A Wee Little Storm OR You're Welcome, World

I don't think there are any pictures of me from the age of Born to the age of Five where I am not trying to put things in my mouth. Seriously. My mom has a bunch of pictures of me where I'm either stuffing my face, about to stuff my face, hovering over my food like an animal, or trying to put toys in my mouth. In a very few, I appear to be offering food, but I know that can only be a cruel trick I'm about to play on someone because Storm does not offer her food to anyone.

Around the time mom was finding all these awesome pictures of me my parents remembered a fun game they used to love to play when they were drunk-slash-high-slash-both where they would put my pacifier in upside down and I would flip it right side up in my mouth without using my hands. Apparently they thought it was the neatest thing ever and they would entertain themselves and their friends for long periods of time. They would show me off like a dog who's just discovered a laser pointer and chases it relentlessly in circles. "No seriously, check this out. She does it every time!"


This is the environment I grew up in folks. Praise and attention for doing things with my mouth. It's lucky I turned out as awesome and psychologically stable as I did. (Side note: My parents are amazing, and this is me joking.)

So here's a little sampling of adorable tiny Storm, and her oral fixation (I so wish I had a copy of the one where I'm walking out of a public restroom in Alabama, toddling after mom, in my cut-off jean shorts and messy hair, a toy in each hand cause I fucking can, and no shoes. It's priceless.):

 This one is called "Linoleum and Bread Crumbs"

P.S. check that stance.

This is the trick I mentioned. Look how pleased my face is. Someone is clearly going to fall for this. 

The action figure Sleeping Storm now comes with pacifier accessory and safety harness. 

This is my very personal favorite. I call it: Sleepy Old Man Storm... with pacifier.

There's a picture of my mom's parents on their 25th wedding anniversary, where they both look like they're trying to reach California from Oklahoma (that's a Grapes of Wrath joke for you well-read types, and consequently a Depression Era/Dust Bowl joke). They look absolutely miserable, and nobody knows why. Anyway, I look exactly like my grandfather in the last picture here, except a little sleepy. And I have a pacifier. Not even kidding.

Written Word

I've recently been informed that I've offended/upset some people with a few of my posts. My intention of keeping this blog in particular was never to offend or insult anyone. It's basically a train of thought, or a few trains, whatever happens to be on my mind at the time, and I stop only to fix a punctuation or spelling error. Then I hit the Publish button. And I don't go back to it again.

I don't write drafts, or proof-read (aside from the punctuation or spelling, which are errors that I see as I go), or have someone else tell me if they think I should change anything here or there. I just write it.

So I absolutely guarantee that I've said some things that are rude, inconsiderate, impolite, crass, insulting, completely offensive, etc., etc., etc., about family, friends, people I don't know at all, family, people I do know but not that well, family, that asshole who passed me on my way home from work and laid on the horn because I guess the speed limit just isn't fucking good enough (I will cut his face if I ever see him again. Straight up. His face.), family.

There are many things I could say to excuse my behavior. I won't say those things. I could easily just start filtering what I say, and plan out my posts so as not to offend people. I won't start doing that. I could apologize for the things I've written, but to do that feels hollow to me. It feels insincere. These are my thoughts and opinions, and it's important to remember that they are constantly changing. My opinion of you as a person doesn't stay the same from one moment to the next. I never completely make up my mind about a person. (ED NOTE: I just went back to put in the word 'say' in the first sentence of this paragraph, and in the time it took me to do that, I got distracted by the TV for like, ever. (I just did it again.) )

I will say that, since I'm not apologizing for my thoughts or opinions, I would like to apologize for the way in which I expressed those thoughts or opinions. Maybe I could have been more direct, and discussed the issue personally, or maybe I could have been more polite, because I'm often quite bitchy. But I didn't. And unless the issue is something that is sincerely bothering me, I probably won't in the future.

The above paragraph also pertains to this post, and all future posts.

Things Learned

My body is pear-shaped.

Cranberry juice is delicious.

I am a feminist.

Rooms with books in them don't smell the same in winter as they do in summer, or in spring as they do in autumn.

When you cover furniture with sheets, it makes the room look way smaller. (If you're trying to minimize space, cause I guess some people might.)

I should have far more responsibility at work but I don't, and that's my fault cause when it was first offered to me I backed away like a scared kitten, howling and mewling for my very life.

I totally want to raise a child. Like, totally. Teach him/her stuff that people don't teach anymore, like how to make a crane out of the paper that some napkins come wrapped in at restaurants. Or how to make a bubble from gum without it popping so you can put Pixie Stix powder in the hollow. Ya know, important stuff.

I don't care how old I am, young adult novels will always be interesting to me.

I own enough spoons to serve a party of nearly two-dozen, but only enough forks for a party of ten. So... soup party.

My dog is well-conditioned. She took off out of the house today because I forgot to close the door all the way, and when I finally chased her down it occurred to me that she was walking/running the same path we take when we go for walks. She even cut that one corner the same. If I hadn't worked up such a dude-sweat I would've been way more impressed. I'm impressed now, but at the time... super pissed off.

I'll Get Back in the Kitchen Only Because That's Where My Food Is

Today is International Women's Day, and this day is very important for women the world over because sometimes we forget how great we are and we need that one day a year to be reminded of it. Just for one day though. And that is all I'm going to say on the subject for now. Suffice to say, I am saddened that the world we live in still requires a day for races, sexes, religions, etc. to be singled out and recognized when really we should all recognize ourselves as equals. Yeah yeah, I'm a gray-area hippy.
Also, I would like to note that I am so angered by men who say it's pathetic for a guy to hit a woman if she's attacking him.

I find it infuriating when I hear things like that, that a man shouldn't defend himself against a female assailant. Why? Because he might be bigger, or stronger, than her? That's no excuse. Setting aside the hypothetical situation where the woman might actually be bigger than the man, let's consider for a minute what a person is actually implying by saying that: They're saying that the woman is weak and the man will do more damage to her than she will to him because we're the more delicate of the species.

In some instances we are more delicate. But that's no reason to treat us like us we're less than, or even more than, equal to men. Calling a man pathetic for hitting a woman, if she's attacking him, does not make you a superior male in my eyes. It makes you sexist. And do not say that a woman couldn't do that much harm to a man. I may not have the physical strength to break your neck, a lot of women don't, but I can absolutely hurt you. And without using a weapon.

I would like to also state hear that my husband bought me a vacuum cleaner for my birthday. And I do not feel like less of a feminist for saying that I am really fucking psyched about this vacuum cleaner. Nor do I feel he is being in any way sexist for buying me one. I wanted the vacuum cleaner and I didn't have the money myself to buy it, so my husband, my partner, the man I see as my equal and who sees me as his, bought it for me.

It's a Dyson. This one. It didn't cost that much though.

Now that I'm done ranting and bragging about my sweet new vacuum (it's not here yet, but I'm totes sweeping the entire house like, five times when it gets here), on to other things.

Yesterday was my birthday! I is 24!

In addition to the vacuum, Jeremy bought me a book (The Invention of Hugo Cabret, which I adore), a music box (it's glass and it plays Tale As Old As Time), and a Penny Arcade print (this one, one of my favorites which I quote a lot). I also got some Lego snails getting their bang on (because I once said there was no way snails having sex could ever be entertaining, and I was wrong), and a gift card to have my own children's book published. Once I write it. I have a concept, I just need to, ya know... write it. And get some illustrations.

Mom and Cody took me to lunch and we gorged on soup and salad and I got a delightful piece of lemon cream cake (mmm, lemony). Then later Jeremy and I and some friends went out to Friendly's (I get the name now!) where we had pretty rough service but tasty, tasty ice cream. That's also where I decided the whole issue from above was sexist and that it angered me. So, all in all a tasty birthday full of lovely and humorous gifts where I learned some things about myself.

Hoo-ray for 24!

Stuff-n-Such

...:sigh:...

I want to really set the tone for this post because it contains some just-my-luck tales and I need you, as my audience, to be fully prepared to immerse yourself in my story of woe with both empathy and sympathy. So let me try again:

:inhale with a slight yet sad smirk:

:glance about as though it were possible for eyes to shrug:

:actually shrug, but only barely:

:sigh with deep melancholy:


I attempted to color my hair today.

There, I said it.

It did not turn out the way I planned. Because it never turns out the way I plan. I always want the colors I see pictured on the box. I have those three before shades already. Why can't I put the color in have the after shades? Why can't you just love me? And not give me varying degrees of orange/red?

My hair color right now, after the incredibly strong fumes, and 30 minute wait, then extra 20 minutes it took to dry it, is approximately the same shade as my summer hair. What I mean by that is, it's the color my hair lightens to naturally when in the sun over summer. So I could have just wait until May for this nearly imperceptible color. Thanks Loreal.

In unrelated news, today at lunch with Cody, mom, and dad, Cody and I discovered we were both on Twitter but were not following each other. So we remedied that. And then mom, Cody and I spent the drive home tweeting to each other like it was a chat room. It is not a chat room. Regardless, the novelty will soon wear I'm sure. If it does not, they will constantly be inundated with notifications from Twitter because I tweet a way lot.

I said it. A way lot. Not a sentence. Made it one! A poorly constructed one. Oh! We found the cable for the camera so I can start uploading shit. From last July!

You're welcome.

Ugh, Shut Up Now

This is dedicated to that broad who always has something to bitch about, regarding my blog, which I actually write for myself and not for her although she keeps forgetting that. (Also, write your own damn blog!)

For Valentine's Day, the holiday I never planned on celebrating with a significant other because it's crap, my loving husband had to wake up at 4:30 in the morning to take me to work. Because we still only have one car. He got to go back home and sleep some more before going into work, I did not.

Jerk.

So I'm putting my jacket on before we leave and he says he'll pull the Jeep up. Aww, sweet. It's cold out and he doesn't want me to be chilled. Then I get in and put my bag in the backseat and there's a gift bag, for me.

And a pink, fluffy stuffed dog.

Buckled in.

Safety first.

He got me chocolate and a tea sampler.

He also got me a card that has the word 'wife' on it. I was giddy. First Valentine's with a wife card! I wanted to tell people at work, but then I don't really talk to them, and nobody asked me about it. I don't discuss things like that unless directly asked. Because I never assume people want to hear about my life. Because I never want to hear about other people's lives.

For dinner we went to Denny's. No joke. We figured most places would be busy and we're trying to save money so we went cheap.

It was a terrible idea.

The server was apathetic at best, but really she had no right to be. It's not like she could have possibly had plans. Not with that face and attitude. Ooh, burn! Our food was mediocre, that was our fault though cause it's Denny's. Never have expectations about Denny's. And they took forever to bring it out. It was almost an hour later when we were served. How does that happen?

We left a crappy tip, cause we had crappy service. (That is how the system works, server at Denny's/anywhere!)

Then we got ice cream from Handel's. That part was awesome. Totally awesome. I love Handel's. It was even better cause it was free cause Jeremy had coups he got from work.

We went home and watched Monday nights Castle.

And that is the run-down of my thrilling first anniversary as a wife.

You're welcome, world.

Haven't Posted In Awhile, My Bad

Let's start with some good news: I am now 10 pounds away from my goal weight, and looking good. High five for me.  Other news, I still hate my job. But that's to be expected. I will never like a job until that job is getting paid to sit around day-drinking pretending I have writer's block but really just milking everyone's interest in my forth-coming novel. (Note to publishers, I'm ready to talk if you don't care about a 30-page proposal, or a finished piece of work. Let's do this.)

I'm watching the original Born Yesterday again, cause Jeremy's still sleeping. He's the kind of person that won't watch black and white movies, for inexplicable reasons. He can't say why, cause he doesn't honestly know, but they just seem weird to him. So I watch when he's not around.

It's still great, and I still hate Brock. With gusto.

I've included this lovely outtake from our wedding photos for your viewing entertainment. Look at my hair, that is excellent hair. All lank and lifeless. Those sweat-soaked bangs, my gut making itself known, the clearly-too-warm flush to my chubby upper-arms. Not to mention the god-awful posture. How could he possibly say no to that?