Yard Work

When we first moved into our house, I wanted to make so many changes. It was the first time I'd lived in a place where I could paint the walls, take out the walls, plant flowers, destroy the lawn, or any other "improvement" activities I wanted. Well, it only took an entire year for me to start working on the house. Here is that timeline:

June 2012 - Move into house
July 2012 - Attempt to take care of yard and outside of house. Give up.
June 2013 - Decide that I have to DO SOMETHING about the yard.
July 2013 - Have large nasty bushes pulled out by their roots via pickup truck and large chain
July 2013 - Pin 50 garden ideas to Pinterest for the new holes in the ground
February 2014 - Stare at sad holes in the ground
June 2014 - Decide to PLANT SOMETHING in the holes
June 2014 - Buy $100 worth of gardening things
June 2014 - Plant flowers*. Yay!
July 2014 - Watch video of stupid bunny rabbit EATING MY FLOWERS that my dad shot and sent to me  while I was out of town.
July 2014 - Cry into my lawn about my gardening skills
July 2014 - Vow vengeance on tiny stupid rabbit. That's an expensive salad you had there, a-hole.

*The actual planting process yielded some new information I'd like to share.
1. Waiting 2 years to do yard work isn't ideal. Your neighbors will glare at you.
2. Digging a hole in the ground is best done in shoes other than foam flip flops. Trust me.
3. Have a plan before going to the garden store to pick out flowers. Whoever you drag with you (thanks, Dad!) will not complain nearly as much if you know what you are looking for. Two hours in 4 small aisles will not go well otherwise.
4. Be completely confident about every decision...especially when you have no idea what kind of plant you are holding because you bought one without a label "just to see".
5. Best attempted when it is cloudy, but not raining. See "flip flops".

So there you have it. My advice on yard work. Or something. I still have one set of flowers still growing, does that count?

Turning 30: Expectation vs. Reality

For months prior to turning 30, I had an irrational pit of fear growing in my gut that lurked behind every balloon, every party hat, and every cupcake I encountered (which was a surprisingly high amount considering I don't work at a party store, or a clown store--wait, do these things exist? Just the thought of this is terrifying). The thought of leaving my 20's behind caused me to simultaneously celebrate and fear the impending decade as there are many things I'm happy to leave behind, but very little to look forward to.  The following chart pictates (depicts+dictates in picture form) my expectations of turning and being 30 with the reality of the situation as I've come to know it.

Well, it could have been a lot worse. And I'm barely a week in so I'm sure there's more to come. But I might actually start to be looking forward to this decade. And cupcakes help. Does that count?

*PSA: Please donate your brain thoughts to this blog by leaving a comment that shares something I should be looking forward to in my 30s. 

My Dogs are Weirdos

I have 2 dogs. Cooper is a mutt from the Colorado Puppy Rescue, and Matilda is an English Bulldog. They are similar in color, and they are both absolute weirdos. Allow me to elaborate.

Weirdo number 1: Cooper
-Extra long giraffe legs. He's also a bit of a Houdini in that he can get out of anywhere.
-Fur that grows out in one color and turns to a different color, tan and black. It sheds and shows up on any color clothing because it's two different colors. Jerk.
-Exceptionally emotional for a dog. I'm pretty sure if he were a human he'd wear skinny jeans and have long black hair hanging over one eye wearing a t-shirt that says "It's a dark, dark world".
-Will sleep with all four legs in the air. Almost like he's waiting for a belly rub, but he's totally asleep.
-Tucks his tail to run faster. It kind of works, but usually when he's in super crazy combat mode.
-Tries to catch toys with his front two paws. He must think they're hands or something.
-Thinks cat poop smells really good. He is usually very proud of his scent after rolling and wants to be close. It's disgusting.
-Will chase his tail and actually catch it. And then he holds on to it and spins in circles.
-Part fish. Will swim until he drowns.
-Has internal GPS on all tennis balls in the area. A ball can be hidden under the couch for a month and he doesn't care, but once he wants it, he'll practically rip the couch apart to get it. He can sense it in a bag hidden in a closet.
-Overall: Giant Weirdo.

Weirdo number 2: Matilda
-Brick on legs. She is a solid dog, with the daintiest paws. No tail, so she has to wag her whole body.
-Snores louder than any human. Occasionally will wake herself up by snoring and then bark at the noise that woke her up. She barks at herself.
-Also farts louder than any human. Can literally clear a room. Literally. I'm standing in the hall typing this waiting for my room to air out right now. 
-Cannot swim. We've tried to take her swimming and she has to wear a dog life vest.
-Will chew on a toy until her eyes start to roll back in her head. It's kind of creepy, but you can also tell that she is totally enjoying what she's doing.
-Barks constantly. At everything. For no reason other than she just wants to bark.
-HATES the flyswatter. No idea why, but if she sees it, she'll try to kill it.
-Is afraid of the vacuum cleaner, and yet will run back and forth in front of it growling while I'm using it.
-Frequently throws what we refer to as "pig fits", meaning she rolls around on her back and snorts while thrashing from side to side. She's probably scratching her back by rubbing it on the floor, but it's entertaining. And weird. 
-Sassy from day one. Quite the attitude problem. Stubborn. Kind of a B, if we're being honest (which we are--honesty is the best policy always).
-Overall: also a Giant Weirdo.

Well, they're both weirdos. But I suppose that's fitting since I'm sort of a weirdo too. And I love them anyway, does that count?

Thinking in the Shower

I'm not sure if it's because I feel alone or safe or like I'm in Seattle, but when I'm in the shower my mind tends to wander to places it doesn't usually when I'm not in the shower. (I almost said 'doesn't normally', but I'm pretty sure there's nothing normal about me so there's that.) It doesn't have a set system, and there aren't really any brain triggers in there. It just kind of happens. Here is a list of things that occasionally happen in my head while I'm in the shower:

-Imaginary conversation with people that will 99% never happen. Ever. And it's always future conversations, and what I would say. Rarely is it something like an acceptance speech. Usually it's a fight or disagreement. I always win and have some amazing one-liners. Is it weird to high five yourself? Once in a while it's a positive interaction. Some people give compliments like "Wow, you are such an amazing and confident presenter!", whereas I'm more likely to say, "If you were a tree, man you'd be a good tree" or some weird shit like that. I'm awkward, what can I say?

-Working through scenarios that will 99% never happen. If I were instantly transported to an alley in the middle of a blizzard, with only this shower stall and the things inside it, how long would I survive? What would I do if I saw a Unicorn? What if I got out of the shower and blow-dried my hair? (Hahaha yeah that's not going to happen).

-Wait, did I hear something? Was that the baby? Is he up already? Or was that one of the dogs? Is it a burglar? It's probably a burglar. Crap. Well, I guess I'm going to have to squeeze shampoo in their face. Oh wait, it's just the TV...again. Probably shouldn't have left it on the Law & Order: SVU marathon. 

-No really, did I just hear something? NO SERIOUSLY WHAT WAS THAT NOISE? Why does it sound like there's a tiny horse on the roof? Is that a pigeon? Stupid pigeons GET OFF MY ROOF. 

-How long have I been in here? Usually I have a rough idea of what time it is regardless of what I'm doing. I think the shower might have some sort of force field around it that prevents me from having any clue how long I've actually been in the shower. It could be 10 minutes it could be 45. Hope you weren't planning on having any hot water...

-I wish I could sit down. This one probably isn't weird, I just wish I had a bench or something in there so I could sit down once in a while. I'm lazy I guess. 

-Did I already use shampoo? Sometimes I forget, so I do it again. I'm starting to think that there really is some force field or vortex happening in there that makes my brain just not work right. And by the way I'm pretty sure that the whole "Lather. Rinse. Repeat." business is total crap so you'll go through shampoo twice as fast and have to buy more because you still have half a bottle of conditioner left. 

-Imagining what it would be like to be on vacation right now. Usually it's somewhere warm and tropical and awesome. There's a beach and a masseuse and really delicious food, but I imagine that I'm in the shower on vacation. Why I would be spending my time in the shower thinking about all the awesome things I have around me on vacation instead of doing those things is beyond me. I told you my brain did weird stuff. 

-A lengthy To-Do List. It usually has anywhere from 5 to a million things on it. Things I should do immediately, things I need to do sometime soon, stuff I should take care of this weekend, stuff I should do this summer (because that's  when teachers do Responsible Adult Things), etc. And you know what, that damn force field lowers it's thick shield just as I open the shower door and magically that list is gone. Down the shower drain with a hairball and extra shampoo. It's like the first glimpse of the bathroom counter pulls me back to reality and I go on about my usual business. 

-I'm hungry. And then I think about all of the delicious food I wish I were eating right at that moment in time. Somehow magically nothing gets soggy even though I'm thinking about eating food in the shower, so maybe it isn't a force field vortex so much as a Magical Shield of Magicness. Yaaasssss...

Like I said, these things don't usually pop into my head during the course of a normal day. Usually just when I'm in the shower. But at least I am showering, does that count?

Painter's Palate

One of my favorite creative outlets is painting. (I also enjoy cooking, listening to music, dancing, and long walks on the beach. Actually, not really. Walking in sand is difficult.) Recently, The Paint Cellar opened up over at Southlands Mall and I have been there several times. I've been to both the instructed sessions and open paint sessions, and I'd have to say that I enjoy both equally. I've gone with friends and on my own, and again I enjoy both occasions. Now, I may be biased but I think I've created some pretty stellar pieces, most recently a painting of the moon through the trees. Well, you'd think that based on the glowing report I've given thus far that I love every part of the process. If you think this, you'd be wrong. The part I like least about painting is the GIGANTIC ASS MESS I make, specifically on my paper palate...and my clothes...and my hands...and my shoes. There is an abnormal amount of paint mixing that goes on in front of my canvas. Most people take the basic colors and make it either darker or lighter and move on. Oh no, not me. I have to make it lighter with a tint of some other color, and then slightly darker because it was too light and then it needs some blue and then...I think you get the point. So what starts as a normal sized spot of mixed colors turns into a crazy sprawling blob of color that goes from light to dark and back again several times. Sometimes I need two palates. TWO. The normal painter (aka any person I've every gone painting with or see at a paint place or most likely anyone reading this blog) needs one palate for paint. But not me. I need TWO. But this process of mixing, lightening, adding blue, darkening, lightening again, etc. usually results in a beautiful, one of a kind piece of artwork. Does that count?

If you'd like to receive one of my creative masterpieces, leave a comment on my blog or hit me up on FB or Twitter. I'll see what I can do. You may even get a picture of the palate I used to make your painting! 

TV as an Emotional Evaluation

Every morning while I'm getting ready I put Bitty in his bouncy chair and put the tv on to the Disney Junior channel. He doesn't really watch tv, but the background noise is kid friendly and he sometimes likes the music. I've realized over the past few weeks that the shows on Disney Junior, actually my reaction to the content therein, gives me a pretty good gauge for my attitude that day. Let me explain. For example, one morning last week Doc McStuffins was helping a toy feel better, and said that you could still be brave even if you asked for help. I literally almost teared up. I thought, "You're right, Doc. I'm still brave. Even brave people (or dragons as the episode may be) can ask for help sometimes." Sadface. I realized that I was feeling a bit tired and emotional that morning and planned accordingly. I wore a super cute outfit to work and had some peanut butter. Peanut butter makes everything better. (So does cheese. I'm pretty sure that queso is what holds the pieces of my soul together. That may be another blog post topic. Stay tuned.)  Well, not all mornings are that emotional. A few weeks ago we were listening to Special Agent Oso help a kid make breakfast or something. After he completed his mission, the mom asked if Special Agent Oso could stay for breakfast. Oso replied, "No, I've got to get back to headquarters." I replied, with more immediacy than I realized I was capable of that early in the morning, "And because you eat people for breakfast because you're a bear." The hell is wrong with me? That's so snarky, and not even remotely appropriate for a kids show. "Sorry kids, Special Agent Oso is now wanted by the FBI for EATING THE JOHNSON FAMILY." Yeah, I can really see Disney getting behind that episode. Sometimes I'm even more than snarky. While listening to the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse show last week Mickey kept asking Goofy to say the magic words. Goofy messed up the magic words several times in a row. Each time he messed it up, Mickey would ask the audience if those were the magic words. Then the obligatory pause for response from Mickey...and then, "You're right, those aren't the magic words!". Now, the first time Mickey asked this question I didn't think much of it. By the third or fourth time he asked though I had the RAGE*. "No those aren't the magic words! Come on, Goofy, get your shit together! Seriously!" I had to remind myself that this was a kids show and I probably shouldn't change the channel aggressively and chuck the remote. Who gets that emotionally revved up over kids shows? Honestly... But I try really hard on those days when I'm especially snarky to improve my attitude before I leave the house...and sometimes I just roll with it. I feel like I should have a warning button that flashes "SNARK MONSTER" on it on those days. Does that count?

*For more information on the RAGE, check out my blog post on Jerk Carpet Tacks.

Cheese to Ketchup Ratio

Ever since I was a young lass, (I'm part Irish, I can use lass) I've preferred the simpler things in life. Tap water instead of sparkling, a house salad instead of Caesar, flip flops instead of shoes and socks, a pull through parking spot instead of having to inch my car back and forth to get into a spot that it doesn't actually fit into at this angle because the a-hole next to me can't park his car, heck even peanut butter and jelly WITHOUT THE JELLY. Simple, right? Another simple food I've always ordered is a cheeseburger with only ketchup. (If you're one of 'those' people who call it catsup I'd love to hear your thoughts on how that's even correct. Moving on.) Well, as simple as this order sounds--a cheeseburger with only ketchup--you'd be surprised at the number of ways this can be screwed up. Usually what happens is I'll get a hamburger with ketchup. This irritates me to no end. How hard is your job order taker person and/or food maker person? A CHEESEburger with only ketchup does not mean I want you to take off the cheese. Cheese is a glorious, glorious food and I'm personally offended when you feel the need to disregard part of my order and deny me what is honestly the best part of the meal. I usually end up eating the burger, but I'm not happy about it. Sometimes what happens is I'll get a regular cheeseburger, with all of the other crap and no ketchup. Or a ketchup packet on the side. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? There is nothing wrong with those other ingredients; I like them all separately, sometimes a few of them together in other foods, but just not all together. I didn't order a salad on a bun with some meat and cheese. I like it simple, remember? The most irritating screw up of this rather simple order though is when I get a cheeseburger with ketchup. How is this a screw up you may ask? Isn't that what you ordered? Yes, yes it is my fine reader. But I didn't ask anyone to REPLACE ALL OF THE OTHER THINGS that usually come on a cheeseburger at any given restaurant WITH KETCHUP.

Who in the hell wants to eat a GALLON of ketchup? If I have to start ordering a cheeseburger with "only cheese and ketchup, but with the normal amount of ketchup you'd put on a cheeseburger and not a lot of extra to take up the space of the rest of the stuff you usually put on there" it becomes too complicated and I've lost all interest. Who wants to be THAT person at the counter/drive through/table? Certainly not me. And I'm pretty sure if I started ordering it that way they'd start leaving off the bun or the burger or something even more ridiculous. The whole thing is just exasperating. I just want a simple cheeseburger with an appropriate amount of ketchup on it since everything else in the world seems so complicated, does that count?  P.S. To my friends, cousins, and husband who continually think that this order is "weird": no it's not. It's my cheeseburger and I'll eat it any way I want. You're weird.

Things I Don't Like About Spring

Well, if you know me at all, you know that I hate winter. And if you know me, but you didn't know that, then you actually don't know me and we either need to spend more time together or stop all together. I'll let you decide. So I hate winter, but at least with winter you know it's going to be super crappy all the time. Spring on the other hand is literally the bastard child of winter and summer. Spring has all the worst parts of both seasons, and some added bonuses that just suck the fun out of the whole season. So without further ado, here is my list of things that I don't like about spring:

-Short shorts with super pale legs - We get it, it's kind of warm out. You still have a winter tan. What made you think this was a good idea? Wear those in private until you stop glowing in the dark. Also, you are wearing them with Uggs. Clearly you're still cold. Put on pants. Enough said.

-Unusually warm days - This is one of the most jackass things that happens during spring. It's such a tease. It's like one day it's cold, and then cool, and then suddenly you're in your car driving home from work with your heater on for three months and you start to sweat. You check carefully to see if you accidentally left your window down a little bit again and it's melting snow on your brow, but it's not! It's sweat! You're actually warm, warmer than warm. Uncomfortably warm. Probably because you also have a scarf and winter coat on.

-Workout guilt - Caused by the unusually warm days. It reminds me that summer is coming soon and there is no way I'm going to fit into that bikini that Target put out in January. Which reminds me, who tries on a bikini in January? Do you know what I've been eating for the past two months? Just consider the holidays that have occurred in the past two months, that should at least give you a hint at what sorts of awfulness I've been consuming. Like sugar cookies for breakfast. Or sugar cookie dough for pre-breakfast. Bad news all over. No one wants to try on a bikini in January. No one.

-Having to shave my legs (more often) - Also because of unusually warm days. This means purchasing a razor that I don't hate or find the one that has been hibernating behind some body wash for a while and actually trying. Trying is so over-rated in the spring.

-Blizzards - This is something spring gets from it's jerk parent winter. They usually happen within a few days of an unusually warm day, and blizzards totally screw up everything. I'm not just talking driving, or taking the dogs out or looking outside, but other things. Like, by now I've probably decided to shave my legs...and then suddenly out of no where there's an asshole blizzard and I'm back to dressing like a homeless Eskimo. Shaved them for nothing. Awesome.

-Birds - aka: The 4 F-ing AM Bird Chorus. See the Owlyote post for more info on how shitty birds can be.

-Daylight Savings Time - Losing an hour can seriously suck my nuts. How stupid is this? I was just getting used to being able to actually see where my dogs pooped at 5:30 in the morning when suddenly it's dark again. Really? Great. I'll just continue to use the light on my phone to search the ground for that shit...literally.

-Mud - Guess where all that snow goes after the blizzard on the next unusually warm day? No where because the ground is mostly frozen still. So it sits on the surface in the dry grass and makes the world a giant soggy puddle. Sad face.

-Spring Fever - Spring means it is almost summer. Summer means I get to sit outside and read and get tan and do nothing for hours on end. Spring is the perfect time to daydream about doing such things because they aren't actually possible yet. Daydreaming means I sit and stare at nothing or draw on sticky notes until they cover my desk. Because this keeps me so impossibly busy for hours on end, it also means that I'm not doing anything even resembling responsibility. This also means that there is an increase in the number of students I see licking each other's faces in the hallway. It's like they've forgotten that they're still in public and people can see them. So gross.

So there you have it. My list of things that I don't like about spring. I know summer is just around the corner, and I should just hold on for a little bit longer until it gets here...but this sucks. Until it warms up enough for me to only wear one bra at a time out of fear of being accused of trying to give directions with my chest, I will continue to curse mother nature and also continue to dress like an Eskimo, but a cute homeless one...does that count?

Carpet Tacks are Jerks

Imagine the scene if you will: 3 am or some other ungodly hour. Just finished another episode of Dawson's Creek (which is awesome by the way). I think I'm starving...or at least the alien noises coming from my stomach indicate this to be true. So, I head to the kitchen. I manage to avoid all of the sharp puppy toy landmines Matilda set out before she went to bed (that brat) and am almost to the kitchen when suddenly, out of no where, an ASSHOLE carpet tack jumps up exactly where I'm about to step. So of course I step on it. When this happens, I will usually have one of 3 reactions:

Reaction 1: Sudden pain reaction: aka the RAGE. This reaction usually involves several of my favorite swear words (which I won't write here because I know my mom reads this blog-Hi Mom!) followed by a kick/punch/flipping something over which makes me even madder and in more pain than I was initially. I'm not good with sudden unexpected pain. (If I stub my toe or bite my cheek--look out!) This reaction also happens most often. The rage usually subsides in a matter of moments and I'm back on a food mission.

Reaction 2: Recoil reaction: This reaction includes a quick hop in any direction but down, a quick inhale of breath because I stopped breathing when I felt the tack start to pierce my skin, and then more swearing when I realize I'm wearing socks and the carpet tack has just ripped another hole in my sock. Not as much rage with this reaction, but it usually means I have to throw my socks away. And then my feet get cold and then I'm crabby, but not awful. A snack usually helps and since this is what I was headed to the kitchen for anyway, it's all good.

Reaction 3: Frantic retaliation reaction: I will fully step on the tack out of spite thinking the weight of my body will shove it back to HELL where it came from. I then rapidly flip the light on and throw myself on the floor to search for the tack, turning my head sideways to the floor with one eye closed to find its jerk face sticking up out of the carpet. Sometimes I've got the hammer or a shoe or something when I do this, does that count? But by the time all of this happens, the carpet tack has retreated back into it's evil lair to wait for it's next victim. I shake my fist at the supposed location of the carpet tack and curse its exsistence.

Well, you'd think by now I'd learn to gauge the distance to the wood floor in the kitchen and avoid the line between the carpet and the wood floor, but more often than not I either misjudge or I'm too tired to care and I end up along that line. It's a complete crapshoot as to which reaction I'll have, or if it'll be a combination of them. Someday I'll find that damn tack and I'll nail it's ass back to the floor where it belongs...until then, you might want to wear earmuffs to visit if you're easily offended by violent swear words and flying tables. And if you're not, we can probably be friends because that happens a lot. You could even join in if you want!

My Shower Rocks!

One of the first things I wanted to add to the new apartment when I moved in was a GIANT shower head. It only took me a year and a half to do it, does that count? Before the new shower head, there was a tiny little shower head that barely drizzled enough water onto my body so I didn't freeze to death. I was constantly moving and spinning and shifting to get water anywhere but on my shoulder. I was barely able to get enough water to soak the body scrub, let alone wash my hair in less than 30 minutes or say, shave my legs. Granted, I'm remarkably skilled at shaving my legs in the bathroom sink but all it takes is a few slips and you look like you tried shaving with a kitten. This particular shower head, I'm fairly certain, was installed when the apartment was built, or was borrowed from an apartment built in the '80s. Either way, it was a piece of silver shit. Several of the holes on the side of it were blocked by mineral buildup, and several of the water sprays went straight over the top of the shower curtain. There were days it looked like there was more water on the floor than in the shower itself. Not only did the shower not fulfill my needs, but Cooper and Matilda suffered as well. And you might be asking yourself, "Self, do dogs really have shower needs?" And the answer to that question is yes. The fact you are asking this question makes me think you don't care about your shower head. It also tells me you may not have dogs. (Shame on you, dogs are awesome!) On the occasion that it was puppy bath time, I would have to practically sit in the tub with them and pour water out of a cup on them. They'd give me a look, especially Matilda, that says "Really? A cup of water at a time? You know that once you pour it that I start to freeze. Look, I'm shivering. Happy now? And now I'm pissed. I'm going to shake and disperse some of that elsewhere...like on your socks. Oh, and on THE REST OF ME THAT IS STILL DRY BECAUSE A CUP OF WATER WON'T DO IT." Because of this behavior, one of the requirements of the new shower head was that it had the sprayer attachment. Well, after searching tirelessly at Bed, Bath, and Beyond I spotted it. Sitting there, in all of it's giant awesome glory, THE shower head of my dreams. Is it pathetic that I dream of a shower head that has rainbows and sparkles coming out of it? Maybe. But is it any more pathetic than my old stupid shower head? Nope. There's something about standing in the shower now that makes me feel like I might actually make it in this world. And all it took, was a giant, magical, rainbow and sparkle shooting shower head. And now when the dogs threaten to start shaking water everywhere, especially if they start eyeing my socks (wet socks are the worst thing ever-period), I can just soak them with the sprayer and stare at them in wide-eyed, glorious ecstasy...because my shower head rocks!

Emergency Express Pedicure

On a whim I decided to get a pedicure today. It's winter. It was snowing. I haven't shaved my legs in ages. But, I went anyway. Partly because I like the massage chair (unless I get the broken one, which happens on occasion and gives me the rage), and partly because I like to look down at my toes and see them painted better than I could ever hope to do on my own. It makes me feel like I'm actually taking care of myself, even though I'm probably not. When I arrived, there was a woman guarding the nail polish wall. LITERALLY she was guarding it, like someone was going to take her favorite color or something, but she already had a color in her hand, so...not really sure what her deal was. I tried to move a chair next to her to get to the wall and she ever so slightly shifted her weight to her other foot to take up more space on my side. I had a momentary flash of body checking her over the half wall near the pedicure chairs, and she flew super high up in the air and landed in a cloud of dust...screaming the whole way. It was funny; I laughed. The laugh made me calmer and I just stepped up to the wall and took my sweet ass time choosing a color. She huffed and went and sat next to her husband (wtf?) that she had forced to come and sit with her. (For those of you who've never had a pedicure, it takes a long time. And unless you are also getting a pedicure, there is no way you will enjoy sitting in a nail salon waiting for someone else to get one. I don't care if the nail techs are strippers and the Playboy channel is on and there is a chocolate fountain in the corner guarded by a unicorn and/or genie that grants you wishes. You just won't. The lighting in those places is terrible, but not in the 'it's dark and sexy in here' kind of way, in an annoying 'I can't really read this magazine but you can't see my leg hair' kind of way, and the smell from the nail stations is enough to coat your lungs in a rather toxic kind of way.) So after the Nail Polish Nazi moved, I narrowed it down to two similar grey/brown sparkle colors (it is winter and all and hot pink isn't really a winter color). So I turned the bottles upside down, because clearly they would look better or worse at a different angle or something, and realized they had names. Now, I'd love to have a job where people bring me colors and I point to them and give them names. I'd give them ridiculous names, beyond ridiculous names, because most people don't read the names on nail polish bottles. They pick one because it is a sparkly purple blue that matches their underwear band or some damn thing, not because it's called 'Mystery Hour'...unless you're me. That is how I made my decision. The darker color was called 'My Private Jet'. It sounded cool, made me picture myself on a private jet, and I was wearing an amazing little black dress. The color was nowhere to be found in my fantasy, but I liked the picture it painted in my head. The lighter color was called 'Ingrid'. 'Ingrid'? Really? I pictured an overweight opera singer in sweat pants. No offense if your name is Ingrid, but it's my connotation and I'll have it if I want to. Guess which color I chose? (If you said 'Ingrid', we need to talk about how much you actually know about me. AND you have to stop reading my blog. Right now. Go. I'll wait...)
As I was waiting, I looked at the other colors the other women around me had picked. The woman to my left picked 'Mystery Hour'. I know this because her name is Tina and I dragged her there with me and that's how she picked her color...by name...which is why we're friends. The woman to my right had a color akin to a crushed up smurf...blood and all. It was a bright blue/purple/red sparkle color. I never knew you could get that much awful into a little tiny glass bottle. The woman next to her had clear...with GIANT ASS CHUNKS of silver sparkle. It just looked lumpy. The woman next to her had a sad, dark green. I'm not sure how a color can be sad, but it was. Like a crushed velvet dress your mom makes you wear to church on Christmas because it fits and it's green, but it itches and is faded and you hate it type of green. It made me sad for her. And the woman next to her was actually a good looking black man in a suit. And a long tie. I think he was there with his girlfriend, but he was clearly no stranger to the pedi chair. It was great! (No nail polish for him--but he did read an entire stack of People magazines). As I looked at the colors around me, it inspired me to create my own colors and play God naming them. So I did:

Well, the sad thing is I'm pretty sure people would actually choose these colors to wear without knowing what the color was called. I think I might actually own the pink one...but it's called "Celebrity Sparkle" or something. Does that count?

Owlyote

Picture it: Well, there I am lying peacefully in bed reading, on my phone, at 11pm or some ridiculous hour when suddenly I'm wide awake. I turn my phone off (so I can hear better? Does that count as a reason?) and listen.

"Do you hear that?" I ask in a panicked whisper/shout (it's not easy to do, trust me).

"Hear what?" my half asleep husband mumbles.

"That owl. Or coyote. Or whatever that is howling out there..." Now I'm trying to open the shades to see outside.

"Um, no. Do you hear an owl?" Husband rolls over and asks. *wide eyed blank stare*

"Stop it. You know you hear it too."

"Yeah, sure I do..." *insert quizzical 'Should I call the funny farm?' look* Husband gives up and goes back to sleep.

I swear there was something howling outside my window last night. I couldn't tell if it was an owl or a coyote, because it kind of sounded like it was coming from the roof of the building next to us, but it also sounded like it was hiding behind a car in the parking lot, and either it was flying around like a spaz outside or it was on the ground playing with the acoustics (because I assume that's what they do with their free time), so location as an indicator was not helping. So I've decided that it is a new breed of hybrid animal. Enter: Owlyote. And if this wasn't bad enough, all it's little bird friends decided to put on a show at early this morning. Owlyote was the conductor of the chorus (the It's 4 F-ing AM Bird Chorus). Really, you have to see it to understand. So here it is:

I like that he has fur AND feathers on his body, and that his coyote arms (front legs?) are actually owl wings. The bird chorus looks happy enough, and it was actually dark outside but I didn't draw the sky. Sue me.