9.23.2013

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! 

9.09.2013

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.

6.19.2013

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.

3.21.2012

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?

2.13.2012

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!