tag, I’m it.

What is your current obsession?
Obsession? I don’t really know, I guess, um, finding a pair of shoes that (to the best of my knowledge) do not exist.

What is your weirdest obsession?
By far, my adoration of antiques, especially depression glass. Because antiquing is a normal hobby for an almost-30-year-old.

mmmm, radioactive...

What are you wearing today?
A dress (brown with teal/white/tan pattern), shrug and sandals. Why, what are you wearing? A mesh shirt and assless chaps? That sounds hott.

What’s for dinner?
I don’t know… guess it depends on the weather. If it doesn’t rain, I’m on my own and if it does rain, I’ll need to feed The New Mrs.
Regardless, I’m hankering some corn… good thing that farmers market is right outside my building.

What would you eat for your last meal?
Really does it matter? I mean, think about it, you’re going to be dead… is your soul going to be like, “That vegetable puff pastry was all kinds of awesome, kinda makes up for the fact that you blodgened that family with a putter.”

What’s the last thing you bought?
Some skim milk for my Capt’n Crunch.

What are you listening to right now?
Now playing: Eminem – Lose Yourself
via FoxyTunes

What do you think of the person who tagged you?
I think she’s funny, witty/sharp and someone I’d have a hoot with at the pub.

If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?
Just one? Because I’m totally greedy. I would have one in a forested-middle-of-nowhere, one in London, one in NYC, Falling Waters in PA, one in Australia, a castle in Germany, someplace in the Far East and my house I have now.

If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
Well, seeing as it would take me about an hour to get to anyplace interesting, I’m going to make my own rules and say that I have the power of teletransportation. I think I would go to Thailand.

Which language do you want to learn?
Queens English.

What’s your favorite quote (for now)?
“I think I can help with the whole ‘Pan/Pam’ thing.”- stepbrothers

What is your favorite colour?
This changes, but I’m pretty keen on pink.

What is your favorite piece of clothing in your own wardrobe?
My “Ministry of Silly Walks” Sweatshirt. Mainly because it’s HUGE and comfy and has a hood and I wear it when I loaf.

Not quite silly enough

What is your dream job?
I would love to travel the world.

What’s your favourite magazine?
Magazines don’t do much for me; too many adverts. I do have a gift subscription to “Bon Appetite” and I enjoy “Real Simple”.

If you had £100 now, what would you spend it on?
So that’s what, about $200? Hmmmm, I think I’d spend it on some choice noms and host a cook-out.

Describe your personal style?
Classic. Perhaps even a bit plain…

What are you going to do after this?
Continue working.

What are your favourite films?
Off the top of my head: Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Spaceballs, Mean Girls, Center Stage, Naked Gun, Stepbrothers, Anchorman, Zoolander, The Lost Skeleton, The Rocket (Maurice Richards’ biography), Men in  Black I …

What’s your favourite fruit?
I can tell you what my LEAST favorite fruit is : BANANAS. In fact, I may have just thrown up in my mouth a little.

What inspires you?
The fact that I know this is all not for not.

Your favourite books?
Another hard one! Clown Girl by Monica Drake, Monkey Shines by Stephen King, Water for Elephants by Sara Greun, Virgin Suicides by Jeffery Eugenides, Wicked by Greogry McGuire, My Life in Heavy Metal by Steve Almond, Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCormick, Warman’s Antique Pricing Guides

Do you collect anything?
Did you not sense the antiques obesssion? I fill my new(ish) house with new things that are old.

What are you currently reading?
No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy.

Go to your book shelf, take down the first book with a red spine you see, turn to page 26 and type out the first line:
(because I’m at work, I will use above said book because I’m pretty sure no one wants to hear about office supplies)
“…Harkle’s land. When the moon did rise it sat swollen and pale…”

By what criteria do you judge a person?
How they hold themselves, wether they lie right off the bat (you can tell these things), if/how they look at other people…

The rules:
1. Respond and rework; answer the questions on your blog, replace one question that you dislike with a question of your invention, add one more question of your own.
2. Tag eight other people.

Y’all know how I feels about taggin’… do it if you want, don’t if you don’t.

The Bygones of Fashion; “fashion” being loosely used (Cross-Town Posting)

(Oh CWG, there is nothing that a ten-foot pole couldn’t touch)

My parallel universe sister, Nat, brought up quite an interesting post this morning: The Fashion Faux Pas.

Mullet (thanks mom!)
Bowl cut
$10 silk shirts from G&G
Neon bike shorts
“Goth”

My crushed velvet shirt is as black as my soul

Lace bottomed leggings

Banana clips
Charm sweaters

Open shoulder body suits

Flannel (lots and lots of flannel)

Flannel hat, overshirt, boxers and shoes. Becuse it was April in Florida.

Bucket Hats (a la Blossom)
Homemade embroidery floss necklaces
Thrift store clothing

Oversized men's Bugle Boy sweater with jeans that probably weren't mine

Taper legged jeans
Pinning turtlenecks
Big Bangs (yes Al Gore, I know I expanded a hole in the ozone)
Dying my hair with Manic Panic/Kool-aid/markers

Because neon yellow/orange is natural

Things other people wear that bother me:
Flip-flops in the office
White athletic style socks with dress shoes (and I did it  because I didn’t know any better)
Bottoms where you can see the wearers underpants pattern
Sweatpants with slogans on the butt
Mesh shoes (the ones that just cover the tips of your toes)
Velvet sweatsuits

Additions, omissions, errors?

—————-
Now playing: The Prodigy (Dance) – Breathe
via FoxyTunes

Results

After this long weekend, the tally is as follows…

Him: 1 case of poison ivy
Me: 1 set of sunburned kneecaps (note: if you apply sunscreen while wearing Bermudas, pull up over your knees so when you sit, your knees don’t get burnt.)
Bailey: Multiple trips to Mister Jack’s stream = whimping.
Me: Intended to pack lunch, forgot.

Note:
Camera cord is at home (dammit) and Mister Pickles has some competition.

What Long Weekends Mean to Me, By Stephanie

Long weekends basically mean demanding physical labor without the reward of getting a paycheck.
Oh, sure, the accolades come with a WONDERFUL night’s sleep and the prettiness of a garden/yard that doesn’t lodge red barbs into the fleshy parts of ones skin, but the paaaaaiiiiiinnnnn.

Let’s take Exhibit A.
The Flower Boxes.
(you may recall last year, when I opted to rearrange 90% of my garden)

Overgrown #1

Overgrown #2

We’re pretty civil about yard work.
I want the flowers, so I am charged to take care of them.
Or  not, as the photos above show.
3 liters of water and two contractor bags later…

Breathing Room

Much Better

Now the weeds have so much more room to grow!

Exhibit B.
The Pond.

The New Mrs. has been very good in his time off and has done a crapload of work around the house/yard.
One of his tasks was to even out the pond bed and fill the mole holes.
So, while these are “pre” pictures, they’re not totally accurate as he did about two days of work before this.

Slate work/turtle

Minimum Landscaping

And about $55 in plants later…

Slate and Turtle and flowers!

Maximum Minimum Landscaping

A Plant that Isn't Pink or Purple

And before I leave you with a number of other photos of plant life which will probably be dead soon from my lack of care, here is Bailey and her friend next door, Elle.

Commander Bailey was wounded in battle....

Elle likes to run away from you.

And now, random flowerness.

—————-
Now playing: Portishead – Roads
via FoxyTunes

And This is What We Call “A Gentle Let-Down”

With the deconstruction of The Aud, there are a number of demolition men around the lot where YOT has day care.
Honestly, I can’t complain about the demo guys. Maybe they’re different then construction guys; being that they cat call AFTER you’re out of earshot.  These guys are pretty nice. They wave to me, petty conversation.
On my walk in yesterday, there was a new guy who gave me the usual, “How ya doin’? Have a good day!”
I saw him on the way back to YOT, he was directing traffic as another portion of street perimeter wall was coming down. Meanwhile, there was a tourist who was lost and the construction guys didn’t know where Church Street was. I helped the tourist and the New Guy waves me over.
“Hey.”, he says.
“Hey.” I reply.
“Have a good day?”
“Suppose so. You?”
“Yeah. You married?”
“Yup.”
“Okay, have a nice afternoon then.”

Enter the BFH

As most of my loyal readers know, I adore taking photos.
On my way back from work, I try to stop at the aud and take some demolition photos; as shown in my header.
Yesterday I pulled my camera out of my bag (hey, it’s a point-and-shoot, not an SLR, though, perhaps, if I’m REALLY good, the Birthday Gnome will bring me on. Note: Send entry to Steve.) to take a few shots.
My lens went out-in-out-in-out-in- out-”Turn power off and back on”.
Off
On
out-in-out-in-out-in- out-”Turn power off and back on”
After a few times of this, I did what any impatient person would do, I gave it a hearty rattle and rapping.
(logic: if rattling and rapping make it go wonky, than ratting and rapping should fix it*)
A good ten minutes later, I give up and cave to the (un)power of the camera phone.
DAMN YOU 2.3 MEGAPIXELS!!!
Thinking the battery wasn’t juiced enough to get the lens to focus, I charged for a few hours.
NO CHANGE!
So, I turn to my Hitchhikers Guide… google.
Ends up that a crapload of people have this VERY SAME ISSUE!!!
So, what did they do?
Dropped it.
Lens side down.
Turn on.
Toggle Zoom.

I’ll be damned.
Guess the BFH (big f-ing hammer) DOES work.

* “She falls in a well, eyes go crossed. She gets kicked by a mule, they go back to normal.”

If You’re Interested in Dreams…

(stupid popcorn before bed, this is all your fault)

I dreamed that I was fired from my most-of-the-time fantastic job.
Grounds for Dismissal:  I didn’t look my age. Because I don’t look “seasoned”, clients were figuring the company was also green and, frankly, I was bad for business.
So the company went out and interviews candidates behind my back. “Emily” was supposed to be my age, but looked more of what the public thinks people my/our age should look like. Emily was ugly.
I cried and wailed and bawled my eyes out. My chest hurt, my eyes stung…
So I asked my co-worker to walk with me to the garden supply shop down the street (which, BTW, there totally isn’t around the office) and she explains that the company is letting me go due to budget constraints. And at this point, I ask if the company can fire one of my other co-workers instead.
Very sad, I end up at home. I think to myself that maybe it’s my blond hair that’s holding me back. So I take a box of brown dye and color my hair (with velcro rollers), only to find out I didn’t have enough dye and a chunk of my hair is still blond. Also, the bathroom where I am dying my hair is the bathroom in the house I grew up in.

Do blonds not have more fun?!?!

—————-
Now playing: Massive Attack – TearDrop
via FoxyTunes

Talkin’ House/ Etc.

Okay Folks, let’s start this week with some crazy unabashed honesty.

Here’s your hypothetical situation: You’re expecting people to come over (family and/or friends).

How much cleaning up do you do? (“Tour of Homes”: dust everything that could collect dust and then set said rag on fire to rid of evidence, “Presentable”: cleaning places were people will be, “Other”)

Do you store your messes? Like, say, jamming your gym bag/whatever spilled from the closet back into the closet and putting a flying buttress on the door to make sure it closes and stays closed?

Do you have the room that no one is allowed in? (like the “office” which has become the dumping ground for anything we are too lazy to put away)

Do you allow people in your bedroom?

****
In other news, this weekend I picked up three fake ficus trees (for the deck) for $6.00.
Also, churches have THE BEST rummage sales. Authentic Italian Pasta Machine (with the 1972 receipt pricing it at $26.00), Volleyball kit, metal lawn thingie (hummingbird which sways around a lily) and a beer-stein-ice-bucket (which now houses a trailing yellow plant) for *drumroll* $3.75!
*****
In Stephanie’s Continuing Adventures in Child Care:
Friday night, The Group once again practiced volleyball for their upcoming season.
I went on a bunny hunt, being VEHEMENTLY told to tip-toe as, “You NEVER know what bunnies will do!”

Reading is an interesting time as the almost-2-year-old like books that are boring to the almost-4-year-old. Regardless, I ended up in a camp chair reading “The Ugly Duckling” with a kid on each knee. At one point, the almost-4-year-old decided she was going to read me the next page.
“And the eggs cracked and the mommy duck looked at all of the little ducks and put them in the water to see if they could swim and then the egg that didn’t crack swam back up the pond and okay you can read this page now.”

There was also another bunny sighting.
“STEPHANIE! Over here! A bunny!”
“I don’t believe you. It is a real bunny?”
“No.”
“So you want me to come see an imaginary bunny?”
“No. It’s real!”
“It’s probably the same bunny that we saw over there.”
“Nnnooooo.”
“Is it brown?”
“Yes.”, she answers.
“How do you know it’s not the same one?”
And as logic follows, “Because it’s not. It’s pink!”
“Whhhhhaaaattt?”
“No, wait, it’s red. And big!”
“So, let me get this straight. First it was fake, then it’s real and it’s not brown or pink, but red.”
“Yes! Hurry up! You’re going to miss it!”

—————-
Now playing: Van Morrison – Moondance
via FoxyTunes

Ebb and Flow

By accident, I ended up sleeping with socks on Monday night.
And I slept.
So each night since then, I’ve been doing the sock thing and have been sleeping fairly well.
They can’t be day-to-day socks.
Can’t be Mary Jane style slipper socks.
Can’t be furry/stringy.
Can’t be the toe-mitten ones.

mmmm, sleepy

I think they’re chennel or something… they’re light weight but warm.

Anyway, I was going someplace with this.

So, it being mid-May and slipper socks being a winter type item and my owning like, three pair, of said socks… we ended up on a whirlwind journey last night to find The Elusive Slipper Sock.
Our journey took us to the mothership of consumerism, The Mall.
While trying to smoke out The Elusive Slipper Sock, we discussed other areas of things that we’d like. I.E. He wants a Wii.

me: Oh, you know when we find that extra hundred dollars lying about, the internet says I need to get a Margaritator.
him: A huh?
me: Margaritator.
him: and it does what now?
me: Makes margaritas. duh.
him: And that’s it?
me: NOOOO, it also makes slushies.
him: Don’t you already have one of those?
me: this is different.
him: How so?
me: Well, it’s green.
him: Oh. Okay then!

Upon further thought, I have a SMOOTHIE maker, not a slushy maker.

And, I Can be Rented Out for Parties!

Since last week, I’ve pretty much been a train wreck.
It’s a vicious cycle… I get agitated and I can’t sleep so I get agitated because I’m not sleeping which hinders my sleeping, thus making me agitated… Friday night to Saturday Morning, I was tossing so much that I kept The New Mrs. awake. And that man pretty much slept through a near-bursting appendix.
Not to mention that we have/had five pretty major projects that are due this week and I’m the lead “make this look professional” person.

So last night, after a particularly abusing day with Constant Comment, I ended up at our friends house where The Group was playing volleyball.
Seeing as I don’t play volleyball (or any sport, really), I ended up how I always do… on Child Care.
I don’t really mind. It gives the kids parents a chance to have conversations that don’t revolve around princesses and I get practice*.

At one point, I’m holding a plug in the 6-week-old’s mouth, crouching with an oversized princess book, having an almost 4-year old sit on one knee and an almost-2-year-old screeching and pointing at a cartoon character [in said book] who had fallen down.
Said 2-year-old also referred to me as “Mommy!”.

After being used a a jungle gym, playing hide-and-go-seek, chasing toddlers around, getting slimy tennis balls thrown at me, making some popcorn on the stove and wearing socks to bed, I am proud to report that I only dreamed of living in the outskirts NYC and having my duplex catch on fire.
(which, for the record, is AWESOME compared to my usual subject matter)

* As I later found out, crying back at a crying baby is not widely acceptable child care protocol.