The power went out at 6 am. HELLO?? No storms, no nuthin’. Just that noise of a transformer going out and all went dark. And it was hair wash day. So yeah, on a Monday I have to go to work with dirty hair and put on my makeup by flashlight. I wasn’t sure if I looked like a showgirl or a crazy person (or both), so I ran straight for the restroom when I got to work to check myself in the mirror. Fortunately, I looked like myself, only severely bed-headed.
My back hurts like a mother scratcher. Why? Because I’m a moron. You’re familiar with Angry Vacuum Mode, right? When there’s crap ALL OVER THE FLOOR so you’re trying to pick it up as you’re pushing the vacuum. Yeah, really smart. Felt the pop and knew my rage had, once again, not injured the crap on the floor but injured me instead.
So, naturally, I went shopping after that. Found some books for the boy. Why are kids’ books so expensive? Yes, I know, they have hard covers and pretty pictures, but give me a break with 18 bucks for a book that has fewer words than this post will have.
And then I bought myself a handbag. Hey, I was injured! I’ve been on the hunt for a berry-colored bag. Obsessed, actually. Why? Because I have no life, that’s why. But this thing called to me from the shelf at Macy’s, and it was 30% off! I couldn’t not buy it. Yeah, I’ll be homeless in 6 months when we both lose our jobs, but I can stare at my bag all day. Everything will be fine.
Saturday night we watched Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang. I had never heard of this movie before, but it popped up as a Netflix rec when I gave Iron Man 4 stars. Oh my garsh, it’s HILARIOUS. It’s one of those stories that I wish I’d written (if I were that clever). My theory is that it didn’t do booming business because it’s a modern film noir, ergo, completely unfit for the lowest common denominator moviegoer.
So, to sum up, I’m a dirty-haired moronic film snob with no life. But only randomly snobbish since I watched Anchorman last night. “I love scotch. Scotchy, scotch, scotch. Here it goes down, down into my belly”
Oh, and Zoolander. Only one of the greatest movies of all time.
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8 comments:
The outage was probably because of the hurricane.
(I don't really know what that means but for some reason I usually type the first thing I think.)
Sunny Coby-Cook was plugging in her hair dryer, and *poof*...the entire puget sound grid goes down.
Hurricane, V? Have you been to the Northwest? Yes, in the south they may call it a "hurricane". In Seattle they call it Wednesday.
BTW, 18 bucks for book?? Are you off your nut?
Hurricane, no. Bill Gates flexing his power-muscle (as opposed to an actual muscle), yes!
Sissy, I should have mentioned that I did not buy the boy $18 books. I bought him $7 Diego and Backyardigans paperbacks.
No risk of a vacuuming injury here. My hubby does most of it. Actually it's an obsession with him. It gets annoying. I know when he's in a pissy mood because he'll say "I'm going to vacuum!". Then he takes six hours to do the entire house top to bottom.
Bill Gates flexing his "power muscle" conjures up an icky picture ...
Oh my GARSH, you're funny. Be my BFF, will you?
But no! You cannot have my shoes. I love them too much.
I have developed the ability to vacuum around everything on the floor. It's a real back saver.
Mother scratcher....hee hee funny.
Oh, Vivi, Sunny Kobe Cook is retired now. Her replacement has really flat hair.
Tracey - I wish my husband were obsessed about vacuuming. Then again, his back is worse than mine. And I saw Bill Gates at a U2 concert. Except I kept thinking, "I know that little nerdy guy...who is he, who is he...OH!" You haven't quite lived til you've seen Bill Gates try to catch some cool vibes from Bono.
Sarah - My BFF card is always open. I won't steal your shoes provided you make us pretty beaded BFF braclets. OMGtotally!
Elizabeth - I'm usually quite skilled at this vacuuming-around business...except that my husband is usually parked on the floor due to aforementioned bad back, so his magazines and laptop are always on the floor. And it was in trying not to vacuum his laptop that my rage bloomed. Becky Homecky I am not.
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