The thermometer says it's not really that cold, but my body disagrees. It feels colder than the thermometer says. I know, talking about the weather is ceaselessly entertaining. I have been trying not to hole up in my house too much. To that end, I did the following.
1. Brunched out with pals twice.
2. Shopped (ok I just went and touched the clothes) at Horseshoe.
3. Supported Biogirl's pie problem by tagging along with her to A La Mode.
4. Did some rounds around Green Lake.
5. "Helped" Nordic Boy plant a new terrarium (hey, I watched him with waves of encouragement emanating out of me. That's totally helping).
6. Ok, I'm not going to lie there was also lots of holing up and staying in, but effort was made.
Mom: I stopped over at Christopher and Banks this morning, but I didn't find anything.
Me: What store is that again?
Mom: Christopher and Banks.
Me: I've never been there. What is it? Clothes?
Mom: You've never heard of it?
Me: I've heard of it, but there isn't one here in Seattle I think. Other than maybe in the malls, and I don't go to the mall much. What kind of stuff do they have?
Mom: Oh you know. Clothes for older ladies. Like us.
Me: (silence as I slowly digest that my septuagenarian mother has now put me in her age category)
Me: Oh.
Mom: (back pedal, back pedal!) I just mean, it's not for teenagers. That's all I mean.
Me: Got it.
I guess it's time for me to stop thinking Ann Taylor is too old for me.
Monday. Blah. Here's my list of what's in my brain today.
1. I kind of want to do NaBloPoMoBloJoHo (I just like to add that last part on there because I am juvenile), and started to do it last week, but that didn't last very long. I guess I am still trying, if it even makes sense to do that. Just set your expectations way way low on that one though. Dial it all the way down.
2. The weather has turned. The best we can hope for is some blue sky every once in a while, but we know those days are numbered as well. This weekend, Nordic Boy started wearing his winter work boots while doing up his carpentry rigamarole in his shop. "The days for summer boots are gone," he said. Then we sang the chorus of Don Henley's "Boys of Summer" with the words "boots of summer" inserted, because that's how we do around here.
3. I have a new phone. I now need a new phone holder thing. I am having trouble finding one that meets my own personal design specifications. I came back from a shopping trip and Nordic Boy asked me if I found a phone case, and I said I didn't see any that I liked, and he said "I think we're starting up another pencil cup situation here." Because I spent three years looking for a pencil cup that met my aesthetic needs. And I never found one. So I just decided that I didn't need a pencil cup. And Nordic Boy never once said to me "IT IS JUST A PENCIL CUP GET OVER IT." Because he knows a battle that can't be won, plus he is nice to me like, all the time. Anyway, maybe I can just be really careful with my new phone?
4. I spent part of my weekend browsing some stores for wintery clothes. I have trouble with wintery clothes, mainly because I am not a fan of bulk, but I am also not a fan of being cold. My solution to this problem has been to just wear summer/spring/fall clothes which solves the bulk issue but doesn't solve the being cold issue. Between this and the pencil cup thing and the phone case thing I really find myself unbearable sometimes. It does save me money though, since impulse buying is sort of out.
5. Biogirl and I had a full on therapy session over the weekend about the remakes of Dirty Dancing and Footloose. In the conversation the following phrase was said: "YOU SIR, are no Kevin Bacon!" I think we can all adopt that phrase in a multitude of situations.
6. Biogirl, who has been coveting the Norm-in-Cheers status of "regular" for many years, finally got her wish at the brunch joint we frequent. We go there almost weekly, so it's about bloody time they recognize us. They knew her name! And what she wanted to order! It was a grand day in her life. I was glad to be there to witness.
7. We had dinner with our friends HVDM and her husband J. Afterward, we came over to my house and played Outburst. I was seriously off my game and this was evidenced by the following. I could not name all ten Robert Redford movies on the dang card, and I couldn't name off ten Shakespeare plays. What the eff, me? I might as well have forgotten the alphabet as far as I am concerned.
8. I finally signed up for pinterest. Let me know if you're on it too and I'll follow you.
9. It was Alli's birthday yesterday. There are a few things that make me feel melancholy around this time of year, and not being there for Alli's birthday is always one of them. We always did birthday shenanigans when we were kids! How dare she grow up and move away! Wait, that was me that moved away. I hate it when I have to blame myself for my own whining.
10. YOU SIR are no Kevin Bacon! I just wanted to say that again.
Hey you guys, I figured out how to make my heart stop and my stomach feel barfy and horrible, just from stress! Want to hear about it?
I have many potential stressors in my life, as does everyone. Lucky for me, I don't have a stressy constitution, just naturally. The daily stuff like bad traffic or rude people or getting a bad night's sleep? Piece of cake. The things that cause me the most stress in my life are the Biggies. Like when I was pretty sure that I was going to get laid off last year. But the stress of that sort of thing was not a heart-pounding, barfy sort of stress. I think it was because that shit (waiting for the news) went on and on and on, for months. I just couldn't sustain barfy for that long. The stress was more an impending sense of doom in the back of my mind at all times. Still stressful and probably not healthy, but I never felt like I was going to pass out or anything. Same with family members going through Big Health stuff. Again, it goes on for months and sometimes years, so the stress gets stretched out.
So this morning I was getting ready for work, and all of a sudden I had this thought: where the mothereffer is my new camera? My gorgeous, lovely, brand new, super expensive very generous gift that I got not two weeks ago?
And I looked around, and didn't see it, and then the barfy feelings became SERIOUS, y'all. I mean, really. It was ACUTE PUKEY.
I asked Nordic Boy if he'd seen it. He said nope. Then we proceeded to tear our house apart. It was like a police raid up in there. I went outside in my pajamas and looked in the trunk of my car. We looked in every closet, every room, every shelf.
Here's the thing about my house. It's small. And we don't have very much stuff. Which means that it's kind of impossible to misplace things. If it's not pretty much immediately apparent, then it's just not there.
MY CAMERA IS JUST NOT THERE PEOPLE.
I retraced my steps. Tried to remember the last time I took it out. Tried not to think about the fact that Nordic Boy and my parents forked over a lot of scratch for something that I promptly lost in a matter of days.
Here is my recipe for panic: an extravagant item, bought by other people, for me, a bonafide cheapskate, and I misplace it. TORTURE.
I know I had it in my house on Saturday night. And I think I took it with me to a restaurant on Sunday. I'm calling the restaurant when it opens today and PLEASE BABY JEBUS make my camera be there. Because if I really truly lost that thing?
Saleslady who looks like Katy Perry: Can I help you with something?
Me: I was just trying to decide between these two colors. Charcoal or dark brown. I just can't decide which one to try. (Holding the samples next to my skin) What do you think?
Katy Perry: Well, that depends on what you want to use it for.
Me: Yes, how do you mean?
Katy Perry: Well, it depends on whether you want grey. Or brown.
She said that to me without a STITCH of sarcasm, people.
Me: Ok, yes. Thanks.
So I just wanted to pass along that piece of advice to you, if you ever are trying to decide between choice A and choice B. You should make that decision based on one thing and that thing is: whether you want the choice to be A, or whether you want it to be B. It's so unhelpful, it sort of rounds a bend somewhere and becomes helpful again.
Don't thank me, thank Katy.
* The Mac makeup counter is really not a counter. I ask you, what is with this new fangled retail model where there is no counter and no way to line up anywhere? Mac make up, Apple, AT&T, what is going on? Do you want chaos, is that what you want? What's a grandma like me supposed to THINK?
Well, it has been a little over a week since I decidedly proclaimed to Rejoin the World.
Come on everyone, don your annoying Sarah Palin voice and say: "how's that workin' out for ya?"
Well, I'll tell you. The efforts have been valiant. Let's start out with the positives. I successfully got my hair did. Never mind that the person who does my hair has apparently decided to give me the most boring haircut of all times. Still, it is cut. Did it put a spring back into my step as a good haircut can? Not so much. It's a boring step, not a springy one. And it's making me want to break up with my haircutter. So, I guess I get a C-plus on that.
I went to a dance show last weekend. Contemporary 4 at PNB. It was pretty good. Not knock your socks off good, but sometimes I need to just calm down about everything needing to knock my socks off. My socks can stay on and I can still enjoy myself. Which I did. And yay, I dressed up, got out of the house, saw some friends, saw some art. That's my happy place. So I felt pretty good about that. Then this weekend I went to see Alvin Ailey, which was off the frigging chain. So much so that it can make me say things like off the frigging chain.
Also, I no longer fall asleep every night at 9pm, only to wake up the next morning still tired. Now I stay up until a grownup hour, and do things. This feels like the biggest accomplishment of all. How sad is that?
You know, I thought my list of positives would be longer. Shite. I feel like I am coming out of the loop I was in where I went to work, ate, slept, thought about work, repeat. And I am, I know I am. But my list up there needs beefing up. What is a list of positives without beef?
So, update on Rejoining the World stands at: Needing More Beef.
Silliness seems to have re-entered my life though, which makes me feel more like me than I have been lately. For instance, yesterday we were at the store, waiting in line, and there was this kid who was maybe 13-years-old, and he had a really long, really impressive mullet hairdo. The front was really short, and the back was really long, like maybe down to the center of his back. And super lush and thick. If you're going to go mullet, then hallelujah, do it up, son. At least you don't have a snoozefest going on on your head like I got. Anyway, he was being sort of hyper, as 13-year-olds can be, and he started to run through the store without really thinking ahead about where he was running or how to best go amok in a store. He whipped his head around as he started to run and his mullet swung around and whipped him in the face (insert Willow Smith reference here) and went exactly across his eyes and he couldn't see but AT ALL, and so that made him trip and he sort of flew through the air, forward, mullet across his eyes with his hands outstretched like a blindfolded-mullet-kid-Superman, and he crashed onto the floor and it was specTACular. He jumped up immediately and kept running, and Nordic Boy turned to me to catch my eye to see if I had seen this, and I turned to him in the exact same moment and we conked our noggins together hard in our excitement over hairblinded Superman and simultaneously said "OW!" and grabbed our respective heads and then giggled as inconspicuous as we could.
This all happened in the span of about 10 seconds. Head whip, mullet mask, trippy trip, Superman, kiss the floor, jump up, run, skull smack, tee hee hee. You could not have choreographed it to be more poetic. Eat your heart out, Alvin Ailey.
Onward to another week, all. Hope it's a good one!
I often wake up in the morning with a random earworm in my head. Does that happen to everyone? Mine are so strange- they are of songs I haven't heard lately or barely know sometimes. One time last week I woke up with the theme song to Family Feud in my head. Makes me wonder what the hell I was dreaming about. Hopefully it wasn't that I was making out with Richard Dawson. Now there was a dude who could not keep his lips to hisself.
This morning, I woke up with a mash-up of "Party in the USA" by Miley Cyrus and "Born to Run" by Bruce Springsteen. This is odd because if there is one thing I am not, it's born to run, and also I don't recall that I have ever really "moved my hips like yeah." But there you go.
Anyhoo.
One time, Biogirl and I were walking down the street, and we saw this car that had a giant American flag painted all along the body. It also had a smaller flag flying off its radio antenna, and various flag stickers on its bumper. Biogirl said in an encouraging way: "Wow! Flag it up, Flaggy!" and I about died laughing. Just that she named the person Flaggy was funny enough, but it was also how she said it. You probably had to be there, but it was hilarious.
Ever since that time, we have re-used this awesome phrase. It can pertain to anything, not just flags. If I spend too much time reading, she might say "Read it up, Reedy!" or if her house looks particularly sparkly I'll say "Cleaned it up, Cleany!" We enjoy ourselves. It's good times.
I had a friend at work who always had at least three bags with her at all times. Her purse, her lunch bag, and a tote bag full of books (librarians are huge on the tote bag usage), plus maybe another bag for good measure. One day I said to her: "bag it up, Baggy!" She was good peoples so she laughed at my unfunny funny, and the next few times I saw her, she would try to recreate this moment, only she could never remember how to say it.
"Hey bagley! Have a bag!" she would say. Or "Baggo book me up!" Or "Baggy times, Baggola!"
Whenever I talk about bags, I think about her. Bagopolis, McBagger!
Remember when I said that I was in search of a new work bag? One that needed to have compartments, look stylish-yet-work-appropriate, and not be a pain in the ass to carry on the bus? Well I have looked high and low. I have looked at Etsy until my eyes wanted to pop out, and gone to every store I can think of. After all of this I am pained to say that my original statement still stands, and that statement was (allow me to paraphrase myself): CURRENT PURSES SUCK DONKEY DINGUS.
I did find one bag. Just the one. The price was more than I wanted to spend, so even though I yearned to take it and run (baby I was born to ruuuuuun), I held off and kept looking. How many hours is reasonable to look for a stinking bag? Why do I do this to myself? What is wrong with me? IT IS JUST A BAG.
Finally, I decided that time is also valuable and since I am a big old freak and won't be able to deign to buy a less-than-perfect bag (go ahead and roll your eyes at me because I so deserve that) I should go ahead and buy the one I want. Which I did.
The bag that I bought is two things.
1. It is a diaper bag.
2. It is for dads.
I don't have diapers (for myself or anyone else), and I am not a mom, let alone a dad, so this bag was double not-made-for-me. But I love it.
I ordered the thing on Friday. And since that time, whenever there is a silence in our household, I say the following:
"I wonder when my new bag will get here?"
The first 3 times I said this, Nordic Boy played along and made a guess. "Ima say Thursday. I bet it's here by Thursday." Then, he stopped answering. Smart man. He knows futility when he see it. This morning, I checked my email to find that the bag people have given me a tracking number so I can follow my bag's progress toward my waiting bosom. "I HAVE A TRACKING NUMBER!" I said as we left the house this morning. "THANK GOD," said my man.
Thank God, roughly translated, just might mean ok shut up now. If I spoke Sickobagese, which I don't.
In case you are wondering, my bag is now in Bloomington, California. I know you were wondering.
I admit it everyone. Me, the person who has always been so smug about being balanced and leaving work at work and all like that? 2011 has made that shite go ALL TO POT. I am not necessarily working more hours, but I have become one of those people who think about work when not at work pretty much all the time, including while sleeping. That'll teach me to be smug. It's like, remember when Kathie Lee Gifford was all "my family is so perfect, my husband is a bastion of husbandly Christianity" and then his nasty business with his mistress popped up out of nowhere? Well, I am Kathie Lee Gifford, and living a balanced life is Frank, and work is Frank's mistress rearing her peroxided head.
How's that for a metaphor? (Applause).
This means that I don't have anything to blog about. And whenever I don't have anything to blog about (and can I just say that I am not entirely comfortable with using the word blog in this manner. "Anything to blog about"? Blog about? Ugh, it sounds ree-dick), it is a sure sign that some shit has to change around here, because this blog is where I write down my happy stuff for the most part. And if I don't have anything happy, funny, stupid, silly to say, WHAT IS HAPPENING TO MY LIFE.
So, note to self. Stop doing that.
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One thing that I did do lately is attend a large scale sporting event. I have not done that since...sheesh, I don't even know when. I used to go to Detroit Pistons games when I was in high school. But since then, I have been on a long hiatus from arenas with cheering fans and points being scored. But this weekend, we went to see some roller derby. I know that that doesn't seem like a major sporting event to most anyone who attends major sporting events, but it was in Key Arena, and that place was sold out. And people screamed and drank beer and there was a jumbotron and the whole thing, and so roller derby does too count. And as much as I want to roll my eyes at roller derby purely based on the fact that Drew Barrymore wants us to care about it, you know what? It kicked major hineycakes. I loved it. As did Nordic Boy, who has more of an aversion to sporting events than I do. I highly recommend going.
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I have been riding the bus a lot lately, and does anyone in Seattle agree that the bus seats are made out of some sort of ultra slippery material? Is it just me? When I sit on the bus, and the bus accelerates and deaccelerates, my ass is sliding around almost to the point of falling on the floor. Not to mention that this causes me, when a turn is being made, to slide my caboose right into the person sitting next to me. It's mortifying. Everyone else seems to be able to keep their ass in line. Can someone enlighten me on this? What is my gol dang problem? Do I need to buy those stickers that old people put on the floor of their shower and sew them to my butt?
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I can't stop watching the Bachelor, you guys. I feel disgusting.
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I spent the better part of President's Day at Macy's, as our forefathers intended. In honor of our Presidents, I celebrated by accidentally walking in on an older Russian lady who was in a fitting room that a salesperson had put my stuff in for me. I walked in and there she was, almost starkers. I am sure that is exactly what Millard Fillmore would have wanted in honor of his day.
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I can't think about Millard Fillmore without thinking about Millard Fillmore High School, the setting for that grand tv show of the 80s, Head of the Class. Not that I think about Millard Fillmore a lot. But when I do, it's always in conjunction with Arvid and Simone and the rest. Listen, you have your history and I have mine.
One time a while ago, we were slated to go on a vacation. I needed that vacation, bad. As I was getting ready to pack, I ran through my house and screamed a happy scream that went like this: "Where is mah sooot-case?" I had my phone in my hand, and somehow I had pressed the voice memo button, which recorded this sentence. I saved that voice memo, and ever since then, whenever I have had just about enough, I press that voice memo button to signal that fact. It's sort of my version of "Calgon take me away."
Last year, my job necessitated that I drive from location to location. Oftentimes I didn't know where I was going to end up that day. This meant that I had to carry lots of stuff with me. Files, lunch, water bottle, maybe a binder or two. So for this reason I had to buy a Gigantic Bag of Doom. I know that big bags are all the rage these days, but I am going to level with you. Most of them, design-wise, look bad to me. All the slouchiness looks like everyone is carrying around crumpled up hefty bags. And the overabundance of hardware on these puppies! Buckles, snaps, chains! Looks like Mr. T got a hold of your hefty bag and went to town on it with a bedazzler or something. But that's just me. I looked and looked for a nice bag that could accomodate as much as a small suitcase, and it took me a long time. As you might remember, I will not buy something that I cannot abide looking at. It took me three years to buy a winter coat that I found acceptable, people. I wanted to buy a pencil cup for my office desk and never have found one that I like enough, in all my years on this earth. I am straight up weird about stuff like this. Anyway, I ended up finding a bag. It looks like this:
Now, I only have one work location. This means that I go to work with my lunch and a book to read on the bus and that's about it. I do not need my fancied up suitcase. That thing can take up a whole extra seat on public transportation, it's so big. All of this is to say that I need to downsize my bag. What say you internets? Suggest me a bag peddler! I need something cute (obv), and I like something with compartments. Also, I like it to be made with recycled material and non-leather, because I am a damn hippie.
Internet friends, I ask you: Where is mah (moderately sized) sooot-case? Etsy shop? Favorite store? Internet site? Give it to me. I promise this won't be like the pencil cup thing.
I had three whole days off (in a row!) this week, and it felt like forevah. Here's what we didded.
1. We made a big Indian dinner. Alloo benghan (potatoes/eggplant), Kuthu (pumpkin), Spinach bhaji, and egg curry. I know, it's supposed to be the eve when Santa gave birth to Jesus under the mistletoe with Bing Crosby singing in the manger and the Easter bunny and the pilgrims bringing myrrh on a sleigh, and for this we are supposed to eat what Saint Martha Stewart tells us, but oh well.
2. Nordic Boy woke up on Friday and wished me a "Happy Christmas Morning, Previous." This is now what we are calling Christmas Eve Day from now on. Christmas Morning Previous.
3. We broke holiday rule #2. The one about no entry into retail districts until the holiday season is over. And man, we broke it BIG. We went to the middle of downtown Seattle, where the gigantic Christmas tree is, and the Christmas carousel, and every last retail chain is located, and pushed our way into Williams Sonoma. On Christmas Day Previous! Holiday Rule #2 was demolished. But my parents had sent us some holiday cashola, and we decided to buy a fancy toaster oven that we've been dreaming about. Screw sugarplums dancing in our heads, we have officially become the old decrepit couple that thinks a fancy toaster oven is tres exciting. When did this happen to us?
4. Maybe we are not as decrepit/mature as I thought. We spent considerable amounts of time playing Just Dance on the Wii.
5. We went to PNB's "Nutty Nutcracker." Like everywhere else, the ballet here does the Ballbuster (or the Nutcracker, potato, po-tah-to) during the holiday season. I have seen this version once, a long time ago, and I'm not a fan. Just don't even get me started on it, because trust me you will be bored out of your gourd. However, I heard that each year, they do one performance of the Nutcracker with weird stuff thrown in. They call it the Nutty Nutcracker. It contains things such as a snowball fight in the Land of Snow, and a lusty bee who shows up during the Waltz of the Flowers. It was pretty cute, and the best thing about it was hearing the kids in our section cracking up like all get out. Would I pay to see it again? Nope. But it was fun.
6. Biogirl's mom was visiting, so we went over to have dessert with them on Christmas Eve. After the Williams Sonoma and the big dinner making and the Nutty Ballsmacker dance performance, Nordic Boy and I were about as festive as a pile of Ambien, and Nordic Boy gave a riveting revival performance of his one man show called Dude Asleep in the Middle of a Conversation, so that was nice. Merry Christmas!
7. We went to see The King's Speech, and as we were standing in line, the movie theater guy came out and said that three movies had sold out. Harry Potter, Tron, and The King's Speech. The first two? Ok, I can see that, but our nerdy movie, sold out at a huge theater? Weird. We pre-bought a ticket and came back for the next show and that was packed too. Stuttering royal preparing for a speech, and Seattle eats it up. Who knew?
8. Went on a drive one night with Nordic Boy, Biogirl, and Biogirl's mom where we found some houses that had crazy amounts of holiday lights on them. I was looking up local news stories on some good ones to go see, and there was one family who confessed to putting up so many lights that their electric bill hits $6,000 for the holiday season. I have nothing funny or witty to say about that. Just holy moley, you guys.
9. Started my holiday cards. Did not finish, but started them. I sliced my card list this year, by a lot. Still, I have a lot to do still. That's why I always do New Year cards. I can get away with sending them late. If you're on my list, expect them by Valentine's Day.
10. That's about it, but I have to have a nice rounded 10 for my list. So let me just tell you this: I haven't seen True Grit yet, but every time I see ads for it I think that Jeff Bridges looks a lot like Nordic Boy's dad. Especially when Jeff Bridges looks as beat down as possible. Nordic Boy agrees with this assessment. I have never met Nordic Boy's dad, but I have seen photos, and if my sweetheart is not the fruit of The Dude's loins, I am a monkey's uncle.
I don't think I could have ended on a less holiday-ish note, but there you have it. I hope you all had a great weekend!
I am not the type of person who has a lot of policies, but I do have two, and they both revolve around the holiday season.
Policy #1: I do not travel during the holidays. Nordic Boy and I spent a few years dragging our sorry asses across the country at the end of every year, breaking our necks in misery in order to spend a few days with family, which granted, were good days, but we have many other days that we can spend with family, at times when traveling does not make us want to crawl into a hole and never come out. One year, we sat in an airport, stranded due to snowstorms, among the great unwashed, hungry and tired and sick of standing in lines, and we looked at each other and said, you know, we don't have to DO THIS. It was like we had discovered warp drive, or electricity, or jello. Life changing. And thus, our first official family policy was born. I always feel a little embarrassed about this policy, because it makes us (I fear) sound cold and unfeeling, like we wouldn't sacrifice a little inconveniece to see our families or something. But that's our policy, and it works for us.
Policy #2: I do not step foot into the various retail districts of my city from Thanksgiving until after New Year. I still shop, mind you. I will go to my corner bookstore, or order something on Etsy, or whatever, but go into the heart of shoppy land? Or a mall? Nope.
I am only now realizing, as I write this, that both of these policies have less to do with noble anti-consumerist feelings and more to do with a hatred of crowds.
This Friday, I had the day off and I used it to break Policy #2. I had to send off some items to the nieces and nephews so I ventured to the the UPS store which is not really in a retail district, but still, it's the UPS store. A week before Christmas.
As I stood in line, I watched as the UPS workers were browbeaten by the customers. It was ugly. At one point, when told that her package was going to cost $20 to mail, a woman screamed, with visible spittle: "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" at the worker at top decibel levels as if he had personally made up the price chart during his last coffee break. I also witnessed a rather huffy gentleman who didn't verbally abuse anyone, but showed his impatience at the dude feverishly working behind the counter via a continual barrage of loud huffy sighs.
So yeah, just be nice to your customer service workers, people. Or at the very least, don't scream profanities or subject their faces to saliva spray. I mean, that should go without saying, right?
On the brighter side of my weekend, that evening Nordic Boy and I had a dinner party with our poker friends. We are so used to cooking little meals for the two of us that the sheer amount of food and pots and pans it takes to cook dinner for 8 people is fricking nutso.
Morning After Scene
This is our second time playing poker with this group of pals, and we had the same result as we did last time. I finished up by a couple bucks, and Nordic Boy lost a couple. Put us together and we totally broke even. That dude is bringing me DOWN, people. We could have been a whole two dollars richer if it wasn't for him. Sheesh.
On Saturday night we went out to rent a movie, and picked up a Wii game rental while we were at it. When I paid for the item, the conversation went like this.
Renter Guy: That'll be $9.
Me: (opening up wallet).
RG: That's because the game rental is five dollars.
Me: Ok, that's fine.
RG: I was just saying that because it seemed like you were making a "what the fuck?" face.
Me: No, I wasn't. That's just how my face looks.
RG: Yeah. Ok. I guess it does.
That's when I showed him what my WTF face really looks like.
This week, I took two days off of work to celebrate the old Bee Day. It's sort of amazing how two extra days off can feel like a month. I decided that, for my birthday this year, I wanted to celebrate the super ordinary awesomeness in my life right now. What are some things that are super ordinary that I love about my life? I'll tell you.
1. Meeting up with friends
I finished up the actual birthday by going out on the town (by which I mean we sat in a bar) with a bunch of homies. We met up at 8:30, and were wrapping it up by midnight. I remember when my night used to start at midnight, ya'll. You should have seen how tired I was when I got home that night- it was comical. I was straight up stumbling into bed, motor skills evaporating, and it wasn't because I was drunk. It was because OMG IT'S AFTER MIDNIGHT SLEEP WHERE IS MY BED SLEEEEEEPY.
Did I mention that I am not 20 anymore? I always forget that.
On the other hand, I was talking to my brother on the phone at about 9pm and he was amazed, AMAZED, that I was out on a Thursday. "Your night is just starting?? We are about to go to bed now." So, according to some, I am still a young whippersnapper.
I went out with about 20 of my pals and they all bought me fancy drinks which in a way I felt bad about because I tend to be kind of picky about fancy drinks and so I ended up downing some kind of lemony shit that to my unsophisticated palette tasted like you might want to clean your toilet with it (lemon fresh scent!) rather than put it down your gullet. But that's just me. I am also the person who thought a Seagram's Wine Cooler was the height of tasty when I was in high school so you might not want to use me as a drink guide.
2. Shoes
On Friday I went and bought a new pair of shoes. As I was sitting there, a young cute dude struck up a conversation with me. Like, super cute. Ok, hottie hot hot. In my head, I am thinking "Cute boy, trying to talk to me? STILL GOT IT." Then he says to me: "I love those shoes. They're Anyi Lu's, right?" And I said, "Yeah, you're right."
I'm not one to stereotype, but we have to consider the fact that this might have been a gay fellow, yes? Not only the shoe thing, but the fact that he was striking up a conversation with me. What are the chances that a straight hottie, ten years younger than me, was trying to pick me up in the middle of the Nordstrom shoe department? Not a really high liklihood, is all I'm saying. But whatever the case, I am deciding to file that under "straight cutie who knows his shoes but was overpowered by my animal magnetism." We'll never know the truth, but that's how it's going into the history books, ok?
3. Hiking the city
I went on a long walk around my city. We have been having the most pleasant autumn this year. Just sunny, and crisp, and delightful. Sometimes Seattle can go from summer right into the grey winter of doom overnight, so this has been quite a treat.
4. Comfort food
Nordic Boy had a list of fancy suggestions for a birthday dinner out. "Anything you want to eat, we're going!" But what I really wanted? Was for him to just make me his spinach enchiladas and spanish rice. It's sometimes really weird when I think about how, for many people, comfort food is associated with something a parent or grandparent made for them growing up. For me it's the same- there are some things that my mom makes that I just want when I want to feel safe and loved. But over the years, more of that space in my belly is for stuff Nordic Boy makes for me. I guess it stands to reason- we have been taking care of each other for a long time now. So he made me his simple enchiladas. And then the next night? He made pot pies. Ordinary, but perfect.
5. Old movies
You know how I love me some old movies. A cinema in town is showing Hitchcock movies on the big screen. Um, heaven! We went to see "Vertigo." Seeing Jimmy Stewart be such a friggin' crackpot always kind of freaks me out. And Kim Novak's fake painted-on eyebrows on a screen that big? FRIGHTENING.
The next night Biogirl came over and we watched "An American In Paris." That big dance number at the end is kind of a hot mess, is it not? And the costumes at the Black and White party? A feast for the eyeballs. Why can't real life be like a Gene Kelly movie?
Pot pies, Gene Kelly dvd, present, and cupcakes. Heck yes.
6. My parents
My parents are just heartbreakingly sweet, you guys. On my birthday, my dad had to go back into the hospital, as he has to do sometimes now. My mom had called me that morning to wish me a happy birthday, and had said that my dad would call back later, since he wasn't feeling well. By the time I was ready to go out with my friends that night, I hadn't heard from him, so I knew something was up. I spent a few hours that evening on the phone with my mom, who was by then at the hospital with my dad, and then contacting my siblings and all that other stuff you do when things like that happen. When we were at the point where there wasn't anything more I could do, I left the house to go out with my friends. That's just what you learn to do when you have someone you love that's long-term sick. You figure out when you are needed and for that you drop everything. But when you aren't needed, you have to just keep living your life. So you do it. It's hard, it sucks, but there really isn't anything more to be done sometimes. Does it feel weird to be out hooting it up celebrating with my friends while my dad is in a hospital bed? Yes. Do I want to curl up in a ball and freak out sometimes? Yep. And sometimes I do. But most of the time, I get on with it. Mostly because I know that's what my dad wants me to do.
When my dad got out of the hospital over the weekend, he called me. And you know what he said? "Before we get into anything else, I want to hear all about your birthday." Did I mention heartbreakingly sweet?
So that's my Super Ordinary Everyday sort of birthday that I had. I didn't really do anything special. But yet it was all special. Ooh, deep.
My birthday is coming up, and I have barely given it a moment's thought, you guys. There was a time when I made a big hairy deal about my birthday. Party! Cake! Fancy outfit! Friends! Family! A present for myself! Field trips! Ah, me! I love you! I am a big believer in self love (dirty!).
You know what? I am trading all of that in. Well, most of it in. Technically, when I look at those things on that list I just made, I will still gladly partake of all of those things. I love cake! Who doesn't want cake? Nutpants people, that's who.
But here is the part of my birthday that I have given up. I no longer have any interest, whatsoever, in planning shit for my own birthday. I corral, organize, plan, administer all the livelong day at my job. And the thought of corralling, organizing, planning, or administering anything FOR FUN has just drained right out of me. I just don't want to do it. So if anyone wants to bring me ice cream on a platter, or give me presents, or what have you, I am totally down with that. But I ain't spending this here birthday organizing NOTHING, you dig?
I just wanted to be emphatic about that for a moment. Ok, I'm done now.
Ima now do a weekend wrap up, because the weekend was a glorious thing. First of all, I got home from work on Friday night to find a package from my parents containing cookies from my mom, and birthday money. Cookies and money! I do believe I have discovered the secret to birthday happiness.
On Saturday, who should show up at my front door but blogfriend @AnnieRauh! (Ok, well I invited her but I wanted to make it sound like more awesomeness kept showing up at my door unexpectedly, like the cookies and money). We walked to a neighborhood cafe for brunch where I only managed to talk about work for like 10 minutes (good job, me) and we also got maybe a small lecture from our waitress about the integrity of Annie's sandwich. I have since decided that "integrity of the sandwich" just might be a great band name. We then hiked over to a park (sorry, Midwestern Annie, for all the pesky hills) before she had to be on her way. I love blogfriends.
That night Nordic Boy and I went to see a dance show. One of the pieces we saw was Glass Pieces, which I have wanted to see live, full out ever since I was about 13 years old. And man oh man was it worth the wait. Jerome Robbins and Phillip Glass and super costumes and staging and sweet ass dancing. I was kind of high after I saw it. And can I just tell you how much I love that Nordic Boy dude, because he enjoys this stuff, and really gets it, and has come to so many shows with me over the years that he has developed a good eye and vocabulary about it all? I love all of my friends and family but I have got to say that the dance part of my brain can get awful lonely at times. It sort of hurts on a level that I can't quite explain. So there was a moment during the show where a particularly breathtaking piece of choreography happened, and Nordic Boy squeezed my hand, and it made me want to cry, in a good way. He not only was there, but he was enjoying it, and paying attention, and knew enough to see what I was seeing, and share that with me. Swoony.
On Sunday morning I met up with some lovely librarian ladies for brunch where ok, yes, we talked about work, but we talked about other things too. Hopscotch brought along her little baby cutie pie so we got some time in staring at him, which honestly I could do all day long. The cuteness on that kid would stop a train, I tell you.
After that I stopped over at Delium's house, where he hand delivered me a postcard that he wrote me while he was in Italy last week. Never let it be said that that man won't save money on postage. Then Biogirl and I went on a field trip to the burbs where we got lost in a mall parking lot. And then we got lost in a mall. Both Biogirl and I have a good sense of direction, but there is something about this particular place that makes us lose all sense of where we are. Luckily, we made it out alive.
Then Nordic Boy and I went to the recycling station at the local dump, as we sometimes do on a Sunday. Biogirl pointed out that this just might be the closest thing our family has to Sunday worship. Recycling at the dump. Amen.
Then Nordic Boy and I went to the mall (two different malls in ONE DAY, people. I am not a mall person, so this was truly spectacular). And, as we were walking through Nordstrom, Nordic Boy asked me if I was still having trouble finding a good pair of boots. To which I said YES, and also that I am breaking up with the boot industry for now. He then asked me where I had looked for boots, and I listed off every shoe store known to humanity, including online. Also including Nordstrom, where we were standing. And then, this happened.
Him: So you couldn't find anything at ANY of those places?
Me: Nope.
Him: Wow. That's a lot of places. You really looked in every one of those places?
Me: SCOURED.
Him: So you're just going to be bootless for now?
Me: I guess. I literally have perused every boot on earth.
Him: Well, I don't know. What about those?
And he pointed at this pair of boots. Right there in front of us. AND THEY WERE LOVELY.
Me: Wait, but, how?
Him: Those are cool, right?
Me: But! Wait, those were not here when I looked last week! Nor were they on the website! Where did they come from?
Him: I don't know. But I think you should try them on.
So I did, and they rocked, and I got them. Because Nordic Boy is apparently the Shoe Whisperer.
Sunday evening was spent on the couch watching tivo'd episodes of Stewart and Colbert. While eating my birthday cookies. And thinking about my new boots. That I bought with my birthday money. None of which I had to organize or orchestrate myself.
Monday night Nordic Boy came home with a present for me.
For a long time, I wasn't the slightest bit interested in trying an e-reader, mostly because in the beginning of e-reader-ness the only option was to buy books, never borrow. Don't get me wrong, I am not anti-book-buying, but being a librarian and all, I also am a huge fan of the borrowing. I am not precious about owning books as objects for myself for the most part, and plus I am a full on cheapskate, so put that all together with the fact that I work for a huge library system where I can read to my heart's content without committing the dolla dolla bills, ya'll, and you have a pertty solid no thanks, Mr. Bezos.
When e-readers started coming out that offered the option of buying or borrowing, it made me more interested, but still. I didn't know if it was for me.
Um, you guys? IT IS SO FOR ME.
I like many things about it, but what I like the most is that I can carry eleventy grillion books around with me in my purse without herniating my groin. I read multiple books at a time, and deciding which one gets the honor of going in my purse with me is a thing of the past. I also enjoy the fact that the screen is not a light-up screen like a computer. It treats my eyes just like print, so I don't get that fatigued computer face after a long bout of reading. And also, I can read a big heavy tome (I do TOO read tomes) in my bed and not get arm cramps from holding the dang book up.
I am realizing most of my reasons for loving this involve sheer physical laziness on my part.
I have heard people say that some people love books. The physical object. They love the binding, the papery smell, the eventual wearing down of pages. And that other people just love reading. On the computer, in a book, on a stone tablet, it doesn't matter. And then there are people along the spectrum in between. I never knew where I fell in this continuum exactly, and I still don't. What I do know is that I am not feeling monogamy for the codex.
I have a saucy lover on the side, and its name is Nook. And I am totally hot to trot for it right now.
There were many things that made me frown, cringe, and feel slightly nauseated in the past few days. Rather than share those things, I shall share some things that made me smile.
Seattle Food Truck boom
The city of Seattle has made food distribution easier to do and thus, food trucks and food carts are flourishing. Gourmet ice cream, hotdogs, taco trucks, doughnut trucks, burgers, pizza, fish and chips, thai food, and more, all on wheels.
Country in the city
Last Friday night Nordic Boy and I took a hike around our city for over two hours, and at several points found ourselves in parks that seemed far, far away from any concrete and steel, even though we were steps away from it all the time.
Urban Craft Uprising
A gathering of artists who get together and sell their wares. It was heaven. I made a bunch of scores when I went this year, not the least of which was this cool shrinky dink mustachio necklace (look for it in the etsy shop called Passion Flower). While wearing it, you can even lift it up to your upper lip and it fits most faces perfectly. You know, in case you need a disguise at an unexpected moment.
Voicemail Songwriter Improv
I have friends who call me up and when I don't pick up, don't do anything other than sing a crazy song they made up, and then hang up. You know who you are, and I LOVE YOU.
Coming home
Walking in my front door at the end of my work day is among the best feelings in the world. But before I get to the front door, I walk up my front stoop, and then step onto my porch, and in that few seconds, I get a glimpse through my front window. Sometimes Nordic Boy is reading in there, sometimes he's in the kitchen whipping something up. But looking in my window, I know he's there somewhere and it's pretty rad.
Friday night Nordic Boy and I went over to meet our new friend, Baby Soggy-Awesome (and how much of a happy accident is it that my friends' bloggy names hyphenate in just that way?). He was too cute for words and had the biggest eyes I have ever seen for a three-day-old. Huge gorgeous peepers giving me the most adorable staredown, just really. And also, the cutest squeaky noises ever. Cute, cute, cute. Baby Mama and Baby Daddy were both doing great and surprisingly spry considering the new babyness of it all. The perfection running amok in that family, I tell you.
I really don't know how to segue from that topic into any other in my life because nothing else that happened over the weekend could really warrant being in the same post as Baby Soggy-Awesome. New baby! And um, I did a bunch of laundry too! Come on, it's kind of all downhill from here, let's face it.
Still, I shall soldier onward.
About a decade ago (woo-doggy does that time frame make me feel old) Nordic Boy and I bought our first ever brand new car. It was a Saturn. Why did we buy a Saturn, of all things? If you may recall, back in the ye olden days when they still made Saturns, one of the big selling points was that they had a no dicker sticker policy. The price of the car was the price of the car, no haggling expected or allowed. This was a big enough selling point for us in our youth, being the new-car-buying 'fraidy cats we were. The knowledge of no dickering (dirty) was enough to get our business.
We got along for a few years with our Saturn, who I lovingly named Conrad. I named our car Conrad for three reasons.
(A) I always thought it sexist that cars and boats and such were always feminized ("that Corvette, she's a beaut!"), so I had a policy whereby I always named inanimate objects male names, you know, just to even the score a little bit. I have eased up on this policy since I don't tend to name things as much anymore, but it rears its head when necessary, as when we installed our kitchen Lazy Susan, which I stubbornly refer to as Lazy Nigel).
(B) I was in school then and was writing lots of papers on Joseph Conrad, who I had a love/hate relationship with, and who was on my mind a lot.
(C) The Saturn was red, and was the first co-purchase Nordic Boy and I ever made together, and both of these facts had, I decided, vaguely Commie undertones. A communal car? And a red one at that? Definitely Commie. And therefore, Conrad sort of sounds like "comrade."
The inner workings of my mind, ladies and gentlemen. It's a wonder I can manage to dress myself each morning, it's true.
So Conrad has been with us for many years. Nordic Boy used him mostly, for work, and I was more of a bus rider. Then when I was done with all my consarned book learning and got my librarian gig, wherein I have to often be at multiple locations within the span of one work day (as does Nordic Boy), we graduated to being a two-car family with the introduction of our Prius.
The Saturn had started to wear down a bunch this year. I really wanted to replace it with a Smart Car. Nordic Boy really wanted a little truck. In fact, Nordic Boy sees little trucks around town and looks at them with a silent yearning as if his uterus is tugging at him. He has never said anything about this because I think he knows that my opinion of trucks is YICK. I find them big and burly and not pretty. And you know how I feel about the pretty. No matter that he actually has to use a truck for work and home stuff quite often and so we end up spending money on renting trucks. Trucks, I think, have made me make Nina Garcia faces.
Anyway, to make a long story short, I had started to think about my silent disdain for trucks, and matching that up with his silent yearning. And I came to the conclusion that I need to stop being a silent pain in the ass. Nordic Boy doesn't have many yearnings for things. But this time he does. So stop with the Nina Garcia stuff, me.
So, this weekend, we bought him a truck. And he is so friggin' happy about it that it makes me happy too. I actually love that truck now. Weird.
Note to self: whenever you can stop being a pain in the ass, then stop it. It'll just work out better that way. Ok then.
Oh, and PS, remember how when we were young and dewey, how we were so afeared of the car dealer that we based our entire decision on what to buy on the no dicker sticker thing? Well, times have changed. Nordic Boy used his non-assholey bossy voice at the dealer and got them to knock $2500 smackers off of the price, plus they bought our Saturn from us for over the Blue Book value. We are definitely grown ups now: BRING ON THE DICKER. BOOYAH.
Most days, work is pretty cool. I like my job and I feel a lot of pride in what I do. It's intellectually stimulating, and it fulfills my do-gooder needs, and really, it's great. But yesterday? Yesterday was heinous. Yesterday I had to deal with glamorous things that boss ladies get to deal with such as public toilets that explode and library patrons that want to get in fights and various other things that don't feel intellectually stimulating nor do-gooding in any way.
So after my work day was done, all I could think of was to get home, take some ibuprofen, take a hot shower and get into my pjs. Which is just what I did. When I got done and was all towel-turbaned-wet-hair-on-the-couch-under-a-blankie jimjammed up, I realized that I was supposed to stop on the way home from work and pick up orange juice and toilet paper. The orange juice probably could wait, but we were down to 10 sheets of buttpaper which everyone knows is code red for household emergencies. But the blankie! And the jimjams!
I called Nordic Boy and left him a message, which was totally a baby whiny copout thing to do since he was already working late and fighting traffic. But he didn't pick up, and so I figured he was already on the road and it was too late to catch him. Phooey.
Next thing? I called Biogirl. Oh yes. I called my friend who doesn't even live with me and whose responsibility in doing my household chores for me is exactly to the tune of BUT NOT AT ALL and asked her if she would buy my toilet paper for me. And she said yes.
Her = Nobel Prize for friendship. Me = Seriously. What the hell?
Soon after, Nordic Boy showed up. With a huge honking pack of toilet paper. Turns out he got the message. Not two minutes after that, Biogirl shows up, also with lots o' toilet paper.
All because I had spent the evening calling my loved ones and demanding toilet paper from them from my towel-turbaned throne. It was like Halloween, except instead of people getting things for showing up at my house, they brought me stuff. And instead of it being candy, it was tushie tissue. Ok, so it's not like Halloween at all.
Moral of the story? I am awesome. Also, if you have any toilet paper needs, I am your lady, because I am fully stocked.
So hey, guess what happened this weekend? A nice group of delivery people brought us a brand new dishwasher! Right to our doorstep!
(Well, we had ordered it and paid for it and such, so it wasn't exactly a surprise, but still, we did a pantomimed maypole style dance in our living room when the delivery truck pulled in just the same).
We were extra excited about the delivery because we have never had a dishwasher before. Well, Nordic Boy did once in an apartment back when we first knew each other. And I had one at my parents' house (or rather, as they no doubt would point out if they were reading this, THEY had one which I used). Nordic Boy did not grow up with a dishwasher present. Hence the disproportionate excitement over a dishwasher. I remember when I was a kid and I would stay home sick from school, I would always watch the Price is Right. And whenever Bob Barker would unveil the first Showcase in the Showcase Showdown and it contained something like a dishwasher or a fancy fridge or something, I would always scream out "PASS! You have to pass!" Because we all knew that the second Showcase was going to be a trip to Bora Bora or something. And when faced with the promise of a trip to Bora Bora, who would want something dull like a dishwasher?
This was long before I knew better. I'm not saying I wouldn't still pass so that I could have a chance to go to Bora Bora. But I would have to think about it. What an old fart I have become.
Nordic Boy got down on the floor and did some alchemy on the thing, whereby borg-style hoses were attached and water supply and drainage were encouraged, and other dishwasher midwifery was performed, and one hour later? Automated dishwashing. EASY PEASY.
I tell you we took a flying leap right up to the 1950s with that purchase. We feel downright UPDATED.
As soon as the dishwasher was installed, we loaded it up (because of course we didn't do dishes the day before just so that we would have a load ready) and started it. Then I put a load of laundry that had been washing into the dryer. Then our Roomba started up. Then we opened up our windows (oh spring, I love you) and conked out on the couch. It was as if we had to punctuate the fact that our housework was getting done in an automated fashion by sleeping through the whole thing. We are lazy! And we have things that will clean up after us! And we love it!
Now if only we could get a robot to cook our meals for us. Someone get that whole cylon thing started already.
Hey, in all the bird-pooping hullabaloo that went on last week, I forgot to tell you that blog friend Annie from Madison came out to Seattle last week for a librarian shindig (or training, if you want to be technical) and she came to see me at my liberry and then we went out and had a nice meal and did I mention that blog friends are awesome? She was just as nice and funny and sweet as could be. And I managed to not make a fool out of myself by falling down or having a booger flap out of my nose or any of those other pesky things that could happen to me when I am in the flesh. So in terms of blog friends, I must now brag that I am holding strong at 100% awesome people.
Also in the 100% awesome camp: my weekend. The Spring Fakeout continues and I made it through an entire weekend without being a turd target for my local avian populations (or any other populations, just to be clear), so that's a positive start right there. That's one good thing about being crapped on: any other moment in your life you can congratulate yourself that you are not being crapped on currently. Like right now, as I type this? Not being pooped on. Score.
In other news, Nordic Boy and I went and ordered us up a new kitchen faucet this weekend. I don't know what it is about us, but whenever we need to buy anything for our house, and I mean ANYTHING, we always have to go through this rigmarole to special order it. We never, ever, pick out an item that is on the shelf, or in stock. We don't try to be difficult, but apparently we just are difficult by nature. (A companion band to Naughty By Nature, anyone? Nordic Boy and I headline as the emerging hip hop artists Difficult By Nature? To this I say: genius). Friday we went into the plumbing supply store and asked if they carry the faucet that we had picked out from the catalog. The manufacturer (Grohe) is one that this supplier advertises that they carry "the complete line of." They have a big display of every faucet you can think of. Except the one that we want. Of course. The salesperson goes on a long tangent trying to show us similar faucets. We, being the picky design bastards we are, don't want one LIKE the one we picked out. We want the one we picked out. He was annoyed with us, but he wrote our special order down and said that he would have to call around and see if he could get our part in from anyone in the state. In the whole state? Really? Yes, really. The guy says he will call us back later that afternoon. He takes our name, our number, and writes it all down.
He doesn't call back.
So we go in the next day and ask again. The person now helping us (a different guy) asks us who was helping us yesterday. We point out the person. And you know what that guy does? He looks us in the face and says he doesn't remember us.
Listen, I am not saying we are all that memorable. Like people who see us once have to remember. But he just saw us 24 hours ago, and argued with us about our faucet. It was a lengthy exchange. And now you don't remember us?
This is when Nordic Boy realizes that he can just order the dang thing hisself and we dropped and walked.
That'll teach you to not remember us. That is how Difficult By Nature rolls, holmes.
Speaking of gangster behavior (and please do not point out to me that internet ordering of Grohe fixtures cannot be found in the gangsta street code), somehow Nordic Boy and I have been ending our lights-out conversations at night with the following phrase: "Shut your face and go to sleep!" Somehow, this has become disproportionately funny to us. The lights go out, we talk a bit more, and then one of us will shout out "Shut your face and go to sleep!" and then we giggle a bit before drifting off to the see the sandman. Why, why is this funny? It is apropos of absolutely nothing, and I don't even know who started it. Still, I highly recommend it. It's so loving, is it not?
I totally skipped doing my annual new year meme thingamabob, didn't I? I tried to do it, but it just wasn't hitting me right this year. (And what the hell kind of phrase is that? "Hitting me right"? That just doesn't sound good, when you really think about it).
Instead, I'll just do a brain dump of what things strike me about the year of aught nine. Ready? Ok.
2009 was the year that:
1. ...was just all kinds of seasonal. Usually, Seattle is not known for seasonalitism. Rather, we are known for two kinds of sky: either grey or blue. And it's mostly grey that wins. But this year! Seasons! We started out with a jackload of snow and then an outburst of spring, which was followed by a glawrious summer wherein I wore skirts and bare legs to my heart's content for weeks and weeks and weeks on end and rediscovered the joy that is popsicles. This was followed by a particularly pretty fall and now we are back to the grey days of yore.
2. ...our house got prettier. Ever since we bought our house, we have been in home improvement land, which is not only a land that Nordic Boy has a passport to live in, but he is also the Prime Minister of. We bought a place that needed a lot of work. A lotta, lotta work, actually. The past two years have been years where we do home improvements that are sexy to Nordic Boy, but not to me. Insulation! New roof! Water drainage! New electrical! New pipes! All things that are totally necessary, to be sure, but not if you are me and you have a decidedly shallow side that needs placating. This year, we got to do some of the stuff that we both love, not just stuff that he loves. What does that mean? That means making things pretty. Oh how I love to make things pretty. And the centerpiece of this prettyfication? OUR NEW COUCH! Besides being pretty, I am a big fan of getting my cozy on, and this couch has revolutionized the cozy. It has the perfect ergonomics for reading (sitting or horizontal), chatting with pals, watching a movie, making out, and the napping on this couch should just be illegal, it is so delicious. Plus it is so, so pretty.
3. ...we got our new dual flush toilet so that when we do a crapsie, we can have flushing OPTIONS. Because there are so many choices in life, why not with flushing?
4. ...Alli spent literally an entire day looking for a plane ticket to come and visit me and Map's husband surprised her with a plane ticket to join in. The effort Alli and Map put in for little old me made me feel loved and thankful for my awesome friends.
5. ...a friend passed away in the saddest way I can think of. I still can't quite wrap my mind around it completely.
6. ...I spent a fun few days at Alli and Chris' house where they drove us around the entirety of Chicago with no questions asked and made Nordic Boy and me laugh until our guts ached. I love those two.
7. ...I met blog friends for the first time and they were all more awesome than I could have hoped for. I mean, really, I was just hoping that they didn't smell bad or want to kill me or anything like that, and then they went and showed me up by being way cooler than I could have wished for.
8. ...my friend Hopscotch got knocked up and made me squeal with the excitement of it while I was at work. And I am not even a squealy type girl. But for her? Squeeeee!
9. ...I went to see lots of plays and ballets and dance shows. Thank you, job, for allowing me the cashola to do that.
10. ...I sang karaoke and scared my friends with my, um, enthusiasm.
11. ...we inaugurated a Vulcan fly-swatter as President of the You Nighted States.
12. ... I met the newly-born H and J's baby girl who is just a cutey and a half.
13. ... I shopped once again for a winter coat and rain appropriate shoes. FAIL.
14. ... I saw my BFF take a shit sandwich and turn it into a cherry pie. It's amazing to watch someone just be happier, and funnier, and more awesome by the minute. And she did that. And I got to see it.
15. ...I leapt into the 21st century via owning an iPhone. And eating pancakes out of a spray can.
Overall, I think that 2009 sucked for a lot of people. For me, it was a pretty good year. I had some work pressure, and some extended-family-type pressure, and some other various pressures, but I managed to not sweat it too much. I mean, I did sweat it some, but just the appropriate amount of sweatage. I then got back to more important things like doing silly dances and making up crazy songs, hanging out with my homies who always treat me with kindness, and hugging on my loverman until his eyes bug out. Priorities, dontcha know.
Happy New Year, everyone. I hope your 2009 didn't hurt too much and that 2010 kisses you right on the mouth.
