So many pretty colors!!!!

We bought our big screen TV last night. It will be delivered today. I'm so excited I'm going to wet mahself. This purchase marks the proverbial completion to our new house. Except the landscaping. That's Mike's job. I'm not digging holes and getting dirty, are you MAD?!?!

The reason none of you have been invited to a housewarming party is not because we don't love you...it's because of this important piece of equipment. We have big furniture and the arrival of my "Big Red Chair" further dwarfed the 27" TV that had been so faithful to me. The little TV is intimidated and I hear it cry at night.

So that's the end of my little story. I'm excited. I get to watch Disney movies and Family Guy in Hi Def and I will never want to leave my living room again...until Mike gets his Xbox. Then I'm banished to the bedroom or up in the game room. Just toss me a Coke, a bag of Twizzlers and one of the cats and I'll be happy. Oh and don't forget my fuzzy socks, God help you if you forget my fuzzy socks.

Speaking of socks, I got my Holly Madison skater socks last night. ROCK ON!

One Hit Wonderland

I love cats.

Let me rephrase that. I love MY cats. not other people's cats. I can honestly say I am obsessed with them. For reasons that Mike cannot understand, I can read the expressions on their faces. If I leave the room, one of them follows me. They could be in one of those dead weight naps that only cats can achieve, but as SOON as I leave the room, one of them is up to begin guard duty. They take turns. Neither one of them is more protective than the other. I've even seen the do the rock paper scissors thing to see who was going to follow me upstairs.

If they lose sight of me, Ceasar does the howling cry. "Helloooo!" echoes thru the house. "I'm in here"....and he comes trouncing in, fat belly just swinging away.

Romeo steals my pillows...yes, BOTH of them. Since he's about 20 pounds, he feels this is okay, he needs the room. No fat boy, get off my pillow. We have fights about it. The floor is not good enough for him, he needs a cushy pillow(s). We are not in Egypt, you are not a god in this house. Romeo feels otherwise.

They have a routine. They get treats before I leave the house in the morning and on Sunday they get a can of wet cat food. The chunky kind in gravy. Not the mealy mashed 'looks like it had already been eaten' crap. Gross. They KNOW when it's Sunday.

And they are gay.

Hippity Hop Hippity Hop

Izabella St James' book Bunny Tales came out last week. I'm heading to Barnes and Noble this weekend to get it. I've always had a fascination with everything Playboy. I had my silver Playboy purse and pink rhinestone keychain before The Girls Next Door was aired. Being one of Hef's girls was the epitomy of sexiness to me. I'd never make the cut though. I'm not blonde, I'm not young enough, and my boobs, although FANTASTIC, aren't big enough to grab his attention.

So I was listening this morning to a radio station that had Dave Navarro on as a guest(another guilty pleasure of mine, le purrrr) and Izabella came on after him. After hearing some of the stories about dirty sheets, stained mattresses and having to be intimate with an 80 year old man...I kinda changed my mind about wanting to be one of Hef's girlfriends. I'm sure he pops Viagra like Smarties. I'll settle for being a CyberGirl. The only thing holding my interest to the dream is the unlimited plastic surgery available to the girlfriends and the parties. Holy Moly, I'd turn in my girls for a set of bigger ones and have my body completely overhauled. But Alas, it will never happen. But I'm okay with that.

I don't like to sleep on dirty sheets and it was Camille Paglia who said, "Sex at age 90 is like trying to shoot pool with a rope."

That wasn't raita

I'm trying a few things out to get the hang of blogging...so bear with me. I'm like the Rainman of technology. I can't work and iPod, I don't have Bill Pay and I can't figure out how to change the ringer for different people on my phone. I'd love to have Gold Digger play when my brother calls.

Adventures in Bombay

I have heartburn. I called my bff to find out the nearest place to get indian food. I had a hankering for samosas. She directs me to an indian restaurant in the Village. A bit of a drive in congested downtown and Rice University area...but I needed some curry, STAT. I take off with my food and I find a nice neat little container of raita (a yogurt sauce that cleanses the palate and coats the stomach from the harsh spices.)

I dipped a big piece of Chicken Tikki Masala in it only to realize that it wasn't raita...but rice pudding. I was wondering why it wasn't on the buffet.

I never did get to the samosas.

The End.

My First Blog

It sounds like a preschooler's book doesn't it? My First Blog, a guide to Preschool Blogging. By the time I have kids, this will be an acutal book and they will be setting me up for Bill Pay before they are walking.

And just so everyone knows who to blame, I started this at the prompting of Chevy. Apparently, according to her, all hot Texas chicks are doing it, and being a hot Texas chick, it was time.

Let's Rock n' Roll.