I was sitting in my living room the other night, watching Bones, of course, when I was overtaken by an odor. The front door and windows were closed.
Suddenly, my house smelled like pot.
I'm certain that at some point in the past, I have ranted about how much I dislike the drug and the smell of the drug and anything that has to do with the drug.
You can speak to me all day long of medicinal properties, and while I will admit there likely are many, I still don't like it. Yuo aren't going to change my mind. This is a lifelong hatred with many levels of reasoning behind it and quite frankly, I don't think I need to fix it, I'm fine with hating pot.
I went outside, and sure enough, there was an odor out there too, so it's very likely that the smell came in through the back door, which is actually close to the front of my house.
Which means that either someone was smoking pot close enough to my house that I could smell it at my front and back doors and along the path in between (without me hearing footsteps or alerting the dog) OR my ghost has a very unwelcome habit.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Saturday, July 20, 2013
They just don't get it
I have a friend who is frightened of clowns. I don't mean that she doesn't like them, or even that she hates them, I don't mean that she would rather not meet one in a dark alley.
I'm saying that the mere sight of a clown will cause possibly-pee-your-pants paralysis.
I would hate to see what would happen if she DID meet one in a dark alley, but suffice to say, she's extremely healthy and would probably survive the massive coronary. Probably.
In the 5 years that I have known her, I have tried my best to protect her from the clowns. They are everywhere. I have learned to scope out the garage sales before she gets out of the car so that I can tell her where not to look until I can turn pictures around or hide dolls. We don't go to the circus. No haunted house at Halloween (the year we worked at one, we knew where the clown was and she was mostly able to avoid it) Parades are a frightening ordeal. In fact, she put on the next parade application that we need to be as far away from clowns as possible because we were RIGHT BEHIND them last time and she almost had to leave.
I'm one of the few people who gets it.
Most people are assholes.
Here's the thing. It's one thing to know someone doesn't like something. It's a whole other thing to intentionally expose them to that thing. And when the thing in question is an outright phobia? It's downright cruel.
I've seen scary clown stickers left on her car windshield. The kind with brightly colored noses and long pointy teeth placed in a manner in which she cannot help but view it upon sitting down in her car. I've been there when people have sent text messages with clown photo attachments. They get posted to her facebook wall, emailed, you name it, people have made sure that she has exposure in every creative manner you can imagine.
Clearly they haven't seen her crouched in fear behind a pickup truck trying to avoid visual contact. Clearly they have not witnessed the reactions, the frozen fear, the sudden intake of breath.
Imagine people exposing you constantly and intentionally to the one thing that terrifies you most.
People don't get it. People can be assholes. I expect this sort of behavoir from children who have not yet learned that other people are people with thoughts and feelings too, but not out of adults. Especially adults who like you.
This is not a woman who offends easily. The things she jokes about would make a porn writer blush. She loves a good prank and can take a joke.
I don't think this is a laughing matter. As I pointed out to her last night:
Would you put a clausterphobic in a coffin?
I didn't think so.
I'm saying that the mere sight of a clown will cause possibly-pee-your-pants paralysis.
I would hate to see what would happen if she DID meet one in a dark alley, but suffice to say, she's extremely healthy and would probably survive the massive coronary. Probably.
In the 5 years that I have known her, I have tried my best to protect her from the clowns. They are everywhere. I have learned to scope out the garage sales before she gets out of the car so that I can tell her where not to look until I can turn pictures around or hide dolls. We don't go to the circus. No haunted house at Halloween (the year we worked at one, we knew where the clown was and she was mostly able to avoid it) Parades are a frightening ordeal. In fact, she put on the next parade application that we need to be as far away from clowns as possible because we were RIGHT BEHIND them last time and she almost had to leave.
I'm one of the few people who gets it.
Most people are assholes.
Here's the thing. It's one thing to know someone doesn't like something. It's a whole other thing to intentionally expose them to that thing. And when the thing in question is an outright phobia? It's downright cruel.
I've seen scary clown stickers left on her car windshield. The kind with brightly colored noses and long pointy teeth placed in a manner in which she cannot help but view it upon sitting down in her car. I've been there when people have sent text messages with clown photo attachments. They get posted to her facebook wall, emailed, you name it, people have made sure that she has exposure in every creative manner you can imagine.
Clearly they haven't seen her crouched in fear behind a pickup truck trying to avoid visual contact. Clearly they have not witnessed the reactions, the frozen fear, the sudden intake of breath.
Imagine people exposing you constantly and intentionally to the one thing that terrifies you most.
People don't get it. People can be assholes. I expect this sort of behavoir from children who have not yet learned that other people are people with thoughts and feelings too, but not out of adults. Especially adults who like you.
This is not a woman who offends easily. The things she jokes about would make a porn writer blush. She loves a good prank and can take a joke.
I don't think this is a laughing matter. As I pointed out to her last night:
Would you put a clausterphobic in a coffin?
I didn't think so.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
A few possibilites
Back to that whole ghostie thing. I have come to a few conclusions regarding the ghost in my house. These conclusions are formed based on a couple of different incidents.
In incident (1), there is a plastic grocery bag on my studio floor containing old sheets for repurposing, and a pair of antique rosewood knitting needles, which I have not put away yet. The needles are sticking out of the top of the bag pointed to the right. One day, I run into said bag and say, out loud, that I really need to put that stuff away before I break those lovely needles that Lin was so kind as to give to me. I do love the rosewood needles.
A few days later, I notice that the bag is turned around to that the needles point to the left and cannot poke me again.
In incident (2), it should be noted that not long after I moved in, I found the letters "x" and "y" in my linen closet. The letters are made of foam and stick to the bathtub tiles. The previous owners of my house had a little boy who, it seems, is not playing with a complete alphabet. After finding the letters, I stuck them to my bathroom wall where they have stayed for the last 3 1/2 years, falling down on occasion, but generally they stick for a couple of months.
Until after the roommate moved out. Now they stick for a day or two, I pick them up, stick them to the wall, and continue with my shower. I'm thinking that it's been really dry lately.
Last night I got in the shower and noticed that the letters were not on the wall, not in the tub, but stacked neatly on the shelf where I keep my shampoo.
in conclusion:
I'll let you decide.
In incident (1), there is a plastic grocery bag on my studio floor containing old sheets for repurposing, and a pair of antique rosewood knitting needles, which I have not put away yet. The needles are sticking out of the top of the bag pointed to the right. One day, I run into said bag and say, out loud, that I really need to put that stuff away before I break those lovely needles that Lin was so kind as to give to me. I do love the rosewood needles.
A few days later, I notice that the bag is turned around to that the needles point to the left and cannot poke me again.
In incident (2), it should be noted that not long after I moved in, I found the letters "x" and "y" in my linen closet. The letters are made of foam and stick to the bathtub tiles. The previous owners of my house had a little boy who, it seems, is not playing with a complete alphabet. After finding the letters, I stuck them to my bathroom wall where they have stayed for the last 3 1/2 years, falling down on occasion, but generally they stick for a couple of months.
Until after the roommate moved out. Now they stick for a day or two, I pick them up, stick them to the wall, and continue with my shower. I'm thinking that it's been really dry lately.
Last night I got in the shower and noticed that the letters were not on the wall, not in the tub, but stacked neatly on the shelf where I keep my shampoo.
in conclusion:
- Someone is sneaking into my house, frightening my roommate, then keeping things tidy after he left. OR
- I am keeping things tidy and then forgetting that I did those things so completely that I have no idea I even did them. In which case, why didn't I walk 3 feet to put the knitting needles away? And why didn't I stick the letters to the wall like I have been doing for so long? OR
- I have a very considerate ghost.
I'll let you decide.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Dear Lady on the Freeway behind me this morning
Hi. It's the Soapgirl in front of you. Please note a couple of things before I begin.
First, the sticker on my back windshield will likely give you the impression that I am involved with The Reno Roller Girls. This is true. It means that I like to skate. And I like to skate fast. So I'm not really going slow to piss you off.
Second, I drive a12 13 year old 4 banger. This means that although I like to skate fast, and I also like to DRIVE fast, sometimes it takes my little jalopy a bit of time to get there. Especially when there is a slight incline. yes. Slight. My Honey has never liked hills, even when she was a new jalopy.
As we moved out of the traffic at what is known around here as the Spaghetti Bowl where, not far from the interchange there were at least two accidents, I noticed that you were riding my butt. Wow. You were close. My speedometer said just less than 65, but I was working on accellerating. I would have accellerated sooner, but, there was traffice stopped on the freeway which means I proceeded with caution. And boy, you were riding my butt. I didn't move over.
I wanted to move over to get out of your way, but you see, I learned in High School Physics that matter cannot occupy the same place at the same time. I think that's Newton's first law of dumbass or something, which, I'm guessing you didn't learn because you were doing your best to meld with my car. I will be a little crass and tell you that my car doesn't like to take it in the rear.
As soon as I passed the semi truck on my right (putting plenty of distance between us so that I didn't cut him off), I put on my blinker, checked my review (oh my! you are even closer!), checked my sideviews, and then checked over my right shoulder because my darling car has lots and lots of marvelous blindspots and I want to live a very long time.
Then I started to move over so that you could go on your merry way. BUT WAIT! This was not fast enough because by the time I started moving over, you sped up and got over to the right and started to overtake me.
Thankfully I saw you and swerved back into my lane and also got to see you give me a dirty look as you passed me up. If I hadn't swerved suddenly to the left, your left front fender would have been hit by my right rear quarter panel resulting in a pretty ugly accident that we both would have been lucky to have survived given the velosity and the angle of impact which likely would have put me in a spin and given my high center of gravity, maybe a flip, which would have REALLY sucked because we were on an overpass.
Did we hypothetically live??
No we didn't. Because at freeway speeds, there is no way that semi truck would have avoided hitting our cars had we avoided going over the railing. On a two lane overpass, even if one of us was in each lane, someone would have been hit by that semi. And maybe, because those things are WAY more delicate than they show in the Cannonball movies, he might have jackknifed.
As you drove off, weaving through traffic, I hoped that wherever you were going was worth your life and possibly someone else's, because by the time you left me in the dust, I was going about 70 mph and you were passing everyone else, which puts you at 90 to 100 mph.
Just wanted to bring it to your attention that your extreme driving techniques nearly killed me and maybe you.
You're welcome for the physics lesson, asshole.
First, the sticker on my back windshield will likely give you the impression that I am involved with The Reno Roller Girls. This is true. It means that I like to skate. And I like to skate fast. So I'm not really going slow to piss you off.
Second, I drive a
As we moved out of the traffic at what is known around here as the Spaghetti Bowl where, not far from the interchange there were at least two accidents, I noticed that you were riding my butt. Wow. You were close. My speedometer said just less than 65, but I was working on accellerating. I would have accellerated sooner, but, there was traffice stopped on the freeway which means I proceeded with caution. And boy, you were riding my butt. I didn't move over.
I wanted to move over to get out of your way, but you see, I learned in High School Physics that matter cannot occupy the same place at the same time. I think that's Newton's first law of dumbass or something, which, I'm guessing you didn't learn because you were doing your best to meld with my car. I will be a little crass and tell you that my car doesn't like to take it in the rear.
As soon as I passed the semi truck on my right (putting plenty of distance between us so that I didn't cut him off), I put on my blinker, checked my review (oh my! you are even closer!), checked my sideviews, and then checked over my right shoulder because my darling car has lots and lots of marvelous blindspots and I want to live a very long time.
Then I started to move over so that you could go on your merry way. BUT WAIT! This was not fast enough because by the time I started moving over, you sped up and got over to the right and started to overtake me.
Thankfully I saw you and swerved back into my lane and also got to see you give me a dirty look as you passed me up. If I hadn't swerved suddenly to the left, your left front fender would have been hit by my right rear quarter panel resulting in a pretty ugly accident that we both would have been lucky to have survived given the velosity and the angle of impact which likely would have put me in a spin and given my high center of gravity, maybe a flip, which would have REALLY sucked because we were on an overpass.
Did we hypothetically live??
No we didn't. Because at freeway speeds, there is no way that semi truck would have avoided hitting our cars had we avoided going over the railing. On a two lane overpass, even if one of us was in each lane, someone would have been hit by that semi. And maybe, because those things are WAY more delicate than they show in the Cannonball movies, he might have jackknifed.
As you drove off, weaving through traffic, I hoped that wherever you were going was worth your life and possibly someone else's, because by the time you left me in the dust, I was going about 70 mph and you were passing everyone else, which puts you at 90 to 100 mph.
Just wanted to bring it to your attention that your extreme driving techniques nearly killed me and maybe you.
You're welcome for the physics lesson, asshole.
Monday, July 08, 2013
A long, long holiday
I did put on sunscreen, but the thing is, alpine sun and lowlander sun are very different. I can spend a week in Vegas in the sunshine and be fine. 2 hours on the shores of Lake Tahoe and I'm a little Tahoe Lobster. But not the edible kind. I need to work on that. It doesn't take much to get a sunburn around here. I don't want skin cancer. Or wrinkles.
Chango and I had fun though. He was a champ with the fireworks, crawling under my chair and being generally happy as long as I was touching him. If I didn't, he nudged my butt until I reached down to let him know he was safe. He enjoyed lots of attention and a quick run on the beach, and I discovered that he's a total kid magnet. And a shade hog.
We went home fairly early, so I had plenty of time to go hang out with HM on the 4th. From my house, even though I am only a mile from the fireworks, you can't see them because there is a tree in the way. From his upstairs window, we had a clear view. So we listened to patriotic music and then some Dropkick Murphys when that failed, and learned that we both like the kind of fireworks that are sparkly everywhere, although, I have to say, I've grown quite fond of the ones that look like Sideshow Bob's hair. Because they look like Sideshow Bob's hair.
It was a good holiday. A good weekend. Hope yours was good and safe as well.
Friday, July 05, 2013
Regarding Roomates
Although my friends and family heard plenty about what was happening with the great roommate experiment (part duex), I didn't talk about it here because I didn't want to bitch and complain and then have him find my blog, and get his feelings hurt over things he may or may not have been able to control.
What I learned was, I don't live well with others. At least not based on my last two roommate situations. When I think back, I did okay with most of my roommates over the years. If anything, I understand now that I was the asshole with my clutter and cats. But as far as situations go, the roommates were pretty good and I enjoyed having them around.
That was what? 10 years ago? 10 years (nearly) since Girl and Boy Roomie in the house with the goat. We had fun.
This time? I learned that I don't do well with other people in my space. Every little thing was an annoyance and when the roommate would do something really nice? I would feel kindly towards him for a couple of days until there was a drip of soap on the counter or something minor like that.
He moved out yesterday. Not because I kicked him out, and I don't think I was mean, but because he couldn't find work, so returned to Mississippi. Actually, he was in Eastern AZ last time I checked and is likely in New Mexico now.
I will miss the extra dollars. I did my best not to slip into old habits, but also spent more than I should have over the last couple of months. On the bright side, my car is running like fantastic and I paid for it with cash. I also got out of my new good habits so my refrigerator tends to be a little, well, bare. I think with focus I can get back to where I was.
I'm not planning to get another roommate. It's tempting, but why, when I was just irritated all the time?
I wish him the best and suspect I will send holiday cards and such. It's going to take a lot longer to pay off the credit cards than it would have with someone in the house, but I think I can live with that for the peace of having my house to myself.
I wonder too, what I will do someday if there is an offer cohabitation with someone I'm into. I suspect it will be a bit different. We forgive those we love things that we don't accept of others. I don't worry about that too much though. That sort of situation is not even on the radar.
What I learned was, I don't live well with others. At least not based on my last two roommate situations. When I think back, I did okay with most of my roommates over the years. If anything, I understand now that I was the asshole with my clutter and cats. But as far as situations go, the roommates were pretty good and I enjoyed having them around.
That was what? 10 years ago? 10 years (nearly) since Girl and Boy Roomie in the house with the goat. We had fun.
This time? I learned that I don't do well with other people in my space. Every little thing was an annoyance and when the roommate would do something really nice? I would feel kindly towards him for a couple of days until there was a drip of soap on the counter or something minor like that.
He moved out yesterday. Not because I kicked him out, and I don't think I was mean, but because he couldn't find work, so returned to Mississippi. Actually, he was in Eastern AZ last time I checked and is likely in New Mexico now.
I will miss the extra dollars. I did my best not to slip into old habits, but also spent more than I should have over the last couple of months. On the bright side, my car is running like fantastic and I paid for it with cash. I also got out of my new good habits so my refrigerator tends to be a little, well, bare. I think with focus I can get back to where I was.
I'm not planning to get another roommate. It's tempting, but why, when I was just irritated all the time?
I wish him the best and suspect I will send holiday cards and such. It's going to take a lot longer to pay off the credit cards than it would have with someone in the house, but I think I can live with that for the peace of having my house to myself.
I wonder too, what I will do someday if there is an offer cohabitation with someone I'm into. I suspect it will be a bit different. We forgive those we love things that we don't accept of others. I don't worry about that too much though. That sort of situation is not even on the radar.
Wednesday, July 03, 2013
I suck at the regular updates
Really the most of what has been going on is nothing too exciting. And Roomate. And seeing that guy I see sometimes more often so I shall refer to him as Handsome Man (HM) on the rare occasion that I mention him in passing.
BUT I did have to share this cube conversation with you...
B: MMM Raley's Pizza for dinner
Me: I think we are having Steamers (Steamers is a pizza place at King's Beach in Tahoe)
B: Cleveland Steamers?
Me: Eew. No.
and then the giggles began. because we're 12.
BUT I did have to share this cube conversation with you...
B: MMM Raley's Pizza for dinner
Me: I think we are having Steamers (Steamers is a pizza place at King's Beach in Tahoe)
B: Cleveland Steamers?
Me: Eew. No.
and then the giggles began. because we're 12.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Aw, Man! Quit posting all that crap!
If you are a Facebook user, and I am, you've noticed that there are several different types of people on Facebook. There are the ones that lurk, the ones that post on occasion, the ones that put their whole life out there and the ones who do very little else but repost the memes and jokes, banners and pictures that someone else already posted.
There are a couple of other types, but lets not get complicated.
I use facebook (to play candy crush) to keep up on the happenings of the people in my life. I love the personal stories, pictures, the life updates. I enjoy the occasional article shared with thought. What I don't love is all the political and religious stuff posted over and over. My politics and relationship with the almighty is personal. I don't need to hear about yours. It used to be that you didn't discuss politics and religion because you didn't know who you were going to offend. Now it seems that any platform is a good platform for evangelism.
I have blocked the photos of many friends and family for this, which is sad because I don't get the updates they send out their lives or pictures of their children. I learned recently, that if I can't see them, they can't see me. In some cases I'm okay with that.
I have one friend with a child with Autism. Actually, I have many friends with children who have Autism. It's frightening. But this friend is always posting memes about how wonderful her boy is, how special, how we need to understand Autistic children because they are special.
And they are.
But I was starting to get a little annoyed. Until I was reading the comments on this post. The post itself is poignant and heartfelt. It talks, more than most people do, about some of the difficulties attached to raising a child who redefines normal. But one of the comments made me realize...
My friend, she isn't posting randomly, she's reaching out. She may not have the community of people that she needs. Like me, she has moved away from our home town, away from her mom and the friends that were her support system when her boy was born.
Suddenly, I'm not so annoyed anymore.
There are a couple of other types, but lets not get complicated.
I use facebook (to play candy crush) to keep up on the happenings of the people in my life. I love the personal stories, pictures, the life updates. I enjoy the occasional article shared with thought. What I don't love is all the political and religious stuff posted over and over. My politics and relationship with the almighty is personal. I don't need to hear about yours. It used to be that you didn't discuss politics and religion because you didn't know who you were going to offend. Now it seems that any platform is a good platform for evangelism.
I have blocked the photos of many friends and family for this, which is sad because I don't get the updates they send out their lives or pictures of their children. I learned recently, that if I can't see them, they can't see me. In some cases I'm okay with that.
I have one friend with a child with Autism. Actually, I have many friends with children who have Autism. It's frightening. But this friend is always posting memes about how wonderful her boy is, how special, how we need to understand Autistic children because they are special.
And they are.
But I was starting to get a little annoyed. Until I was reading the comments on this post. The post itself is poignant and heartfelt. It talks, more than most people do, about some of the difficulties attached to raising a child who redefines normal. But one of the comments made me realize...
My friend, she isn't posting randomly, she's reaching out. She may not have the community of people that she needs. Like me, she has moved away from our home town, away from her mom and the friends that were her support system when her boy was born.
Suddenly, I'm not so annoyed anymore.
Friday, May 24, 2013
I think there is a ghost in my house
If you have known me for any amount of time, you'll know that I believe wholeheartedly in the afterlife. I also believe in reincarnation and the unversal conciousness and all sorts of hibbity bibbity, but we aren't talking about that right now. I don't talk about it often because most people think that I am nuts, but please understand that I was raised in a houshold where psychic skills were not only believed in but fostered. Otherworldly things existed. And the study of them was encouraged.
Adulthood has not dampened my belief in these things, in fact, experience has shown me that there's some crazy ass shit out there that can't be explained by "normal" explinations.
Like static on a digital recorder, recording in a basment with no other electronics. Doors opening, voices heard, faces in pictures, and smacks on the butt when no one else is in the room.
I don't talk about it as much as I used to because well, people think I'm nuts. And I am, a little, but I'm also okay with that.
Ghosts. Ghosts have been a part of my world since I was a very little girl. I am fortunate in that run ins with them when I was little were never pooh-poohed as my imagination. My parents asked questions and encouraged me to talk to them and about them.
So I do. When in the right company.
When I moved into the Elfin Cottage, I sensed there was something there, but I explained to it that this was my house now and that we would have to exist with respect to each other. Other than a few noises that can be easily explained by the settling of a nearly 60 year old house build on sand in an earthquake prone area with lots and lots of wind, well, I try to explain with the mundane first. Things have been quiet for quite awhile.
Enter Doug. Not long after Doug moved in, he complained on FB that he had "demon dreams". Not good. I've heard the sigh of a demon and it was chilling. Turns out he was experimenting with skills he shouldn't having only hard about them on TV read about them on the internet. I warned him to please be careful. That precautions have to be taken or bad things can happen.
The next night I heard, quite clearly from his room, a gravelly voice. It was late, the TV was off, and it was definately not Doug. My impression was not that we were in danger, but that he was being warned not to be messing with stuff he isn't familliar with.
Last week, I returned home from work and Doug told me he thought I had been home earlier, as he heard very distinct footsteps in the (ceramic tile) hallway. The next night, I was in the living room watching Dr Who when I noticed a shadow passing in front of my studio door. The light was on in there. The dog was with me. I thought Doug might be lurking, but he was in his room. I turned out the light. and decided to tell you about it.
The truth is that I am not as perceptive as I was when I fist moved to N Nevada. I realized that it's because I don't tell ghost stories anymore. The people I spend my time with aren't into that sort of thing and I get it.
I realized that it's time to start talking again. And maybe pulling out that little digital recorder and seeing what I can pick up.
Adulthood has not dampened my belief in these things, in fact, experience has shown me that there's some crazy ass shit out there that can't be explained by "normal" explinations.
Like static on a digital recorder, recording in a basment with no other electronics. Doors opening, voices heard, faces in pictures, and smacks on the butt when no one else is in the room.
I don't talk about it as much as I used to because well, people think I'm nuts. And I am, a little, but I'm also okay with that.
Ghosts. Ghosts have been a part of my world since I was a very little girl. I am fortunate in that run ins with them when I was little were never pooh-poohed as my imagination. My parents asked questions and encouraged me to talk to them and about them.
So I do. When in the right company.
When I moved into the Elfin Cottage, I sensed there was something there, but I explained to it that this was my house now and that we would have to exist with respect to each other. Other than a few noises that can be easily explained by the settling of a nearly 60 year old house build on sand in an earthquake prone area with lots and lots of wind, well, I try to explain with the mundane first. Things have been quiet for quite awhile.
Enter Doug. Not long after Doug moved in, he complained on FB that he had "demon dreams". Not good. I've heard the sigh of a demon and it was chilling. Turns out he was experimenting with skills he shouldn't having only hard about them on TV read about them on the internet. I warned him to please be careful. That precautions have to be taken or bad things can happen.
The next night I heard, quite clearly from his room, a gravelly voice. It was late, the TV was off, and it was definately not Doug. My impression was not that we were in danger, but that he was being warned not to be messing with stuff he isn't familliar with.
Last week, I returned home from work and Doug told me he thought I had been home earlier, as he heard very distinct footsteps in the (ceramic tile) hallway. The next night, I was in the living room watching Dr Who when I noticed a shadow passing in front of my studio door. The light was on in there. The dog was with me. I thought Doug might be lurking, but he was in his room. I turned out the light. and decided to tell you about it.
The truth is that I am not as perceptive as I was when I fist moved to N Nevada. I realized that it's because I don't tell ghost stories anymore. The people I spend my time with aren't into that sort of thing and I get it.
I realized that it's time to start talking again. And maybe pulling out that little digital recorder and seeing what I can pick up.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Why I will never be a go-go dancer
Saturday night was full of all sorts of weird little stories.
Some of the casinos in town have go-go dancers for the entertainment of the guests at night. The one we were at was one of these and while we sipped our drinks, we watched.
There are many reasons why I will never be a go-go dancer.
It isn't the outfit, although I am too fat to wear what they were wearing. I'm not fat, and the gym is helping me slim down, but no matter how fit I get, I will always be too fat to wear a bra, underwear, and fishnets in public.
It isn't the age, although I do think I'm too old. One of my cohorts pointed out that if you're over 25 you're over the hill for a go-go dancer, and I'm okay with knowing that I'm too old to go prancing around on a mini stage.
No, the reason I will never be a go-go dancer is because I just can't do those deep knee bend dance moves. Every time she did it, I pictured myself going down and failing to get back up. Struggling to stand while teetering in my heels, finally duck walking about until I find something to grab hold of... Nobody needs to see that. Good thing I'm too old and fat to try!
Some of the casinos in town have go-go dancers for the entertainment of the guests at night. The one we were at was one of these and while we sipped our drinks, we watched.
There are many reasons why I will never be a go-go dancer.
It isn't the outfit, although I am too fat to wear what they were wearing. I'm not fat, and the gym is helping me slim down, but no matter how fit I get, I will always be too fat to wear a bra, underwear, and fishnets in public.
It isn't the age, although I do think I'm too old. One of my cohorts pointed out that if you're over 25 you're over the hill for a go-go dancer, and I'm okay with knowing that I'm too old to go prancing around on a mini stage.
No, the reason I will never be a go-go dancer is because I just can't do those deep knee bend dance moves. Every time she did it, I pictured myself going down and failing to get back up. Struggling to stand while teetering in my heels, finally duck walking about until I find something to grab hold of... Nobody needs to see that. Good thing I'm too old and fat to try!
Wednesday, May 08, 2013
A sense of entitlement
I met a new fellow the other night, a new friend who, in the course of conversation, said something really interesting. And really true.
He said that he dates a Japanese girl because he got tired of American women's sense of entitlement. (I'm sure she is lovely and wonderful in many other ways too) He mentioned with emphasis, that she is very respectful.
I don't think that this is the sort of man who expects a woman to cower and bow, I truly think that he just appreciates that she treats him nicely.
I don't think he is wrong.
There are exceptions to every rule of course, and I hope that I am one of them, but I do agree. American women sure seem to have a sense of entitlement. I hear them talk. I get the encouragement from people I know.
"He needs to do this or that for you"
"He better be taking me out for a nice dinner"
"I/You deserve a man who..."
It's not that I think that women should settle for a man who doesn't treat her right (which sounds so wrong coming from me given my history. There are many untold stories here). But when I consider what is "right" I think of the running list of things in my head that I DON'T deserve. For example,
I don't deserve to be treated like I don't matter.
I tend to think though, that this basic human kindness. No one deserves to be treated like they don't matter.
But back to the topic at hand. I don't think that there's anything wrong to desire a man who showers your with gifts and dinners and his undivided attention if that's what you want. But I don't think it should be expected. Because no one really deserves it. There's a huge difference between wanting and deserving. American women really need to remember that. We don't deserve things because we were born women. We shouldn't expect things because we were born in a country where our worth is not measured in cattle. How is that any different than measuring a man's worth by the size of the diamond you made him buy you?
He said that he dates a Japanese girl because he got tired of American women's sense of entitlement. (I'm sure she is lovely and wonderful in many other ways too) He mentioned with emphasis, that she is very respectful.
I don't think that this is the sort of man who expects a woman to cower and bow, I truly think that he just appreciates that she treats him nicely.
I don't think he is wrong.
There are exceptions to every rule of course, and I hope that I am one of them, but I do agree. American women sure seem to have a sense of entitlement. I hear them talk. I get the encouragement from people I know.
"He needs to do this or that for you"
"He better be taking me out for a nice dinner"
"I/You deserve a man who..."
It's not that I think that women should settle for a man who doesn't treat her right (which sounds so wrong coming from me given my history. There are many untold stories here). But when I consider what is "right" I think of the running list of things in my head that I DON'T deserve. For example,
I don't deserve to be treated like I don't matter.
I tend to think though, that this basic human kindness. No one deserves to be treated like they don't matter.
But back to the topic at hand. I don't think that there's anything wrong to desire a man who showers your with gifts and dinners and his undivided attention if that's what you want. But I don't think it should be expected. Because no one really deserves it. There's a huge difference between wanting and deserving. American women really need to remember that. We don't deserve things because we were born women. We shouldn't expect things because we were born in a country where our worth is not measured in cattle. How is that any different than measuring a man's worth by the size of the diamond you made him buy you?
Sunday, May 05, 2013
Biggest Little FurCon
It's unusual for me to be up at 3 am and even more unusual for me to be up writing at this late, late hour, especially knowing that clean sheets await.
Some things, though, cannot wait.
Tonight, I attended a Furry Convention.
Furries, for the uninitiated, are people who dress like animals. Think, high school mascot, only far more personal.
It was something the Wifey had always wanted to do, attend a Furry convention, so imagine her surprise when there was one in Reno. Since I tend to be up for a good people watching adventure, I agreed to go to the casino where it was being held and stare.
What I found was a really nice group of people in various states of animal dress. Some, just wore tails. Some, ears. Others were in full body costumes. Some costumes were homemade, some were custom. All exhibited a certain personality. You could tell that some of the people were more comfortable in their costume than they were in regular clothes.
Amazingly, I get that. Where I thought I would giggle and snort and roll my eyes, I found that I accepted their desire to dress as animals. I understood their need to wear a different skin. One of their own design. Who wouldn't want to be a purple giraffe? Who hasn't put on a costume and felt empowered? I feel that way every time I wear certain outfits or put on my referee jersey.
We ended up in a Furry dance party. I sat and watched while my cohorts boogied. I smiled at the unabashed joy of the revelers. I blushed at the Yiffing. It was, an experience to remember.
Some things, though, cannot wait.
Tonight, I attended a Furry Convention.
Furries, for the uninitiated, are people who dress like animals. Think, high school mascot, only far more personal.
It was something the Wifey had always wanted to do, attend a Furry convention, so imagine her surprise when there was one in Reno. Since I tend to be up for a good people watching adventure, I agreed to go to the casino where it was being held and stare.
What I found was a really nice group of people in various states of animal dress. Some, just wore tails. Some, ears. Others were in full body costumes. Some costumes were homemade, some were custom. All exhibited a certain personality. You could tell that some of the people were more comfortable in their costume than they were in regular clothes.
Amazingly, I get that. Where I thought I would giggle and snort and roll my eyes, I found that I accepted their desire to dress as animals. I understood their need to wear a different skin. One of their own design. Who wouldn't want to be a purple giraffe? Who hasn't put on a costume and felt empowered? I feel that way every time I wear certain outfits or put on my referee jersey.
We ended up in a Furry dance party. I sat and watched while my cohorts boogied. I smiled at the unabashed joy of the revelers. I blushed at the Yiffing. It was, an experience to remember.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Where I'm at
At the beginning of this year, I started an intention board and wrote down all the things that I intend to accomplish this year. It's colorful, covered in stars, and has plenty of room to grow. I've only had to fix one thing so far, and that's the part where I noted that I would sell GREATER than "x" number of bars of soap but I accidentally put "less" than. Oops. Fixed that, all better.
Some things I knew would hurt a bit in order to accomplish, like knocking out 1/2 of my credit card debt, some things I knew would take some work, like growing a front lawn, and others, I just trust will happen, like getting my "Nevada Made" certification which will open doors to wholesale opportunities to businesses who believe in buying local. The certification will cost money, but if I sell greater than the amount of soap I set out for myself, I'll be able to afford it.
I've always believed that big things can happen with a little bit of effort and a good attitude, so even when life is getting me down and I am struggling with having someone else live in my house, I remind myself of that. Then I go to the gym which is WAY better than shopping for a stress relief. I don't bring home clutter and I don't add to my debt. My heart is getting stronger and my body might be shrinking. Either that or my clothes are old and stretched out. could be both.
The ball is rolling fast on my debt reduction. I'm really excited about it. Between the roommate's rent, my better budgeting, a higher than expected tax return, and SURPRISE! Two unexpected checks this month, I should have one credit card knocked out by August. AUGUST!! (Maybe sooner)That's almost 6 months faster than I expected. Since I know that sometimes unexpected stuff comes up, it's possible that it may take a little longer, but I'm super excited to be knocking out $5,000+ in debt in just a few months. Technically, I've already reached one goal on my board since I wanted to reduce each card by half this year and the Master Card is at about 50%.
I planted my front lawn on Saturday. I've never planted a lawn before. I'll tell you, it took less seed and more dirt than I expected. And I didn't do it the way I was advised to, but I've been out there for the last two days at 7 am watering (it snowed on Monday). Grass can't be harder than vegetables, right? And I grow those every year! I have a plan. I believe I can do it.
Focus. Belief. Some sweat and tears.
There are so many things I want to do and accomplish. So many more things than what is on my little list.
Some things I knew would hurt a bit in order to accomplish, like knocking out 1/2 of my credit card debt, some things I knew would take some work, like growing a front lawn, and others, I just trust will happen, like getting my "Nevada Made" certification which will open doors to wholesale opportunities to businesses who believe in buying local. The certification will cost money, but if I sell greater than the amount of soap I set out for myself, I'll be able to afford it.
I've always believed that big things can happen with a little bit of effort and a good attitude, so even when life is getting me down and I am struggling with having someone else live in my house, I remind myself of that. Then I go to the gym which is WAY better than shopping for a stress relief. I don't bring home clutter and I don't add to my debt. My heart is getting stronger and my body might be shrinking. Either that or my clothes are old and stretched out. could be both.
The ball is rolling fast on my debt reduction. I'm really excited about it. Between the roommate's rent, my better budgeting, a higher than expected tax return, and SURPRISE! Two unexpected checks this month, I should have one credit card knocked out by August. AUGUST!! (Maybe sooner)That's almost 6 months faster than I expected. Since I know that sometimes unexpected stuff comes up, it's possible that it may take a little longer, but I'm super excited to be knocking out $5,000+ in debt in just a few months. Technically, I've already reached one goal on my board since I wanted to reduce each card by half this year and the Master Card is at about 50%.
I planted my front lawn on Saturday. I've never planted a lawn before. I'll tell you, it took less seed and more dirt than I expected. And I didn't do it the way I was advised to, but I've been out there for the last two days at 7 am watering (it snowed on Monday). Grass can't be harder than vegetables, right? And I grow those every year! I have a plan. I believe I can do it.
Focus. Belief. Some sweat and tears.
There are so many things I want to do and accomplish. So many more things than what is on my little list.
Friday, March 29, 2013
The Storyteller
I love to tell stories. Clearly. Sometimes I admit, that my zeal for a good story outshines the interest of the story itself. Maybe the trouble is that I just like to talk.
My father tells stories too. I have many fond memories of laughing for hours as he talked about his around the world adventures. Around the world is a place that I have never been.
Poor Bratty gets the brunt of my stories, you know, since we spend at least 8 hours per day together. Sometimes, I'll be right in the middle of telling her another one when she turns and asks if I am talking to her. That's when I realize that I'm speaking to hear myself speak and it's time to shut up. She isn't being mean, she really just doesn't always know when I am addressing her and not my computer.
A week or two ago, a friend told me something that I would ordinarily repeat. When I opened my mouth to mention it, you know, just telling stories and spreading the news, I stopped myself.
For the first time, I realized that I was about to pass along a story that wasn't mine to tell.
I would never call myself a gossip. Nosey, absolutely. I love to hear a good story as much as I like to tell them. But not a gossip. Gossip is malicious and mean, right? Something I don't want to be.
But it isn't always, is it? In fact, Merriam Webster defines gossip in three ways. a person who habitually reveals personal or sensational facts about others. rumor or report of an intimate nature. and chatty talk. What I thought of as chatty talk though, might have been a rumor or report of an intimate nature. And I had become a person who reveals personal or sensational facts about others.
Wow. That's some ugly lint growing in my navel.
So I have been making a concentrated effort not to be the repeater of intimate details that are not my own. I've caught myself several times. Funny thing is, while I'm not repeating the stories, I find that I'm also a little less nosey. I catch myself perking up at a juicy bit only to walk away with the reminder that it's not my business.
I can tell MY stories all I want. But I don't want to tell other people's stories anymore. It's gotten quieter around here.
My father tells stories too. I have many fond memories of laughing for hours as he talked about his around the world adventures. Around the world is a place that I have never been.
Poor Bratty gets the brunt of my stories, you know, since we spend at least 8 hours per day together. Sometimes, I'll be right in the middle of telling her another one when she turns and asks if I am talking to her. That's when I realize that I'm speaking to hear myself speak and it's time to shut up. She isn't being mean, she really just doesn't always know when I am addressing her and not my computer.
A week or two ago, a friend told me something that I would ordinarily repeat. When I opened my mouth to mention it, you know, just telling stories and spreading the news, I stopped myself.
For the first time, I realized that I was about to pass along a story that wasn't mine to tell.
I would never call myself a gossip. Nosey, absolutely. I love to hear a good story as much as I like to tell them. But not a gossip. Gossip is malicious and mean, right? Something I don't want to be.
But it isn't always, is it? In fact, Merriam Webster defines gossip in three ways. a person who habitually reveals personal or sensational facts about others. rumor or report of an intimate nature. and chatty talk. What I thought of as chatty talk though, might have been a rumor or report of an intimate nature. And I had become a person who reveals personal or sensational facts about others.
Wow. That's some ugly lint growing in my navel.
So I have been making a concentrated effort not to be the repeater of intimate details that are not my own. I've caught myself several times. Funny thing is, while I'm not repeating the stories, I find that I'm also a little less nosey. I catch myself perking up at a juicy bit only to walk away with the reminder that it's not my business.
I can tell MY stories all I want. But I don't want to tell other people's stories anymore. It's gotten quieter around here.
Monday, March 18, 2013
The Country Mouse learns a lesson
During my formidable years, as I'm sure I have mentioned, we lived in a house in the country, or, as I often refer to it, in the sticks. It was about 45 minutes to the grocery store, and very little else but dirt, oak trees, and rocks.
Since we lived so far out in the middle of nowhere, we never locked our doors. There just wasn't a need. If someone was coming, the neighbor's dogs went nuts. If we were gone, the neighbors kept an eye on things. They were the kind of neighbors from whom you could borrow a cup of sugar or a stick of butter. And we did. Because the grocery store was 30 minutes away.
Because of this, I tend to trust my neighbors a little too much. Thus far, that's been okay. My garage door gets left open, no one messes with my stuff. During the summer, my front door is open. and...
Wait. This is no longer true.
My purse has been found. Not in the house, but in the neighbor's bushes. Everything was intact except for my video camera and ipod. Since whoever took it didn't bother with the multiple gift cards, credit cards, etc that was in there, I can only assume that it was one of the neighbor kids. This makes me sad. I'm happy that I got the purse back. I am blessed that they didn't steal my identity. But I am hurt that someone would steal from me at all.
And so, I learned, since they took it right out of my house, to lock the door, even when I am home. And to close the garage door and, for the first time, to distrust my neighbors. Clearly, whoever took my purse knew I had good stuff in there, which means they were keeping an eye on my habits.
I'm just simply not in Kansas anymore.
Since we lived so far out in the middle of nowhere, we never locked our doors. There just wasn't a need. If someone was coming, the neighbor's dogs went nuts. If we were gone, the neighbors kept an eye on things. They were the kind of neighbors from whom you could borrow a cup of sugar or a stick of butter. And we did. Because the grocery store was 30 minutes away.
Because of this, I tend to trust my neighbors a little too much. Thus far, that's been okay. My garage door gets left open, no one messes with my stuff. During the summer, my front door is open. and...
Wait. This is no longer true.
My purse has been found. Not in the house, but in the neighbor's bushes. Everything was intact except for my video camera and ipod. Since whoever took it didn't bother with the multiple gift cards, credit cards, etc that was in there, I can only assume that it was one of the neighbor kids. This makes me sad. I'm happy that I got the purse back. I am blessed that they didn't steal my identity. But I am hurt that someone would steal from me at all.
And so, I learned, since they took it right out of my house, to lock the door, even when I am home. And to close the garage door and, for the first time, to distrust my neighbors. Clearly, whoever took my purse knew I had good stuff in there, which means they were keeping an eye on my habits.
I'm just simply not in Kansas anymore.
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
Lie to me
It's rare to meet a person who isn't going to lie to you. I can generally tell if someone is fibbing, I just won't say anything.
Like that guy I dated who lied about just about everything. I knew that his stories didn't line up, but I like to trust people. However, despite my head-in-the-sand mentality, I knew something wasn't right and when the truth came out, I wasn't as hurt as I would have been otherwise. Suddenly, the stories made sense and I was able to see that the entire 5 month relationship had no foundation. I was glad I had refused to meet his kids. A few days later, Chango lay his little puppy head on my shoulder and I lost my heart to a far more reliable male. Dogs will never lie to you. Also, if you give away their children, they don't get upset.
I've learned to trust that instinct. That doesn't mean I always act on it, sometimes to my detriment, but I recognize it and take note. File the information for later use.
That is not the point of this story.
Last night, my gym lied to me.
When I signed up over a month ago, they told me that I would have to meet with a personal trainer whether I wanted to or not. Unfortunately, the soonest available time I could attend a meeting was a month out. I wrote it down, but still forgot. Dangit! The trainer was supposed to give me the little scan card I need to get into the facility instead of having to check in manually with reception every time. Annoying.
Last night, I went out of my way to attend the gym where I signed up so that I could go ahead and get my card. The receptionist told me that only the trainers have them and that I'd have to make another appointment with the sales guy in order to get it.
Let me make this clear. I do not want to pay a personal trainer. My experience with them has not been good and I can generally rely on myself to kick my own butt. Also, I don't need someone to tell me I'm fat because I have a high BMI. While I do need to lose some weight, I'm not actually fat, I'm dense. I do not float, I sink. Most trainers don't want to hear these things, they just want you to buy their services. And I get that, but I'm not interested.
So, after my 45 minutes on the arc trainer, I showed up dripping, to my sales guy's desk. I waited for him to notice me (I love sales people who don't need you after the sale. jerk. Clearly my "he just wants your money" instinct was right on there.) and asked to make another appointment. He responded that they can do that up front. I casually let him know that they had sent me to him and (played a little dumb) announced that I'd go make the appointment with them.
Back up at the front desk, I spoke with the first girl. I told her that Joe had told me I could make an appointment with her. She looked a little baffled. Then opened a drawer and said "Oh look! We have one left!" and produced a scan tag. Then she acted all conspiratorial as she got it assigned to me. Like we were getting away with something.
All I could think was, if you're going to lie to me, at least try to hide it. OR be so obvious about it that we both undertand that you're just following protocall, you know?
Like that guy I dated who lied about just about everything. I knew that his stories didn't line up, but I like to trust people. However, despite my head-in-the-sand mentality, I knew something wasn't right and when the truth came out, I wasn't as hurt as I would have been otherwise. Suddenly, the stories made sense and I was able to see that the entire 5 month relationship had no foundation. I was glad I had refused to meet his kids. A few days later, Chango lay his little puppy head on my shoulder and I lost my heart to a far more reliable male. Dogs will never lie to you. Also, if you give away their children, they don't get upset.
I've learned to trust that instinct. That doesn't mean I always act on it, sometimes to my detriment, but I recognize it and take note. File the information for later use.
That is not the point of this story.
Last night, my gym lied to me.
When I signed up over a month ago, they told me that I would have to meet with a personal trainer whether I wanted to or not. Unfortunately, the soonest available time I could attend a meeting was a month out. I wrote it down, but still forgot. Dangit! The trainer was supposed to give me the little scan card I need to get into the facility instead of having to check in manually with reception every time. Annoying.
Last night, I went out of my way to attend the gym where I signed up so that I could go ahead and get my card. The receptionist told me that only the trainers have them and that I'd have to make another appointment with the sales guy in order to get it.
Let me make this clear. I do not want to pay a personal trainer. My experience with them has not been good and I can generally rely on myself to kick my own butt. Also, I don't need someone to tell me I'm fat because I have a high BMI. While I do need to lose some weight, I'm not actually fat, I'm dense. I do not float, I sink. Most trainers don't want to hear these things, they just want you to buy their services. And I get that, but I'm not interested.
So, after my 45 minutes on the arc trainer, I showed up dripping, to my sales guy's desk. I waited for him to notice me (I love sales people who don't need you after the sale. jerk. Clearly my "he just wants your money" instinct was right on there.) and asked to make another appointment. He responded that they can do that up front. I casually let him know that they had sent me to him and (played a little dumb) announced that I'd go make the appointment with them.
Back up at the front desk, I spoke with the first girl. I told her that Joe had told me I could make an appointment with her. She looked a little baffled. Then opened a drawer and said "Oh look! We have one left!" and produced a scan tag. Then she acted all conspiratorial as she got it assigned to me. Like we were getting away with something.
All I could think was, if you're going to lie to me, at least try to hide it. OR be so obvious about it that we both undertand that you're just following protocall, you know?
Monday, February 18, 2013
Those grandmas know a thing or two
It occurred to me one day while I was working the cube with Bratty, that there's more to grocery store chicken than meets the eye.
You know what I'm talking about. The super cheap hot roast chicken you can get at the grocery for about $5. The ones that for some reason taste amazingly delicious.
I don't know about you, but I consider those a special treat. Maybe they shouldn't be.
A $5 chicken will cover about 3 meals for me if I am being a bit piggy. Even so, $1.67 isn't bad for a meal (or the protein part of one if I count sides). If I roasted that bird myself, I'd be paying about 10 for the bird plus the spices and cost of cooking it. And the burnout of smelling chicken for days since scents linger in my home.
So, stroke of genius. I've picked the bones pretty clean, there's skin because I try not to eat it, and all that other stuff that goes along with eating a chicken, Right?
I did what my grandmother (ok, likely my great grandmother, since Grandma is a pretty big fan of modern convenience) would do. I boiled up that carcass. Now I have chicken broth. Mildly flavored with lemon pepper, but now, when I make soup or rice or whatever else, I have a small supply of ready made, likely a bit healthier broth ready to go. And that $5 chicken just cost me $.67 per meal. (4.5 2 cup jars of broth plus 3 meals worth of meat)
I think I'm going to pick up a chicken more often!
Now into the freezer with these!!
You know what I'm talking about. The super cheap hot roast chicken you can get at the grocery for about $5. The ones that for some reason taste amazingly delicious.
I don't know about you, but I consider those a special treat. Maybe they shouldn't be.
A $5 chicken will cover about 3 meals for me if I am being a bit piggy. Even so, $1.67 isn't bad for a meal (or the protein part of one if I count sides). If I roasted that bird myself, I'd be paying about 10 for the bird plus the spices and cost of cooking it. And the burnout of smelling chicken for days since scents linger in my home.
So, stroke of genius. I've picked the bones pretty clean, there's skin because I try not to eat it, and all that other stuff that goes along with eating a chicken, Right?
I did what my grandmother (ok, likely my great grandmother, since Grandma is a pretty big fan of modern convenience) would do. I boiled up that carcass. Now I have chicken broth. Mildly flavored with lemon pepper, but now, when I make soup or rice or whatever else, I have a small supply of ready made, likely a bit healthier broth ready to go. And that $5 chicken just cost me $.67 per meal. (4.5 2 cup jars of broth plus 3 meals worth of meat)
I think I'm going to pick up a chicken more often!
Now into the freezer with these!!
Friday, February 15, 2013
Irrational fears
I have many irrational fears. Some are easily explained, some are more complicated.
For example, I will not swim in lakes because there are lake zombies in there. There are no zombies in the ocean because its a moving body of water and also, sharks. But in lakes, the water just sits there in the lake bed. And the zombies reach up and grab your ankles and pull you down into the depths below. Tahoe and Pyramid are especially bad for zombies because they only connect to each other. And sometimes they find bodies in there. Bodies that have been in there for a very long time. centuries. and also, water babies. The thing that makes this fear even more irrational is that I don't believe in zombies. In fact, the whole zombie apocalypse craze pretty much pisses me off and makes me want to walk away while I call everyone an idiot. BUT you'll notice that they never start the stupid zombie apocalypse in the water because then it would be too real. I think. When zombie shit comes up on the Netflix, I go watch Toddlers and Tiaras.
Actually, I haven't watched that in a week or two.
Point being, that I have an irrational fear of someone bursting in on me when I'm in the shower at the gym. I like the gym. We have a healthy relationship. I go, sweat, shower, and go home. I've lost 5 pounds this way. I have every intention of losing more.
I think I mentioned that since I go to the gym at night and I shower at night, that I would start showering at the gym to save money. And sweat stains on my car upholstery. That's a side benefit. But a good one. There's all sorts of winning going on there.
I'm a modest kind of girl. I don't wander around the locker room nakid. I make sure my girlie bits are covered until I'm in the shower stall and the curtain is safely closed. I lube up then wrap up before opening the curtain again.
Yet still, even though normal people know that a shut curtain means a full stall, I still worry about someone flinging open the curtain and seeing my butt. or worse.
Last night, I learned that my fears are not unfounded when I was just about done applying my body lotion (which never gets put on at home) and the curtain was suddenly flung open by some topless lady. I'm sure there was a look of horror on my face. After all, I was wearing nothing but a towel turban and flip flops. I was also facing the curtain.
She shut the curtain, apologized, explained that since I was so quiet in there that she didn't think the stall was occupied. Never mind that there were plenty of open stalls, never mind that my bright pink toiletry bag was hanging on the hook right next to the stall, never mind that I practically duct tape the curtain shut when I'm in there.
The consensus that occurred to my workmates and not to me? She wanted to see some boobies. And she did (so, much to my dismay, did I). Apparently, there are creepers everywhere. And not all of them are men.
For example, I will not swim in lakes because there are lake zombies in there. There are no zombies in the ocean because its a moving body of water and also, sharks. But in lakes, the water just sits there in the lake bed. And the zombies reach up and grab your ankles and pull you down into the depths below. Tahoe and Pyramid are especially bad for zombies because they only connect to each other. And sometimes they find bodies in there. Bodies that have been in there for a very long time. centuries. and also, water babies. The thing that makes this fear even more irrational is that I don't believe in zombies. In fact, the whole zombie apocalypse craze pretty much pisses me off and makes me want to walk away while I call everyone an idiot. BUT you'll notice that they never start the stupid zombie apocalypse in the water because then it would be too real. I think. When zombie shit comes up on the Netflix, I go watch Toddlers and Tiaras.
Actually, I haven't watched that in a week or two.
Point being, that I have an irrational fear of someone bursting in on me when I'm in the shower at the gym. I like the gym. We have a healthy relationship. I go, sweat, shower, and go home. I've lost 5 pounds this way. I have every intention of losing more.
I think I mentioned that since I go to the gym at night and I shower at night, that I would start showering at the gym to save money. And sweat stains on my car upholstery. That's a side benefit. But a good one. There's all sorts of winning going on there.
I'm a modest kind of girl. I don't wander around the locker room nakid. I make sure my girlie bits are covered until I'm in the shower stall and the curtain is safely closed. I lube up then wrap up before opening the curtain again.
Yet still, even though normal people know that a shut curtain means a full stall, I still worry about someone flinging open the curtain and seeing my butt. or worse.
Last night, I learned that my fears are not unfounded when I was just about done applying my body lotion (which never gets put on at home) and the curtain was suddenly flung open by some topless lady. I'm sure there was a look of horror on my face. After all, I was wearing nothing but a towel turban and flip flops. I was also facing the curtain.
She shut the curtain, apologized, explained that since I was so quiet in there that she didn't think the stall was occupied. Never mind that there were plenty of open stalls, never mind that my bright pink toiletry bag was hanging on the hook right next to the stall, never mind that I practically duct tape the curtain shut when I'm in there.
The consensus that occurred to my workmates and not to me? She wanted to see some boobies. And she did (so, much to my dismay, did I). Apparently, there are creepers everywhere. And not all of them are men.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Monday, February 11, 2013
On Wild Hogs and Austerity Measures
I'm broke, blah, blah, blah, looking for a roommate, blah, blah, blah, on a strict budget.
Now, if you're new, you're caught up.
I found a roommate. (I might still post craigslist postings though if you guys like them. There is one more waiting to be published, and I made them "unlisted" so you should be able to see them now.). He seems pretty normal, moves in on the 1st, and has already put down a deposit with the balance of the first month's rent due on the 27th.
When he handed me the cash, I was like, "OH BOY!! MONEY!!" And I immediately started plotting how I would spend it. Fence repairs! Dinner! A shopping spree to Costco where I can spend it on MEAT! I'm almost out of meat. I can have new pants! My pants are falling off again. I can refill my Starbucks card and have coffee treats! A new belt! My last one was purchased sometime around 2001. New shoes! Makeup! At this point, the voice in my head started reminding me of the reasons why I ended up in this mess in the first place. "Sock away that cash", she said, "you don't want to have a roommate forever and eventually, your car will need to be replaced".
So, I'll admit, that I spent a little. I bought some candy, some cake mix, and a closet rod for the spare room. Not only is the rod installed already, but I got to use my chop saw and that made me VERY happy. I think I spent about $40 of the deposit. That's not much, but it's a lot for me. I don't want to slip back into old habits. It would have been REALLY easy to wander around the home improvement store and pick up a few "wants" that I think are "needs".
So it's back to my austere budget. Meal planning, weekly grocery shopping. I did really good last month, coming in under budget and moving things around when I needed to. I love the envelope method and REALLY enjoy dropping my change into my change jar. I didn't overdraw my account. But 1 month, that's easy peasy. It's changing my habits long term that will be hard. Especially with extra funds coming in. (A new TV! A New Roof! A front lawn! And occasional steak dinner!)
I'm sticking to it though. I may fund a few things before I start attacking the credit cards hard core. If he always pays me in cash, then this will mean that I won't be pulling my budget out of my checking account every 2 weeks, I will (hopefully) be depositing leftover cash into it.
Overall, it's just nice to feel like I have a little wiggle room.
Now, if you're new, you're caught up.
I found a roommate. (I might still post craigslist postings though if you guys like them. There is one more waiting to be published, and I made them "unlisted" so you should be able to see them now.). He seems pretty normal, moves in on the 1st, and has already put down a deposit with the balance of the first month's rent due on the 27th.
When he handed me the cash, I was like, "OH BOY!! MONEY!!" And I immediately started plotting how I would spend it. Fence repairs! Dinner! A shopping spree to Costco where I can spend it on MEAT! I'm almost out of meat. I can have new pants! My pants are falling off again. I can refill my Starbucks card and have coffee treats! A new belt! My last one was purchased sometime around 2001. New shoes! Makeup! At this point, the voice in my head started reminding me of the reasons why I ended up in this mess in the first place. "Sock away that cash", she said, "you don't want to have a roommate forever and eventually, your car will need to be replaced".
So, I'll admit, that I spent a little. I bought some candy, some cake mix, and a closet rod for the spare room. Not only is the rod installed already, but I got to use my chop saw and that made me VERY happy. I think I spent about $40 of the deposit. That's not much, but it's a lot for me. I don't want to slip back into old habits. It would have been REALLY easy to wander around the home improvement store and pick up a few "wants" that I think are "needs".
So it's back to my austere budget. Meal planning, weekly grocery shopping. I did really good last month, coming in under budget and moving things around when I needed to. I love the envelope method and REALLY enjoy dropping my change into my change jar. I didn't overdraw my account. But 1 month, that's easy peasy. It's changing my habits long term that will be hard. Especially with extra funds coming in. (A new TV! A New Roof! A front lawn! And occasional steak dinner!)
I'm sticking to it though. I may fund a few things before I start attacking the credit cards hard core. If he always pays me in cash, then this will mean that I won't be pulling my budget out of my checking account every 2 weeks, I will (hopefully) be depositing leftover cash into it.
Overall, it's just nice to feel like I have a little wiggle room.
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