Swarm

When my parents visit the east coast from Arkansas, they fly in and out of DC, but go to Richmond to see my brother, sis-in-law and the twins in the middle of their trip.  Unless I can get the day off, I usually follow on Friday afternoon or Saturday morning to spend a weekend as a Big Family Unit. Thus begins my tale of this weekend’s adventure.

On Saturday, I hopped out of bed bright eyed and bushy tailed* and got in Ol’ Blue, aka The Silent Death Trap, my navy ‘97 Volvo. My old joke about Volvos is this: The good news about a Volvo is that it will never die. The bad news about a Volvo is that it will never die. Ol’ Blue has no speedometer, no odometer, no dashboard lights, and no functioning horn. It does, however, have a cassette player, a few Fabulous Thunderbirds tapes and a $0 car payment. Pros outweigh the cons, if you ask me.

Blue and I were cruising down 95 when I noticed she was a little low on fuel, so I made a stop. I put the hose in the tank*, flipped the handle-kick-stand-thingy to keep it going by itself, and popped the hood to check the oil because I am a Responsible Car Owner. Everything was good under the hood* so I ran in to wash my hands and have a quick pee pee.

Back outside, I grabbed the handle to put the hose back* and that’s when it happened.

The hose swarmed on me.

Gas started spewing everywhere* and the hose was out of control*. I honestly don’t remember what happened next, I must have blacked out. The next thing I knew, the hose was back in its cradle* and there was gas on my pants*, my shirt, my tank top and my $11 ballet flats.

I sat there stunned for a few minutes, assessing the damage. At one point I turned back toward the car and thought, “I’m sure it’s just a tiny splash*! Everything’s fine! Let’s go to Richmond!”

Nope. Oh, such wishful thinking.

I fished my change of clothes from my overnight bag and headed BACK into the gas station where I had just been to pee pee so I could change and wash off whatever gas had leaked through my pants and onto my leg. Please to enjoy the mental image of me in the bathroom, pantsless with my foot up on the sink splashing water onto my knee.

I sent a quick text to Dad to tell the family that my journey had been delayed by 30 minutes by the gas incident. Back on the road, I zoomed down to Midlothian with my soiled clothes in the trunk.  I arrived and after a few much needed hugs and kisses from my favorite 8 year olds on the planet, I was redirected back outside to deal with the gas issue.

The group had Googled what to do with gas-soaked clothes and it wasn’t as simple as just rinsing it out before throwing it in the laundry, which is what I would have done. What did we do before we had the Internet*?

THEN THINGS GOT FUN*. At least for me, because for whatever reason, someone else did all the hard work*, and I just took pictures and video*.

We put detergent, color safe bleach and the clothes in a bucket and filled it with water. Then we agitated it with the stick end of a push broom, and rinsed it twice.

 

Lastly, it was time for the spin cycle*.

Comedy gold.

We hung the clothes up on a 40 pound test fishing line that Matt had strung up between two trees on the side of the house, much to the displeasure of my very, very accommodating and tolerant sister-in-law (and the probably the HOA).

swarm

They dried overnight and smelled pretty good when I folded them and put them in my bag to go home.

After it was all said and done*, I ended up with hand-washed clothes rid of all gasoline.

I think we learned a lesson in all of this: If something starts to swarm on you, the best thing to do is surrender, go with the universe’s flow and write a blog post so everyone can laugh with you!


 

*That’s what she said.

2016 Grammy Award Recapness

A few years ago, I did a recap of the MTV Video Music Awards. It was a hit with at least one person (my cousin Heather) so I did another such recap for last year’s Oscars. And Heather was once again left speechless by my witty commentary, so yeah, I’ll wear this trope all the way out.

It should be noted that the Hoos are playing simultaneously so I’ve missed a lot of the red carpet, which is fine because it turns out I don’t know a lot of these artists so far, and I’m kind of annoyed by E!’s commentary. Zendaya’s mullet was hilarious, but that tuxedo was giving me life.

……And away we go!

8:00: Taylor opens the show.  This is one of my favorite songs from her album, mostly because I hate uncertainty. When she sings “are we out of the woods yet, are we in the clear yet” I get it…I hate not knowing if it’s going to work out or not. Mostly because it hasn’t. Yet.

8:03: Is there anyone left who doesn’t think Taylor should be a pop star? No, she just convinced everyone. Even if it’s not your kind of music, you must admit, she just killed it.

8:04: My sweet, sexy LL comes to the stage to encourage us to celebrate the “powah” of music. Did I ever tell you about how when I was in the 8th grade I decided that if I had the opportunity to have sex with him, I would. Eighth grade. When I had only kissed one boy and had no real idea what sex was…That is testimony to the power of LL’s attractiveness.

8:08: Best Rap Album! The presenter is Ice Cube! O’Shea Jackson, Jr is very handsome, btw, imho. Kendrick Lamar wins, surprising no one who knows anything about rap or hip hop. I could have also been behind an Onika win, but Kendrick was game changing this year. I think we’re witnessing him carving his name into the record books.

8:13: Carrie U and Sam Hunt perform. I get that Sam Hunt is doing this crazy mash up of country and rap but I’m not 100% sure I’m on board with it yet, although I do enjoy it. He’s giving me White Country Drake.  It still seems like cultural appropriation, especially after Kendrick just dedicated his award to Snoop who has been nominated 13 times but never won. But Sam is killing this song, so I can’t hate.

8:23: Hi Ariana Grande! Omg, you’re wearing a ponytail! What a shock. She introduces The Weeknd (who is one person, btw). I am in love with this record, even if it is about cocaine. Did he mess up? I looked away. Nope, just an awkward transition. The Weeknd is the real deal and this performance is magic, although his Fog Horn Leg Horn hair and Woody Woodpecker vibrato is distracting.

8:29: Pour myself another glass of wine and contemplate dinner. This seems ill-thought out. I should have thought of dinner first and then poured a glass of wine. Most people learn this in their 20s. Maybe I’ll get there in my 40s.

8:33: LEON BRIDGES commercial. “If you’re ready for a bigger stage, build it.” Yeah it’s a commercial, but Google him if you don’t know him. Thank me later.

8:34: Andra Day performs “Rise Up” and I start to tear up. Surprisingly Ellie holds her own, mostly because her sound is so different than Andra’s, and it turns out, Ellie can actually sing! This performance was very balanced and I enjoyed it, much like a bowl of pho.

8:39: I realize we are only about 40 minutes into this show and I’m not sure I’m going to be able to make it through the whole thing. OOoh Lt. Dan is giving us Best Country Album. I’m not a country person, but there’s not a person on the planet that doesn’t know it’s going to Chris Stapleton.  He’s the real deal.

8:41: Pee break! And yes, Otis follows me. I’ve not peed by myself since 2013.

8:47: Big ol’ tribute to Lionel Richie!! John Legend is perfection, and I think he might be smiling a little more because Jamie Foxx made fun of him on The Tonight Show. Or maybe because he’s singing at the Grammy’s. Probably one of those two things.  

8:49: Demi Lovato! Show all those other pop divas how it’s done, butt chin. I mean, Demi. She’s amazing.

8:50: Luke Bryan. Don’t mind if I do. I’ll have a slice of your pie. You know he was like, “oh, Penny Lover? That’s what I get? Yeah, okay. FINE.”

8:52: Meghan Trainor. You have brown hair and should stop saying “HEY” in the middle of your songs.

8:53: Tyrese. We all forgot you could sing b/c of the Fast and Furious bidness.

8:54: ALL NIGHT LONG! Everyone is singing and dancing. Gloria Loring forgets the words but Dave Grohl doesn’t, probably b/c he’s got something in that red Solo cup he just flashed.

9:04: GIRL CRUSH. This song is so mournful and amazing. I HATE country radio for creating all kinds of controversy b/c it was a little gay. GFY, homophobes. Everyone shut up and listen to this amazing song. Wait, are Karen Fairchild’s pants weird and lacy? Is it part of her jacket? PLEASE TELL ME THAT’S JUST PART OF HER JACKET.

9:07: Stevie Wonder and Pentatonix! I love Pentatonix because of that NBC a cappella show, but mostly because of Superfruit, the YouTube channel that Mitch and Scott have. They are hilar, and they’re going to sing with Stevie! Stevie, who is wearing a green suit with camouflage sleeves! Mitch, you hit that high note, ladyface!

9:11: Song of the Year! Stevie makes a braille joke. Ed Sheeran wins! But Taylor jumps up and down so I’m immediately confused until I remember that they are besties.

9:15: Tribute to Glen Frye, but they cut off Ed Sheeran’s writing partner. Hey take it easy, Grammy director. (See what I did there?)  I have wished for one day to have Carrie Underwood’s legs, and now I also wish to have Timothy B. Schmidt’s cheekbones.

9:21: Tori Kelly and James Bey! Tori said earlier on the red carpet that they both are nervous dorks who only feel comfortable behind their guitars.  Um we’d never know buy this performance, which is magical.

9:28:  The Hamilton performance. Oh. Oh shit. I get it. I am finally getting it.

9:41: Kendrick Lamar comes out in prison chains, and drags his artistry like a chain uncomfortably for all of us to see. And then there is some black light shit and most of the white people in America who don’t know him faint. The bonfire and African dance are elements to his performance that solidify him as the new hip hop star of this decade. Sorry, Kanye. You’re in debt monetarily and musically.

9:48: HAMILTON.

9:54: MIGUEL. omg a tribute to Michael Jackson?? What is happening??? Do I need to take my shirt off???

9:56:  Best Rock Performance: Alabama Shakes! She’s my second favorite Britney!

9:59: Adele sings “All I Ask” which was co-written by Bruno Mars! Who knew? She looks amazing and she slays me every time with her nonchalance. I’m having some issues with her performance but I will not say anything bad about Adele ever, so just shut up.

10:10: Skrillx, Diplo and The Biebs. He’s doing a minor (?) version of Love Yourself. The tight shot shows us some dust or something on his face.  He’s playing the guitar on his lefty. All of this makes me uncomfortable. He tries to smash his guitar but it just sort of bounced a little, which is symbolic for his career, no?

10:17: Best New Artist: Megan Trainor. Such a crying mess. And adorable mess. Wasn’t who I picked for the win, but I can’t be mad at Megan. She wrote some catchy songs.

10:18: I start to cough and my throat feels weird. I glance into the bedroom and see my soft bed staring at me.

10:20: DON’T DO IT, BRIDGES. POWER THROUGH. YOUR FANS COUSIN NEEDS YOU TO FINISH THIS.

10:32: When David Bowie died, my friends lost their shit. Paula & Carlo sat shiva for a day, my Facebook feed was all torn up, and I sat confused thinking about “China Girl” and “Let’s Dance” and not really getting it. I can recognize his place in the anthology of American pop culture and I certainly appreciate what he meant for the weirdos of the world, and the conversations he started about gender and sexuality. But the music? I didn’t get it. But hearing Gaga SLAY with that crazy orange hair and the hologram and the whole bit, I get it.

———————

So what did I miss?

I missed Chris Stapleton and Gary Clark, Jr doing BB King. I’ll have to YouTube that.

I missed PitBull. (I’ll recover.)

I missed Taylor Swift making a dig at Kanye for taking credit for her fame.

I might have gone to bed at the right time. I’m still coughing and so help me God if I get sick again I’m going to lose it.

 

 

Year in Review (2015)

What did you do in 2015 that you’d never done before?

Turned 40. It was a tough summer leading up to that September milestone.  I also launched a digital platform at work. It sounds lame but I worked really hard on that and it’s an accomplishment that I can add to my resume if I ever leave.

Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I gave a valiant effort but technically failed miserably. I was very ambitious, especially with the 52 blog posts hahahahahahashutup. Sometime over the summer, my friend Chris asked me with a twinkle in his eye how the blogging was going. When I gave him the gas face, he laughed along with me and said sarcastically, “I have no idea what it’s like to come out of the gate hot only to have it fizzle shortly thereafter.” Progress, not perfection, amirite?

Did anyone close to you give birth?

Nope. But there are several babies being born in 2016 and I can’t wait! Edited: Tiny baby Wilson and Tiny Baby Harrison were born while my slow ass to write this post.

Did anyone close to you die?

My Uncle Charles passed away very suddenly, very horribly. We shared the same birthday and each year he would send me a birthday card full of a dollar bill for each year of my new age. He stopped somewhere in my twenties, joking that he could no longer afford it. After his death this summer, my Aunt Judy sent me 40 $1 bills and signed his name.

What countries did you visit?

None. WTF? No fault but my own. My work husband visited at least 35 countries and obviously must have a million weeks of vacation. At least, that’s what it felt like. 

What would you like to have in 2016 that you lacked in 2015?

Romantic love and all its benefits. Let’s do this, age-appropriate, funny, honest men in DC.

What dates from 2015 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

Turning 40.  Had a lovely beach weekend with my best girlfriends, and then spent three days by myself soaking up the sun and planning my 41st year.

What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Turning 40! I did not shrivel up and die or turn to dust from my hideous age and barren womb.

What was your biggest failure?

To quote Rihanna and her tattoo, “never a failure, always a lesson”. I don’t believe in failures at age 40.

Did you suffer illness or injury?

I got The Bronchitis so bad I had to go to the emergency room in Georgia.

Where did most of your money go?

Same place it always goes — rent and other expensive consequences of living in Washington, DC.

What song will always remind you of 2015?

Uptown Funk by Bruno Mars. Girls, hit your hallelujah!

Compared to this time last year, are you:

happier or sadder? happier

richer or poorer?  Richer.

What do you wish you’d done more of?

I wish I’d traveled more and kept my living space a little more peaceful and orderly. I didn’t realize the effect my physical space has on me. I’m still working on this.

What do you wish you’d done less of?

Work. I have a fabulous job with a great boss who really values work/life balance, but I resent the fact that I have to spend 40+ hours that doesn’t enrich me more than it does.

How did you spend Christmas?

I spent a week in Arkansas with my extended family. With the exception of my cousin that I saw a few times, I spent no time with anyone under the age of 66 the entire week. I miss the energy that the younger generation of our family brings and I got a little tired of talking about old people’s ailments. I did really appreciate the time that I had with my 93-year-old Grandmother Juanita and my 91-year-old Great Uncle Thelt (aka Thelter aka Lamar aka Teddy).

Did you fall in love in 2015?

I don’t actually know. I think I came close. I felt loving feelings while the relationship was happening. And I’m sure he felt the same way. But it was really short-lived. I still care about him a lot and he feels the same about me but we’re not in love with each other. The answer is yes. I did fall in love in 2015. Except we did not fall in love.

What was your favorite TV program?

ALWAYS SVU. ALWAYS. Also, all the Real Housewives (or any reality show on Bravo) and Project Runway.

What was the best book you read?

It has taken me so long to write this post, that I’ve finished three books since the beginning of January. The Girl with All the Gifts by M. R. Carey (very weird and very good), The Good Father by Noah Hawley (I was annoyed by this whiny father making his son’s life all about him, but it was wrapped up nicely), and We Were Liars by E. Lockhart (Holy SHIT what a great book. And that twist! I read this entire book and went to a Super Bowl party on the same day.)

What was your greatest musical discovery?

I played it close to the vest musically this year.

What did you want and get?

My effing platform to launch.

What did you want and not get?

Romantic love.

What was your favorite film of this year?

Inside Out. You have to have the sad times in order to have the happy times. Bitch, please. Don’t I know…

What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

FORTY. I went to the beach with the gals and soaked up a year’s worth of Vitamin D.

What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

Romantic love. More horizontal mambo. A dishwasher!

How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2015?

I cannot claim this as my own, and I would give credit to the comedian if I could, but my personal fashion concept in 2015 was “I didn’t expect to have to get out of the car.”

What kept you sane?

My girls. Medication. Therapy. But mostly my girls.

Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

Pretty proud of Obama for laying it all out there regarding gun control.

Who was the best new person you met?

A librarian who has the word READ tattooed on her knuckles.

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2015.

“Vulnerability is the birthplace of everything we’re hungry for.” – Brene Brown

Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

You knew it’d either be Patty Griffin or the Indigo Girls, right?

Sometimes I ask to sneak a closer look

Skip to the final chapter of the book

And then maybe steer us clear from some of the pain it took,

To get us where we are this far, this far

But the question drowns in its futility

Even I have got to laugh at me

No one gets to miss the storm of what will be

Just holding on for the ride

No matter how much my brain wants to knowsogoddamnbadly if I’ll ever get the things I want, or if I’ll get the opportunity to go for them while I’ve still got a shot, my heart knows that I can’t flip to the last page of the book of my life. But then again, isn’t it just as easy to assume I’ll get everything I want? Wouldn’t that save me a lot of pain and heartache?

Things That Have Changed My LIfe

I feel like an asshole for posting something so dumb just after my  “Say Something” post, but I’m still getting the hang of writing on a regular posting schedule, so at this point I’m going for quantity not quality. 


When I shared my riveting feature about Fashion Sneakers, I was inspired to write about all the other things that have changed my life. At least one person hinted at agreement, and this post was born.

Superficial Things That Have Changed My Life

Egg Eggwich Microwave Egg Cooker

Easy Sandwich Egg Cooker

So EASY!

When I was laid off, I ate scrambled eggs every single day. As everyone recommends, I treated finding a job like a full-time job. I got up on time, scrambled up some eggs and then followed a set schedule of job hunting, resume tweaking, cover letter writing, applying and HGTV watching.  Once I got my job, I was deathly afraid that I’d have to go to work every day without my eggs.

Crowd-sourcing help for my egg addiction. My egg'diction?

Crowdsourcing help for my egg addiction. My egg’diction?

I pinned all types of make-ahead-egg recipes, but eventually realized that all I had to do was get up, say, eight minutes earlier and I could have all the eggs I could shove in my cake hole.  That worked well for a while, but I also enjoy a portable breakfast sandwich. When I stumbled upon this in the CVS on the shelf from “as seen on TV”, I rolled the dice.

YUM

With cheese and turkey sausage!

The verdict: Amazing! Now I have a solid, protein-filled breakfast on the go every day.  Look how delish! Easy to clean up, easy to make and super healthful (especially if you use a whole wheat English muffin which I never do because gross.)

Spray Lotion

I have been blessed with oily skin. And I say blessed because although it sucks quite a bit on the attractiveness scale, I’m never dry and scaly, and I don’t have a lot of wrinkles. (Big ups to sunscreen, tho.)  But at some point I realized that if I use lotion every day, my skin actually becomes less oily as it no longer feels the need to produce as much since the lotion has stepped in to hydrate. It took a while to really understand because lotion and I don’t really get along, though.  A very thick emollient* will literally lather on my skin and stay there until I wipe it off with a paper towel. I need something thinner and spray-ier.

Lotion that sprays

Verdict: Spray lotion is great! Goes on nicely, absorbs quickly and actually hydrates well, at least for my skin.

*excellent band name, btw.  Now headlining! Very Thick Emollient!

Fashion Sneakers:

Y’all already know how I feel about these.

Coconut Oil:

I use it everywhere. I put it in scrambled eggs, (and a lot of other cooking), I keep a little ramekin of it on the end table so I can slather it on my skin in the evening.  I tap it gently on my crow’s feet.  I also make a hair mask about once a month.  In addition to oily skin, I also have oily hair (thanks so much, genetics!), so I have to wash it every day, but that means that the ends of my hair can get dry. So every few weeks, I massage coconut oil into my hair, tie it up into a bun, leave it for a few hours and then shampoo it out as usual.

I’m *thisclose* to trying a “no ‘poo” lifestyle. 18 hours after a shower my hair is very oily, flat and holds no style. It’s also oily. And greasy.  I really want to see what my hair would feel and look like by using a baking soda rinse or a detergent-free shampoo. Will it stop producing as much oil? This “no ‘poo” experiment will not be pretty, but I really want to try it. Alas, I digress.

Verdict: Coconut oil. I can’t quit you.


So there you have it. There were a few others that made the list, but I’m making a concerted effort not to dumb down this blog.  What superficial stuff has changed your life?

Say Something

“Say something, I’m giving up on you.” -A Great Big World

Other than in a few frustrated bursts among friends, I haven’t really commented on the racially-motivated mass murder in Charleston last week, and I’ve been entirely silent online. Not even a Facebook post or a #CharlestonStrong tweet.

Why not?

A sliver of the truth is that I’ve been too overcome with emotion to string a sentence or two together, and that’s what I would have said if someone had asked me.

But the whole truth is that I’ve been afraid. I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing or sound dumb, afraid to voice my opinion on a topic about which I felt uneducated, or afraid that I would inadvertently plagiarize a thought I’d picked up online from one of the dozens of op-eds or articles I’ve been obsessively reading all week.  All these reasons were about me and my fears. Me, me, me.

I stayed silent.

And then I read this post.  This line took my breath away. “If you have any black friends at all, I guarantee you that your silence is more likely to offend them than your saying something.”

Fuckity. Real talk.

I do have black friends (and actual, real life friends, not “some-of-my-best-friends-are-black” friends). I have black coworkers and neighbors. I’d like to speak out for them, although I’m struggling with a way to explain that, without it sounding, again, like this is all about me.

It doesn’t matter anyway; the truth is, my black friends, coworkers and neighbors don’t give a shit what I say, here or elsewhere — they just care about what I do and how I act.

So until I figure out how to live my life in a more purposeful, loving way that will do the most good, at the very least, I will use this platform to print these opinions of mine so I’m no longer part of “the deafening silence among white American friends”  and affirm these truths:

  • Black lives matter.
  • If anywhere, the Confederate flag belongs in a museum, and should be removed from all federal and state government buildings.
  • White privilege exists and white people should stop arguing about it.
  • As a white woman, I do not need a man to protect my sexuality, and I abhor the idea that it’s used as an excuse for violence.
  • I will seek out and join communities that are action-oriented.
  • I will write a letter to the DC AME churches to let them know they have an ally.

I have an open heart and an open mind, and I know that’s good. I just want it to be good for something.

Please don’t give up on me.

Happy Mother’s Day

From the dark covers of my yellow and white four-poster bed, I woke up breathless and terrified.  I could hear their far away voices like a lighthouse, a tiny light shining in the fog of a 4 year old’s bad dream.  The peals of muffled laughter and the clink clink clink of the ice whirling in the eddies of a grown up drink grounded me to the safety of my home.

I knew I wasn’t supposed to come back out of my bedroom. Teeth brushed, I made my rounds earlier, twirling in my rick-rack nightgown before mama & daddy’s friends, and then a cascade of sticky kisses shuffled me off to bed. Now, I pressed my ear to the door and my cheek to the cold brass doorknob, and felt my hand start to turn it silently. I watched my feet pad down the long parquet hallway and when I got to the living room, I hesitated slightly with a tiny exhale, enough to get her to turn her head.

“Amy Suzanne! What’s wrong, sweet dumplin’?”

The sound of her voice set free the frightened tears I had been holding in, and she put her hand out for me. Without another word, she uncrossed her legs and settled back into the chair, and I climbed up and pressed my body into a tight ball, my shins parallel to her thighs, bare toes grazing the tops of her knees, her hand rubbing my bony spine. With my head on her chest, and hearing the familiar creak of the old rocking chair where she nursed me just a few years before, my eyes got heavy and I faded away to sleep, safe, warm and loved.

Fashion Sneakers

So after the tragic news that my fashion sneakers were lost in the Toilet Flood of ‘15, I had many people ask, “What THE HELL is a fashion sneaker?”

I’m so glad you asked. Fashion sneakers have changed my life*.

After I started my new job at the Museum, my left foot started to hurt quite a bit.  Like every step I took was ouch stoppit stoppit. I complained to my friend Maddy and she said, “are you walking all over DC in those cute little patent leather green ballet flats?” Me: “um, yes. but not just green; I have them in nude, too.”  (I could hear her adorably sighing via instant messenger.) Maddy: “That’s probably why your feet hurt. Ballet flats aren’t great for walking.”

Later that night I was on a regularly scheduled call with my parents and was telling them of my feet woes. My dad suggested I wear sneakers, although b/c we’re from the south, he called them “tennis shoes”.  I think my response was “Ew. Dad, no,” and then something like how I’d rather bear the pain than be caught dead wearing a business suit and tennis shoes like Melanie Griffith from Working Girl**.  Also, I don’t wear a business suit, or a suit of any kind really, to work, so my options are vast.

I mean, no? Right?

I mean, no? Right?

So, Maddy isn’t just a friend — she also writes an amazing fashion blog for the fiscally responsible gal called “Style Me Thrifty”.  Turns out she had been doing a little research for a post about commuter shoes and immediately told me that there were options available that lived between unsupported ballet flats, sensible pumps (which I never wear anymore) and tennis shoes.

Turns out, I love the Skechers memory foam jonx (you can Google it yourself) so much that I wear them on other occasions than commuting, which is why I came up with the term Fashion Sneaker.

As much as I try to deny it, I actually am turning 40 in 6 months, and that foot pain that I had was sesamoiditis, and I got orthotic insoles. Because I’m old, y’all! 

So basically, I DGAF if anyone likes ‘em or not….They’re comfortable and not offensive to Maddy who writes a fashion blog.  In my forties, “not offensive to a fashion blogger” is my standard.  Altogether now, sigh.


*Just thought of a new blog post: All The Things Recently That Have Changed My Life (my microwave egg cooker! spray lotion!)

**I could do a whole post on that hair!

Books!

In January, a fresh faced Amy pulled out a papyrus and a quill (Google docs) and wrote out her resolutions for 2015. She was full of hope (pinot grigio) and looking forward to the months that lay ahead (happy that December was finally over).

She had about 10 resolutions, and they are as follows:

  1. Read more – at least 24 books.
  2. Blog — at least 52 posts.
  3. Redacted
  4. Redacted
  5. Redacted
  6. Figure out what I want to be when I grow up.
  7. Celebrate 40 somewhere warm.
  8. Practice daily self care.
  9. Keep a clean house.
  10. Do one a month “tourist” thing with my girl J.

Juicy, right? I mean, I live a VERY full and exciting life, and boy oh boy do my resolutions show it.  You should see the redacted ones!

As we progress through the year, I’ll give you progress reports. It literally would hurt your head for me to tell you about all this excitement at once. And then all I’d have left is cat stories, so you’re welcome, readers. 

Tonight we recap the books I’ve read thus far in 2015, all of which I’d recommend if you’re looking to read something. I’m not a book critic, so I won’t even attempt to review these books, but I’ve picked some of my favorite passages and shared them here.

The Circle by Dave Eggers 

“You’re like part human, part rainbow.”

 “We are not meant to know everything, Mae. Did you ever think that perhaps our minds are delicately calibrated between the known and the unknown? That our souls need the mysteries of night and the clarity of day?”

 “You sit at a desk twelve hours a day and you have nothing to show for it except for some numbers that won’t exist or be remembered in a week. You’re leaving no evidence that you lived. There’s no proof.”

Dear Daughter, by Elizabeth Little 

“Maybe friendship is just something two people arbitrarily decide on together, like the write way to spell worshiper or when it’s okay to say cunt. Maybe we just grab whatever raft’s at hand.” 

“Self-pity is the sun around which we orbit, the great gravitational force that rules those of use for whom Things Didn’t Quite Turn Out.”

The Giver, by Lois Lowery

“He was left, upon awakening, with the feeling that he wanted, even somehow needed, to reach the something that waited in the distance. The feeling that it was good. That it was welcoming. That it was significant.”

 “I feel sorry for anyone who is in a place where he feels strange and stupid.”

The Girl on the Train, by Paula Hawkins

“Hollowness: that I understand. I’m starting to believe that there isn’t anything you can do to fix it. That’s what I’ve taken from the therapy sessions: the holes in your life are permanent. You have to grow around them, like tree roots around concrete; you mold yourself through the gaps.”

“I can’t do this, I can’t just be a wife. I don’t understand how anyone does it—there is literally nothing to do but wait. Wait for a man to come home and love you. Either that or look around for something to distract you.”

 “It’s possible to miss what you’ve never had, to mourn for it.”

The Hypnotist’s Love Story, by Paula Hawkins

“If only she could bottle this feeling and make it last forever. It couldn’t last forever, her rational mind knew that, but her heart, her foolish heart, was chirping, ‘Oh, yes, it can! Why not? This is who you are now! This is your life from now on!’”

 “The thing about Ellen is that it seems like she is exactly the same person on the outside as she is on the inside. That’s the impression she gives anyway, as if she is without artifice or affectation, as if she doesn’t have to filter every word that comes out of her mouth to make sure it gives the impression she wants to give.” 

“I thought it was my birthright as a woman to have that time, at least once, where a man treats you like a princess, rubbing your feet at night, pressing his hand to your stomach, masterfully ordering you not to pick up anything too heavy.”

“Now for the first time she understood that her mother wasn’t resisting love so much as bearing it. Now she knew that you could love so much it literally hurt: an actual pain in the center of her chest.”

Men, Women & Children, by Chad Kultgen

*no quotes, but this book scared the shit out of me

 The Husband’s Secret, by Liane Moriarty 

“You’ve been here before. It won’t kill you. It feels like you can’t breathe, but you actually are breathing. It feels like you’ll never stop crying, but you actually will.”

 “It would be so much easier to be aggressive if she were wearing her bra.”

Lone Wolf, by Jodi Piccoult

 “She is quiet for a moment. ‘Have you ever been swimming in the summer,’ she asks, ‘when a cloud comes in front of the sun? You know how, for a few seconds, you’re absolutely freezing in the water and you think you’d better get out and dry off? But then all of a sudden the sun’s back out and you’re warm again and when you tell people how much fun you had swimming you wouldn’t even think to mention those clouds.’ Cara shrugs. ‘That’s what it’s like, with my father.’

 “Scars are just a treasure map for pain you’ve buried too deep to remember.”

“You can tell yourself your family is the picture of happiness, but that’s because loneliness and dissatisfaction don’t always show up on camera.”

From Om! to Oh No!

Wednesday after work, I dragged my good friend Dave to a guided meditation class & dharma talk at the Insight Meditation Community of Washington. My meditation practice comes in fits and starts — I’m kind of an all or nothing gal. But I’ve been making a concerted effort to achieve a bit more balance in my old age, so I’ve rediscovered IMCW’s Wednesday nights with Tara Brach. Dave was a skeptical but good-natured participant, and I think he had a pretty nice time.  He’s also kind of a good liar, so who knows.

After it was over, Dave and I went to a really awful/delicious Mexican restaurant for the super delicious chips & salsa and guacamole.  Sometimes you have a 3-star Michelin dinner, and sometimes you have bad Mexican.  And depending on your mood that day, they’re both equally satisfying.

But then something bad happened.

As I stepped off the elevator into my building hallway, my foot went squish. Oh NO! Squish squish squish all the way to my door. (Goodbye, adorable leopard ballet flats. I’ll miss you most of all.) I opened the door, praying that someone had just spilled forty five big gulps in front of my door instead of some sort of flood situation.

Turns out, it was a flood situation.

So much flood.

So much flood.

I walked into a completely flooded apartment. Water was gently trickling out from the top of the toilet bowl and from the back, too. I imagine executives at the American Standard corporation have this as a zen water feature in their offices.

I immediately shut off the water where the toilet meets the wall, but the water didn’t stop. Plumbing is hard. I called the emergency number for my building and tried to asses the damage.

See how the rug is shiny? Rugs aren't shiny, silly! That's standing water!

See how the rug is shiny? Rugs aren’t shiny, silly! That’s standing water!

The 24-hour maintenance guy arrived about half an hour later. He walked in with a pair of needle-nosed pliars. “Oh no. What happened?” I gave him the gas face.

“I have no idea. I’ve been gone since 8:30 this morning.” His first instinct was to shut off the water. Maybe plumbing isn’t so hard after all.

He left and came back a few times (to where I have no idea). He was able to fix the toilet, but there was no way to get all the water up. Thankfully, I have hardwood floors, and since I only rent and not own, I was less concerned with what the long-term effects of standing toilet water would have on the wood. Thus, I was forced to go to bed (in the bedroom which was bone dry, thank GOD) and sleep with toilet water dominating the rest of the apartment.

I worked from home the next day so I could deal with the nonsense. Johnny, the regular maintenance guy, came and he brought a shopping cart full of tools. He also brought Leonore, who mopped the apartment with that industrial cleaner they use in elementary schools. For a few days, my apartment smelled like third grade.

Shopping cart and shop vac.

Shopping cart and shop vac.

Sweet, sweet Leonore.

Sweet, sweet Leonore.

It’s important to note that there was nothing in the toilet when I left in the morning. It was empty, and because I am a dainty, aristocratic Victorian woman who poops not, we can all assure ourselves that the toilet water was practically as clean as what comes out of the tap. I’m noting it to you, but it certainly didn’t keep me from imagining that there was e-coli swimming about all over my home.  I had to do some yoga breathing about that and just give it to Mother God.

It’s been a few days now, and things have returned to normal. No major damage at all to my apartment, although I think there was some plaster damage done to the apartment below me. I asked Johnny about it and he said, “Don’t pay no mind — he caught your water with a bucket.” Lovely.

The rugs in the living room and dining room were both ruined, and my pair of fashion sneakers in the bathroom were too far gone to salvage. All in all, it could have been much, much worse, and I very much appreciate the fact that my station in life allows me to have someone come take care this. I’m fine and although it’s made a good story, it really wasn’t a big deal at all.

Otis, on the other hand, has not quite recovered. He has been WTF-ing me for a few days. I’m sure new spring birds on the ledge outside the window will help.

March Madness

To be frank, March and I don’t get along.  I hate winter so badly and expect March to be spring instantly, and usher in warmer air, sunshine and flowers. When this doesn’t happen — and every year it fails to happen because March is still very much winter — I get antsy, frustrated and a little punchy, like jokey and silly in an on-the-brink-of-madness kind of way.

So Tuesday I was super punchy while on a routine trip to the grocery store. I am single and have very few responsibilities other than to keep my cat and myself alive, so I go to the grocery store at least three or four times a week.  Why consolidate trips? I’ve got nothing else to do. Monday or Tuesday is when I plan out my week, so I consider that my “big” trip. I get something to make for dinner that will last at least three nights and a few lunches (think gumbo, or something from the crockpot) and then some sort of quick thing to make so I can have at least one night of leftovers.  And then the other two nights I eat scrambled eggs. Yes really.  I’m going to make a concerted effort to change this whole embarrassing procedure to incorporate more healthful options but it is what it is for now. No judging.

Ok, so Tuesday.  I knew it wasn’t going to be an in-and-out thing and that I’d be going up and down every aisle to gather ingredients. But that’s when I found Jesus.

Jesus

My sweet Mom has an adorable quirk. During a conversation, rather than interrupting, she’ll hold up a finger for each thing she wants to contribute when you’re done talking.  She almost never remembers what she was going to say. I really don’t mean to be an insensitive heathen, but doesn’t Jesus look like he just walked into a room and said “Now, why did I come in here?  I just needed two things… what were they?”

The longer I stayed at the store, odd items that I have never seen before began jumping off the shelf to me.

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WHAT THE HELL IS SALAD CREAM????  There were SO many inappropriate sex jokes running through my mind, involving tossing salad and other gross things that are only funny if you’re a pubescent boy, or me, apparently.  But seriously, what is it? Like coleslaw dressing?

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Full of dairy goodness? Look at the size of that cow!!!  He’s at least 1500 times as large as that poor lad flying his kite. The dairy goodness is surely steroids, or whatever else they’re serving up in Devon.  Also, I thought ambrosia was marshmallows, cool whip and fake fruit.

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Mediterranean pickles. That are brown and shiny. These are not pickles. They are canned slugs.

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I am having trouble understanding what is going on with Hello Kitty in this picture. One arm is through her strawberry basket.  One arm is growing out of her clavicle and her third arm is a loaf of bread.

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Mr. Brown’s coffee? Racist much? This is literally a caricature of a person with brown skin here to serve you up some bougie iced coffee in a can that you won’t recycle because you don’t care about the earth, you entitled, rich, white bastard.

That’s when I had to put the can down and head to the register. I didn’t buy the iced coffee, Hello Kitty stuff or the salad cream. I really really really wanted the Jesus magazine but I couldn’t justify it. Religious guilt just never goes away, does it?