As of 4:05 this afternoon, I have purple toenails.
That is all.
As of 4:05 this afternoon, I have purple toenails.
That is all.
Yesterday I left a comment at their website about my love for Wreck This Journal. This morning I got an e-mail from them–my comment was chosen for their Daily Dose newsletter, and I won a $20 credit! Squee! So it seemed fitting that I spend it on another Keri Smith book, and I can’t wait to see it.
In other news, I have the appointment with my primary care doctor (Doctor Joe) today. That’s the last step in getting everything assembled for my insurance company to get their approval for the surgery. Then the waiting begins. I’m excited about the opportunity to do this, and very hopeful that the insurance company will cover it.
Tomorrow is yard work day at home. Anyone in the area who wants to come help–we won’t turn you away! Joe’s putting our back fence back up in its original location. We were supposed to put it a couple of feet farther from the street, but we’ve got enormous tree roots to dig through, and Joe’s seldom home long enough to have time to rent the equipment that would be able to go through those tree roots. And there is presently no work whatsoever being done, and no indication that the road widening will begin any time soon, we’ve agreed that it would be best to just put the fence back up in its original spot. When they tear it down, they tear it down, and we’ll deal with the issue at that time.
Joe’s off for Indiana Sunday afternoon. Les chiens will miss him a lot. It always takes Scout a full day to realize that Joe’s not coming back right away, and it’s a sad thing to see him lying on the back of the loveseat, face pointed toward the door, and his head cocked eagerly every time he hears a noise that might be Joe. I think Joe will only be gone for a week, though, so that won’t be so bad. And I’ll tell you, there’s nothing like seeing the joy in those dogs when he does get back home. Molly will be wearing a big ol’ grin that won’t go away, and Scout will be practically doing backflips.
Two days ago it looked like this:
Now it looks like this:
I’ve already had way too much fun with this. I made a nifty movie, but can’t figure out how to upload it. But if you want to see it, shoot an e-mail to the e-mail address in the sidebar.
Yesterday I decided to use part of a $30 Barnes & Noble gift card, always a fun chore. I’d already ordered the most recent Buffy omnibus, along with a couple of Dr. Who graphic novels, so there wasn’t anything I just absolutely had to have.
After a lot of looking, and wondering if perhaps I would leave empty handed (it’s happened before, albeit not often), I ran across a unique journal. Wreck This Journal by Keri Smith has unusual prompts. It’s not a book that’s going to stay pretty for long. Or at all. Recognizing that creativity often comes through destruction, Smith gives prompts will have your book looking and smelling nasty in no time. Trust me, it’s a good thing.
So far I’ve scribbled along the side edges of the book (I’m not describing that very well, but it’s when you close the book, and you’ve got the edges of all the pages), smeared bits of last night’s dinner on one page, slopped coffee on a page and made cool coffee rings, and even spat out a little coffee. Pretty fun, huh?
You’re gagging right now, and rolling your eyes, and wondering what the heck is up with all this. Trust me. It’s fun. When you’re trying to get out of a creative rut, and you want to create perfect beauty, it’s hard to get going. And you look at what you do create, and it may be so far from your innter vision that you get disgusted. And you stay in that rut, getting more and more frustrated. But allowing–even encouraging–yourself to deliberately make messes really frees up the creativity. And besides, it’s fun.
Didn’t you make mud pies when you were a kid? Or write on the walls? If I’m remembering the story correctly (because I don’t remember the event), when I was little I took the red pen my grandmother used to grade her students’ homework, and graded the walls. Did you ever splash paint around, a la Jackson Pollock, with no other purpose or intent than to splash paint? Did you ever eat paint? (I did.) You did those things because they were fun. You had a good time, at least until you got caught and had to scrub the ink off the outside of the house (I was definitely old enough to know better that time), or had to have your stomach pumped because the blue paint really wasn’t good for your insides.
But now you’re a grown-up. That’s good, in the sense that you can choose what to do, and the consequences aren’t the same types of consequences you faced as a child. But it’s not necessarily good if you’ve allowed yourself to forget the fun to be found in destructive creation.
Buy the book if you like. It’s a good starting place. But you don’t have to. You could get your own blank book, and write your own destructive prompts in it, and make a mess with it. Either way, you’re going to have a ripping good time.
Now please pardon me while I spit some more coffee onto my book. (I’ll post pictures, I promise.)
(And if I ever forget the recipe for fry sauce, I need not fear. It’s immortalized on the edges of the book.)
Doesn’t Grumpy somehow look grumpier with beads on? It’s like he’s saying, “Get these damned things off of me!”
On to fry sauce:
Start with two packets of ketchup/catsup. It looks a little gross here. I had the flash on–sorry. If you don’t have a paper liner on your tray, you can mix it in a cup or paper. Don’t try doing this on a napkin, though–too absorbent. That’s the voice of experience speaking.
Then add a packet of mayonnaise. Doesn’t that look disgusting?
Mix it together until it’s a pleasant pinky-orangey colour.
And dunk your fries and eat. Mmmmm.
Okay, so I’m no Pioneer Woman. but I know from fry sauce. I’m just sayin’. And if you’re at home, you could stir in a whisker of mustard, or a little sweet pickle juice, or you could use bbq sauce instead of the ketchup. Be creative. Or don’t. Stick to the basics, if you prefer. I mean, fry sauce is a personal thing.
In an attempt to provide you with your daily dose of chauceriangirl-style weirdness, I documented (for the uninformed) how to make fry sauce. The photos will be uploaded tonight or tomorrow, so stay tuned. (And just for the record, the guy in the booth behind me seemed more than a little weirded out about the crazy chick taking photos of her food at a notable chicken place that has cow mascots.)
I had a stress test today at the cardiologist’s office. Double-plus-unfun. But he did clear me for the surgery. I’ve got one last doctor appointment, with my awesome primary doc, and then all the paperwork can be sent to the insurance company. After that, well, the waiting begins.
Mom still seems to be doing fantastic, and I’m very happy about it. And things at home are weird, as usual.
You may now return to your regularly scheduled life.
While much of the US is watching the Oscars tonight, I watched some Monty Python. Memorable quotations from tonight’s episode:
“That’s not Picasso! That’s Kandinski!”
“Comedy broke out in this house. . . . Violent comedy.”
Guess you had to have been there.
Not the kind of dreams where you’re imagining out some fantastic thing that you can make happen with vision and work.
No, the kind of crazy wacked-out dreams that make you wake up a dozen times during the night, trying to catch your breath, and hoping they’ll stop but they don’t. I’ve been having them all week, ever since I gently teased Gypsy about wondering if insomnia were better than psycho dreams. Karma’s a bitch. Bites you in the butt over and over.
Last night I was experiencing the apocalypse (scary stuff, trust me), which in my dream seemed to last forever. But it didn’t, of course, because then I was a CIA agent in training. Also extremely scary stuff. I nearly got bumped off a dozen times, but managed to pull through every time. The dreams are lucid, which means I’m aware, at some level, that they are dreams and not real, and I can change what’s happening. I just can’t manage to wake myself out of them.
I love you, Gypsy Grrl. And I’m sorry I teased you. Anyone ready to make fun of me, take the wacked-out dreams away? Kidding. Sort of.
I have been rather high all week, which is probably a good thing since it’s been a crazy busy week at work. Do you ever mentally get a day ahead of reality? Like all day Tuesday, I thought it was Wednesday; and all day today, I’ve thought it was Thursday. I’m really going to be a tad disappointed when I have to get up in the morning on what I’ll think was Saturday only to have to go to work again.
I got a new cell phone last week, and hadn’t gotten around yet to personalizing the ring tones and everything. For the last couple of years, my alarm clock tone has been “Forever and Ever, Amen.” And I can’t tell you how tired I am of hearing that song every morning. So it’s been kind of nice just having a little melody I’ve never heard before. But this morning Joe asked me to change it–he said he misses hearing Randy Travis. Well, nothing against Randy Travis, whom I respect quite a bit, but I’m ready for a change. So the new alarm tone is “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” by Pat Benatar. That should get me up and going. I was also very tired of Delilah, even though I love the song, playing every time Joe phones me, so his new ring tone is “I Think I Love You” by David Cassidy. That’ll make a nice change. Of course, I pity the people at work, who will have to hear me singing that ad infinitum, because I’m bad about getting earworms, and that’s a very earwormy song. (Not that Delilah wasn’t, because it is, but it’s a different earwormy song.)
I sort of panicked a little bit whatever morning it was when I realized I was having a manic episode. I have bipolar 2, which means my highs and lows don’t go into the sorts of extremes that people usually think about when they think of bipolar disorder. But I’ve been pretty regular in my moods for a while now, so that feeling of out-of-controllness was scary. But I’ve just been trying to work with it, knowing that I’ll come back down soon.
So everything’s pretty good. Joe’s still at home, which means I’ll get to celebrate his birthday with him. Clover’s youngest son is getting baptized, which is of the awesome. And Liz and I are going shopping on Friday night (Joe’s getting high-top Chucks, maroon if I can find them) and getting pedicures. Mom’s doing well after her surgery, which is a huge relief.
And you can find things like Steve Vai playing Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony on You Tube:
and just to give equal time to Yngwie Malmsteen:
How about a little lover for Kaizer’s Orchestra:
And Regina Spektor:
And Patsy Cline:
And, aw heck, why not? David Cassidy!
You know I’ve got eclectic tastes in music, right? Let’s finish off with a little Cibo Matto (who do NOT clog dance, and bonus points if you catch the reference):