back in the saddle again

I learned a valuable lesson this morning.

It's been a long couple of weeks, with longish work days and not much time spent at home. Which, as you could expect if you know me at all, has manifested itself in the general clutteredness of the house. This morning I was sorting my laundry so I can take it to my parents' to wash tonight, as per usual on a Monday or Tuesday these days. I wanted to be at work early this morning, so I was running around quite early doing several things at once, gathering laundry, watching the weather, getting dressed, finding hangers, looking for clean socks. I got everything done, with enough time to spare for quick Starbucks run even (which turned out to be a good choice, because? FREE SAMPLES. Of coffee. French Roast, my favorite. Made my morning, anyway).

A few hours later, after a long department meeting, I had to make a quick LGR run. During which I discovered a good life lesson. Ready? Here goes: You should never sort your dirty clothes and get dressed at the same time, and NEVER before 6am. Because I'm pretty sure I wore this pair of underwear two days ago. Oops.

Miss me? :)

quick to change it up

Happy Friday!

I have officially joined the fray, if only temporarily. So if you're in the mood to read a little more of me, go here to the peanut gallery. I'll be back here as my normal ridiculous self next week.

wordless wednesday: posing good-byes

these streets will make you feel...

I love this city.



I'm sitting here, alone, on a bench by Buckingham Fountain, feeling all nostalgic and pensive. I just spent at least an hour at my favorite yarn store in the south loop (I think... I always had a hard time figuring out how all the loopy stuff works. Probably because I have yet to take the El). Then I walked a bunch and ended up here.

Over the past three years, I have loved venturing down into the city. I usually take the train, usually alone (there was that one time with Corella, which involved us getting a bit lost in a semi-scary neighborhood. But we survived...). I've always enjoyed making the trip by myself, for purely selfish reasons. I love to walk, and it's typically a much faster pace than most people appreciate. It's a great way for me to get some serious exercise once a month or so. Also, I like the fact that I don't have to have a set plan or itinerary, so I can walk around as I please and then, whenever I start getting too tired, I start walking back toward the metra station.

These trips, for me, have an almost healing quality, not unlike my hiking adventures in the hills back home. I get to be a part of something larger than myself, to be among a whole lot of people that I never once have to talk to (not to mention the people-watching!), and to enjoy the sights and sounds and flavor of the city. And then, whenever I get good and ready, I leave it all behind and go home.

When and if the time comes that I leave northern Illinois, one of the things I will miss most are these random day-trips. I know I would want to visit again, and I hope Future Me would make it a priority. The pulse of this city has gotten into me, and it will forever be at least a small part of who I am.

you're never gonna get it

Okay, so I've never phoned it in before. We'll see how this works for me. I beg your forgiveness for any and all punctuation errors...

This has been a ridiculous week. The second in a row, truth be told. I'm trying to keep things together, which has actually worked out better than expected. I'm now playing the waiting game, which renders me more patientless than I would like to admit. I should work on that.

I frequently take pictures with my camera that are totally intended to make it onto this blog. My computer seems to have different ideas, however, and never wants to actually upload these photographical wonders. Alas, that usually means that whatever blog post I've invented in my head at the time never makes it into the blogosphere. I'm terrible for that.

I've read quite a bit this year. One of these days I'll get to that too, most likely. Until then, well, I'll keep hoping that life slows down a bit and my muse makes itself a bit more known. And until then, I'll be around. Somewhere.

straight pimpin' my style

For all you blog addicts out there, you really should check out this new blog: www.peanutgalleryspeaks.com. You'll love it, I promise.

(and keep watching, you never know, I just might show up there someday myself)

sit right back and you'll hear a tale

Picture this:

Me. In the bathroom stall at work (okay, so don't actually picture this). Only one other person. Eerily quiet. Trying to keep any and all sounds to a minimum so as not to disturb whatever is going on over there.

Suddenly…
I accidentally pop a really loud bubble with my gum.

Oops.

I waited to leave until after they were done. I hope they knew that was gum……

Oh yeah, and then I broke the paper towel dispenser, and a huge stack of paper towels flooded the counter. True story.

This is exactly what you've waited 6 months for, isn't it?!

but here I am and here we go again

So I'm trying to get back into the swing of things with my posting. We'll see how that works out for me.

Since January is pretty much over, I thought I'd take the time to recap a bit of 2009 for you. You know, before it becomes too ridiculously late in the new year (keep in mind that ridiculosity is relative). As far as my reading goal is concerned, I didn't quite make the 50 books (unless you count all the kids' books I read to my nieces, which for this purpose, I don't). I really only made it to 41, which compared to the 44 I finished the year before is a tad embarrassing. I was a little bummed about this late in the year, once I realized there was really no way I was going to make up the difference. But, then I got to thinking…. And I realized that with all the new things I took on in 2009, it's really not a bad thing at all. So I read a few less books. I also become much more involved in my church, made two backpacks for my nieces from scratch, spent a lot more time on the road between Chicago and Kentucky/Southern Illinois, hand-made some Christmas presents, and MOVED. All things considered, I think I came out of 2009 pretty well on the productive scale.

As far as actual books read, between Halloween & the end of the year I managed to read all but the last of the Harry Potter books. I also discovered Shannon Hale, a delightful YA author (my sincerest thanks, Corella), and made it through 3 of her stories. Some of my other favorites from the second half of the year were Gentlemen and Players (I adore Joanne Harris, although technically this was an audiobook), The 19th Wife, Beasts of No Nation, Foreign Bodies (this one amazed me. It truly did. But not until about half-way through.), The Angel's Game (definitely not as good as the first, but still worth the read) and The Book Thief, which was my final read of the year and a phenomenal book. The only books I really wish I hadn't spent the time to read were ones I just picked up off the shelves at the library - Having It and Eating It and I Just Want My Pants Back. If you're ever presented with either of these, trust me, don't bother.

So that's my wrap-up. As far as 2010 is concerned, I have decided to re-try last year's goal of 50. I'm doing pretty well so far, since we're still (barely) in January and I'm already a good way through my 5th book. My favorites so far have been How to Teach Filthy Rich Girls (if you ever saw the short-lived CW show Privileged, it's based on this book. Meaning I was never able to picture the twins as redheads nor Megan as anything but a size 2) and Big Stone Gap, which takes place in a rural Appalachian town in western Virginia. I recommend both. Hopefully I'll be able to keep up this pace.

Here's to a better year in 2010.

kiss the girl!

Okay, since that last post was kinda uncharacteristically deep and introspective, if you've stopped by for something a little more light-hearted you may just want to skip it and watch the following, which is one of my favorite videos of my nieces.

(Please ignore my creepy whisper part-way through.)

Wherein Essie & Chloe describe a song from one of their favorite movies:

i'm rearrangin', hopefully i'm changin'

I have a confession to make.

Granted, I realize that many of you avid readers out there could pretty much make a similar confession, but I'm going to make it anyway. Here goes: Many times, I use books as an escape mechanism. There is nothing (or, at least, little) better after a long, hard, overall bad day at work than coming home and wrapping oneself in a warm, cozy blanket with a cup of good coffee/tea and a good book that makes you smile and maybe even laugh and forget and let go of the stress of the day. Books are a way of escaping to another world, of putting yourself in another person's shoes and seeing the world through their eyes. Books are enlightening; they teach us about other peoples and other cultures and other life situations that we could never experience otherwise.

But there is more than just the other that makes some books magical. Often, it is the sameness that hits us over the head as we read. A truly good author knows how to write a character in such a way that you recognize a certain part of yourself in him or her. Maybe it's a characteristic you've always known was there. Maybe it's one you don't have, but wish secretly that you did, or at least that you were a little bit better at mastering. Maybe it's one you see in yourself that you don't like. And sometimes, sometimes you see something of yourself there in print that you had never realized was a part of you. It may even just be a phrase or two in a story that opens up a part of your soul that was either hiding from you, or that you were hiding from yourself without even knowing it.

This last one is a phenomenon I experienced with a book I've read in the last week or so. I'm not going to tell you what book; frankly, I'm not comfortable with baring that much personal vulnerability for all the internetted world to see. But it happened. I connected with a character in a way I hadn't before, concerning a part of me that I'm not really so good at opening up about with other people. And in a very small way, it's changed me. In the safety of my own room, I was able to wake up to these thoughts and ideas that subconsciously float around in my head and affect the way I deal with other people on a semi-regular basis. I don't have it all figured out, but because it was spelled out for me so well there in print, I'm now able to put certain feelings into words, to give them a name and to recognize them for what they are.

This isn't the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last. And to be honest, my experience is that movies can have the same effect on a person. One of my favorite movies is Runaway Bride, which I saw for the first time in a very long time over the weekend. (Incidentally, this movie was the first movie I ever watched in a theater, but that's neither here nor there as far as this conversation is concerned.) I don't think I picked up on this the first time I saw the movie (sometimes these revelations take awhile to really get), but I remember seeing this movie one of those first times and frankly being a little uncomfortable with parts of it, even as much as I loved the movie. I saw some of myself in the character, parts of me that at the time I didn't like. I related to Maggie's inability to know some things about herself (even as simple as how she liked her eggs) because I spent a lot of time taking the easy way and doing what everyone else wanted, never wanting to cause conflict or to ruffle anyone's feathers. I, too, was good at making myself into whatever my current company would prefer me to be. Through the movie, I was able to recognize this tendency in myself in a way I never had, and since I was then cognizant of these personal issues, I was able to work on them over the years. Frankly, living on my own for so long has been one of the best things that could have happened to me concerning this issue - I've had to learn what I want, how I want it, and what to do about it. I think I've pretty much mastered this one, but I think this is a perfect example of what I've been talking about. Books, stories, otherness, help us see the sameness, too.

Sometimes this can be uncomfortable. But it's life-changing, and almost always in a good way. I'll let you know in a few years how this one turns out.

good tidings

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

ain't no high-class broad

It’s official: my *relationship* with my former landlords is OVER, as of yesterday. Meaning, yesterday I finally received my security deposit, thus ending any necessary communication with said landlords. (Never mind that she promised she’d “put the check in the mail first thing in the morning” over two weeks ago. Postal date stamps don’t lie.) I was pretty happy to finally get the check, seeing as how it was for a not-so-insubstantial dollar figure. Even though she couldn’t be bothered to, you know, write in the cents when she was writing the amount. Apparently that’s too time-consuming. I can’t wait for the bank to get all anal-retentive over that one.

The thing that amazed me most, though (although deep inside, I know it shouldn’t), is the vessel she used to mail the deposit. You would think that a professional woman, with her own real estate “business,” could at least spring for a semi-professional envelope, maybe even (*gasp*!) of the security type. Apparently not. No, instead I received my hefty check in the return envelope from her latest bill from her insurance company. Of the window variety, meaning you could see my happy check hanging out inside, because she (naturally) couldn’t be bothered to accompany the check with even a short note of some kind, you know, “Nice doing business with you!” or even, “Have a good life!”

As I thought about it, the whole thing pretty much summed up my entire experience with the woman, the house, everything. It involved her taking the least amount of her time doing as little as possible for as cheaply as possible, to hoop with everyone else. Which makes me ever more glad that I am finally, finally done.

Nice doing business with you, Cornelia. Have a good life.

til exhausted close our eyelids

One of these days I might take the time to sit down and reminisce about some of the crazy times that have gone on in the last month and a half: I went to a mini-family reunion in southern Illinois, I went to the Former Students’ Day reunion at my high school in Kentucky, I moved (!!!!), I went to Kentucky for Labor Day/my nieces’ 4th birthday, blah, blah, blah. It’s been busy, yo. That’s pretty much all I can say. The long and the short of it is that I’m living in someone else’s house, with a storage unit full of crap*, and that I have added a few thousand miles to my newly-tired, newly-aligned car, and that I have officially driven over every single curb between Algonquin, Holiday Hills and Lake in the Hills with a 24-foot moving truck.

But rather than take the time to write about all that, I’m going about this post the lazy way. Meaning I’m going to copy a bunch of stuff I’ve already written.

For context’s sake, I should first tell you that Corella & I keep each other awake from time to time at work with short, random emails. Here are a few snippets of said emails from me, all from this week. Frankly, you may want to just stop reading now.

•I'm only slightly worried about the yarn, since it's boucle and I'm not completely sure I'll be able to keep it even.

•I need this day to be over, like, now. If I don't leave a vomitous mess on my keyboard before the day is out, it will be a miracle.

•I should have known what this day was going to be like before I even left the house this morning. Like, when I couldn't figure out where my bra was, until I realized 30 seconds later that I'd already put it on. Yep, that kind of a day.

•Boys are stupid. Boy stalkers are just ridiculous.

•I want to hear details of the sobbing. Because I hate her.
(Stop judging. It’s reality tv.)

•I love that one of the pillars of the church uses the word *knockers* at choir practice.

•I just started counting in my head/on my fingers the number of months so far in the fiscal year, but instead of mentally saying "April, May, June, July, August" in my head as I extended each finger, my brain started saying, "Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers…"
I. Need. Help.

•When I get married, I'm going to have somebody play just the intro to Let's Get It On as we're running through the birdseed/bubbles/whatever to the car.

•Just remember, it's all about the tongue, baby.

I haven’t fallen asleep yet.




*So full, in fact, that the new roomie was worried when I was late coming home one night that I had stopped by the unit and a bunch of stuff fell on my head and knocked me out.

my dirty little secret

I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Shhh!! Get closer now, I’m not going to tell this to just anybody. (Thankfully, it appears that none of my coworkers has as yet found this little corner of blogdom.)

Are you ready? Closer!

Okay, here goes.

I am a Summer TV-Smut whore.

There, I said it. I know, I know, who would believe it, right? (*ahem*) Until recently, this sickness was limited to really only two embarrassing shows, at least for this summer: So You Think You Can Dance (go Jeanine!) and (*hangs head in shame*) The Secret Life of the American Teenager.

Granted, I have watched Secret Life since its entangled inception, watching with rapt attention the metamorphosis of Amy from naïve good girl to hormonal pregnant teen to jealous teenage mother (and my personal favorite metamorphosis: Grace, from the quintessential *Jesus Barbie* to new med camp graduate, with a little “My dad’s plane crashed because I got laid” in between). I could go on about the little quirky things that make me so addicted, or the moments that actually make me laugh out loud (“GROIN INJURY!!!!!!”), but I won’t get into all that here. Honestly, I don’t think I would have even classified this show as “smut” until recently, especially since this is a show directed to the tween & teen stage-of-lifers. But a week or two ago, I watched the show with a friend of mine who had never seen it before. And honestly? Trying to explain who all the different characters were made me realize this is a teen version of a late-night drama, or at best (worst?), a teen soap opera.

That guy is dating the girl with the baby.
That’s the father of the baby, who is sleeping with the girl who broke up the Jesus Barbie and her boyfriend the first time around, but who really wants to be with his baby mama.
That woman is the mom of the girl with the baby, who is currently pregnant with her ex-husband’s baby, and who just broke off an engagement with some other dude and is now contemplating dating some old friend before she decides if she’ll let her ex-husband move back in. (granted, the “old friend” turned out to be the ex-husband.)
That’s the slut. She dated her brother for awhile.
That’s the dad of the guy dating the girl with the baby. He’s engaged to a woman he doesn’t know was an internet-order prostitute, who went on a date with the Down’s syndrome kid.
He’s the dad of the girl with the baby. He installed a urinal in the garage.

Um, yeah.

So anyway, until recently, Adrian, the Teenage Whore and SYTYCD were pretty much my only two “I’m ashamed I watch this” shows. And then, one night, I just happened to be flipping through a few channels, nothing much was on, and I randomly stopped on some good ol’ Fox reality fun. And I can’t stop watching. Like, I’m addicted. And I can’t figure out why. But honestly, More to Love has me sitting on my couch on Tuesday nights, eating frozen pizza and trying to figure out just how that larger woman is going to manage to belly dance. I don’t really know what else to say at this point, other than I probably lost more brain cells last night than I inhaled calories. The show has sucked me in, and although I’m super glad the loud-mouth witch went home last night, and I’m not really sad about the loss of the painfully shy girl who had never dated before, I can’t wait until next week to find out which two are going home next (and which four aren’t).

The fall season needs to hurry up and get here. I can’t take the loss of any more of the few brain cells I have left.

Should I have been weirded out?

I think so too.

So I walk into the rest area on my most recent trip south, and they have put signs over each bathroom door. The women's restroom says "TEMPORARY MEN'S," while the men's says the opposite: "TEMPORARY WOMEN'S." Both bathrooms were open, usable. So I walk into the "temporary women's," and am slightly startled as I round the little corner, when there in front of me is a teenage guy scrubbing the urinal. Another person of the female persuasion has entered the washroom just before me, and asks, "Um, is this open?"

The kid responds, "Yeah! Go ahead."

So I hurry about my business, still kind of creeped out, and finish up and wash my hands. As I'm finally walking back out, I pass another woman starting to walk in the door. She sees the kid, who is about to start on the first stall, and the urinals along the wall, and stops dead with the deer-in-the-headlights look, then glances back to make sure she didn't walk in the wrong door. (I think it's that age-old childhood fear of accidentally walking into the wrong restroom at school.)

I laughed. (Is that wrong of me?!)

But, um, can anyone figure out WHY there would ever be a need to switch the men's bathroom & the women's bathroom? When both were completely usable? Weirdness.

that distraction inside of me, oh well

(this post is for andrea)

And now, for the long-awaited project! (Which, honestly, is partly to blame for my lack of reading lately. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.)

I took on a project a few (read: many) months ago as a present for my (insert completely non-hyperbolic, totally awesome word that exudes the awesomest awesomeness here) nieces. And then, because I suck lack the proper motivation, it took me forever to finally finish the project. But it's finally done, and with the exception of a crookedly-sown-on arm, I'm pretty satisfied with the result. But you can judge for yourself:


Making the frog body

The finished products:


Ms. Bear:

Mr. Frog:




Kudos to Amy Gaines, whose adorable amigurumi pattern made these backpacks possible. They were incredibly easier than I ever imagined them to be, and if I decide to do another one sometime in the future, I have full confidence I could get it done fairly quickly and quite well, thanks to what I learned this first time around.

How did I fall so far behind?

I am woefully behind on my reading list.

It was my goal this year to read 50 full books in 2009 - only a few more than what I read in '08. Shouldn't be too hard, right? It's not like I'm attempting Corella's 100. So far, though, I'm barely in my 20s (which, for me, is borderline embarrassing). Earlier today I was browsing through my goodreads, looking at all the wonderful books I read in 2008. Some of the bestest books I've read in my life, truly fantastic. A few not-so-fantastic, I'm sure, but all the same... I was reading. This year, my shelf is sorely lacking. Not just in quantity, but also in quality. Oh, there are a few really good books, and very few I wish I hadn't taken the time to read. But I have a lot of ground to make up. It's not like I have a lack of books to read; there are so many lying around at home I could easily reach my goal, not to mention the MUST-READs I have yet to get from the library. I better get crackin'. (But not your beautiful bindings, Coral - worry not!)

As for what I have read recently... the book that stands out the most is one that I won through a goodreads give-away, Valeria's Last Stand. I personally loved this book. I thought it charming, full of dry humor, and a very interesting portrayal of the life and desires of a stubborn older woman that nobody likes (and that returns the favor). That is, until the Potter. The book deals with the conflict of the old versus the new, the time-honored versus the newly advanced, old socialism versus new capitalism. It is quirky and almost playful, in an almost fairy-tale sort of old-fashioned Hungarian village set during present times. The characters are intriguing and unique, and their interactions with each other are clever and fascinating to me. I'm glad this was the first advanced copy I won, and I would totally recommend it. My only caution to future readers comes from a review I found: "The geriatric sex is unnerving." Nuff said.

can you touch your nose with your tongue?

I'll update more later, but until then, this is one of my favorite moments from this past weekend:

wordless wednesday

with your feet out, girl you lookin' good

My toes are not “normal.”

I’m one of those people who have toes that freak some people out – my second toe is longer than my big toe. Now mind you, I don’t have a complex about this. I pretty much don’t care. But some people seem to. My friend Dom commented on this phenomenon a few weeks ago, when after seeing my cutely-sandaled feet, he mentioned that he has a longer 2^nd toe as well. Although, apparently his “abnormality” (I hate that word) goes a bit further – all three of his middle toes are the same length, all taller than the big one. Maybe his pinky toe as well, but I really don’t remember. We commiserated a bit about how our “specialness” causes some people to recoil in seeming horror with but a glance at our poor little piggies. (What? You don’t have random 10-minute toe conversations at social gatherings?!)

I’d pretty much forgotten about that conversation until this afternoon in the ladies’ restroom closest to my cube-home (read: cell). First of all, I have to say: Ladies (I assume this goes for gentlemen, too, although I’m less experienced in that area), if you walk into a public restroom and there are several stalls open, never take the empty stall right next to another occupied stall unless absolutely necessary. It’s called common courtesy. But anyway – I was sitting there, taking care of minding my business, when someone entered the stall next to mine. Mind you, our restrooms are pretty bland, everything the same yellowish color, quite boring and utilitarian. As I guess public restrooms should be. So, you know, eyes tend to wander, and I happened to glance at the feet of the person next to me. And her poor little toes. The first four of which were all the same pudgy length. I couldn’t even see the pinky toe, since it was (I hope!) hidden under her sandal.

What went through my mind in this moment?
Eww. That’s weird.

I’m a toe supremacist.

(When I have absolutely no right to be.)
(isn’t that the way it always is?!)