I don’t even know WHAT to title a post that involves mystery fibres…

I just sent an email to my boss asking for the three days between Christmas and New Years off for holidays. Pray for me people, because if my request is rejected there’s gonna be a mutiny involving flying staplers and flesh-eating shredding machines and that can’t be good can it now? Gaaah ! Vicky need holiday.

Ten whole days at home is sounding better to me right now than sipping Belinis on the beaches of Hawaii while a well tanned muscular hunk fans me with a large leaf. Ten whole days without payroll, filing, phone calls, emails, taxiing kids to activities. Ten whole days of rest, food, family. I need that.


Yesterday I finally got something off of my desk that’s been haunting me for WEEKS. I have been shuffling the same piece of paper to the bottom of my to-do pile since the end of September and the guilt and the worry I’ve experienced over this one stupid project is just not worth it. Tuesday night I actually dreamed about it, so I decided Wednesday morning that this project had to be my first priority of the day. I just had to sit my ass down and type a response letter and get it the heck out of the building. So I did it.

It took me ten minutes. Le sigh.


Also yesterday I wore the most ridiculous sweater ever.

My friend Natalie, who goes to Weight Watchers with me and who started out about the same size as I did, has lost over 45 pounds. Lucky for me, she is a snazzy dresser and everytime she shrinks out of her clothes she passes them on to me. The first time she gave me her hand me downs I received two big black garbage bags full of gorgeous clothes (enough for a fall wardrobe) and as I sorted and piled them up on my coffee table I did a few victory laps/dances around the mountain of goodness.

(in the midst of doing the funky chicken around the table I bashed my toe on one of the table legs and very nearly broke it. My toe, not the table. Much swearing and knashing of teeth ensued. Until I spied the pile of clothes again, which brightened my mood considerably and prompted me to continue dancing…with a slight hobble)

Anyways, in this mountain of clothes there was a beautiful black sweater with fur trim on the collar and sleeves (fake fur. do not throw paint at this juncture). I called it my “poodle sweater.” and I wore it for the first time yesterday. Everytime I walked or moved or breathed a piece of that black fur (fake fur. still no paint throwing please) would disengage from the sweater and fly out into the atmosphere…and land on whatever project I was working on…or whatever toilet I was sitting on…or whatever soup I was eating.

There are currently people in the Vancouver area who, after receiving a project I was working on yesterday, are probably wondering as to the origin of the little black hairs under EVERY piece of scotch tape affixed to that booklet. Are they hoping for the best? As in, please God let these little black hairs be from a poodle sweater and not, oh holy mother of all that is disgusting and vile, the alternative. I guess we’ll never really know.

I do know that when I got home and learned from the hangtag that that sweater was DRYCLEAN ONLY I quickly ran it downstairs and dumped it in the storage room right into the Goodwill garbage bag in the corner. Dryclean Only does not fit into my lifestyle.

…hell, IRONING does not fit into my lifestyle.


2 responses to this post.

  1. Hi- found your blog through DirtyBananaPants…*laughs*
    I can sorta relate to your poodle sweater girl… Only sorta because first of all
    that would have riled me up a wall with the fur and all…

    Second because the fly away syndrome I am having is attached to my head.. My weave sheds girl, and it is not a pretty sight. Thank God I have my real hair entwined with it, because I would probable be looking like a crack addict through rehab from
    pulling my hair out versus scoring.. Yeah I know…it is sad..But what is a girl to do
    when she wants to look good?

    Congrats on your WW program…



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