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Archive for October, 2011

Hi. My Name is Faith.

And I’m a Slurpeeholic.  It started when I was having an incredible craving for Coke, but because of my lap band surgery, I’m not allowed to drink Coke because of the carbonation. So Diet Coke was out of the picture. I tried the advice of a friend–bought a bottle of Diet Coke, shook it and shook it and shook it and shook it, and then took the lid off and left it overnight, but it just wasn’t the same.

So I got a Coke Slurpee. Now, if they had Diet Coke Slurpees, I wouldn’t be writing this post. It would be a moot point, because there wouldn’t be sugar in it. But alas, they do not, and so I’ve been drinking multiple Coke/Dr Pepper mix Slurpees every week.

Sarah-bear conducted an intervention today. I’m allowed EITHER two regular-sized Slurpees a week, or else one of the 32-oz ones. I’ll let you guess which one I got at lunch today.

She’s my sponsor for Slurpeeholics Anonymous, so I told her that when I am craving Slurpees I’m going to call her and whine.  She must really love me, because she agreed.  And on the positive side, my weight loss will pick back up once I’m not consuming I’m not telling you how many empty calories in Slurpees every week.

Any other Slurpeeholics who want to join SA, please leave a note for me and let me know I’m not alone. PLEASE let me know I’m not alone!

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Wowlie Wow Wow!

Man, when Sarah-bear and I go out to lunch, interesting things frequently happen. Like the infamous Slurpee incident from earlier this week. (BTW: Sarah-bear, you tattle-tale! “Hey, my name is Faith, and I’m a Slurpeeholic.” I was trying to be at least a little discrete there, but you outed me!)

Anyway, today was Wednesday.  When the planets align themselves just so, Wednesday lunch consists of splitting the cheese enchilada special at El Fenix and then stopping at 7-11 for Slurpees before returning to the office, where we spend the rest of the day in a soporific haze brought on by excessive carbs.

And Sarah-bear was driving today because there’s a short in the button that turns on the A/C in my car, and it’s been making me extremely cranky. As we’re driving down the road next to the restaurant after lunch on our way to 7-11, aka Slurpee Heaven, all of a sudden Sarah’s frantically turning the steering wheel and braking and screaming, and I’m screaming, and there’s a big-ass truck or SUV or something slamming on its brakes–the driver was in such a hurry to exit her restaurant that she didn’t bother to look and see whether anyone was already on the road. Man, I was 6 inches from getting crunched. I mean seriously crunched. I’d have broken my promise to Emmy to be home straight after work today. I’d have been in the hospital. Sarah thoroughly cussed out the driver of the other vehicle, and calmly proceeded to 7-11.

It took a few minutes, but we finally started breathing normally again, and I realized how close I’d come to getting crunched, and Sarah-bear, it’s okay that you outed me as a Slurpee addict, because you saved my life. Thank you. 

And, uh, we’re eating lunch at Cafe Yum tomorrow, because I am not risking another lunch away from the office this week. Except for Friday, because I get to leave early and won’t be here for lunch anyway.

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Window Shopping Again

I have no idea what my house will look like on the inside once it’s all mended. Probably ugly white walls, but they’ll be new ugly white walls, and there’s always paint. So I was journaling today about how I’d like to decorate my own living space (as apart from the family living space, because I have very quirky taste that my husband doesn’t always appreciate), and decided to do a little window shopping.

Avenue Six CVS72-P57 Curves Tufted Chaise Lounge - Purple Velvet

Check out this purple velvet chaise longue. Yes, it definitely fits into my living space.

Romantic Getaway with Four-Poster Bed in Berlin: Guestroom, four-poster bed at day-light: berlin germany bed & breakfasts berlin

And look at this gorgeous bed!

And some vibrant art

hanging on a deep purple wall

and mismatched dishes, where I’ve chosen each article because of how it sings to me.

Incense wafting through the air, giving a rich and mysterious aroma to my space.

I think I may be feeling the pull towards personalizing my space so strongly right now because of how generic things are at our apartment. The furniture is nice enough, but not my style. My dad and stepmonster kindly loaned us a couple of pieces of artwork, so that we’ve got something to look at besides bare walls, and they’re pretty, but not my style. And the bedding is downright ugly. So the only thing I can do right now is burn a stick of incense every now and again, when Joe’s not home, because if he’s home he either puts it out or puts on fans so the aroma goes away.

I lost a lot when I lost my home. I have a roof over my head, for which I truly am thankful. But I feel like I lost a lot of myself, and I want it back.

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I Have Schweddy Balls!

Ever since the announcement that Ben & Jerry’s created a limited edition Schweddy Balls ice cream, I’ve been on the prowl.  I happen to think that particular SNL sketch is one of the funniest ever, albeit one of the grossest ever.

Target didn’t have it.

Neither of the two Tom Thumb stores I went to had it.

Walmart didn’t have it.

Market Street didn’t have it.

Then last night I got lucky–I was at Walmart looking for some protein bars and hot rollers, and thought I’d check again, just on the off hand it would be there. It wasn’t, and I ended up getting a pint of peach cobbler. But as I was exiting the ice cream aisle, I happened to glance to my right, and there were a few more containers of Ben & Jerry’s. And lo, there was one lone, forlorn container of Scheddy Balls that instantly migrated to my cart. 

As I was driving home, I was singing a song about my schweddy balls. And after dinner, I scooped up some schweddy balls ice cream and took a bite. Good, but not great. Ben & Jerry’s has definitely come up with better flavours. Don’t get me wrong–I liked it–and I liked it even more once I poured on some hot fudge topping and a blop of cool whip. The ice cream has a mild rum flavour, and the balls are rum flavoured chocolate covered malted balls kind of like whoppers.

So yay, I’m glad I got to eat some schweddy balls, but I don’t see myself buying it again.  YMMV, of course, but if you do get it, I strongly urge the addition of hot fudge topping. Hot fudge makes everything better.

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Neither Joe nor I had time to take Emmylou for her morning walk today, so I zipped home during my lunch break. She was, of course, delighted to see not only me but Sarah-bear. We raced around the apartment; Emmylou waggled her butt; I picked up the poopies in the dining area; and we went for a walk.  She didn’t do anything, of course, which means I’ll probably have to clean up a tinkle when I get home after work.

Sarah-bear and I then stopped at 7-11 for a slurpee.  I had achieved the proper mix of Coke and Dr. Pepper, and was just topping it off, when all of a sudden the handle got stuck; my drink sort of exploded; and I was doing the “I don’t want to get Slurpee all over me” dance while Sarah laughed as she got the handle turned the right way to shut off the steady stream of frozen Dr. Pepper that was oozing all over the exploded cup. We grabbed napkins. We threw away the exploded cup and lid. And I very cautiously prepared a replacement Slurpee that did NOT explode. So embarrassing!

Two and a half more hours of looking up accounts, and I get to go home for the day. I think I’m going to be staying away from Slurpees for the rest of the week.

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Window Shopping

Liz hasn’t been window shopping in a while. So I figured I’d fill in today. Because there’s nothing I like more than shopping. Well, that’s not strictly true, but shopping is definitely high on the list of things I enjoy.  Disclaimer: I am affiliated with NONE of these companies. I’m just sharing what I like.

This lovely Cour D’Artur dress, is available at Pyramid Collection .

My Steam Lady Ensemble

And what’s life without a kicky steampunk outfit from Clockwork Couture?  Because I love me some steampunk.

  

For the Doctor Who enthusiast, here’s a lidded TARDIS mug (I confess I own one of these), your very own Dalek, and an adorable Adipose stress toy. You can get the mug and the stress toy from Think Geek. Don’t know where you’d find the Dalek, but if you Google it, you should be in like Flynn.

Alice Cooper Onesie

For the baby who has everything, you can’t go wrong with this Alice Cooper onesie from Fly Clothing.

Not All Who Wander Are Lost - Sterling Silver and Leather Unisex Cuff, 8.5-inch length

For the Tolkien fan, this lovely bracelet reminds us that “not all who wander are lost.”

A product thumbnail of Quidditch Golden Snitch Necklace by Noble Collection

Here’s a kicky flying snitch necklace, to attract the attention of Quidditch lovers everywhere.

Betsey Johnson - Caseyy

How can you pass up these cute Betsey Johnson pumps? Purple! Shoes!

And I want a Kitchenaid Mixer so desperately–I’m going to get one when we move back home.

 

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that my husband thinks it’s my job to do the housework. Any clues? Because I’m baffled.

This has been an ongoing problem throughout our marriage. I go to work, and usually have a bit of a commute. I come home exhausted. (I mentioned the constant fatigue a few days ago, right?) 

What really frustrates me is that I can get a room cleaned up and tidy. Like the living room. And then he comes home from a trip and plops his suitcase in the middle of the floor. He piles up blankets and covers and pillows for the dog. He leaves magazines all over the place, guitar and music equipment all over the place. He puts our printer and his laptop on the dining table. And then says something snide like, “You’re not capable of keeping a clean house.”

He shot that at me last night, and I was so angry I didn’t say anything.

So yeah, tomorrow morning instead of participating in the 24-hour readathon, I will be cleaning our tiny apartment and cussing either under my breath or out loud. And his music and guitar crap are going into the front closet, along with the printer.

It just annoys me to no end. I don’t mind doing housework. I mean, it’s not on my top ten list of favourite things to do, but I don’t mind it. I do mind being expected to do it all, while he feels free to strew his crap from one end of our home to the other.

Grrrrrr.

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As a kid, I believed in the scientific method, without even knowing that’s what it was called or what it meant.

And I was also extremely curious about the world around me. (Phobia against serpents, insects, spiders, and rodents, but we’re not going there. In fact, I hope I never have to go there.)

For example, my parents taught me this little rhyme:

I eat my peas with honey; I’ve done it all my life. It makes the peas taste funny, but it keeps them on the knife.

Well, let me tell you: (a) it definitely makes the peas taste funny. In fact, they tasted downright disgusting. (b) It absolutely does NOT keep them on the knife. And that’s all I’m saying about that one.

So when they started running those commercials where the kid goes up to an owl and asks how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop and the owl licks it twice, then crunches it, and says “Three”, I decided I wanted to find out for reals.  I armed myself with a tootsie pop, some paper, and a pencil, and I made a tick mark for every lick I took. I noted how many licks it took to get the center exposed in the first little spot, and then noted how many more it took to get the entire center exposed, with no hard candy left.

Then I sent it to the Tootsie Pop company. Bastards didn’t even write me back, and they kept running that damned commercial.

Effers.

(My substitute boss brought me some Tootsie Pops, and I’m sucking on one right now. I think they taste good, but I still get pissed off every time I think of the hours spent finding out just how many licks it did take.)

 

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tired tired tired tired tired

I’m tired all the damn time!!!

My boss, who has thyroid problems, suggested I go see an endocrinologist, as perhaps my thyroid was wonky.  So I went to an endocrinologist last Monday. Nope, my thyroid is absolutely normal (aside from the cysts, one of which is 1.5 cm). I am low on B12 and D, so I’ve added those into my daily medication routine.

Yesterday I was asleep by 9 or 9:30. I got up around 9:30 this morning. It’s now 11 a.m. I’m still sleepy, ready to go crawl back into the bed and sleep for a few more hours.

I hate being tired all the time. It sucks. I’ve got stuff I need/want to get done, and all I want to do is sleep. 😦

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I needs it.

So: Amethyst is coming over tonight for dinner. I’m making nachos. Well, technically, I’m making queso blanco dip and buying guacamole and beans and chips, and she can make her own damn nachos. 🙂  Amethyst is one of the coolest people I know, and I feel sorry for anyone who doesn’t know her awesomeness.

I get to go buy a new doggie bed for Miss Emmylou Who. We used to have 2 beds, but one of them went to the cemetery with Scout. We put the other one on the patio so Emmylou can lounge in cushioned comfort while she watches the world go by and barks at the poodle who lives across the way. That means we need a new one for her to lounge on inside. (Every time I try to type lounge, it comes out lunge. Is that the universe telling me I need some exercise?)

I get to go buy new towels. The temporary housing people arranged for someone to rent us housewares, and a whole bunch of lovely white towels were included in the package.  But almost all of them got ruined in Scout’s final hours. 😦  So I have to buy more. (Question: What do they do with all this stuff that they rented to us once we move back home? Because everything was new and I can’t imagine them taking the dishes we’ve eaten off of for however long and renting them to someone else. Guess I’d better ask the temporary housing people.)

I get to do laundry, but that’s no big deal. One of the benefits of having very little clothing means it doesn’t take long to wash it, dry it, and put it away.

I get to visit with the incomparable Izzybella at some point this weekend.

I get to watch this online seminar I signed up for.

I get to read.

I get to walk Emmylou and watch her play with the other dogs.

I get to sleep.

I get to get a pedicure. (I think I’d better shave my legs first. Just a thought.)

I get to watch scary movies and shows about hoarders that Joe doesn’t like so I don’t watch when he’s in town.

I get to write a book review for Quirky Girls. See, I’m participating in the R.I.P. challenge hosted by Stainless Steel Droppings. And I’ve got book reviews of all kinds of scary books going up this month, mostly on the weekends so I don’t butt into the schedules of the other awesome quirky girls. And this book I read just because I love the author so much: Drink, Slay, Love by Sarah Beth Durst. I met her at a World Fantasy Conference in Austin 5 or 6 years ago, and fell in love with her coolness.  So if you want to know what I think about her latest book, please go visit us at Quirky Girls; I’ll have the post up by Saturday morning.

I get to get up and meet my family for breakfast Saturday morning, if I can get my lazy tuchus out of bed by 6:15 so I have time to drive to Fort Worth and get to the restaurant by 7 because my Dad has to work this weekend, which really sucks because it’s supposed to be his weekend off. And I miss seeing my parents every weekend. I had gotten very used to that before the dang fire, and now it’s all messed up. The alarm will be set. But I make no promises.

And maybe I’ll get to have a nice long chat with Jehara. We talked for like 2 1/2 hours last weekend, and it was lovely. She restores my soul. She loves me so much, so unconditionally, and she’s cool to boot.

Ooh! And maybe I’ll go to Half Price Books! I think I have a 15% off my entire purchase coupon in my desk drawer. Hang on—nah, it’s not there. I have no idea where I put it. Maybe it’s in my other purse.

Do you know how weird that sounds? My other purse? Right now I have 2. Well, okay, I have 4, but one of them got the handle chewed off by one of the dogs, and the other one I accidentally spilled Gatorade in when I stuck a bottle in to bring to work and didn’t check to see if the lid was tightly closed (it wasn’t), and now the brown and tan bag is brown and tan and pink. Not a pretty look. But I did salvage a fair few of my bags from the house, and if I can get the smoke smell out of them, then all will be well. Otherwise, I shall be shopping for handbags, because I change handbags like I change my socks.

But the point I’m trying to make is, I’m going to have a relaxing weekend doing whatever the heck I want. The strain of caring for Scout was so overwhelming, and I think both Joe and I felt completely drained. I need some rest. So does my husband. He’s on an assignment for work; however, he basically just has to be in the town this afternoon and Monday morning. Other than that, his time is his own. So I’m hoping he gets some rest as well, goes and sees some music, eats some good food, and comes home feeling a little better about life.  We’ll miss Scout, just as we miss Molly and Stan, but we’re glad he’s no longer suffering. And I cannot deny I’m guiltily glad that I can rest this weekend.

And yeah, I know I said no more dogs, but I told Joe that I would be willing to talk about it when we’re back in the house. Definitely not as long as we’re in the apartment. But if Joe still wants another dog by the time we move back home, then I’ll consider it. The love they give you is so precious. The sorrow and hurt when they’re gone is agonising. Does the joy outweight the sorrow? Yeah. It does. I mean, it broke my heart when Molly died, but Emmylou just jumped right into the family and took up her own place. And I’m glad that we have her, because being completely alone would seem so empty.

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