it's kind of like one of those things where you find the differences in the pictures

It's a lovely day outside, you jump in your car to head to town, anxiously awaiting the purr of the engine. You plunge the key into the ignition and delight as the engine roars to life. You check your dashboard make sure you've got fuel and everything is in working in proper order. You smile as your eyes flicker over the dials that look like this:

Lovely! Gas, good to go. RPM's, looking good fella's! Time to hit the road.

What you don't want to see is this:

Gas, we're still pretty good.  RPM's....RPM's? Where are you, you little bastards?!

This is what your gauge is like when it's a dick and can't make up it's mind whether it wants to work consistently or not work at all.  And there is no way in hell I'm paying over 300 bones to fix it when it's not quite broken yet.

I've got my eye on you RPM's, time to shape up!

and we're off like a turd of hurtles.

Hey y'all! Remember that time that I said I was getting a shop up and running on my blog? And the time before that? Well guess what? It's actually done.

That's right, it's done.

Now it's still a brand new baby fresh from the womb, so if there are any glitches or problems, just hang in there with me and if you see something feel free to shoot me an email.  For now, the only thing available are headwraps (which are awesome and I rock mine all the time), but stay tuned because I plan on adding more things!

Have a look. Tell your friend. Tell your neighbor. Share the love. I've got an education to fund! :D

Click on the shop button on the top right of the page or go ahead and click riiight HERE!

And thanks for stopping by!

not quite myself but slowly getting there.

I'm feeling a little off my axis today. It happens from time to time, particularly when the world begins to approach the month of February. But more than that, I read a blog that lead me to another blog that broke my heart and what I read was such a familiar story that it brought tears to my eyes. And then I was reading my book and realized that the same topic was right there in the pages that I was quickly devouring.

The loss of a loved one to suicide.

Some of you know, many of you do not, that my father comitted suicide when I was a kid. This is a fact. Not a ploy for pity or sympathy, but simply another part of me that has influenced the woman I am slowly trying to become. It is a hurdle you never wish to encounter, and when you're slammed into it you never think you'll get over, and once you're over you realize that while you're bruised and scraped and bleeding, that your wounds will heal but the scars will always remain.

I read the story of a young mother whose husband took his life, leaving behind her and her two children. I read about her pain and her anger and her worry and I realized that I was reading part of my own life story in someone else's words. And while it hurt and it brought up painful memories, it also gave me a sense of joy, that no matter what we encounter or go through, we are not alone. There are others out there that can benefit from what we have gone through, what we've learned. So bearing that in mind I left her a few words of encouragement and reassurance that she does not have to travel this dark path on her own, but rather with kindred spirits of a sort who will hold her as she falls even from a distance.

As I read my book, about the woman whose husband chose to end his life and leave behind her and their son, again my heart throbbed. Not because I was reacting solely to the life of this character, but because there it was again, the reality that pain exists even in fiction. I have yet to finish the book to see how she finds her way, but regardless of the ending, as I read each line I am with her on her journey.

It may all seem insignificant to you, but I assure you, as a kid you think no one understands. As a teenager you think people will judge. As a kid in your twenties you think that no one can relate to you so why bother bringing it up especially when the topic makes people uncomfortable. But for all my profusions of being an honest person to a fault, I find that in this area of my life I am dishonest. I'm not ashamed of my history, but grow weary of the reactions from people when they hear the words leave my lips.

Now I realize it doesn't matter, because it's my story. I might not have chosen it, or wanted it to be this way, but so be it. I, like the two women I have read about recently, was once faced with a topsy-turvy-twisty rollercoaster of a hiccup in my life journey, but I'm finally starting to feel like I've come out the other side.

So as I approach the 15th year since my dad ended his life I find that I am both humbled by how far I've come in those years and at the same time a bit lost at how much was missed by one of the people who should have so greatly wanted to stick around. I was valedicatorian of my high school. I put myself through college. I've graduated college. I'm becoming an aunt. I will be going to Grad school. I've become a fairly well adjusted and functioning adult. (scary.)

Do I understand why he wasn't here to see it all? No, and I never will. It does no good to linger on those thoughts and play through what-ifs. What's done is done and I could not have changed what happened. Do I miss him? Yes, and always will. Do I wonder if I would be a different person today with him here? Absolutely. Am I always a bit baffled when people say I do something just like he did or have a similar personality? You betcha, baffled, intrigued and saddened that I didn't get to discover this first hand. But what all of this boils down to is that there is a silent epidemic out there that no one wants to talk about because it makes THEM feel uncomfortable.

Sometimes life isn't comfortable.

Today I tell you that my life was touched by the suicide of another. A beautiful life was taken because he didn't know where else to turn. He was 39 years old. I tell you this so that if you're reading this and you feel like you have no where else to turn...you are wrong. I might not know you, but I will listen. Push away the shame at what you're feeling, the despair, because no matter what you might think in this moment, YOU are important. Your life means something to someone and without you they will never be the same. You are loved.

As for my dad, I can only hope he's proud of what he sees from above and knows that I love and miss him.

i think they're using a quite liberal interpretation of cuisine.

What is the deal with frozen meals? I get that they're quick and easy but damn they just do not look delicious at all. Why would I want to eat a crusty, shriveled up, freeze dried carrot when I could just pack a little snack-pack of fresh carrots in the morning? Or, I get if you want to have one every now and then for ease because hey, maybe you found one that IS just that delicious. But it kills me when I see people eat these little guys every. single. day. Every day. Now I'm a creature of habit, I tend to order the same thing at restaurants because I know I like it, often I pack the same thing for lunch everyday during a week because I'll make a huge vat of egg-salad. But I can't imagine choking down re-hydrated anything day after day after day after day.

Not to mention the smell these suckers emit when being heated up. It's like a stink bomb mixed with mustard gas and that shit lingers. It's enough to make my stomach clench and burn my nose hairs.

So please, consider those around you, in the same building or even the same zip code when you zap one of these babies back to life every fucking day, because you're making it hard for me to enjoy my sandwich and apple. And are they really all that lean? Or enough to feed a Hungry Man? I mean, they're tiny. Perhaps this is just another one the universe's mysteries that I will never understand.....and maybe don't want to.

just like dr. phil except with more hair and bigger boobs.

One extremely vital part of life is being a good listener I think. I try and be open and willing to listen to people who seek out my ear drums to discuss their problems or what have you, which in my opinion, I think I'm pretty successful.  Whether your issues are with your job, your spouse, your friend, your mom, your pet, that asshole who blocks your driveway with his garbage can or with that co-worker that you want to stab, I'm completely willing to listen, nod sympathetically and try to help you come to a solution for the situation, even if that solution is just to sit down with a bottle of rum and bad mouth the mother fucker until dawn.

However, there are lines people. LINES. Boundaries one might say. Whereas I might call up my best gal pal to discuss the in's and out's of bodily functions or weird medical issues, I would NOT delve into these topics with perfect strangers.

Perfect example. You walk into an office and the young(ish) receptionist proclaims that your twin toddler girls are extremely adorable and my, what a handful that must be! It is ok for you to say thank you and perhaps mention that they're nothing compared to their four older brothers. It is not ok that upon reply from the young(ish) receptionist, for you to then dive into how you and your husband had only wanted one more child, but had twins, so that when you had to go in for a minor procedures they tied your tubes but even THAT didn't work because you were then plagued with a tubular pregnancy at which point you had to have your ovary and such removed.
.
.
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Do you hear that? THAT is the sound of an over share. Over. Share. This is information, that while I feel for you because that must have be mildly unpleasant, I do not ever need to know. I will never see you again (hopefully). You have also just greatly reduced my already slim desire to have children, logarithmically. So while my face might appear sincere and understanding, inside I'm screaming at you to shut your damn pie hole because I don't give a damn, just fill out your paper and sit down.

I'm not sure what it is about me that encourages people to share these things with me, but if you aren't willing to discuss the results of your morning bathroom visit with me, by all means prevent my inevitable psychotic breakdown by limiting the over shares.

in this case i'm really happy i'm just an idiot and not a dude

Here's the thing, I? am completely retarded.  No really, I am. People must think I'm either drunk or just off my meds the majority of the time. I have this innate ability to take a random situation and turn it into the most awkward encounter possible.So when I dial a number and punch in the extension that I just KNOW belongs to my dear friend and then when she answers and I begin the interaction as I normally would, like a complete jackass, and then quickly realize something is wrong and immediately the jack-ass dial turns to 'blubbering-confused-awkward-kid', I am again reminded of why I shouldn't be allowed to ever leave the house or interact with other homo sapiens.

Actual conversation between myself and the gal who is not my friend but was nice so maybe I should try calling her again to see if she wants to be friends.

Megan: Hello?

Me: That's not how you normally answer the phone.

Megan: Excuse me?

Me: Is this Megan?

Megan: Yes it is!

Me: Oh, ok. I was confused because you answered the phone strange. And... you sound weird.

Megan: I do?

Me: Yeah... um, (now fully realizing something is very wrong and starting to stammer and sweat like a baffoon) .... I think I have the wrong extension. I'm looking for Megan (insert last name here)

Not-My-Megan: Oh *laughs*, yup, you've got the wrong number. I was wondering why I didn't recognize your voice.

Me (now completely mortified): .....*crickets*... yeah, can you transfer me to her?

Not-My-Megan: I'll try, sorry if I hang up on you!

Me: *garbled words because things have gotten way awkward*

Almost as award as this picture.

Almost.

if you don't think this is funny, then you should be stabbed.

My friend Dee finds pearls of wisdom out on the Internet and I think that this one should be shared. Poor sad cloud. No more dancing and singing in his pee, ok folks? No happy swinging on light poles and tossing of the umbrellas, you're hurting his feelings!

That being said, I need me some sunshine soon or I'm going to go even more bat shit crazy. I love me some chilly weather, I just love it when it comes with a fat side of sun to go with it. I need to wear my cute pink sunglasses. And I mean neeeeeeeed! And when it's cold and dreary I have no motivation to go to the gym, which is what I need to be doing. And by need I mean neeeeeeeeeeed. Because guess who is signing up for the Disney Half Marathon again? Yup. It's become abundantly clear that I like to torture myself. But honestly, I had a great time last year and I'd like to improve my time. So I'm registering, but the only problem is that I might not be able to run it if I happen to have moved to school by then. The moving is not so much a bad thing because then it means I got in somewhere, and I can postpone until the next year for the run if I need to. But either way, I need to be getting in running shape, and any shape actually, because this circle I'm turning into is no bueno.

I'm feeling the need for change these days. I keep fighting the urge to change my house, my hair, my bedding, my tattoos, my life. Everything. I guess I'm getting restless since it's been over 6 months since I traveled anywhere and I must be getting that urge again. Guess it's time to scour the internets for some cheap air fare. Or sell a kidney. I did mortgage one already for graduate apps though. Hmm...I've got two ovaries...maybe I can sell one of those...

this is like waving a candy bar in front of a diabetic or a fifty in front of a hooker

Why must you tempt me SO!

Touche Virgin Atlantic, touche.

it's an epidemic that needs to stop before i slam my head in the copy machine.

Sometimes age and technology just do not mix. I mean, my grandma is super hip and emails and can use a computer with the best of them. However, there are many people, some not so old as you might think, that go beyond technophobia and simply enter the realm of just being a complete wanker with a lack of common sense. In an age where most machines DO everything for you, it can be frustrating at times when you have to take 20 minutes out of your day to explain how to attach a file to an email...even after you've explained this process several times over and the person has taken notes that include the quite specific instruction of "click on the paper clip that says Attach File underneath". These, my friends, are what I like to call CompuTARDS.

I am beginning to discover that the risk of being a CompuTARD runs deep in the veins of many people born prior to 1980. Granted, those of us born after that date have a bit of a head start since computers stopped taking up the space of an entire room during our childhood but I digress. That fact still remains that if you, or someone you love, suffers from CompuTARDation, the following chart might be of service to you. I find that it answer 99.9% of the "How did you do that?!" questions that I have ever been asked when called upon for assistance.

Image via http://sunandsmiles.com/

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go have this enlarged and framed. Do you think Staples does 'Bulletin Board' size?

bananas in pajamas

The happiest days on earth have to be Fridays that precede three day weekends. I'm thinking this should be recognized an international awesome event.

Despite this happy news, Friday was a dreary one - weather wise that is - which is really disconcerting considering I ACTUALLY got up early enough to wash and dry and do my hair before work.... only to open the front door and deflate (emotionally) as I came face to face with dense, wet, fog.  Within seconds of exiting my front door my naturally-curly-smothered-by-hot-appliances hair busted free of its silky straight chains and revolted into a mess akin to this:

Scary right? You're telling me. So all that work and it wound up in a freaking ponytail anyways. Awesome.

The rarely seen beast known as the three day weekend was spent doing a multitude of things but basically involved three basic components: eating, laughing, yarn.

Friday and Saturday were spent with the ladies doing a mixture of shopping, maiming ourselves, crocheting, movie watching, Starbucks enjoying, card playing, and laughing myself into an asthma attack. NOW, you might say, pffff, maiming, of course you maimed yourself moron, it's what you DO. However, I was not the one who whacked their head on metal rack while trying out a chair in Marshalls thankyouverymuch. But I was the one who nearly peed her pants laughing.  Sunday was spent in F-town at the zoo! and Monday? was spent in my pajamas....watching Deadliest Catch..... I can't stop myself. I'm sucked into a crab catching vortex.

This week the spring semester at my now Alma mater begins and I can't help but feel a little strange about it all. It feels weird not to be whining about the cost of my books and the amount of gas I'll be using and such, but also? it feels fucking AWESOME.

You may or may not have noticed a new addition to the blog page, on the top right you'll see a brightly colored new image, if you click on it, it'll take you to the shop page :) (which is still being worked on) I'm almost there with getting everything up and ready to go! But for now, onward and consume caffeine my friends, because while 3-day weekends are glorious, 4-day work weeks are evil little bastards.

somtimes i feel like sandra bullock in miss congeniality, but only when she was the awkward FBI agent and not the gorgeous pageant contestant

You know what I don't understand, can't wrap my mind around, what does not compute? Is how some women are able to be vigilant and constantly remain in a well groomed and put together manner. How the fuck do y'all pull it off? And you know who I'm talking about, you've seen her. She's always wearing clothes that match, is perfectly waxed, plucked, groomed, coiffed, make-uped, her hands and feet look like porcelain and feel like a baby's bootay-tay, her teeth are so god damn white when she smiles you think the aliens are finally using their lasers to kill us all, she never has bags under her eyes or bed head or last night's dinner stuck to her face, there are no soup stains on her shirt or holes in her sweater and you'd probably shit a brick if you ever saw her pull the sniff test on an item of clothing because she wasn't sure when she last wore OR washed it.

Yes, I'm talking about that woman. How does she do it? I'm lucky if I remember to brush my teeth and put on pants in the morning.  And by the time I've worked all day and gone to the gym, it takes every last ounce of energy to shove some mediocre food down my gullet and then stand in the shower hoping that the magic water will wash the germs away because I can't get my arms to function enough to actually scrub myself.  Then there's the blow drying and straightening of my fro', which really adds up to me standing with some sort of appliance in my hand wishing at that moment that I had no fucking hair and eventually giving up when it's still a damp, wavy mess, which only means that when I wake up it'll be plastered to my head and then I'll have to waste precious moments in the morning attempting to fix it.....before throwing it in a ponytail.

Where do they find the energy? The motivation? The gumption to pull it all together? This has to be one of the mysteries of the universe. And there are women of all ages, shapes and sizes that manage to do this. Believe me, I'm not kidding myself in imagining I will ever be capable of this miracle, I'd just like to be in on the damn secret. Because, come on, we all know that the day I can pull my neurotic self together this much means that either the apocalypse has arrived or my cat has murdered me in my sleep and it's just a dream.  I imagine my ghost self will be impeccable. Do you know someone like this? Or maybe you are this person. Either way, you should share your insights with me because I'm completely OCD and want to know dammit!

Since I don't have the skill of being well groomed, you'd think it meant I didn't have skills to do anything else. Which is entirely untrue. I have some time and skills but what I really lack is the motivation to do these things. However, things that allow me to watch back to back episodes of the Deadliest Catch on Netflix while sitting on my ass are perfect alternatives to all the aforementioned things I could be doing. This boils down to crafting, because my living room/couch always turn into a crafting bonanza. I'm currently working on getting a shop up on my blog for all those interested in purchasing any of my brightly colored things that I make. Go ahead, look at the links on the top of the page.....see it? That dark menu bar at the top right where you can see the "blog" page is highlighted? Well if you click on the shop page, you'll get a page under construction, but it's coming, I assure you. And once it's up you should totally spread the word because this home girl needs to start her grad school fund. I intend to pay for my degree by peddling yarn and paper creations, it's a beautiful thing. And to show you that getting this shop up and running is a whole-house effort, I give you Heimlich's efforts, he works so hard for y'all.

but when you send them make sure they have some liquor on hand.

Sometimes being creative is SUCH a curse.

Not that I'm a fantastically, awesome, amazing artist and creator, but I hold my own occasionally.  But, because I like to get crafty it means that there is SO MUCH CRAP in my house. And by crap, I mean supplies, memorabilia, pictures, cute postcards I run across and on and on that I know someday I'll use to create a masterpiece but right now it's just fucking driving me bonkers because I'm trying to clean out and organize my life now that I have some time and it's proving far more difficult than it seemed in my head.

If no one hears from me in a few days, send the paramedics, send hoarders, send somebody, because you're sure to find me buried under a pile of pictures and paint with some yarn tied around my neck.

Some people juggle geese

What's greater than finding $23 in the pocket of your coat? Well, nothing really. But here are some open letters about things on my mind. 

Dear Makers of Television,

Why, oh WHY, do you insist on making great shows, and then only having them last for 1-3 seasons and then bam, you take them away from me without so much as a thought to the ramifications to my life? Dollhouse, 2 seasons?? Veronica Mars, 3 seasons?? Firefly, 1 bloody season! How can you not keep a show on the air that throws out lines such as "Some people juggle geese!" and "Also...I can kill you with my brain." These are tasty morsels of hilarity my dear television scheduling jockeys and frankly, I think it's time you step it up. Let's have less of this Lost and Seinfeld nonsense that lasts for decades. Ok, ready, set, go get some better shows on the air!

Love,

Me

To the Makers of Keuring,

You? are appliance making GODS! By far one of the best things that has ever happened in my life is this little gem right here (thanks mom!)

Your system is easy and provides handy, delicious, caffeine rich liquid when needed. I salute you!

Love,
Me

Dear People Who Design Underwear,

Please stop making them so disproportionate. Try considering us folks that have slender hips and small bums but do not have washboard abs when designing your chonies so that they will stay in place.  The ones that fall off or cram up your crack are just un-accept-able. Could you work on this? Thanks.

Love,
Me

Time to party like it's 1999, bust out the Nirvana and the baggy shirts...wait...

Wow.

It's now 2011, I last blogged about Thanksgiving. I officially suck. Now people might say "Why don't you resolve to write more?" Meh. I don't make resolutions because then they just get broken and it's one more thing I've failed at, so rather than making myself feel increasingly inadequate I resolve not to resolve.

December was one ca-razy month. It flew by and that makes me both happy and sad. The last few weeks of schools were a torrent of research paper writing, final studying and taking all whilst decorating for Christmas and enjoying the season. But... now I'm an official college graduate, hooray! Christmas was wonderful, double hooray! and.... well, I don't have a third hooray, but it feels weird with just two. Alas, Christmas is over though and I wept a little as I took down my Christmas tree and packed up all my lovely decorations. So sad. What's even worse is that the holiday spirit, that season of giving and love and appreciation of family will peter off across the globe now that it's not in every one's faces and that breaks my heart a little.

What's up for 2011? I have no fucking clue. Thus far it has included the purchase of a new TV, wooohooo! Goodbye 19", you treated me well but frankly, you're just no fun particularly in the event of a wii mario kart party because 4 screens on an already tiny screen just does NOT cut it. So yes, I made another "adult" purchase and bought a fancy new flat screen. It's fairly large, but in reality it's nothing super fancy; however, to me it feels like a damn movie screen. When I bought it I was so excited, I got it home, I ripped open the package, grabbed my screw driver... wait, I don't have a phillips head? shit. This tiny one will totally work... or not. I grabbed my keys, flew to the store, bought a new screwdriver, came home and put the base together, put the TV on it, set it on the table that would become it's new home and VIOLA! Right? No. Because, while it was glorious, I now had a TV double the size of my previous one which meant I had to rearrange the entire living room. No problem, I can totally do that, right? Right. Four or five hours later (it's all lost in a haze of huffing, sweating, cursing, maiming myself and dropping things on my feet) all was reorganized but now! came the re-hooking everything back up to the new TV. Which proved incredibly complicated thanks to the rearranging because I now needed longer cords. AWESOME.

Day two: cords purchased, rush home after work to fix everything. Hook up the satellite...not working in one room. Curse, work on for an hour, SUCCESS! Hook up the surround sound, shit, wrong cords. Rush to the store, buy correct cord, rush home, hook up surround sound and...SUCCESS! Me. Wiring. Goddess. So, two days and several trips to the store later, I am now the proud owner of a properly connected new TV.

Ok, so 2011, maybe not so different yet from 2010, minus the fact that I gained 15 pounds during my last semester (freshman 15? try fifth year senior 15!) and am now determined to spend every waking moment at the gym. Well...let's be frank, at least 5 days because in all reality it'll be hard enough to stick to that. Completely ridiculous though. It's easy to deny your pants getting snug, "I'm just retaining water!" "Oh, I had a big lunch" "Maybe I'm PMS'ing!"... but stepping on the scale at the doctor's office, woah, wake up call.

What really chaps my ass though is all those people who resolve to work out, get in shape, lose weight! at the beginning of the year, so they flock to the gym, leave workout equipment everywhere and don't wipe down their machines because they don't know proper gym etiquette. They clog up the treadmills and hog the mats and machines so those of us who do go all year round are stuck going at odd times to try and avoid them. You people? While I applaud your initial effort to get in shape because starting is the first and hardest step... GET OUT OF MY WAY. Oi. And that, my friends, is what we call bringing a post full circle.

Enough of my gibberish, perhaps that's why I should blog more but again, let's be honest, I'm kind of a wanker who would forget to put pants on before leaving the house if it wasn't so blasted cold outside.

Watch out, I hear 2011 will bring the zombie kitty apocalypse.