Random Pictures From My Desktop At Work

While doing my rounds of fact checking, I come across some pretty interesting pictures, which I end up dragging to my desktop and putting into a folder at a later date. Unfortunately, because I'm not that organized, I can't fully credit where these come from, so I'll just say via the Internetz.

Things I Want To Be Awesome At

I've started a mental list in my head of things I want to be awesome at, as the title of the this post suggests. My husband and I have started talking about kids and, for some reason, the thought no longer scares me. I guess I am starting to feel like an adult...most of the time. But, for some reason, I have this '50s housewife stereotype stuck in my head of things I want to be able to do before having kids. And, I know this image is kind of outdated, but I still can't escape it. So, instead of trying to rebel against it, I've decided to embrace it, and try my hardest to at least get the basics down I feel I would need to accomplish the stereotype.

I want to be able to sew a dress without a pattern

This, of course, would probably require I go out and buy a basic pattern and some fabric first, right? Yeah...I guess so. But I have this image that one day, I'll be at work and my husband will call and tell me we're having company over for hors d'oeuvres and brandy and I'll tell him I have nothing to wear. So, I picture myself stopping at JoAnn fabric on the way home and, as my mini-quiches and tartlets are cooking, I'll whip up a snazzy, casual little dress. This scenario may never play out in my life. ...but there's always the small hope it would. And, somehow, I picture Mr. and Mrs. Tate coming over later, exclaiming how lovely my house is and that my husband sure came through on that advertising deal. If only I could learn to wiggle my nose, I'd be all set for this scenario.

I want to be able to pull off red lipstick

I feel like red lipstick ages, but not in a good way. It's like, if you can pull of red lip stick, you're old enough to wear it. If you're not old enough to wear it, no matter how perfect it may be applied, you still look like you've gone and played in your mother's makeup bag again. I get away with the occasional red gloss for some pop. And, luckily, it usually wears off after a few hours. But I tried the red lipstick look once for my friend's wedding. And I felt like I was so close to pulling it off. But I still didn't feel right about it. Maybe because it's not an every day look for me...but one day, I will be able to pull of red lipstick.

I want to be able to set the perfect table

I was at a friend's wedding shower a few weeks ago and I noticed the catering staff's way of pulling a tablecloth askew on half of the table and laying out the food just so, as if it were being photographed for a spread in some upscale magazine I would never buy, but secretly skim at a book store. Personally, I don't think the tiny twinges of OCD would tolerate half my dining room table covered with a table cloth that looked like it could fall off at any moment. I would most likely adjust it until it lay perfectly balanced. But I did decide I would start looking at table cloths in general, just so I don't end up having to explain the white heat marks I made (somewhat) better this weekend.

I want to be able to grow and maintain flowers

I'm getting there! I actually planted Forget-Me-Nots a few months ago in my window boxed on my front porch that have actually sprouted. I figure in a few weeks, they will look somewhat decent, although I didn't know Forget-Me-Nots grew so exceptionally tall...they kind of look out of place.

I want to be able to know where everything is in my house

I have an upstairs room I store my random things: scraps of fabric from a pair of pajama pants I tried to make and was halfway through until I realized I forgot to flip the pattern and I sewed two left legs; my yoga mat and DVDs I was crazy about in January, but have since given up on because I realized I was not relaxed when I was yelling at the instructors every time they said

"hold it just a few more seconds..."; books I intend to put on a shelf but won't until I get the rest of them out of my sister-in-law's attic; CDs...somewhere. Needless to say, I need to do an inventory of what I have upstairs and in the basement. Everything on the first floor is pretty much accounted for.

I want to be able to maintain a daily 10 minute clean

I have the instructions, but actually getting around to doing it at the end of the day seems to be the least appealing thing in the world. Hell, I've had two of my pillows in the dryer for two days now that I'm procrastinating bringing upstairs and putting back in their case. And my dishwasher, well, I keep hoping one day my husband will want to put the dishes away without me asking...but I think that's a pipe dream I need to get out of my head.

I want to learn the lyrics to at least 10 songs

I have a mental list of songs I want to be able to sing to my children. Offhand, I can only name three of them, but I know them when I hear them on my iPod. What I'd like to be able to do is learn the lyrics so I can sing them without having to substitute the words "something, something, love you something, something," which I tend to do when I completely blank on lyrics. I think karaoke spoiled me from having to learn lyrics. Either that, or I've been disappointed when I find the lyrics I've been singing for years is completely wrong. Case in point: After watching all five seasons of "Saved By The Bell" last week on DVD, I finally learned the words weren't "and the lawn gets out of waterin'", but were, in fact, "and the alarm lets out a warning." Not that I would put my children to bed singing the theme to "SBTB", but you never know.

I want to be able to change a diaper

Yeah, that's right, I've never actually done it on a live child before. Oh, sure, I had a flour baby and could easily put a diaper on a sack of flour, with one hand even. But an actual squirming, crying, wet and soiled child? No, never done it. I think I was afraid I'd secretly like it and start listening to my biological clock. Well, now that I've actually started noticing my biological clock, I seem to think it's with me when I have the irrational nightmare of pulling an Andrew Clark from "The Breakfast Club" and taping the child's buns together instead of the diaper. I'll get to it, I swear...

I want to be able to put together a delicious dinner in 30 minutes or less

Amendment to this statement: And not have to listen to anyone say "Yummo" or "E-V-O-O". God, I hate Rachael Ray. Hate. I would watch her on mute if I could. But, then again, I would want to be able to make these meals from scratch, too. Some of her stuff is pre-made she uses. Yeah, I'm kind of a perfectionist when it comes to cooking. I've baked and decorated my share of cakes, and I always feel so guilty when people tell me how good they are. I should be sending these compliments to Duncan Hines, actually. Oh, sure, the decorating is all me...but the cake is a mix+eggs+oil and my Kitchen Aide mixer, let's be honest. But I can decorate it like a champ!

One day, I may accomplish these goals. The red lipstick, well, that's the one that'll take some time...

The Commute

Welcome to Friday. The day all is supposed to go well. And, for the most part, people are just relieved the weekend is so close. The work day sort of dribbles by, but as soon as the last minute is over, the pupils dilate, the pulse quickens, the senses tingle. It's either the heroin kicking in or the weekend beginning (for some, it may be both).

But, if you live in Connecticut like me, you know that the minute your car is out of the parking garage and onto public streets, the feeling dissipates. Gone are the ideas that were flooding you moments earlier with plans to start the weekend. Instead, brake lights are slapped in front of your eyes, as if to say, "Oh, silly you. You know this happens every Friday, yet you still anticipate me, whether you know it or not."

If you know back roads, you're at least moving along...but nine times out of 10 you're stuck behind someone who could care less about your need to feel the wind whipping through your hair, driving 45 in a 25 mph cop-less road. The car in front of you doesn't even has its brake lights on, yet you're still pumping your brake because sheer momentum seems to pull your car faster than the one in front of you. When they turn off you have a whole 23 seconds of freedom! You go for the gas pedal, you know these roads well enough, there are no brakes involved! And then, damn. Another one. These are YOUR back roads! How dare someone try to claim them for themselves and their slow vehicles.

The luck is no better on the highway. In fact, as you're inching along, plans for the weekend begin to be replaced by listing things you'd rather be doing than sitting in traffic. None of which are even remotely close to giving you the same misery going 11 exits in an hour and a half does. (This is Connecticut we're talking about; I realize that in some states where 11 exits in an hour and a half is a miracle and should be praised--I'm looking at you, upstate New York!) Somehow, you would trade your right hand to be on the floor of your bathroom using whitening toothpaste on grout instead of stuck in traffic.

An hour into your commute home, you go through the same weekly questions in your head: Should I move closer to my job? Should I find a job closer to me? If I went back to work at Carvel, could I somehow still pay my mortgage? (OK, the last one may just be me...)

You make a pact to look into your options when you get home, if you get home. This is, of course, in vain because once you get home, you're so happy to be there, the thought of looking for another job just seems ridiculous. You enjoy your job (or at least tolerate it). The commute only gets to you one day out of the week. How hard is that? You survived it before you'll survive it again.

Then you see the clock. It's two and a half hours later than you actually left. Your Friday night had such hope, such promise. But, now it seems wasted. Your energy level is shot. You don't even have the energy to think about trying heroine, just to see if you can bring back that fresh 5 o'clock feeling instead of the sloth-like 7 o'clock slump.

You wait for your third wind to hit. 7:30. Nothing. 8 p.m. Nothing. The phone is starting to ring with offers for the night, but nothing really gets you up and going. You'd rather sulk about your commute just ruining everything.

Three hours since work and what have you accomplished? Getting yourself home. In one piece. Without causing a lawsuit because you threw your water bottle at an old woman going one mile below the speed limit. (I know, I know, she totally deserved it. Especially when she stopped right before the light ahead turned yellow when she could have easily run it, with you on her tail.) Without even being that guy who decides he can't wait any more and drives five miles on the shoulder, almost careening into a Jersey barrier when the shoulder unexpectedly ends.

Well, when you put it that way, you've accomplished a lot! You deserve a reward for your hard work and effort! You didn't have to let people merge onto the highway from the on ramps. You could have been the four out of five asshats on 95 who don't let anyone get in front of them, thinking they're saving themselves seconds off their rides home. Yeah! You have good karma coming to you! It's time to celebrate! It's time to get up and change out of your work clothes, which you realize was one of the things holding you back...slave clothes, more like it.

OK! You're ready! You're in the car! You pull out of your driveway and get onto the highway to visit some friends and...oh shit...Of course. No longer is the highway full of commuter traffic, it's now full of former-commuters like yourself who went through the same after-work slump you did and are now ready to go downtown and enjoy themselves.

And, once again, that old lady is in front of you. However, now she is, clearly, high as a kite on medical marijuana (not legal in Connecticut, by the way, but it's not like anyone would suspect her for possession). And you know this because she throws your water bottle back at you, only she has used some Popsicle sticks and a glue gun to turn it into a bong. Sassy bitch.

The Weird Week

There's something about the week leading up to my birthday that has always been, well, interesting. I don't know what it is, but it's never just been a normal week. And I never remember or think about it until I'm smack-dab in the middle of it. By the way, my birthday's Saturday and it's the one year I haven't been noticing every day how much closer I am to turning another year older.

26 isn't anything too exciting, though. I mean, what's the big deal about 26? Not that I need any more birthdays that are a big deal. Turning 18 was big, although I don't know why, other than the fact I bought a lottery ticket that night and wasn't carded, unfortunately. 20 was such a cock-tease of a year. 21 was awesome and I got drunk on Mango Margaritas and shots of Southern Comfort (my gateway hard liquor, I call it). When I turned 25, it hit me I was getting married exactly three months later...and I wondered what I needed to finish up.

I don't remember much about the weeks leading up to these ages, but I know I've always noticed things were a bit off. Maybe it's the transition into springtime. I mean, the reason Miss Rhode Island won in "Miss Congeniality" has got to be because she was asked to pick the perfect date...and she chose my birthday: "April 25th. It's not too hot, it's not too cold, you just need a light jacket!" Oh, Cheryl Frasier.

Who knows. Maybe it's all in my head. It probably is. Although, that wouldn't explain the office fire I helped put out yesterday.

We had sort of a field trip to help clean up the beach by where we worked, so we were out in the rain doing so. When we got back, my coworker and I had our clothes drying next to a space heater. Well, he decided to drape his sweater over the top of it, and then left a few minutes later to go to the bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an orange glow coming out of the back of the heater. I grabbed the sweater off of it, then saw a flame inside. Well, I said something to the effect of "Oh crap, it's on fire." And started running to get the fire extinguisher. When I ran back, all the guys in the office were just starring at it, like "Oooh, fire!" Meanwhile, I'm practically dragging this extinguisher with two hands, when my boss finally says, "Oh, here, give me that." And he put out the fire.

But, what was funny was everyone was giving me the credit, including my boss. I think mostly because I didn't just stare at it in wonder. They didn't even know we had a fire extinguisher and was impressed I was able to find it so quickly. (Incidentally, it was by the door we all use.)

Following that rush, we got out of work early so the fumes could be properly handled. So, everyone decided to go for a drink. When I got there, they set up a game of pool, and asked if I wanted to play. Well, other than knocking in the 8-Ball on my third shot, I blew their minds. Granted, I've been around a pool table my whole life. My grandfather taught me to play. And I'm even better when I don't have to call what ball I want to go in. For some reason, I learned how to play left-handed, but that never seemed to hinder me. But the fact that I got to "impress" my coworkers twice yesterday, and at things that don't have anything to do with my actual job, made me realize I'm in the middle of my Annual Weird Week.

Oh, sure. Other stuff has happened a little out of the ordinary, but that was the adrenaline rush of yesterday I couldn't wait to write about.

The Cleaning Freak is Unleashed

I'll admit it: I'm a closet slob. My desk as work is very clean, and every few weeks I'll even wipe it down with anti-bacterial spray. But if you open the top drawer, there are plastic cutlery strewn about and old packets of duck sauce and Taco Bell sauce I'll use one day. Not to mention tampons, different medicines from the medicine cabinet at work and rubber bands here and there. But, at the same time, I get so annoyed at my coworker who sits at the same desk for having three old containers of take-out Miso Soup stacked by his monitor I know he'll never eat.

My dresser is dust free and the top is very organized and dust-free. But if you open a drawer, nothing is in a straight line. The top may be neatly folded because of putting away laundry, but the stuff I don't wear as often underneath the folded stuff is inside-out or crumpled messily or stuffed into corners so I can close the drawer.

Today I Swiffered underneath the bed and found four of my socks I took off during the night with the full intention of picking them up in the morning, but never seen or remembered.

My saving grace in my head is the mantra "Well, at least I'm not as bad as my husband," which is a terrible way to think of it! But I had to admit to myself that I will always have a messy streak.

I do, however, find a certain satisfaction (or schadenfreude, actually) in watching "How Clean is Your House?" on BBC America. In case you haven't had the pleasure of watching it, Kim Woodburn and Aggie Mackenzie are two "neat freaks", if you will. They surprise (as far as Reality TV lets you imagine, at least) slobs in their homes and open their eyes to just how disgusting they've been living. Then, with their decorated rubber gloves and English accents, they show the homeowners how to clean their house. I wouldn't have thought of this premise as a great idea for a reality show, but it's very addicting. And I get my "fix" almost every day because BBCA apparently knows it's a good show, so my DVR has at least two episodes waiting for me when I get home from work--some of them are repeats, but they're always fun to watch again.

Well, I've gotten so addicted to this show (in my effort to become the Grand Puba of Full-Time Career Girl/Housewife), that I found their book, "The Cleaning Bible", on Amazon and bought it immediately. Well, I can't even begin to tell you how clean my house is right now.

Hell, I'll let the review I posted at Amazon do the talking for you:

"I've recently gotten addicted to 'How Clean is Your House?' on BBC America. So much so that when I finish watching an episode, I start cleaning until my husband stops me or I have to go to bed or work. I have gotten so into the show, I now picture miniature versions of Kim and Aggie on my shoulder with their wit and wisdom as I'm scrubbing away at my bathroom or kitchen.  

When I found they wrote a book, I ordered it immediately, and even got Amazon Prime so I could enjoy it sooner. I've had it for a few days now and I can't say I've made much of a dent in the book. This is because I will read a few pages, then put it down to clean something. There's something about them that makes me want to clean and convinces me that I actually enjoy it somehow.  

We moved into a house built in 1928 last year, and we've torn the wall-to-wall carpets up and re-finished the hardwood floors underneath; taken the wallpaper down and painted; re-wired the kitchen; and basically had to start from scratch with this house. From all that work, cleaning seemed like such a chore, especially if we were to work on a new project that would inevitably make a mess. But now it's not so daunting.  

Maybe it's the thought of Kim saying, 'And look how it sparkles, dear! You wouldn't have known it could do that before, now, did you?' Or Aggie saying, 'You only need a cap-full of bleach, dear, not the whole bottle!'  

Either way, because of these two wonderful women, I get a kick out of cleaning and my home has been spotless for about two weeks (since becoming addicted to the show). My husband, who is probably 'quite a filthy little beggar' in Kim's mind, is happier as well because I haven't been complaining as much about cleaning. (Don't get the wrong impression of him--he helps out more, and from watching the show, I've noticed his complaints about cleaning are becoming few and far between.)  

The best thing I have to say about the book AND the show is the Mother-in-Law test. She came over this afternoon for coffee, and was stunned at how clean everything was. I wasn't even expecting her and I had no doubt when she pulled in the driveway that everything would be to her liking. I was even able to give her some tips I picked up from the show and the book!  

I can't say enough about this book or the two wonderful women who wrote it. It's not even something you have to read before cleaning--the personal stories they put in make the book easy to read before going to bed or lounging around the house (when you run out of stuff to clean...or so you think).  

As a childhood fan of Mary Poppins, these two women are probably the closest I'll ever have to having someone say 'spit-spot' and snapping their fingers and it's clean."

LINK

Gotta Love Checklists

Remember I was writing about trying to become more Stepford Wife-like? Well, in my effort, I came across some of the best tools for cleaning: Real Simple Checklists.

First, I printed the 30 Minute Daily Clean, which I only have to do every few days because my husband and I both work so much, we don't really have time to make big daily messes. LINK

Then, I printed out checklists for thoroughly cleaning each room.

Kitchen

Living Room/Dining Room/Bedroom

Bathroom

Unfortunately, when I cleaned the bathroom thoroughly, I clogged the drain in the bathtub. This, of course, led to standing in about 6 inches of water whenever we take a shower. And, when the water finally goes down the drain, we were left with even more dirt in the tub than we were before I cleaned. Hopefully, the two doses of Liquid Plumber we used yesterday helped. We haven't tested it yet.

I have also started to use an online checklist to remind me what I cleaned and what I haven't yet. LINK

My husband's job when this cleaning is taking place is to just stay out of my way. He's learned that I have my way of cleaning and his way is "wrong". OK, it's not necessarily wrong, it's just...not my way. But we're both self-admitted slobs; I just hide it a lot better.

A few hints I've picked up in my exploration of cleaning:

• Before doing any cleaning, take off wedding/engagement rings and other jewelry and put them in the jewelry cleaner container. This way, they aren't subjected to cleaning supplies and other gunk, and when you're done, take them out and shine them up.
  
• Train yourself not to start any mini-projects. I was all gung-ho about cleaning the kitchen one night and about a third of the way through it, I noticed my Tupperware cabinet was an absolute disaster, and I was ready to sit down and spend an extra 20 minutes just working on that. But I had to stop myself and put it on my ToDo list for later.
  
• Don't get mad when you've cleaned the bathroom, then your husband comes to the door, looking like a sad puppy and says, "Honey, I'm sorry, but you know that Mexican we had for dinner? Well, um, please let me in!" It happens.
  
• Pick up after yourself as you go along; don't leave everything for a "big clean". It's much easier to clean as you go. I'm still sort of training my husband in this. His new favorite excuse is "I'm sorry, I thought I put it away already." At least he's moved on from, "What mess?"
  
• Have the right tools. I have been eyeing the Swiffer Duster for ages. But when I see it in the store, I can't think of a single thing I need to dust. Then I get home and see the dining room furniture, the tops of our dressers, the TVs, the ceiling fans (just read in Real Simple that an old pillowcase is awesome to use on ceiling fans so the dust doesn't fly everywhere).
  
• Reward yourself. OK, some people are content just seeing a sparkling kitchen. I, on the other hand, still need some sort of compensation for my work. A few hours off the ever-living diet, perhaps. Or some time spent on Amazon.com (lately, browsing for cleaning books, go figure). It might be allowance mind-set still in my head.
  
• If you're noticing you're cleaning up after someone else, tell them. Don't let it fester. If you're using your anger for cleaning energy (my kitchen sink was almost steel wooled away one afternoon because of this), try and tire yourself out before confronting the person.
  
• If you start a cleaning project, finish it. This may sound like simple advice, but I've learned when my husband cleans, he will only do 90 percent of the job. For example, I asked him to clean the bathroom one day. This was a job he said he couldn't wait to do when we moved in. When I found him sitting on the couch a little while later, he proudly told me he was done. When I went into the bathroom, the sink, the toilet, the bathtub and the floor were clean. The stuff he moved in the process, however, was still on the dining room table.
  

I have to take a moment here and say that my husband is not a bad person at all. I love him dearly and when he goes to Iraq in August, I'll probably miss the messes he leaves. He will admit that he's a slob (but will also point out the pile of books I messily toss behind my nightstand or the pile in the back corner of my side of the closet), but he also admits he grew up in a house where he wasn't "allowed" to clean. His mother had her own system of cleaning that he wasn't privy to. I have to admit, I probably don't help matters because I don't have the patience to re-teach him the stuff he does know how to clean so that it's up to my standards.

One more tip before I get back to my To Do list: 

Watch BBC's "How Clean Is Your House?" or visit people who are absolute slobs if you need a kick in the ass to get cleaning. Usually, once I start cleaning, I don't stop until the Windex is pryed from my raw, pruny hands. But getting started (i.e. just getting off the couch and putting my hair in a ponytail) is the hardest part. However, when you're looking at someone else's place that's an absolute mess, or watching a show that focuses on the nastiness that can happen when you don't clean, it does a good job of pushing you in the direction of "oh god, I do not want my place to look like that!"

Best. Wrestling. Promo. Ever!

Saw this at work, thought it was from the '80s or even he early '90s. However, no! This is new! Oh, Jimmy Hart, what the hell are you doing?

One more little rant

In my Google searches for "Becoming a Stepford Wife", "Learn to love cooking and cleaning", "Housework for Dummies", "Working wife cooking and cleaning tips" and "Donna Reed First Season DVD Cheap", I've reached the end of my rope (see previous post on why). Not even because I'm not finding what I need (other than the Donna Reed DVDs, but I realized I only wanted to watch the show, not learn from it), but because I keep seeing blogs and articles written by women who start off by saying, "I am a loving stay-at-home wife by choice."

This is uncharacteristic of me to say this, but what the hell are they trying to prove? Are they so threatened by their counter-equals, who send their kids to day care and want to earn their own money? Have career women completely moved ahead in time, leaving housewives to think they have to defend their choices at every turn? By choice. Phft!

If I had the choice, I would love to quit my job. I would write that book I always say I will. ... or at least start a new one every week, figuring that one will be better than the one I previously started. I probably wouldn't do anymore housework than I do already, in all honesty.

Sure, if I had kids, I would love to stay home with them. But I know it's not in my nature to do so; I need to be out. I need to have a purpose. I need a job. I need somewhere to go for eight hours a day, outside of the house. If not just for the appreciation I have for my house and my husband when I get home.

So, what I'm saying is, stop this "by choice" thing. I'm not judging you for staying home. That's fine with me, if that's what you want to do. I doubt your husband is telling you to stay home, although you're kicking and screaming to get out. But your "choice" of words is a way of putting a defense against those who aren't fighting with you. I'm not going to put down the fact you're home all day. In fact, I am looking at your articles because I don't have time to the trials and errors in cleaning and cooking you've probably already learned and are, therefore, qualified to be writing about!

That is all.

"Honey, I'm Home!"

I've been on this kick lately of cleaning. Yeah, I've never been an OCD cleaner, but I learned early the easiest way to clean was to pick up after yourself, not letting anything pile up.

Now that we have a home of our own, I forget that there are other things that need to be done that can't be done in the space of 10 minutes after a mess is made. Stuff like Swiffering the floors, mopping, doing a big clean of the bathroom, laundry, loading and unloading the dishwasher, stuff like that.

I'm now on a mission to become this fabulous 1950s wife. Notice, not a "housewife" as I'm very content having a career. But I want to prove I can do both.

I've been trying to find Web sites that might offer ideas to set this goal in motion. Something along the lines of Donna Reed meets Mary Tyler Moore.

This weekend, my husband invited a friend over for coffee. After going shopping a few days before, I was very pleased I was able to "whip up" a tray of tasty treats while she was hear. Cut strawberries, carrot sticks, celery sticks, crackers, Brie (for goodness sakes, Brie!), grapes and hummus. Oh, it was beautiful. I almost wanted to take a picture. OK, OK, I wanted to wrap it in plastic wrap and put it in the freezer to save for when his mother came over to show off.

That same night, I made a cake. Duncan Hines actually made it, but I mixed it and baked it. That counts. I even took it out of the mold and frosted it! That's an accomplishment, considering whenever we have frosting in the house, my husband gets to it with a spoon before I can bake the cake. I hid it this time so he couldn't.

This morning, he invited his sister and brother-in-law and his parents over for Sunday coffee. Once again, I cut some strawberries and filled a bowl with two yogurts mixed for a dip. Before they came over, I said to him, "Oh, I should serve something..." He gave me a look, and said, "Your WASP side is showing." I've learned to tune that out when I know he doesn't mean the passive-aggressive fighting and backhanded compliments I usually get called out for.

I recently re-read "The Undomestic Goddess" by Sophie Kinsella. Maybe that's what got me in the mood. As I was reading, I wished I had some sort of guidance for setting a schedule that was as effective as a housewife's, but with the ability to work.

And I spent that last half-an-hour searching online for some sort of starting point. But, alas, all I could find was schedules for housewives who wake up at 6 a.m. and don't stop until dinner is done and the dishes are cleaned and put away. But, even if I didn't have an almost unhealthy obsession with Google Reader (the modern day equivalent to soap operas, I guess) or a cat who's become quite the little master of our, er, her domain and is too adorable not to have at least an hour of kitty playtime and affection or terrible reality TV to watch, I still don't think I could pull it off. Well, I'll correct that; I want to be able to pull it all off, making it look absolutely effortless at the same time.

This will be my new project. If only there were something to help me get started...

Plus, I'm out of books to read and I'm itching for another Amazon shopping spree (by "shopping spree", I mean spend $25 so I can get the free shipping).

Sweet Deals

My online shopping habit has skyrocketed in the past few weeks. Once I signed up for eBay and decided to search for my new love, Bare Escentuals, I was hooked on getting my makeup at a cheaper price (and also hooked on the "thrill" of the auction-action).

This link, fatfingers.com, is a fantastic tool for finding misspellings on eBay items, which, therefore, are sometimes lost on the site and can be bought at a cheaper price.

I'm almost hesitant about giving this link away...but just know if you outbid me on a Bare Escentuals kit I want, well, there's nothing I can really do. (Damn anonymous bidding lists!)

Ahahahahaha!

My husband and I got completely addicted to "American Idol" this season. We don't want to admit it, but we've been slowly turning into reality show freaks. When Tatiana Del Toro was introduced, I knew I wanted to keep watching her. Honestly, I wanted to see Simon critique her until she cracked into normalcy, but I wanted to watch the process.

I soon realized I actually liked watching her. I soon wanted to see Simon critique her and cut her down, but I didn't want her to change at all. Not to mention, she had a good voice. GOOD voice! Just because she was annoying, I don't think people give her voice enough credit. Even saying "her voice isn't actually terrible" is an understatement. It's powerful as hell. As a very proud Alto, I can completely respect that. My husband, on the other hand, was happy to see her leave, although he was on board with me about her voice.

But, when I found this the other day, I was so excited. This is completely perfect for her.

Last Night's Project

For the past three weekends, now, I've pulled all-nighters.

Two weeks ago, I came home from a roadtrip to the casino to write a play. I got a good chunk of it written, then I had the people I wrote it for come over to read it. Now I'm being told I need to add a second act, change things around, and add more to it. Needless to say, I haven't worked on it since.

Last week, I found myself in bed reading a home decorating book lent to me, then after two hours of brainstorming ideas to use in my house, I got up and began moving furniture around, killing time until Lowe's and IKEA opened so I could finish my masterpiece of a living room.

From these all-nighters, I developed a cold--or, at least they contributed to getting the cold. Friday night, I was worn out from working and being sink, so I took some NyQuil and went to bed. "Finally," I thought. "The all-nighters are over." Spoke/thought too soon.

Yesterday, I was in the car with one of our friends and stopped at a light. A pre-teen girl walked along the sidewalk with her two younger siblings. And, as my friend called it, as soon as my light turned green, they walked across the street in front of me.

Now, when I was growing up, traffic safety was ingrained in my head. So much so that I am petrified of crossing the street, actually. I not only look both ways, I look up (for falling pianos and anvils), I look down (for open man holes), I look everywhere. This girl did no such thing. So, of course, my friend and I made fun of her.

Somehow, the phrase came out of my mouth, "Get your Valley Bangs now, bitch!" And my friend laughed the rest of the way home. I tried to explain Valley Bangs to him because he never heard the term. (Well, of course not, because I made it up years ago.)

Valley Bangs - (pl. n.) Little wisps of hair cut in the front of one's face. Usually seen curled under. Still embodied in areas of the country that have not left 1987, 1991 or 1994 just yet.

I call them Valley Bangs because it seems whenever I drive through the part of the state we refer to as "the valley", I spot them. I went to a wedding a few years back in that area and they were extra crispy with DEP gel and LA Looks hairspray, no joke!

So, after I got home, I went on a Google Image search, just for a picture or two to show my friend who found the term so hilarious. Pretty soon, though, I had a folder filled with pictures of women (some of them famous, even!) with the horrid look. After collecting 20 or so, I decided to put them into a blog.

For the rest of the night, I kept myself occupied by searching for Valley Bangs and posting them. The blog now has more than 50 pictures of the catastrophes. I even submitted Valley Bangs to urban dictionary to get the term out. What fun is having a word/term if no one knows what it is? Also, the shameless promotion doesn't hurt either.

Valley Bangs

The Reason For Fewer Posts

I'm so afraid I'm turning into a cat person. That fear has finally subsided; I HAVE turned into a complete cat person. Borderline cat freak. She has a Catbook page, the only pictures on the walls in our living room are mostly of the cat, she is who my husband and I want to see first when we come home. We let her get away with almost everything. We can't stay mad at her for long.

So, I was more afraid my posts would turn into "look what the cat is doing now!", instead of the usual funny stuff. I swear, more will be coming.

How I Get Ready Every Morning

...or, at least how I will get ready from now on.

Pop vs. Soda vs. Other

When I went to Minnesota, I found a new species of people. They used the word "pop", which I thought was a term that died off somewere in the radical '70s. But, no, these Minnesotans were shocked I used the word "soda". So, I thought for a second, then asked them to change the name of their state to Minnepop, just because.

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