Uncategorized

I’ve been enjoying my new haircut from Images Salon in Poolesville.  It’s breezy.  It’s fun.  It’s care-free.

I flattered myself that I resembled a heavier Marilyn Monroe, only brunette, and well, er, not so decomposed.

I’ve received several compliments on my new hair-do…though I always take them with a grain of salt.  I don’t know why it’s so hard to receive compliments.  I hand them out sincerely, so why do I doubt the sincerity of others’?

Upon greater reflection, maybe its because I know myself so well that I know all the imperfections and I simply assume that everyone else can see them too.  And I’m not just referring to the obvious:  the way one of my earlobes is at a different angle than the other, the way one of my nostrils is a different shape than the other, the way my skin is discolored from years of sun-damage, the way my feet are not only a manly size 11, but also a clown-like wide.

But also the not-so-obvious: The way I interrupt people mid-sentence, the way I talk too fast when I’m nervous, the way I talk too fast when I’m relaxed, the way I talk too fast when I’m sleeping, (…wait…maybe those belong in the obvious section)

Ok, so there isn’t a not-so-obvious section of imperfections for me.  They are all obvious.  That’s good, I’m like an open book.  What you see is what you get.  No surprises.  (Unless I have Taco Bell for dinner.  THEN you are in for surprises, I assure you.)

What the HECK was I talking about?  Oh yeah, the sincerity of people’s compliments as it pertained to my new hair-do. Well, I THOUGHT my hair had a Marilyn Monroe quality to it.  But, when I passed a mirror today, I had to stop because there, because staring straight back at me in disbelief, was none other than JIM MORRISON.  He lives!

No, wait.  Crap.  That’s me.

Oh great.  I look like Jim Morrison.  On a bad hair day.

Only less decomposed.

***sigh***

Its no secret I have a fetish for doormats.  I’ve come clean about that.  But….I can’t believe how hard this is to admit…..there is more.

I kept telling myself I could stop anytime.  At first, it was just fun, then impulsive, then a burning need and before I knew it, I was hiding the fact that I was unable to stop.  Troy confronted me a couple of times, and he is ready to hold an intervention.  I know I should quit.

But ….  I …. just….can’t.

Being my close and personal friends, you won’t judge me, so I feel I can share it with you.

Ok.  Here Goes:   (deep breath)

Hi.  My name is Pam, and I have a problem.  I have a addiction for …..

Woobies.

Blankets.  Throws.   Afgans.  Wraps.   Anything fleece and soft and wrap-able.

And if I pass anywhere near a Jo-Ann Fabric store…heaven help me.  It only takes a moment to have a couple of yards cut off a roll of winter fleece.  Oh, the selection!  The value!  Did you know you can buy a couple of yards of Toy Story Printed Winter Fleece for just over 10 bucks!

God, I love this country!

And if I hit the Dollar Store on the same day…. I need a moment to breathe….OH WOW.

Sadly, like any other addiction, it’s now affecting my poor children.  Not too long ago, Gwen and Garrick asked if they could use some of the blankets to make a fort.  (I have a lot of blankets.  A few for each season.  I SAID don’t judge!)  They figured they’d drape the blankets over the piano, the couches, the ottomans, the cat tree…make a fort.  And it was a terrific fort!  Took over darn near the whole family room (which, admittedly isn’t much since our cottage is small as crap).  The Army Corps of Engineers would have been impressed.

And then it started.  The fort.  Took on a life of its own.  The kids began hoarding food.  They began taking in toys.  They took in pillows.  Flashlights.  A Laptop.  Then I swear I saw them carrying in a port-a-potty, a Hibatchi Grill, and a Mariachi band.   I began smelling weird smells.  Hearing weird sounds.  I began to get scared.  I never saw my kids anymore.  Its like they were ON A MISSION.

Life in the family room, AS a FAMILY ROOM, ceased.  For a full week it became Occupy Dickerson.  There was no getting in and around the room.  There was no TV watching.  There was no lounging on the sofas.  News reporters were everywhere.  It was all about the Fort.

Finally we said ‘Enough of this crap!’,  deemed it a fire hazard and a public nuisance, and had it dismantled. We had to call in the National Guard and the Dept of Public Works to help.

I’ll be washing woobies for weeks.

Wow. I feel better for sharing.

Thanks for listening!

A quick update to ‘O Captain, My Captain’.

The beatings have just begun.  The day ‘O Captain, My Captain’ hit the blog, I stopped by Troy’s Firestation to see how much grief they were giving him.   Apparently they found plenty of ammunition in my comment about Troy’s back and arms.  But I think they also felt slighted and un-noticed, and I vowed to make amends.  So here, friends, for your voyeuristic pleasure, is Montgomery County’s Finest, 31C, searching for Hawks and Pteradactyls.  Sorry about the fuzzy nature of the shot…I was laughing too hard.

Look at those bicepts bunching!  Look at those back muscles rippling!

Ain’t this a wonderful world?!

There are certain essential life-tools I need wherever I go: Kleenex, Pens, Chapstick, and Fingernail Clippers.

I try to keep these in all my major workplaces: The Kitchen, The Kid’s Bathroom, The Master Bathroom, My Purse, and the Car. (Not that I WORK in both bathrooms, I mean….well,…oh just go with it.)

This system works like a charm in most cases.   People who know me, people who depend on me, know I am always good for these things.  Snotty nose?  I’m your go-to gal.  Need to sign something ASAP? Come to me.  Are your puckerers all pickled?  I’ve got the cherry flavored lip balm for you.  If you’re lucky, I may have kiwi, too.

But the Fingernail Clippers.  NNNRRRRRR!  The Dag-Nab Fingernal Clippers!! They are NEVER where I left them.  I know I have something on the order of a half a dozen clippers and I cannot lay a finger on a single one!  And this always happens when I have a hang nail, or a snaggy fingernail, or a price tag I need to snip off.

I know it doesn’t seem like something to get all wrapped around the axle about.  Something to say “So What” about, right?  Well, here is why its a real axle-wrapper:

Boogers.

That’s right.  The ol’ Bats in the Cave.

Have you ever picked your nose with a snaggy fingernail?  I’m not saying I have, but I imagine it would hurt like the dickens, and I’m JUST NOT WILLING TO RISK IT.   Hello?! Your BRAIN is up there!  Mere inches away from where you might be digging for gold.

I’ve got to get to CVS, Stat.

My father was Scottish-Italian. He loved to tell people that meant we were cheap lovers. He thought that never got old. I told him it was never young. I used to hate it when he told people that…and he would tell anyone who would listen. Lord he used to embarrass me with that line.

And now I use it regularly. Especially when my kids are with me.

The Scottish blood in me rages when it comes to money. I’ll say it proudly …I’m cheap. Cheapity Cheap Cheap Cheap. Cheapers. You bet I love a bargain. I’m so cheap I could squeeze the hide out of a Buffalo Nickel. And I’m shameless about it. I once haggled with a pan-handler. True story. But damn if I didn’t save 50 cents.

I don’t know why I brought that up. It’s rather embarrassing. Forget I said it.

So you’d think I could spot a bogus deal a mile away. Nuh huh. Sadly, there is one store thats hooked me firmly on its line. The Dollar Store.

My Captain calls it The Hundred Dollar Store. I rarely get out of there for less than a hundred bucks. I really can’t say if the allure of it is that they have knock offs of everything (including pregnancy tests!) or if it is just the concept of “It’s only a buck!”.   Doesn’t matter if I need or even want it, “It’s only a buck!”.  I’ll take ten, please.

Today I went in with a list of five things. FIVE THINGS. So I should have left $5.00 lighter in the wallet, and THATS IT.

1) Dental Floss
2) Hair Brush
3) Head Bands
4) Sandwich Baggies
5) Caffeine Shot

My bill was around $46.00. And to add insult to injury, I was charged 10 cents for two bags because we have a new bag tax and I never remember to bring one of the 15 canvas tote bags I have in my car (which, by the way, I bought at The Dollar Store).

I have no idea what I bought.

WHY?! Why does this store sucker me in like this every stinkin time? They don’t play the mesmerizing, hypnotic music. It sure as heck isn’t the decor. You KNOW its not the smell. And, while entertaining, it REALLY isn’t the ilk of the patrons.

Oh good lord! That’s me! I’m one of their patrons. I’m in that ilk!  And I am not even sure I know what an ilk is, despite the fact that I am throwing the word around like a…like a….like something that is thrown around a lot.  (Metaphors are hard sometimes.)

I need to sit down.

Please, friends, if you ever see me walking around in spandex and mismatched socks and I’m anywhere near a Dollar Store, put me out of my misery. Make it quick and painless, I beg you.