not actual cash, but gift cards

Well!

Wanna see my private, personal ROOM OF SHAME?

Yeah, you know you do. We all love that feeling of "Holy CRAP, that person's a PIG" satisfaction.

Okay, here we go. Presenting: my desk, aka Where the "Magic" Happens.

source

OK, no. But I had you going there for a bit? Right...? Hello?

Oh, FINE. Here's my desk.

Sigh.

I can't even begin to explain what's going on. People, I found MONEY in there.

So I pulled up my big girl pants and did what needed to be done. I went to IKEA!!

And here's what happened.

I moved my computer closer to the printer. You know, so I wouldn't have to keep knocking over shit just to plug it in. In fact, maybe now it can stay plugged in ALL THE TIME. What a concept.

I also have a designated craft space.

With cat bed underneath, of course. Also, it should go without saying that the upper shelf there is not at all anchored to anything. Because I am both lazy AND impatient, a lethal combination. I also now have a lot of blank wall to deal with...

There it is. And it's much better. In fact, I've written this WHOLE post without messing it up, even a little bit.

Fred gives it 48 hours. And I think he's being generous.

once more, with feeling

I had this funny post in mind about how, about a year and a half ago, I had some crappy crap happen, and the long term result from it was that I didn't cry. At all. Couldn't. And then last week I watched an episode of The Biggest Loser (please don't ask) and found myself blubbering like an idiot. And then Saturday happened and it feels like I haven't stopped crying since.

But then I realized that it wasn't a very funny post after all.

Last night watching the memorial, doing the ugly cry into a Dora comforter, I saw a familiar face sitting the front row. A friend from college, from within the circle of people that I associate with late nights and loud music. His mother had been shot, and survived, and he was with her the and the rest of his family. And once again, I was reminded that Tucson IS a small town.

i don't like sundays

I just don't. Never have. Sundays represent the end of fun, the beginning of not-fun. It matters not what the following day promises. I could be staring at a long line of vacation days but Sunday will still send my mood into a tailspin. Sunday mornings are tolerable. Sunday afternoons I can easily ignore, or sleep away on the couch. But Sunday nights -- those are the worst.

Today was no different. I spent most of yesterday unable to look away from the TV, clutching my phone, and shaking my head because I just couldn't wrap my brain around what I was hearing. It would be tragic no matter where it happened, but yesterday it happened in my home state, in my home town. Where my family lives. Where I still have friends. I saw the headline and called my mom to ask if she'd heard, a shooting at a grocery store there in Tucson. I had no details -- what part of town, what store -- the headline took me to a webpage that spun forever, traffic having sent the site down. She told me she would call my father and then called me back. He had gone to the store.

Tucson is not a small town. The shooting was at nearly the opposite side of town, nearly a 45 minute drive, from where my parents live. I don't know anyone involved. The aide that was killed went to graduate school with an old friend of mine. That's as close a connection as I'll get. Watching the footage looping on CNN, it didn't matter how far away it was, or whether I recognized any names or faces. It was in Tucson. Home.

I fell asleep yesterday afternoon on the couch, woken by Fred telling me we had an hour before we had to leave for dinner. I was zombied out. We dressed, left, and managed to put together a better than decent night.

This morning, Fred got up with Emma, and let me sleep. I stumbled out around 9 to a happy family and mug full of coffee. Emma busied herself, and Fred read the paper, and I climbed into a chair with my book and read. And read. And Fred brought me more coffee and I kept reading. And read some more. Later he brought me lunch. I ate it while I read. When I pulled myself up to get ready to take Emma to visit a friend, I complained about not being able to stay in my pajamas and read my book. And instead of making a crack or rolling his eyes, Fred said, "I know. You can do it when you get home." Something about that -- the way he said it -- made this Sunday just a bit more bearable.

But I still don't like them.

two thousand and what?

Well.

Another holiday behind us. Here are some shots from ours:

we decorated a tree

fred dressed up for our dinner party

we found ourselves in matching outfits

we woke up to this on christmas morning

suo watched star trek. AGAIN.

i lost control of my faculties and went sledding

I will say 2010 was heaps better than the previous year. I got my Master's and proceeded to read 58 books with a gluttonous appetite. I got a job as an honest-to-goodness librarian. There was a lump found on my thyroid and no lump found on my boob. I discovered digital scrapbooking and never looked back. I met some wonderful women and forged an incredible friendship. I listened to unfreakingbelievable music and saw seriously unremarkable movies.

I don't like making resolutions. I honestly believe they're a fast track to hating yourself even more. But I do like to think about improvements I can make -- to myself, my life, my relationships. I'm still thinking about this year's, but I know that I want to be nicer to myself. That's where I'll start this week.

friday flashback

On Fridays for the month of December (and until I grow tired of doing it), I’ll feature a post from my old blog. These may or may not be any good.

July 2007: this is why i could never do this professionally

We went to see a movie Saturday night --

what? Oh, Transformers. Yeah, it was pretty good. Huh? Well, I don't know if he's the next Tom Hanks, but his comedic timing's not bad.

Anyway, before the movie we had dinner. I had to order this thing called a flirtini because it had champagne and we were CELEBRATING, baby. God, was I embarrassed ordering this drink. And then I got carded. So I kissed the waiter. And then Fred got carded and he kissed the waiter too. I decided, after finishing my FLIRTINI (I must spell it that way so as to avoid some of the embarrassment. Don't ask me why this works) in a record 4 minutes, I decided it tasted like crap and I would not be saying FLIRTINI to the waiter again. So I ordered an apple martini (because that's way more civilized) and Fred continued to drink his giant margarita. Then the waiter tried to bring us the check, and we said, "No! We are CELEBRATING! And we are lushes with babysitters! Another round!" Then we all made out a bit.

We finally stumbled out of there and over to the movie theater (thank goodness we fandango'd our tickets so we wouldn't have to slur unintelligibly to the ticket counter person). At some point, something amused me to no end, and I knew I would need to write about it here. So I took out a receipt and scribbled "artificial leg" on it. You know, as a reminder.

I cannot for the life of me remember what it was about. And that's too bad, because I think it was really funny.

Anyway, then the previews started and by the time the movie ended I was sober with a very bad headache.

My story has no ending. I like cheese. The end.

friday flashback

On Fridays for the month of December (and until I grow tired of doing it), I’ll feature a post from my old blog. These may or may not be any good. (And yes, I'm well aware that today is Monday and NOT Friday. I have no good excuse.)

From June 2006


Did you know my husband has a girlfriend?

Uh-huh. He sure does. Her name is Suze. Except you don't say it the way it looks. Soo-zee. Not Sooz. Whatever.

My husband's girlfriend is money savvy. Something I'm not. That's the only reason I allow this little "thing" to continue.

But she's also a TiVo hog. Even in the middle of the night, when my husband is in bed with me and can't be with her, the little red glow of the recording light lets me know that Soo-zee is visiting.

Every now and then, Fred will suggest that he and I spend some time with his girlfriend. Together. I'm a modern girl. Okay, I say. As long as she knows who's married to whom.

We spent some time with Soo-zee last night. She wanted to tell us all about being a first time home-buyer. I guess that's her idea of pillow talk. Didn't really work for me, but she's not my girlfriend. However, she does take phone calls (I know! More people to invite into our little circle. Aren't we the kinky ones?), and will sometimes completely berate the callers, so that's fun to watch.

Soo-zee frightens me. She has lots of PEP! and ZEAL! and she calls everyone "boyfriend" and "girlfriend." (I straightened her out on that one. "Soo-zee," I said, "I cannot be your girlfriend. I'm married. And you're way too old for me. But thanks.") She also talks about things called FICO scores. Did you know about these? They can mean lifelong financial success or sudden financial ruin. One little number.

In order to deal with Soo-zee's PEP! and ZEAL! last night (and because, while I'm a modern girl, I'm still MARRIED), I needed a glass of wine. So I had two.

After Soo-zee had left, Fred bathed in something akin to a post-coital glow, me digging through the refrigerator looking for another bottle of wine, we did something we should never do: we attempted to have a serious conversation about the paranormal versus science while one of us is slightly inebriated. What a disaster that was. Me, trying to make a coherent point, stumbling over my words, Fred just shaking his head. I finally gave up. And ate a biscuit.

In other news, today my work schedule changed such that I didn't have to be in until 11 this morning. On a typical morning, Emma wakes up around 5:30. I entertain her in bed (= let her gnaw on my hand) while Fred showers. Then he takes her, changes her, dresses her, and feeds her while I continue sleeping, usually until 6 or 6:30, at which point I stumble downstairs for coffee if he hasn't brought it up already. Yeah, he's a saint, I'm a slacking bitch.

Last night, I told Fred that I would take Emma to day care, and since he would have to leave work early to pick her up, he could leave early in the morning. I even said I would get up with her when she got up, so he could shower and go. He just squinted and looked at me funny. I don't think he believed me.

This morning, 5:30 came and went, and Emma was still sleeping. Fred showered and went downstairs. At 6:00 she was still sleeping. At 6:30 I got out of bed and got coffee, and she was STILL sleeping. In fact, we had to wake her up (which, frankly, is the best thing ever. She blinks her eyes open slowly, and then she smiles the biggest smile when she sees us).

I love this child. She understands that Mommy just doesn't function before 6. Bless her.

sleight of hand

I'd like to take this moment to introduce a new invention I've... uh... invented. Presenting INVISIBLE BLOG POSTS! They're there, you just can't see them! Witness a live demonstration of this magical feat by trying to find posts from this past Saturday, Sunday, AND Monday.

Oh, ok. FINE. There aren't any. Because I didn't write them. Here. I didn't write them here. But I wrote them in my heart! Doesn't that count for something?

You know what else I haven't done? Ordered Christmas cards. My right eye starts twitching every time I think about it. We had a picture we were going to use, but the more I think about it the more I worry that people won't get the joke. So then I thought I'd take a picture of Emma in front of the tree (yeah, AGAIN) and try to do a bokeh effect with the tree lights, but see... last year, on Halloween, my loving adorable gorgeous funny brilliant husband dropped my camera. And now the display only shows the bottom half of numbers. So trying to adjust manual settings is not working. But maybe I can fake it anyway.

And now I will distract you with last year's picture (note the distinct lack of bokeh)!

According to iPhoto, I took this picture a year ago tomorrow and was still able to send cards before Valentine's Day, so I'm hopeful for this year