movin' and groovin'

I hate change. Yeah, I may claim to enjoy a dramatic life change, or express a desire to just up and leave one day, bound for Tokyo, but it just isn't in me. I like my house too much, my comfy bed, and my books. However, all bets are off when it comes to changing the interior of my living space. D cannot stand how, around each season change, I suddenly have the desire to rearrange the furniture, "edit" the rooms, or add something spiffy. Well, this season change "makeover" was a doozie. Here is a poorly-drawn representation of the layout of our house. Now picture it with our bedroom where the dining room is. I picked up some old doors at a yard sale last year (two years ago?) and they are going on the two entrances to the old dining room.

Now, this may not look like much, but it involved a crapload of moving (large) furniture. Not only did the china cabinet have to make its way down the hallway and into the study, but our gi-normous bed frame, box spring, and unweilding matress had to come downstairs, with lots of tricky corners. We had our first night in the new room last night, and it was strange to have the ceiling so far away (upstairs the ceilings are vaulted).

But now, our room is so cool! It's orange! And bright! and there is room to move! In a word, awesome. It isn't cleaned up yet, but we're working on it. And last night, D and I installed a ceiling fan all by ourselves. I must admit, I thought I was going to have to slug him a few times (doing that whole macho-I can-do-it-because-I'm-a-man thing) but in the end, it turned out well. (He did, however, pull a butt muscle. Karma ain't pretty.)
And voilà: the photos. (Oh yeah, and I replaced two light fixtures ALONE yesterday, too. My stepmother gave me the confidence to go ahead and do it, regardless of knowing nothing about electricity.)

I loved mix tapes. They were a perfect medium through which to express all sorts of feelings, and there's nothing better for long car trips. Sadly, the mix tape has gone the way of the 8-track. Now, the big thing is mp3 players, which can be nice, but they usually take all your music and mix it up. There's no thought, no time put into selecting each and every song to describe whatever emotion you wanted to convey.

Well, have I got something for you! (of course I do - don't I always?) A mix tape USB from the (every-lovely) SUCK UK. Yes, one could argue that it's just a regular USB, but I love it. Call me a sucker for packaging. And can't you just see your friends' faces when they open their customized "mix tape?" Priceless. (and while at the site, check out the smoking mittens. Genius!)

Finally, a picture of Bush (no pun intended) that shows his true colors. The lovely work was created by British artist Jonathan Yeo, in retaliation for the actions of the Bush Library in backing out of a commission for Yeo to complete a "proper" portrait of the president. I think this one is plenty proper, myself. In case you can't make out what those images are that compose the president's face, let's just say that it's a portion of female anatomy. Yeo scoured hundreds of "top shelf" porn magazines to find the perfect images to create the likeness. Hehe. (Much more graphic image here.)

And on a completely unrelated note, let's all breathe a sigh of relief knowing that the Botox needs of the United States are being met. (I know I was worried.) Because nationwide, if you want Botox, you'll wait about 8 days to see a dermatologist. If you need a mole checked out (like to make sure it isn't CANCER or something) you'll wait 26 days, on average. Some waits were up to 35 days.

Did you realize that you can see the inside of lots of people's houses for free if you go to any of the many home-exchange websites? Seriously, sometimes I use them for design inspiration. But I feel a little guilty, like I'm intruding or something. Oh well.

It's Monday, folks! Has everyone read Modern Love? No? Ok, here's the link:

(why have you not already read this?) The Rubble of My Marriage, Hidden by Katrina's

Anywho, I get to go to the doctor today with LPT. (And you'll have to forgive me because I'm about to go into talk-lots-about my-kid-kind-of-mom mode) See, our Lil' Puddin' Tater has asthma. She has to use a nebulizer (she's nowhere near as happy as the little girl in the photo) twice a day and take a little chewable pill at night. Occasionally, she has to pop a Claritin if her allergies will be on high alert - bad ozone day, dust, mold, pollen, etc. Then, if things get really, bad and she is wheezy and can't really breathe, we have to bust out the nebulizer and in addition to her twice-daily medication, she gets to have a "treatment," which basically opens up her lungs.

Ok, there's the background. Now, to why we're going to see the "gockter," as LPT refers to it. Yesterday, LPT wasn't breathing so well. She was slightly lethargic (read: not enough oxygen) and over the course of the day, we administered three emergency treatments. None of these did quite as well as they should have. As a result, she was wheezing & raspy, and coughing her head off. So D and I spent a fairly restless night with LPT between us so that we could continue to make sure her wee chest was still going up & down.

So we have to see if it's the medication failing to do its job, or whether LPT is just reacting poorly.

Chillin'.

WE HAVE AIR. I always thought that I could probably just deal with a distinct lack of air conditioning - you know, suck it up and sweat it out. But I was wrong. So very wrong. It hit me yesterday, when the reality of having cool air pumping through our vents was so close; the repairman informed me that he would have to go get another part from some other guy who had kept it in his truck...long story short, what should have taken about an hour took three. And as I sat there, nearly biting the head off of anyone who dared to call me (ok, I'll be honest - just my mom), legs not just sticky but dripping and a distinct scant about me (eau de deodorant-stopped-working) it hit me: I can't deal with this shit. Yes, yesterday was a bit extreme. The inside temperature of our house was a steamy 94, and the heat index (something that has always pissed me off - oh, it feels like 107 outdoors, but really, it's only 98. Who gives a shit what the actual temperature is? If it feels like 107, then that's the number with which I have to contend. Dammit.) was something like 107. So if you combine those two numbers, throw in some irritation and some prickly heat, then you understand why I was slightly irritable.

But now, the house is in the 70s. And nothing is sweeter than waking up dry, and not having to hose yourself down before going to work. I even needed a sheet last night, because I got a bit chilled. CHILLED!

Wednesday was Y's birthday and she is now among the ranks of those in their mid-twenties. Tonight the ladies are going out for dinner at a restaurant that always makes me feel much cooler and more hip than I really am - Asiatique. Just my luck, I'll probably slip and fall or stick a straw up my nose or something.

And even though I cannot afford to get her one of these, I will post below what I believe would be the perfect gift for Y. And while we're dreaming, I'll pick one up for myself, too, and possibly all my friends.
It's a hottub. And it's portable. (!) And on top of those coils there? That would be a wok.(!) It's entirely plausible that you could make an entire meal (a spiffy one, not pb&j) and stay in the tub the whole time. And it comes in 7 colors, I think. The price tag: $6000. But you could easily spend that on a tub that is nowhere NEAR as cool as this one. Check out all the places this dutchtub can go here.

Wretched day.

So, our air conditioner went kaput. It froze up (literally - I had to knock ice from the pipes & vents) a few days ago and now just refuses to come on. So every morning, we wake up sweaty and cranky and all race to the showers at once in an effort to feel normal again. Today, I should not have bothered with the shower. It's raining like mad and in the process of getting the mail at the P.O. Box, making a quick stop for some caffeine and then walking into the office, I look like a drowned rat, or like I just stepped out of the shower.

My car is also making some noises. I hit one hell of a pothole yesterday and now when I drive there is a lovely little rhythmic purr to accompany me. I asked D to take it to Valvoline today (I needed an oil change) and sweet guy that he is, he called when I got to work and informed me that he would not be driving my car any longer and that he was going to come to my work and switch with me. Because something is wrong with it. So I get to take it to Goodyear tomorrow. I tell ya, how did I get so lucky to have such a swell guy? Always looking out for me, he is.

As far as the air conditioner goes, my stepfather tells me it's probably the compressor, and that to replace one of those costs around $1200 plus labor. And I have no clue what my car will cost.

I think I need to throw up.

I'm not sure if anyone subscribes to the New York Times, but there is a column in the Sunday edition called Modern Love. It's basically a column dedicated to personal essays looking at the modern relationship - be in familial, romantic, or platonic. (Or any other kinds of relationships out there.) These essays are submitted by the hundreds, and then "rigorously edited." I'm not really sure what else to say about them, short of reproducing one in this blog. (Which I'm pretty sure would infringe on some sort of copyright.) But I advise everyone to read the column weekly, and you can get free access to the most recent one by using the link above. (you have to subscribe to the Times website for earlier columns. At $4.95 EACH! Damn.) So after you read the one from Sunday, you can check these out:

Now I need a place to hide away (warning: have kleenex handy and don't read it at work, like I did.)

What Shamu taught me about a happy marriage

Men don't care about weddings? Groomzilla is hurt.

Going to the state fair with my lady friends this evening. Must remember to ingest only ONE funnel cake/elephant ear.

Summer = suck

Jesus christ, it's HOT. The temperature yesterday got up to 103, and it felt like 110. I don't know about you, but being in a sauna all day does nothing for my complexion (bright red just isn't in this season) nor for my...aroma, if you will. In short, I'm red, sweaty, and stinky. And that is just walking from my office to the car! I know I've mentioned my inherited trait that I absolutely despise during warmer months, and believe you me, it's in full swing right now. Oy. And I know you were just dying to know all that.

So in an effort to cool myself down through the power of positive thinking, I've been dreaming of Sweden. In Stockholm, the average temperature for this month is around 70. SEVENTY DEGREES. Have you any idea how amazingly good that would feel? I could probably wear a shirt that covered my arms in that weather. And maybe I could wear jeans without having them stick to my butt & thighs. Anyway, enough about temperatures. I found an online course that will teach you basic Swedish grammar and a very limited vocabulary for free! So I've been learning how to say things like

Det är ett äpple. - It is an apple.
Vem är pojken? - Who is the boy?
Bor du i Stockholm? - Do you live in Stockholm?

The only problem is pronunciation. My knowledge of how Swedish sounds extends just to the Swedish Chef of Muppets fame.
And what with all the "Fall Preview" catalogs coming in the mail, I'm really longing for sweater weather. (which makes all this hot-as-balls weather really obnoxious) At the Land's End website, you can make a virtual model of yourself and "try on" clothes. Here's my (very, very kind - I may have fibbed a bit on certain measurements) model, wearing something warm and toasty. (incidentally, you cannot try on shoes - so you'll have to fill in the slippers.) And yeah, if you want to get down to it, my hair isn't black, but the brown looked all wrong.
I will leave you with beautiful images of snow, cold-weather amusements, and bulky sweaters. May all your dreams be frozen.

What?! Cheney LIED?!?!?!

Lordy mercy, I am pissed! I mean, I always knew he was evil incarnate, but this is just ridiculous. I think I would be (more but not totally) okay if perhaps the administration had just come out and said, "This will suck for awhile. Bear with us." But they completely lied! And I'm sorry, but not that much changed regarding Iraq after 11 Septemer, 2001. And where's the proof that not that much changed? The fact that in this clip, Cheney looks like a fortune-teller.

And just so that we can all keep track together, here's the countdown to no more of this bullshit in Washington.

I have failed as a parent.

I knew it would happen someday. Despite all my ranting and reinforcement of all things pure, my daughter has gone to the dark side. I just didn't think it would be so soon!

It began as an innocent trip to Target to pick up some necessities, diapers and whatnot. We passed by the school supply section (I LOVE back-to-school season. There's something about office supplies that I have always adored. Perhaps the potential in all those blank notebook pages? That the black pen that I purchase this time will be the one with which I write the great American novel? The possibilities are endless.) and Lil' Puddin' Tater spies the backpacks. Now, she'll be starting (pre)school this fall, so we're really trying to play up the positive parts of the experience. And if a new backpack could calm her fears, the by god, I'm buying a frigging backpack. I was looking at pencils (maybe the novel is not in pen, but pencils!) and I heard the familiar squeal of LPT finding something she likes. I walked over, expecting Dora or Spongebob, but I was shocked an appalled to see that the backpack she had chosen was BRATZ. "That's what I'm talkin' 'bout, Mama!," she says with a smile. Not sure if you know about Bratz, but I'll just let loose and give you my opinion. COMPLETE CARTOON WHORES. There, I said it. They promote fashion and boys (not necessarily in that order) and they completely suck. LPT had seen a commercial for Baby Bratz (see pic below) earlier today during Dora the Explorer (a MUCH better influence - and she's learning Spanish!) and expressed how she thought they were cute. I'm sorry, but this is the most deformed toddler (Baby Bratz, not LPT) I have ever seen. And the doll has on copious amounts of makeup. If you think that's bad (or maybe you don't; in that case, I officially don't like you anymore.) check out what happens when these little harlots get older:
Above we have the Baby Bratz - Jade.
Followed by Bratz Kidz - Jade.
And then they just turn into the girls you see on Girls Gone Wild. (And I may link to way too many things, but I will not link to that page. If you really want to find it, you'll figure out how.) It's like these dolls bring out my inner prude in all her glory. Ugh. Gag me with a spoon.

After recovering from the backpack incident (during which there was no backpack purchase) we went to get macaroni and cheese. I reached for the Target brand, but LPT stopped me. "No Mama! You have to get that one - the one with The Cheetah Girls."

Does anyone else just want to throw up? I think I'm going to have to buy LPT some Joan Baez or Joni Mitchell or maybe go completely the opposite direction with Ani Difranco.

Porn for Women

While catching up on some magazine-readin' at my in-laws' house last night, I saw a note in Redbook raving about a book titled Porn for Women. At first, I was astonished that Redbook (so clean!) would publish anything referring to pornography in their magazine. But then, I looked closer.

The Cambridge Women’s Pornography Cooperative asked women, young, old, rich, and poor, “What really, really gets you hot?” Armed with their findings, they worked day and night to create Porn for Women. Turns out, when it comes to pornography, what really turns women on is men who clean the bathroom without being asked, or make a gourmet dinner, or bring home flowers for no reason, or volunteer to watch the kids.

And then, in another seemingly obvious study, sociologists Scott Coltrane and Michele Adams of the University of California, Riverside, found that dads who do housework with their kids have children who are better adjusted and more socially aware. And those same dads tend to get laid more, too.

Uhm...yeah, I knew that already. How many other femmes did, too?

But I think I will put the book on my wishlist, and then give it to every gal I know, pronto. I mean, who doesn't fantasize about a guy who looks at the car ads and says "Why don't I get minivan, hon, so you can drive something fun?" Or a guy in bed, saying, "Is that the baby? I'll get her." And here's my all-time favorite, straight from the book.

In case you can't decipher what it says: "As soon as I finish the laundry, I'll do the grocery shopping. And I'll take the kids with me so you can relax."

On a totally unrelated note, Mom and A and myself drove to IKEA outside of Chicago on Saturday. Yes we are hardcore (or silly?), undertaking 10 hours of driving in one day just to shop for housewares. In future though, I think I'll do an overnight stay. But I got some very cool stuff! And the grand total was $43! Sweet.

It's a girl!

A & T are having a girl! Therefore I must look through all my stuff and find ultra-hip girl stuff for the NEW little midget. (I don't think I can really describe how excited I am right now. This is awesome.)

(I am fully aware of how wonky this looks. I tried to make everything line up MULTIPLE times, and I am fed up with it. You can see the pictures. I'm done.)

toothpastefordinner.com

LPT is the short one.

And my question to the masses is: why the hell can I wake up at 6:30 am on mornings that I have absolutely nothing to do, but the one day that we have clients from Seattle visiting, I wake up ten minutes before I have to be in the office, dressed nicely? Aargh. Running like a madwoman = suck.

design, etc.

I subscribe to many (too many?) design blogs and therefore get to be privy to quite a bit of completely amazing and beautiful stuff that I would otherwise never have the opportunity to see. Case in point: the super website etsy is the place to go for many up-and-coming designers. For example, Jen Renninger has these wonderful prints that make modern design into alphabet flashcards. My favorite? The green one, of course.

Then we have (via Bluelines, the blog from Martha's magazine Blueprint) the coolest bathroom ever: The walls are covered in the text of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The owners of the restaurant in which one could find this charming bathroom, Provence, used hardback books (pages are creamy and give a soft glow), cut out the pages with a straight razor, and used wallpaper paste to adhere them to the wall. Then they glazed it all with a coat of Polyvine glaze to seal. I think I'm going to do LPT's bedroom walls the same way, but I haven't decided on the text. Any ideas? D says I should do The Art of War, but that might be a little much. Perhaps something French...

Going back to etsy we find swallowfield, by Jennifer Judd - maker of spiffy collages like the one below, titled "I feel lucky". Lastly, I feel compelled to include the name of someone I absolutely adore on so many levels. Her name is Lotta Jansdotter, and I first saw one of her beautifully elegant designs in Real Simple magazine's holiday 2003 issue, when her café apron was listed as an idea for a gift under $50. Her designs have a distinctly organic feel, always simple, always somewhat subdued. But what I really like is that her design is so accessible. For instance, I just got her book, Simple Sewing. Now, I am a confessed MORON when it comes to making two pieces of fabric come together. Honestly, the thread goes on strike and I won't even begin to tell what the sewing machine does. (Let's just say that the repair shop is a fan of mine.) But these patterns, they make even my all-thumbs approach produce sophisticated, gift-able goods. I will post a picture later. For now, here are Lotta's screenprints. Jeebus, I love 'em.

If anyone is interested, here are a few of my preferred design blogs. I am always looking for more.

Bloesem
Bluelines (link is mentioned above somewhere)
Design*Sponge
Happy Mundane
The Style Files

And because I never know when to quit, here's a project I just now found via The Style Files. It's by Tiago de Fonseca and it's called "Bedtime Stories." It's a multilayered blanket with a bedtime story on each "page," and as you read you can add or subtract layers of warmth to customize your comfort. Chouette.

Whiskey sour, and make mine a double

Yesterday was...interesting. In many ways it was great: D was able to get off work early and come with LPT and myself to a family gathering, I got to eat my fabulous stepmother's absolute divine cheesecake (makes any day at least 75%, no matter what), and I got to see family I had not seen in awhile (and friends of that wing of the family!) We ate, we laughed, we talked fashion (most notably the distinct lack of shirts that will cover the stomachs of those of us "blessed" with long torsos - links to follow with Tall sizes in tops.) All was well. However, the ride to said family gathering SUCKED. LPT made it her mission to climb all over the back seat of the car, and I feel bad because all I really wanted to do was hog-tie her and give her a sedative. I miss when she was little enough to not move. Much. Then on the way home, she slept, but when D dropped me off at my car, she went into complete FREAK OUT mode (because I had the nerve to presume that I could leave without consequence) and ralphed in the car. D was not amused. So we all went home, hosed her down, and tried to call people to come over. To hang out with us and the sick and puking toddler. Awesome. As you can probably imagine, there were no takers.

So D and I have been "trying" (technically) for about two months now. No baby, but we're chill about it - if it happens great. If not, great. The other day, my stepsister asks me (in a tone usually reserved for those who are dying) "So, what are you going to do if you can't have any more kids?" I looked at her for a second like she was a looney, and said "Um...drink at parties and ultimately save money?" So then she asks if I will ever go on birth control again. I asked why I would do such a thing, since we're presuming I can't have any more babies. So then she lays out this scenario in which I'm 35 and I get pregnant and have a baby with a significant birth defect. So I acquiesced, and admitted that, ten years from now (!) if I still wasn't pregnant after trying the entire time, but thought that I may still have a chance of becoming so, that I would go on birth control again. And then I silently mourned the 10 minutes of my life that I would never get back.

LONG tops:
Eddie Bauer
most notably this one, this one, and this one (because nobody really likes a cropped jacket.)

Banana Republic
with the author preferring this one, this one, and this one.

Target
try this, this (I have this one and it is awesome. POCKETS.), and this. [and here is the skirt I mentioned. Whales and skulls. woot.]

I am officially making this long top thing my personal mission. Updates as I find 'em.

IKEA next weekend! Beware shoppers!

P.S. I HATE Kids Bop. The songs are not for kids, no matter who is singing. Aargh.

Oy. I think I've gone blind. I just had to "edit" about 2000 photographs of a parish and its various activities (most of which mean nothing to me since I am not a member and thus know no one in any of these photos) and to top it all off, the photographer has a camera that takes pictures in rapid succession - so that when I look at them, it is like looking.
at.
activites.
in.
slow.
motion.
Blargh.

And LPT has a cold. She's perfected the pathetic look, all puppy-eyed, "Mama, I don't feel very well. <sniff>" I feel bad for her, but when she says that I feel a little twinge of pride because she's saying that she feels like poo, but by god, she's saying it grammatically correct.

And I finally (finally!) got D to care about politics. I took him to see Sicko at the Village the other night ($2 Tuesdays - check it out) and when we left, he was more fired up than I was. There was shouting in the car. I had to tell him to calm down. Yes, the rant was cynical and pessimistic (really, can D think any other way?) but it was a political rant. He wanted to do something. It's almost music to my ears when someone hears about a crappy policy and comes away shouting "BULLSHIT!"

My mom and I were taking the other day about what I could deal with when LPT grows up. Blue hair, yes. Nose ring, yes. Tattoo, yes, with conditions. (If it's some retarded character or plant or insect, NO WAY. It has to mean something. And I mean REALLY mean something. I'll not have any daughter of mine looking like some skank with a tattoo that everyone and their mom has. Jesus.) Goth, yes. Death metal fan, yes. So she lists all these things that I assume she thinks are "bad" (assume - I know) and then she says, "Lesbian?" And I said, "I can only hope." The reaction was classic. I felt like I was in The Family Stone or something. Later that night I reflected on it, and I think the only thing that would really bother me, and I mean to the point of nagging her until she stopped, is if she decided to become a Republican. And then I would just lose all respect for the child. Is there a support group for such a condition, just in case my mother has more influence than I do? Like McBAR - My Child Became A Republican.