It’s Jesus, and four apostles. One looks a bit like a hobbit, though he’s more photogenic than expected. I think I like them. Eight (well, maybe nine, considering the hobbit) to go.
I took a bit of a trip down Memory Lane in order to find a Before picture of the master bedroom – which, of course, I couldn’t really. The best I could do is this picture of a super-charming 4 1/2-mos old baby with a wall in the background. It’s not the most photogenic room, light-wise, what can I say. As you can see, it used to be sagey green, painted over wallpaper (blech), and above the chair rail, it was off-white and never-painted, at least not in the past 5 years of our occupancy. There were sagey green curtains and blue (borderline offensive) blinds. It’s true. We didn’t buy them, but we didn’t replace them, either. We just accepted them, turning a – wait for it – blind eye. *cough*
While on Memory Lane, I discovered a few interesting truths. In spite of my statement the other day that it all passed in a blink, a lot of transformations happened. I mean, my kitchen used to be blue, really blue, with terrible green countertops and fruit-flower-wallpaper. Now it’s a cool yellow with freshly painted white trim and black granite tile countertops. And let’s not forget the awesomely refaced cabinetry. In short, it looks a whole hell of a lot better than when we inherited it. Also, I know you’ll find this shocking, but K.Lo used to be a baby. N.Lo, too. It’s amazing. And so many of the rooms have gone through furniture rearrangements, and color changes, and I can barely remember living in those spaces, though at the time I have to imagine that it was the way they were supposed to be, and I suppose I was perfectly happy with them. At least until I wasn’t.
So anyway, now the bedroom has been transformed. Gone with the blue blinds. Gone with the wallpaper. Moldings freshened. Curtains switched. Colors chosen and executed. Frankly, there was a good long moment there where I questioned the color choice, thinking this was not at all what I had in mind, in spite of my absolute certainty over it a few days prior. It seemed a color that Hannibal Lecter might really love. But then it dried and darkened, and then the off-white over the chair rail was freshened as well, and it was all brought together. I like it. It’s all sorts of neat and clean and warm loveliness, and long overdue.
I’m working on a new theory that the thieves, scamps and other criminals of the world are like the cockroaches of the world. Their existence is unfortunate but inevitable, incomprehensible but there. They thrive in darkened corners, feast indiscriminately on whatever opportunity presents itself, no matter how unsavory… Well, anyway. I could go on. It’s just a theory, and how I think of whomever hacked your email and FB accounts. Which I’m so glad you have back after all, even if you’re now seriously unpopular and sadface, weeping into your watermelon. Temporarily. It’s all temporary.
Addressing a laundry list of items that have irked me forever, such as chipped moldings, outdated switch plates and rusty porch railings, it occurs to me that we’ve been here 5 years, and how can that be. How did it all pass in a blink? It’s just life and The Way It Is, but still. Astonishing. At the same time, how have I had children in my life nearly 5 years? Been done with school for 6? Only have a few years left *heartbreak* with Bailey and Bender? Etc.
Have you ever pondered – I’m just saying…*cough* *smirk* – how Jessica Fletcher, in spite of her unflaggingly curious nature, never experienced even a touch of PTSD, encountering 264 murders? See, this is where the mind of the HSP ventures. And Ash’s “emotional parasol” analogy is beyond brills. Loves.
We’re going on a picnic this evening for church – I’m thinking a big bucket of fried chicken will suffice. And maybe some tater salad. Oh, and a green vegetable of some sort of course. But right now I have to go celebrate my birthday with a sparkly hat, noisemakers and a cake full of surprises. So says K.Lo. They’re singing to me right now – time to close my eyes and blow out the candles.
Anyway you'd think my account wouldve been restored to me by now. But oh not so. I checked and Samuel or whatever his name is, said I hadn't provided enough information and cannot as yet validate my acct...that it is me. It's like that scene in zoolander where will farrel's character is all "I feel like I'm taking crazy pills!" It's like I tried to answer them based on the questions they asked. I spent another 1/2 hr thinking of things to add- emails i'd sent. The content of folders... Frustrating. And even now going, oh yah I forgot I had that folder in there and I could've mentioned x and y. I suppose if they reject my request a 2nd time I'll try again. But then what? Luckily most all my emails I had wanted to save I printed out when i got laid off on the 6th. And if I have to i guess I can start new on FB. WhatEVER! AGH! Amber suggests I send them a picture of me and a newspaper with the words "set me free" on it. I totally should.
It's like creating a new identity. (..... crickets.)
*Sigh* (slump head onto desk).
Anyway i've got like a whole bunch of iced tea to drink and i need to stop buying breakfasts. I managed to swim away some of the newly found irritation and stress and vow to go walking today. It's like yes I have a crick in my shoulder and a pain in my heel but it's like when you rest and it still hurts even though its 'slightly' better, means you just have to go on with your life right? Clearly my new devil is the fraps i keep obsessively consuming venti sized. And am eating entirely too much corn.
In unrelated news I'm writing a list of people who have ever wronged me or felt condemned by. It's going to be good times.
And of course ProRun. Wow. I just watched. Casanova mumbling in true petulant fashion "I think i'm getting fat. . ." haha. Maybe he's just been 'like getting sensitive'. Though i think Tim is being a little unfair on his asthetic. It's like that guy who did all that awesome draping- R?omy? something? and oh man gretchen- if you know your fellow designers can't do something why are you having them do it? what kind of leadership is that? if they're not capable? and wow, she threw them to the wolves after vowing not too. though ivy and her crocodile tears in the beg too much. Michael Kors blenching was classic! oh gretchen... flipping on the runway and then sending michael down the runway. i mean river. ooooh! I loved what Tim had to say. ForSHAME! Loved it. This extended pro run is snarktastic goodtimes.
Which reminds. You know you go snarklight. Totally. Esp in ref to the kiddos. Because you get all HSP man. Remember I got to know you in your unprecedented angry phase. And i liked that girl. What can I say. The strange off kilter encounters (though lets admit to our one or two readers- we exchange letters outside of this forum... being more uncensored and candid than whats appropriate for daytime television.) i also lack right now ... mostly... due to not being around the rest of mankind.
Oh and I told mom that if another email came from me asking all my friends for $16,000 there would be way more expletives also- i mean in addition to telling them to contact the consulate on my behalf and setting up a blog to update my adoring fans.
Can we pleeease talk about the beauty of Casanova’s tantrum? I’m not sure anyone out there appreciates it fully. I want to watch it again, and possibly Gretchen’s epic backpedaling, complete with the judge’s snarky, bemused and wondering faces during judging. Oh, and maybe Tim Gunn’s final speech, one more time. I like this season. I like the 90 minutes. I didn’t think I would, but really I could watch hours of footage if we’re being honest.
There was an *incident* at the park yesterday. You’d be proud that I stood up for myself, although of course later I thought about so many other things I could have made clear(er) and it would have been nice to have been calmer. The pillar of calm in the face of ridiculous, erroneous hostility. But apparently I receive false accusations, especially aggressive ones, somewhat like Marty McFly being called “chicken.” Not well. So there was a little boy smacking N.Lo on the playground equipment. K.Lo notified me about it first, and then I watched him do it myself. There were no adults around that were clearly with this child, much less telling him to stop. So obviously I had to say something to him. I wasn’t mean about it, although I did have to chase him down a bit, since he wasn’t interested in hearing what I had to say. I simply said, “Hey, buddy – do you see that little boy in the green shirt? You can’t treat him like that because he’s little. Understand?” He ran away to find his grandma, who incidentally was sitting directly in front of the crime scene. Didn’t hear or see anything else. But then, as they were leaving the park, maybe 10 minutes later, she approaches me and says, “Don’t you dare ever threaten my grandson again.”
What the whaaat?
So the Marty McFly “chicken” button immediately goes off in my brain and I see red. I hate, hate, haaaate someone telling me – much less aggressively – that I have done something I have not. But I told Mad Grandma in no uncertain terms that I did not threaten her grandson, would not say anything to someone else’s kid that I wouldn’t say to my own. That I was protecting my little one from being smacked. That it happened right in front of her. (And where was she? is what I should have said.) And she was all, “You should have come talked to the adult first, he’s only four.” Umm – except a) my kid’s only TWO and b) there were no adults stepping in. Should I have gone around and run a survey as to whose child this was? And where’s the 4-year-old getting the word “threatened,” anyway? That one’s sure not in my own 4-year-old’s vocabulary. I’m just saying.
Reassessing later, had I known which adult was attached with the kid, I certainly would have approached the adult first. Obviously. I can see her point in that respect, although I don’t feel like my actions (protecting my kid in a reasonable manner) were wrong. What bothers me most is the aggressive conversation opener. It could have gone a lot differently if she had just asked what happened. I mean, I know I look like a super-threatening individual who would terrorize a 4-year-old. But still.
Conversation closer: “I don’t appreciate your accusing me of threatening your grandson, and you need to have a talk with him about truth.”
So there. Pbbbt.
Do I really not talk enough anymore about bizarre encounters of the world, as you suggested? I must ponder. I’ll be more mindful about sharing my interpersonal snarktastic moments, I promise.
Bought a new, non-citrusy tablecloth for the kitchen. It’s neutral. This weekend: scraping down the porch railing and repainting! And also possibly the shutters and shhhh… I want to paint the front door red. Don’t tell J.Lo. Black porch railing, black shutters and RED door. Kerpow. But that might wait til another day when he’s not looking.
love to you. happy friday.
I’ve violated some of our readers’ (they exist? perhaps) sensibilities again by looking ahead in the book I’m reading to see if the payoff’s worth it. Because I’m a girl with limited time and emotional energy and I don’t wish to waste it. Nor do I wish to be set up for a fall. Emotional maturity is arguably a factor here; why enter into a relationship I know in my heart will end badly? Right? Needless to say, the result of this peeking-at-the-surprise was not at all what I expected. Or maybe I subconsciously suspected, which is why I looked ahead. Really, I was looking for verification that the couple gets together, and ends up happy, because the book is totally billed as a romantic comedy. Lighthearted, but well-written, a When-Harry-Met-Sally-esque affair.
Except that one of the main characters DIES.
I mean… this is not what I signed up for. At all. And I’m torn, because like I say, the book is wonderfully well-written, lauded by Nick Hornby on the cover (always a good sign), quirky, and British. But, hello: Sally did not die in that movie. Therefore, this book is not the same. And it shouldn’t be the same, it should be different, of course it should be different, but that sort of different is a deal-breaker.
What to do. I’ve only got 3 days left with the book, and this hemming and hawing is not helping.
But it’s all made me wonder if death as a subject is something that I’m spiritually (relatively) okay with in theory, but not in actual, concrete terms. I mean, maybe it’s something we’re never really okay with in this life. I mean, obviously. It’s one of – or the only? – Big Question. It’s a subject I ponder just as much or more than average birds. And I can read about it… I think. But I have to sign up for it knowingly.
I guess I just don’t take it very lightly at all. Even if I wholeheartedly believe that it (life – I mean death) does end up completely okay in the end, unlike on Freaks&Geeks last night when L said her grandmother saw nothing just before passing away – what’s up with the spiritual vacancy, Judd Apatow, hmm? – it’s just… it doesn’t belong in romantic comedies. It doesn’t belong in the stuff you’re sitting down to relax and enjoy and escape with. Because even though the topic is ubiquitous and looming, I justcanthandleit sometimes. Or don’t want to try.
The number of books I’ve preemptively rejected because of this issue is becoming more than a handful. To which I say, oh well. C’est la vie. Or C’est la death, as the case may be.
Can I get a what-what?
I have some sort of hardcore bug bite on my leg – possibly an ant bite? It itches like a motha. And is all swollen. The mosquitoes are vicious even in the face of bug spray, but their bites are small and more of a short-lived nuisance. This is no mosquito bite.
By the way, is anyone really surprised that Tiger Woods is getting a divorce, officially? Who caaaaaaaaares.
I’ve banned myself from realty window shopping until further notice. Or the notice, as the case may be. Because it’s so fruitless.
In the meantime, I’m looking at all the chair-rail trim in the kitchen, hallway and master and thinking that a prior genius painted them all in semi-gloss, and this does not please me. Because they’re all faded, yellowy off-white and need a touchup, but guess what. This will require sanding first. And I do not love sanding, in spite of the apparent lessons it contains, according to Mr. Miyagi.
Freaks & Geeks could not be any more entertaining. We’re making our way through the season haphazardly as they air, but the order doesn’t matter. It’s pure brilliance, pure sadness that it was canceled so soon.
More thunder, more rain. Where was all this when my garden and flowers were dying away?
I bought some extra Sculpey, but they (the Lame Craft Store) didn’t have the color set I wanted, so I was stuck with singles, and they are all wrong, wrong, wrong. Completely not the right palette, and so I’m going to have to go to the other craft store, the Better Craft Store, and make an additional purchase. And hopefully the wrong colors will eventually be used in some future project, perhaps by my Art Dept., who by the way “painted” the deck today with brooms and a big bucket of water. K.Lo’s idea. Love.
Also: your thoughts on Project Runway?
I suppose I need to take a few moments to talk more about CheeRunning. It sort of took the wind out of my sails after all. Not because I’m not excited about running as more of a meditation – which is what I originally wanted – and not that I care about muscling up. Because I don’t really care about that. But it sort of dismisses strength training altogether and without I still feel like something’s missing. So I need to regroup.
Otherwise, it does seem like it will still be cool to practice? I’m uberskeptical of anyone trying to own a form of running and promote as though one invented it – what is that all about? But aside from the hype, it does seem to make more logical sense and again I wonder how our world has taken yet another thing and beaten all sense out of it in a quest to make it faster, more powerful, etc., when simplicity of solution already exists.
Well anyway. I haven’t exercised other than yoga in like, two weeks. Wee!
This weekend’s been church-filled (nursery cleanup Saturday, the usual today), with a b-day party Saturday evening (rockets were launched), and now J.Lo’s away on his wild blue yonder mission, to return tomorrow. So I made a pasta thing with tomatoes and carrots and onions and lentils tonight, because I knew he’d never eat such a thing, whereas I could eat that dish possibly every night of the week.
It’s thundering just in time for bed. Damn you, thunder. But maybe I”ll be able to watch sometime mindless and girly while playing with clay after all.
You’re there! How fancily unexpected. Hurrah!
I finished removing the masterbedroom wallpaper today, but not without snags. I *knew* it was going all too swimmingly. Maybe a 3-foot section under the window (and incidentally above the air vent) had mildew growing underneath it. There’s a reason mildew has “ew” in it. It made the removal more dicey and added in the extra step of trying to clean up said mildew. And then there was a crack in the drywall, that was a fun discovery as well. J.Lo’s going to patch it up tonight and we’ll slather it all with mildew killz or whatever and it will be fine. But it was still totally gross.
You’re speaking, by the way, with Spiedie Fest South’s 2010 Champion. Tied for first place. This year I marinated the little chicken spiedies for five whole days – which practically pickles them letsbehonest – and they came out just as they should. Yum.
And we went to the life + science museum yesterday, of which I’ll likely post pictures on Lo. Co. The butterfly house sticks with me most – butterflies everywhere! Magical. And the weather toys were fun. I wouldn’t mind the hurricane simulator in my living room, for instance. However, the cockroaches, I will leave. Why so many in one container were deemed necessary, I know not, but I suppose it had its effect.
I continue to ponder small towns where the townspeople seem *stuck* or embittered – should these places be avoided? Should one not even try to live there? Or should one assume that it’s a mixed bag of happy/unhappy, mean/kind, smart/dumb, just like everywhere else. And that one carves one’s own niche in spite of it all.
Also, I feel completely unmotivated, work-wise. I might be disillusioned. I have to think about it some more.
So tired. Will perhaps recover with a bit more sleep. And then we have to pick some paint colors for the master! Think light shades of cocoa.
That is so weird about your exacto knife injury, as I too cut my pointer finger yesterday. I was slicing watermelon. I can’t be trusted with such instruments. But we’re totally blood sisters now, as if we weren’t before.
Am the exact opposite of contentment at the moment. Mainly gross and unsettled. The word “spaz” comes to mind. Can’t simmer down to save life, so am channeling nervous energy into spontaneous, semi-manic projects such as lawn-mowing, yard sprucing and wallpaper removal. Tile scrubbing. Which is good because at least those are productive activities and sort of get me somewhere. But I could, I don’t know, do my job. That would be helpful. If I could focus.
Pending Projects: Rip out garden. Fill flowerbeds with pretty fresh flowers. Finish master bedroom wallpaper removal and begin painting. Touch up hallway and kitchen trim. Scrape off rust from porch railing and repaint black (which will be awesome). And then there are a lot of maybes. We will see.
Side note: The Crazy this month, which has (mostly) passed, featured a very specific loathing toward pickup trucks with ginormous fenders. Hate! The nerve of them. Somewhat amusing, however.
I’ve been washing my face with straight honey, which is both interesting and so far effective.
Was highly dissatisfied with the conclusion of Worst Comic Standing. Because that’s how it ended up. But, beyond satisfied with conclusions of both Friday Night Lights (brills, brills, brills, cannot emphasize enough) and Work of Art.
So I’m supposed to do a little work tonight and then watch ProRun. It’s my greatest wish. But there’s this tiny obstacle called football in the way at the moment. Blech. But I suppose it’s just as well.
I’m writing you a letter even though we’re totally hanging out on email right now. So after my glorious hip injury, a new book magically showed up on reserve for me at the library about ChiRunning? Which is supposed to be pronounced CheeRunning, but I can’t help pronouncing it like ChiTown. ChaiRunning Anyway. It’s one of those books you have to skim, because there’s a lot of chaff. Behold the awesome power of CheeRunning, blah blah blah… Yeah, I get it. I understand the alleged benefits. Just tell me how to do it, sucker! I should probably just read the Wiki entry and call it a day. But no, I’ve got to have the details. Which I then have to sort through, arrange in my mind and ultimately let go in order to accomplish said CheeRunning without falling flat on my face. Because, like, you’re supposed to tilt forward? And completely relax your leg muscles, including shins, hips, etc. All those things we normally injure. Power running is out. Harnessing the Chee is in.
Or something like that. I experimented a bit today on the treadmill and don’t know that I
know what the hell I’m doing have the hang of it—def need to keep reading—but it did feel different. Like I *might* circumvent shinsplints, if anything. And that would be rad.
If you see running only as a sport, you’re limiting yourself to getting only the physical benefits. It’s like the difference between stretching and yoga…between sitting in a waiting room and sitting in meditation…between training your body to run faster or farther and practicing to run in a mindful and masterful way.
It’s raining. It’s pouring. K.Lo just complained to me about her old man snoring, at night, which I find completely hilarious. That’s why I sleep with a pillow over my head, little girl!
Tomorrow is my second and last workshop about helping out at Sunday preschool. This time I’m going to bring a sandwich. Maybe another round of CheeRunning after that and a blog post? I can’t decide which topic to work on though.
Also, I feel completely taken off guard by a bout of The Crazy. Is it time already? Could it be? I’m so annoyed. I loathe mankind. The end of ProRun made me cry. And I just want to order takeout for dinner. Not to mention the cloud of anxiety and anticipation over my head. But we’ll talk about that another day.
peace out -
“Putin’ the paint where it aint.” Here we are at the stoplight leaving my neighborhood and here in front of me is a van bearing a highly awesome slogan. I mean… I love that there is only one “t” in “putin’.” I love that it even is “putin’.” I love that there’s an apostrophe for “putin’,” but not “aint.” I love that it even says “aint.” Because rhymes are catchy and good for advertising… besides that “where it aint” could imply many locations that are not walls, if we’re being honest. And I love most of all that no one in the process of slogan creation through execution suggested—perhaps—a few editorial changes before its permanent application.
Ahem. Anyway, it’s back to healthfulness and run/walking this week. Some yoga. Maybe the loop (but not running, as is ass-hot out there). I could really go for a nap, but maybe some cold coffee over ice instead.
Shoot, I lost my train of thought. Not sure where it went. Maybe ask K.Lo?
More soon – xxoo.