Shades of blonde

I stopped by the dry cleaners, on a whim, to see if my missing pink sweater that I wore to my dad's wedding reception might be there. "Yep", the cashier told me, "you owe $28.79". Sure, I bought it at Banana Republic, it has a great neckline, and is super soft, but almost $30? To clean? Beer and mozarella cheese stick stains are that difficult to remove?

Returning with my pink sweater and two dresses (ahhhhh), she told me they'd been there since October 2004, and were on their way to Goodwill this weekend, if I hadn't shown up.


I saw my house on the internet, on a local realtor's listing website, went to look at it during my lunch hour, and put in an offer the next day. I immediately fell in love with the yard, which is a beautiful corner lot with puh-lenty of trees and blooming azaleas. The only problem? I'm not exactly sure where my property line is. I'd like to rake it and take some cuttings, but I'm kind of embarrassed to go next door and ask after a year and a half. Either way, somebody should probably get out there and rake.

L'Oreal. Because I'm worth it.

You be the judge - doesn't that little green pylon look like a property marker?


This is really an odd way to leave a text message, but okay...

The plan: my sister is moving to Alabama in May to live with her mother for the summer and take a few college classes while she's here. She wanted me to fly to Michigan, then ride down here with her so she'll have someone to share the 20+ hour drive south. The road trip tatoos are being negotiated.

The snag: my sister is a flake. A beautiful blonde airhead. I've booked my ONE WAY ticket to Michigan, but can't reach her to double-check the date of my arrival. She hasn't answered her phone, which has no voicemail, and I'm guessing there was another incident involving her cell phone and an open bottle of beer from the bar hidden in her purse.

I am going to kick. her. ass. if I'm taking a week off to fly one way and she's changed the plan.


A shallow, unmarked grave

Looks like the cat mafia has a new calling card.
A second dead chipmunk was placed outside my door tonight.

[This is actually my gentlest kitten, Crackhead Kennedy, yawning.

No drunken, aspiring photographers - me - were harmed during the taking of this photo]