Thursday Is Just A Means To Get To Friday

Today I’m just going to whine about stuff.  Ready?  GO.

The other day at work, I tried to go to my favorite furniture blog, and a screen popped up that said the website was blocked because it was prawn.  And now IT thinks I tried to look at prawn while at work!  a) I’m not THAT dumb, and b) it’s a furniture blog!  What is this world coming to?

I have not slept AT ALL this week.  Each night, I’ve woken up sometime between 3 a.m. and 5 a.m. wide awake, and once I realized that it was going to stay that way, I read my iPhone and petted my dog until the alarm finally went off.  Sleep FAIL.  I remedied this with a dose of Nyquil at 9:30 last night, and now I feel all foggy, kinda like…

The weather.  It’s been foggy and misty-rainy here for what feels like weeks.  Just effing RAIN already!  Get it over with!  In reality, it’s probably been a day or two here or there.  But it’s so depressingly dank outside, all I want to do is curl up into a ball and sleep it off, except see #1.  That’s not happening.

Picnik is closing.  How am I supposed to edit pictures and make them hilarious now?  Will someone please buy Picnik, keep it free, and allow me to still use it?  I’m going to have to go Perez Hilton style and draw on all of my photos in MS Paint.  Nobody likes Paint.

My body is falling apart.  Recently I started doing a new yoga video in the privacy of my basement, as it should be, and last week I pulled a muscle in my back.  My back!  I’m only 28.  Why is this already happening to meeee?!?  I think on Tuesday I also strained my groin muscle but I’m trying to ignore it.

And in conclusion, this goes out to all of my friends: no more moving away and/or dying.  We’ve had enough.  Please be safe.  And if you’re in Georgia, then please stay here, and if you’re not, then come back immediately.  Thanks!


You look, like, SUPER familiar…

So I made the farmhouse light fixture last night.  It’s not that great.  I intended to hang it in our dining room, but it’s definitely not worthy, so it’ll go into what we call the “crap room”, which is full of boxes and random junk from when we moved into our house over a year ago.  We never go in the crap room, which means the fancy Edison bulb that I bought that is supposed to last for 1.4 years if used 3 hours per day will probably last us…until the year 2049.  At least.

I had to trim some of the wires on the bottom of the hanging planter that I bought so that  it would nest into the light fixture, and the method I used was efficient but really, really rednecky.  It involved nail polish, tree branch clippers, and a broomstick, for stability.  But it got the job done.

I made a quick stop at Home Depot last night with Buster in tow, although he stayed in the car while I shopped, but it’s okay because it was neither warm nor cold outside, and he doesn’t freak out, he just watches and waits for my return, and it only took 3 minutes to get in/out so please don’t judge me.

The girl at the returns station and I had this conversation:

Girl: You look, like, SUPER familiar.
Me: Oh, funny…uh, did you go to (Blank) High School?
Girl: Nope.
Me: Huh. (awkward pause) Well, I, er…
Girl: I’ve only been coming to this area for about a year.
Me: Oh okay, well I moved back here a year ago, so…
Girl: Yeah, I’ve probably seen you around, like at Starbucks or something.
Me: Yeah…probably.
(That was a lie. I don’t go to Starbucks.  Not on principle, it’s just, I have a perfectly good coffee maker at home, which is free, so what’s the point?)

I guess I just have one of those faces…?

Moral of the story: If you tell someone that they look familiar, have a followup question, because you probably don’t look familiar to them and they’ll be at a loss for how to respond to you.  Or, you could just pretend that they don’t look familiar and say nothing, which is what I would do.

Tonight we are hopefully taking a trip to the other side of the city to pick up some ridiculously amazing dressers for our master bedroom that I found on Craigslist.  I do have some competition, but hopefully the other buyer will not be impressed, and we’ll get to bring them home instead.  Fingers crossed!

Goodwill Hunting

Lately I’ve been kinda sorta obsessed with bloggers who redo thrift store furniture and make what’s old new again for next to nothing (mostly here, here and here).  I’ve trolled a few secondhand stores and haven’t found anything legit enough to transform, until yesterday at lunch when I swung by the Goodwill close to my office.

Hubs and I stopped by the same store over the weekend and didn’t find anything worthy, but that’s because we missed about half of the furniture that they had.  This time I took the scenic route, which is how I found this baby hiding in the back corner:

I CANNOT WAIT to paint it and make it insane.  But it’s so pretty on its own that I’m tempted to just leave it as is…but that’s not the point, is it?  Admittedly, I have a very similar table in my living room right now, but it came from a friend who may or may not want it back someday.  I’m not sure if this new one will replace it, or if I’ll find a home for both in my house.  The best part was that I got it for only $23.  Blows my mind.

I swung by Home Depot afterwards to check out the different color options for the table, and ended up coming home with the supplies for a DIY farmhouse chandelier like this one:


I’m probably biting off more than I can chew in both cases.  But that’s how I learn, I suppose.  To the garage!

Dogs Make Famous People More Likeable

Dogs have a way of making their owners more likeable.  If someone cuts me off in traffic, but they have an adorable dog in their backseat, I won’t contemplate flipping them off, but I will contemplate telling them to slow down.  A coworker that I previously couldn’t stand told me that he fosters rescue dogs, and now we have something in common that makes me despise him less.  Although the coworker who breeds pitbulls and doesn’t believe in neutering, well…we have different views on animals.

Here are a bunch of famous people whose interactions with their pups make me like them more.

Jessica Simpson (RIP Daisy!):

Ryan Gosling:

Kate Middleton:

Jennifer Aniston:

Barack Obama:

But everybody has their limits.  Even me.

Getting Pulled Over By A Cop On Foot

When I was 17 years old, I was lucky enough to have my own car, or rather, “The car temporarily assigned to you” (thanks Dad).  While big pimpin’ around my hometown in my ’97 Nissan Altima, I was often tasked with carting around my two younger sisters, which was fine with me as long as I got to feel the wind in my hair and listen to Mandy Moore as loud as I wanted (don’t judge me).  One afternoon, Sara, who was 14 at the time, and I picked up Stacey, who was 4 at the time, from preschool.  Then things got tricky.

While approaching an elementary school that had not yet let out its students for the day, I saw the crossing guard frantically waving his arms at me and motioning for me to pull over.  Not being one to challenge authority, I pulled off to the side of the road in front of the school, because crossing guard = cop = prison, which is what I was thinking at the time.

The guy walks up to my window, and we have this exchange:

“Miss, how fast were you going just now?”
“Um, the speed limit, I guess…”
“Well it looked like you were speeding, and this is a school!”
“I’m sorry sir, I-”
“Who is that sitting in the back seat?”
“My sister.”
“How would you feel if your sister back there was crossing the street after school and some IDIOT like you came speeding along and HIT her?”
“I’m sorry, I-”
“I don’t care if you’re sorry, how would you feel?!”
“I would feel very bad, sir!”
“Oooh, if I had a radar gun, I would write you a ticket so fast-”

Which is when the incredible happened.  Stacey, 4 years old, from the backseat of the car, upon hearing the word “gun”, starts yelling in her little chipmunk voice:


The crossing guard was so flustered after making a 4 year old think that she was about to get shot that he reluctantly waved us back onto the road without another word.

The three of us then made a pact never to tell my mom.  But like the time that I threw a party in the basement while my mom was asleep two floors above us, or the time that I let someone drive my car and they backed into a cement wall, or the time that I hid bottlecaps in my bathroom drawer and claimed they were to make “bottlecap art”, everything comes out eventually.