I just can't keep up with how fast this year has gone by. As it is now, I barely have 3 minutes to write my end of the year blog. Somewhere I have a list of all the things that I did, saw, learned, drove, flew, and experienced that I had all good intents of putting here, but I don't even have the time to do that. Man, what a year. What a busy, busy year.
As for next year (AKA 15 1/2 hours away), I'm going to start things off right. Tomorrow, I'm jumping in a car and driving to Maryland as quickly as possible. Buckle up kiddies, 2010 is going to be another good year!
Happy, safe, sane, New year to everyone!
Thank you for reading and being a part of my life...especially to Carly for so many awesome laughs. I can't wait to hear the account of the New Year's party sheanigans!
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The adventures and confessions of a single girl, travel junkie, shopaholic, amateur photographer, prodigal scrapbooker, social drinker, public servant, sister, daughter, friend, klutz, and nap time professional who keeps looking for the hidden meaning in it all. These are the scenes from my life.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
fark me
I can't take it anymore. I nodded off on the freeway twice in the last week. On the freeway! I drifted into the carpool lane. Drifted. into. the. carpool lane. I fell asleep while I was working the radio and missed a traffic stop. Last night I fell asleep with false eyelashes on. I found one partially stuck to my eyebrow this morning. This weekend during wedding madness, someone asked me if there was anything that I didn't do. Sleep. I don't sleep. I don't think narcolepsy is this bad.
Fark me, I'm tired.
Fark me, I'm tired.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
I should have gone to bed
You know sometimes that inner voice that speaks to you is trying to save you from yourself?
I should listen.
Sometimes you should just pay attention before it's 5am and you're walking down your own hallway, topless, covered in glitter and teal paint, with glass stuck in your thumb, wondering when the burning smell will leave the bathroom.
I am a tweaker - minus the injection marks and missing teeth. I'm up when the world is asleep and most productive when the sun is on the other side of the Earth.
I should have gone to bed when I spilled a big box of seed beads on the floor of the spare bedroom. It sounded like that one time I went straight from the beach on North Shore to Chili's and used the ladies room only to dump half of the beach out of my bathing suit and out under the stall door. Whooosh! Who knew that much sand could hide in bathing suit lining?
I should have gone to bed when I tipped the green glitter all over the stovetop in the kitchen. It looked like Tinkerbell got beat to death.
I should have gone to sleep when I almost lit the acrylic ornament paint on fire in the front bathroom.
I should have gone to sleep when I got the tiny sliver of glass broken off in my finger tip.
Finally, sparkly and glass pricked, I should have gone to bed before I accidentally squeezed half a bottle of bright teal acrylic paint on to my light grey fleece $60, work sweater sleeve. Not only the sleeve, but the opening where the paint could slowly run down my left arm, the only part of my body not covered in green glitter.
As I managed to shimmy out of my sweater without streaking my body in paint like a Carnivale performer and soaked my virgin sweater sleeve in hot water in the bathroom sink next to the smoldering ornament, I had to realize.....besides my bathroom at 5am, the only other place you could find a topless, glitter, and paint covered woman playing with water is a strip joint.
It's 5am, do you know where your stripper is?
I should listen.
Sometimes you should just pay attention before it's 5am and you're walking down your own hallway, topless, covered in glitter and teal paint, with glass stuck in your thumb, wondering when the burning smell will leave the bathroom.
I am a tweaker - minus the injection marks and missing teeth. I'm up when the world is asleep and most productive when the sun is on the other side of the Earth.
I should have gone to bed when I spilled a big box of seed beads on the floor of the spare bedroom. It sounded like that one time I went straight from the beach on North Shore to Chili's and used the ladies room only to dump half of the beach out of my bathing suit and out under the stall door. Whooosh! Who knew that much sand could hide in bathing suit lining?
I should have gone to bed when I tipped the green glitter all over the stovetop in the kitchen. It looked like Tinkerbell got beat to death.
I should have gone to sleep when I almost lit the acrylic ornament paint on fire in the front bathroom.
I should have gone to sleep when I got the tiny sliver of glass broken off in my finger tip.
Finally, sparkly and glass pricked, I should have gone to bed before I accidentally squeezed half a bottle of bright teal acrylic paint on to my light grey fleece $60, work sweater sleeve. Not only the sleeve, but the opening where the paint could slowly run down my left arm, the only part of my body not covered in green glitter.
As I managed to shimmy out of my sweater without streaking my body in paint like a Carnivale performer and soaked my virgin sweater sleeve in hot water in the bathroom sink next to the smoldering ornament, I had to realize.....besides my bathroom at 5am, the only other place you could find a topless, glitter, and paint covered woman playing with water is a strip joint.
It's 5am, do you know where your stripper is?
Saturday, December 12, 2009
sound it out
I saw Precious this weekend. I knew I was in for a few tears, but this one really got to me. It was heavy and graphic, but not distasteful. I think the part of it that really pulled at my heart was knowing that people, women, girls live lives like that everyday. Knowing the basic premise of the movie, I expected to see some of the scenes, but the scene that started the flood of tears was the one where Precious wasn't able to read outloud the title of a children's book. You could see the frustration and self-doubt (amazing acting by the way!). I cannot imagine what it must be like to not be able to read the words that are all around you - to feel lost trying to decipher basic directions in everyday life.
I can read. I write. In fact, I know the power of both so much, I share my life and my feelings in words with all you. I can read at the speed of pursuits, structure fires, baby's not breathing, shots fired, pedestrians hit by vehicles...but more importantly I can read when I'm at the grocery store, I can read when I have to get somewhere new, I can read when I need to find someone to help me. I CANNOT imagine having those basic life skills stripped away from me.
So with New Year's to-do's coming upon us, I think I'm going to volunteer at the local library to teach someone how to read. What a skill to share with someone...what an impact to have on someone's life. I may not be able to remove a child from a dangerous home or keep someone from being abused, but damnit, I can teach someone to read.
I can read. I write. In fact, I know the power of both so much, I share my life and my feelings in words with all you. I can read at the speed of pursuits, structure fires, baby's not breathing, shots fired, pedestrians hit by vehicles...but more importantly I can read when I'm at the grocery store, I can read when I have to get somewhere new, I can read when I need to find someone to help me. I CANNOT imagine having those basic life skills stripped away from me.
So with New Year's to-do's coming upon us, I think I'm going to volunteer at the local library to teach someone how to read. What a skill to share with someone...what an impact to have on someone's life. I may not be able to remove a child from a dangerous home or keep someone from being abused, but damnit, I can teach someone to read.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
I've been struck...
by crafting genius! I wish I could say that it was ultimatley cheaper to make people presents rather than buy them, but in all actuality, it's not so much. Time costs after all, not couting the million little chockies that get purchased and put to use. But, that hasn't stopped me from checking the majority of the recent birthday, Christmas, baby shower, and thank you gifts off the "made with love" list. I even was told the other night that I should do this kind of stuff professionally and quit my job. Ha! Fat chance, but there's always a dream of doing something like that. I wish I could...I'd do it in a heartbeat. But alas, I'll have to continue to make scrappy camp out of my front room (and kitchen and bathroom and actual "scrapbook" room) until then. The "room" is like a minature store - I pick a theme, grab and empty box, and start shopping for all the odds and ends of things that I'm going to put in my new creation. I could literally go to the hardware store and find stuff to make a scrapbook or altered creation. It's an obession and one I've been happy to feed for the last few years. Merry Christmas, may you be a good enough friend that you get a homemade creation from me someday. :)
My living room is buried somewhere under there.
My living room is buried somewhere under there.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
sweaty balls
Today, it doesn't take much to piss me off. I guess it was a long time coming after my 65-hour work week, including a 14-hour shift on Thanksgiving at minimum with no break. After 4 hours of marginally good sleep today, through the barage of mass texting and a few unneccesary phone calls, I woke up to a house full of 20-year old teenagers gathered in the hallway talking shit about whoever the target is for the week. Oh yeah, thanks for even asking if I wanted to go do something with you since we didn't go see Kelly Clarkson tonight because you couldn't afford to buy the tickets even though you just went out and bought and iphone the next day.
Yeah, being awake is awesome. Oh look, the dishes from Thanksgiving are still stacked on the counter and in the sink. Nice, and what was that you were saying, Baby Sister who isn't going to school and doesn't pay rent in my house? You have so much extra time on your hands, you want to volunteer at the hospital or senior center because it makes you feel good. How about you volunteer to wash the fucking dishes since you don't pay rent.
Well here's one for you. Dishes that sit and fester in the sink for 4 days after Thanksgiving, which by the way we had salmon and not turkey cause no one wanted to make a big bird, smell like ball cheese. Yeah, ball cheese. Ok. You ok with that? Sweaty ball sac. As if the rotting dishes weren't enough, it was time to cook the pre-marinated tri-tip that you literally pull out of the package and put in the oven, which my father who has lived 70 years on this earth, cannot seem to cook on his own:
preheat oven to 425*
remove tri-tip from packaging
place fat side up
cook for 1 hour
Degree of difficulty: -1
Fine, I'll cook, I'll clean, I'll pay the rent, and I'll do it all in the 2 hours I have before I go back to work again cause someone else is sick again on her Monday.
7:24pm, leaves me with 16 minutes to take a shower, change, make gravy, and throw dinner in tupperware so I can rush off with it to the batcave for another night of incompetence in epic proportions and political demands.
7:31pm, while getting dressed and blow-drying my hair simultaneously, I hear the rattle of a pan hitting the floor. The roast. If the roast is sitting on the floor with the dog pacing in circles while my father tries to both hold on to his walker and save his dinner, I am going to hit something with a rolling pin. Luckily it isn't. It is my father, picking up the crusty salmon ball cheese smelling teflon baking sheet that was supposed to soaking. Apparently he flung it sideways while scraping it with a spatula while insiting that the gouges in it are from cleaning and that's how you clean a pan. With a metal spatula. That was the last straw, people had better be tiptoeing on eggshells while wearing kid gloves and sporting skates for the layer of thin ice that is coating my house right now.
In hindsight, and now that I write this all out, I guess it actually does take a LOT to piss me off. I knew this was coming. I've been too entirely in a good mood lately.
HappyfreakingHolidays.
Yeah, being awake is awesome. Oh look, the dishes from Thanksgiving are still stacked on the counter and in the sink. Nice, and what was that you were saying, Baby Sister who isn't going to school and doesn't pay rent in my house? You have so much extra time on your hands, you want to volunteer at the hospital or senior center because it makes you feel good. How about you volunteer to wash the fucking dishes since you don't pay rent.
Well here's one for you. Dishes that sit and fester in the sink for 4 days after Thanksgiving, which by the way we had salmon and not turkey cause no one wanted to make a big bird, smell like ball cheese. Yeah, ball cheese. Ok. You ok with that? Sweaty ball sac. As if the rotting dishes weren't enough, it was time to cook the pre-marinated tri-tip that you literally pull out of the package and put in the oven, which my father who has lived 70 years on this earth, cannot seem to cook on his own:
preheat oven to 425*
remove tri-tip from packaging
place fat side up
cook for 1 hour
Degree of difficulty: -1
Fine, I'll cook, I'll clean, I'll pay the rent, and I'll do it all in the 2 hours I have before I go back to work again cause someone else is sick again on her Monday.
7:24pm, leaves me with 16 minutes to take a shower, change, make gravy, and throw dinner in tupperware so I can rush off with it to the batcave for another night of incompetence in epic proportions and political demands.
7:31pm, while getting dressed and blow-drying my hair simultaneously, I hear the rattle of a pan hitting the floor. The roast. If the roast is sitting on the floor with the dog pacing in circles while my father tries to both hold on to his walker and save his dinner, I am going to hit something with a rolling pin. Luckily it isn't. It is my father, picking up the crusty salmon ball cheese smelling teflon baking sheet that was supposed to soaking. Apparently he flung it sideways while scraping it with a spatula while insiting that the gouges in it are from cleaning and that's how you clean a pan. With a metal spatula. That was the last straw, people had better be tiptoeing on eggshells while wearing kid gloves and sporting skates for the layer of thin ice that is coating my house right now.
In hindsight, and now that I write this all out, I guess it actually does take a LOT to piss me off. I knew this was coming. I've been too entirely in a good mood lately.
HappyfreakingHolidays.
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