My sister is funny

So, my sister sent me an email this morning.  I have copied and pasted for your enjoyment.  You're welcome.

I have a new favorite show. It's called Split Ends on the Style channel. It's like Wife Swap for hair stylists. So far I've only seen the (shhhh!) gays as swapees, and they're fabulous! Martine was from a high class Boca Raton salon and he was swapped with Seth from a retro vintage salon (complete with large ladies who had 60s big black dyed hair (and had their own rock band)). Imagine the antics that ensued! Martine, btw, is Atticus Sparticus from The Birdcage. I was surprised he wore shoes.

The next episode (a 2fer!) exchanges a Manhattan stylist with a Beverly Hills stylist. Again with the (shhh!) gays. Beverly Hills salon manager: "He'd better not come in here and think he's going to be bringing that fast-paced New York attitude!" Ooh, snap!

Annywayyyy... too little sleep is making me loopy. We had our EB party last night. Woo. Oh, but great news! I got a leopard Snuggie from the gift exchange!

(Ooh, BH guy whispers to the client that he's going to make her look a little more LA (because we all know LA people think everyone wishes they were in LA) and she stood up and said she thinks it's bad luck to change stylists. BH guy was flabbergasted!)

Heh. Fun in the morning!

Heeeee. Thanks, sista!

What the eff?

So, I was amused all day today at work. I have no idea why, but that's not the point of this story anyway.

There is a mirror by the back door of the office, so, on my way out, I checked myself to see how scary I had become over the course of the day. I find I look worse and worse as the day goes on. (Surprisingly, I had a friend tell me once that she looks better as the day goes on. I don't know anyone who's like that, so I think she's lying but I'll take her word for it.)

Anyway, I looked and noticed I had a grayish line on either side of my mouth. I thought it was dirt or something, but after further scrutiny, I realized it was a wrinkle! My all-day smirk had created creases in my face! Is it permanent? Am I really old enough to get wrinkles?

Damn. This sucks.

I remember, in high school, someone asked my brother why I never smiled. Well, this must be the reason! Who wants wrinkles?!

It is a few hours later and no amount of tugging or pulling has helped unwrinkle me.

Paul Anka, baby!

So, back in 1982 and again in 1986, my family and I made the cross-country expedition to California to visit my mom's sister and family. 5 days in the family truckster, there and back, making the total car time 10 days x 8 hours at least each day. That's 80 hours in a car filled to the brim with people and luggage. You can imagine the great memories I have of these trips.

What I remember mostly is my older brother with strep throat and me throwing up at the Grand Canyon. Great memories. In addition to these memories, we had the musical soundtrack for the ages:

Peter, Paul and Mary
Barry Manilow
Kenny Rogers
the Carpenters and, last but not least,
Paul Anka

My iPod contains all of these albums, except for the damn Paul Anka. And it wasn't just any old Paul Anka album. It was Both Sides of Love, circa 1981 (8-track, no less). It must have been his worst selling album because you can't find it anywhere. His website barely references it. But let me tell you, it's a great album. My siblings and I all agree it's a great album. One year, my younger brother was able to find the LP, which he recorded onto cassette tapes to give to us as Christmas presents.

But, as 8-tracks have become obsolete, so have cassette tapes. So, I have been on quest to find a CD of this album, which will complete the "California" collection on my iPod. Of course, I realize since this album was such a flop, they never rerecorded it. Forget finding an original recording on CD. But, I was able to find someone who recorded the LP onto CD, which works just as well for me. It arrived in the mail today and I am now happily singing along to, "Roses ain't red, violets ain't blue-ue-ue. Sugar ain't sweet and I don't love you."

C'mon, that's lyrical genius.

Me vs. The Expert

So, we had dinner at Mom and Dad's Sunday evening. During dinner, I had told my dad how the painting was coming along at the house. My dad was proud to hear that I had done some of the painting myself, but then offered his services. My dad is retired and, since golf season is coming to a close, has nothing to do. Because my dad is an expert painter and someone I love dearly, I happily hired him. His first day was yesterday.

He first came to the house around 11am. He decided his first task was to clean up the mess I had made the previous day. He assessed the damage, made note of the things he would need to get the job done and left. He returned with his painting gear and was ready to get busy.

Let me give you the differences between the Expert Painter (EP) and me (ME):

ME: Before painting, took down window treatments (I actually thought I was being fairly proactive and awesome with this task).
EP: Before painting, removed all chairs and anything else that might get in his way instead of just working around (and tripping over) like I did.
EP: Moved the table from the center of the room (might I also add he did all this without me noticing - I went into the room at one point to find furniture moved or gone - does he have Jedi powers?  That shit is heavy!).

ME: Tried to use a drop cloth, but once I moved, it did not move with me (hence, the reason we need new carpeting).
EP: Used more than one drop cloth, as well as had the drip tray in his other hand while he painted. Now that's talent!

EP: Painted with easy, graceful strokes. He even taught my 5-year-old how to paint like an expert.
ME: Not graceful. Not easy. Kind of painful once I had to paint above me.

I think I made the right decision retiring from painting. I'll stick to the job of picking paint colors.

Thanks for your help, Daddy! (And yes, I call him Daddy. Shut up.)

Painting. Sucks.

So, the husband and I have taken on the gigantic task of painting the wood molding throughout our house white. And by "husband and I," I mean "husband". Whose dumb idea was this? Since he's the one doing most of the work, you can bet it wasn't him. However, he has realized the decorating genius I am and has agreed the white molding looks 1,000 times better.

Because he has been painting every day for at least a week straight, I thought I'd be a good wife and help ease some of the burden. So, while he has been out golfing today, I painted the molding in the dining room (easily the smallest room in our house - I'm no dummy).

I started out very careful. Both the living room and dining room are the same green color. We have been considering painting the dining room a deep wine color. (After I got some white primer on the green wall, that decision was easily made for us.) Now that I knew I could get paint on the walls, I painted with reckless abandon. By the time I got to the crown molding on top, it was more slathering than painting.

And I think I painted the windows shut.

And honey? Sorry about the paint on the carpeting. Looks like we'll be replacing that, too.

This will, most likely, be my one and only attempt at painting the house.

(oh, and does anyone know how to get paint off the fabric of my dining room chairs?)

Encore encore

So, the husband and I went on a double date with my wonderful cousins this past weekend. We went to see the opera, Don Giovanni. As this was my first time at the opera, I wasn't sure what to expect. I kept thinking back to the opera scene of Pretty Woman, where Richard Gere tells Julia Roberts that you either love the opera or hate the opera (more or less). I, of course, was hoping to love the opera, to become all cultured and shit.

I wasn't disappointed.

First off, I wasn't expecting it to be funny. I thought I was going to cry like Julia Roberts did. (I realize how sad it is that I'm basing my opera expectations on a movie about a prostitute. Kind of cancels out me being all cultured.) Anyway, here's what I learned:

• Opera music is beautiful.
• Our dates were fun and entertaining (not that I didn't know that beforehand, of course, so I guess I didn't learn that).
• I like getting dressed up to go out.
• I want to speak Italian.

On the other hand...

• Opera thinks we're stupid. The singers repeat the same lines 3-4 times as if we didn't get it the first time. We got it. (PS. to all you opera snobs out there, I know that's not the reason they say the line 3-4 times.  I'm trying to be funny.)
• The subtitles don't repeat 3-4 times, so you think you're missing something when you're really not (hmm, maybe we are stupid).
• If they just sang the line once, the opera wouldn't take so long and my ass wouldn't have fallen asleep.

Wait, I said I liked the opera, right? I did. Really, I did.

But, for future, the opera would be better if:

1. They get more comfortable seating - like the new stadium seating in movie theaters.
2. The intermission was a tad bit longer. We barely had time to wait in line to use the restroom. And definitely no time for a drink (hence the reason for #3...)
3. They have concession people up and down the aisles throughout the entire show, like they do at sporting events (but no need to shout, "Popcorn! I gotchyer popcorn right here!").

Forget it. I am beyond help in the culture department.