The 'blogger' image uploading server is down right now (and was last night and this morning)! We've had our first snow here in Kansas City. First snow in the new house. First snow that the dogs might actually remember - right now it's brand new all over again to them, and they love it!
Not only that, but we have decorated the outside of our house for Christmas, and with the fresh snow all over it it is quite gorgeous if I do say so myself.
NOT ONLY THAT - but I spent about an hour last night starting to relearn photoshop! (I was doing something that should have only taken 5 minutes; and it would have only taken the Stallion 5 seconds) I want to post it already!
I don't know about you, but I really only like reading blogs with lots of pictures. I'm kind of impatient ('understatement of the century' the Stallion is thinking right now) and a little bit of a voyeur, so a story told by pictures and minimal words is my kind of story.
See how I'm making an unnecessary amount of paragraphs? I'm doing this to trick you into reading this post. Doesn't seem that long and cumbersome, right??? Right?
Tap tap. Ahem. Is this thing on?
Anyway, tonight is the Italian Stallion's company holiday party. I used to work there until the Spring of this year, so it's definitely something I'm looking forward to. Unfortunate it has to be on a Thursday this year, but tight budgets do that to things.
Here's the best part - the Stallion told me today at 11:30 that the party starts at 6. SIX O'CLOCK. Technically my office hours are until 5:30. We live 15 minutes away. The party is a subsequent 15 minutes from our home (back downtown). That leaves me 0 minutes to get ready. ZERO.
Now, let me tell you why I ASSumed that it would be alright for me to not wash my hair this morning. Not blow it out. Not smooth it with a straightening iron. Not pluck my eyebrows.
I used to plan the parties at said company (I was Miss Minister of Fun, after all, incremental to my real, serious job). They were always on Friday. They started at 7 (so dinner would obviously be served). But this year it's a Thursday because of budget cuts. So would it still start at 7 and include dinner? Or would they have pushed it to 8 and only serve passed h'ors deouvres? (um, this is the second time I've written about passed h'ors deouvres in as many posts. No, I am not a snob. No, I do not have money coming out of my eyeballs. Just FYI.)
**That paragraph got a little out of control, didn't it? I hope it didn't seem so intimidating that you stopped reading.**
Apparently they decided to move it to a Thursday in order to keep dinner in the mix (I'm assuming). And now it's an hour earlier! That means fashionably late is 6:45 at the latest. Short amount of getting ready time. Particularly when you take into account that I have yet to even commit to a dress.
So, what am I going to do? Well, I'll tell you what I've done already. I used my eating lunch time to run home and work out the hair situation. It's probably better that my eating time was eliminated. Dresses and food don't mix that well. Part one of averting crisis mission: accomplished.
But this whole story begs the question: why did the Italian Stallion not share the invite with me 3 weeks ago when it was sent out? Invitations are crucial, you know. There are hints in every aspect of it. Time indicates what level of nourishment you can expect. Cocktail attire indicates, well, that you need to be sure to have a dress that fits you and you look absolutely stunning in. And that you should have a total beauty night the night before. And, wouldn't I be interested in seeing the invitation since I used to be in charge of that stuff? I mean, has it totally gone downhill since I left? (that's not likely because one of my good friends with impeccable taste is still directing this sort of stuff, but still...)
Ok, so now that I've gotten that out, let's talk about all the responsibility I'm leaving on the table. Regardless of start time, I knew last night that I should have done my 'beauty time'. But I didn't. I was lazy. Plan B was to get up early enough to take care of my hair at the very least (I have naturally curly hair, FYI). But I didn't do that. I was lazy. So, naturally, I would be served a 6pm curveball midday. I'm rolling with it. And rolling the blame right on over to the Italian Stallion. How sweet of me.
Was that last paragraph too long for you to want to read? Here's hoping.
Anyway, hopefully this public assuming of blame will make up for the fact that I blamed the Stallion a few paragraphs ago. In a long one, too. Did you read it? Nah, didn't think so. See, love! No harm done!
Man, I'm hungry.