Archive | October, 2009

For the love of Piggy

30 Oct

Etsy is quite possibly my favorite website to waste time on.  Well, it’s hardly a waste of time, unless I’m supposed to be working and then it may be considered a waste…but I digress.  I freakin’ adore this website.  Why buy mass produced products when you can buy handmade?  Does it get any more original that this?  I think not. 

My favorite find for the day was TsuruBride.  Gah.  How cute is that?  Who wouldn’t want a Blue Piggy Purse? 

*slurp*  Pardon the drool. 

I am madly in love with this little piggy, but, sadly, our love is forbidden.  *Cue the violin*  You see, I am one of those ladies that has to have a large purse.  It’s not my choice, I can’t help it.  I’ve tried in the past to downsize how many things I keep in my purse, but all of those downsized items sneak back in when I’m not looking…crafty little buggers. 

The other obstacle standing in my way of adorable, life-long accessory organization is the price.  Ouch.  Now, I’m not saying that it’s not worth it, because it is.  Look at that face.  Can anyone put a price on love?  The problem is that I’m frugal to a fault and I am physically incapable of buying anything for myself that isn’t a necessity.  Thus, the piggy and I shall never be.  A moment of silence, please. 

However, don’t let my short comings stand in your way of utter cuteness.  If your not a piggy person, do not fret.  The lovely lady at TsuruBride has several other animals to choose from.  Dachshund, anyone? 

But wait, there’s more!

As if animal clutches weren’t enough, TsuruBride makes business card holders and MP3 holders as well.  *sigh*  The snail is almost too much for my tender heart to handle.

Prune-y Fingers

29 Oct

I need a bath.  It’s not like I’ve been rolling in the mud, but more like, “I’ve had a long day and thus I must steam my worries away.”  It’s just as effective as steaming the grout in your kitchen, and it leaves your skin feeling like a baby’s bottom. 

I had originally decided to wait until after supper was eaten and cleaned up before I submerged myself in some “soft crack stage” water. One look at the recipe I’d chosen for tonight, however, and I was peeling clothes off as I made my way to the back of the house.  (No worries, I’d only managed to slip out of my shoes, coat and cardigan before I made it to the bedroom…can’t scare the kiddies) 

Ahh, if only my bathtub were that cool.  Seriously.  Four knobs, three shower heads and four faucets?!  That’s a bath.  (Don’t forget the bubbles) 
Am I the only one who reverts back to a child as soon as I step toe into a bathtub?  I’m a shower person by trade, but every once in a while I’ll take a bath.  That is when the kid in me comes to life…or at least out of hiding.  I feel confident in saying that the majority of children use the bathtub not only for it’s intended purpose, but as an amusement park as well.
My imagination runs wild with the addition of hot water:  First, I had to lay as flat as I could in the bottom of the bathtub.  A hard task for a 5’6″ lady like myself.  This way I could see how long it would take for the water to reach my ears.  The anticipation was almost too much to bear.  I love how the pitch of the running water changes as the water level rises.  Closer….closer….aaand mute!  Then comes the joy of the distortion of sound as it travels through water.  Sponge Bob sounds pretty darn neat from under water, if I do say so myself.  With the TV playing in the next room, I could not only chill out in a hot bath but I could also be entertained by Mr. Crabs’ witty comentary.  Rock on.
Eventually, I filled the bathtub to it’s limit and shut off the water with my toes.  (The only up side to long toes)  Hmm, what else could I do?  See how smooth I could get the surface of the water, of course!  (Please tell me I’m not alone with this one)  You simply hold your breath until all of the ripples in the water dissapear.  Then you see how long you can keep it that way.  Minutes of fun for all ages! 
Okay, so I was pretty lame in my youger years, but I don’t care.  The only other bathtub activity that was remotely fun as a kid was mixing shampoo, conditioner and body wash together mad-scientist style.  However, being the frugal adult that I am, I decided against re-living that one.  Thus, I gave in to the hot water around me, stuck my nose out of the water for air and soaked myself until my fingers and toes were akin to prunes.  Hot.
Yes, my husband is one lucky man to be able to snuggle up next to me tonight. 

Burnt Marshmallow

28 Oct

I am not a happy camper.  No, not I.  I am the camper who sits in poison ivy while putting on her shoes.  I am the camper who’s marshmallow falls in the fire before she can get it off of the coat hanger.  I am the camper who forgets to pack sunblock.  I am that camper today. 

I woke up in a bad mood.  For no reason.  Darn you, estrogen! 

Inexplicable moodiness usually passes in 2 to 4 hours, unless you happen across stimulants which exacerbate said moodiness.  Let’s just say that I was very stimulated today. 

The octogenarian with which I work had a very upset stomach today.  After ten minutes of trying to light the “special” candle that I keep at my desk, I gave up and started breathing through my mouth.    The entire point of breathing through your noise is so that the hundreds of tiny hairs in your nasal passage can filter out germs and other nastiness that may be floating about in the air.  By breathing through my mouth, I was fast tracking all of that germy goodness straight in to my lungs.  My poor lungs.  It was the lesser of the two evils.  It was just one of those days. 

Next came the, sadly typical, TMI tenant of the day.  Never do you want to hear the phrase, “…while I was wiping myself…” used in a sentence.  Why?  Really, why?  What have I done to deserve such mental trauma?  Being the dutiful employee that I am, I suffered through, what I consider to be, the most painful phone conversation of my life.  Not only did the woman explain her bathroom habits to me…in great detail…she also tacked on the fact that she had fallen off of the toilet as well.  Cheese & rice.  Where have you been?  Living under a rock?  Who says that kind of thing to a complete stranger? 

The rest of the day passed by in a painfully slow manner.  I could almost hear the clock on my computer monitor ticking off the seconds.  (Thankfully, Windows decided to omit that feature) 

Tonight, after the kitchen was cleared away and the kids were put to bed, I curled up on the couch with the hubs and my half angelic/half satanistic dog and watched an episdoe of “Fringe.”  Ahhhh.  There’s nothing like watching a disturbing/awesome sci-fi show to put one’s mind at ease.  It was a fitting end to less than perfect day.

The "M" Word

26 Oct

Pst.  Guess what?  It’s Monday.  Shh.  I know.  I hate it just as much as you do. 

Actually, I detest going with the flow by joining the swell of other bloggers out there who are protesting this acursed day just as I am.  But, what can I do?  Protesting Monday’s existance is a long-held, world-wide tradition.  I can’t go breaking tradition, now can I? 
I have all the classic symptoms of a Monday:  I tossed & turned my way through a parade of bad dreams last night only to awake and find that my body felt as though I’d slept on a dry river bed.  After almost being late to work and almost running out of gas, I flopped down in my desk chair to stare at my computer.  I told myself that I was practicing my telepathy skill, however I was actually willing my work to complete itself.   
Ambition?  None.  Awake?  Negative.  Coffee?  Not enough. 
I blame it on the fact that my weekend was action packed and my quota for laziness went unmet: 
First there was the Cherry Limeade Incident in which Fisher stuck a straw through a stryofoam cup of Cherry Limeade.  As the Limeade flowed, my sister slung it about the car in an attempt to find a resting place for it.  After much laughing/screaming, it was decided that it should be dangled from the passenger side window to christen  the cars of the drivers behind us.  You’re welcome. 
Next came the Alley Disaster in which Fisher, poor little guy, tripped and landed face first on the pavement.  Tears and blood ensued in what was possibly the most terrifying experience of parenthood thus far.  Thankfully, our neighbors, who witnessed the accident, came to our aid with ice and paper towels to help catch the blood pouring forth from Fisher’s nose.  I was sure he was going to bleed to death.  Wren, my sister, assured me that he would live.  He lived.
That evening my family came together to make caramel apples:  Fun, but stressful when children and molten caramel is involved.  In the end I was the only one to get burned by the caramel.  (Fisher spooned more hot caramel on my fingers than he did on his apple.  Nice) 
Burns aside, it was a sticky, wonderful evening spent with family.  We ate ourselves into misery and waddled home to sleep off the sugar rush. 
I think that Denny enjoyed the apples more than anyone.  He stole the show with apple antics.

Snip…Snip…Snip

22 Oct
We all have our weird quirks. For example, I jump into bed at night so that the boogie man won’t grab my ankles. (That’s right; the fear center in my brain is very immature) Others feel the need to have their toilet paper feed from the bottom instead of the top. (Definitely weird) However, one quirk that I have come across several times in life still stumps me: Every boss that I’ve ever had would only trim his fingernails at work.
I’d be typing away at my desk, enjoying the pleasant clicking noise created by my keyboard when all of the sudden a foreign “snip” would invade my “click”. *click, click, click, click, click*  *snip…snip…snip* What on earth? *sigh* As I would round the corner into my boss’ office to investigate, I would find him hunched over his trash can with fingernail trimmings flying. (Well, not flying…more like falling.  Flying just sounds better)

Okay, it’s probably not that weird, but it is odd in the very least. Why not trim them at home? I’m not saying that I’m offended by the act; I just find it to be interesting. It’s as if sitting down at a desk triggers the urge to trim one’s fingernails. (At least it’s not toenails) I’m sure that it started off as a one time necessity and over time it grew to be a habit. Interesting. *stroking imaginary moustache*

I can testify to strange habits born from necessity: When I was pregnant, brushing my teeth always made me sick. Thus, I started brushing my teeth in the shower so I would have to stand bent over the sink gagging for ten minutes. (Gross? It’s possible.)

So, there. That’s my observation for the day.

How about you? Come across anything noteworthy lately?

"It smells like strawberries!"

21 Oct

I made mention yesterday about how my job is far from glamorous. That was, quite possibly, the largest understatement of the year.

I have experienced more unpleasant situations than I have ever cared to experience at my job. For the most part, however, they have all been fairly tame. Until today:

A young lady came into my office today to submit a rental application. As I was collecting her required information, she slid a pink, slimy application across the counter to me. She then told me that she had had an “accident” with her application and that she needed another one. Assuming that she had spilled soda on the application, I informed her that I’d be more than happy to hang it up somewhere in the office to let it dry out. She then told me that no, it wouldn’t dry out. Evidently strawberry scented personal lubricant does not dry easily when spilled on paper. (I hate to type such a cliched abbreviation, but OMG!) I replied in, what I hope wasn’t noticeable horror, that she was more than welcome to fill out another application. (Down gag reflex! Down, I say!) Then, with complete disregard for what was sitting on the counter in front of me, she exclaimed, “It smells like strawberries!”

Seriously, folks. That is the definition of Too Much Information.

As the awkward conversation progressed, I noticed that she had not caught on to my reaction. Whew. (Maybe I should start playing Poker) I then took her application fee and sent her on her way.

I cannot possibly keep that application in the folder with the other applications that I am processing. It would taint the entire folder. Thus, it is hanging from a nail on my office wall. I am praying that it will magically dry out overnight so that I can process it tomorrow. No worries. I am bringing medical grade gloves to wear while handling it.

*Gag* Sorry, my stomach starts to churn at the sight of it.

Just let this be a lesson to all mothers out there. Raise your kids to have some common sense. Please, do it for my sake.

Career Day

21 Oct

Do you ever find that after being in a rut for a while, that you wake up one day brimming with ambition and the need to do something? By that I mean something important, something lasting.

I woke up this morning, still a Property Manager, but one with the desire to make something of herself. I think that after going through the motions of life in a mediocre job for so long, eventually your subconscious can’t take anymore and tries to spur you in a new direction.

Despite the fact that my job is far from glamorous, for the most part I am okay with it. However, I do not want to be it. I don’t want my legacy to read, “Property Manager and mother of two.” No, I want to leave some kind of lasting impression on humanity, even if it is a faint impression.
I want to be someone important, but not for love of the lime light. I want be able to define myself, to feel like an integral part of society. I don’t want to find myself old and gray and nothing to show for my life.

Of course, the flip side to this surge of ambition is that attaining your dreams requires time and money. *Wah-wah-wah* (FYI: That’s the “Game Over” noise) And it is this realization that brings a swift and painful death to said ambition. It’s the circle of life. (Cue the music, Simba)
So, this is where I find myself today. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go start drilling for oil in my backyard. ;)
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