“I am a great believer in luck.”
– Thomas Jefferson
Well, ducklings, it’s that time. I counted up all the comments, facebook links, and blog shout outs, plugged that number into random.org, and the winner is…
Denise! Who said, and I quote, “oh, what the heck! i’ll play- i never win but i like your blog and i like shabby apple! and green is my color!!
d;)”
Positive thoughts today, Denise, you’ve one yourself some serious pretty from Shabby Apple. I’ll be emailing you for your contact info. Thanks to everyone who participated, hopefully there will more giveaways in the future!
Now, while some people come into our office and say things that are just plain silly, other people say things that are, literally, unbelievable. From this week (and it’s only Wednesday morning):
“I have a doctor’s note. Uh…from…um…a doctor!” *
“I’ve, uh, locked myself out of my car. Don’t have my keys. Could you guys open it for me?”
“Can you prove ownership of the car?”
“Um, no. Can’t you just shoot the trunk lock open for me?” **
“You don’t understand, you are going to do what I tell you. Don’t you know who I am?” ***
* I am a rhinoceros. One of us is lying.
** I’ll bet lunch someone finds a body. Any takers?
*** No. I don’t. And since it’s my job to be painstakingly aware of all requisite movers and shakers, that ought to tell you something.
“Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence in society.”
– Mark Twain
Darlings, you asked for exciting news, and I deliver! I’m thrilled to announce that Shabby Apple, supplier of all things fabulous, is generously doing a giveaway through yours truly.
Lots of exciting, and more importantly cute, things are happening with Shabby Apples these days. They are releasing several lines a year these days, their late-summer Berkshires line dropped a couple of weeks ago, and their Yosemite line is coming out soon. They’ve got completely darling bridesmaids dresses, gorgeous retro-inspired swimwear, and even aprons!
Anyway you, my lovelies, get to reap the benefits. Because one of you is going to win this fabulous dress from their Paris-inspired Oh la la collection, the green lawn L’Amour dress!
Isn’t it pretty? Perfect for the end of summer, and with a cardi and some lovely boots you’re set up for the fall as well. You can win this dress one of two ways:
Comment on this post, and make sure to leave your email address so that I can get in touch with you to make sure you get your prezzie.
For a second entry, visit Shabby Apple’s site (just click the button at the top of the page), browse through all their dressy goodness, and come back and comment again telling me which of their dresses, swimsuits, or accessories is your favorite. Make sure to leave your email address again, just in case. I don’t want you to miss out on this!
Ooh, look. I decided to give you a bonus! If you post a link to this giveaway on your blog or Facebook page you get another entry. Just comment again and post a link to your site/page.
“Ah yes, superstition; it would appear to be cowardice in the face of the supernatural.”
– Theophrastus
(Yes, the exciting news is still coming, sit tight)
Not being a suspicious person, Friday the 13th holds few terrors for me. In my single woman incarnation I would throw Hitchcock parties on Friday-the-13ths but otherwise largely ignored the day.
However, J. and I are looking to sell our car. Yes, my beloved Indy… She’s a lovely motor vehicle, but she’s as old as my little sister and doesn’t do well on highways. We’re looking for a car that will get us through grad school and (if we’re lucky) the birth of at least one child. We’ve found a guy who takes older cars, fixes them up and sells them for a modest profit and are crossing our fingers. We made an appointment to meet with him today, vacuumed and washed Indy to make her extra pretty, and then began getting paperwork together. Contract of sale, history of maintenance, dealer info…
…when we discovered the title is nowhere to be found.
And believe me we searched. J. turned the house upside down and I spent hours ripping our office to shreds, but to no avail. We think it got lost when I moved from my old flat to our new one.
This is not an insurmountable tragedy, indeed the problem is easily fixed, but I still break out in a cold sweat to think that I’ve been driving around blithely for goodness knows how long without proof that I actually own my car. I may or may not be slightly more wary of Friday the 13ths from henceforth.
No, I’m not pregnant, those of you who jumped to that conclusion (you know who you are), sit back down. I haven’t won the lottery. A book agent hasn’t approached and begged to represent me. No one has died a left me a fortune. No, my doves, I have exciting news for you! More info forthcoming, but stay tuned!
“Fastidious taste makes enjoyment a struggle.”
– Mason Cooley
The science of Recommendations seems, to me, to be very imprecise.
Pandora, set to my station of summery, party, of-no-artistic-value-whatsoever music, was feeding me a lively stream of Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, Ke$ha, and other culturally reprehensible choices. And then suddenly, out of no where, an unmistakable disco beat. And then, “Ah, ah ah, ah, stayin’ alive! Stayin’ alive!” Who ordered the Bee Gees?
Then later on Amazon.com, Small Dog’s personal crack, I was casually leafing through their recommendations for me. They defy logic. Wondering what had possessed it to recommend Conan the Barbarian I clicked on it to see why. Answer: because I once ordered Planet Earth.
“There is no Latin word for tea? Upon my soul, if I had known that I would have let the vulgar stuff alone.”
– Hilaire Belloc
Remember when Marie got engaged the Great Bridesmaid Dress Affair that followed? Well the dresses have been chosen and they are to die for (check them out here). And then think of that metallic green monstrosity with the horrid bow on the bum that your sister/university roommate/friend/sister-in-law made you don and weep. Having friends with excellent taste is a great comfort.
Now, with dates set, gown ordered, and food presumably taken care of, it falls on us, the bridesmaids, to throw the most fabulous fête ever conceived by man. This is going to be so grand and event that it’s taking three of us, coordinating from three separate states to get it going.
And what else would it be, than a traditional English Tea Party, dragged into the 21st century? I’m in charge of food and sundry other tasks (as I’m currently the only one in the same state as the bride).
And, as Marie reads this blog, the following information will be have to be somewhat censored. The menu will include (nothing to see here) and (move along) and of course (nuh-uh). The decorations will be done all in (bleep) and (sound effect from Deadliest Catch), isn’t that gorgeous? The girls and I have come up with a fantastic (lalalalala!) so we can (ahem) and Marie can enjoy the (sshhnnkk! Message for you, sir!).
“Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week.”
– Joseph Addison
Small Dog would like it noted that they looked a lot more glamorous than this.
On Saturday, J. went golfing with Atticus while Darling and I went downtown and shopped. Janssen, who apart from her fabulous fist blog Everyday Reading also does an equally fabulous blog about saving money (Frugal Wife = Wealthy Life), would have been very proud of me. I returned two shirts, which I originally bought on sale but didn’t like as much as I thought I would, and in exchange got three shirts that I loved and still put money back in the bank. Darling told me all about their recent trip to Hawaii while we ate lunch, I gossiped about work. Then we headed home, J. and I went to a comedy show on campus with Hennessy and her husband Tony.
Sunday we went to dinner at my godparents’ house, played with Elle, had long talks and debates (and some irreverent humor), ate cheesecake, and generally had a delightful time. In spite of the fact that we were celebrating GBIL’s and a family friend’s birthday…and I left both the cards and presents at home on the kitchen table (facepalm).
We are rather busy and terribly grumpy. We are hiring nearly 30 people, firing about 20, and processing paperwork for all of them, along with giving all our 200 employees an individual raise. Your complaints about not being able to buy more targets to vaporize in shooting practice, bafflement on how to use the fax machine, repeats of questions we’ve answered dozens of times, or excuses of why your work is late will not be acknowledged, much less tolerated.
“Nature’s all well in her place, but she mustn’t be allowed to make things untidy.”
– Cold Comfort Farm
Pictured: Summer, after a particularly impressive bender.
Of course, summer is moving towards its inevitable end. Though not quite in her death throes, she’s sensing that they’re not far off and so is looking to have a last fling with a boy a third of her age, wear skirts that are far too short, and spend all her money rather than let her grasping nephew Fall get a penny of it. In other words, generally behaving badly.
The other day J. called me up.
“Are you coming home for lunch?” he asked.
“Wasn’t planning on it. Why?”
“Because you need to go to the store.”
“Again, why?”
“Because you need to pick up ant traps and spray.”
Summer's attack German Shepherd. And although I didn't catch a glimpse of this guy, I am sure he was lurking back behind the suitcases.
Augh! Apparently ants had descended on our flat. They were crawling in from a closet runner, bent on global domination (For the record, Mum, our flat is in no way in a state to attract the wildlife, please don’t wring your hands and bemoan anything). Anyway, I dashed home armed with chemicals, J. vacuumed everything, sprayed and booby-trapped our closet to the point that those famed nuclear-resistant cockroaches of lore couldn’t survive, and we waited with baited breath to see if it had worked. So far, nary a six-legged fiend has been sighted.
However, marshalling the ants to send them indoors was only Old Lady Summer getting drunk at her granddaughter’s wedding. She finished the night by climbing up on the buffet table, shaking her bon-bon, and collapsing spectacularly into the punch.
That night we had a massive lightning storm. I read later that in a half hour period we had nearly 150 lightning strikes in the area. And unlike normal storms, where the flashes and rumbles are spaced out a bit, this was explosion after explosion for hours. Neither J. nor I slept because every few seconds our whole room would light up and it would sound like someone had cracked a whip right next to our heads. And this sort of weather has continued, with varying degrees of intensity, for the last three days now. The power was knocked out yesterday, making getting home from work a nightmare.
Small Dog gets Summered-out.
Summer and I have a middling relationship. Round about February of each year I whine and long for sunlight, but as soon as we’ve made it through July, I start glaring at bank signs along the road with their publicly displayed roasting temperatures and start mumbling things like, “October sounds good. I could do October right now.”
*Photo of cracked old biddy, from mygutinstinct.wordpress.com *Photo of the vile insect invader, still from the 1954 film Them!
*Photo of my approximate face come mi-August from: findavet.us/blog/2010/04/how-to-keep-your-dog-safe-in-the-heat/
, Small Dog’s personal crack, I was casually leafing through their recommendations for me. They defy logic. Wondering what had possessed it to recommend 
I clicked on it to see why. Answer: because I once ordered 
.
Small Dog Syndrome 