I am completely and totally addicted to Lightning Blue Eyes by The Secret Machines. I listen to it at home, at work, in the car. Over and over and over again. I added it to my play list, but now I never listen to any of my other songs. I figure I'll listen to it straight for about 3 days, then it'll join the ranks of my regular play list. But for now, I'll continue to make my coworkers crazy by humming the same song over and over and over again.
I have discovered my dream job. Well, sorta. I was in Joann Fabrics yesterday, buying quirky birdhouses at 80% off regular price, (Whoo-hooo!) when I saw a little tear off activity sheet in the isle. This particular one was how to make a stepping stone using their official stepping stone mix, stepping stone tile pieces, stepping stone letter stamps, stepping stone molds, and stepping stone cement dye. It's supposed to inspire inspiration-deficient people to buy up all the official stepping stone products and follow the simple stepping stone directions for their very own stepping stone! (This blog just became a drinking game...take a shot for every "stepping stone". Just note that any cases of alcohol poisoning are your own dumb ass fault, not mine). Anyway, my first thought was, "Hey! Now even I can make my very own stepping stone!" My second thought was "Hey! I can WRITE these kinds of craftsy projects!" I come up with things to do/make/paint all the time! I have so many projects in my head, it could keep the patrons of Lowes, Home Depot, Joanns, and Hobby Lobby busy for months! And when I come up with one of those projects, the first thing I do is write down all the materials needed and simple, step by step instructions. Yes, I already know in my head exactly how to make it and what I'll need...I just do this because I LIKE WRITING DOWN STEPS! Sometimes I'll write them down three or four times, just because I like it (and because I'm apparently OCD). Before, I just figured that it was one of those quirky personality traits that all people can do, but looking at this handy dandy tear off instruction sheet, I realized that some people must have to rely on these sheets, and if there's people who need a sheet to tell them that a stepping stone must contain concrete and tile pieces (duh), then obviously there's a market for the instruction sheet makers. This is such a perfect job for me! Those little craft instructions are everywhere! All the DIY stores have them, they're in magazines, they're on the DIY and HGTV stations! I could make a fortune off of telling people when to pour the official stepping stone mix into the official stepping stone mold and add the official stepping stone tiles in the shape of your official stepping stone choice! Soooo...now that I've discovered my calling, I just need to find out who is doing the calling. Are they employed by the individual stores/tv stations/magazines or is there a National Guild of Craft Instruction Sheet Writers that the stores just contract with? If you know, or better, you happen to be a member of the NGCISW, let me know how to get in on the deal. I'm made for this job.
So I've come to the conclusion that the 3rd floor women's bathroom at work is haunted. I say this because I'll walk in and the whole place will be empty, and yet there's still people-ish noises in there. Like the toilet paper holder will creak like someone hit it. Or there will be a shuffling noise, like feet walking across the floor. But all the stall doors are standing empty and open, so what gives? I've already explained the faint toilet flushing noises (from the bathroom upstairs) and the creaks in the walls (pressure changes in the pipes), but the toilet paper roll holder rattling? I'm still working on that one. Our building has been around forever, so it wouldn't be all surprising if there was lingering...we'll call it "energy" in there. A quick Google search tells me that this is not unusual, as "haunted bathroom" brought back 1,460,000 hits. It also tells me that most haunted bathrooms occur in schools. (I didn't want to hang out any longer than necessary in my school bathroom...maybe when you're dead, you find "Shelly loves Billy 4-ever!" more interesting). I guess when you gotta go, you gotta go...even when you're gone.
So I woke up this morning feeling a bit queasy, and generally nauseous. (My mother would hopefully proclaim pregnancy...I figured I was coming down with the stomach flu). I got up and ate some Rolaids, but the uneasiness persisted. It wasn't until I mentioned it to Mom during lunch that she was like, "Of course you're feeling sick! It's your first day of school!" And you know what? She's right. For as long as I can remember, the first day of school has been nerve-racking for me. The nerves would make me queasy for days. You would think that at 26, I would have outgrown being nervous on the first day of school. (I didn't even realize that was it until she said something). 1st grade was a lot more intimidating that my little MBA program, and I don't have to worry about whether or not I'm one of the cool kids. (I wasn't, and I'm still not, but at least I've come to terms with it). But I do have my notebook paper and my calculator and my highlighter all lined up and ready to go, so maybe the ritual gathering of school supplies is the trigger. Maybe I'll go pick up a Trapper Keeper or some new school clothes to make myself feel better after class. Here's hoping that I still know how to study, and that the homework isn't as bad as it used to be.
Well, Feast with the Beasts was a huge hit. I loved every second of it. It was a night of intense mastication. (If you think I've said something shocking, then you need to go hit dictionary.com. Now.) The rest of you may snicker in my totally legit choice of words while feeling superiorly smug in your advanced vocabulary.
Anyway. The food was awesome, the drinks were awesome, the Beasts were awesome (especially when the elephants objected strongly to the karaoke music and started throwing trees around. Better than the gong show). We arrived at 7 with a battle plan. Focus on meats. Avoid the breads and pastas. Save alcoholic beverages until the second go around. Eat quickly to avoid lost space through rising blood sugar. Walk it off, walk it off. Be choosy. Hit the good stuff first before the fillers. Keep the second run for the favorites. I started off well, and probably made it through the first 20 food vendors without breaking stride. By the time we hit the Kids Cove, I made the tragic amateur's mistake of hitting several complex carbohydrates in a row. Brownie from Chili's, barbeque sandwich at Sonny's, Riblets from Applebee's, egg roll from some Chinese place, steak kabob from Riverside Tavern, mashed potatoes (Mashed Potatoes! For shame!) from Peerless, shrimp from Red Lobster. All so good. It was like trick-or-treating for really really good food. I was so stuffed I had trouble walking. We actually made two different meals out of it. The first gorging meal between 7 and 8, then a period of walking to digest, then a second, smaller run at about 9:30. More walking, and then a couple of hits on our favorite vendors before heading home. If you haven't gone and you're in the area, I highly recommend it. Tony and I are going to make it an annual tradition.
Well, Stepher's wedding was yesterday. She's now officially joined the ranks of those most commonly referred to as "the old ball and chain". I am pleased to announce that it was a smashing success, and even better, I was simply smashing. Yes, yes, the bride was beautiful, which was completely expected. What wasn't expected was how incredibly good I looked. Who knew? Most days I just manage to put enough effort in to my appearance so as to squeak by as "acceptable". I'm dressed, I'm groomed, but there's no pizzazz. But yesterday! I was radiating pizzazz. Simply oozing it. The difference was that professionals got a hold of me. A professional did my hair, and it looked fantastic! I have no idea how she did it. I don't think she knows how she did it. She just jack hammered 2 million bobby pins into my skull and sprayed me with about 40 cans of hairspray, and viola! Think Audrey Hepburn classy. Even my face looked different. But if that wasn't enough, I went to my local professional makeup artist, and she definitely got into the spirit too. I have come to the shocking realization that it doesn't matter what genes you have, if professionals are doing your hair and makeup, you will look sensational. I can so see why Glammer Shots has taken off. I never would have recognized me. Yes, I know, my vanity shocks you. It would shock me too, except that it was only for the day, and after washing my hair this morning, I have safely returned to the same old me. But it was totally Cinderella-like, which I don't recall happening on my wedding day, so I'm fully willing to take it on someone else's. And just so you don't totally disown me...You looked fantastic too, Stepher.
You know those paper toilet seat covers in public bathrooms? I don't get those. Oh, I understand the concept, but when it comes to actual application, I seem to fall woefully short. The part I seem to have the most problem with is the ripping the little inside part away from the part that you sit on. It's only attached by a 1/4" bit of paper in a couple of places, and yet, I can't tear through it. I try to pull them apart, but the tear goes shooting off in the other direction instead, and I end up ripping the entire thing in half. I tried tearing little bits at a time and then connecting the dots. I tried ripping the whole thing quickly. I tried holding the entire thing with one hand and punching at it with the other. At this point, the line has formed outside the stall, and the woman next in line is tentatively knocking and asking, "Are you okay in there?" And then, if by some miracle, you can actually get the two parts separated with enough paper still intact to cover the seat, the whole thing slides mockingly into the toilet before you can sit down. I hate those toilet seat covers! I know they are the technological advance to the whole "spreading the toilet paper strips all around the seat" deal, but come on! By the time you battle the thing into surrender, you've already lost bladder control, and the whole point is moot. I'm just saying there's got to be a better way.
You must stop whatever you are doing right now and go to this website. When you are through with these, click on the link at the bottom and work your way through all the other similar websites.
WARNING: Do not look at this site while you're supposed to be serious, or working, or listening attentively to your dreadfully boring customer yack on and on and on during the weekly conference call. You will laugh, and you will be busted. Also, go to the bathroom now, before you click on it. Even if you just did. Laughing until you lose bladder control is not a good way to endear yourself to your coworkers.
What's the most vicious way to torture information out of terrorists? No, not bamboo under the fingernails. Not the electric shocks to tender parts of the anatomy. Not even the mutilating of body parts. It's...
FORCING THEM TO MAKE HUNDREDS OF TINY WEDDING FAVORS!
I know how effective this is, because I have been making them for weeks, and at this point, I'd confess to anything if it meant that I didn't have to tie another little bow around another little champagne glass and wrap another set of little flowers around it. There's a simple 200 step process to these wedding favors, and in addition to being mind-numbing dull, they have the added bonus of causing vicious finger cramps after just two or three. It's definitely fine motor skill work, and I obviously have fat, uncoordinated fingers. But I shall suffer on for you, Stepher, because I am the Captain of the Bridesmaids, and it is my sworn duty to sacrifice the future use of my hands to ensure that your guests will have something pretty to ignore while they are at the reception.
So, Stepherteeties sent me this link, which impressively helped me to waste an entire afternoon. I personally recommend the Best Buy one, the Moebius, Even Better than the Real Thing, and the suicide jumper. I'll leave it at that.
I just heard this song on the radio this morning. Then I had to find it on the internet and hear it about 50 more times. Then I had to send it to my coworkers, who played it 50 times also. Now I know it by heart. If you haven't heard it yet, take a gander.
To MEEEEEEEE! That's right, it's my birthday! Feel free to shower me with gifts (including cash, checks, and paypal). I like my birthday. My skin still has enough elasticity left that I am not ashamed of my age, or the day that honors my birth. Plus, it allows me to be wonderfully selfish, because it's my special day, after all.
Oh, by the way, it's also Tony's birthday, so when you're making out that check, add a little something extra in for him too. Yes, we were born on the same day. Yes, in the same year. No, not in the same hospital (because that would be just a little too freaky). He is just a few hours older than I am. It means I have to share my special selfish day, but it also makes a neat conversation starter for parties. Not too many people can claim the same birthday as the person they are married to. File that one under "quirky".