Working Shmurking

In my new workspace setup, my laptop (which is no longer lap-able) is sitting at a direct facing angle to my beading area for easy access. And this is a Bad Thing. Instead of finishing that bracelet that I've really been wanting to do and has kept me up at night finagling the right colors, I sit down to it and then think of something to google. Or facebook. Or whatever. OR BLOG.

Here, instead of finishing aforementioned bracelet, is a recap of what I've done/been doing since I last blogged nigh upon a year ago:

Moved from Long Beach back to Whittier into our own apartment that was beautiful and wonderful. Then, moved from said apartment into one small bedroom of a very old and very blue house belonging to our little old lady (LOL). Also a very dirty house.

No changes at the job, except more work and I've been propositioned for extramarital sex.

Jesse and I taught a 4-week series class at CalTech on Blues Dancing.

I made friends in Los Angeles (whoa).

I purchased a bikini with the intent of actually WEARING it. First test is tomorrow.

I've decided to try to take my jewelry making more seriously, which is daunting. I've applied for my fictitious business name statement and reserved the website name and an etsy store name, and I've had some beautiful pictures taken (thanks to Brian @ Libra Photographics), and had my logo designed (mostly). Which seems like a lot, but feels like not very much. I still need to make some business cards and probably some jewelry.

In regards to above subject, and not included as part of the recap, which isn't as exciting as I'd originally though, I think I want a fancy camera. Because while having Brian @ Libra Photographics be the most awesome person in the world sure is... awesome... it's a little more difficult to post photos of your new bauble when your photographer is 500 miles away. Even if it's only for SEVEN MORE MONTHS.

That's right, you heard me. Or read what I typed out. Around approximately December of this year or so (Jesse is saying to not quote him on that), the CristSmith household will be GTFO-ing from the Los Angeles Basin, and returning to Northern California where trees and water come from. I don't know what I'll be doing yet, if anything, but I do know that I will be happy to do whatever it is that comes. I do know what Jesse will be doing - crack-a-practin', as my aging and bat-sh** crazy grandfather says every time we visit.

And that is a Good Thing.

P.S. For the subject, I was going to write Shmorking, but that doesn't read right when you say it out loud. Just a side note.

Bluffy Whale

Has anyone noticed the new theme in spam messages?

I was looking today because I thought something may have gotten sent to my spam folder on accident, and it seems that spammers have started cutting and pasting excerpts from literature BEFORE they begin to advertise how you too can be longer, stronger, and more manly, or you can buy Cialis legally off the internet.

Here are some choice phrases I've discovered today:

SUBJECT: My pearls and jewels.
CONTENT: His wrapper of scarlet flannel! link

SUBJECT: Cold and weary
CONTENT: When he reached the door

SUBJECT: HE kills you, he eats you
Why would I buy that product?

SUBJECT: Hey
CONTENT: bora rehear chatty rant! tubby welt. tote shrug. led shuck. bluffy whale a blush rehear! driven repent. suffix tinman iritis rehear! uneasy hodman chatty blimey?

SUBJECT: Where her ass is?

SUBJECT: In the middle of the woods
CONTENT: With the other frogs?

I realize most of these are not 'literature' at all. There was one with a full on book cut-and-paste job, but I deleted it before I realized 'hey, this is blog fodder!' DAMMIT.

Stitching v. Reading: Round 1

I've been on a recent reading binge, pretty much to the exclusion of all else. "What did you say, husband? You've been feeling neglected, and are beginning to flounder in the pile of dirty laundry that's accumulated? I can't hear you, I'm reading the Orson Scott Card book you told me to read, and your head is buried in all the towels you've used in the last 2 weeks. Sorry."

I think I've read 6 books in the last 3 weeks, in addition to working full time and attempting to go to school, where they will assign me more books to read that I really don't want to, like "Native American Oral Literatures." That is not so engaging, I fear, as "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime."

In addition to this overwhelming urge to sequester myself in the very corner of the futon whilst yelling at Jesse to please turn down his play-by-play poker narrative, I've decided that I'd like to return to all my crafting glory. It hasn't really happened since we moved into this new place, in some large part due to the fact that what used to be my craft table is now where Jesse unloads his backpack every day after school, so that wood is no longer visible. At least in hardwood form. It is visible in paper form.

I decided, after perusing the pages of Mr. X Stitch, that I wanted to do a snarky stitch of my own, so I have begun. You will see the fruits of my labor after I wage war with myself what is more important: cleaning up after Jesse (and sometimes myself), reading the rest of BOTH "The Interview with the Vampire" and "The Kite Runner," or completing my slightly snarky, mostly silly cross-stitch sampler. Or starting a beaded bracelet I promised my friend I would do for him, for a small fee. Which he asked me to do like a month and a half ago, and I haven't even started creating the pattern for. DECISIONS.

P.S. While I was thinking about cross-stitching, it occurred to me that unlike normal children, I had the patience for this craft BEFORE I TURNED FOUR. I remember sitting down at my grandmother's house in Santa Barbara, begging my mom to please undo this knot I made so I could continue. I made a small pillow. How did I do that before I could read? I don't even know. I astonish myself with my youthful intelligence that somehow panned out into me making a lot of spreadsheets for a living.

Bad Style Choices

Working in the fashion industry and having plenty of time on my hands these days, I have assembled a collection of things you should definitely not wear, and should probably ridicule anyone who you see actually wearing who is not homeless:

1) Bra over T-Shirt, sold as one piece: Just, WHAT? There is a reason brassieres are in the UNDERwear category. They are worn UNDER your clothing. Not on top of a plain T-Shirt, sold elsewhere on the web site for $6.00, and then sold for $28.00. Not even homeless people are crazy enough to wear this.


2) We'll combine 2 in 1 here. Firstly, the Oops-I-Dropped-Bleach-ALL-Over-Myself wash, which I will tell you is going to be coming back soon (remember the 80's and how we have scorned the excess? Why would you want to wear something the whole world unanimously decided was a bad idea? WHY?) Secondly, the Oops-I-Cut-My-Cutoffs-Too-Short-And-Now-My-Pockets-Are-Hanging-Out shorts, which I can also tell you will be coming back next summer. Boo to the world. What are you thinking? Why are white trash fashion accidents becoming the new en vogue idea? This reminds me of Zoolander a little too much. Derelicte!

Note the peep-toe ankle booties. Like Hansel, they are so hot right now.

3) I have nothing to say about this. My snark does not cover.


4) Aaaanndd.... last but not least, let us not forget harem pants, shown here in overall form, which are ACTUALLY showing up in stores soon. Apparently, women want to look like they lost 400 pounds just off their thighs, but show off their shapely ankles as well. Such a conundrum before, but now that you can add 3 yards of fabric instead of skin, your style future is set!


Just a side note to the above WTF back to the eighties comment - American Apparel has resuscitated the whole hyper-color T-shirt phenomenon. Because that was also an awesome fashion choice in 1989.

Captain's Log

Sometimes I wish I just logged my life, so that in the future I could look back and remember all the tiny things that happen that I know I'll forget. Like the slightly crazy woman near me at work who tends to talk to her computer for most of the day and occasionally has outbursts of maniacal laughter at statements those of us around her make that are not intended to be funny. Also, she says "flabic" and "no ploblem", which are eternal sources of amusement for my sorry self.

Or the time Natalie, who is visiting this week, accidentally visited us for a whole week last year when the girl she was coming to LA to visit decided to fly to Guam on a whim and get married, forgetting that she was supposed to pick Natalie up from the airport. That was a fun week, except for the Guam girl, who is now getting divorced, I'm betting because it's not a good idea to go to Guam on a whim. I cannot speak about getting married on a whim, because I was only engaged for about 20 hours.

I suppose I could write in a diary, because, you know, that's what diaries are for. I used to - now I forget that I have time to do that, because I'm too busy checking my facebook and playing internet tetris. As I think about that, as I blog along, I suppose that facebook status updates are basically just that - a day by day log of all the mundane things you do during the day that you don't want to forget, and you dont' want anyone else to forget either. I should remember to update people on the fact that nearby coworker just cursed dentists to eternal hell for their rates, in her tiny little asian voice in a tiny little asian frame. Except she's my facebook friend, so she'd see.

smASH it!

On Tuesday, Jesse's new dentist asked him if he'd ever been hit in the mouth with a baseball bat or the like. Jesse said nope. The dentist said "Are you sure?", so Jesse reiterated no, so the dentist said "Yeah, I guess you'd remember something like that."

Though I'm sure that's not the word-for-word recap of the exchange, which was prolly more like "have you ever had an impact to your jaws?" or something even more clinical that Jesse embellished for the sake of a good story (I would have embellished it as bitter rival punch to the face), but regardless, this sorry day marks the end of my dreams of days of leisure.

I hadn't written about it much because no plans were certain, but I'd been planning on going back to school full time this semester, lazing about with relative ease while I mastered the language of English and the art of cooking food every night for my husband. I've even filled out the loan documents, gotten the government to waive my fees because I'm poor, and done EVERY requisite that I knew of (I have never done this for any college before). It starts Monday August 17th. And Jesse's non-baseball-batted mouth and our lack of dollars has dashed my dreams to the floor like so many broken bicuspids from a baseball bat.

Now that he needs over $2000 of dental work from not being hit in the face, it's just not quite feasible for me to go without insurance or income. Boo, to the max! I can't tell you how disappointing it is to have all your tentatively crafted plans crumble. I was so upset I cleaned out my car, which for anyone who's seen my car, means really upset.

I think I will still try to take a few classes at night - I only have 9 units / 2 classes left until I qualify to transfer to a university. Instead of getting easier, lounging around and prosing and cooking, I have added MORE work to my life. This is not what I signed up for. Pthooey.

My Life! It is so hard.

I wrote a blog at the very beginning of... this blog, in which I described how much extra time I had at work to read fluffy magazines and gorge myself on useless information on what is in/out, and how to be thin if only I had time (**note: reading magazines is a valid excuse for not exercising), and other such inane, highly colorized and photoshopped shmaltz.

Since then, I have been promoted. NOW, I can read WEBCOMICS. Because it's more obvious if I have US Weekly stolen furtively from the lobby sitting in front of my keyboard, even if it's covered by a fancy-looking spreadsheet that I created for just such a purpose. I have given up on reading these magazines at work. Now I merely roll them up and sneak them home so that I can read them in bed and think "I wish I had a pair of excessively short black shorts that I could wear over sheer black nylons with 4" ankle boots and a see-through lace top. Why is my life so HARD?!" Then I roll over and continue eating bon-bons and lamenting my difficult, difficult life.

Seriously, though. I have had little enough to do over the last month that I have read the complete back archives of Questionable Content, and am working on the back logs of The Book of Biff. I have stalked every single one of you on facebook, added tons of friends from high school just to see what they've been up to, filed 6 month's worth of purchase orders, and read the leaked into to Midnight Sun. I've look up countless recipes that I'll prolly never make, pined after products on ebay that I'd feel too guilty to buy, and browsed nigh upon every list on oddee.com.

I am so full of useless information, saved links, and complete bull right now that I almost feel bad. Not bad enough to stop doing it, but bad enough to go home early most days. So hard!

Jesus Hates Page 712.

Apparently, Jesus has decided that tonight will be, as Jesse has aptly described it, "a big bucket of fail." Not that two things going wrong are infinite failure, but two things of such temporarily esteem-ruinous size are enough to beleaguer me into an evening of the melancholy sadness. SIGH.

Firstly, I was supposed to mail off a pair of jeans to a distant friend last week, but was seriously hampered by the hours of FedEx, the arrival of guests, and the swift departure to places north. In my semi-guilt, I went to FedEx tonight to overnight them to said friend, thinking they would arrive to him the day before he leaves town. I was wrong - they will arrive after his departure. So not only have I failed in my pants responsibilities, I have wasted AS MUCH MONEY AS THE PANTS COST on postage. This, in the times where Jesse and I are so tight on money that we can't go see movies, can't go out to eat, and can't go dancing. That postage was a week's worth of entry into dance events. I am very upset with myself for not checking BEFORE I mailed the damn pants. New rule: if you are going to purchase pants from me at an extreme discount, you have to pay the postage up front. It doesn't seem fair that I should pay to mail your jeans that I got for you at a discount. I hadn't thought much of it before, but now I am POOR.

Secondly, I have been avidly reading Gone With the Wind for a couple weeks, so avidly that I dream about Scarlett at night and think about what I would have done having been stuck in the middle of the civil war. (Answer: I would have died). So, in the aftermath of Federal Express sorrows, I decided to sit down with my newly beloved tome and spend the rest of the night. Until I came upon this paragraph: "Yes, he is my legal ward and I am responsible for him. He's in school in New Orleans. I go there frequently to see him. Bureau in a distant state had been highly lucrative at the expense of the ignorant blacks they were supposed to protect;"

WTF?

My copy of Gone With the Wind skips directly from page 712 to page 813 without a second thought for the poor girl who was just trying to lick her wounded pride from overpaying the Federal Express. Again with the upsetness. BAH! This leaves me with no choice but to write a blog whilst shaking my fist at the heavens and googling whether or not this has happened to anyone else and if I can get my money back. Stupid Scribner.

Being Married makes you Unprepared

I was innocently doing my job the other day, walking things back and forth from my desk to the desk in Design wherein they belonged, when suddenly, out of the blue.... I was flirted with.

A tall, British-accented man made various comments that appeared innocently flirtatious. A girl should not be unprepared for this, especially one who doesn't wear her wedding, right?

Wrong.

I basically pulled a ninth-grade reaction to being partnered with a crushable boy in English class; blushed embarrassingly, giggled a little, and fled immediately.

Where is the sharp-tongued sassy girl that laughs in the face of comedic verbal sparring? Where is the used-needle sharp wit of a young woman who can banter at will with anyone, provided the subject matter stays above the belt and below the particle-physics plane? Not in that room that day. It was more like... "Nuuurrrrrr."

Pathetic.

It makes me feel better, though, that even in the whole day after the singular occurrence, I haven't yet thought of something that I could have said that would make me sound intelligent and yet simultaneously not be overbearingly and undermarriedly flirtatious in return. I usually kick myself afterwards for having thought of something too clever, too late. But this time, I suppose "Nuuurrrrr" will have to suffice, and hope that it won't happen so embarrassingly again.

On being an "Adult"

There is quite the racket going on in the neighbor's pool this afternoon, with the screeching and the splashing and the whooping... I don't mind in the least - it's the middle of a hot day after the fourth of July (i.e., the fifth of July). The interesting thing is that the various rackets are being made by people over the age of pubescence.. also which doesn't bother me.. but leads me to think. "What on earth do people do in swimming pools?" I mean, I hooted and hollered and screeched and splashed and turned brown like a nut every summer until I grew breasts. At which point I'd get in and be all... soooooooo.... what next? It's boring, I think, limiting yourself to a little variegated-depth kidney bean with no diving or running.

This (in addition to terrible swimsuit self-esteem) is the main reason why I haven't owned a swimsuit in over 4 years. I can understand having a swimsuit at the beach... there are waves there to contend with, and boys (if that's what you're aiming for), and sharks, to boot. You can swim faster without full regalia, though dudes in shorts swimming around tend to look less like seals than nearly-naked ladies.

Back to the folks next door... I wonder, really, where the line between post-pubescence and actual adulthood is drawn. Does splashing around in a small organ-shaped pool make you a child or an adult? What about if you have a beer in your hand? Does sitting in your apartment next door writing blogs about them make you a child, an adult, or a nosy geriatric?

How about going to Vegas with a nearly complete stranger? What does this make one?

Answer: Adventurous and/or an idiot. I feel in our case it was only the former.

Our adult behavior last weekend included spending most of the day Saturday cleaning our old apartment in Long Beach to get it prepared for the walking out, then rushing home to pack in 15 minutes and meet our young bank teller, escorted by his friends to make sure we're "not the rape-y type", and drive straight off to Las Vegas, to stay in a hotel room with his other stranger friend.

Does this make me juvenile?

Regardless, the trip was well worth the expenditure and effort that it took us to complete it. Our two stranger friends couldn't have been better Vegas partners. Like, not good enough friends for us to have to spend any time catching up on stuff or having expectations of behavior or feeling indebted to do things together, but still totally awesome enough to be the perfect source of energy for mad taxi rides, debaucherous behavior, and general good times. Additionally, it was the World Series of Poker, so I'm sure those of you who have seen Jesse's facebook posts know what kind of extreme glee this would bring him. Ridiculous kinds of glee. Giggles, even.

It was also Jesse's first time in Vegas - so overwhelmingly crazy. I'm not sure if you would figure this out in casual conversation with the man, but he and Las Vegas were built to meet each other. If he wasn't already married to me, he would probably marry the city and elope to a foreign continent where hookers are legal.. so Antarctica. I guess that wouldn't work. But you get the idea. Vegas+Jesse Smith=LURV.

Internets Be Damned

I've spent my ENTIRE workday today looking at interesting, useless, and utterly not related to fabric or shipping list-type websites. I don't quite know how I got on this track, but it's been utterly engaging and I'm sure scores of co-workers have walked by me wondering what the crap I'm so absorbed with. Except that they can see because my walls are made of glass... so no mystery there.

This is my favorite of the day

Soo.. the internet is not particularly "working" at our apartment. You would think that this would make me more efficient in the home, having no facebooks to look at or random things to research. YOU WOULD BE WRONG. Instead, I sit futilely looking at the upper right-hand corner of my laptop, watching the swirling dots of the firefox waiting icon go round and round, hoping that there might be just enough of a jump in bandwidth to allow me to see if my financial aid records have been processed, or how long I should keep the chicken in the oven so as we don't get poisoned. It sometimes happens, but I've wasted SO much time just waiting and waiting and playing Freecell that I'm starting to get a little melancholy.

So I resolve that tonight, tonight I will not waste any more time on the spitefully malfunctioning internets than is absolutely necessary to ascertain correct directions to Molly Malone's to see my dear friend/hairdresser play in his band. I will spend time (if Jesse ever makes it to the bank to get quarters) doing the mad piles of laundry that have been just WAITING for quarters to get did. Maybe I will cook something. Maybe I will unload the dishwasher. Maybe I'll just read another chapter of Middlesex, - I didn't ever really stop to think that maybe the title of that book was actually a descriptive noun instead of a location, but it's good regardless. I will do SOMETHING besides be harnessed to that hypnotically rotating icon, telling me that maybe, just maybe, it will process my request. Firefox, you taunt me.

Los Angelemma

Only in LA can you be sitting, minding your own business, chatting with your mom online, and then watch a sobbing stripper march barefoot in her underwear by your living room window with a leopard print bag larger than her body. Hm?

Also, the bumblebees here are larger than my big toe. No joke. I can't wrap my head around how they fly. It's like allowing a potato gnocchi to be suspended in flight by two parsley leaves. Unfeasible.

Obviously, all this is taking place while sitting on the couch in my living room, staring out the window at whatever passes by. Because I am become lazy, and have had guests for 3 weeks, and don't want to clean up my house, and am instead going to sit here. Watching strippers.

I have, however, - regardless of visitors, actually going out and dancing, eating out far too often for finances to allow... I have finished Jane Austen's Emma. Which took FOREVER, but I enjoyed it regardless. It was Long. Friends who saw me at do Something Blue on Friday night (none of whom know I have a blog, or prolly even a last name) would notice that I spent the entire time being slightly embittered about being at THE CLIMAX of the book, wherein love is finally being declared and understood, wherein everything exciting happens, whereas I was forced to put it down and leave to go dancing. BAH! I was frustrated at the hovering anticipation of lurv and happiness.

Also - I'm worried about being a potential English major for this single reason: having to analyze. I made ABSOLUTELY NO CONNECTION between the book Emma and the movie Clueless until I read the end "inspired by" notes. This lack of connection worries me. How could I miss that? I can't say that I ever would have figured it out, either. Clueless has never figured prominently in my life experience, but still ... they are the same thing. I feel like a remedial English student whose first language is Slavic, here.

Boo ring

I feel as if I have nothing exciting to write about these days. I pretty much just go to work, dream of the day upon whence I become a trophy wife to a successful chiropractor, and join a scooter gang. Also create my own craft mafia. But dreams do not successful blog posts make.

We've had guest(s) for a few weeks now, which has seriously cramped my sit-and-home-and-think-about-stupid-things time, while actually engaging me in conversation and public appearances and exercise, none of which have resulted in any remotely humorous bloggable situations. I went to a fancy awesome bar in Los Angeles, where I had a drink. I went to Lindygroove, where I danced. I went to Disneyland - OH YEAH I WENT TO DISNEYLAND. I had forgotten. Apparently it did not embed itself in my memory as an oh-hot-damn moment. This is what happened at Disneyland: I MORE THAN DOUBLE JESSE'S SCORE ON THE BUZZ LIGHTYEAR RIDE. That is how much laser-gun ass I kick. DOUBLE. (boo-yah)

I was sick at home from work for an entire week (boring). I did chores and errands (ditto). I wished to never go back to work in order to stay at home all day and eat bon-bons. I tried sewing (as previously mentioned). Do you SEE how un-crazy this all is? Pssshh.

Although we did, however, venture all the way to Hollywood (60 miles!) in order to purchase $1.25 giant pick-you-own-flavor ice cream sandwiches at Diddy Riese, which was an adventure. I spent $5.00 of gas and like 4 hours just for a buck and a quarter ice cream sammich I could've made at home - but we had the EXPERIENCE of Diddy Riese under our belts. w00t! And of Hollywood. And of credit card parking meters. And iPhone GPS madness - I almost DIED in traffic. DEAD of cars.

Sew Not Good

Instead of going out to The Juke last night with Glen and Molly (and Jesse), I decided to stay home, not spread the disease that has plagued me for an ENTIRE WEEK, and attempt to sew.

**Note how I did not say "sew". Due to the fact that the product is already un-presentable, I will not really count it as a success. This is what I attempted (the one on the center left with the handles):


What eventuated was NOT anything really like that at all. BOO!

However - I am not discouraged. I learned valuable lessons in the process. I will try it again, and prolly fail again, at which point I might give up on that particular purse and try the one below it.

What this DOES mean, though, is I got my sewing machine back from the shop in fab'lous working order. Hoo-RAY! It was expensive, but my lil' (GIGANTIC) wonder machine now hums along like it did when my grandma started using it over thirty years ago (surely not! No one was alive then!) It also weighs 48 pounds. So I'll gain skill AND triceps. And maybe some of those bird-with-banner or heart-with-arrow tattoos that seem so prevalent with the "I'm a crafter" mafia set these days. I mean - if I want to be taken seriously as a crafter, I have to have the look, right?

Hooker Rant

Why must every model in the American Apparel campaign look as if she is:

a) Malnourished
b) Barely Legal
c) About to have sex with the cameraman
d) Dressed very poorly
e) Give you the general feeling of unwittingly watching amateur porn

?

I absolutely hate being bombarded with American Apparel ads. As if seeing an eighteen year old girl wearing a swimsuit not even baywatch babes would dare to wear (you know, the kind where the V neck goes all the way to the belly button and the only thing covering her nipples sort of is the strap? The kind that they wore in 1980's workout videos OVER another leotard?... As if seeing THAT would make me want to buy scrunchies. I would never buy scrunchies (again), and now I ESPECIALLY won't buy them from American Apparel.

However, they do carry sparkly leggings for toddlers, which I think is TOTALLY appropriate.


But as for everything else. I dare you to look at the home page. It is (as of today) a girl wearing only sheer leggings, posing in 17 pages of various predatorial poses, full nip, NOT COOL. I do not support! **Note: I only went to the page to look for the above leggings! DON'T YOU POINT YOUR FINGER!

I am the Worst...

Hostess: We have had a PLETHORA of guests in the last couple weeks. (Would you say... a plethora of pinatas? I picked up Glen on Thursday two weeks ago, Molly arrived the next day, and Jesse's ENTIRE family arrived the following night. WHERE DID YOU KEEP THEM ALL?, you say, and I say I DID NOT. I forced our initial two "We were here first" guests to sleep outside on the porch (also known as Molly's brother's house in Pasadena) whilst I engaged to prove a worthy wife to the in-laws and pretend that Disneyland was always where I have dreamed of going. (Note, I have NEVER dreamed of going to Disneyland, but it was still pretty fun). I'm always worried, groundlessly, that the in-laws will leave with these words on their lips in the car: "Can you believe Jesse's wife (insert lacking here)?!" i.e. Didn't have the vanilla pudding mix to make this 10-day Amish Friendship Bread I randomly brought? .. Didn't have enough towels to cover SEVEN people so she had to go buy some? .. Killed an ENTIRE houseplant during our stay!?. I know they aren't thinking of or talking of these things, but I worry nonetheless.

Friend: While the famoo was here, sleeping and Disneying and generally just being around, my poor friends were relegating to the other happiest place on earth, Pasadena, to enjoy themselves and generally decide that actually, Pasadena is way better than my house and they were prolly going to stay. Molly was originally going to spend the summer with us, but she found work in Pasadena instead and will now only visit. AND I AM UPSET. MY PLANS ARE DISRUPTED. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO LEAVE MY HOUSE WITHOUT MOLLY MAKING ME?????? Baaaaahhhhhhhh. At least we drove Glen all the way to West Hollywood just to eat a cookie. I think that a 60 mile drive for a $1.25 Diddy Riese cookie sandwich merits a friend token.

Worker: I'm seriously seriously seriously thinking about starting school up in the fall. I'm utterly useless at my job. Not utterly, but I want to be utterly useless. I don't want to work. I have lost my denim gumption. I am home today because I think I swallowed a golf ball with my neck, and I feel that they will do all right without me. Which leads me to believe that perhaps my time in premium denim is drawing to an end, and my time as a debt-ridden student should finally begin. I can't decide... this has been a FAB'LOUS job to have while Jesse goes to school - I have put food in our mouths and jeans on our butts, and gained some semi-valuable Microsoft Excel experience along the way, but really.... this job is preparing me for NOTHING. I'm going to visit an academic and a financial aid counselor in the upcoming days. We shall see the viability of this.

Daughter: I told my family I could go camping with them this summer, and now I can't because of training at work. HOW STUPID IS THAT?

Housewife: We have 2 weeks worth of dishes languishing in the kitchen because it turns out our brand new dishwasher can't actually clean anything. And I haven't done anything about it but stare at them. I feel slightly vindicated because none of them are mine but one saucepan and a fork, but it's kind of my job to do the dishes.... and I'm not. I need a new scrubber!

All in all... I still feel pretty good about myself anyway. Ha!

There Will be an EXPLOSION

Of things with flat seams!

I just found out (and checked out) that IKEA has fabric. And, my friends, who does not want an apron or a small purse or a pillowcase made out of IKEA fabric?:

Answer: if you don't, you're not my real friend. With my distaste for things floral except for real (live) flowers, this is PERFECT. Barely a flower in sight, and not a one like a lil' ditsy print or reasonable imitation of something my grandmother would wear or my mother would put in a quilt. Not that I'll ever actually get to an IKEA because my husband is wily and wise and reasonably attached to our money. So fancy-pants (or skirt) fabric remains a distant dream, only to be capitalized upon if I sell something I made or an organ.

However: someone stole my $100 I saved up for sewing-machine repair out of my purse. Now I can't sew until I save it back up. DANGIT DANGIT DANGIT

Stacks and Stacks

Also the name of a good organizational products webstore. Hrm. How contrary.

My life is surrounded. At work, I am slowly becoming surrounded by files, stacks of tiny 3x5 cuts of various fabrics (or as my Korean coworker would say "flabics"), 4" locking binders, and 1 yard pieces of other, less various fabrics. And paper to be recycled that is generally floating around my feet like nefarious toe-eating insects. Who gets paper cuts on their toes?! (A: I do).

At home, I am surrounded by boxes of things that have no place. Actually, we've discarded the boxes, so now I am only surrounded by THINGS. They taunt me with their unbelongedness - such is the hazard of being an impetuous purchaser married to another impetuous purchaser/student with books and looseleaf liability - the grievous buildup of things you have once wanted and might yet want again, but currently would rather stash in the back of a cupboard until such a time comes again. Or hang on a wall BUT WHICH WALL I DON'T KNOW I'LL JUST LEAVE IT FOR THE TIME BEING.

Note: I have placed stacks and stacks of bracelets upon my arm today in hopes of being in tune with my surroundings.

I have diminished my stacks at work quite a bit today - however, my stack reducing timetable has been greatly diminished at the new apartment due to the imminent arrival of the in-laws. Now, I have a friend arriving today, and another tomorrow, but really - they are my friends. They (I hope) do not care if there are 5 bamboo table runners in a pile waiting to be transformed into glorious decorative pieces, or weird chiropractic books open on the couch involving mulleted men in boxer shorts being poked by be-coated guys with spectacles and mustaches. However - this is the first time the mother in law will have seen any of our places, and I want her to think that I am taking care of her first-born, not forcing him into a squalor much like that of any bachelor.

The good thing is, I think, that he was messier even when he lived at home. So no matter what, the fact that the mess is even slightly controlled is better than previous track records. At least that's what I like to think.

Hint Taken

I received a comment on my last post saying "Keep up the good work". I assume this means, "I noticed you haven't posted a blog in the lifetime of a turtle. WTF"

Primary Main Disappointment Reason: Jesse and have moved! Yayyyy!!! But getting boxes of binders out of the middle of our new wood-patterned linoleum flooring has taken priority over sitting on the couch writing blogs while Jesse gets frustrated at my refusal to help. P.S. We have SO many binders.

Secondary Main Disappointment Reason: Apparently I only have hourly internet access. As in, it works during the day and on weekends, but it DOES NOT GO in the evening, which is when I most particularly want to sit down and type.

Tertiary Non-Main Disappointment Reason: The longer you go without posting a blog, the easier it is to be all "well, I haven't written anything in (couple days, week, month), what's one more day?" I fell into the self-propagating trap.

In other news... they laid off my only coworker. And like ten other people. That was exciting.

I'm going to post some sweet photos of our new place soon. As soon as I can figure out where to put all of the hordes of binders. And get a laundry basket. And do the laundry. Etc.

Excuse me While I Barf Clothing

I have had this idea in my head for like three days, and now I hope I will forget about it because it is posted for public consumption and future personal reference. I won't get all philosophical on the color juxtapositions or nothin', but I really think it's purdy. I ALSO really apologize to any male who might have been thinking that "sometimes this chick is funny. I'll check back" who is now never going to check back because all I've been posting recently is pictures of stuff I want because I'm too tossed from work to post intelligently anymore. Sigh.

White Dress:

Dramatic Turquoise Jewelry, like one of these on each wrist:

or

And equally dramatic neckwear, such as this:

Or, most belovedly, this:

I'm going to go dye my hair and think about which kind of >5 pound dog I should, like, totally buy and dress up in cute little parkas even though it's LOS ANGELES.