Two Trues and One False

I love my job

I am happy

I don't think about you anymore

The Starting Over House

This post was written over two years ago, not exactly sure why I never posted it....  A lot has happened since then.  Not sure if you can to catch up, but I've been thinking that it might be worth starting this bloggy thing up again.

So, without further ado--

Oh, how I've kept you waiting. I do apologize, but you see, The Chaos has taken over my life. What is The Chaos you ask? That would be buying a house and then gutting the poor sweet little thing and trying to live in it with your two cats. So not a good idea.

I can only scratch the surface of all that I have learned from this experience. Starting with the fact that I'm made of tougher stuff than I ever thought possible, and finishing with I have the best family in all the world.

I bet you're more interested in seeing the progress. Hey, remember that hole-in-the-floor-through-which-I-can-see-dirt? Not anymore.

How amazing is that?! Turns out, the pipes had actually rusted and broken. If we hadn't decided to move that kitchen wall, I hate to think what would have eventually happend. Or how much it would have eventually cost.

Stay Young, Go Dancing

That's not really the subject of this post, it's just the name of that Death Cab for Cutie song that has been circling my brain for the last 24 hours. I was going to title this post something powerful and In Your Face(!)--something like, "I'm Back, B*tches!" But I never really left. I just wasn't keeping the internets in the communication loop of my life.

But I digress.... You are all familiar with that show, "How I Met Your Mother," yes? Well something happened recently, and I feel in 17-or-so years I'll be cozy-ed up in front of a warm fire with my kids in our Up North Log Cabin during the December Holiday and say, "Hey kids, did I ever tell you about the time I almost lit myself on fire in front of your father?"

So this is what happened.....fade out....Bah Bah Bah Bah Bah Bah da Bah da Bah da da da dada dada dada daaa….

Setting the stage-Bad day at work, really Bad Day, and I'm totally stressed. Like crazy Harpy-hair stressed. I notice in the nearly empty parking lot that my office crush is still at the office, working late like me. Which he never does. I feel like the Universe is sending me a neon-flashing, wacky-inflatable-balloon-waving-guy, airplane-banner-in-the-sky opportunity--TALK TO THIS GUY ALREADY!!!!11!!!!1!! So I get my conversation opener ready and walk to his cube.

A little logistical info you might need--he sits in a different room, in a cube facing away from the entrance. The cube walls are low enough that you can see if somebody is sitting at a desk. I set the scene because this is what I was expecting, to be able to peek through the doorway and see if he was sitting at his desk. Then I could compose myself and ask if I could bum a smoke, and would he join me?

That was the plan. The imaginary plan I cooked up sitting at my desk. The reality was, when I peeked through the doorway to see if he was sitting at his desk-- he saw me. Because he was Sitting On His Desk. Now I'm thinking, 'Sh*t, he saw me, kinda committed now.' So I pull the rest of my body through the doorway and walk to his cube. What I couldn't see, and didn't process, was that he was sitting ON his desk because he was TALKING TO HIS SUPERVISOR. At this point my head essplodes, and I am dead.

Not really, but I might as well have been, because my autonomic nervous system stepped up and was in control of what happened next. My brilliant ultra-cool sultry 'can I bum a smoke?' morphed into "You're a smoker, right?" Yeah awesome, no? And then his supervisor starts chuckling. Not laughing, not even a snigger so much, but a creepy ‘hehehe.’ Yeah, guy, I know you know what’s going on right now, but you don’t have to add a creepy chuckle.

He says "Um...yeah," like in a 'hmm, am I going to get in trouble for being a smoker?' kind of way. So I follow up with, "I've had a really stressful day, and I quit, haven’t had a smoke in three months, but I really need a cig right now," accompanied by begging hands clasped motions. At which point he visibly relaxes, and pulls out a box of Reds with a smile on his face. Fight or Flight? Fight or Flight, b*tches?! It was Flight. Stumbling, barely functioning, going to die of embarrassment (even though I'm already essploded)--Flight.

But Wait—There’s More!

I run back to my desk, throw stuff in the drawers, scoop up the rest, and book it to my car, because I am so mortified. Arms loaded (notebook, travel mug, business cards, purse, gym bag, and newly acquired cig—just setting the scene here people), I finally fumble my car’s back door open to dump my sh*t, when I hear—“You need a light?”

And here’s the visual—I am a**-end out the back seat of my hatchback, flustered, with Harpy-hair. And did I mention its 99 degrees Fahrenheit outside?

Yeeaaaahhh

I drop most everything, and nearly hit my head on the door frame as I jerk to a standing position. Surprise! It’s thoughtful Office Crush. He has his lighter out and ready. Because he’s the kinda guy that holds doors open. He’s the kinda guy who even waits for you at said door if you pull up to the parking lot 60 seconds after he does. He’s the kinda guy who remembers stuff you tell him, because he actually listens to what you are saying. And he’s the kinda guy who when a dame asks for a cig, makes sure said dame has a way to light said cig. I guess you’d call that “Old-fashioned.”

And I guess you’d call me a “spaz,” ‘cause I’m all, “Uh, yeah, didn’t think that far ahead. Thanks.”

Now remember when I listed all of the items I carried out of the building? Remember how I mentioned I had business cards? Weeeellll, I happened to be clutching them in the same hand I was holding the cig. And neglected to drop them in my back seat when I was startled. And was still actually clutching them as I attempted to light my newly acquired cig.

Flick. Flick. “Wait…..I’m going to light myself on fire.”

Yup—said that out loud. At least he laughed. And not at me, more like I’d made a funny joke. Which made me all warm and fuzzy inside. Did I mention it was 99 degrees FAHRENHEIT?

That’s pretty much the end of the story, cause I either blackout from heat exhaustion or my head essploded. Again.

…Life is sweet, in the belly of the beast…

I'm Not Dead

So.....yeah.....

It's been a while. Sorry for that. My life has settled into a pattern of chaos. Most of which is very personal and involves family and friends, which I said I would never post about here. Because this blog is about me. What I will say is, this year has been treating me pretty well, ups and downs and all that, but on the whole I'd say it's been a good year.

Whatever has been taken away from me has been replaced with something even better. I had to move out of my rental, only to buy a new house (which I OWN, and is MINE all MINE). I was in a car accident, which totalled my almost-paid-off car, but I was able to buy a brand-new-so-amazing car. I still have a job. Two, in fact. Which I'm grateful for.

The one thing that is bothering me is I feel as if some one in my life has recently mis-represented themself. I feel like I have been lied to, and I have a hard time with this. So, Universe, I'm waiting for you to make this one right, too. Either bring some one even more fabulous into my life, or help this person have the courage to be honest with themself, and be able to talk to me honestly about what they did.

The House Becomes A Home

As the dust begins to settle, you can see the amazing work my dad and brother did on my house. Here is just a taste.

This was taken with my cell phone, I promise more pictures when I find my camera in the chaos that is the rest of the house.

This Is Going To Get Interesting

I turned the corner to adulthood. I drank the kool-aid. I bought a house.....

....And This is what I came home to:

That is the floor of my laundry room. Well, it was the floor of my laundry room.

The house is good, but with some help, it can be great. Really, really great. So great that I'll never have to move again ever.

Let's let that sink in shall we; I. Will. Never. Have. To. Move. Again. (unless I want to) Also, I don't have a landlord. I have a Mortgage. Which, believe it or not, is actually sooooo much better.

But back to the hole in the floor. The-hole-in-the-floor-through-which-I-can-see-dirt.

It is the start of something Awesome.

Lay Your Burdens Down

I have a hard time looking back on this year. If you're really interested, look to the right side of this blog and click the little arrow next to 2009. Whoosh, there it is in all its shit-soaked glory.

Please, do me a little favor and click it back before I loose the ability to breathe. Whew, OK. Back to gettin' on with the repressin'....

A friend of mine requested that I put together a Best Albums of the year list, as I've usually got a good sense of what the kids listen to these days. I couldn't do it. Yet ANOTHER problem with '09. It lacked a soundtrack.

But you know what, I'm actually kind of happy about it. Because it turns out to be a somewhat happy accident, as this year will be even easier to forget about, as it doesn't have an accompanying soundtrack.

So, never will I be sitting in traffic with my iPod on shuffle when that song comes on that reminds me of when my heart was ripped out of my chest, burned countless times with cigarette butts, cut to a million pieces, and the pieces flung to the four winds. Because there wasn't a song for that.

Not a single measure or beat will remind me of the countless phone calls that I received from my Landlord (culminating with the threat of eviction. Yes, EVICTION.), asking if I'd found a new roommate yet.

And for all of those deluded people (those people who live their own version of "human") who managed to worm their way into my life; Well, worms don't really make any sound at all, no hint of a song, so you will be soon forgotten as well. (Ha! See what I did there? I was loosing you for a minute, then I brought it back....sort of.)

But I'll tell you what I will remember; Making Pickle laugh. Buckie's total inability to sit completely still, and how damn cute it is. Finding Aunty Spinster's Home for the Wayward, and working to make it a reality (through the astounding commitment of my immediate family).

All the rest of that stuff...I'm leaving it all back in good ol' 2009.

A Funny Thing Happened On The Road To Aunty Spinster's.

So I'm sure I might have mentioned that I'm looking for a roommate? Maybe once, or twice, or eleventy billion times.... Well, you know when you're forced in one way that is totally against the way you want for yourself, forced so forcefully that the pressure builds up until--finally--there is this little internal *plink* and something inside you snaps clean in two? Well, it's happened to me about 4 times in the last two months, but the most recent little snap was caused by what happened last night.

It's a really long and funny story, but you know, really long so I'll cut to the heart of it. My actual Landlord brought people over last night to look at the house. This is a change from my roommate search, as this time it required that all persons in said group would parade themselves through All The Rooms in the house. All. The. Rooms. Including my bedroom, which up till this point had been out of jurisdiction, so to speak.

So yeah, I didn't bother to clean it. It never occurred to me that I would need to. And I'm actually kinda glad I didn't. Because while they were in there opening my closet and doing laps around the room, my unmentionables were strewn across the bed in the exact position that I had left them that morning. And I'm not talkin' 'bout the pretty "for company" unmentionables. I can take the smallest amount of pleasure knowing as uncomfortable as I was for them to BE in my ROOM, I'm sure at least one of them was uncomfortable BEING in there.

As they were discussing the relative smallness of the closet, I can only imagine one of them thinking, "Jesus, well we know why the Bra is on the Queen-sized bed, it wouldn't fit in that tiny closet."

Practice

I never ever ever thought I would think this of you, but there it is: I hate you. You know who you are and you know what you did. I know you don't think that what you did was that bad, but it really was. It was that bad and worse. You made a complete fool out of me.

I knew you could be ambivalent, but now I know that you believe your actions have no consequences. So here's the consequence of what you did: I am not your friend. And you lost any future friendship we might have had. And it's really a shame, because I was your biggest advocate, I had your back, I believed you were a decent human being. Fuck you, for proving me wrong.

Ok, now that I've practiced, I might actually work up the nerve to tell you this in person.

Run Away, Bunny

When I was in 5th grade, two of my best friends and I started planning to run away. And by plan I mean we Planned. I had a notebook completely devoted to the idea. We would call each other every night, making lists.

Oh, the Lists! We were going to start squirreling away supplies, a little at a time so nothing would be missed. We had a route mapped so that we would still be able to go to school. Because school was very important, and our parents would be Very Mad if we missed any school. But it never occurred to us that we might be missed. That anybody would notice that we were gone.

Nearly everyone I know has thought about running away, and it's funny that this idea didn't occur to me until I was 10 rather than 5. And I'm sure it had everything to do with growing up, and not wanting to.

And then Junior High happened. We were all so shell shocked by the transition, and determined to Be More Mature, that we put away all those silly little elementary school ideas. And so The Notebook was put on a shelf in the back of the closet.

And now I'm 30, and that notebook is pulling at me something fierce. Because I have to be an adult, and I really don't want to.

When my roommate told me he needed to move out to help a good friend of his get back on her feet, it stressed me out. But I had No Idea how that stress would turn into Stress, would turn into STRESS, would turn into S-T-R-E-S-S. Would cause my hands to twitch so badly that I had to start a knitting project in order to protect the kitties from being rubbed so much they turned into those weird hairless cats. Or that not being able to say what I really really needed to say to the one person I needed to say it to, caused the exasperation to leave my body with such force, causing the magnetic poles to shift, resulting in the Universe spinning off it's axis, and we all fell over dead.

So yeah, blame me. I'm the reason we have to move to Mars. You know, after we're done being dead.

Aunty Spinster's Home For The Wayward, Part 1

I'm working on a new project. It's a sweater. But that's not the part that's important. What is important is that I'm at something of a crossroads. I guess you could say this all started one very normal-seeming night on August 3oth.

My roommate was getting home from a three-day trip to Colorado, during which he lost his keys. As it was 2 am he didn't want to wake me to unlock the door for him, and instead decided to break into the house through the kitchen window. Yeah, guess what? Noise coming from the kitchen at 2 am, when I knew I was the only one home? Totally woke me up. Anywho, after I called out and he announced his presence, I feel right back to sleep. Then it was morning and I got up to feed the cats.

Only Booger didn't come running to the sound of food tinkling into the food dish. Which I thought was a bit odd. But as my roommate's new girlfriend had slept over, I thought Booger was just weirded out by the strange person in the house. It was only after the two of them left for the day, and Booger still hadn't shown up, that I realized something was Terribly Wrong.

I'll just fast-forward a bit here, as it basically involves me Losing My Shit. And by that I mean freaking out, walking the neighborhood in my pajamas knocking on neighbors doors without a bra on, and then standing in middle of my living room crying and leaving repeated messages on peoples' cell phones (people I KNEW were at work, but at the time it made no difference).

I did manage to go to work, but I begged and threatened to go home early. Seeing as I was totally irrational and barely functioning, they let me. So I pull into my driveway, and see that the bowl of food I had left outside had not been touched. At all. And the tiny little scrap of control that I actually managed to hold onto all day was just gone.

There I am, standing in my driveway at 10 o'clock at night (hmmm, sound familiar ?), crying, and I say out loud, "You're never coming back, are you?"

And then...

...I hear...

a "mrwow"

That's what Booger says, "mrwow." Not "meow." Not anything close, just "mrwow"

ZOMFG! He had actually come home! And he came slinking out to me, and was all, "Sweet Baby Je'asus, Woman! Where in the He'all have you been!?" Get me back in that house!" Yes...just like that, in a Southern Accent.

And all was right in my world again.....At least until my roommate came home and told me he was moving out 6 months shy of the expiration of our lease.

To be Continued...

I Want A Refund

So, you know how things happen and time passes and you think, "I'll get to it later, too much going on right now." Yeah, well that's been this blog.

And I've started many posts, thinking that I'd get back to finish them and let you (all three of you) know what's been going on. Only something else would come up. Or something even more ridiculous would happen, and I'd think, "THIS is what I need to write about. THIS is way more interesting than THAT thing." But what it all really boils down to is this:

Dear Life,

You are stupid and mean, and I would like a refund for the last two months.

That is all, thank you,
Toots

With that said, here it goes....I'm going to hit on some of the "High Points" of the last two months. Please be prepared, it's going to get a bit bumpy.

Blah To The Blah

Today, I broke a plate. It was a leaf-shaped vintage plate. Today has been an annoyance since I woke up. Maybe even before I fell asleep.

I don't mean to sound like Debbie Downer, it's just that nearly the entire month of September sucked. And October started great, but I seem to have hit a snag.

My roommate decided to move out to help out a good friend of his, and he chose to break his lease. But really, it's me that had to deal with finding a new roommate. And I found one about three weeks ago, and now I have a slight tinge of nerves that he might not move in. Which blows seven ways to Sunday, 'cause he was the only person to see the house that seemed normal. So, please think good things for me that this guy moves in, it would be best for all involved.

The Blog That Time Forgot

Wow. Sometimes Life happens to ya, and it smacks ya right on your ass.

I got tagged.

Booger went missing. Booger came home!

My roommate is moving out.

Spent some time with Buckie, saw his first smiles.

Had first Auntie-and-Pickle Day.

New roommate moving in. After I clean the house top to bottom to remove all traces of the former (douche-bag) roommate.

And the Spiders! Oh God, THE SPIDERS!

All this and more to come....

Buckie Smiles

Everything Is Going To Be Alright

This photo was taken of the Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit. It makes me sad, because before this photo...

...was this photo.

I like this better. It's one of my mantras. Everything is going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright...

There has been a lot happening in my world, thus the neglected blog. Apologies.

So Glad To Finally Meet You

Another nephew! And I couldn't be happier. Buckie was a surprise, right up til the end. My brother and his wife were very sure he was going to be a girl, but I just knew it would be a boy. Although, I think he's more of a "Froggie"


Major kudos to my sister, who did the whole thing natural and gave birth to a 9 lb 20 in baby boy after only 5 hours of labor!

The Pull Of The Moon

Yesterday was one of those days when everything is just slightly off-kilter. I had an appointment that went less than smoothly. I went to work, and had to deal with being short-staffed.

And then I finally get home after a long long long day, and my Laurence Olivier collection had finally arrived UPS, and I'm so excited that something finally went right, and that was when LullaBelle decided to escape what she would call her "incarceration." Apparently, having someone feed you on a regular basis, provide you with many sunny window ledges in which to nap, and clean facilities just isn't worth it when that moon pulls to your baser animal side.

I saw her make a mad dash under my roommate's car, and I really couldn't see a damn thing, but I didn't want to go in the house to turn on a light as I was afraid she might take that as an opportunity to run into the street.

So there I am, at 11:30 pm, out in my dark driveway, nearly on my hands and knees pleading, "Please don't do this to me today, of all days, I just can't take any more today, just don't make this difficult for me!" When I hear this, "Uh, are you OK?"

Apparently, I was loud enough that my neighbor, who I've never actually met, heard me and thought I was having some sort of altercation in my driveway. It was super nice that he actually came over to make sure I was alright, I just felt like a total idiot when he saw me on the ground and I'm all, "Oh, yeah, my cat escaped. She's under the car, my cat is. She won't come out. She's really hard to see, but she's under there. Really." If it wasn't against ordinance, I imagine he'd be out first thing working on a privacy fence.

Sing it, Bob Geldof; "Tell me why I don’t like Mondays. I wanna shoo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oot the whole day down"

Had Retail, Now Need Therapy

Dear Old Navy,

May we talk? Just us girls? I don't mean to be rude, but your jeans...THEY ARE STUPID! Why on Earth would you take perfectly normal descriptive labels and exchange them for totally cryptic and meaningless words? Relaxed boot-cut, I know exactly what that means. The Dreamer? WTF?!?

I am neither a 'Diva,' a 'Flirt,' nor a 'Skinny-assed Bitch.' Not only did I purchase a pair of jeans called, 'The Boyfriend,' but also one called 'The Diva.'

{Which, may we stop here and just address how ridiculous idea of 'Boyfriend Jeans' is --I would NEVER wear my boyfriend's jeans. Because my boyfriend is taller and, um, not 'curvy,' and that's the way it is supposed to be. Boys have junk in the front, I have junk in the trunk. There IS a difference.}

Now to 'The Diva,' which also happened to be 3 SIZES BIGGER than the pants I wore INTO the dressing room! This does not make me feel like a Diva. Unless you mean 'Diva' in the Opera Singer kind of way. Then yes, I do feel like a very large woman wailing in hysterics.

Now look what you made me do, Old Navy. You made me say hurtful things about Opera. Now I need to write Opera a letter of apology.

I try to tell myself that it's just a number, but I know the first time I wear them in public I'll imagine my thighs rubbing together in rhythm to "fat.ass.fat.ass." Which is sure to earn 'The Diva' a permanent spot in my closet.

I hate to say it, but your cheap prices may not be enough to heal the hurt I feel.

And now I sound like a country song, It never ends with you, Old Navy!

Call Me Stigmatized

Over the last two years, I've been subjected to two bridal showers, two bachelorette parties, two weddings, and two baby showers. And at each one of them I had a moment where Four-Year-Old-Me is sitting in a chair kicking her feet and watching someone I'm related to open presents, and thinking "Aww, why don't I get PRESENTS!? I want presents!"

What a scam. Find yourself a man, throw yourself a party and you get cool free shit that YOU PICK OUT FOR YOURSELF. C'mon, who's idea was the Gift Registry anyway? "Here are the things I want, if you bring them to this place, at this time, I'll be waiting. Oh, and I might feed you some cold cuts and that weird ambrosia salad Aunt Mable makes. You know, the one with fruit AND cottage cheese. No, really, it's delicious. I'm not sure why it's that color."

And then you get knocked up, and you get to throw yourself another party where you get super cute stuff for a human that no body's even met yet. "I mean, I'm not sayin' your baby is gonna be an asshole, but I got you the kid-cage complete with leash--the sales' person called it a 'pack-n-play'--cause you just never know. Am I right? Huh? Wink, wink."

Well, I had myself a little brainstorm; Cut out the middleman (fiance, baby), and you can get cool free shit you pick out for YOURSELF, that you can actually use YOURSELF. I think I might just throw myself a Spinster Party. What better excuse for a party could there be? "I can barely keep a house plant alive, much less find a husband and hope to bring a child into this world, I NEED those dryer balls because the idea of soft, fluffy towels is the only thing I've got to look forward to."

Google the term and you get a mixed bag. From Wikipedia--"Until the advent of feminism, spinsterhood was generally portrayed as a condition to be pitied or mocked" Huh. You know all the mean stuff people say about couples, what they would say about a single couldn't be much worse. Mock me all you want, as long as I get the booty.

Obviously, I'm not the first to have thought of the idea, as there is no such thing as an "original idea," but I think I might just start a movement. I'm planning on registering at Target and JoAnn Fabrics for things like cat food and yarn. And did you know Barnes & Noble has online wishlists!? Perfect! 'Cause after throwing yourself a "Spinster Shower" you now have an image to maintain.