Typical

I couldn't wait to watch the OC tonight... alright? I was so excited... and so I switched on the TV and found a lying liar "talking" about social security, and other brilliant ideas... and no "The Nana in South Beach"... WHAT GIVES?!?!?

Excellent. I would have hoped FOX was above politics and above useful informational programs such as Presidential Press Conferences... but no! NOW they decide to provide the public with information that actually affects their lives.

Typical.

Late Night Pedicure, and other oddities

I am fairly confident in proclaiming that I am not your average girl. I'm odd. And that's a large part of what I enjoy about myself. I'm quirky, eccentric, dorky, geek-like, and "unique"-- but the kind of unique that people say when they're trying to describe someone who is "nice." I trust you understand what I mean. But all in all, I enjoy those characteristics of myself, and wouldn't change them in a million years.

However, every now and then, I do something so inexplicably odd that I find myself troubled. One such thing happened last night.

I went to bed at 1am, and fell into a fitful sleep filled with scheduling questions, door knocking volunteers, and direct mail pieces. It was not an easy sleep. At precisely 3:16am, I woke with a start and was dying for two things: a big gulp sized water (fresh from the tap), and a pedicure. What?! Huh?

So, I got my water and I swear to you, I didn't stop drinking for 5 minutes. After thoroughly satisfying my desire for agua, I then turned my attention to my toes. My toes! On my feet, which have been described, not so lovingly, as "Hobbit Feet." You shall remain nameless, mean-one.

Anyway... why the need to take care of my feet and toes? It makes no sense to do this at what has become 3:45am. No need. But I couldn't sleep, and figured I should be productive. So I filed, clipped, moisturized, and painted my way towards happier feet. Yes, I used the m-word.

4:15 arrived, and still, I was sleepless. And so, I began to play "bejewelled" on my cell phone. I didn't know I had it, but now that I do, I'm so thrilled. I achieved record breaking high scores, against myself, and felt, finally, that at 4:43am, I should try to sleep once more.

Good thing the birds chose JUST THEN to start their bitching, erm, chirping. Because little ole molly didn't get to sleep until 5:23. Which is fabulous.

THE END.

(I thank you for taking the time to read this nonsense. I know it's useless and boring, but it helps me unwind. Writing, and Corona- which I am sipping at this moment.)

Diet Coke Count: one 16 oz. fountain soda
Coffee Count: none. I ran out of it yesterday :(
Subsequent Headaches from lack of caffeine and pollen: 4.53
Music: Indigo Girls
Ebbitt's Update: Still, not the best at eating. But he looks fatter, so I'm going to assume he's fine. I mean, it could be a bad-fur day, right?

Happy Birthday Boys!

My two good friends are celebrating birthdays today:

Christopher Broadbin Thomas, "Crickie/Crick/Hector/Hector Q."
&
Jonathan Gundersen, "Mr. Big"

Here's hoping that your venture into 25 year old land was more fun than mine!

Stank Hair

I haven't washed my hair in 3 days. I've taken showers, ok, so knock it off... but wash my hair? Not so much.

Ahh, the joys of not having anything to do or any friends in Richmond.

That's all I have to say about that. I'm sure ya'll will have many a comment though.

Matilda* and Leo, Sitting in a Tree

One of my good friends Matilda*, one of DC's best and brightest, called me last night to inform me of a rumor like no other. Turns out her hometown in Michigan has quite the rumor spreading like wildfire. It seems as though little Miss Matilda not only lives in NYC (lie #1), but she has be cavorting with celebrities (lie #2). AND, to add a decidedly delicious twist, she recently got so hammered the other night that she BANGED Leonardo di caprio (lie #3).

To get this out of the way: If Matilda WANTED to bang Leo, she certainly could. She's THAT enigmatic and lovely. But that is not the point.

The point is this... Gossip is a glorious thing. It has little to do with reality, but makes for one heck of a story. However, I'd like to mention to creator of said story: If Matilda was going to bang a celebrity, she would certainly aim higher than Leo. I know for a fact she'd settle for nothing less than a Ewan McGregor circa "Moulin Rouge" or perhaps back to "Trainspotting." So get it right next time.

Diet Coke Count: one 7-11 Big Gulp. And it's glorious.
Coffee Count: none. In honor of the new pope (We have a Pope!- proclaimed FOX NEWS), I am repenting for yesterday's sins.
Music: Yo Yo Ma.
Ebbitt's Update: He's getting his hairs cut... ha ha ha. And I'm not.

*Name changed to protect the integrity, reputation, and sanity of those involved.

Pollen: One of Three Strikes against Richmond

Strike 1: Pollen- It covers everything, including me, my dog, my patio, my eyes, my car, my street, my sanity. All of it. And, I was well informed that I should expect this until roughly August or so. Which is awesome, because it's not like I have anything to do until then.

Strike 2: PEPSI- I mean... did these people NOT see that white hot Diet Coke commercial with Kate Beckinsale, or the equally sexy-ugly Adrian Brody? People! Listen! Look! Open your eyes! Reward your tastebuds! Coke is it! Pepsi is sooooo not... it's, like, PITTSBURGH or some equally detestable city. Gross.

Strike 3: ... Damn, I got too worked up with 1 and 2 that I forgot what 3 was. But I made the mental list today, so it should come back to me. I guess I'll write it when I think of it.

Diet Coke Count: 12 ounces. But don't be impressed (see coffee count below)
Coffee Count: 5 trips to Starbucks and 3 iced teas. Fully caffeinated as I'm afraid of formaldehyde. That's my new excuse. Thanks JW. Mwah.
Music: The Decemberists. I liked their name, so I purchased their CD and am quite pleased with myself. Risks are phun.
Ebbitt's Update: He only eats people food. He begs with his beady little blind eyes and I've ruined any socialization skills he learned in DC. Which is ironic, as TF was his male role model. Anyway, the little man is in for a little surprise as he's getting his hairs cut tomorrow. He'll probably go on hunger strike in retaliation, so stay tuned.

There's beauty in the Breakdown

This past week was a hard one. Too many Chiefs, and not enough Indians... Ironically, I would love to be one of the Indians (in so many levels), but I HAVE to be a Chief.

So of course I internalize my anxiety and forge ahead, RMC style... but no more. Once I allowed myself to admit I cannot do it alone, and that I need people as much as they need me to make it a success... there was comfort. Or, as one of my favorite songs says, "there's beauty in the breakdown." Rock on Frou Frou, rock on.

I have to be somewhere in an hour, and the sun is out (as is a copious amount of pollen), but that's ok... I can do this. I can.

tttttttttttypical

I am typing this EXACTLY the way my computttttttter is working. I am ytping correctly, but hte computer hates hte leetr "t" and you can see how it's effing wih me, hte NIGHT before hte Announcemen.

I mean, seriously-- Wha tdid i do ot deserve htis.

www.katherinewaddell.com ya'll

hink of me fondly. it's do or die otmorrow.

Oh! to be the Sport's Gal

This is why I heart the Sports Guy:

"Fans at Yankee Stadium even booed the great closer on his way back to the dugout, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that Yankee fans are headed to hell." Bill Simmons

In other news, do not, DO NOT (I tell you), pour a glass of water onto your laptop. It disrupts day entirely.

If it weren't for Ox and her oddly timed, yet perfectly necessary email warning a bunch of us Gdubers (and one Bostonian) to back up our files, I would have been one sad, sad molly.

Also, I do not enjoy 82 degrees. Not one bit. I hate the heat, and hate that summer is pretending to arrive. Hate it.

GAME ON

Imagine my delight in being able to watch the Red Sox take on the Stankees, erm, Yankees ... live (on TV) in Richmond. What a treat. And now, my heart is beating, my pulse is racing, and suddenly, I wonder why I missed it so much... this is INSANE behavior.

I can't write much because I'm watching the game/assembling a mailing for work, so I'll leave you with this:

"We don't believe in no stinking curses"- Red Sox President Larry Lucchino

.GAME ON.

Christian Children's Fund

All of the children that are captured on film by the Christian Children's Fund (that group that donates money to starving, impoverished, etc. children in 3rd world countries) have one thing very much in common with me:

THEY ALL LOOK LIKE MINI MOLLY JACKSONs

So, in the grand spirit of giving, if you are interested in helping my possible brothers/sisters/aunts/uncles/nieces/nephews, and are Christian or support Christian charities, please consider a donation to my brethren: 1-800-316-5300.

The medicine is making me delusional. I apologize.