Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Please, for the sake of your marriage, buy patio furniture that doesn't require cushions.

I hope you all had a great Memorial Day Weekend.

Our humble salute to the men and women who died for
our country and our freedom.

We spent some time with some friends around the fire pit with marshmallows and music. It was great.

We also tended to some projects.
We fixed up the patio area a bit....
I planted some more flowers....
The pumpkin patch now has a border....
Brock cleaned the gutter. Yes, singular.
Thing 2 took two steps.
I made red wine spritzers that were delicious.
I almost got into a brawl with my husband and Home Depot asked us not to return. Just kidding?

You have all probably figured out by now that I like deals.

I like to find something that someone else cast off and make it beautiful and useful.

I tell myself that I am being creative! I am recycling! I am thrifty!

But really, I'm usually just low on cash and can't buy what I really want. That... and I really do get a thrill from making an inexpensive flea market item be an beautiful centerpiece of an area that I designed.

When I found this little outdoor couch for $15 at Habitat for Humanity, five years ago, I couldn't pass it up. So I purchased it, loaded it in my truck and brought it to the Land of Misfit Treasures, also known as my house. $15! That is one meal at Applebee's, or one glass of wine at Cafe Vino.

To date that little couch has caused at least three decent arguments with my spouse and cost a grand total of $341 plus tax.

The couch was originally white metal with yellow cushions. It sat for a good year by our fire pit and I realized that moldy faded cushions with wet leaves shoved deep in the crevices seemed.... I don't know.... somewhat trashy? This all happened around the Black Patty O'Furniture period (I decided I wanted all my outdoor furniture to by painted black, in case that wasn't obvious). So I bought 8 cans of black spray paint to give my yard full of mismatched finds some cohesiveness. It worked. Then I started to look for cushions to replace the yucky yellow ones. That is when I realized that cushions are apparently the equivalent of gold. If you have ever shopped for patio furniture cushions, you know that I am referring to the ridiculous price that retailers want for a hunk of foam covered in fabric. After hunting through every damn store in town, with a baby in tow, I settled on the cheapest ones I could find. Three $25 apiece chair cushions from Wal-Mart for a grand total of $75 plus tax. They were a little small and too thin, but I added some cute throw pillows and made them work. That is, until Brock was reroofing the house that fall and a shingle blew off the roof. It landed on a cushion, where it stayed on the cushion- in the boiling hot sun- until I returned home five days later.

Argument number one:
Me, upon spying the shingle on the cushion in 80 degree heat on the south facing patio, "Did you not see this?" I know he saw it because he walked by it every time he stepped out the door.
Brock, casually, because he is casual about everything: "Oh whoops. It was windy."
Me, peeling the tar covered shingle off my new cushion: "I understand how it happened. What I don't understand is why you left it there.
Brock: "It's no big deal. I can get it off."
Me: "You think you can get tar out of fabric? Go for it."
Brock: "I can! I'll just use Goof Off. That stuff takes off everything."
Me, having heard numerous times about the miraculous abilities of Goof Off, but never seeing any results. Ever. Because the husband would have to actually get the Goof Off from the garage and USE IT to get results: "Umhm."

So I switched the cushions around and put a throw pillow over the tar stain. Then we used it two more summers.

Until this year, when the addition of massive fading and a hole made by one of my precious animals (right next to the tar stain) made the cushions appear, well, trashy. Again.

These cushions look how I feel most days.
Game over.

Actually, the entire patio was looking like Romper Room gone 8 Mile.

Good Lord, someone call the maid. Who did this?

"Hi. Can I have some tuna?"
Let's pin the mess on Smelly Cat....
 I was determined to get better cushions this time. I had taken the measurements of the couch (66"x22") numerous times so that I was informed when I went shopping. I even have my own tape measure, which I purchased in purple so that it wouldn't end up in Brock's tools. Brock, the man who lost one of our spade shovels... who threw away our $250 underground dog fence mechanism because it had a break in $20 worth of the line... who I have made go dumpster diving because he threw away a check.... who has to buy things that he already owns because he misplaced it.... Brock, the man who is unable to put things away. You get the picture. My highly skilled, talented, craftsman of a husband, who is also highly scatter-brained does not have permission to touch his type-A personality of a wife's tools. Ever. So I take my purple tape measure to the stores and measure all the fucking cushions. They are all either 20x20 or 24x24. Ugh. And I wasn't going to try making cushions again because of the crack addicted monkey ones that I already made and unfortunately now own. I give up.

Then something miraculous happened. We were at Home Depot last weekend with a gift card. We were going to buy a tree to replace the dead one in the corner of the property.
My mind floated to the pathetic couch and I said, "Hey, let's go look at the cushions. That couch is really looking horrible."
Brock naturally said: "Okay."

So we walked over to the outdoor furniture section and lo and behold! I found a brick red cushion in 22"x23" that PERFECTLY matched the shutters. There were three left. It was meant to be! I didn't even think these cushions existed and I was ecstatic. Search over. I exclaimed "OMG! These are exactly the right size and color!"
They were $69.95 apiece. Ouch.
Brock said: "They are really expensive. We could buy new furniture for this price."

Argument two ensued like so:
I said: "But it is a couch. It is long. You can nap on it. Thing 1 lays on it all the time. These are love seats. And aside from that, I like it."
Brock walked over to some other cushions (cheaper and wrong size) and said: "Why can't we just get these?"
I said: "They aren't the right size."
Brock: "I think they would work."
Me: "I've measured it 8 times. They are too small. I promise."
Brock kept arguing his side (which was wrong). I stuck to my guns (which are always tucked into my bra) which was informed and CORRECT. And so on and so forth.

And we proceeded to argue about fucking furniture cushions in the middle of Home Depot for a good 20 minutes.

Weird how no one entered that section while we were there.

I could see that he was in full on belligerent mode so I said: "Fine, let's just get the cheaper ones." and I let him believe that he won.


We returned home where I was holding the baby and he proceeded in removing the old cushions.
#3 starts now:
Because untying little strings is apparently too difficult, Brock whips out his pocket knife and starts sawing through the strings. I seriously feared that my head was going to detach from my neck with great force. I was all: "OMG! Just untie the freaking strings!"
And he was like: "Aren't you just going to throw them away?" and I was like: "I DON'T KNOW YET!!!" Because, as anyone who has spent any time around me knows, I like to repurpose stuff. I hadn't even thought about the final fate of the Wal-Mart cushions, as only the ONE was tar stained and had a hole in it.....and not the one he was too impatient to untie and attacking with his knife.

So I calmly asked him to put away his knife (baha), gave him the baby and untied the rest of the cushions. It was really hard. It took me a whole 45 seconds.

We then placed the new cushions on the couch and GUESS WHAT??? They were the wrong fucking size, just like I initially stated.
He said in shock: "They are too small. The other ones would be perfect."

I restrained myself from punching him in the throat.

I said sweetly: "I'm going to put the baby down for his nap. Why don't you take these back and get the other ones?"
He said: "Okay."

After freshening up of all my furniture with the black paint (best decision ever), $210 worth of cushions that was our entire grocery allowance for the week, and a few flowers; my patio now looks pretty decent. No husband, roof tar, pets with claws, sticky food, water fowl or children allowed.

Much better.

"This is great! Thanks mom."
Good thing he doesn't SMELL or anything....

Where's my beer?

Saturday, May 28, 2011

I'm not ready.

I have a friend who, upon spying someone poorly dressed or with hideous hair, says calmly, "Ooooo, I'm not ready..." This quiet type of snarkiness fills me with glee. It is quite possibly one of my favorite lines to date.

I called Brock out the other day for telling tall tales to Thing 1. Remember this post?

Well, give me a name tag that says "Hi! My name is Giant Flaming Pile of Hypocrite" because yesterday Thing 1 pointed to my pink tampon box on the back of the toilet and said, "What is that?"

I sighed and thought Ooooo, I'm not ready, and before I could formulate an age appropriate answer he asked, "Is that girl vitamins?"

And I said solemnly, "Yes honey, those are girl vitamins."

Then he said, "I want a vitamin!"

Using the flawless distraction method of parenting, I threw the box under the sink and said, "Sorry, they are only for girls. Let's go play with your diggers!"

Am I a bad parent for lying? Or am I avoiding confusing and possibly traumatising my precious young child? Whatever. I guess you can now officially call me a story teller. I am just not ready to explain the workings of tampons to my three year old.

What have you told your children to avoid a long and painful explanation?

On another note: I promised "fashion" and here are some of last week's special treats:
(And my friend would probably say "Oooo, I'm not ready".)

Our chilly date night. I figured out halfway through the evening that my leggings have a hole in the thigh. No biggie, because everyone was looking at my AWESOME sweater jacket. It was my rockin' grandmother's and she picked it up on one of her trips to Ireland. Please excuse the crazy eyes. I don't get out much. I was excited.

No, I'm not gassy. Those of you who have the great privilege of speaking with me in person know that this is a fairly normal facial expression for me. I don't know what I am pointing at..... maybe the stylin' hair band on my wrist?
I found the shirt (on sale, of course) at my favorite Old Town Ft. Collins store, Kansas City Kitty.
When I remove the frumpy sweater, it makes me feel like an 80's rocker....

Exhibit A,
complete with air guitar.

Exhibit B.
Nothing says "ROCK ON!" like ceramic horse plates and an exercise block.


Were you ready? I'll bet the answer was no.

Have a wonderful Memorial Day Weekend!

Friday, May 27, 2011

I'm Tough Enough, Thank You Very Much.

I once had a dear friend of mine tell me about a week-long mountain biking camp for women in which she participated. She told me all about learning the technique and becoming more skilled so that she was more fearless and able to get a better work out. She then chronicled the massive amounts of injuries and the awesome tough chicks that would take huge diggers off their bikes. She described to me about all the confidence and camaraderie that she gained throughout the course of the week. She finished with a pep talk directed at me about how much fun we would have if I signed up for the following year.

I don't mountain bike.

I don't have any desire to mountain bike.

My idea of a good time on a bike involves me in a skirt on my cruiser, eating an ice cream cone. Sometimes I am ringing my little silver bell so that I can safely pass the 80 year old woman walking her teacup poodle.

I told her, "Oh, I think I'll leave the mountain biking to you."

She said, "This would be so good for you. You should toughen up and do it!"

I said, "I don't want to toughen up. If I had an entire week away from my family, a mountain biking camp~ where I would undoubtedly injure myself~ is not what I would choose. If I had a free week I would surround myself with sunshine, pools, masseuses named Sven, a good book and drinks with tiny umbrellas in them. Call me when you want to go to Vegas."

Then she laughed and we both knew that I would never go to that camp with her.

This got me thinking though. Do I need to toughen up? Let's see:

I was raised on a farm and worked like a boy throughout my entire childhood. I was carrying bales of hay that weighed more than I did (See "why Johi has massive back problems") from a young age. I have climbed mountain peaks, rappelled off of buildings and rock faces, ridden horses on steep, slippery slopes and in other places that would make a grown man cry. I can pack a horse, shoot a gun, shoot a bow and arrow, make a campfire, catch a fish, drive four wheeler, drive a tractor, pull a truck and trailer and ride a horse at a dead run. I've traveled cross country alone, run long distances, driven in huge cities and lived alone. I've protected people, stood up for myself and been in bar fights with 200+ pound men who thought that they could play grab ass with me and my friends. Once I even outran a horny old man who pulled his Cadillac onto the sidewalk and chased me down the street. The car had horns tied to the grill, of course. I've downed whiskey, smoked cigarettes (sorry mom), and been called every name in the book from a hick to a snotty bitch (both of those are true, by the way). I've been told I wasn't (you pick something)____ enough, had my hair pulled, my back stabbed, and my confidence in the gutter. I've been so poor that I couldn't afford housing, I've been through a divorce, and I've lived through two abusive relationships with men unworthy of the privilege of oxygen. My morals have been questioned and my character has been lied about. I've been bucked off, stepped on, run over and kicked in the face. I've had three surgeries, birthed two babies, buried people and animals I have loved, held back tears,overcome fears, and lifted myself out of dark places countless times. I think that all constitutes as "tough". I'm not bragging, I'm just saying: Goddammit! I am tired of being tough.  I really just want to relax and bake some motherfucking cookies.

Scroll down for Proof of Toughness:

I think THIS screams, "Watch out!
That is one tough broad!"
It may also scream,
"OMG! Why doesn't that
cat have any HAIR???"

Let's not forget THIS.... *flexing... then crying because I
miss my horse*

I think THIS whispers, "Watch your back, I'll cut you. Well,
I'll probably just give you the stink eye..." Yes, I am wearing an apron.

Anyone care to meet me in Vegas? Toughness not required.

Happy Friday to all you tough bitches (and the two bad ass mofo dudes that read this),

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Defining moments.

While attending my cousin's wedding last summer, I spotted my grandmother's sister across the crowd and my heart skipped a beat. She looked exactly like my grandmother.

My grandmother had passed away more than 10 years ago and I miss her presence. She and I had always been close. She was special. She is on my (very) short list of people that I admire and strive to emulate.

With these emotions peaked and a lump in my throat, my heart was racing as I made my way across the room to speak with this woman who looked so much like my beloved grandma. I somehow felt like I was getting a second chance to talk to my deceased grandmother.

This is how the conversation went:

Me: "Hi _____, I don't know if you remember me. I'm Carolyn's daughter."

Her: "Oh! Yes." *somberly* "You're the one who was having a really hard time....." (referring to my short marriage and quick divorce from one of the biggest douche canoes on the planet)

Me, stunned, "Uh. I guess. That was 10 years ago. Sometimes things don't work out."

Her: *proudly* "[Her husband's name] and I will have been married 60 years this year."

Me, "Congratulations. I didn't get married until I was 30, and I married a man 10 years older than me, so we probably won't be alive to see our 60 year wedding anniversary."

Then I turned and walked away, shocked by the hideous interaction with this woman that looked so much like my sweet, precious grandmother. I felt like I needed to shower with a Brillo pad to remove the ugly conversation that had just occurred. Looking back, I wish I would have stood in front of her, downed a shot of whiskey, yelled "YEEHAW!" at the top of my lungs, did the splits, then patted her husband on the ass before I walked away. But I guess that is why they say hind sight is twenty-twenty.

I couldn't believe that this woman was defining me by referencing a 1 1/2 year ugly period of time in my otherwise pretty good 35 years of life. What. The. Fuck? I was at the wedding with my husband of five years and our 3 month old (most adorable on the planet) baby. I had already gotten enough of my figure back to look pretty good in my dress. I had an equally adorable three year old at home with a sitter. I was in a successful marriage to a nice man and a mother of two. Do you know what all that says to me? Winning! Could she not acknowledge that? It seems a bit more significant than a strange 1 1/2 year dark period of time that happened over 10 years ago. But apparently, to her, my failure defined me. Wow.

This all too special interaction made me realize two things:

1) This woman may have looked like my grandmother from across a crowded room, but this woman was NOTHING like my grandmother. NOTHING.

2) Some people really just focus on the negative, your failures and the dramatic. I like to refer to those people as assholes.

But this did get me thinking (watch out for the smoke!) What defines us? Is it our successes or our failures? Is it how we handle ourselves when things are rough, or when things are great?

Do my desires or my actions define me? Does the fact that, when my husband's fucking volume 11 snoring wakes me up and is the leading factor to my insomnia, I want to kidney punch him, what defines me? Or is it the fact that I restrain myself and rise to make him breakfast in the morning?

Does my past define my future? Because I had one failed marriage, does it mean that I will now, eternally, "have a hard time" in all relationships? Or is is possible that I will succeed?

Why do people say such rude things? Are they trying to "teach us a lesson" or just perpetually keep us down?

Okay, I'm done here.

In other news: I baked really good gluten free chocolate chip cookies the other evening which means that I have been eating cookies every morning with my coffee. The Breakfast of Champions! With those cookies, my cowboy boots and my cop sunglasses, I feel ready to take on the evils of the world. Bring. It. Except the clowns. You bastards stay the hell away from me.

What has someone said to you that stunned you?

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

It seems like a losing battle...

I read this comment on Monday's post from the hilarious Phoenix Rising on Monday and laughed so hard that I almost snorted coffee out my nose:

Wow! You are like Super Accomplisher Woman. You should really have a cape.

You see, we did have a busy weekend. And Something Rare happened. We actually left the house. This is not a common occurrence because:

1. It is a massive pain in the arse and I almost give myself an aneurysm trying to remember everything that I might need...you know- just in case. I packed four little bags of shit for the kids to be gone for the day. FOUR. Not to mention the stroller, the backpack and the pack and play. I either over pack to leave or do something the complete opposite that is entirely unreasonable like "Let's go to the park without any extra diapers, water or sunscreen! Wheeeeee!"

2. If I do happen to get things accomplished around here, it is at the expense of something else. Clean the house? Ignore the kids. Cook dinner? Ignore the kids. Write a blog post? Ignore my spouse. Yardwork? Ignore everyone. You get the picture.

3. I can't even finish an hour long yoga class. Remember?

4. I'm a scattered mess of a woman in need of a lot of ginkgo.... or cross word puzzles....or a straight jacket. I normally get basically nothing accomplished, and the things that I do accomplish are not without a great battle or some kind of a failure on my part. I will explain:

We did make it home safely on Sunday evening. It would have been timely as well, except that we had to stop on the side of the road in the canyon for 15 minutes to clean up Thing 2's vomit, which is when I realized that in my four bags of necessities, I did not have an extra set of pj's for my baby. We found some too small pants and an old, dirty (it had dried poo on it) onsie and dressed him in that. We were parked on a corner, in a little pull out by a dam and I got nervous every time a car came around the corner which was unavoidable because it is a canyon, where there are only corners. Then as I was standing on the passenger side of the vehicle beside my husband, I realized that the truck, which contained both of my babies and neither adult, was on a downhill slope with the raging river in front of it, and I almost had a minor panic attack. You see, the parking brake on my truck is not the most reliable thing in the world (cut to me driving all the way to the grocery store with the parking brake engaged). So I stood there for a good minute deciding what would be the best thing to do when the truck started rolling forward and decided that me getting my stupid ass in the truck was probably key to resolving any parking brake issues that might arise. I then let Brock finish cleaning up and climbed back into the driver's seat.

When I was going about my day on Monday, I realized I had misplaced a few items. I was missing a baby Keen shoe. One. They were frigging expensive, like $50. I looked everywhere and could not find it, so I called my friend who hosted the party and asked her if she had seen it. I felt a little panicked about losing such an expensive shoe, so I sent her on a wild goose chase that included looking under her bed and in the street where we had been parked. No luck. I was convinced that it had fallen out of the truck during the puke cleanup in the canyon. Dammit.

I later found the tiny shoe tucked neatly inside of one of my husband's giant hiking boots.

Then, around 9 pm that night, I noticed that I hadn't seen my cell phone since I was at that party the night before.

I tried calling it from my home phone and I ran around the house listening for it to ring. Then I ran outside (it was dark) and called it again and listened in the driveway and inside my truck. I even looked under the seats where I found a missing pacifier and a Thomas the Train, but no $250 cell phone that I just spent countless hours with people I had not desire to pass time with (remember Crazy Eyes and the Transient?) to replace. So I got my husband's phone and texted my friend, asking her if she had seen the phone. She said "No, but I found your vest." because it is normal for me to leave pieces of clothing at people's houses. I get hot, okay? So then we texted back and forth for about 1/2 an hour about all the places I could have left it in her house, but in the back of my mind I JUST KNEW that it fell out during the vomit episode in the canyon, because it was such a frenzy that I had to have left something important on the side of that road by accident.

After I bothered her for 1/2 an hour at bedtime, I finally looked into the bottom of one of the four emptied bags of useless crap that I packed and found my phone, which was on silent and taunting me. It was hidden in a black bag because the phone is black. Now I want to bedazzle it in pink rhinestones so that I don't lose it again. I immediately texted my friend and told her that I discovered the phone hiding in a bag and she texted me back "You better pull your head out too." which made me laugh because THAT my friends, is more like it. I am not Super Accomplisher Woman with a cape, I am Get Yer Head Out of Yer Arse Woman with her lost glasses perched on top of her head and her lost phone in her back pocket.

I finally did discover what I lost on the side of that road while we were cleaning up the baby. I lost my mind.

Muahahahahahaha..... hahahaha.....waffles?
I am merely a moment away from the smeared lipstick, hair rollers and ceramic cat collection.

It seems as though Blogger is yet again having issues with allowing comments. I love to read your comments so if you can't leave them here please join my facebook page and post them over there.
That is all.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Why yes, I am a master gardener.

Thing 1 and I were having a conversation the other day about hard work.

Our neighbor was mowing his lawn (actually our lawns are more like pastures in this neighborhood) with a push mower and Thing 1 announced "______ is mowing!". I replied "Yes, he is working hard. People have to work hard when they grow up". (unless you are Rex or Rosemary Walls... but I digress)

Then I said "Mommy and Daddy both work hard, don't they?"

I want to be sure that Thing 1 values women, and when I say "women", I mean ME specifically. Being a stay at home mom is the toughest job I have ever had.

Thing 1 is already under the impression that his daddy has built basically everything in Fort Collins.

Example A: Daddy and Thing 1 are in the truck and Thing 1 points to a new building that is under construction and says "Is Daddy building that?". I start to shake my head no and Brock pipes up "Yep! I'm building that!".

Example 2: We are walking into the library and Thing 1 looks up and says "Wow! Did Daddy build this?" and I shake my head no and Brock bellows "Why yes I did son!". You see were this is going . According to my three year old and his father, Brock built the whole damn city. Super. Let's all lie to kid. I'm going to point at Victoria's Secret Catalog and tell him that it is me in the picture.

So I said to Thing 1 "Mommy works hard, just like Daddy only I don't get paid anything and you people don't appreciate me enough." Then I added, as a test, "What kind of work does Mommy do?"

...yes, I tend to talk about myself in third person to carpet monkeys. I'm not sure why.

Thing 1 chirped "Mommy plants things!"

Yes, Mommy is quite the master gardener; a fact displayed by this incredibly healthy red pepper plant.

If you listen closely, you can hear its
mournful cries.
Maybe I need to refine my "skills list"..... perhaps I'll start collecting wine corks or rubber bands and forget the gardening all together.

Monday, May 23, 2011

The weekend... with PONIES!!!!!

1. We are still here, which means that we have apparently not been selected as good followers of Jesus for Rapture. Damn it. I am truly shocked. I thought that I really was in when I stopped and waved that old lady across the street in front of me.

2. My husband and I finally figured out all of the words to Elton John's Tiny Dancer. For example:  ....lay me down in sheets of linen, NOT ...lay me down and she's so fillin'. And yes, we high fived one another, because that's how we roll.

3. My canyon driving made Thing 2 carsick and he erupted his dinner all over my truck. Yet another grand quality of mommy's that he inherited. We also learned that he swallows his watermelon pieces whole.

4. Thing 1 rode a full sized horse ALL BY HIMSELF. He's THREE, people.

Thumbs up from Thing 1!

5. Thing 1 also caught two fish.This was a big weekend for him.

How cute is he?

6. I finished reading The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. Hurry, go buy yourself a copy. Do it now.

7. Because I was reading (hey, I was recovering from that heat stroke thingy.... remember?), I did not clean my house so now when you walk through it you can hear the dirt grinding into the tiles. One of my favorite sounds.... *shudder*

8. We, as a family unit, made it out of the house for the entire day, in under 2 hours. The views were worth the trouble.

Looking out over Estes Park.

Looking toward the front range of Rocky
Mountain National Park.

9. My entire yard smells like lilacs., which is convenient because I noticed a bad sewage-esq odor hovering about the neighborhood.

10. Thing 2 rode a pony for the first time. He clapped. It was awesome.

My sister is assisting Brock in helping him balance. He loved it! Thing 1
is an old pro at  pony riding.

11. We still didn't walk the dogs.

12. The pumpkin patch is tilled and ready for seeds! Yay! I love pumpkins!!!!

13. It stopped raining (after 4 days of rain) and our lawn is now mowed. I know! And better yet, Brock did it! Hallelujah!

14. We attended a high school graduation party for my good friend's daughter. We got her a tool kit, which is my standard grad gift for girls. Because every woman should have her own tools. I sure as hell do.

15. I fed my roses. I'm so exciting that you can't handle it, can you?

16. My husband took me on an actual date!

17. I properly identified the grumpy verses the happy pony.

Happy pony!

Grumpy pony.

OMG, I'm going to chew on his tiny ears.

Happy Monday to my fellow sinners that were left behind Rapture. Let's enjoy our last 5 months together. :)

Friday, May 20, 2011

This is not what I had planned at all.

I remember once ordering a drink at a fast food joint and by the time I drove 20 feet around the building to retrieve it from the friendly employee hanging out of the drive up window, I had forgotten what I ordered and was expecting iced tea. I was thinking how thirsty I was and my mouth got all cottony and lusting for the tea. Ummmm, iced tea. Smooth, cool, unsweetened, wonderful tea. Then I took a GIANT gulp of Diet Pepsi, which was what I had actually ordered, and the unexpected taste of carbonated brown fake sugar almost made me vomit. You see, at the time, I actually liked Diet cola drinks (until a few years ago when my friend convinced me that I was basically drinking cancer) but I didn't like them that day because I was expecting something completely different.

Kind of like yoga class this morning.

After my lovely spouse startled me awake at 5:06 this morning with a snore that practically took down the ancient willow outside our bedroom, I, of course, was awake for the day. Good thing I had gotten to sleep just before midnight (also because of the nasally sputtering chain saw noises coming from my beloved) because 5 hours of sleep for me is just enough to trick my body into thinking that it has rested enough, yet not so much that I can actually function well. I like 8-10 hours. In my (day)dreams.

Since the Amazing Chain Saw Man had woken me, I decided to take advantage of the early morning awake time and go to the 7:30 yoga class. I thought that I was going to one of the two beginner classes that I typically attend, which are challenging enough for me to get a workout and tone my body, but restorative enough for me to feel that lovely post-yoga balanced glow.

When I got to the studio, I noticed quite a few 20-somethings. Super fit ones. I thought to myself "Great, I have major panty lines. I just need a place in the back of the room".  No go. The back was full. So I selected a spot in between two willowy young ladies in the center row and did some light stretching.

The instructor walked in and said, "Did you all get the weights that you wanted?" and I looked around in confusion to see weights stacked by every one's mat. So I walked to the back where I noticed an instructor that I am familiar with (who was taking the class) gathering some weights next to me. I tilted my head much like Red Dog does when you say "biscuit?" and asked her, "What class is this?"
She said "Sculpt."
I said "Crap."
Then I think she laughed at me in through her pretty little 20-something mouth and took her tight little I-have-never-had-any-babies-and-I-work-out-every-day body back to her mat.

I lumbered over to mine trying to think positively, but quite frankly, I had mentally prepared myself for 60 minutes of stretching, toning, breathing and restoration and working out in heat with weights was not on my to-do list today.

Looking back, I mock my pseudo positive attitude.

First of all, let me advise you not to take a class led by Satan. And I have a whole new respect for anyone who works out with Jillian Michaels (whom I happen to love, from the comfort of Eleanor).

b.) Half a cookie and half a cup of coffee is not sufficient pre-Workout From Hell nutrition.

Third, don't try to be a fucking hero when you see all the super fit people in class dropping into child's pose when they are supposed to be doing the leaping frog or whatever the fuck that horrible move is. All I know is that I thought that my quads were suddenly paralyzed about 6 hops in....

4.) Don't attempt a workout that you could have barely made it through when you were in peak condition playing high school sports.... in a 95 degree room.

Last, listen to your body. When it tells you that it is done. Be done. When you later lose your vision to a series of dots and squiggles, you will thank yourself for leaving early.

I stayed in the class as long as I could (about 35 minutes) and then I got so overheated that I actually feared that I was either going to spontaneously combust or my face was going to melt off like a bad scene from a Steven King movie, and I left the room to cool down. When I went back in I briefly considered rejoining the humiliation and physical torture the class, but I decided I had had enough and grabbed my things. Honestly, I was so fatigued I worried that I would injure myself due to the lack of control of my muscles and the inability to hold the poses properly. That and I was a little angry with the instructor. I have NEVER been pushed that hard in a workout, especially in that kind of heat at 7:30 in the damn morning. Satan.

So I left, and my head was spinning with "I quit. Does that mean I'm a quitter? I never quit!" and "Why? WHY? Didn't I read the schedule?" and "I've taken that class before and it kicked my butt but this instructor taught it so much differently" and "Cheese and rice! I just wanted to balance myself and start my day with some stretching!"

By the time I got home I was congratulating myself for my intelligent decision to go because I literally was seeing squiggles and dots and then I got a searing headache and felt nauseated. Special.

So because of my semi-conscious (it was really early) choice to exercise I basically gave myself some kind of a heat stroke, which forced me into bed, which forced Brock to stay home and take care of the kids, which foiled my plans for getting the refrigerator cleaned today. Again. There is always next month for that.....

P.S. I'm fine now.

>>>>What sorts of unplanned things have you done to yourself?

Fashion Friday and some other stuff

I left the house a couple of days this week and actually put some effort into a few outfits instead of wearing yoga clothes every day. And yes, I also spared you the pictures of my yard work clothes. You're welcome.

There was some of this:

My head was too hideous to post
but the outfit is comfy and cute.
Note the wooden soled clogs,
circa 1994.  :-)
Hey! What is that light switch all about? Let's zoom in, shall we?

It appears to be morning.
I'll bet you thought his name was David.
No, it's Dah-veed.
Go forth with this new found snooty
pronunciation and be sure to correct
everyone you meet, because letting people
know when they are wrong is a sure fire
way to earn new friends and the respect of others.....

Then there was a bit o' this:

I whited out most of my face here so that is better...
This jacket is my new favorite thing.
I found it at Ann Taylor Loft on sale for $24,
the scarf was a gift from my sissy.
Love my sissy!!
 Then there was a lot of this:

Now that's more like it!

Ready for anything in this outfit!
 Have a wonderful weekend. Watch out for the zombie apocalypse or Armageddon or The Second Great Flood! or whatever the hell is supposed to be happening on Saturday. I hope they hold off because I was planning on meeting some girlfriends for a healthy evening of hot yoga followed by a great deal of wine. I would be pretty pissed if a natural disaster, the end of the world or some fucking zombie ruined my fun.


Thursday, May 19, 2011

Why Do I Blog?

It is the only task in my life that I can truly complete. And I really really like to finish things...

It is better than me talking in person because it is me with an edit button......I know what you are thinking: "This is her edited? Good Lord. Her poor husband."

Writing is a great way to make myself collect my thoughts and attempt a coherent presentation. Normally I spit out things like "fleener neener neener...keep your hands to yourself!...uhhh...fffffffffffffffff......pickles?"

It truly is cathartic.

If I write it down, I am still going to forget it but I can at least reference my brain activity and hold myself accountable for things that fall out of my head (and mouth).

It gets the creative juices flowing and I like my creativity juicy..... and moist. MOIST. This is for you- you know who you are.

I feel like it is a better way to spend my time than watching soap operas, but I feel that reality TV is totally worthy of my time and attention. And the show Castle.

I never learned any other marketable skills, like stitching, knitting, sewing, working with a loom, pottery making or butter churning.
Image from The Graphics Fairy
I didn't make this....

I love my readers and your comments. Often you guys make my day. I am amazed at the relationships that I have formed online. I piss off people in my immediate presence on a fairly regular basis so it is good to know that others "get me". Woot Woot!

I like embarrassing my parents.

I can do it in my bathrobe, which is actually socially acceptable (compared with the other things that I do in my bathrobe).

Ever since I wrote that story about the squirrel in the 6th grade, which earned me a pass to a writer's conference, I have been intrigued with writing. I wonder if my mom kept that? What am I saying? This is the woman responsible for the lime green leisure suit. Of course she kept my winning squirrel story.

As I have mentioned before, I will not sacrifice my expensive art supplies to the hands of my Things.

I have a voice, and it deserves to be heard.

>>>>What is your creative outlet?

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

A chance meeting between soul mates.

I recently droned on and on about redecorating my living room. I also regularly drone on and on about our limited budget (not just for redecorating, but for general living). I was able to refurnish our entire living room on about $900 and I happen to love the finished product. Hey! I am proud of that! No, I didn't walk into the local Ethan Allen showroom, wave a finger around and mutter "I'll take this. All of it. When can your people be at my estate?" Instead, I utilized some ingenuity and my bad ass mofo SKILLZ and dug around multiple stores, including Habitat for Humanity, to get "bargains" and "steals!" to create a unique and eclectic living room for me my family.

While I was out hunting for that "just right" chair with my sister, we drove upon the La-Z-Boy Galleria and I suggested we run in and take a look. You never know when someone is having a blowout sale! We walked in and started looking around when I found it. The perfect chair. It was a modern, clean lined recliner that could be covered in any fabric that you desired. It was divine. It made my ass happy. It was also $899, which was my entire budget for a new couch, rug, curtains, pillows, materials for the ottoman and two chairs. The sales lady walked up and started her hard core sales pitch and I smiled and said, "I love it, it just needs to be more like $399".

She curled her lip at me and snarled, "Well. You better go over to American". (Meaning American Furniture Warehouse, the "greasy spoon" of furniture stores. Also the place that we found our couch and that awesome train photo hanging above it.) Then she stalked off and ignored my sister and I, which was convenient because she didn't notice when we spat our chaw into the fancy ass vase in the leather furniture vignette. Yeehaw! *banjos banjos*

The next day, while my family and I were out shopping for that perfect chair (or set of chairs...or fabric to recover my $64 pair wingback chairs), I suggested we make ONE LAST STOP at Habitat, you know, just to see what they had.

I had my fam stay in the vehicle as I ran in to take a peek. That is when I saw her. I named her Eleanor. I could see her perfectly funky avocado color sitting amongst a group of mauve and teal chairs. Even in their non-flattering, sad, decrepit, faded glow, I could sense that Eleanor was different. She was practically beckoning me. I sat. I loved. I called Brock and said "Bring the boys in. I found one. The chairs are on sale for $30."

Because I am a firm believer in multi-tasking, I continued peeking around while I was waiting for my guys. It paid off because I found this hand painted treasure on sale for $1.75.
Love. It.

It even has an inscription on the back in ... Polish perhaps?

We loaded Eleanor in the truck and delivered her to her new home. She is a beautiful, tufted, groovy green rocker/recliner of comfort. Even Smelly Cat agrees, and he is a picky little hairless bastard.

Eleanor and Smelly Cat, bonding.
Feel free to admire the awesomeness of the fabric.

Oh, and do you want to know the best part? When I was polishing up Eleanor, I discovered this.

Can you read that label? It says La-Z-Boy Chair.

Suck it snooty sales lady! I bought a Vintage 1969 La-Z-Boy in mint condition for $30. Oh yeah!

P.S. Why are you so snooty? You sell chairs. And I saw the camouflaged one with the beer cooler attached. Classy.

Peace, Love and Unicorns,
Johi (bargain hunter extraordinaire)

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Seriously? I failed...yet again.

Yesterday, being Monday and all, presented multiple "seriously?" moments and failed "teaching opportunities". I'll tell you all about them in the form of a list, because lists make me feel nice and happy on the inside. Lists complete me.

"Seriously?" Moment #1:
I rolled out of bed in my typical bedraggled, confused and puffy eyed graceful manner and snarled "Is it already Monday?" Then I poured myself a cup of coffee and half of it landed on the counter (as usual). I swear someone drilled tiny holes in that coffee pot. Damned leprechauns.

"Seriously?" Moment #2:
While I was still in my bathrobe, I noticed a car drive slowly in front of our house and then stop. Naturally, the dogs saw this and started tearing ass over to bark at it. I opened the door to call them off and the car practically peeled out and sped away. Good thing I'm not paranoid or that might have creeped me out. Who the fuck does that? I'll tell you: People casing your house, trying to steal your children or stalkers....That is who. Next time I am opening the door with my gun. Try me.

"Seriously?" Moment #3:
All of the bills were due. Something new and different. Let's have a parade.

"Seriously?" Moment #4:
I pulled my freshly laundered and line dried sheets off the clothes line and noticed Squirrel shit smeared all over my white top sheet. Yummy. I'll be sure to put the skidder on Brock's side of the bed. See #5 for explanation.

"Seriously?" Moment #5:
Thing 2 slipped and whacked his head on the tub WHILE MY HUSBAND WAS RIGHT THERE HOVERING OVER HIM. ??? Don't worry, he was unharmed.

Thing 2 is okay too.

Failed "teaching opportunity" #1:
I was attempting to mow the lawn (Brock and Thing 2 were at the grocery store spending obscene amounts of money.... again) and Thing 1 threw a ball into our newly planted garden boxes. Where the ball goes, the Red Dog follows.

***Flash back to Sunday as Thing 1 and I "bonded" over planting our pampered and precious (okay, leggy and malnourished) seedlings, along with a variety of other vegetables, in the raised garden beds that we (and when I say "we", I mean Brock) worked so hard on building. I even planned a fucking chart so that we would have visual appeal as well as the literal fruit of our labor. I drew it out. Of course I did. I'm OCD.

I looked at the devastation created by the destructive combination of my ball crazed dog and my thrill seeking almost 4 year old and honestly just wanted to cry. Instead, I sent Thing 1 to a weak Time Out and proceeded to mow a few more strips of dandelions, crab grass and bind weed lawn while I considered how to handle the situation. I decided that I was too tired and disappointed to think about it so we went inside where I sat him in front of his paints and sat myself in front of Dancing With The Stars with a handful of chocolates and a glass of wine. Problem solved. I did predict that garden bed thrashing would happen.... Again, It's like I'm a motherfucking seer.

Failed "teaching opportunity" #2:
During a play date, Red Dog was molesting my guests with her ball so I attempted to put her inside the house. She ran away from me and crawled under my truck, where she promptly lost all muscle control and fell limply onto her back (we refer to this as the dead fly). I didn't feel like crawling under my truck and dragging out the dead weight of a 35 pound dog to school her, so I left her there. I'm fairly certain she totally learned her lesson.

She was bugging us with the ball about 30 seconds later. Yay me.

It doesn't matter what you are doing....
She is ALWAYS there with that effing ball.

Failed "teaching opportunity" #3:
My husband got a spam text on his cell (which he leaves at a volume that could be heard over a fucking jackhammer) at 2:45 a.m. this morning and guess who was AWAKE FOR THE DAY? Again. Yay me. Now it's Tuesday. All damned day.

Seriously, just pick something else out of my day. Anything really. This seems to be a pattern with me.

On a brighter note: (see? I even made it bright blue!) Since I was awake at Satan's hour, I finally made it to that 7:30 a.m. yoga class that I kept sleeping through... so there is that! It was good. S'Guuuuud.

Wait! I'm having another vision! I foresee an early bedtime and a sleeping aid tonight; like a college textbook....or NPR...or a Tylenol PM. Or Maybe I'll try all three together and I'll blissfully drift off into a coma.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Now, that's just not right.....

10 Things that happened within the week to make me question whether God really does love me....

1. I opened my new protein powder container for the shakes that I make for my family when I don't feel like cooking.... um, I make shakes almost every day...and this is what it looked like.

This is what I buy. It must be great for you
because it turns your pee fluorescent yellow,
like vitamins...or asparagus.

This is exactly what it looked like when I opened it.
No worries, there wasn't a finger in it; that belongs
to me, but look how far down the powder is from
the top of the container! I paid a lot of
money for extra packaging. That blows.
 2. I had to move the trash can into the dog room because the baby kept eating of of it. Think about that one for a moment.

3. I was relieved when Thing 1 went down for a nap (he will be 4 years old in a few weeks) because I don't have to watch Thing 2 as closely (he just turned one and eats out of trash cans.)

4. This:

5. I finally found an intelligent person at Verizon who told me how to retrieve my pictures off my old phone and upload them to my computer. When I went to install the "free software" I was asked for my credit card number so that they could charge $34.95 for it. I had thought it was free, so I did a little research and this is the message I got:

"I thought the software was free. Why am I being asked to pay?
The software is completely free of charge. What you pay goes towards supporting our technical team and for the creation of more user guides. If you’re not satisfied, you can always cancel your membership and keep the software."

Special. Guess what asshats at Zune? Paying for something means it is not free! I sent the lemon phone back to Verizon with all sorts of adorable pictures of my Things. So much for protecting the identity of my children....

6. Since the Thing's cover is blown, here is an example of my husband's photography skills:
Wow Honey! You got 1 out of 4 faces! Great Job!
I swear I did not doctor this.

7. Now I know where Thing 1 gets his photography skills from!

I know that he gets his skills from his dad, because I still have mine!!!
 8. I have it on good authority that an updated version of grunge is in the fashion forecast. It will now be called Americus. Dust off your logger boots and your moccasins, raid your dad's flannel shirt collection and be a slob a stylish trendsetter like me! I like to be one step ahead of the game. Or maybe I'm so far behind that I think I'm first.... Either way! Prepare yourself for THIS:

It's a coming, people. Don't deny it.
Coming this September.....
P.S. Here is a picture of my fashion forecaster. She knows what the fuck she is talking about.

Seriously? I know, right?
Sorry boys, she is taken.
 I'll be consulting her in the future for my fashion posts because Thing 1 was getting a little too gleeful in dressing up in my shoes and I do not want to be the reason that he is a closeted cross- dresser. I can hear the therapy sessions now: 

Therapist: "So why do you think you are wearing your wife's clothing when she is away on business?"

Thing 1: "I have special memories of my mom and I smiling while I was wearing her shoes when I was three. Other than that I spent my entire three year old year in time out for beating on my little brother and taking his toys."

Therapist: "So you think that your mother loved you most when you were playing dress-up in her closet because that is when the two of you had your special one-on-one time?" 

Thing 1: "Yes, I am a straight man wearing women's clothing because my mother was a horrible person. It is her fault that I am confused. It is her fault that my wife caught me stretching out her Jimmy Choo's. IT IS ALL MY MOTHER'S FAULT!"

Not that there is anything wrong with cross dressing, but I don't need to feel responsible for forcing it on my firstborn son.
No thanks.

9. I spent $264 on groceries last week and I could find nothing to eat in my house within 4 days.

10. I had to avoid yoga class on Saturday night because my stomach was not right and I had serious concern that I would rip ass in the middle of a downward facing dog, so I went on a walk with my family instead and "freshened up" our local natural area. No mosquitoes bothered us..... Was that an overshare? Weird how I just don't care.

Friday, May 13, 2011

A Friday Night Photo

Since Blogger was down yesterday and most of today, I was unable to post all the brilliant and hilarious thoughts that were floating through my head. Now Blogger is back up and running (minus some of my reader's comments. Boo.) and I am ready to write!

Oh no. The funny stuff floating around in my head floated right out of my ears and I no longer remember what it was I wanted to say.

Welcome to my brain. It is a sad sad decrepit place.

Since I am empty between the ears I will leave you with this little Friday photo of Red Dog sleeping:

I hope that all of you (and I) rest this well tonight. Have a great weekend!

Peace, Love and Unicorns,

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Creepy Legless Bastards

A facebook friend of mine had a status update yesterday that made me want to cry a little. No, she wasn't posting links to the Humane Society with all the sad puppy eyes, she had lived to tell about how a snake fell from above her onto the back of her neck. *shudder* It made me remember my own brave and heroic encounter with a rattlesnake....the one where I was all about saving myself by sacrificing the life of the person that I was with; the love of my life. I'm a romantic like that.

September 2004
A crisp autumn day. All the aspens are quaking their vibrant gold leaves and the once green grass is turning that kissed-by-the-sun golden color. The sky is bright blue, the pines are tall and proud and we are going for a hike, by golly. We loaded up black dog (the only one we had at the time) and drove to one of our local natural areas to enjoy the beauty of God's creation.

We had two choices: valley or mountain. The valley is a meandering trail through a vast meadow, full of the golden native grasses and some scrub brush. The mountain climbed through rocks and sparse wildflowers with the ponderosa pines shadowing the ground, not allowing much grass to grow. My ever gracious lover (we were living in sin at this point) left the choice up to me. I make my choice for the obvious reason- being which path would logically have less chance of a dreaded snake encounter. I fear snakes. I loathe snakes. I lose muscle control, go all rubbery and always make the "hhhbbbbgiiiiibbbity" noise while my body parts are twitching like a horse trying to rid himself of 100 flies. It doesn't take any special snake to evoke this reaction- just your run of the mill gardener snake. Even if it is only 5 inches long. Would that be a baby snake? Baby snakes!?!?!!! Oh God! That is even creepier! That is just fucking WRONG!!!! Anyway, I decide that the mountain will have less chance of harboring Nazi snakes so, hi ho hi ho, up the hill we go.

I am hiking first because I am a natural born leader. No, I was first because I of course am high maintenance and hiking in the back makes me dizzy and tire more quickly. We have gone about 30 minutes up, at least a mile or two. We are headed into a sweet little clearing where the path curves through a little mountainside meadow flocked with wildflowers. I am looking up hill, admiring the beauty when I hear "ttthdhthhdthhthhdththhdththht".


There he was, in the middle of the trail, coiled up and ringing his creepy little warning bells. So, what do I do? I go into pure "survival" mode, which apparently meant pulling out my high school sprinting ability and high tailing it the other direction. Not before I grabbed my man by the shirt and THREW him out of my way- which happened to be at the direction of the slithery beast. Fortunately, he recovered from his stumble and calmly turned around and followed me as I leaped like a crack addicted mountain goat  fleeing a deadly encounter with a a grizzly bear back down the trail to our vehicle. Hike over.

Given the fact that we were a good 25 ft away, I guess he felt no need to panic. Whatever. I know that evil creatures have magical abilities, like flying at your head and long-distance venom spitting and trance-inducing force fields where they lure you in and then cram you into their tiny wicker baskets where they leave you to rot so that you are more easily digestible.... It's all true, I read it on the Internet.....
Well I was not ready to die that day! From then on, I started hiking in full body armor with a dart gun and a two foot long machete.  Actually, I birthed a couple of carpet monkeys and I rarely get exercise so it doesn't seem to be that much of an issue anymore. When I do go out, I take my attack cat on a leash, because that little kitteh is a Ninja in a hairless cat suit.

Peace, Love and Unicorns,
Johi, The Snake Hater

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Fashion for Odd Sorts

My desire to cook yet another meal last night was about as strong as my desire to throw the lawnmower when it won't start (or to drench our shithole of a garage in gasoline, toss in a lit match and make an insurance claim that it was an "electrical fire"). So I chugged a glass of wine and announced "How about some gluten free pizza at the Rustic Oven?" and Thing 1 said "No. I just want a banana." and then I told him all about the magical concoction called A Shirley Temple and he said "I want pizza!". Then we loaded ourselves in the truck and drove two miles up the road to civilization, otherwise known as the wonderful place where people cook for you and then clean up the giant mess that small children and my husband make when you place food in front of them.

The Things were angels. I'm dead freaking serious. Except for the random bursts of ear drum shattering shrieking from Thing 2, they were absolutely perfect.

Even though my kids were well-mannered and Brock had showered and put on clothes that didn't have dry wall and paint all over them (he saves those treasures for sleeping in- so snugly), people kept staring at our table. I'm sure most of them were thinking that our children looked like catalog models but I started feeling self-conscious. Maybe it was the fact the no one in our family had brushed our hair (which is why I was wearing a hat)... or maybe it was my hat. Either way, when we were walking to the truck I mentioned that maybe I was looking a bit more eccentric than people were used too, to which Brock responded, "Yeah, you are an odd sort."

"uh.... Thanks?"

Whatever. He married me. And I think that my outfit was kind of cute, even though I was wearing one of my standard summer mumus and had napped in the clothes earlier in the day. It certainly was comfortable... hence the napping.

What do you think?

I like cheap green Old Navy dresses.
And he thinks the I am the odd one?
He looks like Dick Van Dyke's hydrocephalic humpbacked brother.
But only in this picture. (photo courtesy of Thing 1)
Normally he is more Kevin Costner and less
"they kept me in the crawl space until I was 14".
He says in retort "Hey, you married me."

Haha! Get your own blog, husband!

Now that I think about it, maybe people were staring because we are cRaZy.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

This is so NOT how I wanted to spend my free 2 hours.

Yesterday I arranged for my neighbor to come and hang out with the Things so that I could go and revive myself with some yoga. But I burnt my skin to a crisp by gardening in outdated sunscreen on Sunday and I had slathered on approximately 800 layers of lotion to prevent the skin from molting. It puts the lotion on the skin. And, seeing how I was crispy and greasy at the same time, I decided that yoga might be more painful, humiliating and slippery than revitalizing. I wasn't even certain that I could handle wearing pants with my scorched thighs and had thrown on one of my stretchy house dresses cheap summer dresses from Target. Although some of my undies are totally cute enough to show off, I am fairly sure a dress in Yoga class would be considered inappropriate attire. Just a guess.

Hence I decided to take advantage of my kid free time and return my new phone to the Verizon store! Because everyone knows that taking children to places where you potentially have to wait 30+ minutes before you even get to talk to a sales associate is as much fun as sticking a fork into your thigh! Dining out with children evokes the same feelings in both me and my husband, which is why we don't do that unless we are drunk. Anyhoo, I recently upgraded to a smart phone. I really don't know what "smart phone" means, but I suspect that it has something to do with the fact that it is "smarter" than me. I do know that I can text people now in 1/4 of the time and I have an 8 pixel camera AND Internet access. I have a KIN. I like it, but I apparently got a lemon. I don't know. Maybe your cell phone is supposed to freeze up, fade out and not respond to you when you do crazy things, like try to call or text someone... or turn it on?

So I was waiting in the store, hoping to get my problem phone replaced, when a man came and sat down beside me. Now, let me say right here that I am generally sociable, but today I really just wanted to spend some good old fashioned "time alone", to get the phone thing handled, then run over to Old Navy and get a 2011 version of my standard summer wear of an inexpensive housedress mumu cotton summer dress that I can throw in the washing machine when I get... well... whatever on it. This man clearly wanted to chat and so I forced myself to stop staring at the carpet pattern, turned to his anxiously awaiting smiling face, smiled and said "Hello". That is when I thought that he was looking at someone behind me. Nope. He just had a wandering eye, so I found the one that was focused on my face and tried my best to look at that one, although I felt spastic and I couldn't control my eyes from being all darty and he probably thought that I was utterly crazy (which I clearly am). He was very smiley and friendly but I have no clue what we were discussing because I was so focused on trying not to point out the fact that he appeared to be looking at two completely different people at once that I was totally exhausted by the time my name was called.

When I got to the counter some shifty tan dude that I think I may have seen standing on a corner holding a sign that says "No Job. Please give me all your cash." gave me his best flirtatious smile, to which I had to stop myself from snarling at. Ole' Wandering Eye wore me out and I had no desire to "make nice" with someone who was trying to pick up a married woman at the cell phone store. I JUST WANTED TO GO TO FUCKING OLD NAVY AND BUY A CHEAP MUMU FOR GOODNESS SAKE! So I talked loudly about my young Things to the sales lady and shifty dude stopped trying to make eye contact and left.

To make a long story short, they are sending me a new phone (which they had better friggin' not charge me for because I will throw a hissy fit deserving of a trophy) and I had 20 minutes to spare and was able to dart over to Old Navy where I found this year's summer dress on sale in two colors, so I purchased them both for $14.49 each, because I'm a crazy shopaholic like that. Apparently I had better think twice about wearing them out of the house because people who look like transients and old men who clearly have vision problems think that I look friendly and approachable when I wear mumus. I am neither of those things, so next time I go out I will just wear my cowgirl apron, my straw hat and my embroidered Motherfucker pendant (it is wall art but I could totally add a chain to it) from The Cotton Floozy and I'm pretty sure that people will leave me the hell alone.

I realize that I should be snarling in this picture for the proper effect,
but I couldn't. This get-up made me too happy. I'm totally getting a chain for the pendant.
Good gawd, I need some yoga.



Monday, May 9, 2011

Mother's Day Weekend Beautification. Phase 1.

I had a wonderful Mother's Day weekend. After a week of nap refusals (Thing 2 is too big to nap now, being one and all), a full face pimple attack (come on! Wrinkles AND pimples? Really?), windy days (wind angers me), and my back still being junked up, I was looking forward to Brock being home for the weekend to give me a chance to hide in my room so I can do yoga and watch an episode of Ellen share the load with me. Well, the weekend delivered.

First of all, I didn't do any laundry and Brock made half of the meals. I could stop here and be completely happy but NO! There is more!

I finished the living room spending under $900 on the entire thing. I rock at being thrifty.

Before the redesign (i.e. beautification):

It was nice, but the furniture was too big for the room and too smooshy
for me. It was also dark and I like need light. The massive pieces really
messed up my room's (and my) Feng Shui.
 After the beautification:

New smaller and brighter couch, rug, pillows and art.
I can breathe in this room now. Feng Shui= good. I'm so freaking happy.

New (to me) chairs, drapes, pillows, original oil painting.
And of course the recovered ottoman.
This side of the room cost me $172. I love the color green and I love
the chair that Smelly Cat is laying in. LOVE. I have a story
about it that I will tell you later this week.

Don't worry about that pretty rug, it found a new home:

Master bedroom, now with carpet.
 Beautification of my skin:

Okay, so the picture is not pretty, but the end result was good!
This is how poor people do Spa Day.
Homemade mask of:
half an avocado, 1 egg yolk and 1-2 T honey.
Mix in food processor or mash by hand.
Cleared my outbreak up and moisturized my skin.
If you have oily skin, use egg white instead of yolk.
I can't remember where I read this recipe.....
 It was beautiful outside this weekend! One of the first weekend in almost two months without wind. We spent the weekend outside. I found out the hard way that my sunscreen is expired.... ouch.

Beautification of my window boxes:



I would like to get a few more plants, but this is a nice start!

Beautifcation of the property is underway.

Things are blooming:

Cherry tree.

Crab Apple tree.

Even the lilacs are popping out to say hello!
And for the grand finale....
We installed a POOL!

Happy Monday!

Peace, Love and Unicorns,

How was your Mother's Day weekend?