5 Other Lives
One of my assignments from The Artist’s Way Toolkit was to write down what I would do if I had five other lives to lead. Here’s what I came up with. I’m guessing four of them would require that I spend less time watching J.J. Abrams’ and Joss Whedon’s shows, which is a lot of what I’ve done with my present life. Regardless, here we go with my five other lives. (Should you have other lives of your own planned, I’d love to hear about them. As I’m currently obsessed with Fringe, I fully admit that I spend too much time wondering what alternate Laurel does with herself.)
1. Soap Star
This has been one of my fantasies for years. As a soap opera star, I would preferably be attached to a large family in town and constantly embroiled in love triangles. I would also like to be part of a supercouple, but get married tons of times so that I could put on all the different dresses. Ideally, I would play identical twins on General Hospital. One would be a do-gooding doctor at, where else, General Hospital. The other would be a mob princess.
2. Criminal Profiler
Some people armchair quarterback; I armchair crime solve. I would love to work for the FBI in a way that I would never get shot at. (Pursuits, shooting and possible death really don’t appeal to me.) I’m also aware that “criminal profiler” is not an actual job title. Seriously, if you go to the FBI’s job postings there’s an entire page dedicated to the fact that “Criminal Profiler” is not a position and that despite the popularity of Criminal Minds, that career path does not exist. I knew a lot of people watched Criminal Minds, but I had no idea so many people asked the FBI about it that they had to build a web disclaimer. Fascinating. I'd love to try and solve crimes/find the missing pieces of the puzzle while also trying to discover the whys of it all.
3. College Professor
In this scenario, the scene opens on a some small liberal arts college in New England just before Winter break. Snow is falling. Coeds run around excited about heading home for the holidays and nervous about exams. I walk through the quad in fashionable tweed with piles of papers in my arms before heading back to the big old home with a wrap-around porch that I share with my husband and tons of way too-wise-for-their-years kids. For the sake of the fantasy, we ignore the fact that I disdain snow and tend to have trouble talking to large groups of people under the age of 20.
4. TV Writer
If I'd had more guts when I was younger, I would have loved to have seen what I could accomplish as a television writer. Reading Mindy Kaling's book made me very jealous. (She started writing for The Office at 24, people. 24! I was writing post-it notes at 24.) I think it would have been interesting to explore the Hollywood world from the writing perspective. Again, for the sake of fantasy, we have to ingore the fact that L.A. traffic would do me in within a week.
5. Wealthy Hermit
In my fifth life, I'd just be independently wealthy. I'd always be in beautiful clothes, go back and forth between my impeccable homes, eat amazing food and travel the world. In this life, I think I could keep the J.J. Abrams and Joss Whedon shows. Only, I'd do it without the guilt I feel in thinking I should be doing something else. And better snacks.
Discount Directions
I love some discount shopping. When I can find a light-up skeleton at Walgreen's for $5.99, I'm a happy girl. (And some people think I'm difficult to please ...)
The obvious perk of discount shopping is the low prices because, let's face it, it's not like you're really paying for much else. Organization? Not so much, but if I said I didn't enjoy digging through piles off-brand sweat pants for the one pair without a spelling error, I'd be lying. Customer service? Very much depends. It's better not to ask questions if you can avoid it. Quality? My light-up skeleton is holding up well, but it's always a crap shoot.
A few weeks ago, I wasn't even offered bags for my merchandise as I picked up Halloween party decor. (This is probably punishment for not being more concious of my carbon footprint and carrying my own reusable totes everywhere, but there are times a girl forgets.) I placed my items on the counter (creepy burlap tie included because, well, it was there, and it was cheap) to check out; the woman working in the store scanned each item. Then she handed each item back to me to put in the cart sans bag. It was a little weird, but when you're at Garden Ridge, you roll with Garden Ridge.
Anyway, all of this is leads me to one of my favorite aspects of the bargain-loving lifestyle -- incoherent instructions. If you're buying way, way below retail, it's generally accepted that you're going to have to figure out how everything works by yourself, and I'm fine with that. It's usually when directions are included that things get a little fuzzier. For example:
If I hadn't know what I bought, this would be confusing as all get out. (And am I crazy, or does this look a little bit dirty? Gross, maybe?)
The next set of guidelines I found included written instructions that were in English, not as common as you would think, but I still found the drawings disturbing.
There's something really icky about this one to me -- and, yes, I also think this looks dirty; go ahead and judge me. (I don't deal well with things that look disjointed or bulbous. It's a thing.) I'm also unsure as to why it is necessary to tell me to "watch the set eerie glow." If the goal was to be creeped out on Halloween, I succeeded only by opening the box on this one.
Would you have ever guessed that the first set of directions go with this light-up Zombie? (I never said I shopped for normal stuff.)
Yes, that drawing depicts an arm clutching a beating heart on a cord. Our second set of directions actually shows this:
Because, you know, why draw the hand from the front -- where it actually looks like a hand -- when you can draw it from the side?
In retrospect, I'm not really sure the problem is with where I'm shopping so much as it is with what I'm shopping for, but I'm going to save self-reflection for another day.
Happy Halloween!
5 Of My Favorite SNL Characters
I've been watching Saturday Night Live since the fifth grade. (The cool kids were watching it, therefore I had to watch it. I also liked watching L.A. Law. I guess you can say my tv tastes haven't changed that much in 20 years.) Back then, the biggest challenge was staying up late enough to see all of SNL. I considered it a win if I made it to the first musical number.
Collectively, our class liked SNL so much that, inspired by the political humor of the show, we put on a sketch at Christmas based on the trial of Sadaam Hussein. (It was 1990. We were very topical.) Each class performed a skit at the holidays. I don't know why, but it was fun. I played Nancy Reagan in the trial. It wasn't long after the Reagan years, and we had to have a role for every student, so it seemed appropriate. I wore a red jacket and had one line when I took my place in front of the entire upper school, "Just say no to drugs."
I think that kind of characterization isn't bad for 11-year-olds.
A little while later -- I can't remember if it was 6th or 7th grade -- we put on a Christmas skit that included impersonations of all of our favorite SNL characters. The copy guy (Rob Schneider) was there, and I'm pretty sure I played Pat. There was a lot of stuffing involved.
I could regale you with tales of other sketches and plays my friends and I put on throughout the years -- including a rainy day summer camp performance that involved a fake exercise video for tools to increase your bust -- but I'm not sure I could maintain anyone's attention long enough to get through all of those. I think the overall point is this: I've always had a flair for the dramatic (surprise, surprise), and I've always appreciated the funny.
No matter what kind of year SNL is having, I always enjoy watching it. It's hard to be funny for an hour and a half week after week. I don't expect every skit to be gold, and considering the constraints on the writers and performers, I'm amazed at whay they put out each episode In light of that, here are a few of my top characters from throughout the years. (Like I said, it's "a few" because it's not so easy to narrow down decades of sketch comedy.)
5. The Church Lady
[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lX8jo8wIIaU]The Church Lady began my love affair with Saturday Night Live. (As well as my conviction that I could do impressions, which is not true but did not stop me from saying "Satan"with a head tilt whenever I got the chance.) For the sake of full disclosure, I also like The Master of Disguise, so judge my humor recommendations as you will.
4. Sarah Palin
Tina Fey, and "I can see Russia from my house." Do I really need to say more? As my earlier allusion to fifth grade would suggest, I love some political humor. Most SNL "politicians" crack me up, but if I had to pick a favorite, this would be it. I only regret that we had to get the real Sarah Palin for this sake of this masterful impersonation.
3. Pat
Again going back to where it all began, it seems unfair not to include Pat on my list. Has androgeny ever been so funny? Or disturbing?
2. Get Off The Shed Guy
Is there anything quite like the barely suppressed rage of the suburbs? I vote "no." Wether Will Ferrell is demanding his kids "get off the shed" or adamant that he "drives a Dodge Stratus," I am beyond amused.
1. Penelope
[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lX8jo8wIIaU]
I find few things more amusing than one-upping, so can it really can't be a surprise that Kristen Wiig's one-upping Penelope tops my list of SNL characters. I realize Penelope is a total love her or hate her character, but clearly I love her. Not only do I find her hilarious, but she has renewed my conviction that I can -- and I will, dammit -- do impersonations. Who wants to see me twirl my hair while I talk about having invented the Internet, master minded all Google search capabilities and come out with the world's first ever blog?
What A Difference A Vowel Makes
Is it Spanish, spinach or some combination thereof?
I don't know, and for $2.99, I'm not willing to find out.
A Town Not Big Enough For The Both Of Us
I have a Kindle Fire. (It’s hardly big news, but all stories haveto start somewhere.) I think the SO expected me to use my Kindle Fire to readall the time, get into RSS feeds, keep up with news from all over the web,etc., etc. Instead, I quickly developed an addiction for Bejeweled.
(“Addiction” isn’t an exaggeration here. When I findsomething new, it’s all I want to do. So far, the only thing this particularpersonality trait has done for me is allow me to get through lots of episodesof television in a short period of time. I might need to work on my concept of“purpose.”)
When I was done with Bejeweled, I moved on to various hiddenobjects/puzzle games. (I am a complete nerd.) However, it was hard to findanything that gave me the same satisfaction as Bejeweled – until I discoveredThe Oregon Trail.
Unlike The Oregon Trail of my youth, which involved way toomuch dysentary and fording of rivers, The Oregon Trail app lets you build atown out West and make it prosper. You get to build houses, businesses, addlivestock, plant crops … basically, a lot of incredibly boring stuff designedfor 10-year-olds that I seem to find fascinating.
To say that I got into my town would be an understatementakin to saying that the Amy Poehler/Will Arnett split was mildly upsetting. (Ifthose two can’t make it work, I don’t know if the rest of us have a chance.Can’t they stay together for America? Seriously.)
I worked on my town all the time. I cleared all the landpossible to clear. I built mansions. I had every business available, includingthe special edition town hall and a prospecting cart. I occasionally ignored myboyfriend for my town.
“Something, something, something,” SO says.
“Yeah, sounds good,” I’d say while staring down at my KindleFire.
“Something, something, something.”
“Uh-huh,” I’d say, while thinking, “If I can just collectfrom the big log cabins two more times, I can add another telegraph office.”
“It’s your town again, isn’t it?”
“Huh?” (Thinking: “How did I run out of energy so quickly?”)
“That’s what I thought.”
I made it to level 91 on The Oregon Trail. I don’t think anysane person is supposed to do that. I had a $1,000,000 fake dollars stored inmy Trail bank account. I was out of control.
Then, my Kindle Fire died. It stopped holding a charge, andI had to ship it back to Amazon headquarters. Was I worried about my books ormy many, many apps? No. I was worried about my town. What would happen to myprogress? What would become of my houses and the black sheep I won? (You can’tpurchase a black sheep. You can only win one. I’m sure you can all see mydilemma.)
Well, sure enough, when the new Kindle Fire arrived, therewas no town, and that’s when the SO and I had a talk I’m sure every couple hasat some point in their relationship.
“Well, it’s gone,” I said.
“I know that meant a lot to you?” the SO said.
“It’s all gone.”
“I’m sorry?”
“And you know what,” I said. “I don’t think I’m going torebuild. It was a good run, but I just don’t think I have the energy to gothrough it again.”
I’d tell you what the SO said next, but I couldn’t understandhim through the explosion of laughter.
The Newest Member Of The Family
This is the newest member of the household, Gilly (a.k.a. the Gilly monster). She's decided she's not a fan of the flash on my camera, hence the closed eyes.
Yes, she is named for this Gilly.
There are three primary reasons for this:
1. My great, great love of Kristen Wiig. Even if this is one of her less popular characters, I'm still a fan.
2. Both Gillys have similar unruly hair.
3. When we discipline Gilly, the SO and I can do Will Forte impressions.
Paging Pity, Party Of One
So, I’m having one of those days. It’s not like anythingterrible has happened, but my self-esteem just isn’t quite where it should be,and I’m a tad irritable. (If yelling at your car door for opening too wide inthe Lowe’s parking lot can count as “a tad.”) I would love to be one of thosepeaceful, Zen-like people who can recognize how small their own problems are,anticipate the light ahead and enjoy the journey, but well, let’s be honesthere. It’s me.
Since I have this lovely forum known as my blog, I thoughtI’d run through the current causes of myI’m-never-leaving-the-house-again-or-changing-out-of-these-sweatpants-state*:
- ThatI’m not one of those peaceful, Zen-like people who can just go along for theride. Those people seem extremely lovable, good at yoga and capable of sittingstill for longer than five minutes because of what I’m sure are their valuableand renewing daily meditations. They have probably never played a game ofSpider Solitaire for hours on end. I bet they even like how tea tastes.
- Oneday after buying what can only be described as a s&%$ ton of AA batteriesbecause of a buy one, get one free sale, the only batteries I need are AAAs.(These AAAs are for my Slender Tone belt. Yes, I know it doesn’t work, but Iwear it anyway and pretend that I’m doing something. I bought it on Ebay a few days after New Year’s becausethat’s my version of a “get in better shape” resolution.)
- Noneof my pants fit. (Please see note about Slender Tone belt in #2.)
- Mybangs aren’t behaving properly. This, too, is my own fault for thinking I couldtrim them myself. In this instance, “behaving” = “not being long enough.” (Iffor any reason my stylist is reading this, I know. I know. Also, I would liketo add “patience” to the list of qualities I wish I possessed in #1.)
- Netflixhas yet to add season two of Portlandia to its line-up. I can only assume thisis a) part of some sort of grand conspiracy on the part of Netflix to drive meinsane or b) because season two isn’t available yet. Regardless of the reason,I feel like some Fred Armisen would lighten the mood right now.
- Iordered an item off of Ebay without reading the shipping cost, because youknow, seeing as how the item is the size of my hand and in the continentalUnited States, I thought shipping would be reasonable. I was wrong. It’s $40.$40! The seller claims that’s why the item was priced so low. (Diabolicallybrilliant?) I feel kind of cheated here, seeing as how the item itself cost$1.27 more than the shipping. However, since the shipping price was listedbefore the auction ended, we return to the fact that I can only blame myselffor this one.
- Well,there isn’t really a number seven, so a normal person would end this list atsix, but seeing as how I think lists should come in threes, fives, sevens ortens, I just don’t think I can do it. Neurotic much? Yes.
And there you have it. Thank you wonderful reader for putting up with my gripes. Please add your own to thecomments. As I’m being petty, I feel I should invite others to join me. We canall start on that Zen thing on Monday.
* I mean, the sweatpants havepockets. Do I really need to say more?
My Bumper Sticker And Anthropologie: A Lesson In Courage
When I find an article of clothing that I like, I tend tobuy it in at least two colors. My more frugal sister thinks that this is crazy,but I figure that if you find something you like, you might as well have morethan one. Who knows when you’ll find something you like as much again? What ifsomething happens to the first one, and then you’ve lost your favorite shirt? Ithink I’m being practical, but I also think Tina Fey and I would be besties ifonly we ever met, so take that for what you will.
A few weeks ago, a friend and I were out running someerrands. I had on my relatively standard uniform of black flip flops and blackyoga pants as well as a new shirt from Anthropologie that I thought was soadorable and comfy. (So adorable and comfy that I bought it in two colors. I’dprobably have it in three if they hadn’t gone off sale. It’s called the slouchshirt. I wasn’t going to read into that.)
After driving around for a bit, I realized I hadn’t had mymorning Diet Coke (yes, morning), and I decided to pull into the gas station.My friend said that she wanted a Diet Coke, too.
I stepped into the store and picked up two Diet Cokes and aPowerade for good measure. (You can never be too hydrated on questionablebeverages.)
“You’re very brave,” said the clerk.
“Huh?” I said, looking down at my hands and assuming he wasconcerned about how much sugar and Nutrasweet I was willing to put in my body. “Brave”also seemed like an odd word choice since I was shopping at the mini-mart, andthat mini-mart was not in Pakistan.
“You’re very brave,” he said. “Your bumper sticker.”
That’s when I realized that he was referring to my Obamasticker.
In my neck of the woods, you don’t see too many Obamastickers. I think there are more leftover “W” stickers on cars than Obama/Bidenpronouncements. It’s probably one of the reasons I decided to go with thebumper sticker. I am usually very anti-bumper sticker simply because I’m toolazy to use Goo Gone, but I got tired of everyone making assumptions about mypolitical leanings. Plus, I like for visitors to know that not everyone inAlabama is conservative. We have diversity in our politics just like any otherstate.
“You don’t see too many of those around here,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said, really not sure what the appropriateresponse to that comment would be.
I left the store, got back in my car and gave my friend herDiet Coke. Since I had heard some of the comments about her Obama/Biden stickerfrom the 2008 race, I thought she’d enjoy my story. “I just had the weirdestencounter,” I said.
“What happened?” she said.
“The guy told me I was brave,” I said.
“Because you wore that shirt?”
Maybe I was a little too zealous in my love of the slouchshirt after all. Hopefully, my friend will like it better in blue.
Book Review: Trust Your Eyes
Trust Your Eyes by Linwood Barclay is a gripping thrillerwith engaging characters, an intriguing plot and a strong narrative voice.
Ray Kilbride returns home to the small town of Promise Fallsafter the death of his father. He is charged with overseeing his father’sestate and deciding the fate of his schizophrenic brother Thomas.
Thomas is obsessed with maps (obsessed is putting itmildly), and through his keen observation skills, uncovers what he believes tobe a murder. What unfolds is a story of political machinations, devious deedsand family.
The relationships between the characters are varied andcompelling. Brothers Ray and Thomas have what is obviously a complicatedrelationship and must learn how to communicate with one another without rippingeach other’s heads off in addition to navigating the perils of the crimethey’ve uncovered. A young woman desperate for money in New York City makespoor decisions that evoke both disgust and pity in the reader. Ray’s father’sfriends appear in a variety of roles with motives of their own for manipulatingRay and Thomas’ actions. And that’s only a fraction of the fascinating castthat rounds out this novel.
When I do read thrillers, I consider myself pretty adept atpredicting plot twists and finding the culprit, but Barclay throws in twistsuntil the very end that are unexpected without being implausible. I woulddefinitely recommend this to fans of mystery, suspense and crime novels. Ienjoyed it thoroughly.
This is a paid review for BlogHerBook Club but the opinions expressed are my own.
My Week In Hair Effort
OK kids, I'm not going to lie; it's been a long week. I'll write more about it later, but for now, I cannot begin to approach serious writing. I'm trying to tone down the crying outbursts for a bit. (I guess you know it's bad when people ask whether or not you have some Xanax on hand.) I'm very lucky in so many ways, and I know my problems are small in comparison to what a lot of people go through, but these have been some off days for me.
While the past seven days include such highlights as getting pulled over for the first time in a decade and an unexpected job change, by far the worst part has been that Cassidy is sick. Poor baby girl has been at the vet since Tuesday, and she'll probably have to stay through the weekend. She had surgery today, and I am not one who remains calm during these times.
Since I've already rearranged all the furniture in the house, begun a very misguided Pinterest project (I don't think t-shirts are meant to have a second act as rugs), organized the baby gifts I will be giving through January* and baked lots of bread (including some for the vet who seemed confused as to why I showed up on Wednesday with Cassidy's favorite foods, a toy and a loaf of Farl), I thought I'd work some more on my "visual storytelling."
And we all know how well that goes ...
* I decided most people would probably prefer to look at pictures of baby clothes than my so-far-from-completion t-shirt rug. The clothes are much cuter.
Mail Call
This is not a post about politics. This is a post about mistaken identity. If you’re going to get all worked up about politics, please save us both the headache and stop reading now.
I love to get the mail.* It’s like a daily dose of presents. I even enjoy catalogs, and I read Clipper magazine. (I’m not sure you can call that reading, but I flip through it and cut out restaurant coupons like I’m going to use them rather that just chucking it in the recycling bin straight away.) Of course, I’m human and don’t like bills, but sadly, there are days I’d take bills to an empty mailbox.
When we have to stop the mail while we’re out of town, and an entire week’s worth of postal goodies arrives at once, you’d think I’d won the lottery.
As long as I can remember, I’ve loved the mail. My sisters and I had to develop a schedule for collecting the mail because we were all equally excited about being the one to get it. Maybe we were strange children, or maybe we just knew how to appreciate the little things in life. I’m going to choose to believe the latter.
Summer camp was awesome because your parents pretty much had to send you letters and packages because they might risk ignoring the fact that you could be homesick or damaging your self-esteem by making you think they didn’t miss you.
I consider myself lucky now because the SO does not care about mail nearly as much as I do. I can check the mail every single day! (He can avoid the long walk down the driveway every single day. This may be the closest we get to a win/win.)
The best part about the mail, for me, is the unexpected. Again, this all comes back to bite me when it’s bill-related, but there’s nothing quite like a letter or package you didn’t know was on its way.
So, the other day when a big envelope arrived via mail for me, I was pretty pumped. Then I opened it up to discover, of all things, a picture of Mitt and Ann Romney.
This raises a lot of questions for me:
- What would I do with a photo of Mitt and Ann Romney? Even if I was a fan, would I frame it? Is it supposed to go in the office? Do I put it on Facebook? How does this photo factor into my life?
- The photo is a candid shot. Why, of all the choices one could make, would you decide to send out a candid photo of Mitt and Ann? Is it supposed to make them seem more relatable? Is it so I can lie and say I snapped the picture myself at a campaign event? The last I checked, Mitt was not so good with the candid moments -- is this a misstep or a way to make up for the “stiff” image?
- A letter** accompanied the photo thanking me for my loyalty to the Republican party. Who did the fact checking here? I am a registered democrat with an Obama sticker in my car (more on that later). I’m not one of those people who is independent or doesn’t sign up anywhere. I’m publicly affiliated, and it’s not with the Republican side. (OK, now that I've read the letter again, I realize I can answer #1. I'm supposed to put the photo in my home or office as a sign that I stand with Mitt and Ann.)
- The letter also said that if I liked the photo, I should consider paying for it. (It was more delicate than that, but I think we all know what I’m talking about, and I know both sides do it.) I understand the psychological principal of reciprocity, and it doesn’t work with me. I don’t pay for return address labels I didn’t ask for either. Also, since said letter attacks the liberal agenda, and if one references #3, I think it would be obvious why I’m not paying for this particular “gift.”
- Mr. Romney addressed me as Laurel Fain Mills. A lot of people know my middle name thanks to stuff like this here web address, but I feel like this narrows down the field of people who could have given the RNC my info into two categories a) my mortgage company or b) someone who likes to mess with me. Since the SO has not taken credit for this one yet, I feel like there could still be a prankster out there. If so, I’d love to know who you are. This was a good one, and I applaud you for it.
Obviously, the amount of time I’ve spent considering this subject is reason enough for why I find the mail so entertaining. I am easily amused, and now I’m easily amused with Romney memorabilia.
I can’t wait to see what’s waiting for me this afternoon.
* I should clarify that I love the mail as it is delivered to my home. I still don’t like going to the post office.
** For people who like random letters. (Download Mitt_romney)
Long Lost Post: An Open Letter To The Makers Of Diet Dr. Pepper
Originally published June 5, 2008:
Dear Liars The Makers of Dr. Pepper,
Usually, I am one of your biggest addicts fans. Initially, I was heart broken when my dentist insisted that for the love of God and the health of my already enamel-deficient teeth suggested I make the switch to diet cola. I thought it meant the end of taste. But, the first time I drank your product, I had to double check that someone hadn't started a party in my mouth and forgotten to send me an invitation. It was that good. In the words of my friend Susan, "Did you strike a deal with the devil for that recipe because that's one amazing soda?"
You say that Diet Dr. Pepper tastes just like regular Dr. Pepper, and it's true. You are one of the few companies I believe believed in. I wish I didn't have to put that last sentence in the past tense.
As a devotee of your product, I, of course, purchase Diet Dr. Pepper throughout the year, and therefore throughout a variety of sweepstakes seasons. I've seen you through many contests and promotional tie-ins. X-Men 2 in the summer of 2003? I was there. Superbowl ticket giveaways? Done that. With a fierce love of Harrison Ford and Shia LaBeouf, I actually looked forward to the Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull promotion this summer.
(On a side note to my main complaint, I do think it's pretty crappy to make "limited edition" cans, and then only have two kinds of cans, but I don't plan on hording ant/wasp attractants collecting this particular memorabilia anyway.)
All Dr. Pepper products associated with the Indiana Jones contest clearly state that "1 in 6 wins." To this claim, I must say, one in six my a$%.
Since your website is kind enough to keep track of how many codes I enter, I know for a fact that I put in nine codes without winning. Nine. "0 in 9" is a far, far cry from "1 in 6." Even if I look at the numbers upside down, it still doesn't add up.
Then, after all of the codes I have entered, it turns out that number 10 is a winner. (Again, still not within the confines of the original and promised six codes.) Yeah! I thought, I'm finally a winner! (The self-worth implications of said thought will have to be evaluated later.) I'm finally a winner, but what do I get? Is it a coupon? Maybe some Dr. Pepper gear? No, it's a screen saver. A screen saver. And it's an ugly screen saver at that. You're thinking that it might be fun to have Harrison Ford on the computer. So am I. Then I realize that my Indiana Jones screen saver is simply the title of the movie against a yellow background. The title of the movie. Against a yellow background. I didn't want a screen saver to begin with (I already have fish), and I certainly didn't want an ugly screen saver at that.
Maybe you think I'm being greedy. Maybe you think I expect to win some glorious trip to the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and meet Harrison Ford. I do not. All I really want is to win one freaking bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper. One 20 oz. bottle. Is that really so much to ask?
Of course, all this being said, I will still be addicted to in love with your product, so it's not that there's any real danger I will stop purchasing Diet Dr. Pepper or organize a boycott (sad but true, I come to you with only empty threats), but you have lost my trust. And trust is a lot harder to earn than brand loyalty.
Sincerely,
Laurel Mills
Disillusioned Diet Dr. Pepper Drinker*
* I now realize I might overuse the word "disillusioned."
Inappropriate With A Dash Of Bad Timing
I don’t always have the best timing. I tend to fall in love with new restaurants just before they go out of business, arrive at boutiques during the 30-minute window the owner has gone for lunch and discover listings for events two days after they happened.
Usually, my poor timing is just inconvenient. On other occasions, it’s downright awkward.
Last summer, I took in a cat that I found in the woods behind the SO’s house. You might remember her.* She was declawed, skinny and nearly hairless, so I gave her a name that I thought was befitting of the time we would be spending together trying to get her well.
At the time, the SO and I already had two dogs and a cat, and he made it clear we would not be adding to the menageries. (The SO has to draw the hard line on pets with me. Otherwise, we would have a zoo.) A couple of potential new homes for her fell through, and the days she was supposed to stay with me turned into weeks.
In the middle of July, after months of having my house on the market, I decided to rent it out. I placed the Craig’s List ad and expected for it to take some time. Instead, I had three couples ready to sign a lease within 48 hours. Not wanting to waste time, I decided to move out as fast as I could. This amped up moving schedule also meant that I needed to find a new foster home for my rescued kitty ASAP.
A very kind friend helped me find a foster family. All I had to do was run the cat to a particular vet for her second round of shots. (I mention this only so that my vet doesn’t think I was cheating on him. The other vet had a relationship with the animal rescue service.)
I didn’t realize the vet I was seeing required appointments, so I got there only to find out that they couldn’t see me for a few hours. I probably could have called first, but considering my aversion to the phone, I obviously didn’t. Not wanting to stress the cat out with too much travel, I left her with the vet’s office until I could come back for the appointment. Also, I had been keeping one of those plastic collars on the cat to help her hair grow back, but I decided to take it off for our vet visit.
When I came back and they handed me the cat, I saw that she had rubbed off the hair where she would have had eyebrows if cats had eyebrows. (That plastic collar wasn’t cruel after all for anyone who might have judged me.)
“What happened here?” I said.
“That’s pretty bad,” the veterinary assistant said. “Your cat might be a self-mutilator.”
“The cat might be a what?”
“A self-mutilator. It’s a type of anxiety disorder. It’s very rare, but it does happen.”
Thinking of the Xanax in my purse at the time, I knew you couldn’t give a cat an anxiety disorder, but I still felt kind of guilty. “An anxiety disorder?” I said.
“Have you noticed anything strange about her?”
I suppose I had been too distracted by her near-hairless state and love of rubbing up against my face to notice anything else.
“How much does the cat sleep?” she said.
At that moment, I realized that I never saw the cat sleep. I had been taking care of an anxiety-ridden, insomniac cat for four weeks and never noticed? Now my guilt was more akin to shame.
“Not much,” I said.
“Yep, it’s probably the anxiety,” she said. “We’ll just put her on some meds, and it should help out.”
After an examination by the vet, who confirmed the anxiety diagnosis, I took the cat’s prescription and was on my way. My next stop was to meet the cat’s new foster family in the parking lot of a local movie theater.
So, there I was, standing in the parking lot of a strip mall (most likely wearing yoga pants covered in dog hair and a torn t-shirt) with a self-mutilating cat and a bottle of kitty Prozac when the cat’s new foster parents got out of the car. I handed the cat over and told them all about our adventure at the vet.
“Thank you so much for helping me out. I really appreciate it,” I said. “Is there anything else I can tell you?”
“I think we’ve got it,” the woman said, “but what’s her name?”
“This is going to seem really inappropriate,” I said. It had been a big week in pop culture news. “But I’ve been calling her Amy Winehouse.”
"Ah."
(She was in rehab at my house. I thought it was fitting. Then Amy Winehouse died tragically, and even though the foster family was very kind about it, I still felt like an incredibly insensitive person. )
That day, I sent off a self-mutilating, anti-depressant-taking, nearly-hairless cat named Amy Winehouse to a new foster family three days after Amy Winehouse died.
It is a day that will forever be marked by shame.
*Amy Winehouse really is the name that stuck. I just never took to Buscemi. The above exchange actually happened.
Long Lost Post: Office Hazards
If I was to keep track of how much of my writing I'd lost due to my failure to save, Internet/computer crashes and not keeping personal copies of website assignments, I would cry. Daily. Luckily, thanks to services like waybackmachine, I can find some of what I've lost. (Not that I'm sure it's all worth saving.) With that in mind, here's something originally posted on May 12, 2008:
The disk drive to my computer is broken.
Well, I guess it's just kind of broken — it isn't completely non-functional. It still opens sporadically, there's just no guarantee as to how many times I'll have to push the keyboard button that makes it pop out before it opens. It could be three punches, and it could be twenty-seven.
(Incidentally, my computer also started making some really strange sounds on Tuesday, and without a MAC specialist, no one's been able to fix it yet. The noises are driving me somewhat insane — which one of the IT guys pointed out as "being a short trip" — and I whole-heartedly look forward to repairs being made and silence, glorious silence. I tell you this so that as you're reading your June issue of Lipstick, you'll know what I had to go through right at deadline. My life is so hard. What with my nice office, air conditioning and zero back-breaking physical labor, I have it rough.)
Also, in addition to pushing the keyboard button, I have to hold the little door down on the disk drive to get the CD-Rom slot to pop out. Now, the CD-Rom slot is made of plastic and probably weighs less than the magazine, yes? And it could hardly be said that the slot zooms out — it's not like there's a lot of speed behind it.
So, basically, the CD-Rom slot on my computer poses no threat to me whatsoever. And it's certainly not a striking snake or a sharp-bladed throwing star. If it hits my hand, it's won't even leave a pink mark. Yet, every single time I open my computer's disk drive, I jerk my hand backwards when I hear the CD-Rom slot start to move.
What is up with that? I mean, I know I'm a wimp (you can ask several doctors who've tried to approach me with needles and my high school soccer coach about that one), but this is pretty ridiculous, even for me.
Plus, I open my disk drive all the time. You'd think that all the times it doesn't hurt me would have conditioned me into less-spastic behavior. But no. It hasn't happened yet.
Anyone out there have some irrational fears or strange habits to make me feel better?
Current Signs Of My Internet Addiction*
1. I don't just visit People.com too frequently, I hit refresh when I'm on People.com because I feel that strong a need for the latest info on the Robert Pattinson/Kristen Stewart cheating scandal. Not only do I not know Robert Pattinson or Kristen Stewart, I don't even like the Twilight movies.
2. I begin most of my sentences with, "Well, on Pinterest ..." When I'm not on Pinterest, I'm doing fun things like pasting wallpaper to the side of an old dresser, making concoctions with shredded chicken from the crock pot and removing the den doors. (Yes, I physically took down the doors to the den.) Last night, I washed banana out of my hair after reading about homemade hair masks on, what else, Pinterest.
3. Perhaps of greatest concern, I'm newly obsessed with memes. (At present, my favorites are "drunk" Irish baby and "Just describe your lunch to me!") I Googled how to put text on images in Photoshop. A lot of my evenings involve finding photos of the dogs, putting phrases on them and emailing said photos to the SO who is all of two feet away on the couch. If he doesn't pick up his iPhone in the evening, it's most likely my fault because he's tired of getting a notifcation when I send him Carat and Cassidy memes. I should also mention that I'm not good at this.
I'd say that I should find a hobby, but I think that was my original intention with Pinterest ...
* "Current signs" because it's not like this is a new phenomenon.
Disillusioned DIY: 4 Fun Pinterest Projects & 1 Craft To Avoid
I have a Pinterest problem. It's not like I really needed another reason to be on the Internet, but the universe still gave me one. It has made me want to cook a lot more, but my house is also starting to look like a bizarre "trash to treasure" experiment gone mad.
Since I don't volunteer or help the community in other ways, I thought I could at least help someone out there from drowning in pins and boards. Here are a few of my successes and failures in the DIY realm*:
I had a hard time believing this bread was actually going to turn out, but it did. I am now obsessed. I've made four loaves, and we've already eaten two. Admittedly, we like to add cheese at my house, but it's been quite the tasty adventure. The SO thinks I'm a domestic goddess, and my new Le Creuset oven (not a cheap investment, but worth it) looks really pretty in the kitchen even when I'm not using it. I am very pleased.
Despite my rather perilous learning curve, this tutorial was incredibly helpful. I've made about seven of these. (Wow, this is starting to sound like I have a lot more time on my hands than I do.) Here are a couple of suggestions:
A) Do not buy traditional Christmas lights or the lights from Big Lots. You will spend too much time putting those lights in the bottles. I actually ended up pushing each individual light into the bottle and had an incredibly sore hand. Buy LED string lights. They are thin and much easier to work with.
B) If you're don't think too much about science like me, you might have an urge to clean your wine bottles right after drilling the hole. Don't. The wine bottle will be very hot from the drilling, and what happens to hot glass when it comes into contact with cold water? It cracks. Fooled by the laws of nature yet again.
3. Coin Jewelry
This was another handy tutorial. If I was you, I'd actually follow all of the instructions. Instead of stabilizing my drilling with a wood block, I decided to use a phone book because it was nearby. This was not the best idea. Still, the holes were easy to drill, and I can finally do something with all of the foreign money I've saved from trips throughout the years.
I put some coins on a key ring instead of a jewelry ring, including one coin each from Japan, Thailand and Europe to represent the around-the-world trip a BFF and I took in 2003. It makes for a far more elegant souvenir than I expected.
Sometimes the fact that I can't stand clutter runs afoul of my Southern sentimentality. On my first date with the SO, we were given free t-shirts by the concert venue. The t-shirts are hideous. They look like hypercolor without actually being hypercolor and advertise a local car dealership. The only sizes available were large and extra large. Nothing is attractive about these t-shirts. (Stuff like this happens when your first date is to a Def Leppard concert.) However, when the SO tried to throw out his t-shirt, it spawned a long conversation, the crux of which was, "How can you even think about getting rid of something that represents such a special day in our lives?"
I lost this argument because of the ugly factor, and it spawned a DIY t-shirt projects hunt. Enter the scarf. While this isn't my favorite project of all time, I do like it. Plus, the red circles come from the aforementioned t-shirt so I feel like I have a piece of that day without pouting that my boyfriend won't wear a Toyota t-shirt when we go out and about.
Now, even though I don't really like to sew, sometimes a complete "no sew" project looks too ragged to me. While I didn't sew the loops that make up the bulk of the scarf, I did sew the bits of t-shirt that connect the loops for a somewhat neater look. (Looking back at the original post, I now realize how much prettier her scarf was than mine. Sigh.)
5. It Is Not Easy To Cut Glass At Home
I feel like I've said this 1,000 times by now and people probably wonder why I'm oddly bitter towards glass crafts, but this undertaking was one of the biggest pains I've ever encountered. Take a moment to look at these glasses:
Now let me mention the 50 broken wine bottles I threw out in various pieces to get here. I saw this video and thought I was set. Clearly, I was not. Also, these are my three best examples, and you can see that they're not completely even.
To think that I did all of this to avoid paying for a $29.99 set of the exact same glasses makes me question my decision-making skills. (The scorer was $25.) If you value your sanity, and the unbroken skin on your hands, leave this one alone.
* I never claimed I was a photographer.
Wet And Wild
This past week, the SO and I, along with some family members made our annual pilgrimage to the Big Kahuna’s Water Park in Destin, Florida.
Not too much has changed since last year. The slides are pretty much the same, the food is still overpriced and everyone in charge is someone who I could have, in theory, birthed. The “ma’am” quotient seems to be up, but I’m trying not to dwell on it. It’s possible that my move to the full-on Spanx bathing suit has something to do with it.
(I love the suit, but there’s no liquid consumption when I’m in that one. Once the Spanx bathing suit goes on, it’s not coming off unless I’m done for the day. I learned that lesson after a particularly grueling incident in a public bathroom which may or may not have caused other patrons to believe I was a) wrestling with myself b) experiencing a seizure or c) being tortured to death by a large animal. I’m also pretty sure my waiting friends thought that I either had GI issues or an eating disorder considering how long I was absent. I like to get that suit in place, leave it and go through the inevitable undressing struggle later, in the privacy of my own home. Yes, there are breaks involved to catch my breath.)
I also saw a new sign this year. It’s possible that the sign was there last year, but I feel like I would have noticed it then, too.
In addition to the warnings about heart conditions, pregnancy and back problems, this kept popping up in large, large letters: “Do not ride if you are ill with diarrhea.”
This was a warning on every ride. It was one of the largest warnings. Frankly, I found it unsettling.
As someone who tends to wonder about the origins of signs, I couldn’t help but think about what led to this little gem.
It’s actually hard to come up with something more humiliating than being blamed for excessive poop at the water park. Honestly, I could have nightmares. It cannot be pleasant to be that person. Part of me wants to hug him or her. The predominant part of me wants to send a reassuring card and make sure we never touch skin. (I wash my hands about 20 times a day. I have issues.)
Of course, I quickly had to put all of that out of my head for the sake of enjoying the water park. I still have some questions, but I’m also pretty sure I don’t want the answers.
I purposefully don’t know what’s in a hot dog, I don’t ask about expiration dates at Six Flags and I think this Big Kahuna’s mystery will join those ranks. I’m pretty sure curiosity would kill my love of lazy rivers here, and I just can’t allow that to happen.
Also, for anyone keeping track, the best tattoo I saw this year was “Stray Dog” inked vertically down someone’s spine.
How Not To Make Wine Bottle Lamps
I am currently obsessed with Pinterest. Anyone following me on Pinterest probably thinks that I don’t do anything but create pins. (This is somewhat false.) I like to think of myself as crafty, so the “DIY and Crafts” tab is particularly tempting. Unfortunately, I am also impatient.
I don’t block my knitting or check the gauge. (Despite one hideously large sweater that I even wore out in a poor show of will, I still haven’t learned my lesson.) I move on from tutorials with terms like “drill press” and “stabilizing clay.” If there’s a project that I like, I find the simplest way to do it. I prefer sitting at my desk to an excess of power tools.
So, when I decided to drill holes in wine bottles, I found instructions and pretty much only paid attention to the drill bit I needed. Here’s a step-by-step look at my latest project:
1. Put on safety glasses.
I may be impatient and clumsy, but I’m not completely insane. I value my eyesight, and I’m somewhat self-aware.
2. Consider hair.
Usually, my hair is up. However, since I’d recently straightened my hair, I didn’t want to put a crease in it. Even though I thought about getting up and finding an elastic, I changed my mind in the name of vanity. (I may wear a terribly unflattering homemade sweater out and about, but a crease in my hair? I think not.)
3. Begin drilling.
4. Lean in to check process of drilling.
5. Realize hair is in drill.
6. Panic.
7. Take photos of self with phone to later share with the world.
8. Imagine oneself with Anne Hathaway’s new pixie cut because you had to cut 1/3 of your hair out of a drill.
(Note: Much like going into the salon after a break-up, making hair decisions because of a power tool incident is not ideal.)
9. Panic more because you realize that will not be a good look.
On a very round face? I think not.
10. Inspired by the mental image of yourself with a pixie cut, determine that you will get out of this mess without the use of scissors.
11. Take deep breaths.
12. Disconnect power source from drill.
I trust a safety switch, but only so much when my head is involved.
13. Remove drill bit from drill.
14. Remove drill bit from hair.
Mechanics may not be my thing, but I do know it’s far easier to take a drill bit out of one’s hair than an entire drill.
15. Thank God that the dogs were your only witnesses.
In short (no pun intended), be hair aware ladies. If you’re having a particularly good hair day, put your DIY project off. It’s not worth the risk.
* Photo note: I am trying to teach myself photoshop. Since I have no eye for design, this will probably not be pretty. Also, as an English person, I only know about Times New Roman and Arial fonts. Bear with me.
Signage Fail
If it was not a restroom that I used in the California ferry station, well let's just say that management is not going to be happy with everything that's going on in there.
Against my better judgment, I'm going to quote Wikipedia here. "Quotation marks can also be used to indicate a different meaning of a word or phrase than the one typically associated with it and are often used to express irony."
Did I somehow wander into an ironic bathroom? What would an ironic bathroom even be?
I can only assume that the ferry station has had trouble with some of its clientele. I'm guessing they don't want anyone hanging out in the restroom or confusing it with a "rest room." However, having been in the restroom, I feel like anyone choosing to spend large amounts of time there, maybe reading a book or catching up on correspondence, has been punished enough.