Dressing Room Dilemma

So has anyone else ever gotten stuck in a garment that you couldn't get off? I did the other day...and to make matters worse, I wasn't at home, or around anyone who could help me.

So there I was in a dressing room, trying to unzip a broken zipper, that I of course had no problem zipping up. I was pulling and jumping and starting to wonder if some security camera was getting any of this.

I was just about to go ask for help...but chickened out. How pathetic would that have been!? "Excuse me..." I have no idea what I would have said after that. Who would I have even approached? A fellow shopper? I did not want to walk all the way to the cashiers! And what could they do, cut me out of it like I was in the ER?

So anyway, the dress had this really tight waist line and it just wouldn't go up over my head...and at this point I was about ready to rip or chew myself out of the thing when I got it up over my chest...and then it was smooth sailing from there. By now it was all stretched out and looking like it had been through some real trauma, which saddened me because it was such a cute dress, but I was just happy to be free.

I guess this is why girls need to shop in groups, or at least pairs!

Manicure Madness

I don't usually get my nails done, and many might think an unemployed girl has better things to spend her money on...it's just that I was going to a wedding. And not just any wedding, but my very good friend from high school's wedding, which meant the whole affair was going to double as a class reunion, so I just had to get them done.

I wanted a french manicure and a pedicure. Understated elegance on the hands, party on the toes. I had to ask my sister where to go and she highly recommended a place across town. I should've known something was wrong when they didn't have my favorite OPI color, We'll Always Have Paris. So I backed out of the pedi and told the man to focus on the mani.

So he's going to town on my hands when he starts making small talk. I tell him that I'm and Interior Designer, unemployed, going to a wedding, bla bla bla. That's when he tells me that he is also recently unemployed. About two weeks ago him and his brother were manufacturing workers at a nearby factory. (He eyes his brother across the room.)

Excuse me? Are you kidding me? I just paid you to make my nails pretty and you're experience is factory work. I may be mistaken, but it just doesn't seem like factory workers have a reputation for having nicely manicured nails. WTF?

Deep breath. It doesn't help. The nails are not looking to good. I go back to chatting. I do that when I'm nervous.

Now we're onto interior design related topics. He tells me he did the entire design of the nail salon and asks me what I think. Gulp. Not feeling any more relaxed about this man working on my nails as I see what he is capable of with interiors. And I am a horrible liar. How am I suppose to answer? I comment on the lighting and the cool color palette. He informs me that he purchased everything on the Internet. I reply with my patent safe line, "That's something..."

He's finishing up and I just decide to cut my losses. He can't really fix what he's done without starting over. I get to my car and realize I have more nail polish on the skin surrounding my nails as I do on the nails! Oh well...never again.

Sacrifice in the Name of Fashion

So I visited my grandma yesterday. She is super cool of course...but doesn't quite grasp the idea that she is old. She is very independent and doesn't like help with anything, or from anything in this case.

Whenever I visit she likes to give me a tour of the place and show me all the things she's been working on around the house or garden...I started cracking up when we walked into her bedroom to admire some new bed sheets and I notice she's using a walker as a clothes rack! That's so her... and me.

Sacrifice yourself in the name of fashion...a rule I've always followed. "Who cares how it feels on, as long as you look good in it."...and in her case, "Who cares if I break a hip, my pants are wrinkle free."

New Phone

I must admit...when I first heard someone talking about a Droid I thought they were talking about some Star Wars character. Turns out there's this whole new android market niche in the cell phone industry!

This past weekend I got a new phone. The Samsung Moment. My brother, Daniel, who is 11, knows more about this phone than I do. (He has also installed 30+ apps that I am positive I will never need, including a Bic lighter?!?!)

Although I am still figuring it out, it's pretty cool. I can listen to music, watch You Tube, change my Facebook status, check my email, text like crazy, and so many other things I have never dreamed about doing with a phone!

So, I'm a bit behind the technology curve...but I just got a little closer.

Another Fire

It's freezing out. It's freezing inside too. I didn't think much of it, I woke up to a light dusting of snow outside, I thought it must just be cold. Then I decided to turn up the heat, only to realize the heat wasn't even on and my house was at 57 degrees. This explains why I kept feeling the need for more blankets last night.

I turned on the furnace and cranked up the thermostat to 67. Then I decided to get online and test my luck with a space heater aimed on my feet while I searched the Internet. It made a few strange noises but was producing heat so I just let it go. Then it made a noise like that of a spaceship landing and burst into flames. I instantly hit the "off" button but that seemed to have no effect. I decided my best attempt was to try and remove it from my house. (If it were going to implode I thought it could best do so outdoors.)

I picked it up and started to run...still plugged in. Oops. Unplugged it and started to run. It was definitely on fire. I started to blow on the fire as I ran for the exit. I got it outside set it down as the fire was becoming more evident and shooting flames from the vent below the handle. I sat it down and blew and blew and finally put out the fire. Relief.

This is the second time in 6 months that an electrical device I was using has caught fire. The first was my heated seat (as I sat on it) and now this. I think I should stay clear of them for awhile...

Calliou & Mr. Hinkle

Today, while watching PBS with a couple of preschool aged friends, I caught an episode of Calliou. I've included a summary of the episode I found online to bring you up to speed:

"Get Well Mr. Hinkle" Episode Summary (http://www.tv.com/caillou/all-around-the-block!/episode/212711/summary.html?tag=blackout#)

Caillou is in the living room, playing with Rexy, when the mail comes. He gets the mail from the mailman and then takes it to Daddy. He asks if there's anything for him, but Daddy says that there isn't. He does, however, point out a catalogue that was actually supposed to go to Mr. Hinkle. He asks Caillou to deliver it to Mr. Hinkle. Caillou gets into it and has Daddy dress him up as mailman. He and Daddy then take the catalogue to Mr. Hinkle, who shows him that he's already received a copy of that particular catalogue. So he lets Caillou keep it. Back at home, Caillou notes that Mr. Hinkle still had his pajamas on. Daddy thinks that maybe Mr. Hinkle wasn't feeling well. So Caillou and Daddy put together a get-well package for Mr. Hinkle, with a card and flowers in vase which Caillou paints himself. They take it all to Mr. Hinkle, who is happy to receive it. He notices that the card features a bluebird, which is appropriate because he just got a new birdhouse. He asks Caillou to come back tomorrow and he'll show it to him.

First of all, replace all the word "Daddy"with "Mommy" because that was what I saw in the episode, at least what I think I saw...but that is a moot point.

My real concern is the way they automatically insinuate Mr. Hinkle is ill just because he answered the door in pajamas. If he was really ill why would he have answered the door at all? I mean come on, is it illegal to answer the door in your PJ's? For crying out loud, maybe Mr. Hinkle is having a bad day, maybe he's suffering from depression, maybe he lost his job and doesn't have a reason to get dressed. Anyone ever think of that?

Just an unbiased observation.

Bones + Cellulite

The one good thing about stress is it makes me skinny. Not in that attractive sort of way. More like a bones + cellulite kind of way. I can see my ribs and pelvic bone, but in between are cottage cheese like curdles. It is a somewhat disgusting body I see in the mirror, but I'm hoping a little suntan will mask the imperfections. I keep telling myself that Spring is a good time to be stressed, as bikini season is just around the corner.

On an up side, I can also fit into this really tight pair of capris that have never really fit right. The only problem is they are now the only pair of jeans that fit right, and they are, as I said before, capris. It is still freezing here in Michigan and so I am only wearing them around the house with tall socks, which in itself is not right either.

Oh, and if the cottage cheese analogy didn't just make you vomit a little...it did me. I decided yesterday that I needed to start exercising again. I went for a little jog. I lived to write this, so maybe I will try it again sometime.

P.S. The skinny jeans I once despised of are no longer a problem...

My Great Escape

I knew I needed an escape, I wanted to forget about all of life's problems and submerge myself in something so rapturing I wouldn't be reminded of my own worries.

I called my friend Tiffany (I will not hold it against her that she is "Team Jacob.") She owns all of the Twilight Series books by Stephenie Meyer and it was high time I borrowed them. Each one hundreds of pages long. If this worked I would have but one agenda for the coming weekend...

And it did.

In five days I had read the entire series. Amazing. I am through and through "Team Edward." I am as obsessed with Edward at age 30 as I was with Leo DiCaprio after the Titanic when I truly had the excuse of 'teenager.'

The selfless love that Edward has for Bella is so addicting in itself, it is no wonder every girl, woman, and man I have spoken to, who have previously read the books are as engrossed with the series as I am. And I was quite annoying as I called my friends and family at all hours of the day and night to gush about the books. (Sorry Thomas & Autumn.)

Here it is, day two without Bella, Edward, & Jacob, and I am having extreme withdrawals. My dreams, previously laced with my own nightmares have been replaced with those of vampires & werewolves, but I welcome them...This series was exactly what I had hoped for.

If you have not read them you are missing out. Get on it!

When I Grow Up...

I met with Isaac, my mentee, for the last time this past Tuesday. He and his family are moving to South Carolina in hopes of a better job market. I've been meeting with him once a week since November and he has become my new BFF. I enjoyed seeing him every week...I think he was more of a help to me than I was a mentor to him.

We both hated math but every week I would pull out the Spiderman multiplication cards and I would try and convince him how math was important and bribe him with McDonald's Happy Meals and Hershey bars when he passed a weekly multiplication quiz. He was never that motivated and I always wondered if he dreaded spending Tuesday's with me instead of going to lunch & recess with his friends.

But on our last encounter he surprised me, proved me wrong. He had been listening to me all along, remembering our conversations. Months ago I spent the entire visit explaining how math was so important and that every job he would ever do would require math. I proved my point as he told me he wanted to grow up to play video games, be a cop, a rock star, and anything else he could think of as he tried to stump me.

This past week, our last visit, he reminded me we had never finished the "Getting to Know Me" workbook we had started on our first meeting. We pulled it out and I started asking him questions from the Interest Inventory. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I asked.

He shrugged so I answered. " When I grow up I want to be happy," I told him.

He instantly replied, "Hey, you don't need math for that!"

"Yeah I guess you're right Isaac." I'm gonna miss that kid.

I told him he needed to tell his new school in South Carolina that he had a mentor in Michigan and that they needed to get him an even cooler mentor than me. He told me that no one would be as cool as me. I cried on the way home.

Chicken Juice

I like those little mini-carts you can use at Meijer. Two tiered, compact, you can maneuver around the whole store so easy. I had set my purse on the bottom rack, and started putting all the stuff in the top one. By the time I got to the rotisserie chicken there wasn't much room left (and the chicken has to be your last stop) so I just set it on top of everything else and made my way to the checkout.

I didn't really fully comprehend what had happened until I was paying the cashier and I reached into the abyss I call my purse and my hand became wet, and warm, and smelly. Papers were drenched in a carmel colored liquid and the lining of my purse was all wet and gross. Chicken Juice. It had poured out of its little home and was drenching the contents in my opened purse. It was sick.

I hate that feeling. I knew that the things in my purse (my life) were swimming in a gravy base and all I could do was pay the lady and hurry home to dump out the contents.

The dog greeted me right away as she pressed her nose into my purse. The entire handbag at this point smelled like dinner. As Lola was enjoying herself I began to assess the damage.

I dumped everything out and wiped down what I could. I pulled out another purse I was saving for spring (it just looks like spring) but decided I was no longer waiting for spring to arrive before using it. Desperate measures people, I wouldn't typically walk around late winter with a spring purse!

Transfer of purse belongings was a success...and then I had to try and figure out how to clean the lining of my juiced purse. I didn't think I could put it in the washing machine without destroying it so I pulled out the lining the best I could and soaked it in detergent water while trying to keep the exterior of the purse dry...The verdict isn't in yet. After one soak and rinse the purse still arouses the dog. I think it will need another go around.

Moral of the Story: Don't set you purse underneath a rotisserie chicken!

A Case of the Mean Reds...

I treated myself to an Audrey Hepburn marathon yesterday. Just me and a DVD boxed set, the fuzzy blanket my grandma made me, and a bag of chips. A good portion of my unemployed time is spent eating crap on my sofa. The good news (or is it?) is I live in Michigan, it's been months since I've looked out my window and haven't seen snow. Because of this, everyone in the state is wearing big sweaters & puffy coats, both of which are very complimentary to my chub. Come spring I'm done for, but... it works for now. (Might have to re-think my stand on jogging.)

As I fantasized of a by gone era, where women wore beautiful dresses and big jewelery, a few lines stuck with me. Not as fascinating as you might think, but they stuck with me.

Breakfast at Tiffany's:
Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?

Paul Varjak: The mean reds. You mean like the blues?

Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you're getting fat, and maybe it's been raining too long. You're just sad, that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid, and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?

Ugh, the "mean reds." I could totally relate. (I don't know if its bad or good to relate to a fictional character?) It just made some sense. Ever get a case of the mean reds? I think it's the perfect phrase for an unemployed person to use, and come on, who doesn't want to quote Audrey Hepburn? (Oh, and for all you literary buffs: Truman Capote actually wrote the line...but as far as I'm concerned Audrey made it famous.)

Canine Hieroglyphics

It seems that everyone likes to hear about the adventures of Lola, and so I'm digging into the archives for this doozy. Even at an early age the pooch knew how to make me vomit...

It was a warm summer day (not a blistering hot summer day...I live in Michigan and those don't exist, especially not last summer.)  My sweet pup was about 6 months old.  She hated being left behind and my husband had been nagging at me to take her with me when I ran errands.  He had been taking her on trips in the car and she was doing great.  We wanted to acclimate her to all kinds of things in her youth to ensure she would be a people loving, easy going dog.

I gave Lola some time in the yard for a "bathroom break" and then we headed off on our journey.

We ran around town together, wind in our hair, enjoying each other's company.  Lola was doing great.  Like most of her first year, I forgot she was a puppy.  She was so well behaved. 

My last stop was Lowes.  I knew I'd have to go inside the store for this one, but all I needed was a gallon of paint (right of the shelf paint, not even custom colored.)  I parked on the edge of the lot, and cracked all the windows.  I was just going to be a few minutes...

In and out, no problem.  Less than ten minutes. 

As I approached the truck I could hear Lola barking in her happy voice.  She was bouncing around the front seat so happy to see me.  I'm not exactly what you would call a dog person, but at this moment I thought I could pass for one.  I was looking forward to saying hello to my little pup.

I reached for the door and at this moment knew something was not right.  I could smell disaster, literally.  I opened the door and the stench of dog shit hit me like a brick wall, and then my gag reflux kicked in.  Lola came bouncing toward me, covered in her own feces.  I picked her up, wrapped her leash around some car part and set her on the pavement.  The odor was so intense that I had to turn around to catch my breath.  I then began to assess the damage.

It seems that the bulk of damage, the actually impact site, occurred directly on the crack in the front seat (of course it did.)  From here it was apparent that Lola then stepped into the poo (using all four of her paws), shoving it deep, down into the seat crevice.  The cab of that truck was coated in shitty paw prints and shitty smudges.  I can't even begin to imagine how all of this happened in less than ten minutes.

I wanted to cry.  I didn't know what to do.  I wanted to just throw the truck away and get a new one.  I  looked around the parking lot in despair and then reality sank in.  I was going to have to drive this thing home.  

I took a deep breath and made my move.  I circled the truck, gagging,  as Lola bounced at my feet.  I opened all the doors to air out the truck and found some old rags in the back seat.  (I was really grateful at this point that I was driving Ben's truck and that he has all kinds of weird things in the back seat:  like tools, tow chains, and RAGS!)

Taking a rag in my right hand I grasped what was left of the giant mound of poo on the front seat, but then I didn't know what to do with it.  Usually, I am totally against littering, but at this moment all environmental conviction left me and chucked the rag full of crap under the truck. 

I wanted to get more of the feces out of the truck but I didn't know how.  The crap was smeared into the upholstered seats, the windshield was covered with poop,  and what I like to call canine hieroglyphics decorated the dashboard.  It was everywhere.  Perfect little paw silhouettes and streaks of brown poop covered every surface I could see.  So I gave up.  I didn't know what to do at this point.  I just knew I needed to get home.  I needed to get in proximity to my garden hose, rubber gloves, and a disinfectant.

I lined the seat with rags and picked up my shitty, little dog and placed her in the passenger seat.  At this point I looked down to see Johnny's  face was also covered in crap ( I was sporting a very awesome, vintage, Johnny Cash, Folsom Prison T-shirt.)  I sat in the driver's seat, tears filled my eyes, and started the car.  I tried to buckle up using just my pinky fingers, and placed the belt behind my back.  I didn't want to rub the shit on Johnny's face into the strap.  I tried to only touch the steering wheel with the palms of my hands (mostly because the steering wheel was caked in shit) but that proved quite difficult at the fist turn.  I hadn't wanted to roll the windows down, for fear that the smeared on crap would get trapped in the door compartment, but the stench was so intense that I had no choice but to roll them down. 

Of course, instantaneously, my nose started to itch, my hair needed tucked behind my ear, and I felt so dirty...I wanted a shower in the worst way.  It was the worst drive home ever, of all time.  I kept dry heaving the entire way home, and every chance I got I stuck my head out the window (as if  I were the dog.)  All the while Lola just sat there in the passenger seat smiling, looking around at her work with a twinkle in her eye. 

I was mostly concerned for Johnny.  I bought the T-shirt on ebay and couldn't imagine a world without this garment in it!  As for the truck, I thought (for sure) it was a  lost cause. I wondered if the insurance company could just "total it."  And, as I mentioned above, Lola was unaware, maybe even a little proud?  Turns out all three cleaned up just fine.  And I took about a million showers to decontaminate myself after cleaning up the others (I even used the disinfectant on myself.)

I'm only going to say this once...

Wallpaper borders are like design suicide. They are my least favorite thing for walls. They rank right up there with outfits for concrete geese...in fact, on a scale of 1 to 10 they are a 0.

I've been thinking this for a long time, I've even said it out loud a time or two, but today I wanted to put it out there for the world. I'm glad I got that off my chest.

The Skinny on the Skinny

I'm liking my new jeans with big sweaters and boots, but here's a bit of advise (which most people already live by.) The dryer is no place for skinny jeans.

Being a short girl I am always putting my jeans in the dryer. It beats hemming them and is ideal for someone who detest laundry, like myself. It's just easy. I was total oblivious as I threw that load in the dryer and an hour later it was too late. What was once a slightly tight pair of jeans had become a little, itty, bitty pair of jeans. I feared the worse.

However, thanks to my friend spandex (2%) I was able to squeeze them on. Literally, squeezing was involved. I wore them around the house until all my cellulose stretched them out to a more desirable consistency. I can know thankfully say that I can wear them again in public.

I just hope I can remember this the next time I do laundry. I don't think they'd make it another round.

Grave Digger

Did I ever tell you I have a dog? Well, I do. If you know me then you have probably heard my 'Lola Stories' but in case I haven't seen you in a while I am going to share her latest adventure...

It was a regular morning. I was in the bathroom putting on make up and Lola was outside. Our bathroom wall is an exterior wall and I could hear her along side the house, making too much noise. She'd been doing a lot of digging, even though the ground is frozen solid, so I ran outside quick to see what was going on and hopefully put a stop to it.

But I wasn't ready for what I found: A pale yellow, knitted, baby blanket covered in dirt, surrounded by snow, lying a few feet from the house. I instantaneously screamed, "No!" as memories of a little stone marked 'Zig' came to mind. She hadn't been digging just anywhere, she had dug up the previous owner's pet cemetery!

I had seen the gravestone soon after we moved in about three years ago. It creeped me out the first time I saw it, mostly because someone had buried their dog that close the house. The second time I came across that rock I threw it away. It may seem inhumane, but it wasn't my dog, I had no ties to Zig, and I didn't like having a tombstone in my garden!

As soon as we got Lola our neighbors fell in love with her too, and Lola became the thing we had in common. We got to know Russ & Lee much better over this past year and learned more about all the neighborhood pets during this time. We also learned that the previous owners had a golden retriever, and that he got hit by a car on our street. That story had me constantly freaking out that Lola would get hit by a car too (she is a great escape artist and has no road sense whatsoever.) Anyways, Lola loves Russ & Lee as much as she does us I think. It's probably because they are constantly bringing her treats.

Anyhow, there I was in my husband's boots, half dressed, headband on, but not quite enough makeup to be seen in public yet. I grabbed a snow shovel and headed toward what I thought must be Zig's blanket. I wasn't about to touch it with my hands! As I scooped up the precious little blanket it became very clear that this was no ordinary blanket, but the blanket Zig was buried in, and that it was still housing the remains of Zig. As I got the blanket into the scoop two little paws fell out of the blanket, still furry and with really long toenails. At this point I almost vomited and threw the remains into the hole along side our house. I knew I was not going to be able to do anything after seeing those paws.

I called Lola over and grabbed her by the collar and drug her into the house, knowing she was not going back outside until Ben could come home and take care of "it." But as I was dragging my dog I looked around the backyard and took note of all the bones lying in the snow. We never give her bones, and so I had always assumed that they were gifts from Russ & Lee...and at this exact moment a sick thought came over me. Could my dog be a canine cannibal? Had she been chewing on the remnants of her forefathers? Disgusting!

So I did what anyone in my shoes would have done. I removed the dog from the crime scene and called my husband and told him that he was going to have to destroy the evidence.

Skinny Jeans

I don't know who's bright idea it was for skinny jeans to be the "it jeans"...but I have a hunch they were blessed with no butt, slim hips, long legs, and no muffin top (and I'm not talking about cupcake's relative.) I want to wear them, but every time I put them on I want to take them right back off. Maybe it's because I wasn't blessed with all the things mentioned in my first sentence?!

I could have just gone through life never wearing them but then winter came, and boot season, and I really, really love boots. I need to be able to tuck my jeans into my boots!

I tried a pair on last week at TJ Maxx, one of my all time favorite stores. I did the whole jumping dance to get them on and then looked in the mirror and held back the vomit. Disgusting, as suspected. I literally had to peel them off, and in doing so I was peeling off my underwear at the same rate. I've got my butt exposed, I'm hoping on one foot and tugging at the pant leg trying to escape from this horrible garment. I really hope they do not have surveillance in the dressing rooms!

So I was at Forever 21 yesterday and against my better judgment I tried a pair on. Surprisingly enough they fit pretty descent (even though it is a teeny bopper store) and since they were on clearance for only $9.99 I took my chances and purchased them.

I haven't worn them yet, but maybe when I find a long shirt...

Shit

I somehow ended up, quite unexpectedly, on a conference call with a old friend who was reviewing a proposal I had done for a new client. (He works with the client and helped to bring me on board with the current project.)

All this is quite new to me as I have never worked on my own, doing a project "on the side" before. (Can you still call it "on the side" when you have no other real employment? Yes? No?) Anyhow, I called him to discuss my first ever proposal and he tells me that he and the client are currently meeting, discussing my proposal, and he puts me on speaker phone.

It was hard to hear them but I think we discussed a few key points and then I thought he took me off speaker phone, because all of a sudden he was much more audible. He mentioned something that to me seemed rather tricky and I said, "Shit."

Then it hit me...what did I just do? I think I just said "shit" out loud, on speaker phone, as a women is contemplating hiring me!!! It's a little premature in the relationship for the client to know I have a potty mouth! Shit! I have not heard from them yet but I think my angle is to pretend as if it never happened, I think bringing it up would only be making the situation more obvious.

Besides, I really low balled my fee. If they wanted someone who didn't talk like a sailor they would need to pay more.

The greatest thing about being unemployed...

I just hung up the phone with a solicitor from the local fire department wondering if I would purchase tickets to some event that would in return benefit the department, I think. A good cause I guess...but don't you hate it when you get those calls? I feel so guilty that all I am thinking about is how to hang up in the most polite way possible. But in these past few months I have realized I can turn that situation around quite quickly, making the caller feel all the guilt that seconds before I possessed! And I can tell it's working by the tone in their voices.

Caller: Would you like to...give us money?

Me: Oh, you know, I recently became unemployed and...Goodbye.

It was a little more difficult with the American Cancer Society, because I usually do give them money every year, but I think they understood. I think there must be a lot of unemployed people these days because a lot of callers don't even press on with their sales pitch...sometimes they just say, "I understand" and hang up, which I find more comforting.

So, the greatest thing about being unemployed, besides sleeping in, are the guilt free rejections you can offer to various non-profit organizations. (As you can see, this is by no means a good reason to quit your job!)