I'm digging some of the new shoegaze sound bands. Cheers!
I'm digging some of the new shoegaze sound bands. Cheers!
So I've been working on my novel. I know, right!? Finally! And this is where I start blogging again so I can blather about nonsensical shit for fifteen minutes or so while my brain reboots. I am about 30,000 words in, or about a third way through the plot. I'm not exactly sure because I'm halfway between a pantster and a plotter. (Those are writing terms. Impressive huh? It's like I know what I'm doing!) Like I've got most of the story living in my head, where it's been living for about five years and I tend to write when a certain scene or dialog just grabs me. That's the pantster part, aka by the seat of your pants. But I'm too anal retentive in real life to not go over accurate details (thank you google) and perfect timelines (a plotter specialty) and stare at hastily drawn maps, write out notes, etc. etc. So the bottom line is... I write slowly. I'm trying to get faster. I'm trying to write every day. I'm trying to separate writing time and editing time. I'm doing all that shit.
Oh, but did I mention how we had a water leak and now we're renovating much of the bottom floor of our house? No? Yeah, there's that. Oh, and a whole bunch of other stuff happened because it's been like two years since I've really maintained this blog. Anywho, moving on.
But... I think the biggest news that has happened in the last two years is that the fricking voices in my head are now MANAGED! Meditation has made such a difference. Any breaks or journeys or to be continues it took to get to this point in my life and this state of being have been totally worth it.
Lately insects of varied flying ability have been swooping into my face for unknown reasons. They have done so with forceful persistence and periodic consistency. This is not an affliction I've been burdened with in the past. Like, you know that brother of a friend of your cousin's who everyone says attracts mosquitoes like a zapper so you can never invite him camping. I cannot for the life of me think why my face is suddenly so appealing to bugs. I've gotten hit in the cheek, the forehead, my neck, several times! I've narrowly avoided swatting them down my shirt. Because who wants a moth in their bra? (You know that's going to smear.) No one else in my family seems to be experiencing the love dives of gnats besides me. It's utterly baffling. And kind of creepy. I have been taking a meditation class for the last few months and the only thing I can think of is that my chakras are now so blazing bright that I am like a beacon in the dark for small winged creatures.
So just in case you were wondering what the downside to enlightenment is... it's learn to keep your mouth closed or you might inhale a moth. - wg
I wrote this as a note to myself. I forget for what exactly, clearly I was irritated, probably something distracting me from the task at hand. But now I feel this should be emblazoned on a t-shirt and/or needs to be the mantra of my life. Sadly, my first thought was to put it on facebook or twitter, it is so utterly twitterable, and I wanted to remember it and share it and nod sagely at it, but that is just feeding the chimes. Then it occurred to me that I could put it up specifically and with intention on where the bell tolls... except I really don't hold truck with the younger gen's notion of doing things, big and small, "ironically".
Call me old-fashioned but I think we should stumble ignorantly and spectacularly into our irony, the way it was meant to be. Flames shooting from our tresses, ashes on our shoulders.
Now give me a treat.
I am also sideways. Because auto correct on computers has gone too far.
WHO'S IDIOT PROOF NOW COMPUTER?!
Massive writer's block. Just stymied. Or I've got too much floating in my brain and I can't organize it. But I did decide to shut off my syndication feed. I'd rather throw my words out into the black emptiness and see if they coagulate into something more defined. Let the remnants of gravity and cosmic attraction mass elements together. Besides there are too many audiences in the public eye with the potential to be offended. I.e. I don't feel like I can talk about what I want to talk about. And I haven't felt that way for a long time.
(Except to those who I know will come find me. You know who you are.)
I have been told that I keep myself busy, so busy that I avoid the things I really need to do. And I do do that sometimes. But that is not always the reason. Sometimes I'm just stumbling around looking for the path.
A writer once told me that the way she got through her first novel was to take felt tip pen markers and write on big sheets of paper, which she hung all over her walls. That is the only way she could get started. If I could start with something that visceral I would. I suppose that is why I flounder around doing other creative tasks; a hope for a trigger point, for flow. I constantly feel writing in my gut. But it keeps getting stopped up, clogged in my throat before it gets to or out of my head.
At least that's what it feels like. Here you go darkness.
We installed a Little Free Library in our front yard! I fell in love with this program when I heard about it. I asked for the library for my birthday. I guess we could have built our own; there are some crazy cool libraries out there. But I just don't trust my rainproofing skills. Plus, it's so pretty!
I distributed flyers around the neighborhood and only had one person look at me like I was crazy. But not for the library, just for handing out flyers. I mean, we do get a lot of flyers in our neighborhood so I kind of get it. But I'm not all THAT suspicious looking! (Although, I'm not a professional flyer hander-outer so perhaps I was breaking flyer etiquette somehow. Apologies, good neighbors.)
Anywho, we've already had a few visitors and some donations! The kid's books are very popular. Must get more. (Or make Chance clean through his bookshelf. He'll love that!) - wg
It's only been sleeping. It's not like I didn't have anything to talk about, but I was sort of really tired of all I had to talk about. You know? But that's OK, it's time to wake up now.
We have been doing a major overhaul on our yard. The problem with our yard is that our house is a hundred years old and the backyard has been ladscaped to death. Literally. There are spots where nothing would grow anymore. I figured at some point treated wood had wreaked havoc with the soil. And the last time previous owners had landscaped they had rendered everthing in shades of grey and brown and sort of woodland-like but reallly just kind of dead looking. It was like a zombie forest back there, minus the moaning. We also had either a ton of shade or the withering glare of too much sun. So let me introduce you to our new artificial lawn! (the crowd roars)
I'm horrible about before and after pictures but I'm GREAT at right in the middle pictures! This is our new wonderful lawn, and behind it is a patch of nothing-will-grow dirt, and our ugly cement pad. Why am I so excited about plastic grass? Because IT IS AWESOME! So much nicer than the roll out hurt-your-butt-when-you-sat-on-it turf carpet that I remember fed-up grown ups used in the 80s. And you know, this is California and we're in a drought again. And ALSO, most importantly, this...
That patch was previously covered with flagstone. No child could lie there and play with Legos. Seeing Chance on the lawn was worth the purchase right there! We also had the cement pad stained and it looks a million times better. To the point of, people keep asking us when we put in the concrete! (Le sigh, it's been there. It was just blaaaaaand.)
See the offending flagstone, accesory to ants. My dad is happy to take that off my hands, btw.
We've also been working on a million small projects while the garderners are transforming the space into a wonderland. Keen wants an outdoor kitchen so he painted an old picnic table and added sheet metal on top to created a prep table.
I've been painting a metal table set and a bunch of other outdoor items. And because it's me it's totally bright colored.
We're not done with everything yet, but we're getting there. To be continued!
- the weirdgirl
I do this thing when I'm sick where I sit on the couch and plague myself with guilt. I look at what needs to be cleaned, I look at all the emails I should answer, I think about my To Do list, I think about what's critical and what's not critical, I think about my overall life goals and I just berate myself for not having the energy to get up and do any of it. It's like a tenfold mid-life crisis every time I'm sick. I could be feverish and dizzy and it doesn't matter. I could be pathetically tied to the toilet. I tell myself that if I was truly driven, that if I really wanted to get somewhere, that if I was adhering to the habits of highly successful people (I don't remember how many habits there are because I didn't read the book... ALSO on my To Do list!) then I would be working even when I'm sick! I would be pushing through. Because that's what the successful people do. I'm not doing aything else while I'm stuck at home so why am I NOT writing the great American novel?! I mean how sick am I really? Not that sick! Stop messing around, you slacker!
Then after days of that going through my head, one morning I'll wake up and start doing dishes or answering emails and it's not even a question of when I'm going to poop out because I have energy and I just get to work. Clear-headed, motivated, and (relatively) guilt-free. (It's never totally gone, you know.) And that's about the time I realize, "Yes, I WAS sick." I wouldn't have been quite so depressed and tired otherwise. I probably WOULD have had some energy to do something. Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself. But then how would I motivate myself when I do have energy? And there the voices go again.
So my real problem is... figuring out when to listen to the voices and when to tell them to just shut the hell up.
I can't be the only one who does this, right?
Actually it was a piece of rebar. It was sticking out of one of those cement blocks you find at the end of parking spaces. I don't even know what they're called. Bumpers? Pylons?
Whatever. It ripped off my bumper.
I didn't do anything to that piece of rebar either! I don't even KNOW that piece of rebar OR its pylon buddy! It just attacked for no reason. My guess is it has some unresolved anger issues about not being part of a skyscraper or something.
The morning routine. I shuffle to the bathroom, relieve myself, turn on the water for the shower to heat up, and then stare bleary-eyed at the scale as I inch it around the floor to find the perfect "weighing spot" (i.e. the one that shows me the answer I want to see). Once the water begins to steam I ditch the scale and hop into the shower.
Scant moments later (OK, 20 minutes if I'm lucky) I emerge from the shower refreshed and much more awake. I jump back on the scale.
"Huh," I say, inching it around again, "That's a mathematical conundrum."
"Einstein! What are you doing here?!" I exclaim.
"I heard "mathematical conundrum" and assumed someone needed help with the secret workings of the universe," said a white-haired man in a tweed sweater. "If you have questions just ask me."
"Oh," I say, feeling a bit silly, "Well, I don't know about secret workings of the universe..."
"Go on, ask anything," urged Einstein.
"You know I feel awful dragging you away from Heaven... or wherever..."
"No, no, I like to get away every now and again. Go ahead, tell me your conundrum."
"OK, if you're sure," I say, "Well, I was wondering why when I weigh myself before my shower I'm always one weight, and then when I weigh myself again after my shower I'm always one pound lighter than I was before. On the same day and even with variations and everything! I'm always lighter after my shower than before. Now I don't remember much from Algebra II but that doesn't seem like it should happen, right?"
"Oh, that's an easy one but still quite a fascinating subject you've stumbled on to. You see, when you first step on to the scale you've just woken up, you are groggy, limbs dragging, and in essence you are closer to earth. But!" Einstein pointed one finger in the air, in emphasis, "As you take your shower, get dressed, cleaned up, what have you, you start to plan out the details of the day. And so it goes with these details come little bits of anxiety, some little tensions, new ideas, old worries, etc... even for good plans this happens, it is the nature of planning. And as we know all things are energy, and these little bits buoy you up, they straigthen the spine, so to speak, until they lift the whole body and by the time you are out of the shower you have a spring in your step! So my dear," said Einstein with a smile, "it is not so much that you are one pound lighter, but rather that you are floating one pound up in the air!"
"Really?" I say, "That's amazing!"
"Yes, it's quite interesting. In fact, I've been studying the phenomena a bit in Heaven. I'm still in the early stages of research mind you."
"So how do I float ten pounds off the ground?"
"Oh, I think that would require planning something of a very complicated degree."
"Hmm," I mumur, "like doing taxes?"
"Ah!" exclaims Einstein, "Strangely enough, taxes have the opposite effect. They weigh you down terribly, upwards of 50 pounds!"
I brighten, "How about a bank heist? That would take a lot of planning!"
"Hmm, that just might do it," Einstein stroked his chin. "Tell you what, you try it and I'll check back in with you. But please keep an accurate and consistent weight log! I'll add it to my studies."
"It's a deal," I say, "Hey Einstein, thanks for coming to help. It might not be the secrets to the universe, but I'm glad to know how it works."
"Of course, my dear," said Einstein as he starts to fade away in a misty glow, "Oh, one last thing..."
"Even though you are floating one pound off the ground, your pants are still going to fit the same."
Not that I can think of a damn thing to say at the moment but that's always the way of it. In the middle of the night I will be SO eloquent, omg. I am brills at 2:00am! After midnight my high school career aptitude test can SUCK IT! (I know it still cares because it tried to friend me on Facebook. Give it up, career aptitude, you're not getting any validation from me.)
Actually, I don't even remember what my test results were. I just remember they were so far off base I immediately chucked 'em and stomped my disaffected butt out of the "career center". Do they still have career centers in high school anymore? Or are they all "take your SATs or you are a huge failure centers" nowadays? SATs... yet another thing I chose to eschew in high school. Like I need your stinking vocabulary words.
It's funny, I find I'm in my 40s and I still feel fits of rebellion. I guess some of us just have the aptitude for that.
A couple of years ago when Overdressed: The Shockingly High Cost of Cheap Fashion came out I quickly downloaded the book to my kindle and tore through it. Partly because I hadn't heard the phrase "fast fashion" previously and I was curious about all things fashion, but also because I HAD noticed the quality of clothing available was going down. There were a lot more options to shop but the t-shirts, and fabric weights in general, were getting thinner. Now I will admit, when some of the newer stores came on the scene I was pretty happy with them. I like to shop and suddenly there were stores like Forever 21 that had a lot of variety to choose from and some cute retro-inspired styles that I wasn't seeing in other places. But that was also back when a "layering tee" - a t-shirt so thin you have to wear another tee or tank underneath it - was it's own category and you could still also buy a regular weight t-shirt on the next shelf over.
Now EVERYTHING is as thin as a layering tee! At some point the demand for quick turnaround "fast fashion" became more important than the quality of that fashion. And honestly I'm not sold on the "fashion" part of that either because I'm seeing an awful lot of basics sold in stores, with nothing special to recommend them. Not to mention how the whole industry has changed and what it's doing to the environment. I'm really at a point where I'd rather pay more money for good quality, interesting styled clothes that will last, than another cheap tee that will have holes in it in a few months.
Of course I started ranting and raving about these trends and most of my friends looked at me like I was speaking gibberish. So I'd like to share this lovely video that encapsulates the major concepts of fast fashion and its impact all in under two minutes.
Created by OnlineMBA.com
And if anyone out there has some good sources for good high thread count clothing, please let me know.
- the weirdgirl
Swamped. Utterly swamped. PTA is a major job. And on top of that, my computer has crashed every time I've tried to post to my blog. It's kind of crazy. It's like my browser has a beef with Typepad. I have a product review post all written that I've literally been trying to publish for over two weeks. So apologies to those I owe some words.
I might have to microblog for a while. Or, I don't know, blog in chunks? And back up EVERYTHING on my computer!
I guess I better start pricing out a new laptop. Le sigh. - wg
I think I might have accidentally taken an extra beta blocker today. I don't think it will do anything bad (I think) but I'm feeling awfully sleepy. I might have only taken one pill, and it could just be that's it hot or I'm hormonal or something, but I honestly can't remember. This summer has been weird. I seem to be vascillating between being fuzzy brain or being wide-awake at 2:00 in the morning and wanting to jog. (I mean, when have I EVER wanted to jog?!) I'm not gonna lie, this thyroid crap is kind of fucked up, but it makes for some interesting conversations.
Hey wg! How you doing?
Hi! It's so nice to see you! Oh, you know, maybe overdosing a little, I'm not sure. But I feel OK! How are you?
Oh my god, did you accidentally take an extra pill? I've totally done that!
I know! And then you get all panicky because you don't know what it's gonna do!
And THEN you have to pop an extra anxiety pill!
And worry about THAT!
Ha ha ha! Snort! Ha ha! Woooh!
I bet nurses hate us.
Alright, so something big has happened... has been happening, really, over the last few months, and I haven't been able to talk about it before now. If I was a more attentive blogger (and perhaps a more successful one) I would start this off by first sharing an anecdote of childhood, its emotional impact on my perspective, and relating that to our present circumstances. Build the drama, so to speak, show the emotional importance. And all of that would be true... but I'm not going to do that, or at least not in the typical order.
My husband, Keen Dad, quit his job! He's starting his own business.
I feel a profound relief and a lot of pride. He's been unhappy for a long time. He totally deserves to do his own thing.
As for childhood anecdotes, yes, I didn't grow up with a whole lot of money; much less than I have now. But I didn't grow up completely destitute either. The funny thing about growing up on a tight budget is that it makes you work really hard. You can also grow up either anxious or fearless about money. I think most people would expect me to be a mess. I don't work so we don't have a second income. (Actually, I work A LOT, but I don't seem to get paid for any of it. What?) But I have utmost confidence in Keen's ability; he knows his industry, he loves his clients, and he works his ass off. I know he's going to be successful.
I also have this strange confidence that I can go get a job if I need to. Or even if I just want to. It might not be in the same industry or at the same level that I used to have but I don't care. I think it's another side effect of working hard... there can be a lot of satisfaction in it. And once you get in the habit, sometimes it's hard to stop.
Here's a fun project for a summer's day... our household ended up with a lot of old crocs. See, Chance likes to wear more than one color at a time, like one red croc and one green croc, so we'll usually let him buy two pairs so he can mix and match. Then one year there was a sale or something so we bought three pairs. AND then one of us, me or Keen, got confused and came home with another pair in the same size and color because it was also on sale and we couldn't remember what shoes our kid had. (Shut up. We are old.) Lucikly for us Chance has feet that are both on the small side and grow slowly so he's worn those crocs for a couple of years!
Now I had four pairs of outgrown crocs to deal with and that's just way more than I felt comfortable tossing in the trash or recycle bin. So I decided to turn them into planters!
It was super simple: I packed a bit of dirt into the toe, making sure there weren't empty gaps, then planted the flowers. After I got the plant in I put them in a bucket of water to soak. They already have their own drainage holes after all.
I decided to use mine as upright hanging planters so I wrapped wire around the heal band to hang them. Alternately, you can also wrap the wire around the plastic "buttons" that hold the band on if those are missing (like in the dark blue ones I bought from the thrift store).
I also hit the thrift store for a couple more funky colored items to work with and one more larger pair of crocs.
Here's how they look hanging on the fence.
It was fun, looks cute, and won't fill up any landfills! I bet you could also shove a small glass into a croc and use it as a vase or centerpiece. - wg
I am nothing but a languishing pile of swollen tissues.
So I've come to the conclusion that being in your 40s is definitely a mixed bag. On the one hand you've got more experience, confidence, and usually a little more money. You do things that you've never tried before. You speak your mind. On the other hand, your body is going to pot and the older generation starts passing away. Everyone turns the 40s into jokes about being too tired for sex, but the fact of the matter is they are just fricking hard! It's probably a good thing everyone has their neurotic period in their 20s and 30s, because you just don't have time for neuroses while you're busy taking care of everyone later.
Sorry, non sequitor rant there. My throat is swollen, my sinuses are swollen, and the rest of me is starting to swell up because I'm doing nothing lately but hiding from pollen and waiting for my radioactive throat to heal up. (And, obviously, having too much time to think.) The throat is being problematic by the way. You'll probably hear me bitch about it for the next two to six months because that's how long it could take to heal! I'm starting to feel really lazy. And not the good kind of lazy where you watch a movie and take a nap and feel justified about deserving it because you spend all your time taking care of other people. This is the bad kind of lazy. The snowballing type. I had a fitness plan in place for the summer that I am not meeting! OK, wait, that sounded snottily healthy. I had a vague notion to take some sort of fitness classes for the summer that I am not meeting! Instead I'm eating a lot of popsicles. For my throat. But they're the one's that are made from squished fruit so I'm going to count them as nutritious.
Oh yeah, it's swimsuit time again! For those of you just joining us, I feel compelled to make fun of the swimsuit industry every year - the photos, the styles, the posing. I don't know what it is, but the mockery just bubbles up inside me until it has to come out. Plus, some of these shots are silly. (Or maybe it's just shopping for swimsuits make Hulk mad!)
You want more? Just click under the category Fashion Rules According to Me.
This looks like a brothel lineup from Game of Thrones. Sports Illustrated didn't even bother to use real bikinis, just CGI'd those suckers. I'm waiting for a direwolf or dragon to pop up.
In Mother Russia the hats keep you warm but the swimsuits give you very interesting tan lines.
Side view, so you can really see the floral and the satin trim. What?
Gingham and bonnets?! Holly Hobby is all grown up!
One glove is back! FINALLY!! I don't know how I lived going to the beach without a glove.
These ones would be cool if the faces weren't so tortured. Like, do I want a drug-addicted morning-after teen on my swimsuit?
This isn't even a swimsuit, it just made me laugh.
No risk, no buns! (But plenty of horns.) - wg
I'm in day two of isolation. Friday I took radioactive iodine to burn out poison me turn me into a huge rampaging lizard monster treat my thyroid. I have to stay 3 feet away from people for four days because of the residual radioactivity. The cats are taking it hard. I've gotten a few pitiful "why won't you pet me" meows while I'm holed up in the den. However, my beloved child, he of the incessant lap climbing and ambush hugs to ad nauseum, won't come closer than ten feet. He also whimpers when I walk past him from across the room!
So far, I've felt OK; just tired and thirsty and my stomach is upset. But that could be from anxiety and the low iodine diet. (Yeah, right.) And to be totally grossly TMI it feels unusually hot when I pee! Freaky. I'm disappointed that there's no glowing, though. You'd think that if you were going to purposely poison yourself with radioactive materials you could at least glow a little.
The worst thing about this process is the low iodine diet. I didn't think it was too bad at first; I'd figured you couldn't eat a lot of salty or processed, canned foods. We always use Kosher salt in our cooking so I knew I could eat stuff at home. What I didn't expect on the "Do Not Eat" list were things like all dairy products and chocolate! Then came "don't go to restaurants", nothing from a commercial bakery, no lunch meats, and nothing with "red or pink food dyes", and on and on. But then down at the bottom, almost hidden, were the words "no tea"! Christ on wheels that is crazy talk, right there! I mean, you might as well just let the clowns out of their cages. I think I got the shakes as soon as I read that.
So I was supposed to have dinner at this great French Vietnamese place for my birthday on Thursday which totally got nixed because of the diet. My best friend baked me a cake instead and brought it over before she knew about the "no chocolate" restriction. After I blew out the candles and everyone else cut themselves big slices of Mexican chocolate cake and huge scoops of ice cream, my best friend turns to me with fork in hand and says,
"Wow, you know... this is kind of sad."
Munch, munch, munch.
Me: "YES I'M WELL AWARE OF HOW SAD IT IS, THANK YOU!!"
Happy Birthday, thyroid, you rotten bitch.