One Blonde Girl 101

When I started this blog, it began as a place for me to reflect on "my journey through life". At the time, I was at a much different place in life (read: happier). My blog was not meant to be humorous nor was it meant to be bitter nor was it meant to be what it has become. It has since evolved into what you see before you. A place for me to rant and rave, bitch and moan, tell funny (hopefully) stories and bond with other bloggers about the woes of life. 

One such blogger is The Naked Writer over at The Writing Womb. I find her ability to be open and honest with the world about the trials and tribulations of her life admirable. She recently wrote a post, The Naked Writer 101, which was both informative and inspiring. Influenced by her frankness, and her "utter disregard for couthness" (yeah, I quoted myself. What of it?) I present to you...

One Blonde Girl 101

       

Because what's a post without a pic? And yes, that is me. (Source)

1. I love pickles. The tangier the better. I love pickles so much that if you leave a pickle on your plate unaccompanied, I will totally eat it on you and then pretend I have no idea what happened to it. True story. Your pickles are not safe with me.

2. I buy clothes with pockets because I never know what to do with my arms in social situations. Pockets are safe and comforting. In a perfect world, every article of clothing would have pockets.

3. When I was in high school I hated being blonde and wanted to dye my hair black but then a friend of mine told me that if I did, my hair would be black permanently, and that scared me, so I didn't.

4. I once hit a flock of birds with my mom's car and killed at least three of them. I've also caused the deaths of a bat and a cat via vehicular manslaughter.

5. I'm a night owl. I'm most productive and energetic after 7 pm. Some nights it will last until 4 am. This makes it very hard for me to be productive in the real world.

6. I function the best on 6 hours of sleep. Any more or less and I'm useless.

7. I dream of being a tattoo artist. Unfortunately, I have a thing against needles.

8. I can't stand to watch any scene in a movie that involves cutting a person. Any other kind of violence is fine, but not cutting.

9. I love horror movies. Especially haunted house and zombie movies. I hate Sci-Fi though. Hate it.

10. I'm constantly changing my mind. Which probably explains why my blog goes through so many transformations. And why I can't decide what to call myself. "April"? "One Pea"? "One Blonde Girl"?

11. I'm not a cat person. There. I said it. I don't like cats. I'll take a dog over a cat any day. The bigger, the better. (I once had a cat that I loved with all my heart. He had six toes on each foot and the funniest looking face. But then he up and died. One minute he was frolicking outside, and the next, he was dead. I don't think I ever got over that.)

12. I've never (knowingly) been involved with or pursued a guy who was already in a relationship. That's the biggest no-no ever. In my opinion. In fact, discovering that a guy was already involved was an instant turn-off for me. He could have been my soul mate and looked like Clive Owen, but as soon as I found out he was married or had a girlfriend, he turned into Steve Buscemi.

13. I've never had stitches. Thank god, because I don't know how I could handle that (see #7).

14. The first time (and unfortunately, not the last) I ever felt violated by a boy was in the first grade when a classmate who liked to look up the girls' skirts hugged me during nap time. It took me many years to get over that.

15. I've never finished a piece of art work. Never. Ever. It's a mental thing. I just can't do it.

16. I'm envious of people who have close relationships with their parents. I don't.

17. I don't do makeup. Possibly because no one ever showed me how. Or possibly because I can think of better, more important things to spend money on.

18. My knees are always hairy. Always. I can't seem to figure out how to work a razor around the knobbiness of my knees.

19. The most traumatic years of my life seem to end with 5s.
1985- I started Kindergarten and hated it and my teacher so much. I cried and cried and cried. The only way they could get me to go peacefully was bribing me with reading time with the other Kindergarten teacher.
1995- Well, in a nutshell, it began with the development of an eating disorder and accumulated with my dad booting me from his house. And a little bit of everything else thrown in for good measure.
2005- Well, I'm not quite ready to talk about this time of my life yet.
Needless to say, I dread 2015.

20. I have a twin sister.

21. I hate Lima beans. Hate 'em.

22. I hate housework. If I ever have a house (and a job), I'm totally hiring a housekeeper. I don't care. I'm doing it.

23. I don't watch ANTM on a regular basis, but anytime there's a marathon on, I'm glued to the TV.

24. I can't really pin down what makes me happy. Not specifically, but when I am happy, you'll know instantly because I make up little songs and dances and I spin.

25. I can't remember the last time in my life I was really, truly happy with my life.

26. I'm a really good multitasker, except when it comes to the big things, like education and relationships and career, then I have to choose one to focus on.

27. Most of the decisions I've made in my life were based on what other people wanted, not what I wanted myself. It's made for a very miserable life, but I'm working on living life for me now.

28. I live in constant fear of settling.

29. I don't trust words. I trust actions.

30. My favorite life advice comes from Magic Hat beer caps.

31.  I can't figure out if I'm more afraid of succeeding or of failing. I pick the middle road by not even trying.

32. My dad used to be the captain of a cargo ship. I was a world traveler until about age 8.

33. My dad's family owns a button factory in Iowa and were innovators in the pearl button industry. I think that's awesome.

34. I hate shopping. Any kind of shopping. Hate it.

35. I love helping people and making their lives easier. It makes me feel good, productive and accomplished.

36. My first real boyfriend was abusive and cheated on me frequently. That was the first and the last time I ever allowed a guy to treat me that way.

37. I love my feet, my knees, my hips, and my collar bones. Basically all the bony parts of my body.

38. Mind-altering substances scare me a little. Not that I'm afraid of their effects, but that I would enjoy them too much and would end up on an episode of Intervention.

39. I hate stuff. I don't understand why people insist on having so much stuff. Every time I move I purge more and more useless stuff and it makes me feel so good.

40. I feel guilty over my grandfather's death. It's totally irrational and illogical, but I often wonder if he would have still fallen down the stairs if I had chosen not to move away.

41. I don't know how to want things. In my mind, wanting something is wrong and a sign of weakness. I can't explain this. Well, I can, but we don't have the time to get into it.

42. I have to have a million and one things going on at once in order to not be bored.

43. I love strawberries.

44. I love music.

45. I love driving a stick shift. It makes me feel strong and powerful.

46. I'm terrified of having kids.

47. I hate spending other peoples money.

48. I often wish I could see myself through other people's eyes. I'm sure they don't see me the way I think they do.

49. I don't regret breaking up with any of my exes.

50. When it comes to intimate relationships, I think bodily functions should always remain private. Always. There are some things I just don't ever want to hear, see or smell. Ever.

51. I have scars on my body that make me severely insecure, force me to be extremely conscious of the way I do things at all times and make me fear the moment someone notices them and asks me about them.

52. I love getting dirty (you can interpret that any way you want).

53. I hate making small chitchat and will avoid encounters with people just to avoid meaningless chitchat.

54. I don't like day-hikes. If I'm going to put in the effort required to go hiking there better be a tent and a cozy sleeping bag at the end of the trail. And a campfire with S'mores.

55. I don't see the point in watching sports on TV. Unless it's the Super Bowl and I'm at a party with lots of alcohol and pizza. Otherwise, what's the point? I do enjoy the excitement of watching them in person. Except for baseball. And golf. And probably curling too.

56. I hate red roses. Hate them. I once got red roses for my birthday from a boyfriend. In November. My birthday is in January. Epic failure. I once received a bouquet of daisies from a guy I was dating. For no reason other than he thought I would like them. Epic success.

57. I'm severely indecisive and can never make up my mind about what I want or like. My brain literally becomes paralyzed whenever anyone asks me what I want or like. I'm trying to work on this. It's not going so well.

58. I have a hard time not judging people for their choice in music, reading material and other entertainment choices (like TV). Sorry.

59. I have sacrificed more of my life for relationships than I would like to admit. I'm trying to work on this.

60. I miss the friendships I had in high school.

61. I have an irrational fear of getting my haircut. Which is why I only get it cut once or twice a year. I've had so many bad experiences. Some day I would like to leave the hair salon with the hair cut I went in there expecting to get. Some day.

62. I have an irrational fear of birds.

63. It's easier for me to be friends with men than with women. I don't get the drama that comes along with having female friends. And I have a hard time relating to women. I'm not sure why.

64. I'm a chronic procrastinator.

65. I love sushi. I never thought I would, but I do.

66. I often wish I could get rid of all my stuff, jump in my car and drive away. Far, far away and start a brand new life where no one knows me. Kind of like Delia Grinstead in Ladder of Years by Ann Tyler. Tyler's books always give me perspective on my life.

67. I love the cartoon, Chowder.

68. I once dated a musician. He wrote a song about me. His band broke up not long after, before they even had a chance to perform the song in public. I was more bothered by that fact than the fact that we broke up as well not long after.

69. I've never had a successful one-night stand. And by successful, I mean, one in which the guy didn't want more. Some of my longest relationships were the result of failed one-night stands.

70. I love gumballs. I've never met a gumball I didn't love. Even the stale ones that have been sitting in the machine for 6 years.

71. I've become more spontaneous and less controlled as the years go by. And here I was afraid it would go the opposite way.

72. In college, I once allowed others to believe that I had slept with someone because I would have felt bad for the guy if his friends had found out the truth. (The truth was, I refused to sleep with him after discovering how small his penis was. I lied and told him I was having my period. And then I slept in my roommate's bed. He had a rep to maintain, and I didn't want to become the source of any suffering for him.)

73. I rarely ever give a shit about what others think about me in any given situation (see #72 above) because I know the truth, and in my mind, that's all that matters.

74. I hate it when I'm forced to justify my actions to someone else. I would love it if I could just act of my own accord and only have to answer to myself.

75. After years and years and years of being in relationships, I feel like I'm all used up.

76. It's easier for me to tell this stuff to strangers than it is for me to tell this stuff to the people who love and care about me. I can't say I'm really trying to work on this.

77. I rarely wash my hands. Not properly at least.

78. I can't stand Molly Ringwald.

79. I can't stand anything really sugary sweet. Like girly drinks. And fancy pastries (egg issue aside). And frosting. And sweet tea. And sweet coffee. (Chocolate is the exception. As long as it isn't gag-me sweet)

80. I have four sisters and a brother. My stepfather always complained about being outnumbered when we were growing up. Now he has four grandsons (officially. Six unofficially, as in, not belonging to my siblings but to their significant others) and a granddaughter. Coincidence? I think not.

81. Only one of my siblings is married. But he's currently going through a divorce, so I guess it no longer counts.

82. Life just won't let me forget the person I'm trying to forget. Stupid life.

83. My mom bought me and my twin the Betty Crocker Cookbook: Bridal Edition years ago, claiming that we'd never get married, so she might as well just buy it for us while it was still available. (Thanks Mom. Your faith in us is so uplifting and inspiring. And don't think I don't know what you're getting at when you hint that you'll never have anymore grandchildren. I get it. I'm an epic failure. I've accepted it. You should too.)

84. I often feel like the black sheep of the family.

85. I once had a student removed from an elective art class I was teaching because he was sexually harassing me. True story.

86. I hate it when people ask me for advice or expect me to comment on a predicament they've gotten themselves into. People rarely want the truth in these situations, and that's usually all I'm willing to dish out because I hate blowing smoke up people's asses.

87. My sexuality often scares me and sometimes feels like more than I can handle (see #88 below).

88. I have a hard time remaining faithful in relationships. I'm trying to work on this.

89. I have a hard time letting people down/disappointing them/breaking their hearts/and so on and so on. It's a guilt thing. I blame my childhood. More specifically, my parents. I'm trying to work on this. (It's not going so well)

90. I believe that dying is like sleeping, but without the dreams.

91. I have a hard time believing in anything that isn't tangible.

92. I love to bake. And plan parties (but not necessarily attend them. I prefer to be behind the scenes. Unless it's of the beer-drinking variety. And especially if there's a bonfire.).

93. I once played a nerd in my class' senior play. I loved it. It fed the acting bug I had been harboring since the eighth grade, but I was realistic, and I knew that where I grew up, the opportunity would never present itself.

94.  I love to cook but I only think it's worth the effort when I cook for someone(s) other than myself.

95. I have a bladder the size of a walnut. This isn't backed by any medical evidence, just by the fact that I have to pee ALL THE FREAKIN' TIME.

96. I have a heart-shaped uterus. This is backed by medical evidence. You would think this would make for a more loving uterine environment. This is not the case. Apparently it makes for a more inhospitable one. Whatever. We'll cross that bridge if we ever get there.

97. I once had dreams of becoming a soccer superstar. But then I hurt my knee and lost all confidence in myself (FYI, this was just one of the many downfalls that occurred in 1995).

98. I love my sisters. We're not all that close, so I often fear that they don't know this, but I do.

99. I prefer to make my own wrapping paper.

100. I don't eat fast food nor do I drink soda. I have no regrets about this.

101. I used to hate my first name, but now I kind of like it. I just wish it were easier for people to remember it (Seriously, it's a month. What's so hard about remembering a month?).

This post has been very therapeutic for me. It won't even bother me if you didn't read through all 101 items because it meant more for me to write it than it did to have anyone read it (quite possibly related to #73?).

And that is that.

I don't do beach

  

We're approaching that time of year again. Yup, summer. Which, inevitably, leads to people wanting to take trips to the beach. Me? I don't do beach. It has nothing to do with the fear of putting on a bathing suit (okay, well maybe a little) because I've been to the beach before, and I've seen people there that look far worse than me in a bikini. I also happen to have an apparently unique talent for knowing what suits/shirts/tanks/shorts/cover-ups work for my body. A talent that it appears few have.

Let me explain why me and the beach don't work...

I'm a mountain girl. Meaning, I was born and raised in the mountains. Beaches were not something I grew up with. You might not know much about the mountains, but the beachfront is not a feature of their landscape. Some may argue that there are lakes within the mountains that have beaches. Let me correct this thinking by explaining that these "beaches" are not real beaches. Real beaches tend to be sandy; not littered with pine needles. They also tend to have a plethora of sunshine, surf, and seashells. Mountain lake beaches tend to have overcast skies, canoe-created wake (because motor boats usually aren't allowed), and pine cones.

Vacations to the beach never happened for me when I was growing up either. My dad was a work-aholic, and my mom was more-or-less broke because my dad refused to pay child-support. Plus, with the wonderful custody agreement my parents had, unless our vacation took place from 6:01 pm Sunday night to 4:59pm Wednesday night, or from Thursday afternoon to 8:59 pm Sunday morning,  or from 5:01 pm Friday night to 6:01 pm Sunday evening (but only every other weekend. Complicated, right? Yeah, trying living it) vacations were out of the question because one parent would have to give up some of their time. But that's a post for another day (or ten sessions with a therapist somewhere in my near-future).

My sisters and I used to spend our summers at a camp my dad owned on a "pond"* in the Adirondacks (but only during the above designated times). The camp had no beach. My dad attempted to create a "beach" by hauling in some dirt he dug up from some sand pit he found in the middle of the woods.** The beach was small, about the size of two kiddie pools, but we were able to make sand castles on it, so it served its purpose well. Uh, until it rained. And then the sand that didn't run into the lake turned into mud. Or became so congested with pine needles that our sand castles ended up looking like an inside-out iron maiden.

 (former location of our "beach". Note all the pine needles)

Any way, back to why beaches and me aren't friends...

• Beaches have sunshine and obscene amounts of deadly UVA and UVB rays. I am white. As in, so white I often look purple because you can see all the blood vessels through my skin. Being so white, the sun scares the shit out of me. 

• I can't swim. I know what you're thinking, but you'd be wrong. Just because I spent my summers at the lake and my dad was a Merchant Marine Captain, does not guarantee that I have a natural ability to swim. On the contrary, I have a natural ability to snort water up my nose every time my head goes under water resulting in my crippling fear of drowning anytime I'm within twelve feet of water. 

• There's nothing to do. I mean, really, how long can one lay on the beach without becoming bored out of their freakin' mind? For me, it's about 15 minutes. Twenty if I happened to have the foresight to bring a book with me. After that I become antsy, fidgety, anxious, and inevitably, super cranky. I need to have at least four things to do at once in order to keep me entertained.*** I hate being bored more than anything in the world.

• I don't like going in the water. Aside from the fact that I can't swim and have an irrational fear of drowning, I will not go into the water unless it is at least 120° out, and the water temperature is 80°, and I'm on the verge of heat exhaustion. Seriously though, I get cold quickly, and I hate being cold almost as much as I hate being bored. I have to have a damn good reason for venturing out into the water and inviting goosebumps and chattering teeth to take over my body.

So, long story short, no, I don't want to go to the beach.+ I'll go camping, I'll go boating (uh, hello, there are life jackets on board, so drowning is not an issue), I'll go sit at a bar on the waterfront and drink all afternoon, but nothing about going to the beach sounds even remotely interesting to me. 

Unless we're going for the people watching, and then yeah, maybe I'll go. But we're only staying for an hour, right?

* It had pond in its name, but it was really more lake-like.

** I'm pretty sure my dad envisioned that once he created a glorious beach for us, my sisters and I would actually use it to enter the water. No matter how great the beach was, it did not change the fact that the ground in the lake was like slimy pudding. And it smelled like dead people.

*** I have been known to listen to music, watch TV, have a conversation with four different people via text messaging, facebook (yes, it's a verb now. Didn't you get that memo?), and catch-up on internet news all at the same time. I may have problems.

+ And water parks are most certainly out of the question too.

B.Y.O.T.P.

     

Today I am taking a quick little road trip (5... 6... 7 hours, depending on traffic) with a guy that I've been friends with for the past nine years. (FYI- this is the same guy from the FWB post. You know, the one that I've been friends with forever but there has never been any romantic or sexual interest? Yeah, that one.) It should be interesting. While we're really good friends and can easily converse and frequently give each other shit for being, well, ourselves, we've never actually had to spend so much time together. Alone. In a car. Plus, we haven't seen each other since Christmas... for about five minutes. So, we'll see how this goes. Don't worry, I'll be sure to relay all the good nitty-gritty happenings. 

In the meantime, enjoy this post that I wrote on Tuesday (yes, I blogged ahead, again. Sue me):

In my house our bathrooms are B.Y.O.T.P. You know, Bring Your Own Toilet Paper? While I live with five six five other people, we never really nailed down a system for purchasing consumables (not in the sense that we eat it, but in the sense that it gets depleted by use. Other examples would be paper towels and dish soap). As a result, there are times when we don't have any toilet paper in the whole house. 

There are gloriously wonderful moments when toilet paper just magically appears in the bathrooms and no one knows how it gets there. I'm not sure how that happens, but I know I didn't put it there. I learned my lesson after the first time I picked up a package of good toilet paper. We ran through that shit in a matter of days. The next time I picked up t.p. I bought the cheap stuff. You know, the kind that feels like sand paper? And I rationed it too. I stored it in my bedroom and put a new roll in the bathroom only after a couple of days had gone by and I realized the magic t.p. wasn't going to appear.

One of my housemates used to steal toilet paper from one of the arts buildings on campus. She hasn't done this in awhile. Maybe the custodians are running low on supply. Who knows?

Any ways, I know from experience to always check ahead of time for an adequate supply of t.p. before I plop down on the pot. (Okay, to be honest, I don't always remember to do this. Like when I'm drunk.) We've all been in a situation where you realize too late that there's no paper on the roll, right? Embarrassing, right? I mean, what do you do at that point? While I've been in this situation more times than I'd like to admit, there was this one time when I felt like I'd hit an all time bathroom blunder low. The year was 2002. I was working as a purchasing clerk...

... at a company that manufactured the operating systems on train doors (if you've ever used a subway, you've used their operating systems). Or something like that. It just so happened that the restrooms were located out on the floor. If you don't know anything about manufacturing facilities, the floor is where shit is built, separate from the offices, which was super convenient, let me tell you. As you can imagine, the plant primarily employed men. Remember this tidbit for later. 

So, I headed to the bathroom in a hurry because I have a bladder the size of a walnut. I looked into my regular stall (yes, I had a stall I used regularly. Doesn't everyone?) and took note of the toilet paper situation. There was a roll perched on top of the holder. Score! I plopped on the pot and took care of business (for the record, I only did #1. Had I needed to do #2, this story would have ended much worse than it actually did). 

Business taken care of, I grabbed for the roll of t.p. Being the oh-so-coordinated person that I am, I managed to knock the roll off the holder when I grabbed for it. I watched in horror as the t.p. rolled across the floor of the stall. Thinking quickly, I checked the actual holder for toilet paper. No luck. Just empty rolls. Not even a measly scrap of paper. 

I assessed the situation and realized that the roll on the floor was just within reach. I carefully stretched my right leg out and was just... about... to... get... it... but no. My foot succeeded in reaching the roll just enough to bump it right out of the stall. I watched, head down, peeking under the door, as the toilet paper mockingly unrolled across the bathroom floor.

Fuck!

What now? I'm only slightly embarrassed to say this, but I proceeded to check the floor for scraps of paper. Of course, the one time I could benefit from toilet paper litter the floor is bare. Double fuck.

I again assessed my situation. I concluded that I had three options...

1. I could sit there, patiently, and wait for someone else to come in to use the bathroom. Knowing how few women worked in the building, I concluded that there was no telling how long I would be sitting there, waiting. It could be hours.
2. I could do the whole drip-dry thing, hoping that things would dry off enough so I could pull my pants up part way and then waddle into another stall to snag some t.p. Of course, it would be just my luck that someone would enter the bathroom at the exact moment my bare, white ass was waddling across the room. 
3. I could yell for help and hope someone would hear me and come to my rescue. Of course, if you remember, the only people who would hear me would be the male production workers.

As you can imagine, I concluded that these options were not actually options. So I sat some more (like I had anywhere else to go) and thought some more. At this point, my eyes happened upon the empty cardboard toilet paper rolls hanging on the holder. A-ha! Another option! 

Yup! I peeled some cardboard off the roll, and I used it! Not one of my finer moments, and certainly not one of my most comfortable ones, but it did the trick.

How about you? Do you have any embarrassing, no-toilet-paper stories to share? I would love to hear about them. Especially since I anticipate needing a few laughs after the car ride today. Comment away!

I ♥ My Grad School Friends

    

Today I took care of the last few things necessary to take care of in order to be eligible for my degree. It was a very bitter sweet day for me. While I'm super-psyched to be done, I'm also super-bummed because being done with grad school means I won't be spending the summer with all the awesome people I met over the past two years. This really breaks my heart.

Starting grad school was a very pivotal moment for me. I'd been putting it off for YEARS, unsure of where I wanted to go and really not that excited to return to school. Of course, great old NY State told me that I HAD to get my Masters or I would lose my certification to teach, so I really had no other option. 

When I started school, I was nervous, scared, and really unsure of what to expect. I had enrolled in a summer intensive program, and I was really terrified of the schedule and the work load. I have to tell you though, grad school has been the best experience of my life. It wasn't so much the classes that were so great (because they really weren't), it was all the great people I met and friends that I made. Spending 12, 13, sometimes 14 hours a day with the same people day-in and day-out, 7 days a week for 6 weeks, you really get to know one another. Sometimes more than you would prefer. Or not.

My experience in grad school as well as the friends I made have really helped me to discover who I am, and has allowed me to be really comfortable with and embrace who I am. I met so many great people, all of whom I hope to encounter again in life. I met my soul mates, SMos, Stormey, and Pooh, all of whom I can't imagine not having in my life. It's sad to think that this is the end of our time together. I know people always promise to stay in touch and get together, but you know how that goes. I'm afraid that without the bond we formed as suffering comrades trudging through grad school hell to hold us together, we'll slowly drift apart. We've already lost a few along the way.

In honor of our good times, our great collaborations and our constant support of each other, I'd like to share some pics (but not many, since apparently we were all too busy working to take pics. Or something like that) of us while at "Summer Art Camp." (because that's truly what it felt like). Enjoy.

 (left: the best looking group of ceramists EVER)

(right: Oodles, Bubba, K-Dub, The Canadian and Without Hair experiencing the pains joys of crit day)

(left: more critiquing)

(right: some of my work on crit day. Which wouldn't have been what they were if it hadn't been for Stormey)

(left: me and Oodles sitting next to more of my crappy colorful work, inspired by SMos and Bubba)

(right: at the scene of the crime where the most hilarious "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" spoof occurred)

(left: four lovely ladies)

(right: and the Three Musketeers)

(left: celebrating T's birthday on our lunch break)

(right: me, Cutter, Stormey, Pooh, SMos and Miss Gabs-a-lot)

(left: With Hair and Stormey at our Last Night get-together)

(right: Cutter, Pooh and Derby discovering that cheap plastic chairs can only hold one drunk ass, not three drunk asses)

I think I need a drink now. Otherwise I'm going to start bawling.

That is all.

I think I peed myself.

 

First, let me clear this up. I did not pee myself. I can only recall two times in my life when I peed myself at an age when it was downright mortifying to do so. Once, when I was six or seven, and once when I was, well, a little bit older. This title is in reference to one of the two crazy-ass dreams I had last night. I won't bore you with a rundown of my dream (Seriously, I HATE it when people make me suffer through that shit). I did, however, write about it over here, if you're interested in reading about it. Just so you know, I don't talk about my dreams like others do. I keep it short, succinct, and to the point, so if you do choose to read about it, it shouldn't be too painful.

At any rate, today is Mother's Day. I am not a mother. This should already be obvious to you. Childlessness aside, it is impossible for anyone to not be aware that today is Mother's Day. The world won't let you. Bloggers blog about it. Facebookians post about it. This morning I woke up (what? 11:30am is still the morning. Technically), logged onto Facebook and was immediately attacked by a barrage of Happy Mother's Days. Aside from the status updates, it seems every mother on my friends list decided to individually wish every mother on their friends list a Happy Mother's Day. My "Most Recent" News Feed reported a count of 500+. Really folks? Was that necessary? In protest, I wished no one a Happy Mother's Day. Not through Facebook any way.

So, I suppose, in honor of this day, I'm obligated to tell a tale about my mother. Or at least show you her picture, which I know she would hate because she is one of the least photogenic people in the entire world. Alright, here goes, let's see what I can dig up...

Here's my mom at Christmas in 2008 with my one of my nephews and my sister's legs. My mom used to make these really yummy cheesecake cookies every year at Christmas time. She still makes them for me. I can't eat them. You know, because of my egg allergy. My mom forgets this every year. Occasionally I eat one or two to make her feel good. I'm sure this doesn't help with her tendency to forget about my allergy.

Here's my mom grilling at my going away party/stepfather's birthday party in 2009. That's my nephew again. He's wearing his mommy's shoes. He's a character. Here's a pic of the cake my mom bought me for the occasion...

Yup! That's a cheesecake folks! Guess who couldn't eat it? That's a pretty accurate drawing of my mom and step-dad. They raise chickens. My mom didn't draw it though. Her artistic talents lie more in the sewing spectrum.

Here's a pic of my mom at Christmas in 2009. That's me holding one of my nephews. Yes, my mom wears Christmas sweaters. She also wears nature sweatshirts. I don't recall there being any cheesecake cookies at the festivities that year. However, that was the year I planned Christmas dinner and my sister was in charge of the desserts, so that might have had something to do with it.

Here's anther pic of my mom, holding my nephew. I had made a trip back home to attend the wake of the mother of one of my close friends from high school. In honor of me surfacing from the thesis-writing pit I had sunk into, my mom bought me a special dessert. Yup! You guessed it! Cheesecake! Not only that, it was one of those fancy variety pack cheesecakes. It looked really yummy. I think my sis really enjoyed it.

So, in conclusion, I wish all the mom's out there a Happy Mother's Day. I should probably go call mine. I sent her a card already, but I'm pretty sure in her eyes that isn't a sufficient enough gesture. Maybe I should make her a cheesecake*...

*For the record, my mom tries really hard to accommodate all of our likes and dislikes. Unfortunately, I think she stopped keeping track in 1989**. In her mind, my oldest sister still likes the color purple and unicorns, my twin is still obsessed with lions and roses, my younger sis still likes... well, I'm afraid I'm not sure what she ever liked. And I still eat cheesecake and collect teddy bears. Thanks any ways, Mom!

**I'm exaggerating, of course. But you already knew that, right? Oh! And it's sunflowers. My younger sister loved sunflowers. For your entertainment, here's a pic of all of us back in the day. 1989 would probably be an accurate guess based on the clothes and the fact that my oldest sister hadn't ventured into the big-hair, crazy-perm, poufy-bangs stage of the early 90's yet.

 (I'm in the cool rainbow striped top in the center. Missing from this pic is my brother. Yes, I have one. And my youngest sis. She wasn't born yet. And she doesn't belong to my mom's family any ways. She belongs to my dad's. Although my mom has unofficially adopted her as a part of her family. But that's a tale for another day.)

"It is what you read when you don't have to...

     

...that determines what you will be when you can't help it."  ~Oscar Wilde (Source)

Forgive me as I slip into geekdom for a moment...

Remember libraries? You know, those places with shelves with things on them called books? Yeah, those things, with covers and pages. You probably went to libraries once a week in elementary school for story time. You listened to the librarian read Mrs. Piggle Wiggle or Amelia Bedelia while the boys played with your hair.* And at the end you would check out joke books and ghost stories. Or maybe you were fortunate enough to have a mom who would take you to the town library before you were old enough for elementary school. 

Remember how great they smelled? Like old books. 

Remember how intimidating the librarian was, seated behind her big wooden desk, wielding the all-mighty and powerful stamp? 

Remember how exciting it felt to have a library book to read, and the thrill of the challenge of trying to finish it before it was due?

Ah... libraries. I came across this picture today from Factory 20 via the blog Modish Vintage, which I came across by way of  We ♥ Indie. (Yes, I took another journey around the internet. Yes, I was procrastinating again. So?) Which is what inspired this post.

 How cool is that stamp rack (not to be confused with tramp stamp)?

I have to be honest with you, I fear for the future of our libraries. I imagine something along the lines of what can be seen in The Time Machine where libraries no longer exist and we have to get our information from Orlando Jones. With the introduction of technology like Kindle and the iPad, I wonder if we are nearing a day when books will become obsolete. 

Just last year (or maybe it was two years ago now... three? Time is so tricky lately), the library at the elementary school I was working at was going through a process of bar coding all their books and integrating a scanning system. As a result, the card catalogs were no longer useful and were being disposed of. The librarian asked me if I had any use for them. I wish I had taken a moment to really think about it before I said no, but I didn't, so I said no. I regret it now. Just imagine all the things you could do with an old wooden card catalog....

The possibilities are endless and I cringe to think that I passed up the chance to own some history. Shame on me. Here are some pics of card catalogs and other library artifacts I fell in love with:

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* Everyone experienced this, right? RIGHT?! Nowadays I imagine this would be grounds for a sexual harassment suit. I can just see poor little Lucas now as he's being hauled off by the cops, muttering in awe, "but it's so soft... so soft...".

UPDATE: If you are a resident of New York State and would like to "take action" against the elimination of funding to public libraries, follow this link, New York Library Association.

If the fish curl fits...

                         
I know, I know, I know. I already posted today, but that was a lame-o post that probably belongs elsewhere (In fact, I did move it. You can now find it here. The bitterness was just too much for OBG.). I just had a moment that made me declare, out loud (and to myself), "I'm fickle." This, of course, reminded me of this little guy:

 (Source)

Remember this? The Fortune Teller Miracle Fish? It's purpose was to indicate your "romantic state." You placed the fish on your palm and watched how he curled up (or not). The way he curled told you if you were experiencing "jealousy", "indifference", "love", "fickle", "false", "passion", or the dreaded "dead one."

I had one of these for YEARS. I kept him in the top drawer of my dresser and referred to him often. I can't recall where he came from, but I DO recall that he always gave me the same results (much like mood rings, which always turned black for me).

Yup! That's right. I was always "fickle".
   

fick·le

/ˈfɪkəl/ Show Spelled[fik-uhl]

–adjective

1. likely to change, esp. due to caprice, irresolution, or instability; casually changeable: fickle weather.

2. not constant or loyal in affections: a fickle lover.

   
Uh... yup! That would be me! And to think, that little red cellophane fish knew all along. Hey, at least it wasn't "dead one". There may be hope for me yet.

I probably could have saved myself (and others) years of trouble if I had just listened to my fish instead of getting pissed off at him and shoving him in my mouth every time he curled up "fickle" (yes, I actually put him in my mouth when I was mad at him. It seems I have an oral fixation. I would prefer not to talk about it.). 

(I think I might pick me up some of these. That way I will always know how other people feel. I'm a genius, I tell ya, a genius.)

My Easter story.

      

I don't really do Easter anymore. Maybe some day I will again, but for now I view this day as a day for kids (I don't have any), a day for the religious (I'm not), and a day for loving families to get together and spend a glorious spring day showering each other with sunshine and love (and let's be honest, my family DOES NOT come even remotely close to being this kind of family). Plus, I hate pastels. And I can't eat eggs.

Once upon a time, Easter was sort of a big deal. My family would head to Long Island, where my grandmother would drag everyone to church, all done up in our new Easter hats and dresses. My cousins would be there, which was always exciting. We'd struggle through the service, all the while knowing that when we returned back to grandma's there would be Easter baskets and candy waiting for us, because THE EASTER BUNNY HAD COME! 

The Easter bunny always came to my grandmother's house during church. Interestingly enough, my uncle always left church earlier than the rest of us. My tiny little cynical brain may have been suspicious of this, but it wasn't until years later that I finally made the connection. At any rate, we would always linger after the service and converse with people I didn't know. There was probably a lot of cheek pinching and many comments like, "Oh, look how much you girls have grown," or "Oh, look at that blonde hair." All the while, we were probably secretly dying inside, eager to leave so we could hunt for our Easter goodies. But, like the good little girls that we were, we stood patiently and politely and hid behind our mother whenever someone came at us with cheek pinching fingers. 

Hunting for the goodies the Easter bunny left behind was always exciting, however, it always amazed me at how uncreative and predictable the Easter bunny was. I mean, that sonofabitch hid my Easter basket up in the same tree EVERY YEAR*! And he always hid it so high up I couldn't reach it. I thought it was unfair that out of all the grand kids, I was the only one who couldn't retrieve my own basket from it's hiding spot. That job always fell to my only male cousin, who didn't have to wear an Easter dress and pretty patent leather shoes and could easily scale up a tree. 

When my grandmother sold her house** and moved to the mountains with us, Easter was never the same. For one, it was still snowing in the mountains at Easter time, and apparently the Easter bunny had issues with snow because he always hid our goodies indoors. I don't recall going to church in the mountains, but if my grandmother was with us, I'm sure that we did. Oh, and our Easter outfits weren't nearly as sweet and pretty as they were on Long Island. Fortunately for everyone, I don't have pictures with me or I would totally bust them out and do a side-by-side comparison. You're welcome.

Any way, if you're into such a thing... Happy Easter!

(This isn't an Easter picture, but it's the only one I could find that demonstrates the cuteness and level of pinchableness that our chubby little cheeks had. We were such adorable little dorks.)

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* I do recall one year when the Easter bunny hid my basket somewhere else (I think my uncle and cousins were MIA that year), and I was devastated! I remember crying in big, gasping, hiccuping sobs, "but... he hides... my basket... there... every year." That's probably the year I stopped believing in the Easter bunny and became a holiday-hating cynic.
** which was quite devastating for me. I wasn't so naive that I thought good things couldn't come to an end (my parents divorced when was 6 or 7, so they had already ruined the fairytale, happy-ever-after fantasy for me), but I thought Grandma's house was FOREVER! I have a pretty clear memory of wandering through her house once, kissing the walls goodbye of each and every room.

I can't believe I forgot about this!

    

A couple weeks ago I won my first giveaway, yay! I had recently started following the blog Along the Ausable. I used to live in Jay, NY so I enjoy popping over to Along to take a trip down memory lane. One evening I wandered over and discovered that she was having a giveaway! Along had recently made a discovery while visiting Devin's Garage and Deli*... jewelry! She was so excited that she decided to giveaway a pair of earrings to the first person to comment on her post. Of course, yours truly was the first person. Yay for me! (see, sometimes it pays to stalk people) Pop on over there, and read about it yourself. It's a cute story that reminds me of the small things I miss about living in small towns.

Anyway, I had completely forgotten that I had won, what with all the chaos currently occurring in my life. So, I took my (bi) weekly trip to the post office today (I always forget to check the mail), and look what I found in my mailbox!

Earrings! And a postcard of the Jay Covered Bridge! I was so excited. I rarely ever get real mail, and I rarely, rarely ever get packages in the mail! I'm thrilled about these earrings. They're so cute and they're green too! One of my favorite colors. I can't wait to wear them (I promise to post pictures when I do, of course). And check out the note on the back:

Awe, thanks! This has made me feel nostalgic, and I feel like reminiscing about the things I miss about living in Jay:

•  I NEVER forgot to go to the post office; it was right across the street! And I could walk there!
• sitting on our roof on the 4th of July, watching the three, yes three, different fireworks displays over the river. And they lasted forever!
• hanging my laundry out to dry.
• the neighbor's HUMONGOUS cat. That thing was seriously huge. In fact, it woke us up one night when it was fighting an owl over a rabbit. The cat won.
• walking down the hill in our backyard to go tubing in the river.
• the sense of community.
• music in the village green. We never actually went, but we could hear the music from our house.
• the weather. It was so weird, but living in Jay was like living in a weird weather bubble. If it was snowing everywhere else, the sun was shining in Jay!
• the scenery. I can't find most of my pictures, I think they're on my computer packed away in storage, however, I was able to scrounge a few up on this computer. It wasn't the most beautiful day, but I'm sure you'll get the idea. This was our backyard. Please disregard the date stamp. These obviously weren't taken in January. Or in 2070. If you want to see some prettier pictures, check out this gallery. Enjoy!

* Devin's Garage and Deli is a great place. They used to change the oil in my car. And I could walk there!