Universe, Are You Trying to Tell Me Something?

Stupid stuff.

I do so much stupid stuff and so much stupid stuff just happens to me all the time. I think the Universe does this to make up for my lucky streaks like winning concert tickets and massage chairs.

Case in point.

Monday morning, I'm getting ready in my get ready room (you know the room next to the bedroom that usually is the baby's room? No baby, hence my get ready room) Now let me set up the situation here for you. When I get out of the shower I stay wrapped in my towel while I do my hair and my makeup, getting dressed is the last thing I do before I walk out the door. And just in case you're wondering, no I am NOT Kristina's naked neighbor, I keep my blinds closed thank you very much!

So I'm sitting in my get ready chair, wrapped in a towel mind you, and curling the back of my hair with my big fat curling iron. I'm using my right hand to hold the iron in my hair when somehow it decides to jump out of my hand. While it has detached itself from my hand, it is still attached to my hair so instead of falling to the floor, it lands on my chest. At the very same time my towel bails out and hits the floor ducking for cover, or so it says, but we both know my towel was in on the nasty prank and and did this on purpose.

Stupid towel.

As the iron starts burning a big fat groove into my boob I'm thinking in my head that I've gotta get this iron off my chest before it is permanently embedded in my skin. So I grab it with my hand, not by the handle mind you, but of course I grab the burning hot portion of the iron which relieves the burning from my chest by transferring the searing pain to my hand.

Finally my smarter left hand steps in and grabs the iron by the handle and releases it from my hair. Now I'm sitting there in shock and confused about what just happened. I run into the bedroom where my hubster was still sleeping and try to explain what had just happened and he holds back his laughter as he comforts me.

Now I have a beautiful purple looking burn on my chest with one on my hand to match. I think I better stick to my heavenly straightner and leave the curling iron alone from now on.

But I believe everything happens for a reason and the good thing from this situation is that my finger tips on my right hand may be permanently smooth and free of fingerprints. I've decided this is another sign from God that I have a higher calling, a hit-woman.

So if anyone needs a "hand" in any "situation", I'm your gal. My rates are reasonable and I gaurantee 100% satisfaction or your money back.

Murry Christman!

This may surprise you, but I did attend college. I even graduated, but with a degree in Accounting, not Orthography.


or·thog·ra·phy (ôr-thgr-f)
1. The art or study of correct spelling according to established usage and language.


If only there were such thing as spell check for manual writing, I would be celebrating Christmas, not Christman.

Making a Christmas Count Down calendar has been a tradition in my family ever since I was a wee little drooling one. My lil sis and I are trying to continue this tradition with our own families so we put our two blond heads together last Sunday determined to make the best Christmas Count Down ever.

We made plans for an extravagant countdown using actual Christmas material, with needles & threads, hung on wooden rods with sparkly ribbons & fancy wooden letters, but after chasing Logan (my nephew) through Walmart Lin & I came home with about 9 bags of candy & plain white poster board.



Which is why we ended up stealing what materials we could scrounge up at my mom's house hoping she wouldn't notice that we horded her sacred Christmas tree bows of which Lindee carefully chopped up and ironed with baby sis's stolen flat iron in attempt at giving my poster some dignity since I cannot spell.

After a few hours of making a mess of my mom's dining room floor, tying Logan to a tree outside so he wouldn't color on our posters, and leaving our husbands to fend for themselves, we finally finished our make-shift count down calendars.

Of course the spelling error was not my fault directly. I blame Alex.

If he wouldn't have given me Silkman as my last name, this never would have happened. After writing Silkman for 7 years after my name, it's no wonder I automatically finished Christmas with an 'n' instead of an 's'.

So because of my hubster, we, the Silkman's, will be celebrating Christman this year.

(If I receive ANY comments about how my Christman Count Down calendar has no numbers or how we can't hang it up because the weak little poster board can in no way hold the 10 pounds of candy that we meticulously tied to it with festive red and green ribbons, I will hunt you down, tie you to a chair, sit on your lap and sing "Murry Christman Darling" over & over.)

Moral of the story: Don't ever leave two blonds unsupervised with scissors, glue, and candy!

Thank God I'm A Sucker

I am, have always been and quite possibly will always be

a sucker.

Doesn't matter what your selling, if you come to my door and smile, I will buy it! I just can't bring myself to say no to someone who has spent the last 15 minutes desperately hyping up his product in hopes that this gullible blond will cave in so he can feed his 12 starving children McDonald's tonight instead of their usual night of rummaging through the gas station trash can in search of anything edible.

I know, I know, it's not like that AT ALL for these sales people but still...it could be right? So Bert has tried to help me just say no, but I am the most passive aggressive person you will ever meet so I started saying:

"Well how about you come back when my husband is home?" But I soon found out this wasn't a good tactic when one salesman responded:

"You mean your husband doesn't let you make any decisions on your own?"

That right there made me angry, put of course I just smiled politely and said "Nope!" and shut the door. Ahhh, Bert was so proud.



So I thought I was getting better until I went to the mall last week.

By myself.

While walking through the mall kiosks, I was approached by this man who said he wanted to show me something, I had seen these booths before with their flat irons and hair extensions and thought it wouldn't hurt anything to just humor this guy for a bit right?

Wrong!

He sat me down on the chair and started flat ironing my hair which was no big deal until he showed me how to curl my hair with the flat iron. I was amazed! Perfect ringlets with a flat iron? Impossible!

So I sat there and let him curl my whole head and talk about how great the product is and how he was a hair stylist over seas and had just moved to the United States a couple months ago. It was all fine and dandy until he told me how much the straightener costs,

$250


What? But of course he could sell it to me for a measly 170 bucks. Because I was special. Because he liked me.

I didn't want to buy it, I already had a straightener at home, I was about to suck it up and say no like I had practiced, but then he told me the flat iron came in pink!

I stalled, the poor guy had worked so hard on getting this sale I couldn't just say no! What if he started to cry? I couldn't walk away and feel good about myself that I made a grown man cry could I?!

There was no turning back now. I told myself I would buy it today and return it tomorrow. So the man got his sale and I left with the pink wonder in my hand.

It sat in it's box at my house for a week. I was going to return it, I really was.

But then I used it. And instantly the heavens opened up and smiled down on me and I fell in love.

And I now thank God everyday for making me a sucker.

For if I wasn't a sucker I would not have this pink miracle in my life today.