Comatose

People think shopping for work is all glitz and glamour. It is fun, and I enjoy what I do. But after you've spent two solid days schlepping stuff around in 93+ degree heat, you just feel like a nasty, sweaty, beat-up puddle of sloth. I've been to at least 35 stores -- probably more -- in two days.

To top it all off, I went to do an interview and help with a photo shoot tonight (both of which went really, really well, thank you for asking), but it sucked up the last bits of my energy and personality.

Arriving home at 8 p.m., there was no chance of a normal dinner happening. I had four pieces of pepperjack cheese on wheat crackers and a raw turkey dog, straight from the fridge.

That's officially the worst meal in the world, for the record, and if you're vomiting at the thought of it, I'm sorry. But washing the blueberries and steaming asparagus (my original plan for dinner) seemed like too much of a chore.

Only five situations exist that would make me more exhausted than I am right now.

1. Being Jack Bauer on the season finale of "24" (any season).

2. Being a surgical resident working in the ER.

3. Being Lucy and Archie after 9 hours at doggy day care.

4. If I had just finished playing in the SuperBowl.

5. Trying to find a swimsuit that doesn't make me want to kill myself (which I did last week and weekend, and trust me, it's exhausting).

Off to bed and it's still light outside. Oh my God, I'm OLD. If I start eating dinner at Denny's at 4 p.m., someone please kill me.

Thanks, DHL, for your prompt delivery

There are four things that happen with my cell phone, the most infrequent of which is that it actually works properly.

1. Missed calls, voice mail and text messages sometimes don't register for a couple of days.

2. No matter when I program it to do, it either rings on the loudest setting possible or does not ring at all.

3. About one out of every four calls end suddenly with a loud buzzing sound, then the phone turns itself off.

4. Most phone calls sound like they are being conducted under water.

These issues have gotten a million times worse in the last week, so I ordered a new phone from AT&T.



It was shipped on Friday and they promise to send it on a two (business) day delivery through DHL.

I've been tracking my order online and my shipment arrived in Louisville at 6:48 a.m., so I was expecting that my new phone would be delivered today. But it wasn't. Now, it's not like one more day of this crappy phone is going to ruin my life, but I'm just saying... the package is already in the city. Would it really kill them to just bring it by? I saw the DHL truck in my 'hood while I was walking the dogs.

Yes, I'm impatient. Yes, I should have just gone to the phone store and bought it in person. But whatever. Hindsight, 20/20, all that.

On another note, I love, love, love Peter MacNichol. He's the president's chief aide on season 6 of "24," which I've been watching on DVD for the past week. I've seen him on tons of shows and he's such a good, versatile actor.



Although no matter how hard I try, I can't get the image of him whistling through his nose on "Ally McBeal" out of my head.

Congratulations, you're not blind!

Summary haiku:
My sunburn may as
well be a celebrity.
Quit staring at it!


Yesterday, I went to lunch with a friend. We ate outside. I ended up with a raging sunburn on one of my shoulders, where my scoop neck shirt didn't quite cover.

It hurts. Really, really bad (especially when my seatbelt rubs against it). But not as bad as people who think they're so clever as to comment on the obvious. "Hey! Do you know you've got a sunburn?"

Hey! Fuck you!

People lecture you on the obvious. "The sun's not good for your skin." "Wow, that's gonna be painful for a couple of days." "Geez, one shoulder? You look all lopsided."

Like I meant for it to happen. Now everyone is pointing and staring as though I have a fucking lilac bush growing out of my shoulder.

Even a little old man at the gym! He said, "Is that a sunburn? I almost didn't want to ask you because it's such an intense red, I thought it might be a birthmark." Sheesh!

Gotta go get some aloe.

This is why I don't go camping

Summary haiku:

Ticks: evil little
beasts reside in nature. I
don't need hangers-on.


Anyone who knows me is aware that I'm not an outdoorsy person. Sure, I enjoy mountain biking and hiking and boating and whitewater rafting. But when the activity is done, I want to be back in my house, showering and sleeping in my bed like a civilized person.

I've been camping twice, and they both rank as two of my five most miserable experiences in life. (Others include waiting for my mom to wake up from a coma, getting my wisdom teeth pulled and something else of a more personal nature.)

So imagine my horror when I discovered a tick implanted in my scalp last night. What the hell? I haven't even been outside like that -- where did I pick up this blood-sucking passenger?

Then I realized: It was at the dog park, where there are tons of trees and tall, bushy grasses. The dogs are protected with their Frontline, but me? I was a sitting target, especially when I decided to go frolic with them instead of sitting on the bench, on the big cement patch.

I was totally grossed out and panicking inside, but I think I seemed quite calm. Anyway, we removed the tick, and I'm sure all will be fine. But the top of my head is sore and I'm still totally creeped out by that little motherfucker. *Shudder*

So, here's hoping I don't have Lyme disease or Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever! And guess what I bought today? A new ballcap, which I will wear every time I go to the dog park... along with a body condom and 10 layers of Off!

Sorry Mother Nature, but all creatures are not created equal.

(P.S. I don't have a will yet, so if I die, Wendy and Elana can split my shoe collection. Joli, Michelle and Javacia can divvy up my jewelry. I want "Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangsta" by the Geto Boys played at my funeral, and to be buried with my Tim Gunn bobblehead.)

People who paint over wallpaper are fucking assholes.

So yesterday, we embarked on what should be a fairly simple task: We finally got around to repainting our bathroom on the main floor -- a task that should have taken roughly five hours, with primering and the actual painting. I got three walls done and felt pretty proud.

But when went to remove the toilet, it wouldn't come unscrewed from the floor. So we had to use a hack saw to screw through the bolts, which took ... a while. Then we discovered that some fucking assclown had painted over wallpaper -- a discovery we made because the wallpaper was all bubbled and peeling behind the toilet. So we started pulling it up.

Which is like pulling an errant thread on a sweater.

And after the paper is pulled up, all the glue underneath must be scraped off.

This is what our bathroom looks like now:







The Pepto Bismol pink is the old color. The sage green is the new color. And anything that isn't one of those two hues needs to be scraped, spackled and/or sanded before we primer and paint it. We spent most of today doing the part behind the toilet so we could reattach it. (We've had the water in our house turned off all day so that agua wouldn't leak from the detached hose.)

But that doesn't take the sting out of the fact that it's going to be a couple of weeks before this mess finished.

Kyle's expression said it best.




P.S. I've been getting drunk, so I'll be sad tomorrow when I have to go to work.

I am Selma and Patty Bouvier

Three days and eight Derby parties later, my tonsils feel as big as kiwi fruits. My voice, scratchy and raw, and I can't breathe because I've got some sinus thing going on too. The verdict: A real bad case of tonsillitis, which I haven't had since I was, like, 12 maybe?

I probably caught the germs from some drunken, non-handwashing ass at one of those parties. Woe is me. Luckily, I've discovered how morbidly fascinating Showtime series, "Dexter" to help pass the time.

I'm watching it On Demand on a loop. I wish Dexter would come kill me right now.

Lifetime rules on dreary days

Not feeling so great today. And it sucks outside, so why bother leaving? You couldn't pay me to go down to Thunder.

Besides, there's a fabulous (read: awful) movie marathon on the Lifetime Movie Network called "Drama Teens." I'm all over it.

So far, I've watched a flick starring Elisha Cuthbert about a teen girl addicted to gambling.

Just finished another about a college freshman and the lessons she learned after her roomie died from binge drinking.

Now, I'm watching "Dying to Belong," starring a pre-Oscar Hillary Swank. I think it has something to do with a tragic sorority prank.

OMG, Sarah Chalke is in this too! Oh look, and some dude from "Saved by the Bell" too: Mark-Paul something or other. Well, there goes another two hours of my life.

I haven't been this badly entertained since I discovered the stinker of all Lifetime movies, "CoEd Call Girl," starring Tori Spelling. If I'm lucky, maybe that will be in the line up today! One can only hope.

My eyes hurt

So, I just went to the grocery. 9:45 p.m. on a Thursday night. And there was a woman there -- 24 years old, maybe -- wearing a t-shirt, tennis shoes and bikini bottoms. Very, very small bikini bottoms.... on a not-so-small bottom.

There were at least three inches of ass cheek bubbling out of each side. I've seen bigger panties on Victoria's Secret models.

I'm not disparaging her body. Heck, my butt is pretty, um, healthy. But would it really kill her to throw on some shorts to go to fucking Kroger? Or at least some boy short bathing suit bottoms? Geez, Louise.

A case of the Mondays

... and it's Tuesday. So not fair.

I'm incapable of stringing together a paragraph after having a pretty crappy day. My lovely friend Javacia loves to make lists (and so do I), so I'm taking a cue from her today.



Things I would rather do than relive today, which left me deflated and super unmotivated:

1. Eat a foot sandwich, slathered in mayonnaise, on rye bread.

2. Apply liquid eyeliner, which always takes me about an hour to get right.

3. Wait in line at the St. Matthews post office.

4. Drive through Wyoming, the most boring and worthless state in the U.S.

5. Root for the Green Bay Packers.

6. Balance my checkbook.

7. Run my fingers through Bret Michaels' "hair."

8. Sit through a Dave Matthews Band concert. ... No, scratch that one. I'd rather redo today.

9. Wear skinny jeans.

10. Paint another room in my house.

Tomorrow has got to be better. Right?

Goodbye, brain cells

Summary haiku:
I are a third grade
grajooit. Now Flavor Flav
wants to conversate.




Yes, I'm watching "Flavor of Love." I don't know why I do this to myself.

It's always gutwrenching on a variety of levels, but tonight, it's an especially vast grammatical wasteland.

I've grown accustomed to them butchering spelling. Flav gives his suitors nicknames, such as Myammee (Miami); Grayvee (Gravy); DYMZ (Dimes); Sinceer (Sincere). You get the point.

But during the first 20 minutes of the show, four different women used the word "dramatical." As in, "You should get as dramatical as you want."

One woman told Flav he was her love, her best friend, her "confident."

Someone else said, "It's everyone for theyself." And finally, someone was glad that Flav "standed his ground."

Thank God the Kansas/Memphis game started at 9:30, because now Kyle is watching that and I'm too lazy to move to one of the other TVs.

On another note, I hate that "I'll Melt With You" Taco Bell commercial. They ruined the song, and seeing people with melted cheese suspended in midair between their lips and a giant burrito is just ... fucking gross.

DVDs are going to save someone's life

... and they will probably prevent me from going to jail.

We go to the movies about once a year. Since I work days and Kyle usually works nights (and until recently, weekends), it just doesn't work into the schedule.

But last night -- Friday -- we decided to go see "Shutter." Our new house is about a five-minute walk to the theater, so perhaps this would be the start of a more frequent moviegoing era for us.

We got there early to snag some decent seats. When we opened the door to our screen, it was already as loud as a sports bar during a Final Four game. Scraggly-haired teenage boys were wrestling each other and hanging over the side of the seating area above our heads. Girls were screeching and pointing and giggling at the boys. They were all changing seats every 2 minutes, making and receving phone calls and text messages, and they all seemed to know each other.

We were the ONLY people in there over the age of 19. It was so annoying, we were considering leaving before the movie even started. One preview was for "Prom Night," and even though I couldn't hear it, I saw teenagers getting stalked and killed on screen and said to Kyle, "I wish that movie would happen in here right now."

Long story short, the theater employees came and gave some wooden speech about being quiet, turning off cell phones, etc. And they actually stationed a police officer in our theater. Still, phones were ringing during the movie, kids were yelling and screaming out jokes and commentary.

The cop was on top of things, but it's not like he could arrest them for being assholes. If that were the case, he'd have needed 15 paddy wagons to transport every last one of them.

Mowgli from "The Jungle Book" -- who you may remember was raised by wild animals -- was more put together than these kids.

For three years, I was an editor for 30 teenagers who wrote for our teen section at a newspaper in Washington. They were fabulous, smart, funny kids. I'm sure they all got wild from time to time... hell, I did at that age, too. But I can't imagine any of them being this out of control. And to be fair, there were a handful of well-behaved teens last night who seemed just as irritated as us. Somehow, though, 20 normal people can't compete with 300 ill-behaved monsters.

I've always said going to Wal-Mart was the best birth control. Because no matter what time of day (or night) it is, there are always families who let their 15 kids run wild all over the store instead of trying to make them act like civilized human beings. And that makes me want to pile on 47 condoms every time I have sex. But the movie theater on a Friday night came pretty close.

In fact, these little asshats from last night have all probably screamed through the aisle of Wal-Mart, knocking shit off the shelves and destroying everything in their paths like mini-tornados.

Which is why, from now on, I am perfectly content to wait for movies to hit DVD. We have a 47" HDTV, comfortable sofas and tickets aren't $9.25 each.

10 Questions for Thursday

1. If everyone in the world had the option to grow a porno moustache, do you think people would laugh a little more often?

2. Will my cat, Miles, hate my guts when he comes home from the vet tomorrow with his new spring haircut? (2a. If so, will he joust my calves with his buck tooth?)

3. How many stores must I scour to find the perfect earrings to complement my new giraffe print dress?

4. Will my feet ever forgive me for wearing those giant, spiky heels last night?

5. Is there anything wrong with a 35-year-old woman wearing Hello Kitty band-aids?

6. Does any better bargain exist than the awesome, long-lasting Smith's Rosebud Salve, which costs $6 at Sephora?

7. Is there ever a circumstance where one should try to wax their own eyebrows?

8. What the hell was that giant flash of light that just blasted through my front window?

9. Why won't Lucy fetch me a Diet Coke instead of her rubber ball?

10. If I meet Tim Gunn and ask him to sign my Tim Gunn bobblehead, will he think I'm a total freakshow fan? Or funny?

Viva Las Vegas!

Let me begin with a small gripe.

Elvis Presley's "Viva Las Vegas" used to make me feel energized and ready to drink and gamble. But since they started using it in the Viagra commercial ("Vivaaaaa Viagra!") it makes me feel icky and gross inside.

In case you haven't seen the ad, a bunch of old farts are at a hootenanny playing their musical instruments. They warble a verse of the song, replace "Las Vegas" with "Viagra," then they all high-five each other and scatter in different directions, presumably to put their four-hour boners to good use.

Now, every time I think of Sin City, I hear that fucking commercial in my head. Thanks, Viagra. You shouldn't have.

Anyway. So, last week I met two girlfriends (Beth, a photographer from Maine, and Wendy, my bestie, a massage therapist from Washington) in Vegas for a totally impromptu, last-minute trip. Long story short: It was a freakin' blast, like Vegas always is.



But the first day/night was like an episode of the Twilight Zone, for real.

We went to our hotel room, opened the door, and found four 50- or 60-somethings -- three women, one man -- partying in our room.

An army of empty beer bottles were strewn about, and we were like, "Oh sorry! They must have made a mistake at the front desk."

"Nah, nah, nah -- come on in," yelled one of the semi-drunk women. "We'll explain what happened."

We're thinking, "no, that's cool. We'll just go have them switch our room." But they insisted, and we were curious. They said they had asked for a non-smoking room but the hotel put them in a smoking room (ours). When they called the front desk, there weren't any non-smoking rooms available, so the hotel apparently told them to hang out in ours until they had one cleaned.

So these people stayed in the room all day, showered, used all the bathroom stuff. "But we didn't sleep in the beds," they said, "so you could just call for some more towels."

Um, I think we'll also have them clean the bathroom as well.

Then they wouldn't leave! They were all drunk and chatty, and we were all travel-tired and just wanted to chill for a few. One lady starts pulling stuff out of her shopping bag to show to us (souvenirs and whatnot). The man was like, "Heh heh. I'm in a room with SIX beautiful women now!"

Vivaaaaa Viagra!

This was all within the first hour. Beth took a picture of them because the whole thing was so bizarre, so when she emails it to me, I will add it to this post.


Tales to be continued... Method Man has a guest spot on Law & Order and I must watch. I wuv him!

Tomorrow's story: "It's not St. Patrick's Day! What are you talking about?"

If all healthy food tasted this good, I'd weigh 90 pounds

So, I was looking for recipes on the Weight Watchers website and came across this awesome dish, which is the Raddest Dish in the Universe.

Seriously. I don't even like to cook. Actually, I hate it. Really hate it. But when I found myself alone on Easter weekend because my hubby was covering basketball games in Birmingham, I went to the store specifically to get scallops so I could cook. For myself. Just me. I can count the amount of times this has happened on one hand.

Anyway, besides the fact that it tastes fabulous with a capital F, here are three more reasons to try it.

1. It is the easiest thing ever to make.

2. You'd be hard pressed to get something tastier in a restaurant.

3. You probably have most of the ingredients in your cupboard already.


Pan Seared Scallops with Cilantro

Ingredients:
1 pound of scallops
1 tsp chili powder
1/2 tsp table salt
1/4 tsp black pepper
1 tbsp light butter, divided
1 spray cooking spray
1/4 cup water
1/2 medium jalapeno pepper, seeded and minced
2 tbsp fresh lime juice
2 tbsp cilantro, minced

Instructions:
Sprinkle both sides of scallops with chili powder, salt and black pepper.
Melt 1 1/2 teaspoons butter in a large nonstick skillet coated with cooking spray over medium-high heat. Add half of scallops; cook 3 minutes on each side or until done. Remove scallops from pan and keep warm. Repeat procedure with remaining butter and scallops.

Add water, jalapeno pepper and lime juice to pan; cook 1 minute, scraping bottom and sides of pan to loosen browned bits. Spoon sauce over scallops; sprinkle with cilantro.

Yield: 4 servings (serving size: 3 ounces scallops, two tablespoons sauce).

(If you're a Weight Watchers person, one serving of this -- about three and a half large scallops, is only TWO points.)

Lists instead of booze. Let's give it a whirl.

You know, it's hard to stay upbeat and motivated when "one of those days" turns into "one of those weeks." And then months. I'm turning into Debbie Downer and I'm only 2 months into this year.

So in an attempt to pull out of the soul-sucking funk -- at least for tonight -- I'm making a list of things that make me happy. (I'd rather drink, but frankly, I don't need the calories or the hangover.)


1. My husband. After almost 8 years of being a couple, our relationship just keeps getting better. (Too bad he's in Bloomington for work tonight.)

2. My mom. No matter how shitty my days are, she suffers the effects of a traumatic brain injury every, single day. I have no right to complain.

3. Watching Lucy and Archie play tug-of-war and keep away with a rope toy. At least someone is having fun. And related to this, it warms my heart to see Archie's stumpy little tail wag back and forth in a perfectly even line. It looks like a windshield wiper.

4. Friends. I have great friends in Louisville. But last night I spent four hours on the phone with two of my closest friends from home, Wendy and Lisa. It's a nice reality check to talk to people who have known you for 15 years.

5. The Las Vegas trip that fell into my lap. Totally random, but I'm meeting my friend Beth in Vegas in a month. I need something to look forward to right now.

6. My house. It feels good just to say it. MY house. Not a house I'm renting from someone else. Mine, mine, mine!

7. My shoes. I know it's superficial, but shoes always make me feel pretty, even when I don't like the way my clothes are fitting.

8. My determination. Speaking of ill-fitting clothes, they are looking better lately. I've lost 11.5 pounds in six weeks. Probably could have lost a few more, but I had a shitty time last week and splurged on a couple of bottles of wine. And some Girl Scout cookies. But I'm back on the wagon again -- and I'm so fucking tired of baby carrots.

9. Having a sense of humor. If not for that, I'd probably be in a loony bin. Which is where I feel like I belong some days.

Huh. I was shooting for 10 things, but that's all I can really come up with for now -- and that last one was a stretch. I guess it's better than nothing.

Bargains make me quiver with joy

Summary haiku:
Saving money when
your tax refund just arrived
doubles the delight.



So, the house. Still working on it. We've gotten the Things We Couldn't Live Without (lamps, shower curtains, wooden blinds in a couple of rooms, etc.), and we're now working the list of Things That Would Make Life More Convenient. Which brings me to one of the most joyous shopping trips I've had in a while.

I went into Target looking for wall shelves where I could display a couple of plants and a totally cute Vietnamese art sculpture I got at Pier 1. (The latter was on my list of Things I Don't Fucking Need, But They're Really Cute So I'm Buying Them.)

I saw several shelves, but they weren't quite what I wanted. Then I came to the endcap, and lo and behold, the perfect shelves were on clearance for $4.98 each -- marked down from $24.98! I bought all the ones they had left (5), because I like to keep the surfaces in my house uncluttered and I have tons of unused wall space in various rooms.

Money saved: $100.

Then I was just cruising around, as one tends to do at Target, when I came to the bathroom aisle. We don't have any towel racks in our bathrooms, so we've just been slinging towels over the shower curtain rod to dry. Which hides how cute the shower curtains are. And Target had these really beautiful brushed nickel double towel bars on sale for $12.98, also marked down from $24.98. I got one for each bathroom.

Money saved: $24.

Next up: A giant mirror to hang on one of our ginormous dining room walls. I had been eyeballing it on my last couple of Target jaunts. It's lovely, with a carved frame that's a muted, distressed gold color. $19.98, marked down from $90. Are you kidding me? Is today fucking Christmas?

Money saved: $70.

Can you believe there's more? The last thing is from the Things I Don't Fucking Need, But They're Really Cute So I'm Buying Them category. I got a fabulous, huge wall hanging for the bedroom. It's electric green silk with an olive green tree painted on it. It's simple and beautiful, but most important, it makes me feel really happy when I look at it. $14.99, marked down from $29.99.

Money saved: $15.

For those of you who can't do math -- which includes me, I had to use a calculator to do this -- I got $285 worth of items for $85. Which left me plenty of dough to pick up a green patent clutch and some canary yellow tights to wear under a couple of my spring dresses.

I am bursting with happiness. I'm off to hang one of my shelves!

I'm going crazy -- want a lift?

Summary haiku:
Time flies when life is
busy. Wine helps, but Vegas
trip is what I need.

Happy Valentine's Day!

After a delicious, candlelit Italian meal (sorry, diet!) at our new dining room table, Kyle and I are having the most romantic evening. He is watching a basketball game with Miles (the cat) curled in the nook of his leg. I'm messing around on the computer, Lucy's head resting on my thigh and Archie's head nuzzled against my neck (he's on the back of the couch cushion).

But after our tummies retract a little bit, me and the hubbster will actually probably snuggle each other and watch a movie or something. Because honestly, red wine makes me want to cuddle someone without fur. (Side note: Covey Run wine from Washington state... try it.)

Anyway. It's been a really hellish three weeks (with the exception of last weekend, which included a visit from Danielle and Javacia's birthday). You don't care about the details. Hell, I'd just as soon forget them myself. But suffice it to say that I've felt like a monkey with its hair on fire for weeks.

But here's the good news: Out of nowhere, I get this email from one of my favorite girlfriends of all time, Beth. I can't say enough about how much I love this woman. Anyway, the email said she was going to Las Vegas for a work trip, the hotel room is already paid for, and did I want to meet her there and play for a few days?


Hellz to the yeah.

This is exactly what I needed, and it could not have come with better timing. The trip isn't for another month, but that's perfect because it gives me some time to reclaim my sanity and, perhaps, lose some more poundage before I go someplace warm, where I will not be wearing 50 layers of clothing.

(Fattie update: I've lost 11 pounds now. Probably could have lost more if it were not for aforementioned fun weekend filled with girlfriends, non-Weight Watchers dinners and lots of alcohol. What can I say? Stress made me relapse for a few days. Still, all of my pants are too big, which is fun, but also annoying.)

Only been to Las Vegas once, for my bachelorette party in 2005, which is also the last time I've seen Beth. See how fun (and sober) she is?



So I'm looking forward to exploring a little more and doing some shopping. According to our tax guy, our income tax refunds should drop into the account tomorrow. Maybe things are finally turning around. I'm ready for the crazy train to pull into the station, man.

Oh, and my Chia Pet? It's going apeshit!

Night, lovebirds...

Financially irresponsible people are ruining my quiet time

So, I've been talking about the fact that we moved for weeks. We're in. But with a new house in a new neighborhood also came a new phone number. And it appears that whoever previously had this number never paid a bill in their lives.

During the past three weeks, we have gotten millions of phone calls from a variety of collection agencies looking for the previous owner of this phone number. We answer and say, "We don't know those people. We just got this number. We are a different family." Then that one stops calling.

But the next day, another agency calls. And another. Damn, how many bills did these motherfuckers have? And some of the calls don't even have a real, live person to talk to -- it's just a recording. So I can't even tell them we're not the right people. And they keep calling -- sometimes the same agency calls four times a day, clogging up all our voice mail.

It's driving me out of my fucking mind! If I meet these financial delinquents somehow by chance -- and believe me, I know their names WELL by now -- I'm going to tell them to eat a fat dick and quit signing up for credit cards if they can't even pay the electric bills.

I can't even enjoy a quiet glass of wine without being interrupted every 15 minutes.

If you read this far, thanks for listening. I'm a little tipsy right now (OK, maybe a lot tipsy) and these fuckheads are messing up my relaxing flow.

Patience is a virtue

Summary haiku:

I guess my Chia
is a slow bloomer. But she's
alive, green and well!




I kept watering her, and about two days ago, a lone sprout was poking out of her back. Every couple of hours, I'd go back and there were more. Now, she's going wild! I guess I better give her a name now.... any ideas?

Ch-ch-ch-chintzy!

Summary haiku:
Chia Pet is full
of seeds, but won't grow trademark
lush clover coat.



As a gag gift, Kyle got me a Chia Pet for Christmas. His job got a big shipment of them in a press release, so he thought it would be funny to wrap one up and stick it under the tree.

Shaped like a kitten, this prize came with a bonus alarm clock, also a kitten.

Once we got to the new house, I was like, what the hell. Might as well grow her for novelty's sake. So, I followed the directions to a T. I kept her filled with water. The package said she'd start to show plant buds in 3-5 days. It has now been 8 days, and this is my Chia Pet:



Covered in seeds. Just like it was on days 1 through 7. So, not only are Chia Pets ugly, they don't grow for shit.

Like the plant version of Sea Monkeys. Sigh.