Psst . . . Hey You . . .

You should all go to Noel Night. Cool Stuff. Music. Dancing. General merriment. I once sold a tile or two there . . . once upon a time, during my only attempt at craft fair-ness. As I recall, I did most of my business in trade and got all my Christmas gifts that year.

I'll be going before I go out with Princess. Or perhaps I'll drag Princess, but we all know how she is so fond of the "D". Then again, I still have tickets to the Annie Leibovitz show so maybe that will be a big enough carrot.

So go. Say hello to Nancy (she'll be selling soap in the CCS alumni section). Don't tell her I sent you and maybe you'll get a deal. She does make pretty good soap, that Nancy.

Pity, I Don't Have a More Interesting Life

I've been trying to tag previous posts and in the process, have gotten some random traffic. Kinda cool to see hits from Singapore and such . . . and to have 95 hits, when I usually have about 10. But much more interesting are the people who come across this at random and have TWO hits. One to the general address and then they click on the category "being naughty".

And I almost feel bad that they are so sorely disappointed. Almost.

And for those who read regularly, yes . . . I have a site tracker. No, I can't see you. Or my sister, who says she reads this everyday.

And most times I can just see number of hits and locations. My parents evidently live in Westland, MI. And if it really, really bothers you I can block you, just like E2.

Mom Should Be So Proud

Link is here. I'm sure I'm now on some watch list . . . and I'll never be able to run for office. But it wins for coolest thing I've seen all day.

Was sort of raised this way . . . except for when I asked to join the little league team and the hockey team. Then I was told that only boys did that . . . but I'm not sure if it was a gender issue, or a "don't want my kid's teeth knocked out of her head" move. Pretty sure if I had been a boy, my mother would have said something like "oh no, they only let girls on the hockey team". Or monkeys. Or filth. Whatever worked for her at the time.

Oh, there was that whole "girls don't call boys" lecture when I was a teenager, but I'm sure that was based completely in gender difference brain studies, with a smattering of "hunter vs. gatherer" anthropology. Right Mom? And she was pretty much right on that one anyhow.

And I never did have a Barbie or an Easy-Bake oven. As I understand it, it's just a box with a light bulb?

Entering Phase One

I am now solidly in phase one . . . am disappointed that I have to take it off to shower. Took forever (for me) to transfer everything but my computer seems to have recovered. Can type again.

And it's soooooo pretty and shiny. And the headphones feel like they have become part of my body. So yeah, except at work, I may never take this off. Cuts down on the social interaction . . . but hey, who wanted me to do that anyway? I talk too much, most of the time.

Why is it that we don't let the kids use these at school? Would cut my discipline time way down . . . but then again no one would interact. But sometimes that would be a really good thing. I could just podcast everything. Killer for my kids who can't read.

itunes doesn't have anything I want . . . which in thinking about it . . . is probably a good thing.

At 5 percent

I took it as a sign when my Mp3 player died today. And now, itunes (damn itunes) is converting all my WMA files . . . and I'm only 5% done . . . and it's been an hour . . . and it's workin' on midnight.

As an extra added bonus, I'm not sure if I just copied 20 gigs worth of music (thus making 40 gigs on my strained hard drive) . . . so do I have to choose which files to keep on WMP? Should I have just selected certain things (the songs I wanted on the Nano to run tomorrow) instead of hurting my computer's head? So many questions . . . and not focused enough to read the manual. Didn't even realize that I didn't sign anything in order to take the thing out of the store until I was half way home. All those pretty, shiny, candy like things . . . and the eye candy employees. Doesn't help that I have a thing for arty computer geeks.

I haven't even opened the box and already I've ruined my computer. I guess I let the convertor play out all night and see if my computer works in the morning. Right now, it's lagging while I type . . . about three letters behind. Very distracting. Maybe I'll just dump the WMP files . . . don't have an MP3 player to plug into that. But the cute boy at the store really should have mentioned that I was about to lunch my computer. Damn Apple.

Please realize that I don't even have all my music loaded on this thing. Silly me, I only loaded the songs I liked off of certain CDs when I started.

Oh, and I so bought the new Damien Rice CD. Told you. And that's it, no more shopping . . .

"if you don't shoot it, how I'm suppose to hold it?"

You really can count on Damien Rice for a good single.

Damien Rice -- 9 Crimes

The song actually gives me a feeling of guilt . . . and I certainly haven't done anything . . . this week anyway . . .

Will let you know about the rest of the album . . . you know I'll go buy it.

Rabid Consumerism

My sister and I found out that the outlet mall opened at midnight. Having little to do after eating, other than waiting for our parents to get home from Miami so they could tell the "prodigal son" stories, Mere and I decide to tool out there.

The outlet mall is relatively near my parents' house . . . in the way that everything is "relatively" near my parents' house. The nearest grocery store is fifteen minutes away from Stately Wayne Manor, so the outlet mall being 35 minutes away is "near".

Two miles before exit 133, the traffic stops. That was not a good sign. The line at the Gap spiraled the store three times. My sister bought shirts for $3. I decided that I could just pay full price and NOT stand in line. Evidently, I've gotten to that point in my life. Everything at the Banana Republic was 40% . . . but again, the line spiraled the store. So for me, it was just an interesting sociological study of the Midwestern American Populace. They like to stand in line. And smoke.

We got to Stately Wayne around 3 a.m. and I figured I would just stay up and buy a television. Mr. Crabbypants was tired from traveling so did not want to go with me for the electronic store tour. Again, just people watched . . . didn't buy anything . . . well, until I went to the mall. Went to the super secret Wixom Target, because I thought no one would go there, and the line was all the way from the door to Wixom Road. Didn't really want or need anything at Target, but it was on the way to the mall. People were rioting in the toy section, though I'm not sure why. And there was this guy . . . in the middle of the chaos . . . just carrying a large tub of Oxiclean. Like he got up at 6 a.m. to go to the Target, special, to get some Oxiclean? It wasn't even on sale. And you had to dodge carts driven my suburban mommies who were foaming at the mouth.

Please keep in mind that I am not in want or need of anything. I went to the mall to kill time . . . sis and the rents wouldn't be up until 9 a.m. or so (turns out Crabbypants was up at 6 a.m., but he hasn't been doing that lately) H&M had everything in the store at 25% off . . . so bought the sweater that I was eyeing, plus some underwear and a dress. Grand total, less than $50. Touched the ipods. Had the Fossil people take a link out of my watchband. Wandered around Macy's. The mall was not frenzied. Had my MP3 player on by that time, so pleasant music drowning out the Christmas music. All good.

It occurred to me that I should do some Christmas shopping. Wasn't that what all these crazed people were doing? But I usually make gifts. Or we all go in on one "big" present. Or I wait until Dec. 24 and do all my shopping then. Better to stick with the $5 underwear and the sweater with a bow (yes, it's black . . . does H&M make stuff in colors?)

Funny that people can get so excited about inanimate objects . . . or just the fact that they are getting 6 dollars off . . .

Oh, and I was only bruised three times. One full body slam and two elbows.

Thankful

First and foremost, I am thankful that I have such a great family . . . I am blessed with a sister and two brothers that understand exactly because of our similar genetic make up and because we were all there for all of the weirdness. It was a beautiful thing, when I mentioned that my neck hurt from "the accident" and my sister said "Oh, I remember that phone call." and then did an dramatic renactment of it. (I was sucked into a piece of machinery when I was eighteen)

And again, my parents raised four of us . . . and managed to make sure that we all became responsible adults. It didn't always look like their hard work would pay off, but it did. Due to my career path, I know what a difficult task that must have been.

And I am thankful that we are all healthy, especially now that we have taken away Mr. Crabbypant's motorcycle.

I am thankful for the amazing friends that I have. The friends who listen to my cracked out news on the phone (M especially) and the fact that I have people who will listen to me carefully and point out when I am full of shit . . . cause sometimes I am. I am thankful that I have friends with strong enough personalities (M2 especially) to tell me what they really think about any given topic, including our lives. I'm very glad that I have people who will come with me on my cockamaimie plans (E2) and who will have a good time, no matter what.

I am thankful that I have friends that truly make me a better person. (in the case of Princess, a person with better hair . . . and she's probably going to be disappointed this time)

I am thankful that I have a job that I love (even though I bitch about it) and students who are continually challenging and lovable at the same time. I have students who are truly inspirational people, who function despite being in worlds of chaos. And sometimes, they'll pretend to be excited about what I'm presenting for that day. I also thankful for the fact that I get to work with Princess . . . and therefore get to think about a higher level of my craft for people who care.

I am thankful that my brother went out and bought a fork for me today . . . so he could have his first Thanksgiving. And that I can spend the afternoon, and the evening . . . and the morning when I'm at Best Buy at 4 a.m. with Mr. Crabbypants . . . with my family. This is awful, but I'm thankful that there is a Costco next to my brother J.'s restaurant, because now I can send Mr. Crabbypants down there to retire and know that he will be happy and fulfilled. Sit at the restaurant, drink beer and watch the employees . . . and then walk over to Costco. Mr. Crabbypants heaven.

Oh, and I'm thankful that Z. has what Mere has called the "zombie gene" and feel lucky that he has found me . . . because I also have the "zombie gene" . . . and we can go to Tim Burton movies and "skeleton stores" together. He's growing out of the zombie gene, though I'm sure it will make a roaring goth comeback in high school, and I still get to be the "cool" aunt who knows were to get the best jean jackets when you need them.

So yeah, this is sappy, but I have a great life . . . and I am thankful for it.

My Sister is Weird

Okay, there's a lot of "Gonads and Strife" in the Squirrel "Wheeeeeee!" song.

Lookin' for the Squirrel Song -- "Whee"

And found this instead . . . funny as heck . . . but maybe because we might be lit.
"Squirrely Wrath" has now entered my vernacular.

Squirrely Wrath song

Barrette Optional

See? Not all that different and not all that blonde, come to look at it. Still playin' with it. Think of it as highlights. Like a sorority girl or something.

Got One in the Closet Already

Sister on phone: "So you look like a skunk?"
"Well . . ."
"Cruella DeVille?"
"I'd prefer to think of it as kinda like a calico cat . . . but I'll let you decide."
"I'm going to get you a Dalmatian coat for Christmas."
"I already have one."

*** No actual dalmatians were harmed in the making of said coat . . . nor by this blog entry . . . nor by the writer herself. However, every dalamatian the writer has ever met has been extremely stupid . . . but maybe she is just not meeting the "right" dalamatians.

Benefiting from Low Expectations

Mr. Cat has been fed . . . and kissed at his insistence. And I washed and disinfected his bowl before feeding him, because I don't like eating off of dirty dishes, why should he? And he can't just go out and buy more dishes . . . like I can . . . because my parents refuse to give him the car keys.

He shouldn't be this lonely, the Crabbypants only left this morning. Attention whore, that Catman. He has now sulked off to someplace warmer . . . Stately Wayne Manor is cold, as you would expect it to be. I'm about to steal some socks.

I still have to go to the store and get what I'm making for tomorrow. Heck, I still have to search the Martha Stewart website for what I'm making for tomorrow. And because I only cook two days a year, I will have to buy everything. Every ingredient. Wait . . . I have sugar and flour . . . I think . . . sugar and flour don't go bad, right? It's amazing that I'm considered a functioning adult. Oh, and I have brown sugar . . . so three whole ingredients in my house . . . and I might have some filo dough . . . and I know I have three bottles of V-8, due to failure to take inventory before going to Meijer. And V-8 does go bad . . . so I better get on drinking some one of these days.

The best thing about cooking only two days out of the year? Everyone is really impressed when you pull it together . . . or it's just not burnt. Last year (was it last year?) I made a pie, from scratch, with little Martha Stewart-y leaves and everything . . . and there were the pumpkin cupcakes . . . though made too many of those. We had to eat them forever. Anyhow, I digress, it's easy to impress when there are such low expectations. Second best thing is going to touch all the produce at Whole Foods.

Don't tell Mom that I washed the cat's bowl with her scrubby. She'll wonder why it smells like liver and figure it out eventually. It is sorta a foodstuff and I cleaned it off really well afterwards. The guilt may kill me. It wasn't the favorite scrubby anyhow.

Lifted

My hair professional and I have a deal. She doesn't tell me how to teach art and I don't tell her how to do my hair. With that being said, today when I came in I did not get the usual questions. "Are we doin' the same thing?" has been the standard question for a year and a half.

Today, I was told what we are doing. And now, I am much more blonde. Not blonde. But more blonde. Evidently there is a plan to take me into summer. I have already been shown the summer colors . . . which Jennifer can not wait to try (and they are really Elmo colored . . . and one like Grover's nose). Currently, I think I may look like a calico cat. Which, in a way, is sweet.

Let's hope my bosses think so too.

So while we were putting "the plan" in action, there was a lot of burning . . . as it takes something strong (peroxide? Do they still use that?) to turn my black hair into the blondeness. And it's back to sticking up . . . though I was assured that I could wear it down and it would be alright. It's hard to have sticky-uppy hair in the winter . . . can't wear a hat or it gets all squashed. And Jennifer got to talking, so it's too short, again. Which means it will look just right around Dec. 14, fifteen days before I get it cut again. I wonder if the plan calls for more blonde in December? Maybe I should have had her write the plan down or something.

(Then I could show it to the powers that be at work . . . see sir? There is a plan. Educators, they all love a good plan.)

Pictures later.

Explains It All, With Illustrations

I think this explains it all . . . except my disgust with itunes.

Made It In

I am officially an Oakland Community College student as of next Tuesday. I've been accepted. I feel so loved.

The application focused heavily on my high school career, so I was a little nervous . . . high school being so long ago and me only having a 3.3 grade point average, as I didn't really apply myself. But as it turns out they don't even look at your application. They look at your driver's license. And I have one of those, with three different endorsements. The picture kinda looks like me.

Stopped by the "counseling window" that has a big sign that reads "this window is for questions that can be answered in 10 MINUTES ONLY". My question only took a minute to say . . . about 40 seconds to answer. They will be needing my transcripts. I can take them to three different places in the building (I had asked another question, as I had more than 8 minutes left). Got a look from the other new student behind me because my question started with "Yeah, I have a master's degree and I want to . . . " Must have sounded like a snob. Heck, am sounding like a snob right now.

Weird being the oldest person in a building. Well, some of the construction workers were my age. I suppose it will be worse once I get into a class.

Anyhow, OCC seems much more easy-going when it comes to admissions than, say, law school or the organizational theory doctoral program that I'm interested in. Plus I don't have to quit my job, move, or write a thesis.

Just have to live with finishing a yearbook and taking 6 credits. Advanced Photoshop and Advanced Life Drawing . . . it will be fun. Maybe ceramics . . . but then you have to give all of it away. It's becomes like zucchini. And I already have too much shit. Paper I can at least store flat, with all of the other drawings in the attic.

Brothers and Sisters

My mother and father have been babbling about this show, Brothers and Sisters, for weeks now. I think there are a couple of comments on this about it. I had watched the first episode but then ignored it . . . I don't watch television much anymore. But since my eyes were almost bleeding and I'm putting off work that I need to do for tomorrow, I turned the thing on.

I only watched a half an hour . . . and despite the emotional manipulation (the father flashbacks, very sad), Ken Olin really does need to start paying us royalties for spying on us. I promise that the pie will not look like that this year. I'm not excited enough to turn on the T.V. every Sunday . . . after all, I get to see my brothers and sister in real time. And I do wish that we had glamorous jobs and 30 million dollars worth of land. And neither of my brothers would flood the engine with water. They have thrown a rod or two . . . and there was that one time, with the Great White Whale (my grandfather's car), when we gave it to J as a "free car" and he was in Michigan for like 48 hours and spent 46 hours changing the head gasket (?) so he could drive it back to Florida only to have it die in the middle of Georgia. Not the nice Atlanta part, either.

In watching the stuff on the website, we are not nearly as melodramatic or exciting. No drug overdoses. No secret family. Really we're boring.

Okay, have to make my book for tomorrow.

Eyes are About to Bleed

Just made a photoshop layer . . . no. 92 . . . which means I've flipped, resized, and placed 92 pictures. All this for this fabulous cover idea that I have. The students looked at my sketch, figured out how much work it would be and told me that I was welcome to do it, if I wanted it so badly.

I know, I know. I should be letting them do the cover. They have promised to help once I do the resizing (hard) part and I can't fault them for not wanting to do this. It is the definition of tedious. My eyes feel like they are going to bleed though. I wonder how graphic designers do this all day. Sometimes I'm thankful that I do five shows a day, instead of staring at a screen all day. But only sometimes. The computer has not argued with me once. Been a little slow (asking this old girl to do a lot) but not argumentative.

Off to make a "comma book" for my presentation tomorrow.

New-ish Template

Because the people were getting insistent about moving my blog, I'm taking some time to use their new features. One of them is labelling, which is cool because it organizes things . . . except when you are me and you just make a new category for every post. 535 posts and 500 categories. I love being primarily right-brained.

So I have categorized about 75 posts, so 400 or so to go. Figuring this might take a while. The categories are on the right and I will take suggestions. Please no whining about not having your own personal category (or in Princess' case, whining about having one), I may just have thought you didn't want one, or I haven't gotten to anything that I've written about you yet.

And now I have to decide on a category for this post. Crap. At least the beta thing has spell check.

Just Sharing

The shoes . . . they work. It's like magic.