Weekend Exploits

I was weary of getting the wrong packages through the mail: This means YOU OVERSTOCK. (P.s. purple and white does not equal gold and blue). I was downtrodden from venturing into furniture stores: Hanes and Havertys where despite saying “NO I am just looking,” I was shepherded off to secluded desks to discuss payment options when I a. didn’t even want the bed and b. only had one stick of Watermelon Xtra to pay for it. I was frustrated from taking a day off of work to wait for things to arrive via delivery and haggling the costs, when I decided to take things into my own hands.

Leslie P meet IKEA.

I had heard rumors of the fabled store, rumblings of affordability and allegations of modern furniture at cost efficient prices. The internet confirmed these rumors with the same speed and accuracy as E! finding out about Brangelina’s pregnancy. And after lying on the floor for two weeks, I was a woman on a mission. Long story short, I recruited a friend, I rented a truck and IKEA here we come.

Excerpt from message from Leslie to Henchio: (after finding that she’d sent me much simpler directions than Mapquest)!

I'm just now getting this message (Monday 8 a.m.) but — Thank God is right! Every experience I've had as a passenger on the beltway was harrowing to say the least. I clung to map quest directions like nobody's business Saturday. But at any rate – I'm sorry I missed you. I didn't realize what I was getting into in Ikea.

I would like to add a sidebar that driving a huge Dodge Dakota is extremely empowering and apparently alluring. As I was driving, people moved graciously and courteously out of my way as they will not when you are driving a small car. I was noticed in parking lots and treated differently when people thought that truck was mine. I’m starting to understand those country songs about tractors being sexy and mud on the tires.

Big truck with a 6 - cylinder engine equals 2 and a half hour trip instead of 3. It also equals people driving 90 miles an hour. No joke, people in NoVA (northern Virginia) drive at LEAST 100 mph. I remember a harrowing trip around Thanksgiving time about 4 years ago in which I was following (cough, CHASING) my friend from one location in Manassas to the next in Woodbridge. Trying to signal her that I drove a metro and that they (Metros, 4 cylinders) just didn’t understand what fast was, she sped to her boyfriends house as if that shit were on fire. Then I looked around and realized EVERYONE WAS GOING TO HER BOYFRIENDS HOUSE APPARENTLY.

Six hours into Ikea trip Marcia and I are hungry! I don’t mean a little famished, I mean if I didn’t get some food I would attack the sparrows in the parking lot. So her cousin so graciously introduced us to Cheeseburger in Paradise. We sat for 20 minutes and NO one came to even ask if we wanted a tea. Her cousin so graciously says excuse me about 4 or 5 times to the passing servers before we all say EXCUSE ME to the one that seems to be nearest to us. And she says…”ummm…..Yeessssssss????”

Cousin: “HI, um, can we just be served?? I mean I’d settle for a packet of Ketchup at this point.”

I haven’t had to break my Judy face out in like a month, but there it was in full starving glory.


Fast Fwd. one hour and delicious hamburger later. (Don’t worry we didn’t eat the waitress!) and we’re on our way back to Nofo. I got my bed together and it looks like the fanciful room I posted a week ago on OEF.

I mean it’s not a great adventure, but what were you expecting this isn’t THE GOONIES.

HA..

Ok, so

I have a co-worker, well, in a different department, and he sounds just like Fez when he talks...slight lisp and everything. His name is Freddy and his last name, while not Mercury, does start with an M. So whenever he brings in work and I pick it up, I inevitably and stupidly start singing "We Will Rock You" (in my head of course, silly). How can I stop this madness?



And, if I find out where Freddy M. is from, will that solve the mystery of where Fez is from, cause, like, you know, that is the big secret on the show. Well, that, and how the show has managed to stay on the air without Topher Grace, who totally carried it. Well, he had a little help from Debra Jo Rupp...oh, what a laugh she has!

You've Got A FriendWho obviously isn't a Stylist

This is not what I WANTED my first blog of 2006 to be about, as it's been so long since I've written something here, this seems sort of silly, but I can't help myself.

FACT: I work in a radio station.

FACT: I have the only working scanner (and, ahem, knowledge of how to use such a thing, in the building.)

FACT: I was handed a couple of pictures this morning to scan in of a few of our DJ's with a HUGE MUSIC LEGEND. (they didn't phrase it that way, but this fact would eventually become clear to me)

FACT: Upon inspection of the picture, I thought, "How nice, So-and-so got a picture taken WITH HER DAD".

FACT: That "Dad" was no Dad. It was JAMES FUCKING TAYLOR. WTF???

It took me a triple take, and consulting with a sales guy to confirm this (and another co-worker simply thought he was someone's high school science teacher). Seriously? He looks more like he just got back from a whopper of a trip picking out new table lamps for his den at Crate & Barrel, not just come from playing to a SOLD OUT crowd who paid upwards of $80 a pop to see him rock their middle-aged skulls.

I dunno. I'm just weirded out. Not that he was a sex-symbol or anything, but I certainly wouldn't have kicked this guy out of bed (after a conversation about the eyebrows, of course). I guess it's just weird to see a celebrity who isn't so terrified of actually looking their age a la Paul McCartney.




But I forgive Sweet Baby James, because he spawned this guy (Ben) with Carly Simon, and he doesn't suck to look at, even if he's wearing a goddamned Superman shirt.

ALLThefishsgotoheaven

This is part commission. Part Dedication.

Happy Thoughts...to balance professional woes :(

So a special congratulations to my friends Sarah and Eric on their upcoming bundle of joy. Hopefully it will not resemble the evil gingerbread man featured in the above picture.

This pic makes me kinda happy after the brutal work critique I was faced with earlier. In which the words: appreciate the effort, dinosaur, and concerned about modern feel were used. My design was smote amongst 4 business types and I felt like a seal that had lept into the tiger shark tank with a blindfold on. Sadly I was advised to make the piece in such a manner in the first place. And the final product resembled my very first Word assignment that I did in like 5th grade. I.E. classical feel means times new roman in 18 point font. CENTERED.

Sigh, why design when you have starbursts, caps, and centered features. Why try.
Harumph...

Oh Lennox, you came and you gave without taking.....

Dearest Lennox,

Although we did not pick you out at the fish store, we came to see you as the gift that you were...so what if we got you, slightly used, from friends moving to London? We grew to love you, like we love our own fish. Right away, you won our hearts with the goofy way you would float around at the top, trying so hard to fight the air trapped in your little see-through body, so you could make your way to the bottom. How many times did we see you upside down, and thinking you were dying, rush to the tank to exclaim, "Lennox, are you ok??" Well, not many, I guess, since we have only had you since the end of November.

Well, now you have passed on, you have left us. You fought hard, little fish, but to no avail. The life slowly drained from your little clear body. No longer will I watch you eat, literally watching the food go under your left eye down to your stomach. No longer will we see your wagging tail, begging for food. What happened?

We will miss you little guy.

R.I.P Lennox Reals 1/16/2006

You made your mind up, but the thoughts came unstacked

Some of the two of you may know that I like that Queen Latifah show Living Single (even though I have to say, Sinclaire and Overton steal the show everytime! I want to name my kid Overton). I was watching an episode tonight during my dinner (Stouffer's Chicken Monterey, yum) and spotted an actress that I recognized from another show. I got excited for whatever reason, and then, and then! I realized that one of the actors in the background, with two lines "I'm sorry I put a contract on your life...blah blah...", was Will Ferrell. Wow....I guess I always just think that people bust up on the scene and are immediately famous when I get around to finding out about them....speaking of Will Ferrell, MSN had the Chronicles of Narnia rap (an iffy segue, I know) on their page today....then they took it down. I wonder if it was too fluffy for them. Ha!

A friend from work left yesterday to go to Fort Dix to "get ready" to go to Iraq....as if you can just "get ready" to go there. Its hard, harder when you have a family member there, I know, but still...you get used to seein a person everyday and then they go somewhere scary and dangerous. They are going to hire a temporary replacement for him, and I know I am going to hate that person, if only because the reason they have to be there. I'm going to be slamming my work down on his or her desk and givin 'em the evil eye....This doode is super-awesome. I think they should only send jerks and assfaces to war. Will you sign a petition? We got a lot of jerks and assfaces we could send....

It's NOT a baby.

I have an Aunt that comes to visit monthly when I’m in town. She’s an intelligent woman, a nurse filled with compassion for all people even those she disagrees with. It is with trepidation that I type this blog seeing as that she is the only aunt I have that is computer savvy enough to find me here. But it is here where I must confess. I don’t like her dog. I don’t like Ian.

My disdain for Ian is not unearned. You must understand she CANNOT travel without him. When she comes to visit the dog follows her into the house, OR any house for that matter. Allergies, house rules be damned. He barks, bites, drools, poops and pees wherever he sees fit. The only condolences offered to the host are “ooo the baby made a poop poop.” My mom corrects her by saying, “the baby didn’t do shit, that fleabag pissed in my floor.”

Aunt: “He’s just a baby.”

MOM: “No he’s not, he’s 78 in dog years. I HAD two babies. THEY could not be put outside. The dog can.”

Aunt: “It’s cold out there.

MOM: “ That’s what fur is made for. Take him outside, before he becomes the next new thing in mountain fashion.”

I was going to call this blog I don’t like dogs. But that’s not true. I do like dogs (I just like other people and my stuff more).

I like them at their owner’s house and at the pet store. The responsibility of getting one means early morning wake ups for walks, missed lunches to let Muffins pee, and the sacrifice of perfectly good running shoes. Not to mention being on constant alert for such deadly articles as bottle caps or J. Lo rings that the dog may swallow.

There’s this movie called “28 Days” (not a TNT Classic, but pretty funny), where they guy asked when it’s okay to start dating again (after leaving rehab) and the response is: Buy yourself a plant and take care of it for 6 weeks, if it lives get a dog.


I’m not ready for a dog. All my plants are dead. EEP!

D Day

The war on Christmas is officially over, seeing as how we have another 365 days to decide what we want to say to each other next year to celebrate the month of December and the first days of January. I didn’t quite get it til I got to Covington when I had at least four verbal skirmishes with my family as they screamed “THEY” are trying to take Christmas from “US”. I spent hours trying to discern who the evil “THEY” were and then after finding no discernible clear answer I took the less stressful road and left that conversation where it belongs in un-win-able silly conversation land. I have a lot of those with my family. Usually ending in my mom, aunt, substitute relative here, yelling “BECAUSE!!!!”

Christmas on the whole was great. I got everything I wanted which balanced my chaotic crazed spending in a way. Only one lamentable present…a stuffed snowman wearing an “I love America” t-shirt whilst holding a bag of candy. I’ll give the giver a break though she doesn’t see me often, and if when she does if the impression I convey is American snow candy then that’s kinda positive I guess. Although I did feel a little…regifted.

My mom didn’t fair as well though. I had to help her wade through the lake of body lotions and stinky scented candles. Call me crazy, but unless it’s someone that knows you well, never hazard a guess at what kind of perfume or body fragrance an acquaintance wears.

The Christmas extravaganza also left me with a new bedroom to refurnish. I’ve discovered I have issues committing to highly expensive purchases. I left 3 furniture stores in a cold sweat. Those sales people are worse than car dealers. I’m just looking means I’m just looking. It doesn’t mean follow me about til I flee to the upstairs mattress level for sanctuary and then make a dash to the front entrance through a sea of berbers and plushes.

I guess my issues with bedroom suites are these: the mattress is not included! It costs more than the furniture. Shipping and installation is a factor not all places deliver (I can’t load a mattress on the hood of my car.) Some places will only sell the set and NOT the bed(?) I mean I already have a dresser and desk that function fine! All I know at this point is that I want bed pictured above and somehow either I need to get to IKEA or IKEA needs to come to me.

New Years was it’s usual built up and then fizzle excitement. The local bars hiked up cover charges to 75 bucks. For a 75 dollar cover fee, I would expect some life-altering shit to go down. I wanna be taken to a new level of nightclub life. There would have to be a ball that drops within the club, a music playlist of my own personal favorites, an unlimited amount of alcohol and all of my friends would have to be let in for free. I would also expect Ryan Reynolds show up and dance with me and then Bloc Party would put on a live show.

For my THIRTY dollars I went with my nearest and dearest to Red Lobster (my first time there) and tried all brand new seafood. It was no Time Square, but I did begin the year with something new.

So here’s to another year of scandal, raunchy TV, national disasters, gifts both wanted and unwanted, and high moral fiber. Out with Boobney bring on the FLAVA.

Happy New Years ALL!