2. Do you have a favorite type of pen? Currently a Z-Grip Zebra Pen, but I have a fondness for those stainless steel business pens with the zaggy pen clips.
3. Look at your planner for May 14th, what are you doing? Nothing listed, but I'll be planning the Kid's birthday party, likely.
4. What does the 4th text in your inbox say? It's a confirmation of a survey I completed for a website beta test. (which sounds WAY more interesting and important than it really is.)
5. What was the last thing you highlighted? Some interesting stuff in a parenting book to share with Mr. F. later on.
6. What color are your bedroom curtains? No curtains, actually.
7. What color are the seats in your car? Grey. And maybe a little bit "chocolate and crumb colored" in the back from our last road trip snack issues.
8. Have you ever had a black and white cat? Yes, she was mostly black with a little white patch on her chest and tummy. Named oh-so-creatively "Blackie".
9. What is the last thing you put a stamp on? Some sort of official form or what not. Like I keep track of this stuff?? I barely remember what I fed my kids for breakfast.
10. Do you know anyone who lives in Wyoming? No.
11. Why did you withdraw cash from the ATM the last time? Probably to pay for a hot dog at Costco. :)
12. Who was the last baby you held? Abigail
13. Do you know of any twins with rhyming names? Nope.
14. Do you like Cinnamon toothpaste. Yes!
15. What kind of car were you driving 2 years ago? GMC Trailblazer named "Snowflake".
16. Pick one: Miami Hurricanes or Florida Gators. Basketball, right? Uhhh... Hurricanes.
17. Last time you went to Six Flags? Never been.
18. Do you have any wallpaper in your house? No.
19. Closest thing to you that is yellow? Orangey-yellow lid on a rubbermaid storage bin under the desk that's holding all my printer paper.
20. Last person to give you a business card? Executive Director of the SK Ronald McDonald House.
21. Who is the last person who wrote a check to you? My tenants.
22. Closest framed picture to you? Sadly, there are no framed pictures in this room. Wow, that sucks. Must do something about that.
23. Last time you had someone cook for you? Tonight, compliments of Mr. F.!
24. Have you ever applied for welfare? No.
25. How many emails do you have? 67.
26. Last time you received flowers? A dozen peach roses on Friday night when I got home. :)
27. Do you think the sanctity of marriage is meant for only a man and woman? Yes.
28. Do you play air guitar? I don't just Play, I SHRED.
29. Has anyone ever proposed to you? Proposed what?
30. Do you take anything in your coffee? Sugar. Sometimes milk or cream.
31. Do you have any willow tree figurines? Never heard of them. I'm not really a collecting-type person.
32. What was your high school’s mascot? Really can't recall.
33. Last thing you drank? Water with ice.
34. Last time you used hand sanitizer? A few days ago at work.
35. Would you like to learn to play the drums? I sort of can, but would like to Really be able to play.
36. What color are the blinds in your living room? White shipscloth.
37. What is in your inbox at work? Don't have one there.
38. Last thing you read in the newspaper? Strangely, sports scores.
39. What was the last pageant you attended? Never have.
40. What is the last place you bought pizza from? Boston Pizza
41. Have you ever worn a crown? I was going to say "Not on your life" but then I remembered Girl Guide Camp last winter where I was the Queen of Clean. I think there was a regrettable use of foil and cardboard involved.
42. What is the last thing you stapled? Some craft for the kiddos.
43. Did you ever drink clear Pepsi? I think so. And I'm still alive to tell of it.
44. Are you ticklish? And how! I've gained a bit of control over the last years, but I can still be rendered helpless pretty easily.
45. Last time you saw fireworks? July 1st at the lake.
46. Last time you had a Krispy Kreme doughnut? Canada does not have Krispy Kreme. We have Tim Horton's and it was a Boston Creme (really the only kind I like) over two months ago at least.
47. Who is the last person that left you a message & you actually returned their call? My sis-in-law.
48. Last time you parked under a carport? I don't think I ever have had the, uhh, pleasure.
49. Do you have a black dog? No.
50. Do you have pickles in your fridge? Do banana pepper rings count? All out of dills at the moment.
51. Are you an aunt or uncle? Aunt!
52. Who has the prettiest eyes that you know? A young Native man who works at a gas station we frequent. His eyes are light amber honey-colored with a dark ring around the outside. Wow.
53. Last time you saw a semi truck? Pretty much every day around here.
54. Do you remember Ugly Kid Joe? Sort of.
55. Do you have a little black dress? Well, I have a little black skirt, if that counts. I'm not really a Dress Kind of Girl.
I think I can do that.
This prime little piece of photo real estate was taken one summer morning at my family's cabin. I was walking down the little path to the beach and could see my Mom and Dad on the dock enjoying a morning coffee. (they are the two specks over the crest of patchy lawn, for anyone who's looking...) Unfortunately, all the lovely morning ambiance was lost as I totally suck at taking any kind of decent photo. Somehow the camera never "sees" what my eyes do.
I feel that I let our little lake down, being that the only pic I've ever posted on my blog of it is this piece of turd. I'll have to remedy that sometime soon.
Thanks for the tag, Cocotte! I hereby tag Sombra, Desmond and Xavier.
I really want to post something today cause, well, I actually have time to. It's my day off and I'm enjoying it like a day off should be enjoyed. In my jammies, with a coffee and absolutely no regard for the actual TO DO list that I made for myself last night.
It's scandalous, really.
But still... nothing.
Maybe I'll come by here again, later.
Yesterday, while dutifully doing my warehouse duties, my eyes rested upon a man whose appearance arrested my attention.
If Hugh Jackman ever stepped out of the pages of a Dicken's novel, this was the man. Shiny black shoes, long black dress coat with a grey woolen scarf and a... for real, now... a black top hat. I wouldn't have blinked if he had carried a walking stick. He had two, equally well dressed companions with him who called him The Butler and they, along with a number of members of our Merchandising crew were bring up flatbed after flatbed stacked tall with boxes of chips, crackers, chocolates, candies and the like. The counter next to mine was opened just for this purchase and as The Butler and His Entourage left their flatbeds there while they finished picking up the remainder of items they needed, the gossip grew.
Who is this man? Is he truly some rich family's butler? An eccentric, wealthy man living a persona? Or someone who simply looks delicious in turn of the century clothing and likes to make people talk about himself? Regardless, the amount of merchandise he was bringing to the front was astounding. A member of Merchandising came by and I overheard that this was a charitable donation to some children's charity, just as the Butler came strutting back to the front end.
And, how, you may wonder, does a Butler (The Butler?) in the middle of Saskatchewan speak? With a proper British accent of course; leaning a bit towards the Cockney, rather than a crisp London. Oh, and he opens out in song (the last line of The 12 Days of Christmas, for those who would like to know) without the slightest discomfort.
Which all leads me to believe that he was a very rich, very interesting Apparition. A spector of Christmas Past.
That, or a very strange and extremely mysterious man. Who wears a top hat. And sings. And gives large sums of money to charity.
Nope, I'm still leaning towards the Spector-thing.
2.) Summer. Cause -30 Celcius is not doing a thing for me, honey. 'Cept chap my skin and frost my car and make me swear more than usual.
OK... so those are the only two things that I'd be well chuffed to fix up.
3.) Something interesting and fun to blog about. Cause, well... that's self-evident isn't it?
10:47 a.m. I take a seat in the common area, hoping to see one of the five management people I've met thus far.
10:49 a.m. I can't help but wonder if I'm in the right place.
10:53 a.m. No sign of management, no sign of a sign, even. Gah!
10:55 a.m. I really must not be in the right place. See people down the hall. Ask people if they would direct me to the orientation meeting. Down the hall and past the closed door, you say? Why thank you, kind people.
10:56 a.m. Mutter under my breath about incompetent directions and an almost tardy arrival to the orientation.
10:57 a.m. Walk in the door with a smile on my face that doesn't show how much I don't like wearing this collared shirt and my previous irritation with not knowing where to be for something that is rather important.
11:00 a.m. Commence orientation with soon-to-be coworkers; a very nice older woman and a cute (in a clean-cut adorable way) pre-med student.
11:15 a.m. Learn how to properly lift stuff by watching videos of numerous people lifting stuff in exaggerated motion.
11:28 a.m. Learn how to clean up spills of a nefarious nature: chemicals, acids, vomit and all other manner of yuck.
11:42 a.m. It's Freezing in here! I wonder if it would look weird if I put on my coat? I don't want to look like I want to leave or something. Brrrrrr.
11:55 a.m. Really, really cold.
12:08 p.m. Help me. My heartrate is slowing into hibernation mode. Suck it. I'm putting on my coat.
12:11 p.m. Much better.
12:30 p.m. Learn that schedules are posted in military time. Hoo-ah! Secretly hope I don't screw it up. Man, that's a gimormous schedule.
12:34 p.m. Ha ha! Pre-med student is funny!
1:00 p.m. My tummy is growling. I should've had breakfast and normally would have except that I was told that Costco was treating us to lunch and all I could think was "mmmmmmmmmm, Poutine." and do you know how many calories and fat is in Costco Poutine?? At least 5,031,990. Enough to finance the clogging of a minor artery. Enough that I shouldn't even be considering eating it at all. It should not be considered "food".
1:05 p.m. Funny and adorable Pre-Med student orders poutine. SOLD! I'll have mine with a diet Coke, thank you. Cause I'm sensible like that.
1:35 p.m. Get to use the bio-metric retina scanner to clock back in. Kidding. But that would be cool, wouldn't it? Instead, I got to scan a barcode.
1:38 p.m. More safety stuff. Look, we're watching ANOTHER video about how to lift stuff properly. WHMIS, MSDS, HAZCOM, ZZZZZZZ...
2:45 p.m. Huh? What happened? Where am I? ... Ha ha. I'm only kidding. I totally paid attention.
2:47 p.m. I've signed more forms and contracts than an ambassador at a Head of State meeting.
2:48 p.m. What exactly do ambassadors do, anyhow? Sounds like a cushy job... I wonder how one gets hooked up with a gig like that? Ambassador degree? Charm school?
2:49 p.m. Night merch guy has a very interesting beard thing going on. Intriguing.
3:00 p.m. Quick break. Check out schedules for this week and next. Six days in a row and forty hours. Not bad. Double check my military time. Don't screw this up, Flutter.
3:10 p.m. My manager; my entertaining, talky, cool manager takes the floor. Some rules and do's and dont's.
3:15 p.m. Harassment guidelines. Or rather, guidelines to avoid harassment.
3:23 p.m. More forms. For realsies. My signature is by now looking like a wavy line.
3:45 p.m. Glad we're almost done cause my butt is feeling a little square-ish from sitting so long.
3:48 p.m. I wonder if the key will work for the kiddos. Will they remember to go to the neighbors if it doesn't?
3:51 p.m. Man, what if they can't get in the house and the neighbor isn't home and... holy cow it's freezing outside. C'mon. This better end on time.
3:52 p.m. Get a grip. Everything will be fine.
4:00 p.m. OK, entertaining and wonderful manager. We are supposed to be done. I have kids ALONE IN THE HOUSE. OR HUDDLED ON THE PORCH IN -30 DEGREE WEATHER. Well, likely alone in the house, but still... Smile, Flutter. Stay engaged.
4:09 p.m. Please, please, please can we go? Oh, more forms. Sure. I'll scrawl, I mean SIGN those.
4:15 p.m. Done. Finally. Scanny thing again. Oh, how I wish it was a retina scanner.
4:20 p.m. Where the heck did I park and why is it so unbelievably cold out? Rocket better start. The kids! Check cell phone finally. No messages. Breathe easy, I'm sure they're inside and just fine.
4:30 p.m. Home. Kids are inside... not fighting. BONUS!!
4:38 p.m. Survey damage in the kitchen from the night before. Yes, the night before. Cause I had to go out after supper and run errands and did NOT feel like cleaning up afterwards. I am soooooo stupid. Stupid, stupid stupid. Where's a fairy godmother when you need one?
And, now... with my kitchen clean and my blog taken care of, I just have to wait for Mr. F. to get home and take us out to celebrate my First Day at Costco. Good times.
Darn. I should probably return that little feathered chicken costume, then.
Well, it remains that I have joined the ranks of eager Twitterers. I really don't know exactly how the whole thing works, but it seems that all the Cool People are doing it, and if there's anything I can't resist, it's the chance to try and do whatever the Cool People are doing. Only thing is I manage to do it MONTHS after it's caught on with... oh... Everyone Else and I'm hopelessly behind and noticeably Not Cool.
But, hey, at least I'm not wearing feathers and a beak. That would've blown my Cool Cover all to crap.
Sometimes I'll hear a song for the first time, only to have an odd sense of deja vu over a lyric -- particularly metaphors -- that I've used in my journalling or writing before. Whatever the reason for this collective shared consciousness, be it fanciful or explainable, it never fails to spin my head a bit.
I first heard this song just yesterday. Apparently it's been around a long time (think 1990), albeit a somewhat obscured existence. I've not had opportunity to listen to Peter Murphy's larger body of work, or appreciate his artistry -- which apparently is great and notorious. (but, what would I know...) -- the jury is still out as to whether I can say I "love" this one. But, hearing this song brought one of those deja vu moments to me and for that alone it deserves some blog space.
Long live the metaphor.
While I may not absolutely LURRRRVVVE this song as a whole, I will say that I am awed by the man's glacial eyes. And possibly the carved cheekbones.
1) Went to the gym. This was by far the best thing for staying warm. I started SimpleFit level four (20 mins; 26 pull-ups(modified), 52 push-ups, 78 olympic squats (20#)... I'm so going to be hurtin' tomorrow) and then wrapped my slick, sweaty self into my parka and drove home with the steam puffing from the top of my damp head. Didn't even feel the chill.
2) Clunky, Fuzzy Winter Boots and Ski Gloves. Now, if someone would invent a way to plug these into something that would make them roasty, toasty warm... a thought which inspired my next attempt at keeping warm.
3) Hair Dryer. Yes, it was chilly in the store today and the hair dryer that we use to dry paint samples found it's way under my shirt a few times today and maybe even down my pants (At which Mr. F. could only ask "What in the world are you doing?" and I could only reply "Warming up dinner, baby"... heh heh). But we won't talk about that one. Lucky hair dryer, huh? :D
4) Jumping jacks. Reference #1. Thought this might help. It didn't really do much.
5) Extra clothes. Self explanatory. I also felt a little embarrassed by the lecherous stare of the hair dryer after our little rendezvous and felt I should cover up.
I have to go out tonight to get groceries and I cannot tell you how much I'm dreading it. But, unless I want to pack dry crusts and moldy cheese for my kid's lunch (How Hansel and Gretel of me, hey?) I really need to go out shopping.
Last night I totally re-did the Princess' room. Her room used to have a loft bed, but this summer she got a regular twin-sized bed. (which is apparently, soooooo much more grown up, Mom, like, REALLY.) It was set up in the same place as the loft bed, which was no biggie in the summer time, but come winter time... it's quite obvious that the heat register is blocked by it's placement. And a chilly Princess is a grumpy Princess.
So, last night I rearranged her furniture, which also meant vacuuming and wiping baseboards and sorting through her toys and papers and -- holy cow, the girl has STUFF. I swapped out her big computer desk for a smaller one and threw out at least a gigawatt of junk. I found some missing socks and CDs and was very thankful that I don't allow her to eat in her room as I certainly would have found regrettable rotten stuff, as well. I also slipped a fleecy blanket under her flannel sheet for warmth and added a down throw to her bed.
The Princess usually doesn't like change, not one bit. But, I think she was pretty pleased to see the new configuration of her room. And, now that things are a bit more streamlined, it should make it easier for her to maintain. Cause I was reminded that I need to expect much more from her in this area and we've had a talk to that effect. HandiPoints chore charts have been explained and Mom is in drill sergeant mode. I'm trying to find the right mix of Benevolent and Scary. Will let you all know how that works out.
Mr. F. and I have volunteered to be a part of the Ronald McDonald House. There will be a home opening in Fluttercity in the near future and I am so excited to help out.
About nine years ago, the Princess needed a couple surgeries that involved us travelling to another province's Children's Hospital for a week each time. The Ronald McDonald House was a huge blessing to our family then, providing a home away from home where it was easy to function as usual; cooking, accomodating a toddler, hanging out, etc. We met some incredible and unforgettable families and children there and we always vowed we'd find a way to give back.
We spoke with the Executive Director last week and are simply waiting to hear what needs to be done. :)
This week, I'm signing the grommets up for ski lessons at our local "mountain". I've decided that, what with selling all our worldly goods and moving to warmer climates being a bit too far out of reach, we will have to find ways to enjoy this season we call The Freaking Freezing Cold Part of the Year (traditionally known in many cultures as Winter). I have vague memories of actually Liking this season growing up and it largely had to do with being able to go downhill skiing. The prairie town I grew up in had a ski hill close by... nothing at all like the mountains, mind you... but I daresay it was the envy of the province when it comes to skiing as it's the most "mountain-like" (and if that just isn't the saddest commentary of prairie living, I don't know what is.) So, along with a bit of territorial pride in this ski hill came the snobbish derision of all other provincial ski hills (and surprisingly, there are a few). Needless to say, it actually bothers me a bit that my kids will be learning to ski on *nose in the air* THAT excuse of a ski hill.
But, learn they will. I'm actually really looking forward to skiing and boarding again. (although my snowboarding efforts were sub-par and injury-ridden... maybe I'll rethink the snowboarding!) Hopefully the ski hill isn't too much of a disappointment. I know that there's a pretty active Alpine club here, which is great. There's a trip to Kimberly, BC in the works for the New Year and if the grommets catch on fast, we might just join in the fun.
Vive la SNOW~!
We've been working on revamping our store, so there's been a lot of cleaning and sorting to stay on top of. I've crashed the computer system a time or two, switching out components for nicer, newer bits of sleekness. And, in a smashing moment of brilliance, I brought YouTube viewing to all the employees. One small step backwards for productivity but a giant step forward in employee morale, if I do say so, myself.
I had a few other resumes out in the ether of Fluttercity, though... and this weekend I finished up the last in a series of interviews and was offered a position. (Side note: Do you know how difficult it is to be interviewed about past work performance when your last job was EIGHT YEARS AGO??? I seriously would have done just as well to totally Make Stuff Up as to try and remember that crap. Meh.)
Anyhow, as of Wednesday this little Flutter will be working front end at Costco. Part-time. Seasonal.
I know. I KNOW! The career path doesn't get any more long and winding than this. What can I say, I am a slave to the big bucks. No? Errrr... would you believe that I'm a slave to Costco??
Awwww, you guys know me so well.
And if you treat me nice, I just may let you all know whether or not working there is at all like the movie "Employee of the Month". Cause, really, you can't watch that movie and not wonder if there's a poker game going on up in the stacks or forklift races after hours. And you KNOW that I'm on that action like stink on socks. I am your Inside Man. Girl. Whatever.
The next few weeks are going to be a little bit nuts between working two jobs, hitting the gym and keeping the house from falling apart and my kids in clean underwear. But, I think I'm up for the challenge. I mean, it's not often that one gets called upon to make such a significant contribution to society and all. And, when Costco has given so much to me, how can I not give back? That's what I'm talking about.
I was not prepared for the fact that my favorite little pair of low-rise grey yoga sweats hugged my booty more than before. It appears that when you sit on your arse for three months and eat more than you should... the booty? It grows. Really, should not be a surprise and yet, strangely? It was.
I was not prepared for being nervous to go to a co-ed gym. My last gym was a Ladies Only thing-ey and while Krav was co-ed... it was just Different. Thankfully it was not a busy night and I was only moderately shamed by the sexy skinny girlies in their workout gear and just slightly intimidated by the buff college dudes lifting ridiculous amounts of weight.
I was not prepared and forgot my water bottle in the car. Which might not be bad if I wasn't such a mouth-breather during sprints. Seriously, a mouth full of desert sand would feel better than that parched mess of lips and tongue I called my own after sprint intervals. Yuck.
I was not prepared to open my gym bag in the change room and have my eyes well up with tears... really, real TEARS at the sight and smell of my leather sparring gloves. I wanted so bad to put them on, but knew that for sure I'd be a blathering mess if I did. So I just held them to my nose like a freaky little freak and wondered what the HECK was going on with me that I'd be so messed up by this.
I was not prepared to be so disgusted with myself about how much progress I'd lost. Strength, cardio, flexibility. Gone. Tonight I only tackled about 25 mins of interval training and some ab/core work (about 1/4 of what I previously did) and, while I can't say that it Finished me... I do think I'll feel it a bit tomorrow, which really sucks and shows just how far things have regressed.
Right then. So, what I'm going to do is take this awful, negative experience and channel it into some good, old fashioned FUEL for CHANGE. Also known as Crazy Attitude that will keep me working and pushing and smiling through all manner of bodily punishment. *wink* That's me... the hard-core chiquita with the regrettably snug yoga sweats.
Isn't he cute? And no... that is not my real email page, you SnoopyMcSnoopertons.
2) Burt's Bees Balm. Say that ten times quickly. This stuff is the Bomb, though when winter hits round these parts. It doesn't smell particularly gorgeous, which usually rules out a product for Flutter usage. But it is just That Good at fixing winterey skin. I'm also experimenting with going without gloves this winter. The last couple years I've worn driving gloves and it seemed that my hands got even drier than usual. I've met a few people who swear that au natural is the better, if not more painful, way to go. Of course, doing work outside and playing in the snow, etc. will mandate wooly mittens as usual... but otherwise, I'm giving it a go and so far? Less dry skin on my hands for sure. Hmmmmmm. I will say, though, that it is difficult to drive a Stick when you are sitting on one hand trying to warm it up. (And that somehow sounded a little perverted, so I'll stop there.)
3) HandiPoints. A sweet little on-line chore chart and points system for the grommets. Keep track on line or print out your chore charts. Kids earn points and you get to set the point values for treats or priviledges that they can earn with those points. Such as a family movie night or making a ginormous ice cream sundae together, skating or other outings or what not. There's also a bonus play section that's a bit like Webkinz, where the kids can use the bonus points earned to interact with their HandiCat, furnishing it's home and "purchasing" outfits and playing games and such. And best of all... it's free and safe.
4) DryerBalls. I'm not sure what that says about my dryer, but it might explain the regular groping encountered when I walk past it. Yes, my dryer is a manly dryer. And perhaps a bit more noisy when running. But, the noise and the groping is worth the trade-off for less wrinkly clothes and no static cling (even when throwing in fleece blankets). And heck, who am I kidding. The groping is a BONUS, not a trade-off. I also use the Nellie's Naturals laundry detergent which simply does it's job with no chemicals, scent or phosphates.
5) Kashi Go Lean Crunch. Cause it's yummy and crunchy and has 10g of protein and a metric tonne of fibre. Extra yummy points with banana sliced in it.
6) My gym pass. HA!!!! Sorry... not using that at all like I should. Just had to put that in here to publicly humiliate me enough to go face down my workout like a good girl tonight.
And let me say that the Cute was turned up loud in that joint.
The Kid's musical number was during the village party and their song had them bopping and grooving and.. yes... the little boys even did a little polka-type dance with the girls at one point. And you know that parents eat that up like chocolate cake with chocolate sprinkles. The Kid so enjoyed himself and I have to say that I hardly noticed any of the other little kids on stage cause I was so amazed and astounded that that cute little blond kid with the million watt smile was MINE. I don't feel bad, though, as I'm sure that no other parents noticed my kid, either. Strange how that works.
The Princess' class came out to a dark, rock number. The two little girls were lost in a snowstorm and the Princess and her classmates provided the storm. Dressed all in black with flowing white and icy blue streamers from their arms and sparkling face paint, they whirled and thundered and threw themselves across the stage in a totally mini-broadway manner. The song crashed to an end and all the class fell to the floor, revealing the two lost girls huddling together for warmth at center stage in the spotlight. This song couldn't have been more perfect for the Princess as she thrives on the dramatic and I could tell she loved every minute of it.
Anyhow, it was a sweet bit of entertainment for a cold winter night and I was really glad that the school and the teachers involved went to all the effort to produce something pretty cool that all the students could be involved in in a creative manner. The students with speaking parts all did so very well and the snowman was truly adorable.
We've had some good times, you and I. You quickly rose through the union ranks with your work on the Great Complexion Project of '89 and while I wasn't crazy about the whole Time of the Month Endeavour, it was a brilliant marketing ploy to throw the Girls and the Butt in on the deal. We've had a pretty easy-going work relationship and I took for granted that you didn't crack me out on the PMS train each month. I always appreciated that you didn't jump in on the water retention trend. Maybe I never told you that. I was especially proud of you when you revamped the Girls that first pregnancy. That was sweet.
I know we've had some rough patches. Hair and Nails wasn't your forte and there were a couple times you were, uhhh, late for the party and stressed me out a bit. But, you know... we communicated. We moved on.
I thought we were a team.
So, what I really need to know is... what's the dealio with the gazillion blemishes you've been letting in the gate? We have Standards up in this place. And me looking like a spotty troll is not on the agenda last I looked. I know you are capable of doing Better, little hormones. I have seen it with my own eyes and have the yearbook pictures to prove it.
I've got my eye on you. Year end review is coming up and I may just have a mind to outsource this job. Buck up, cowboys.
I would be telling you all about it except for the fact that, well, I blew my brains out before the weekend even started...
Something like that. But it will make more sense if I back up a bit. I spent the day before leaving feeling really pretty awful. You don't have to know me (or read this blog) for long before you know that I have sinus Issues. Behind this cute little nose is satan's playground, complete with sharp objects and stuff specially designed to make a head miserable.
So, this is how it goes for me. Things are normal until one day, usually by afternoon, I get feeling chilled and flu-ish. The playground starts winding up into full carnival mode by evening and I spend the next day or so working all my tricks to pull the plug on this. If I can get things under control within a week, I'm usually back in business for at least another week or two until it's time to Rinse, Repeat. And if I can't kick it, I know I'm in for the long haul which really, really, really sucks.
Thursday was Flu and Chill day. I finished out my day at work feeling crappy and resigned myself to the fact that I would be spending my weekend away steaming my brain out with saline spray and hot Magic bags which I packed carefully into my luggage on Friday morning.
And never took out of my suitcase. Cause I found THIS:
(picture removed cause it crashed my template.)
My Mama was given this by her chiropractor (totally The World's Greatest Chiropractor, btw) and she passed it on to me to try out. It is a homeopathic formulation which means it is meant to be taken orally. Mr. Chiropractor recommended it be, well... snorted.
I was desperate/foolish enough to pony up with what looked like a little coke spoon and measure out ten drops of this stuff. Clearly, there was a high alcohol content as just lifting it to my sweet little nostril brought water to my eyes. Primitive instincts fired up in warning and I swear that I saw red before tipping back my head and sucking what I later found out was 45% vol. alcohol into my cranium.
The word "pain" cannot even describe that Mack truck. It was like my face gave birth to a very large, spiny cactus. Explosively.
It was staggering. Literally... I staggered trying to stay upright before I found something to lean against. My eyes were pouring water and my teeth felt like they might fall out. I managed to breathe only cause I reminded myself to. Somewhere in that firey fog in my head I remembered that I still had Round Two to finish. I clenched that heinous little coke spoon in my trembling hand and measured out those dreaded ten drops much like dropping lead bullets into a six-shooter before facing down an enemy. I was committed. Deep breath. A bit of inspiring trashy self-talk and... Tip and Snort.
I heard a pounding in my ears and it took a moment to realize that I was hearing the heel of my hand banging on the countertop I was bent over. Sweet baby Jesus have mercy.
And He did. Cause four hours later? After the throbbing in my jaw and burning in my cheekbones had abated? I was TOTALLY all better. Whether through the medicinal herbal component which treated my sinusitis, or the frank, raw sterilization and stripping of my mucus membranes by the alcohol content... I was healed. Alternatively, it is entirely possible that my sinuses packed their bags and left FlutterTown under the cover of night, never to return except to sue my ass for Assault and Battery.
No matter. I am a happy camper... and the new mother of two spiny cactuses named Frick and Frack. What a ride.
Axel F -- Crazy Frog
The Hamsterdance Song -- Hampton the Hamster
Unbelieveable -- EMF
Boom! Shake the Room -- DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince (Holla! Will Smith!)
Walk This Way -- Run DMC (sneaking a little Aerosmith in there...)
Jump, Jive and Wail -- The Brian Setzer Orchestra
All Star -- SmashMouth
Le Freak -- Chic
We Got the Beat -- The Go-Go's
Jump Around -- House of Pain
Hey Baby (feat. Bounty Killer) -- No Doubt
Oh Yeah -- Yello (remember Ferris Bueler?...)
Who Let the Dogs Out -- Baha Men (OK, I can't stand this one but the kiddos love it)
Tubthumping -- Chumbawumba (I'm hoping the drinking refs are missed)
U Can't Touch This -- MC Hammer (why did I download this one??)
Let's Get It Started -- Black Eyed Peas
Hey Ya! -- OutKast (clean edit)
Rocket will be jammin' all the way down the highway.
Also, since the Kid has his DS to keep him busy, I had pity on the Princess and downloaded the entire Season 1 of Heartland. You KNOW she'll be lovin' me til the day I die.
And, I know that you all are looking at this list and wondering where all MY downloads are. Honestly... I didn't really get much. Just the new GNR single "Chinese Democracy". Which did not disappoint -- that much (but let me say there's a reason I didn't download the whole album...). Also, I endured an embarrassing five minutes where I contemplated Bret Michael's four acoustic session singles. Yeah... let's forget that.
I've got my eye on a few things (of more substantial interest and quality than Bret Michaels acoustic sessions), but it will have to wait for another day when I'm not busy blowing money on my kids. That day does come, doesn't it??
See y'all after the weekend!
I should've kept my big mouth shut.
Things are blow-ey and cold around here and I got caught without my winter coat on (cause, you know, the warm-ish weather and all...) and I swear that when that icy wind blew through my oh-so-sporty navy breaker; my nips attempted to wrap themselves around my spine in .05 seconds and my lungs didn't know whether to cry or shatter into a thousand pink crystals.
I always pictured Mother Nature as some sort of serene, lovely, regal woman.
Clearly, she is a cracked-out, psychotic meth ho on some sort of wrathful binge, bent upon the torment and destruction of us all. Clearly.
Mr.F.: Hey, how's my 13 yr old Ball and Chain?
Me: Very Funny. Happy Anniversary to you, too.
Mr.F.: So, do you mind if I go out with the guys tonight?
Such a funny dude. Such a funny dude who's going to get the smack down on his WRY, SARDONIC self.
FYI, he is taking this certain, cute Ball and Chain out tonight. No guys allowed.
I sheepishly admit that I previously had only watched a Bond movie accidentally. As in, "I accidentally passed out on the couch and when I woke up there was an old Bond flick on the tube and I was too tired to move." It's not that I don't like spies. I totally crush hard on them. Love the intrigue, the drama, the tension, all the naughty trouble they get into. Where's the downside? It's just that I expect a certain level of competency from my spies.
And herein lies my issue with Bond. Sure, he's smooth. But he's not dark. He trusts too much.
He drinks the COFFEE that the bad guys give him after he's captured. I mean, getting captured in the first place is at least a strike or two against you having a long career as a spy, anyhow. But, really? Must we also partake of the foodstuffs given to us by our captors? I realize that I am but a lowly layperson in the world of an International Man of Mystery, but I think it's pretty self-evident that the bad dudes probably put something sinister in the food. I mean, barring the real lethal stuff that burns a bloody hole through your body, chances are that at least one person spit in it. Really, Mr. Bond. Don't drink the coffee. What's that? You feel woozy?
Also, too bumbling. Walking into traps, touching stuff that shouldn't be touched. Generally being clueless of his environment.
Call me hard to impress.
Maybe I'm spoiled.
I can appreciate the shows from a historical point, even from a genre perspective. But old-Bond as lethal spy? Hardly believable. Jason Bourne would crush him. On his worst day, with one arm tied behind his back and while breaking code on his blackberry to boot. Craig's Bond might be more of a challenge... hard to say.
What do you think? How does Bond match up against your favorite spy?
- Friday afternoon, our business did a contractor appreciation lunch. Really very informal and fun. Like a "Come And Go Tea" kind of thing, except without the Tea or the nicely dressed and Clean people. Also, without the breakable plates and real silverware. Also... OK, so it's nothing like a Tea. But, the guys did come and go as they were able. Our store has been doing this thing a few times a year for a while, now. And it's been pretty successful in doing what it's supposed to do, which is make the trades feel welcome in our ritzy *murphlegasp* little corner of decorating heaven *HA!* and gives us the opportunity to do business-ey kind of things with them such as Inform, Collaborate and Communicate. Also, Sell Stuff. What it also means is that I get the dubious pleasure of making more Chili than the law should allow the night before. How much is More Than Should Be Allowed? Try somewhere between Commercial Pasta Pot and Industrial Vat of the stuff. Yes, that is an amount that is officially described as A WITCH'S CAULDRON of chili. Except it's rather hard to come by Cauldrons in this day and age, which is unfortunate as one would have been extremely handy. So, I was left piecing together four batches of chili into numerous, very large slow cookers and hoping for the best. At 3 a.m. Cause I'm dedicated to the Chili like that and wouldn't want it to get scorched from too many cooking hours. Mission accomplished, bee-yatches. That was some Slammin' chili -- got "spoons up" from contractors around the store. My wounded pride (I refer you, dear reader, to the Beef Stew CookOff post) was healed and I once again walk tall in the kitchen.
- We are having some the THE NICEST winter weather, ever. I'm sure we'll pay for it somewhere down the line... we always do. But, yeah. For now, THE NICEST.
- Chanukah. Our family just wrapped up a super fun eight days with, uhhh, more Fun. Special thanks to the lovely JJ for hosting the gory lot of us. I promise the next one's on me, sis!
- Nothing says "family" like a little GNR. Take one Paradise City video:
and add four wildly flailing, dancing, stalling, flipping and headbanging grommets. Add way too much laughter and an inordinate amount of Mommy/Auntie pride (cause, yeah... out of all the songs these kids could pick? GNR, dudes!!!) and you have a recipe for happiness. Or societal anarchy. Take your pick.
- New Zealand. Yeah, I'm doing it, again. I'm one step away from phoning the Consulate to request an immigration packet. You can't tie me down. You can't fence me in. I was made to ROAM. ...Or at least to crazily contemplate roaming while being safely entrenched in my life and home Here in the frozen part of the Frozen North. Which, granted, has been unseasonably lovely and all of late. But, it's no NewFreakingZealand, I tell you that much. I do give Mr. F. grand and glorious kudos for understanding this part of me -- this little unconventional bit of me that comes up with these idealistic dreams. I'm not sure if he's just humoring me or really is willing to go on the wildest adventure with me, but he's being exceptionally accomodating of all my enraptured babbling about this. High Five, Mr. F.!!!
- And now... now I must go deliver paint. Excitement like this does not come cheap.
The show is down to the top six; Lisa is by far my pick for the girl's spot in the end... and for the guys? Hands down it's gotta be Nico. The judges all along have been crediting him with being the reason that guys want to dance, as he brings a crazy masculine energy to a discipline that's sometimes perceived as being feminine. But, I tell you... I swear that this guy is the reason that girls want to dance, too.
Fast forward to tonight when I, for the first time ever, get to sit down to a Totally-Mr.F. - Prepared supper. See the look of surprise on my face?
And watch the surprise turn to elated disbelief when I see that nothing was burned, mangled, set on fire or wounded during the making of said stew.
And then see my eyes light up at the tasty, mouth watering aroma of the Totally-Mr.F.-Prepared supper.
I taste. Hmmmmmmm.
The dude makes good stew. And as hard as this is for me to admit, being that I take a little bit of pride in my kitchen skills... I think it was better than I've ever made it.
Ouch. I know.
But, the trade-off was worth it. Taking a small hit to my pride in exchange for MY MAN IN THE KITCHEN. Cooking. Stew. Really, really, really good stew. Now that's a deal I can stomach.
Sucks to be us.
Luckily, for those of us who were lamely looking in other directions while very cool things were falling from space and imploding upon reaching the earth's atmosphere... lucky for us there is YouTube. And police dash cams.
I realize and respect that every woman has different expectations and requirements of the experience of childbirth. What troubles me is that the medical community seems to resist operating outside of their own comfortable parameters when a mother does not wish to be medicated or hooked up to machines. It is rare to find a medical professional who will listen and accomodate the wishes of such a mother.
I was incredibly lucky to have found such a professional when pregnant with the Princess. I presented him with my birthplan and he graciously accomodated whatever was within his power to allow at the hospital I planned to be at. I wanted, as much as possible, a natural childbirth. No meds, no monitors, limited interference with the labor process. I felt that I had a job to do and there was no one better equipped to birth my baby than me, so... leave me alone to do my job. I was greatly influenced by Dr. Robert Bradley's writing on natural birth, and while my own doctor was not comfortable with all of what I outlined, we reached a compromise that I felt was more than adequate.
The Princess' birth was not "perfect", she managed to get herself stuck (apparently missed the memo about not sticking one's hands out the window when in the tunnel) and some help extracting her was needed. I wasn't happy about that, nor the methods used to create some extra, errr.. Room for her elbows and head, but I understood it was necessary. Other than things getting a little squicky and scary at the end, my experience was incredibly amazing and life-affirming. My plan was mostly followed, I was given the space and time to be centered and concentrated during labor. No meds were pushed my way and I felt that both my GP and my L&D nurse were supportive of my natural instinct as a birthing mother.
I assumed that every birth experience would be like this.
Not so. Flash forward to my pregnancy with the Kid. My GP is no longer in the city and I was left trying to find a doctor who would take on another patient. I was referred to the reigning "baby doctor" in town. During our initial meetings, he seemed accepting and encouraging of what I outlined in my birth plan. But, once D-Day arrived... I soon found out that I was just another nameless, faceless Mom in his long parade. I was subjected to the exams of numerous student nurses, doctors... who knows. We were shuffled from room to room and I felt that no one took me seriously. When I told my L&D nurse that I felt I was transitioning, she brought in two other professionals to check and I was firmly told that I obviously didn't know what I was doing as I had at least another eight hours to go. I was exhausted from the previous eight hours, not to mention the lack of sleep in the weeks previous as the Kid seemed to be playing dodgeball in utero each night as I tried to sleep. I accepted their offer of Demerol (which I was told would help my body rest between contractions) and the Kid was born -- not eight hours -- but 40 minutes later. Unfortunately, I really don't remember much of his birth as I had a bad reaction to the drug and was ridiculously stoned.
There are some big lessons in here about listening to the wisdom of your own body and sticking to a plan. I get that. But, I can't help but feel that the medical system and the professionals in it often force their own judgements and assessments upon people using the power of their position, and often disregard the patient's own assessment and instinct. I guess that's what we pay them for... to Know Stuff and Do Stuff That We Can't Do Ourselves. And when it comes to stuff like repairing damaged body parts or cutting out disease (or pieces of glass in one's leg), I pretty much am OK with shutting up and letting them do their thing.
But, I do wish that someone would have believed in me when I was doing something that I was meant to do and could do for myself.
(OK. I confess. I heart, you, Jonas Brothers.)
But, really... in general I try to act at least a little bit grown up. *snicker* Just cause I have kids *snort* and am supposed to be a responsible adult *bwahahmufflemuffleha* and all. No, really. I am mostly, almost really responsible practically whenever I can be. Pinky swear.
After hearing a few people talking about the movie and being stuck in a waiting room with a magazine article profiling the lead actors, I admit to being a bit curious and thinking that I might want to go check out what all the buzz was about. But, I have this thing about books that have been made into movies.
I really like to read the book first. Like, I pretty much HAVE to.
So, when I saw the softcover copy on sale for only $6.99 (XOXOXOXOXOXOX Costco!) I grabbed it and started reading while I waited for Rocket to get some TLC in the shop. (A matter for which I sheepishly refer you to one of my responses in the post below. Rocket is still giving me the silent treatment).
I am now certain of a few things.
1) I need to write a novel. Quickly. True, I have no clue what to write about, nor how to go about starting, working on or finishing a novel. But I'm pretty certain I could do it all the same. I get the idea that this author really didn't know what she was doing, either. I'd like to think that she knew -- and really, one has to think that she did, what with the gazillions of dollars she'll be making from the series and motion picture -- but I have my doubts.
2) A central, male character can only be described as "Beautiful" and "Perfect" for so long until one gets a wee bit irritated and tempted to huck a thesaurus in the author's direction. Also, one begins to think of said character as a girly-man which ruins entirely the premise of primal attraction which the author is painstakingly attempting to create.
3) I will watch the movie. All said... despite my many irritations with the Writing of the story; it remains a good Story. Intriguing, dark and interesting. I'm anxious to see if the screenplay and the actors can lend some more depth and chemistry to their characters.
4) I wonder what my blood smells like.
5) I'm mad at myself for not being able to put the book down.
6) I'm such a teenage girl.
I was enjoying the home stretch of freeway, music was loud and fun and traffic light. As I approach the exit, I see the traffic lights winking at me and I know that we will have our Moment.
Normally this approach is all clogged up onto the thoroughfare... but I saw my opening, the light changed and I nailed it into the merge to hit it just right. Braking and downshifting before it's apex, I was all Danica Patrick-ish with the quick shoulder check and gearing up out of the corner. And then, in a moment so perfect that I swear beams of light shone down and the shimmering voices of angels accompanied Rocket's engine... I saw the Moment. I took the Moment.
Yeah, that's right. One sweeping, smooth FOUR LANE CHANGE through traffic for me.
I swear, I get all giggly and giddy just thinking about it. And that might be sad. It really may be. But sometimes it's the small stuff that puts a smile on your face and that's just fine by me. It was fine with Rocket, too.
Which makes me wonder whether it's more important to encourage Nature or Nurture.
I've found out that one of Mr. F's favorite comedians is coming to our city this weekend and managed to get two tickets (cause, hello... I like to laugh, too!). I've got a babysitter lined up and all is set to go.
So... do I do the compassionate thing and tell him what I've got planned?
Or, do I torture him gleefully with the fact that I'm taking him out and he has no idea what we're doing? Sky diving? Giving blood? Skateboarding? Ballet?
I'm trying really hard to suppress Evil Flutterby, but the temptation is great, people.
What do you think?
So, without further ado... some highlights and lowlights from the evening.
- Sneaking non-arena food into the arena. Did I? Did I? DID I EVER. Now, I realize that Danger like this is foreign to many of you, but I regularly step it out on the Serpentine so this was no big. My favorite black XOXO bag muled in a couple water bottles and a sweet bag of pink (PINK!) m&m's. Sure, this was no Black Ops Special Unit, but I tell you that the ticket checker at the entrance was looking me over pretty good and had I not been calm, cool and collected, the whole thing could've fallen down around me faster than fast.
- Kidlets loved it. And how can you not enjoy your kids loving stuff? Really? The Kid was dancing and gyrating and half mooning the camera, trying to get his wicked little self on TV, the intermission entertainment (Hamster Ball... classic stuff!) had them rolling with laughter and the Princess was strangely entertained by the fights. (like mother, like daughter... I know.)
- I really don't like fries that much. But, Arena Fries? Straight from the potato gods, I swear it. I stole some of the Princess' and I think that the look in my eyes might have scared her a bit.
- Arena rock. Loud, pounding classics and jumped up jams. DJ did us right last night (and yeah, I totally meant to be uncool when I said that).
- Lowlights? Our team lost.
-My sinuses were having a full-out Tantrum last night which meant that my head was pounding and I had to head to the washroom at intermission to LOSE IT (and by "it" I mean the pink m&m's) cause that's just what happens to my body when my head is being, oh, crushed into oblivion. Also happens during childbirth, but we won't go there this time. Thank me later.
- There was a small army of six-year old boys from a hockey team sitting behind us. Which meant that the Kid was being especially obnoxious and all TOUGH KID to his Mommy (I get it, though... still don't appreciate it.) and they were being incredibly loud and burpy and farty and well... OK, they were being six year old boys. And had I been feeling better I think I would have just laughed at it. But, I wasn't and I didn't. Nuff said.
- Our team lost. Did I mention that?
But, it was a pretty cool way to spend an evening and I hope we do it again sometime. I think I'll leave my head at home, though. I'll probably have more fun without it.
I may have kissed it back.
This is the blogskin I fell for like a smitten kitten. I love how it looks. All lean, mean Business like a BMW Z4 roadster and just a flash of sweet Butterfly tattoo where you don't expect it.
Apparently, it's got some functionality for pictures and videos, which is great. Will be even better once I figure out how to actually USE those features. All in time, my sweet, all in time.
Gosh, I've really got to stop anthromorphisizing my blog. It's a leeeeetle bit creepy.
But that kiss..... *sigh*
- I am so joining a gym this week.
- I am concerned about what all the sweat is going to do to my face, which is already straining under the burden of whacked hormones. Seriously? I'm going to be thirty *coughTHREEcough* in a couple days and I currently am breaking out like a teenager. Scrap that. Cause I didn't really have any "breakouts" when I was a teenager. Regardless... I am so tired of looking at this mess on my face, not to mention the issues with my hair and my, errrr, CYCLE. Yeah, you can thank me for not going into any details on that. At the moment I am so done on this whole "woman" thing. Over it.
- The Princess is pretty sick. Feverish and feeling incredibly yucky and tired. And pretty bummed out that this is how she gets to spend her five-day weekend.
- Yes, Five-day weekend! I know!! And, in case you all didn't catch my, errr, subtle (cause it really was very subtle, wasn't it?) hint about my birthday... yes, that would be my birthday on the holiday. And really, how nice is that to get a holiday on your birthday? Pretty cool, it is. Except when you're seven years old and trying to get kids to come to your party and they're all, "sorry, LittleFlutterby, we're going out of town on the long weekend." Ouch. But I digress. Where was I? Yes, it's a loooonnnnng weekend here for the kidlets which means that I'm not working the next couple days while the kids are home. And I'm getting older. All in one fell swoop.
- I finally found a home for my cat which literally brought tears to my eyes and relief to my heart.
- Not sure what to do about Krav. Man, I loved it so much and I really do miss it at times. But, I am a little bit gun-shy about going back. I was starting to get hurt more than I'd like. Not that I'm averse to a bit of pain. Not at all. I just don't like taking the chance that things could be permanently damaged or re-arranged. Regardless of what I decide, I have to hit the gym for a while to tighten up a bit and get my cardio back. But then... anyone have any advice? Krav, or CrossFit?
- On a more frivolous note, I've been thinking about checking out the local acting scene. There's actually a little bit of Hollywood round these parts and being an extra sounds like a lot of fun.
This one wasn't my first choice, but THAT one? That one about had me crying in the corner, sucking my thumb and praying for mercy.
There may have just been something wrong with the code (and I'm about as able to fix code as well as I can pee standing up... not happening,baby!) cause once I picked a different template, things went much better.
I may still try to rescue the other template... it was dark and brooding and elemental and I just really can't resist that. So, if you come by here one day and things are AWOL... well, I may still be in the html dressing room trying it on for size. And maybe doing something naughty with it before it bends to my will and plays nice.
1) Orange Tic Tacs. I can eat them like candy. (Which makes a ridiculous amount of sense, I realize, this novel idea of eating candy as though it were, well... Candy.) If I open one of those cute, ittybitty little boxes of orange, pellet-ey goodness they are as good as gone within the hour. Cannot stop.
2) Cute socks. A little-indulged in passion, cause it seems pretty frivolous to buy excessive amounts of adorable footwear. But, mixed in with my workout-worthy whites and a few pair of sensible trouser-type socks are my faves. Ankle socks, knee socks: stripey, polka-dotty, colorful and cute. My feet do too much work to not look good while doing it.
3) Bright toe-nail polish. Reference #2. Tonight I am splashing on some mirrored silver polish, but my all time fave is a brilliant turquoise that attracts butterflies when I'm in the garden.
4) Wearing My Seatbelt. Al-freaking-ways. I've relaxed a bit over the years since the car accident I was in -- driving in buses or other transport without safety belts used to squick me, but I can handle it now -- but I am a bit of a seatbelt nazi. My kids don't even TRY to take theirs off in the car anymore. I am That Good, people. On it like white on rice, I tell you.
5) This. Cause how can you see this and not want to own the city like that. I seriously have dreams where I can run like this, where nothing stops me and I can fly. I doubt dreamworld and realtime will ever intersect -- the carnage would be too great cause I am not that talented nor that athletic -- but I love watching those for whom the dream is reality.
6) Rockstar Lips. Just cause I can.
Consider yourself tagged and go post your own Six Things. Have fun!
But because tonight is the night it is and because tonight we got the news we did; I will just let it go and breathe and feel that all is freaking Right with my world.
Cause it is.
Little Baby, I can't wait to meet you; you have remarkable, strong parents and they just fought the hardest fight believing in you and loving you. JJ, keep up the great work making that niece (errr, or nephew as the odds may have it) of mine. May the weeks fly by now that the drama is over.
Peace. Be. Still.
One beautiful, elderly lady in her 80s, complete with shining, white, perfectly coiffed hair, sensible shoes, white hosiery, knee-length skirt and walker.
A gangster-sized navy hoodie with bold,white patch print on the back:
After hearing this repeatedly on the radio whilst delivering stuff to contractors today (Uh Huh. I do deliveries. Contractors in FlutterCity have not yet had such a nice smelling Delivery Person bringing their stuff to them.) I am doomed to forevermore have this song whirling through my head.
It was only fair to share it with you y-y-you, you y-y-you. I, I know just, just how much you'll like it.
Hate me, love me. It makes no difference. We are all slaves to the song.
My first day On The Job went well. As I mentioned, I did do some deliveries... also ran some errands and tried really hard not choke on my laughter when my boss introduced me to clients as "The Decorator". Learned a lot about stuff I didn't know before and basically followed my boss around testing his patience. Uhhhh... not that I don't do that every day.
What? Well, as I haven't yet mentioned... my boss is none other than Mr. F. While on the hunt for a job here in FlutterCity, Mr. F. thought it would be a great idea to recruit my immense and glorious talent to put to work for him (technically "us") in our business.
The boy is nothing if not smart, right?
So, I'm learning the ropes at FlutterPaintStore and tag-teaming some reno/facade-lift plans there. Also, I am apparently expected to dispense decorating advice at the bat of an eyelash. So, I'm off to marinate my brain in HGTV shows for the next few months lest the Clients of FlutterPaintStore discover the singular truth that Mr. F. knows more than I of Color Trends.
That last job I mostly worked from a home office and thusly, PJs and messy hair could be acceptable office attire. And let me say that I rocked that look. I am notorious for crazy Bedhead Hair and the nightlife of a Mommy tossing and turning while dealing with a restless baby and no sleep (Honestly, my kingdom for a kid that sleeps well...) created some stunning do's.
However, my new position will require Actual Presentable Clothing and Hairstyles.
I decided to kiss off a few inches of length (and really, good riddance to that frizzy mess of sun-tortured hair) and let my dark side have at it. Going darker also had the added benefit of covering up a few... err... *whisper* grey hairs *end whisper* that I seem to have acquired of late.
My stylist had so much fun with this and I think I will, too. I love that girl.
I have to thank my friend Sombra at More Little Wilsons for drawing this to my attention.
This is for Real. In other words, this is what it looks like. Now, blink, shake your head and take another look.
I quote from the publicity statement.
"We are going to intercede at the site of the statue of the bull on Wall Street to ask God to begin a shift from the bull and bear markets to what we feel will be the 'Lion's Market,' or God's control over the economic systems. While we do not have the full revelation of all this will entail, we do know that without intercession, economies will crumble."
Anyone else want to drink the Kool-Aid??? Me, I'm just going to stand back and wait for the lightning. Or at least until the laughter around the world subsides.
Yes, I have been somewhat of an unorganized little tart with this move. I think I'm just a little overdone on the moving thing. And I'm realizing just how rigid I can be. For example. I've always moved stuff into an empty, clean place -- even if it means I went in to the house the day before and cleaned everything. So, it's driven me a little insane to move stuff into a place that is not only already mostly occupied, it's also a bit on the dirty side. (and I do give credit to Mr. F for the good work he did in attempting to keep the house clean while I was gone. But, it was an Attempt. Just saying.) So, I've been cleaning whilst unpacking.
Which brings me to another weakness I have. Multitasking. Really can not do it for crap. I am a person who likes to lock down on the task at hand, finish it and move on to the next. Bring multiple strands of thoughts and attentions to the table and I turn into a raging ADD poster child. I'm all... "get this done, get that done... ooooh! SHINY!!"
So cleaning, organizing, unpacking and purging junk all at once has rendered me somewhat of a slobbering idiot.
But, thankfully, I have somehow struggled through the boxes and battled my Multitasking demons. I've got about one more solid day of work to go and then... Done. Like. Dinner.
Of course, with the end in sight... what else to do but celebrate? So, LOGICALLY, I will keep my kids home from school today so we can all enjoy a long weekend together being a family in our house that now looks like a house. Will having kids around cut back on my Efficiency? "NO!" says retarded Flutterby. And, LOGICALLY, I will decide to make a big pancake breakfast and bake Challah bread and make two new recipes for supper, plus make ahead cinnamon buns to rise in the fridge overnight so that we all can wake up tomorrow morning and have the BEST breakfast ever. Will planning all this hinder my unpacking genius? "NO WAY!!" cheers insane Flutterby. And, of course, LOGICALLY, it makes sense to also notice that my kids are needing haircuts and that I should run out for some groceries for the fan-freaking-tastic Family Movie Night me and Mr. F have planned for tonight. Surely, adding this will make my list of growing tasks easier to accomplish? "HELL YES!!" screams deranged, loony and demented Flutterby.
So, clearly... my day will go just as planned and clearly I will not be banging my little cranium against the Rigid Wall. And now that I'm feeling better... ooooh!!! SHINY!!
So, while the spoils of Renalda linger on in the kitchen and living room and bathrooms and, OK -- you got me -- pretty much the Whole House... I will take a moment to list all the really, really Important things I should be doing if I wasn't so busy ignoring and putting off all the really, really Practical things I ought to be doing.
1) I really, really should go do some yoga, or run a bit or maybe do some pushups and pullups and stuff. Cause I'm avoiding my jeans. And avoiding denim is the first sign that you really, really ought to be doing something a bit more active and say... less coffee and donut-ey and take-out pizza-ey than you've been doing for the past few weeks.
2) I have to say that my toenails have looked better. They are clad in scraps of last month's nail polish and striving so hard to still look cute and cool. Sorry, little toes... it's just not happening. No one will be asking you to the dance, I'm sorry to say.
3) OK, OK, you've dragged it out of me. My feet on the whole? Not doing so well. A little dry and wintery and it's not even freaking November, yet. I hang my head in shame and lunge furtively for the Vivacious Body Butter which is nothing short of miraculous stuff. Wait. It's in a box somewhere.
4) Also, finding a home for my cat should rank up there pretty high with the Important Things. I've had to rehome my precious little furballs TWICE each. And I just drove five hours today to place one little angelic dude with what will hopefully be his forever family, only to find out that my other little dude won't be working out at his new place. Allergies can bite me hard.
5) My iPod needs to be charged and this really irritates me. I like to keep all devices fully charged and ready. But, I cannot find my little USB charge-ey cord and thusly, my Nano sits unused and depressed (as I'm sure only a little inanimate object which is not fulfilling it's destiny in life can feel).
6) I should be buying a goat. For real. I got this World Vision catalog thing in the mail and now I am compelled to buy a goat for people in Botswailambiqueana. Maybe even a chicken. Hopefully they'll keep the stupid things, though. I seem to have bad luck with the placing of living creatures in homes. I will have to leave a note at the post office/depot... I WILL NOT ACCEPT THE RETURN OF ANY MAMMALS VIA POST.
7) Uhhh, my bankbook. Something about my bankbook and the regular attention thereof. You know, with the numbers and the adding and subtracting (errrr... that's debits and credits to those of you in the Know) and the reconciling and what not? Yeah. That stuff. I think I should be doing it.
8) I should be flossing more often. (And so should you, too)
9) And, mostly... I think I need a night out on the town with Mr. F. Cause there's a score that needs settling and I think a game of Mini Golf might just put things to rest once and for all.
What? Mini Golf is not considered a night out on the town? Pish posh.
10) Throw in a massage on the night and that's just Toppers, people.
Fact. Stuff is labelled and marked so I know what's inside.
Fact. I work room by room in a remarkably ordered fashion and sort through stuff as I go.
Fact. I am a taper. Me and the packing tape are bosom buddies. (Well, except for the Lip Incident, but that may have been my fault.)
Fact. I would like to be as ordered and fastidious when I unpack. I would like to move in to a room then unpack Everything for that room, make it all orderly and shiny, dust and vacuum/mop and then stand back and survey a Room Well Done. BUT...
Fact. My garage is a jumble of boxes and furniture with boxes mixed amongst other stuff; and stuff that I need is behind stuff that is impossible to move by myself and all my labelling was pointless cause everything is Here, There and Everywhere and I may just stab myself with something dull before the day is over and that would be a shame cause...
Fact. I'm sposed to be starting something new and wonderful this week and I'm thinking that adapting my game plan to something a little more loosey-goosey might work well in my favor. Sure will beat the alternative straight jacket and happy pill combo.
So, uhh.... here's to being a bit more relaxed and a lot less OCD.
What? Don't pretend that you don't bite the tape to rip it. Don't even go there. I know you do.
I just was stupid enough to try to kiss it, too.
According to my calculations, (And, yes... I do calculations. Geekiness comes naturally to me.) I have just 19 hours to finish packing up my house, finalize a lease agreement for said house with my shiny new tenants, run a gazillion errands, sell some stuff from my business and load Rocket up for the ride home. Oh, and sleep, too. I really am planning to sleep a bit tonight.
And then, I get to come back 24 hours later to load it all up and then unload it back at my Home.
Boggles. My. Mind.
And now that I've used up my 6.75 minutes for a break... I'd better go make friendly with the cardboard and hope it doesn't stab me in the eye with a Sharpie marker.
Puter is scheduled to hit the boxes tonight. So I'll have to update y'all on the move after the weekend.