Fears

After leaving my job a few months ago I thought I would begin a new chapter in my life by filling my days with some much-needed relaxation and allowing myself the time to re-focus creatively and personally.

Instead I’ve been most successful at giving myself an endless array of shit for not being more artistically productive or inspired on a daily basis which makes for what I believe to be some pretty serious irony:

Fear #1

I will never be successful. At anything.

Much like my numerous failed attempts to learn to the guitar/piano/drums beyond plucking strings, poking keys, or banging on cymbals, I cannot seem to move past the point of frustration at figuring out new things which might allow me to find peace in being creative and possibly, somewhere down the line, entrepreneurial:

Fear #2

I will never finish anything that I start.

When I recently mentioned to the bee that I thought I might like to work in a library, he reminded me that most library work is on a volunteer-only basis:

Fear #3

Any and all discernible life-skills I have are at once impractical and completely useless when trying to support yourself financially.

Perhaps it’s because I stopped taking my  meds or the fact that I’ve been unemployed for a while that’s causing a momentous level of despair to creep into my life.

Either way, it seems my ability to differentiate between a justifiable cause for fear or worry against something which is completely fabricated by my damaged brain has never been worse.

But… at least I’m taking it all in stride:

Yep. Totally under control.

Air Kicks

the bee: You can go on into the bathroom first this morning.

me: UGH.

b: What?!

m: Well, thanks and all but it’s just so CA-CA-CA-COLD in there. *jitterbugs around the bed in a fetal position to really drive home the point*

b: *slowly turns body in opposite direction*

m: I wish you could air kick me like the Transporter into the bathroom so I wouldn’t have to touch the cold tiles.

b: Do what now? Like who?

m: You KNOW. Like the Transporter. Jason Statham. He is like a master of air kicks.

b: What are “air kicks?”

m: You’re kidding me, right?

b: But aren’t all kicks “air kicks”?

m: Pffffffffffffffffffft. No.

Air kicks are when you are specially trained in martial arts or something and you can make your body fly through the air with your legs shooting straight out, readied like a fist so you can kick-fist someone in the face.

b: Wouldn’t that be called a “flying kick” then?

m: I doubt it. Jason Statham can’t fly, but birds can. Flies can fly. Even planes can fly. You know why? Because they have wings. Jason Statham does not have wings, therefore he cannot “fly kick“, he air kicks.

b: Well, since you’ve presented your case with such an overwhelming amount of logic and reason, I suppose I have no other option but to agree with you.

m: I’m glad I could help you come to your senses.

Now.

Ready?

One, Two, Three… aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand GO!

Wii Crazy

In an effort to not be such a flaccid, slovenly ball of flab for the rest of my existence I decided that now was as good a time as any to start working out regularly.

It has not been easy.

I used to enjoy taking hour-long walks through my neighborhood where I probably only burned about a Twizzler’s worth of calories but I enjoyed it nonetheless. Plus, I regard it as a considerable feat when I manage to leave the house at all. Ever.

Baby steps, friends. Baby steps…

Since the New Jersey landscape has been little more than a wasteland of snow and ice for the better part of a month and a half, taking leisurely and physically unproductive walks has been out of the question.

Instead, I decided to dust off the ol’ Wii Fit that had been lying quietly dormant since well before we moved into our house in December ’09. Stepping on that bad boy after all that time was humbling. To say the least…

In an effort to shed the extraneous 10 pounds that I have been nurturing and oh so sweetly laying to rest at night with each bowl of ice cream and fistful of peanut butter pretzel bites devoured I realized I needed to do something. Like, NOW.

The Wii Fit can be fun, which is probably why I’ve stuck with it for the past few weeks. It can also be incredibly frustrating and shaming. Still, I suppose I prefer being laughed at by a computer than by actual people after they’ve seen my superfluous muffin top spilling out of my stretched thin spandex leggings at a public gym.

What I find to be especially cool about the system is it allows you to log any additional activities you may partake in to gain fitness credits for the day.

Since I can really only do about an hour on the Wii Fit daily without wanting to punch the tiny ponytail off my “trainer” I usually supplement my regime with some ball-busting aerobics which really amps up my activity log.

That being said, I was pretty surprised at what Nintendo classifies as credit-able activities, especially under their examples of “Light Activity”:

I figure if “Laundry” counts as legitimate physical activity then I could come up with a few of my own and give myself points for each of those I manage to accomplish:

I suppose I’ve spent enough time on my butt writing this so I’m outta here so I can go full-throttle on that last one…

*****

BONUS MATERIALS:

It is quite possible I have a seriously perverse cat. I might expect a dog to eat the crotch out of a pair of leggings but a cat? Seriously? GAH.

A Brothers’ Diptych

Right before Xmas this past year, the bee came up with a great gift idea for his mom. The previous year he had given her, along with his 3 older brothers, a framed copy of a photograph taken of the boys sometime around 1984. In the picture, all the brothers at that time (the youngest wouldn’t turn up until 1991) posed for a picture in front of the fireplace in the family’s living room.

As with most kids, it’s usually a chore to get them to sit still for a minute, let alone the time needed to organize a proper photo but his mom managed to get a group shot where at least half of them are actually looking at the camera. Two outta four ain’t bad, right?

So this past holiday season, bee decided it might be cool to recreate the scene, some 26 years later, in much the same fashion. The original fireplace was unavailable since they had moved from that house in the early 90’s but we were lucky enough to find a suitable replacement to hold the photo shoot.

With myself behind the camera and some 80 or so shutter clicks later, I was pretty sure we had found a great match-up to the original. The framing and tone of the second picture doesn’t perfectly mimic the original but I think, as a collective effort, we did pretty darn good.

top photo: circa 1984, bottom photo: December 2010

A lot can change in a quarter century but I find it quite refreshing that a lot manages to stay so much the same.

Note to self:

These pictures would be great if they weren’t so terrible…

Make sure you spare no expense when purchasing otherwise inexpensive yet generally dependable disposable cameras for YOUR informal post-wedding celebratory event.

Otherwise your photos might end up like this*:

ah, yes... it looks like there could be a table there, and wait! some people AT that table, but for the most part... just blackness.

oh, and look... here's a charming shot of the bride and groom about to kiss! oh, wait maybe not. i mainly just see cupcakes.

oh, my. just... *wow*. this is a great one. this photo brings us just *this* much closer to solid proof that (due to unknown causes) a body CAN separate from it head, causing spontaneous floating head-itis**... specifically during informal post-wedding celebratory events.

**spontaneous floating head-itis can also cause momentary facial blurring which can be very useful if you plan on commiting any major crimes and wish to evade security cams or police survelliance.

 

and finally…

the very best and worst? photo of the bunch:

at least it had some color…

*it also helps to have significant sunlight. or some other kind of light. just light. in general.

Waterworld. Except subtract the part about water. And don’t expect any Kevin Costner references either…

Since Saturday morning we’ve been praying to the gods of water and early springtime thaw in the hope that one of them might hear us and grant us a taste of modern civility, in the form of luscious, glittering, watery water flowing from the taps once more.

Considering we’ve had a foot or more of snow on the ground for the last month, finding our pipes frozen was likely to have happened. I probably should have been expecting something regardless since I also managed to get two flat tires on two different occasions just since the new year, which leads me to ask:

For who?

For ME?! (presses hands to chest)

Oh, no… (fans hand out as though to say: I simply COULDN’T)

I mean…

I simply COULDN’T.

It wouldn’t be fair to all the other, less fortunate car tires with fully inflated rubber housing…

It seems only fitting that we should top it off with this now.

I mean, it’s not the WORST thing that could happen with the house. No, because the WORST thing that could happen probably-already happened to us last year. And it’s still nowhere near as bad as that time when we had crickets in our bed. Because I’m still not OK with what happened there…

I’ve been fine with not being able to do the dishes or brush my teeth using running water. I’ve learned to “spot clean” myself with baby wipes and de-crust dirty silverware with the leg of my sweatpants.

It’s been a lot like camping. Only a lot less fun.

I even figured out a way to make coffee!

Part one:

Collect some snow.

Part two:

Wait for it to melt.

Part three:

Make coffee?

Because of its “nature-y” ingredients I’ve taken to calling it Winter’s Blend…

But this post isn’t supposed to be about the merits of making snow coffee. It’s about how much it sucks using the toilet when you don’t have any running water.

It’s also been a really long time since we’ve had a proper discussion involving poop on this blog so here you go:

Saturday, 11:30 PM

me: *tummy gurgles* Oh. Um. Yeah...

I think I need to, you know, “go”. Don’t mind me, I’ll be right back…

the bee: Wait. Where are you going?

m: To the BATHroom. I have to “go”. You know, like “go” go.

b: Yeah, I get it but you can’t “go” in there.

m: (squints eyes, furrows brow) Whadaya MEAN I can’t go in there? Where am I supposed to go?!

b: My mom’s house, for one. If you run you could be inside in 10 seconds.

m: Excuse me, but I am NOT going over to your mom’s at midnight just to have to explain the reason for my visit is because I need to “drop something off”. UGGGGH! Embarrassing much?

b: Well, you can’t “go” in our toilet if we can’t flush.

m: (drops to knees and shakes fists) You can take away my toilet, bee… but you can’t take away my priiiiiiiide!!!

b: Oh, please… I’ve known you to use a trash can if you rea-

m: (lightbulb illuminates above head, eyes widen and finger points upward in excited victory)

*door slam*

b: (faces bathroom in disgust and horror)

*shouts* Just make sure you take it out when you’re done! *under breath* …you filthy animal.

Free Stuff! Giveaways! RAH-RAH-RAH!!!

You may remember a few months back when I showed off an adorable crocheted clutch made by my dear friend Kate who has a fabulous Etsy store. Now she has an equally awesome Art Fire store where she sells many more of her handmade creations and she’s having a GIVE-AWAY!!!

Do you KNOW what that means?

Well, it means that all you have to do is head over here and leave a comment and that will put you that much closer to winning this crafty crochet chain link headband:

And what’s better than free stuff?!

Nothing.

Except getting paid to do nothing which I’m finding is a really difficult industry to break into…

So hurry on over and leave a comment! Drawing ends January 31st.

YAY!

5 Reasons Why Grape Nuts is Better Than Your Favorite Cereal

1. It is a great source of fiber and basically guarantees a successful and expedient evacuation of the previous days meal, leaving you with extra bathroom time that you can use for things like filing down the 12 weeks worth of toenail you’ve been cultivating despite the imminence of “sandal season” in just a few short months.

2. It even tastes good soggy. Better even. Can’t say that about Cheerio’s. CAN you?

3. Grape Nuts are neither made from grapes or nuts which is good because I don’t like either of those things in my cereal.

4. Grape Nuts are excellent when used in arts and crafts type projects. When I was in Kindergarten my friend and I decided to give our school’s crossing guard Christmas presents. When I found out she was giving her a necklace from K-Mart, my demented little brain pumped itself full of jealous rage and concocted the cruelest retaliation imaginable: a vastly better gift than the one my friend was giving. I chose to take a piece of white printer paper, draw a heart on it, fill it in with Elmer’s Glue and sprinkle Grape Nuts on top of it. It was beautiful. It was the most beautiful and crunchy and almost entirely edible gift anyone ever gave anyone and I gave it to the crossing guard. My crossing guard. And she loved it. I think.

And finally, the most important point to be made of all the 5 important reasons chosen for this list:

5. Under no circumstances ever or anytime will anyone EVER chose to eat your cereal (Grape Nuts) when presented with any other option. Ever.

So what does all this mean?

Well, if you eat Grape Nuts, it means: You WIN! You should probably get an award. Made of Grape Nuts. I could make one for you, but then I would need someone to make mine so maybe instead of awards we should just clink our bowls of delight together and smile knowing our colons are better off than they were before we starting eating all this amazing cereal and start planning what we’re gonna do with all the extra time we’re gonna have after everyone we know is dead because our colons outlived them all. Even us. So really the plans we’re making are for our colons. Just our colons. Because we’re all dead.

*clink*

I can cook. Just not very well.

me: Oh, thank GOD you’re here.

the bee: What happened?

m: I think I may have ruined the chicken.

b: What makes you say that?

m: I’m not sure if I cooked it long enough.

b: How long did you cook it for?

m: About 15 minutes, but it feels raw to me.

b: Should we really be feeling it?

m: I think so.

b: Well, when you cut it open is the chicken pink or is it white inside?

m: It’s white but I tried some and it felt like raw in my throat.

b: *raises a concerned and skeptical eyebrow*

m: Should it be white on the outside too? Because it doesn’t look very appetizing…

b: Steff, it’s fine. It looks exactly the same as when I cook the chicken.

m: You’re just saying that. I won’t believe you til you try it.

b: Ok. (Takes bite and chews for an inordinate amount of time to eat a reasonably sized piece of chicken)

*gulps* It’s… good.

m: *waves arms in a defeated and hysterical manner* Oh my GOD! Somehow I’ve managed to make it both raw and overcooked. I’ve ruined dinner! It’s a disaster.

and poison!

b: You just need to relax. This is not a disaster and it’s not poison. It’s chicken.

m: *mumbles under breath* poison chicken…

b: *sideways glance*

m: Well?

b: Maybe…