Ode to Willis

I'm a huge fan of Willis.  Which is probably a good thing, considering I married him and all.  Plus, now I'm REALLY stuck with him seeing as though I'm unemployed and listed as his dependent!  Ah!

Did you know that Willis ran for governor of Texas?  It's true.  It happened yesterday and he didn't even know it.  We were on our way back from Logan's Dr. appt., and Willis wanted to stop and vote.  I have been a bit preoccupied and haven't been paying attention to any of the candidates, so I decided I wasn't going to vote.  I know, I know.  Lecture noted.  ANYWAY, even though I was just going to wait next to him, I somehow got in the shuffle and ended up with a voting sticker and at one of the booths.

So, I decided to write in Willis for governor.  Looking back, I probably should have just listed "Willis" but I put his full name instead.  I watched the news last night to see if they mentioned him, but they didn't.  Willis didn't seem too upset (or surprised) that they didn't say his name. 

Here are a few funny things that Willis said yesterday.  At least I think they are funny.

Funny statement #1:  As we were leaving the Dr., I had to stop to use the facilities.  I said, "Hang on, I need to go."  As I handed Willis my purse to hold he said, "Ok.  I'll just be over here by the vagina." 

[note I HATE the word vag--- so we'll call it vag.]  He was standing next to a vag model that was in the Dr.'s office - you know, one of those medical thingees that show all the female parts?  Not a REAL vag model/person, you pervs.  I tried to Google it so I could put a picture to show you, but for some reason lots of other kinds of vages showed up that I thought were inappropriate for even you. 

Funny statement #2:  Yesterday on our way home I saw one of those missing cat signs on a stop sign.  I always get so sad when I see these, because I can't imagine how I would feel to lose Sox or Daisy.  I said, "oh, I get so sad when I see those missing pet signs.  Poor people."  And Willis said, "well, you could always start a pet detective business."  Ok maybe you had to be there, but I found this hilarious.  But maybe this is just Willis's way to tell me to get the hell back to work.  Hmm.... 

Funny statement #3:  I hinted to Willis that I wanted an eternity band (and by hinted I mean I said, "I want an eternity band with the diamonds and sapphires").  When I told him that if he got it for me it meant I would love him for eternity (not really the best selling point since we aren't exactly the type of couple to gaze into each other's eyes and talk about our undying love for one another) he said, "that's not what it means.  It means I never have to get you another gift for all of eternity." 

Remember how I said my feet hurt?  Well, I heard Crocs are good for prego feet, so I went and got a pair.  This is the only kind they had, but I'll (clearly) wear anything at this point if it makes them stop throbbing.

Something tells me my chances of getting that eternity band would

increase tremendously if I wasn't sporting these when Willis gets home.

Lastly, can we talk about this JACKASS?  Yes, that is two handicapped spots they have taken over, and no, there isn't a handicapped sticker on his/her car - I checked.  I almost left a note on their windshield that said, "you ass hole", but I was too scared of getting caught.  I also almost ratted them out to the store I was going into, but I thought that would be bad tattle karma.

bye!

Catfight

I'm taking a break from unpacking because my feet are killing me!  I was in jammies sporting my tennis shoes in the kitchen to try and get a little more support.  Yes, I refer to sneakers as tennis shoes; no, I never stop whining. 

Normally I would have complete agita being surrounded by a sea of boxes, but it's not really bothering me for some reason.  I think it's because I'm just so happy that yesterday is o-v-e-r.  I'm not sure that I would use Mustang Movers again, but that's a story for another day, and I've always heard that if you can't say something nice...

...then tell the story about the CATFIGHT you got in yesterday!  ME-OW! 

Here's a little background.  Apparently in our building you have to reserve the freight elevator when you move.  Mustang Movers found out the hard way and had to wait for 2 1/2 hours for 2 other moves to finish before they could use it.  Oops.  You see, their boss told me that he was going to check with the office to see if they needed to do anything, so I figured that everything was taken care of.  You know what they say about ASSuming.  Don't worry, though, we gave them an extra hungee and I got them pizzas for their trouble. 

Fast forward to me waiting at the bottom of the freight elevator to put in my key card when up walks HB (Heinous Bitch) with her dog.  HB marches up to the button, and after she presses it, I say "oh, the elevator is stuck on 4 right now with some movers."  Things got really heated really fast so I honestly can't remember the exact dialogue that was exchanged, but here are some highlights.  She was yelling.  And I was all red and blotchy with hot ears by the end. 

Highlights from HB below.  Picture a more sun-damaged Angela from The Office: 

"You people have no consideration for your neighbors, you have been hogging this elevator all day!!!!"  [editor's note - I had gotten there 3 minutes prior and my movers had been waiting to use it for hours]

"This is crazy!!!!!!"  [editor's note - we had literally only been waiting for 2.5 minutes for them to come down with my first load of furniture]

"Maybe like normal people you could make some room for others in the elevator when you pack your shit!!"  [editor's note - my movers hadn't even made one trip yet, and lady, I think it's fairly obvious I'm not the one packing shit in the elevator]

"This has never been a problem before your move today!!!!!!  [see first editor's note]

Highlights from me, after I tried explaining that we had just started the move:

"This is a FREIGHT elevator - to be used for FREIGHT.  Why don't you use the inside elevator like everyone else?!"  To which she points to her poor limping dog and rolls her eyes and huffs and puffs so I scream, "WELL I AM JUST TRYING TO HELP!"

"Geez!!" 

"You need to relax!"

"None of this is my fault!"

"You're going to scream at a PREGNANT LADY for something that's not even her fault!?"  She really liked this one.  I think I got an "oh, PLEASE." 

After she tried to unsuccessfully jam herself and her dog in the elevator with all of my furniture and the 3 movers as soon as the elevator arrived, the movers told her to (politely) to get out of the way so they could unload.  Then the 5 of us rode back up together - like one big happy family.   Except with her still huffing and puffing and mumbling and me suggesting that if she has such an issue, she should just call the office.  "OH I WILLLLLL!!!"  (oh no, I'm scared.)  I just couldn't hold back so I turned and said to Neck Tattoo (mover #2), "see why we are moving?  All of our neighbors are just as bad as she is."   Well, HB didn't like this AT ALL.  Once we reached her floor, she stormed out and yelled "GET OVER YOURSELF!  GOOD F@CKING RIDDANCE TO YOU!!!!" 

Once the door closed I called her some very bad names which the movers loved, then Neck Tattoo got really excited and said, "Yeah!! I bet it was her fault that her dog had to have surgery!!!"  Um, ok Neck Tattoo - I don't really understand what that means or how that's really an insult, but I get that you are trying to hate on HB so I'll take it.

Hey HB - see you next Tuesday!!!!!  (C U Next.....)

Decisions, Decisions

No less than 20 minutes of my day today was spent in the candy isle at Target, agonizing over which assorted bag to buy.  (Baby Logan/Evan has really developed quite the sweet tooth, and I need to be prepared in case the only kid that lives in our building shows up early for Halloween.)  I finally went with the Hershey Kiss/Mr. Goodbar/Hershey Bar/Krackel (who I want to marry)/Reese Cup/Special Dark combo.  I was initially turned off by this combination, because they HAD to throw that Special Dark in there.  Who eats those?  I actually feel kind of bad for Special Dark. 

Really, Special Dark?  Nobody likes you. 

Next on the agenda was the candle isle, which consisted of another 15 minutes smelling every candle, struggling between the cinnamon and pumpkin spice.  To be fair, part of this time was spent by me shooting dirty looks to a woman who was being mean to her kids, so let's call it 12 minutes on candles.  Pumpkin spice came out on top, by the way.

It's amazing to me how it can take me insane amounts of time to decide on something as trivial as candles and candy, when life changing or expensive decisions I will happily make in a second.  Move 2,000 miles away to Texas?  Why not!  Test drive?  Who needs a test drive - we'll take it.

Right now in the Kilham household there is a scientific experiment going on.  At the grocery the other day [domestic goddess] I was like a deer in headlights trying to decide between tissue brands.  Should I spend the extra 40 cents on Kleenex brand, when the HEB brand looks just as good AND has a cowboy picture on it?  So, I decided to get both.  Willis's allergies have been acting up so he has been my subject.  I've asked him to alternate between boxes every time he has to blow his nose.  He said he's leaning towards the HEB brand, but I think that's just because he likes the picture of the cowboy on it.

Willis (aka good sport of the year) with the Kilham scientific experiment. 

Hair

I would consider myself very low maintenance when it comes to hair.  Since moving to Texas, nine times out of ten I don't even take a dryer to it - I just slick it back into a bun.  I'm not sure it's the most becoming 'do in the world, but hair drying to me ranks up there with cleaning... I find it almost unbearable.

I stopped by a random hair place in a strip mall last week for a trim (see first paragraph), since it had been months and months since my last cut.  I didn't want ANY funny business - no layers, nothing - just a trim.  Each time I'm in the haircut hot seat I feel like I'm bullied into a cut I don't want, similar to going to My Nails in Boston for a brow wax (you're on the table with a hot wax stick waving an inch above your face while they keep saying, "Uppah Lih?  Uppah Lih?" until you have to physically restrain them from waxing your upper lip). 

But, I digress.

Once again, even though in my head I said that I would be firm about TRIM ONLY, I had no choice but to go ahead with Margot's plan.  "I can under-cut it so it curls under on it's own!"  Go for it, Margot.  "How about a few layers to frame your face?"  That sounds great, Margot.  Once again I was defeated. 

I used to be a much bigger risk-taker with my hair.  When I first lived in Boston I decided that I wanted the cut that Gwyneth Paltrow had in my favorite movie at the time, Sliding Doors.  Picture in hand, I had the owner of Leeba Salon on Comm Ave go to town.  I thought it looked pretty good when I left the salon, but the next morning when I tried to do it on my own, it was HEINOUS.  I couldn't even put it behind my ear, and it was really puffy around my face and poodle-like in the back.  I looked like a man.  From all angles. 

The next day, I marched back into the salon sporting my heinous cut and holding the picture, and made a teeny tiny scene.  Saleeba was with a client, but I couldn't wait. 

Me, standing in the front of the salon, looking ridiculous in every way and for all to see:  "THIS [angrily pointing to my hair], is NOT THIS!!!!" [holding up the Gwynny pic]

Saleeba excused himself from his client and took me aside.  I was expecting an apology, but got nothing of the sort.  He said something along the lines of,  "I can cut your hair any way you like, but you will never look like Gwyneth Paltrow."

Ouch!  I got schooled! 

I don't think I have to tell you that I never went back to Leeba Salon, and I spent the next year plotting revenge against Saleeba while growing out my hair. 


I don't think it's a coincidence that my mother thought Catherine and I were dating during this time.

Hold the door!

I'm getting ready to GO SHOPPING for the little one (name undecided), but thought I would share a brief story from yesterday afternoon.

I'll cut right to the chase with the moral of the story:  If there is an obviously prego lady behind you / about to walk through the same door, it's common courtesy to NOT LET THE DOOR SLAM SHUT IN HER FACE (or big belly since that's what is first these days).

I was getting the mail outside of my building, right next to some guy (we'll call him Yankees Hat since that is what he was wearing.  He wasn't only wearing a Yankees Hat though - he had on other clothing too).  I was following him into the building, then - WHAM!  He lets the door almost shut behind him, right where I am walking.  He knew I was there.

I was steaming mad, trying with all of my might not to say something to him.  "Don't say anything Ali, let it go, let it go, don't say anything...."   

Here is the conversation once we were in the elevator:

Me:  "You from New York?"
Yankees Hat:  "Yeah, born and raised."
Me:  "Well I guess in New York they don't teach you to hold open doors for pregnant ladies."
Yankees Hat:  [stares at floor in silence pretending like he has all of a sudden lost his sense of hearing]

Awwwwkwarrrrrddddddddddd