A dramatization about privacy and why everyone should feel shame:

Me: Tra-la-la, I'm going about my day in the world! I can't wait to interact with my fellow human beings. People are mostly good!

Random man: Hello, kindly lady. I look completely normal, and thus you have not run away from me. Also, I can't seem to find the restrooms. You seem like you know a lot about the world, including this store where you clearly do not work. Maybe you can tell me where they are?

Me: Yes, I certainly can! I love helping people! They are over there! Good-bye, stranger.

Random man: Thank you. Boy, I should really stop drinking coffee. Goes right through me. Ha ha! That's not at all inappropriate for me to share with you! I enjoy talking about my bodily functions, don't you? I'm standing dangerously close to you, considering I am talking about human waste and you are a total stranger.

Me: AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I have run away from you! You do not adhere to social norms! I'm normally okay with that but you are taking it to the next level! Gross!

Let this be a lesson to you. I do not want to hear about what you do in the bathroom, especially after I have been so informative and helpful.

This logic can also be applied to topics such as illnesses involving any kind of projectile anything, sticky things you discovered by accident with your hand, smells, your teeth, food that may or may not have been a pet at one point, and mucus of any kind.

You have been duly noted, strangers.

Also, Happy Halloween!

(note: the holiday and this post are not necessarily related. I just don't like knowing more than necessary {i.e. nothing} about your urine. But I like Halloween. And candy!)

But there aren't any mints on the pillows.

So, okay, it's been awhile...AGAIN.

I'm sorry.

What can I say? One day you are writing a blog, rambling on about who knows what, and the next thing you know summer is over and it's been at least two months since you even thought about writing anything.

Well, that's not entirely true. I have written several carefully planned text messages. My English professors would be so proud.

But, I've been keeping busy. Remember a few months back when I was considering creating a guest room out of the sad little pile of rubble we (read: me) had accumulated over the years? Well, guess what? I actually started doing that. And then finished! I know. I'm shocked too. Where will I keep all my outdated mail and clothes from 1997?

But, before I show you the results of our labor, it's probably a good idea to show you where we began. I'm not 100% positive it's a great idea to let you see my weird world of mini-hoarding, but when has bad judgement ever stopped me before, right?

Behold, the result of sloth:

You know what's sad? These pictures were actually taken after we had been cleaning for about 20 minutes. Please, don't think about it. I still want you to like me after all this is said and done. Oh, and also, if you happen to see something you gave us hidden within these mountains of shame, don't be offended. I tend to my piles of shit much like a gardener waters a flower bed. These babies received plenty of love and devotion before I slaughtered them like lambs. And, truth be told, if you were to check my closets you'd know that many of them survive to this day. Don't tell Brian.

Enough of that. On to the part wherein I appear totally awesome, design-savvy, and organized.

When I started designing this room in my head, I pictured somewhere really bright and calming, but with a sense of fun and youthfulness. I may have a pharmacy next to my bed and a specialist for everything, but I'm not a senior citizen just yet. Which is why I decided to rock out at Lowe's and pick out some paint and light fixtures. BECAUSE I'M WILD.

Anyway...The mythical guest room, three years in the making:

So there it is. I'm pretty pleased with the results. I feel like Martha Stewart. But, you know, without the prison record or the reputation as a total crazy pants lunatic.

Hm. Well. I haven't been to prison, anyway. If that's not a ringing endorsement to come for a visit, then I don't know what is.

Thank Goodness it's Friday, as the kids say.

So this week has been awful. Like, top-five-all-time-worst-weeks awful. I really would not like to get in to the particulars here, but I can't help but think how random and arbitrary our lives really are. One decision, one wrong move (or really ANY kind of move,) and BAM--things you never thought about could suddenly be taken away from you, or you realize those things were never really yours in the first place.

You are a guest in your own life.

I totally understand that without details this sounds like gibberish to you. But just take a second to think about the worst moments in your life (briefly, of course.) I bet they all came out of left field. And I also bet they all made you feel helpless, like you had no say in your own life and pretty much everything good you ever had suddenly seemed like the product of outrageous luck as opposed to careful planning (or perhaps, for some of us, a series of well-intentioned yet youthfully misguided decisions.)

Some people say they live their lives as if every day is their last. This is meant to express that they have no regrets and could never feel down because they are so high on life blah blah blah. Problem with that philosophy is, who wants to walk around thinking today is their last day on Earth? Hopefully we have many, many more days to come. Isn't the anticipation of where our lives might lead us just as exciting as the day we are experiencing today? Besides, I think those people are just spouting off at the mouth when they claim to live like that.

Each day like it's your last? Oh really? Then why did you pay the mortgage? Hmm? Riddle me that, wild man. What other crazy things would you do on your last day? Eat more fiber? Maybe make out a living will?

But I digress.

Having had such a crap-infused week, I'm inclined to take a few minutes and remind myself of the good things that surround me everyday. I encourage you to do the same.

Tomorrow will be better. At the risk of sounding like a new age hippie, I'm gonna go ahead and say that we shouldn't spend our time worrying about what day will be our last, or what tomorrow will bring, or even what life mantra we should adhere to. I don't need a mantra. There is no accurate, one-size-fits-all mantra. I just know that I have love in my life, there is beauty all around us, and we should just take a few minutes to appreciate that.

And then, when all else fails, we can just completely lose our sh*t.

(plant life in front yard)

(flowering plant life)

(a young tulip, just tryin' to make it in the big city)(sunset for a new week)

Easter!

Easter was really low key for us this year. Which, by the by, I LOVED. Only one stop for the day and then home again. This was great not only because we are homebodies, but because Brian was feeling mildly under the weather.

His illness was only natural considering it was a holiday and all. Poor guy. Victim to the holiday wellness curse. At least it's only a cold and not something more disgusting like the flu or spontaneous vomitous exploding. That would be worse.

The true highlights of Easter were our baskets. Every year, Brian and I put together Easter baskets for each other. Like most other Easter baskets in the world, these contain copious amounts of candy and the occasional small gift. And keep in mind, we fill these baskets with items as a SURPRISE. The recipient has no knowledge of what the other has purchased.

Behold, our baskets:




Suffice it to say, if we want to watch animated wildlife in the near future WE ARE ALL SET. Also, I found our coincidental purchase of the same movie and candy to be so adorable, I think I may be coming down with a brief episode of spontaneous vomitous exploding.

Which is perfect, because all that candy really isn't meshing with my desire to eat healthier.

Spring clean

Spring is here!

Do you know what this means? Just a few more months until the threat of snow is gone! Ah, the Midwest. Gotta love it.

But I've truly been enjoying the weather lately. It's just warm enough to go without a coat, but still cold enough that layering is okay. And trust me, if anyone needs the help of layering, it's someone coming out of a long, cold, harsh, brownie-filled winter. By the time summer rolls around I'll be ready for tank tops, BUT NO SOONER.

I've definitely got the Spring cleaning itch. There is a room in our house that is used, more or less, as a tragic dumping ground for everything we don't feel like dealing with. Random decorative knickknacks, boxes of old paperwork and mail that needs shredding, crap that I've saved since high school and keep around because it's just so ridiculous. They all go to this room to die.

Let's have a moment of silence to commemorate their sacrifice. For my level of procrastination could not exist without them. Farewell, my friends.

Lately I've been bothered by the fact that this room is a sorry waste of space. Turning this room into something more useful like, say, a shrine to former first lady Barbara Bush, a ham-curing warehouse, or guest room isn't really high up on our list of "Things We'd Like To Do With All That Spare Cash We Have Just Sitting Around" (Please read those quotations with heavy sarcasm,) but it would be oh so appealing to be able to walk through the room without battling massive pieces of luggage.

Although I CLEARLY have a deep desire to learn the prosciutto business, I'm having a hard time motivating myself to actually clean the room. I find it difficult to get rid of stuff. I'm sort of like a mild version of a pack rat. Or, if you ask Brian, maybe not so mild. But that's only because he is super organized. I like to think that I'm enriching his life by showing him the ways of creative storage. You see that empty space of floor? That can be a closet! Or, if you are feeling saucy, your very own collection of mail! See the stamp dating back to 2001? YOU DON'T FIND THAT JUST ANYWHERE.

No, I exaggerate. But I seriously am a messy person. As is evidenced by this room. Maybe I'll fix it up and do a before and after shot. But first I must gather the proper motivation required to purge several years of crap. The horror.

If I had to place bets, I'd say a large amount of cursing and frustration is in the near future. Not to mention a rockin' picture of Barbara that is just waiting for it's time to shine.

Happy Spring!

(Backyard at sunset)

Progress

So...

The elliptical is finally assembled.

Why, yes, it is massive. Don't worry. This room previously only housed my wedding dress and our computer. Now they have a friend. Constructive use of living space!

My sister and I actually put it together last Sunday. At first I thought she was kidding when she volunteered to help, but it turns out she is a very handy assistant. And this was her first time assembling a major appliance. AND she was able to put up with my outrageous assembly methods (READ: yelling and cursing.) Not a small feat by any stretch of the imagination. I sense she has a career ahead of her in the field of "building assistant." And by career I mean I will call her every time I buy something that needs assembling. You're welcome, sis. Glad I could help you reach the stars.

She and I put the elliptical together while Brian stayed downstairs and kept an eye on our nephew. I heard a lot of scuffling, but as I did not hear any crying (on Brian's part) and/or glass shattering (probably on nephew's part), I figured all was well. And it was. Although I never knew a five year old could find a house void of toys and other children quite so fascinating. I don't think I've ever met someone so enamored with stairs. You can walk up them! And then back down! You can sit on them! Crawl up them! And if no one is looking, you can JUMP DOWN 3 AT A TIME!

Just FYI. Something to try when the conversation lags at your next dinner party.

So anyway, this begins the long haul to whip my flabby appendages into shape. I'm really excited about it, especially now that the machine is fully operational. So excited, in fact, that I bought a scale. I haven't owned one of those since, well, EVER. I pretty much prefer to be in denial, but what with this new machine and all, I figured I'd better know where I'm starting in order to know how far I've gone. Depressing? Yes. Necessary? Debatable. But I'm going with it.

My sister keeps trying to get me to run a 5K with her. It's really sweet of her to even think I could do such a thing. But come on. Really? I can barely muster the energy to do my taxes, let alone compete in a foot race with athletic types. Unless it's the apocalypse, I'm just not competing with those people.

I'm all about keeping my goals reasonable. I've been exercising in the mornings before work, and even this past Saturday morning. These facts, combined with other factors, known as Life, are why I've just now decided to go eat some cookies. But only 2. Not the 12 I'd usually eat. CAN'T YOU JUST SENSE THE PERSONAL GROWTH?

Who needs a 5K to chart my progress when I have the soon-to-be-falling stock of Nabisco?

Resolving

Well, I'm finally going to begin my New Year's Resolution.

Many a moon ago (roughly 2 months ago, that is) I decided I was going to embark on a serious, life altering, health conscious exercise regimen. Original resolution, no?

I'd been really half-assing it for years, so I figured it was time to get on the ball and go for it. I mean, one can only claim to be deliberating about such things for so long. Sooner or later, someone's gonna start to question your sincerity. And that person should be punched. Hard.

Although, I do think it's totally reasonable to take approximately 5 years to decide on the perfect exercise machine. Haste makes waste. Right? It took me 27 years to find the perfect cheeseburger. And, HOO BOY, was I looking. 5 years? That's nothing. I'm a veritable whiz kid at this exercise stuff. WATCH OUT BOB HARPER.

The problem is I get so bored with exercise. After much deliberation about what kind of exercise would hold my attention, I decided upon purchasing an elliptical. I feel this is ideal for several reasons. You can read a book, you can listen to music, you can watch television if you so desire. The important point I'm trying to stress here is that you can space out. I need that.

Call me crazy, but when I think about waking up every morning to subject my multiple fat cells to what can only be described as torture, I start getting the shakes. The kind that can only be cured with chocolate cake. Or liquor. Or both. So, you know, distraction become key.

I know someone out there right now is asking why I don't just go to the gym. Well, there's a logical answer to that: The gym is gross. For so many reasons. Oh sure, people "clean" their sweat off a machine, but if you worked in the public service industry like I do, you'd know that the honor system is crap. With a capital C. Work in your own sweat, steroid boy.

Also, the people at the gym make me nervous. I suppose part of that is my own insecurity about my body and it's ability to work various large bits of machinery. So, for now, I'm just going to go ahead and look like a dehydrated monkey in the privacy of my own home.

The box containing the elliptical arrived Monday. I'm planning to assemble this bad boy over the weekend, much to Brian's disappointment. I feel his pain. I wouldn't want to be my assistant either. I'm what some of you might call "demanding." Others of you might call it "Crazy." To each their own.