16 boxes of granola

Not on a shelf. Not in a granola-making factory. Not residing in the vision of a granola-addicted individual.

No, 16 boxes of granola placed oh so delicately in my shopping cart. Why? Because The Hubby must have granola for breakfast AT ALL COSTS. He also has a strange little quirk in his DNA that will randomly manifest as a desire to stock up on everything and anything - should it be on sale. Add in the fact that The Hubby had been without his beloved Quakers Granola (with and without raisins) for almost a week . . . and you have a recipe for disaster. A crunchy, ruffage-filled recipe - with a dash of organic milk. I take that back. About 10 cups of organic milk.

But come on, 16 BOXES OF GRANOLA at one time??! Standing in the aisle of the local grocery store, I alternated between crying from laughter and pretending I wasn't associated with said shopping cart full of granola. Seriously, questioning/youarecrazy stares from local patrons and grocery store employees can be intimidating.

All I can say is that we need to get The Hubby into Granola-hab (rehab for Granola crazypants people) STAT. I know you're with me on this.

P.S. - The Hubby is fully aware that I've been planning to write this post about him so you can't get me in trouble. :)

the hierarchy of power. forgotten.

Sometimes I have to remind the people in my life that one day I will rule the world. And although I am not Ruler of All right now, the powers of such should be accorded to me now in anticipation of my future position. Some people ignore me. Some people laugh like they think I'm joking. The wise people listen.

So when The Shamana, one of my long-trusted advisors, commanded me to write more on this blog, I was a little taken aback. COMMAND?? What the? Come again? -shakes head in disbelief-

But because I am merciful, I will not make her life misery. I will allow her to keep her job as advisor and as punishment, will only recount to her in excruciating detail the "melted candy bar in the diaper" game sometimes played at baby showers.

Think melted Snickers, The Shamana. Melted Snickers.

because who needs size regulations in the pizza industry? not me. that's for certain.

I had never, ever seen a pizza slice that big.

I have no clue how it even fits the definition of a "slice."

Why did no one tell me that ordering two slices of pizza from this place was like ordering an entire pizza pie? I only bring this up because multiple people questioned my ordering of two slices behind my back, without informing me that one slice was enough to feed a small country. Oh the injustice! -shakes fist toward the sky-

You may be asking, "Why does it matter? Pizza is pizza. It is yummy and delish no matter what the size. In fact, the bigger the better, in my opinion."

You have a good point. That pizza was goooooooooood. Even if it was the size of my head.

um. amazing. i wish i could do that.

what if we lived in a world where the sky was orange?

I got to experience that this evening during a tennis match with Nathan . . . and let me tell you it was like God took the clearest, most pristine piece of orange stain glass and channeled every free-standing light ray available through it.

Nathan and I decided at the 11th hour this evening (a.k.a. the last hour of available light before dark) to play a little tennis match on the courts near our apartment complex. Not too far into the game, it started to rain. Problem? Not so much. Everyone who knows me also knows that I love being out in the rain. Nathan had a bit of a problem because for some reason his glasses lack Go-Go-Gadget Windshield Wipers (a fact I pointed out to him) but he still managed to keep hitting the ball - bravo, love!

Anyway, so we're playing tennis and it's raining. The sky is turning gray, purple and red in one corner of the sky and then a brilliant orange light is radiating across a whole other half of sky. And get this - there is horizontal lightening . . . AND a full rainbow across the sky! I mean, rain, rainbows, thunder, lightning, orange sky . . . it was the best tennis game ever!

Nathan and I continued to play until we decided that wet courts would be a hazard to our health. As soon as we got into his Jeep it started to downpour, which led me to re-enact the scene from Jurassic Park where they are trapped in the Jeeps and it's pouring rain and the T-Rex is attacking them.


Rain: -downpour downpour downpour-
Me: -alternates screams and T-Rex roars-
-bangs on ceiling of Jeep as if frantic to get out or as if T-Rex trying to get in-
Nathan: -in some sort of accent- "Quick, get the flares . . . or the flashlight!"
Me: -rooaaar-

Simply fantastic.

today's lunch special . . . a delicacy

Setting: Lunch Hour, Kelly's desk at work

Essential Side Note: I have a litter box under my desk because I'm allowed to bring my kitteh to work.

So, there I was, completely ravenous and looking forward to eating my nice pita sandwich with turkey and cheddar cheese. I carefully (or so I thought) unwrapped the sandwich . . . when all of a sudden it flew right out of my hands . . . and landed in the litterbox under my desk. I am not lying. Somehow it managed to curve mid-air, disassemble, and coat itself in the litter of the litter box. I still don't know how I did it.

Anyone care for some litter-encrusted turkey? Mmmm. So delish.

Needless to say, I bailed on that delicacy and went to Ellwood Thompson's instead, where I partook in some really good couscous and salad. (Seriously, their Greek style couscous is muy delicioso.)

"sweet no-thingks"

Cute Overload has done it yet again. With the owls and the cuteness. And the cuteness. And the owls. Seriously the "aaaw" factor is off the charts. Nothing like a little sweet, sweet owl love to reassure you that everything is OK.


http://mfrost.typepad.com/cute_overload/2008/06/sweet-no-tingks.html

the oregon trail applied to real life

Amanda: there's puke all over
Kelly: ford the puddle of puke!!
Amanda: yea, it was REAL oregon trail kinda stuff. i lost a wheel
Kelly: i can see the game version of this. YOUR OXEN HAS DIED
Amanda: yea, you never ever ford the river if its over 5 ft.
Kelly: your raft sank in the mississippi
Amanda: you just wait and pay for the guide for reals. don't get trigger happy on the oregon trail
Kelly: while you wait you get typhoid
Amanda: yea, or someone breaks an arm, always

Beannacht

"May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life."

~ From John O' Donohue's "Beannacht" (which is Gaelic for "Blessing")

a post inspired by The Shamana

The Shamana graced my email inbox this morning with a copy of some of the hilarious dialogue from "Failure To Launch." The character of Kit made the entire movie.

Kit:*snatches rifle*
Jim the gun shop guy: *stares*
Kit: What kind of bullets does this take?
Jim: That gun doesn't take bullets. You need shells.
Kit: Ok, then give me the shells.
Jim: Ok, one box of shells.
Kit: Oh no, I just need one.
Jim: You know, there are places you can call...
Kit: I'm not suicidal, I just want to shoot a bird.
Jim: What kind of bird?
Kit: A Mockingbird.
Jim: You can't kill a mockingbird!
Kit: Why not?
Jim: Well first of all theres the book "To Kill a Mockingbird..."
Kit: Copy of that too! Just put it right here.
Jim: It's not a manual!! It's a great work of American literature! How can you not know that? And anyway, its illegal to kill a mockingbird.
Kit: Oh yea? Well what about my rights? What about the first amendment?
Jim: The right to free speech????

someone take away their parenting license

Ok, you would not believe what I saw. Seriously. Or maybe I should say - you would not want to believe what I saw. I was at the Starlite Cafe with The Marquee, eating dinner, when I happened to look over at a nearby table and see a mother helping her baby drink from a beer bottle. A BEER BOTTLE. (!!!!!) Excuse me? What?! For about 2.5 seconds I gave the mother the benefit of the doubt . . . maybe the beer bottle was filled with water and she was just trying to freak people out . . . but then I saw the mother and father take a swig from the beer bottle after the baby was done. I'm sorry. Those people should not be parents. I wanted to go over there and yell at them for being incompetent, but The Marquee managed to convince me to stay in my seat. I know that I'm not a parent, but I like to think that I have enough intelligence to know that letting my 9-month-old baby drink alcohol probably won't win me the Parent Of The Year award and hell - could put my child in danger. Gah. The whole thing just infuriates me.

row ye on home, land yacht

There were a lot of people building arks today. But I, Imperial Majesty of All That Is, have my ever-regal land yacht ('95 Buick Le Sabre) to ford rivers (the James), valleys, raging oceans and tranquil, flooded streets. I have a plan if the downpours continue. Some of the plan involves saving humanity, but most of it involves floating in all my glory down the streets of Richmond.

Brilliant Plan Of Action:
(setting - Rain)

1) Backstroke to my parked land yacht (LY) and climb in through the hole that I will simultaneously burn into the hood with the cutting torch that I keep in my back pocket for occasions such as this.
2) Brush hair, re-apply lip gloss (A World Dominator must look good no matter what the crisis).

By this point, the LY is floating in the parking lot. I have attached flags to its four corners.

3) Get on my mega-phone and tell all of those people trying to swim to get out of my way, as I have business to do. I begin my journey with a regal wave out of the window.
4) I proceed to pick up my friends and favored advisors, as well as a few babies and stray animals along the way (good PR).
5) Pass around the bowl of chips and salsa to my three best girlfriends (who have secured a seat inside the LY). Check to make sure that my B-List friends are OK floating in the intertube attached to the back of the LY.
6) Float LY to town hall. Claim the city in the name of all that is Good and Just (aka, me). "Ride the wave" to Ultimate Power. (Haha, sorry, couldn't resist).

america's got talent?

Ok. There is only one reason that you should watch the new TV show "America's Got Talent." And that is because it is so ridiculously horrible that it's worth your time to cuddle up on the couch with a bag of popcorn and make fun of it the entire time.

Let's get right to the point. David Hasselhof. And yes, I don't care if I spelled his last name correctly or not. Why? Why does he exist? Why On God's Green Earth is he a judge?? What qualifies him for it? The incredible acting that was required of him in "Baywatch?" The sensational singing voice that he possesses? So sensational that his cd will be forever mocked by sensible Americans? Forget it if the Germans like him. There is no explaining that. Honestly, I think that I would be offended if I got up on that stage and Hasselhof told me that I had talent. I would cry. But just watching DH get "moved" by a performance or "jam" to a dance routine is worth its weight in gold. Although, I need to point out that you have to really pay attention to him because he's had so much plastic surgery that it's hard to determine his facial expressions.

Ok, next judge. Brandy, of "That Boy Is Mine" fame and "Moesha." Why, oh why Brandy are you coming out of hibernation? Oh . . . that's right, you have a cd coming out. Well, Brandy, let me give you some advice. Fire your manager because this is not a good career move on your part. Another downside/goodside is the fact that Regis Philbin is the host. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. *twitch* Anybody else weirded out by him nowadays? Maybe it's all of his plastic surgery (new nose?) or the fact that he seems to overschmooze champion schmoozers. Blech. And the last judge - an ornery male Brit. Surprise there.

Oh, I'm not done. The creators and producers of this show (*ahem Simon Powell*) must really think that there are no intelligent people in America. Seriously, are there any Americans on the creative side of this show??? Watching it, I thought that if I saw one more red, white, blue & star combination or color scheme I was going to be sick. Yes people, the stars and stripes are nice. On a flag. Hanging from a flag pole. But it really doesn't need to be shoved down my throat. I know that I'm American, thank you. Secondly, the show is some weird mix of The Price Is Right, Star Search and Family Feud. Regis Philbin calls people's names from the audience (excitement! who is going to be chosen!) and then those people come up on stage and do their shtick. And then if Brandy, Hasselhof and Ornery Brit don't like you, they can hit a buzzer and a big red X appears over the stage. Three X's and you are out, suckah.

If someone made watching this show into a drinking game, the nation would be perpetually drunk. I can see it now . . . "Take a drink whenever someone does something weird or you feel like you will never be clean again." I realize that the producers are going to put the best and the worst out on stage for the ratings, but man . . . you never realize the worse could really be so bad. An 80-year-old stripper. A saw player who looked like a vampire. 2 women, a man and a horse (yes, no one quite figured out what their talent was). A nose flute player. Ugh. I'm just going to stop there.

But it's so bad that it's hilarious, so I guess the producers found one way to get people to watch. Anybody interested in watching it with me next week?

frank and teakettle, bff

Teakettle: FWOOSHthud. Fwooshie . . . f-w-o-o-s-h-i-e . . .
Frank: I just slammed my head on the desk, too. A lot nicer in theory than in reality . . .
Teakettle: fwoooshiebangbangbang
Frank: Hmmm. Shooting each other. That might work.
Teakettle: fwOOOshdoomdrip . . . drip
Frank: Yeah, it would be a lot more messy for me. But I hate this outfit anyway.
Teakettle: foreverfwooshie
Frank: You want to publish your memoirs first? About what? Your scandalous time on the stove burner?
Teakettle: FWOOSHdunes!
Frank: Oh, I didn't know you braved the Sahara . . .
Teakettle: Fwooshburnfwooshiefire
Frank: . . . without sunscreen . . .
Teakettle: fwooshieaaaaaaah
Frank: . . . and then was the one to discover the soothing properties of aloe plants . . .
Teakettle: FWOOSHyukyukyuk
Frank: Yeah, sounds reeeally funny. Yeah. Real page-turner.

the karma office

I seriously wonder if I ask for these things to happen to me. I mean, I have a feeling sometimes that an uber-bored desk clerk in the Karma Office has been assigned to watch every moment of my life so that I can be appropriately rewarded/punished for my deeds. Except, being the bitter desk clerk that he inevitably is, he wants to Stick It To The Man by way of maybe punishing me when I don't necessarily deserve it.

Case in point. Yes, I know that maybe I shouldn't have decided "just to windowshop" in Target . . . because windowshopping always leads to purchasing . . . but I had to buy cat food and there was a clearance sale and I swear, I NEEDED everything that I ended up buying. Seriously, I can rationalize it all. And my purchases helped humanity in the long run because it made me happy and correspondingly, everyone in my life happy. So was there really a reason to send three of the most gigantic and disgusting centipedes Ever To Exist after me in my apartment?

The first one I thought was just a random and brief moment with the seedy underbelly of nature. So, I killed it and moved on. The second one, I didn't find so cute. And the third one (discovered by the constant sound of Rue trying to chase it) thoroughly and utterly ruined any appetite for any food that I might conceivably desire in the future. Oh, I killed it . . . have no fear. But I also got to see the yellow pus of its innards squeeze out all over the napkin that I killed it with. I then flushed it down the toilet because By God I was going to make sure that multi-footed little monster was dead - but I was scarred for life.

Ok, so I figure by this point, I've evened out my score with the Office de Karma and showed that little bureaucratic bastard a thing or two. Well, maybe he was able to read my evil thoughts because when I woke up the following morning, I heard a gurgling noise coming from the toilet in my half bathroom. After adopting the surficial appearance of strength and serenity, I approach the toilet to discover that it is about to overflow with soap suds. Wha?? Excuse me??? Since when did my toilet turn into a washing machine???? I closed the lid on the toilet in a feeble attempt to keep the soap suds from creeping out onto the bathroom floor like those horrifying sitcom moments when some lovable yet idiotic character accidently pours too much detergent into the washing machine and the laundry room becomes the Land Of Slippery Suds. Aaaaaah! What did I do to deserve this??!

My sudsy toilet problem was fixed in the long run, but someone really needs to get that desk clerk a cup of coffee and a salary raise. Pronto.

beautiful doggies

Location: Stony Point Fashion Park
Ladies: The Shamana and Kelly
Doggies: Lil' Bit and Izzy

deck lights, wine and girl talk

Friday night was an enjoyable one at the casa de The Fabulous One. When you get together a group of eight women (two of whom are engaged) and a few bottles of wine . . . and then sit outside on a beautiful night . . . and a beautiful deck (with lights!) then there really is no way that the evening will be a bad one.

I wasn't really feeling a glass of wine, so I went with more caffeine (not particularily smart - but heck, it was Friday night - a night to be wild and crazy). Hah. Anyway, we had great discussions on a multitude of topics including, but not limited to: Gynological Tales Of Terror, how best to make one's breasts look bigger in a strapless wedding gown, how to subtly let your significant other know that he either needs to trim his facial hair or shave it off completely, whether people were inherently good or evil, the many positive qualities of Greece and the men who live there, the sweetest things some guy or other said to us at this or that point, why the heck wedding dresses are all made in ridiculously large sizes (a conspiracy so that we'd have to pay more to have it altered), the evils of butt bows on dresses, entertaining stories about pre-marital counseling , how one of us had ended up dating a guy who turned out to be gay, and the philosophical existence of Fate. If you notice a wedding trend in our line of discussion, I repeat, two engaged women were a part of the conglomerate. :)

It was a very fun night. :) Three cheers to The Fabulous One for hosting such a lovely evening.

shower repertoire

We all know that the main purpose for the existence of showers is so that one can sing well, and with abandon. The acoustic capabilities of showers have continued to baffle scientists and acoustic specialists for decades. As I feel it is my duty to the world, and to the people who live above me, to not let the incredible acoustics in my shower to go to waste, when I'm in the shower - I sing. As the years have gone by, I have compiled a repertoire of songs. I may focus on one song in particular, or combine a few lines together from numerous songs. Either way, it is entertaining. Since I know that all my readers are just dying to get a glimpse of my repertoire, below, I have listed a few of my singing-in-the-shower favorites:

1. "So Are You To Me" - eastmountainsouth
2. "Blue Skies" (jazzy version, as performed by Eva Cassidy - I get to scat)
3. "Wade In The Water" (as performed by Eva Cassidy)
4. The entire "Songbird" album (as performed by Eva Cassidy)
5. "Killing Me Softly" - I know, I KNOW . . . it's just . . . you never know when you might be pushed onstage by your evil friends and forced to sing it in a karoake bar.
6. "Weep You No More" - a classic from the "Sense & Sensibility" movie starring Kate Winslet & Emma Thompson. Every now and then - I like to throw a little classical vocal work into the equation.
7. "If" (as performed by Jane Monheit - sung like I am in love).
8. "Blame It On My Youth" (as performed by Jane Monheit - sung with bitterness).
9. [Insert current Top 40 song that I can not get out of my head]
10. "Running" - eastmountainsouth


I am willing to take suggestions for further expanding my shower repertoire. Also, if you happen to be in my apartment at the same time that I am taking a shower, I may accept a few special requests on demand - assuming that I know your song selection, of course.

i hate you thursday

Thursday: Hi Kelly. I've decided to be the longest day EVER.
Kelly: Gee, thanks Thursday. I hate you.
Thursday: You know, I really care. I do. I care about as much as I care about what Dubyah said yesterday morning during his presidential address.
Kelly: I feel loved.
Thursday: Well, the love ain't coming from this direction.
Kelly: I hate you.
Thursday: You said that already.
Kelly: WHY?? WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME??
Thursday: Because I am evil. And I like to be the center of attention.
Kelly: Get a boob job. Then you'll be the center of attention.
Thursday: I'm not a person. I'm a Day. Just so you know.

poor little grocery boy

So, I think I scared a grocery boy last night. I'd honestly prefer to think that I just intimidated him with my wit and charm, but realistically . . . I think I scared him. I don't know how many of you have participated in, or are familiar with, the Ukrop's grocery store scene, but Ukrop's does this thing where they actually take your groceries to your car. It's a very nice customer service gesture, but I always feel bad that someone has to take my groceries to my car, so I always try to have a conversation with whomever is lucky enough to follow me to my parking spot, with groceries in tow.


Sometimes, I am more successful with the conversation starting than other times . . . last night, I definitely was struggling. Those of you who know me know that I have a tendency to bring up some of the most random topics in the world. Occasionally, certain people find that quality endearing (i.e. other random people), but the majority of seemingly normal people either look at me like I'm weird (which I am) or just pointedly ignore me in the hopes that maybe I'll just stop talking. That's what happened yesterday.


I had gone to Ukrops to stock up on essentials and I was already looking a bit scary - had to wear my glasses because my contacts were killing me. But, I like to think that I balanced out the whole glasses thing with the short dress and high heels that I was wearing. Anyway. The kid who was lucky enough to be chosen to take my groceries out was, I'd say, probably in high school. Seemed like a nice enough guy. And so begins the awkward conversation:


Me: Hello, how are you? *smile*
Grocery Boy (GB): . . . alright . . . *sullen look*

(Grocery Boy proceeds to push the cart with my groceries in it with one hand and the other cart that I was shopping with back into the line of other carts with the other hand).

Me: That was very impressive.
GB: . . .

*if there were crickets, they would be chirping*

Me: Um . . . hot outside, isn't it?
GB: Yeah.

*puts groceries in car*

GB: Have a good night. (<--- monotone)