the day.
And then it happened. Thirty two groin hits in forty seconds. There is nothing funnier than people falling down. When they get nailed in the crotch and then fall down? Hysterical.
Except I had just bitten into a grape. A really, really juicy grape. At the beginning of the groin hits montage. I couldn’t breathe. Nothing in. Nothing out. No sound. Nothing. I inhaled in laughter and was now choking. Concertrating on not panicing I glanced at the TV. Folks were still getting hit and falling down, I was still laughing on the inside, but I was pure silence.
I closed my eyes so that I would quit looking at AFV. My mind raced to images of the cops showing up because a neighbor got tired of the barking dogs outside. The cops would come in and find me dead, but at least it would be quick enough that the dogs wouldn’t have eaten my flesh after days of no food. Oh shit, my house is a mess. I can’t have the cops seeing my apartment such a disaster. Perhaps I could vacuum quickly before I pass out. That is just silly. And I don’t want to die. Maybe if I go outside and get into the street someone will see me and call 911 instead of running me over. Fuck, I am still wearing this outfit from Shaker Woods. Just don’t pass out before you get outside. Stay strong. Get to the door. Get outside. Door open. Step through it.
But I was so weak from the lack of oxygen. Not graceful me combined with lightheaded me tripped. I flew forward, knocking into the porch railing. And accidentally giving myself the Heimlich Maneuver.
Not even kidding. I impaled myself on the railing and the grape flew out. Standing there on the porch, coughing and gasping and sputtering, I couldn’t believe I wasn’t dying.
So many aspects of my life remind me that my negatives are in fact sometimes my saving…wait for it…my saving grace.
Britt’s son almost drowned trying to get away from me in the pool on Saturday when I told him that I would fart on him if he wouldn’t quit what he was doing. Because I followed through. Yep, I am all about the not giving kids idle threats. Good thing I don’t have kids, eh?
But farts are funny, they just are. Even if the fart comes from a bunny…
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