Papparazzi

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I’ve had a few requests for more pictures and less jibber jabber on this site. Apparently I’m neither witty nor humorous. Or maybe people are just Paris Hilton whores who like to see pics of themselves online. So here are a few more pics to tide you all over. Of course, non really have people in them. But plants! And food! Ohh..ahhh….

My Herb Garden Pre-Death

Sadly, these beauties are no longer with us…

Bruchetta from the Italian cooking bonanza (honestly, I didn’t have much to do with them, but I thought they were yummy looking).

My Contribution to the Italian Cooking Party. Cheese and meats. Organized on a dish. Notice how its not very attractive. That was my special touch.

Stuffed Peppers alla Maria Pia, the greatest cook alive!

Rabbit ears on our TV because we refuse to pay for cable. Doesn’t it look snazzy with all the high tech sound equipment. I thought Trent was going to cry. I’m evil. I know.

OK, and for anyone who had the patience to look through all of these, I’ve uploaded some more Italy pics. Click here if you want to check it out. If not, I suppose I can deal with that.

Oh Jesus.

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Today I was driving around running errands until I thought my head was going to explode. It seems that ever since the big move there is a never ending list of items needed IMMEDIATELY from Home Depot or Target or Pier 1 or World Market…the list could go on. Anyway, I’m not a big fan of all these errands, so by the end of the day I was understandably irritated. On my drive home I was cut off by a nasty old car covered in bumper stickers. I thought, “I was just cut off by some damn hippie!” but then I noticed what these stickers were saying. The first – Terri was murdered. The second – A country that kills its children is a country without hope (Pope John Paul II). My thoughts then turned to “damn Republican” and as I drove by I couldn’t help but look to see who this person was. I was even thinking about giving this person a nasty “I’m a liberal and I don’t like your stickers” look, just because I’m such a rebel. I turned with every intent to glare, and I see…a nun. In full nun gear. Rosary and all.

8 years of Catholic school and I’m glaring at a bad driving nun who is pro-life. The worst part is I actually felt guilty. Now that is the true sign of a Catholic. A nice big helping of guilt. Just delicious.

Embarrassed

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I used to never sing in my car for fear of seeing someone I knew and being humiliated. Then I moved to KC, with highways and tons of people and cars, so I sang my ass off.

Today, I was jamming out to Britney on my iPod while driving. Yes, I know that statement is embarrassing in itself. I hear some asshole honking at me, and I’m thinking “Who the hell is that!? What’s his problem?”

I look over to see someone from my volleyball team (now 0-15) flipping me off and laughing.

I then quickly flipped the song to Coldplay. As if that would make this situation much more acceptable. Or high-class. My mother would be proud.

The Anguish

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I think the house is trying to kill me.

Crazy, I may be, but I can’t help but wonder. I start planting living things around the house, I get stung by a bee. My poor pinky toe, an innocent bystander, was wounded in this first attack.

Then, after deciding gardening may not be my forte (which was proved by the fact that it is only 4 days later, and lo, my plants are shriveled), I attempt to paint my office/guestroom/bellydance practice room/brothel (for my friends who stay the night with sig others and boink on the couch…you know who you are). I begin by coating the cartoon animals on the wall with a layer of toxic/scary paint, which then gets all over my hands, cannot be washed off, and I have to bathe in paint thinner.

After a few days of silently waiting for the house to go to sleep. I attempt to cover the room with colored paint (to which Trent commented, “I like it. It looks like diarrhea. Good job”). All seems to be going well until my neighbor rings the doorbell incessantly until I run outside in my giant, paint covered t-shirt, with no shoes, and bang my foot on the front doorframe. I now have a blood blister on my other pinky toe.

Now I must go and attempt to learn how to golf with a bunch of engineers and then attempt to not lose another volleyball game while sober with a giant blood blister on my pinky toe. I think I should just get sloshed instead. Odds are I’ll get hurt anyway, so why not be singing Lindsay Lohen loudly and out of tune while doing it?

Moving and Vaginas

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I used to think I had quite a sense of style. All of my apartments were cute, clothes weren’t hidious and I’ve only had 1 REALLY BAD haircut (holy crap, that was bad). Now I’m learning that I am not a good decorator. It’s very frustrating. I’m turning back into the succubus. That is NOT a good thing.

On a lighter note, my sand volleyball team is now a stunning 0-12. Apparently no other team’s members read this page and have seen my pleas for mercy. After another spectacular loss, some ladies on our team decided to create some sand sculptures. I made a fish….they did not…

Yes, vaginas. This is what happens when you lose 12 games in a row. You create sand vaginas.

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