Thursday, April 26, 2007

I’ve worked in Event Planning for a long time now, and as a result I guess I’ve become a girl who likes to work from a theme. Luau, Margarita Party, Roaring 20’s, Mardi Gras, you name it, I’ve got a centerpiece.

Lately, there seems to be a theme in my life that I’d like to move away from though. May I present: Vomit.



My personal focus on vomit has been sort of a lingering affair. We’re at 14 weeks now, and I think I can safely say that throwing up – or the intense avoidance of throwing up - has been ever present since about 5.5 weeks. Making that just over two months of feeling like hell. If you’re keeping track. And believe me, I am.

Sweet Pea and our dog Irie are both rather competitive in nature. Not wanting to be outdone by someone with more experience, they both chose 12 hour puke-o-rama’s that definitely rivaled my more drawn out approach in terms of volume and the nasty factor. The dog wins hands down though, just because of the fact that she’s all, “Receptacles be dammed! I chose the WHITE CARPET to showcase my abilities!!”

You have to wonder if Mr. Golightly is feeling a little left out of all this. Although I think if he decides to throw his hat in the ring we may be looking at something brief but spectacular, and involving a whole bunch of cheap tequila. I’ll block out May 6th, at about 3:00 AM and see if he’s interested.

After that, I vote for a Golightly Family Holiday, a “Day Without Vomit.”

Until then I’m sharing anti-nausea meds with the dog. For reals.

~Clover

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Ok, be honest. Is my cranky pantsedness scaring you from posting a comment? Or am I really just that boring?

IS THIS THING ON? Tap. Tap. Tap.

I know people are reading. I have may ways...

Don't be scared. I love comments. Lots.

~Clover

Monday, April 23, 2007

Man. Lately I am just so…pissy. I’m kind of tired of it. And really tired of feeling so out of control of my emotions. And downright SICK of having people pat me condescendingly on the head and make stupid comments about my hormones.

So I’ve decided to take a new tack. I’ve decided to blame you. And by you, I mean the universal You. As in, everyone. Everyone. In. The. Entire. Universe.

Like the lady at the deli counter who spent a good 6 minutes grilling the poor minimum wage earning, English as a second (and still in the process of being learned) language speaking deli clerk about whether or not the “turkey breast meat” that comes in that obviously fake breast shaped loaf was organic. And then, when she didn’t get the response she was hoping for, proceeded to make said deli clerk read the ingredient list of the salami. SALAMI. Unidentified animal parts, salt, chemicals, and fat. Are you kidding me? Go buy some carrots and get the hell out of the way so I can order a corn dog and some chicken strips. Or better yet, buy a beetloaf and shove it in your pie hole.

Or how about the guy who told a room full of people recently that he didn’t want to have any responsibility for coordinating and executing a particular project, and then spent the entire afternoon today spewing ugly and petty emails about how those same people botched said project. (Sorry, that was vague. I’m not fully ready to rant about it yet.)

Or the neighbor kid who rings my doorbell 25 times in quick succession every time she comes to the door.

Or my own damn dog who won’t listen to me and farts endlessly.

Or the HR person at my former place of employment who INSISTED that the reason my W2’s weren’t mailed to the correct address was 100% my fault because I obviously hadn’t updated my information with her office. And then two seconds later, without any prompting or information from me asked if I would like the W2’s sent to my address on, “Insert the correct address that the argumentative shrew had all along here.”

And now, even though I am STILL fuming about azzhat number 2, I am going to bed. Where I will undoubtedly get to replay every word of every email exchanged today, and fantasize about changing all my courteous and professional responses into various forms of “Fuck You, Fucker.”

Did I just type that? Really? Sorry. I’m hormonal.

~Clover

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Just a note to express my deepest sympathies to all those touched by the violence in Blacksburg, VA. And a cyber hug to Misanthropster and Cranky Bastard who are living the hell.

~Clover

Thursday, April 12, 2007

A thousand apologies for being such a lame blogger as of late. I can't help it. My bedtime is 9PM.

For now, a few pictures of our Easter weekend at the Golightly Family Ranch in the beautiful Clearwater River Valley.

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Sweet Pea doin her thang.



My nephew Gabe, who will be a year old in June.



Aquiring some Easter Loot.



And a bump makes four...



Hope everyone is enjoying Spring!

~Clover