V/M: So what are your plans for the day?
A: Oh you know. Eat breakfast. Try to remember which day of the week it is. Get depressed because I keep forgetting. Sink deeper into depression over the sad state of my life. Eat some more. Take a walk. Lay around hot, sweaty, still depressed, wondering why it doesn't seem like I'm losing weight despite working out so much. Eat. Forget again which day of the week it is. Make dinner. Eat. Snack. Watch Larry King Live. Cry myself to sleep.
V/M: Oh okay. The usual then. Don't forget to wear black.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Unleashing the Inner Crafty
Riley visited last week and as you can see she came wearing her stylish little sun hat. So, so cute. At some point during her visit me and Riley's Mama got to discussing headbands. Specifically the little dent marks that store headbands leave on baby heads. Krystal said that Riley had only worn one a few times because she felt like she was somehow abusing her child with those dent marks. Crazy as it sounded, I sympathized.
And thus my crafty weekend was born.
I spent Friday night googling some headband alternatives and came across a great...dent free...idea that involved pantyhose.
A needle and thread, clearance hose for 50 cents from the Dollar Store, hair clips, a glue gun and loads of ribbon later and I was in business.
I made one headband with a loop of ribbon attached, each clip with a bow attached can be interchanged on the headbands.
I've been experimenting with various bow styles all day, with admittedly shaky hands...hopefully I'll eventually get the hang of it.
In other unrelated news, this was my garden bounty yesterday morning:
Amazing. Lots of recipe ideas in the work, I'll try sharing them this week as I go.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Rest in Peace
And that my friends is when April lost it. Because he was a Daddy. A Daddy. And I'm a daughter. So my heart broke for this girl. And then Janet reminded me of my own Aunts and I lost it again.
Family. It means everything, for real.
My favorite moment of the memorial:
We Had Him
by Maya Angelou
Beloveds, now we know that we know nothing, now that our bright and shining star can slip away from our fingertips like a puff of summer wind.
Without notice, our dear love can escape our doting embrace. Sing our songs among the stars and walk our dances across the face of the moon.
In the instant that Michael is gone, we know nothing. No clocks can tell time. No oceans can rush our tides with the abrupt absence of our treasure.
Though we are many, each of us is achingly alone, piercingly alone.
Only when we confess our confusion can we remember that he was a gift to us and we did have him.
He came to us from the creator, trailing creativity in abundance.
Despite the anguish, his life was sheathed in mother love, family love, and survived and did more than that.
He thrived with passion and compassion, humor and style. We had him whether we know who he was or did not know, he was ours and we were his.
We had him, beautiful, delighting our eyes.
His hat, aslant over his brow, and took a pose on his toes for all of us.
And we laughed and stomped our feet for him.
We were enchanted with his passion because he held nothing. He gave us all he had been given.
Today in Tokyo, beneath the Eiffel Tower, in Ghana's Black Star Square.
In Johannesburg and Pittsburgh, in Birmingham, Alabama, and Birmingham, England
We are missing Michael.
But we do know we had him, and we are the world.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Quote of the Day
Most, but not all, of these sites were created with Tumblr, a dead-simple two-year-old blogging tool that has swung open the publishing industry for anyone with a gift for snark and lots of extra hours to kill. The term tumblelog—a blog that points to cool stuff elsewhere online—actually preceded the invention of Tumblr, but the software offers a few features that make creating such pages supereasy. Tumblr includes several stylish themes that obviate the need for designing anything yourself, and it comes prepackaged with templates for different kinds of posts—it makes your photos look different from your videos, which in turn look different from quotes you pull from other sites, etc. In other words, Tumblr lets you create a great-looking blog in two minutes flat.
This is Why You're Fat: The Allure of Single Topic Blogs -- Slate.com
Love Tumblr. My absolute favorite way to blog these days. It's like a perfect little internet scrapbook.
This is Why You're Fat: The Allure of Single Topic Blogs -- Slate.com
Love Tumblr. My absolute favorite way to blog these days. It's like a perfect little internet scrapbook.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
A Tale of Two Mammals
Jack is pissed he got caught laying that close to Hercules.
His defense: it was the only shady part of the patio.
Herc remained unfazed.
His defense: it was the only shady part of the patio.
Herc remained unfazed.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
The Way You Make Me Feel
Great youtube video? Or greatest youtube video? I love stuff like this.
Third Eye Blind sings 'I Want You Back'
Some people say it's silly to mourn the death of a celebrity. I don't think it's the person as much as it's the person's place in the soundtrack of your life.
When I was a kid I walked around singing 'Bad' into a makeshift microphone. I was obsessed with his music videos, I loved listening to my Dad sing me old Jackson 5 songs and one of my favorite things I did as a big sister was introduce my little brother to Michael Jackson music. Michael's songs provided the background music for so many moments in my life.
So that's what I'm thinking about this weekend. One of my favorite quotes is a from a Kenny Chesney song, "We all have a song that somehow stamped our lives, takes us to another place and time."
Rest in peace, Michael. Thanks for the music.
P.S. This blog from Lisa Marie Presley is a must read for anyone looking for insight to the untimely death of Michael.
Third Eye Blind sings 'I Want You Back'
Some people say it's silly to mourn the death of a celebrity. I don't think it's the person as much as it's the person's place in the soundtrack of your life.
When I was a kid I walked around singing 'Bad' into a makeshift microphone. I was obsessed with his music videos, I loved listening to my Dad sing me old Jackson 5 songs and one of my favorite things I did as a big sister was introduce my little brother to Michael Jackson music. Michael's songs provided the background music for so many moments in my life.
So that's what I'm thinking about this weekend. One of my favorite quotes is a from a Kenny Chesney song, "We all have a song that somehow stamped our lives, takes us to another place and time."
Rest in peace, Michael. Thanks for the music.
P.S. This blog from Lisa Marie Presley is a must read for anyone looking for insight to the untimely death of Michael.
Friday, June 26, 2009
How It All Went Down: Asheville, Cop Cars, Losing Money and Sleeping at Walmart
It started just fine.
We took stupid car pictures. And my father checked out the rental car, like thoroughly (which is so quintessentially my Dad).
Jon was a rockstar,
Jill looked out the window,
Molly slept,
We stopped at the Berea Rest Area/Kentucky Art Center place (which is neat).
Took photos inside of the bathroom,
Then onto Jellico, Tennessee where we stopped at the world's worst state welcome center and saw this priceless motel sign,
And then we had a Chick-Fil-A picnic,
And from there on out, things went terribly, awfully, very badly down hill.
We rolled into Asheville sometime around 11:30 pm. And when I say Asheville, I mean we got to the signs that said Asheville, but really had no idea which exit to take to find the road with all of the hotels on it. So fast forward another hour of trying exit after exit and direction after direction from gas station attendants who don't know where they live. We need a GPS.
Upon finding the proper street we began trying hotel after hotel to find one that A) Had a vacancy, B) Took pets, and C) wasn't going to charge more than $100-$130 for a night. Less than that if my father had his way. He's cheap.
At some point in our evening, after driving up and down this road for at least an hour, stopping at lights that were green, pulling in and out of parking lots my mother noted to my dad that it appeared a police car was following us.
"I'm not doing anything wrong," he said. "Let him pull me over."
Famous last words.
So Dad wasn't concerned. And he decided to pull onto a road that led to a wildlife thing in the middle of the woods, because...and I quote, maybe they got a lodge up here.
Oh dear.
While I'm almost certain we passed a drug deal going on up that hill the cop was right there waiting on US when we returned to the bottom of it. And he followed us into the parking lot of Walmart. When we pulled into a parking spot and stopped he began flashing his special blue lights.
We were busted.
Turns out the rental car had expired tags, this coupled with Dad's more than erratic driving caused the cop to pull us over to assess the situation I suppose. No ticket. No nothing. But damn if it didn't both make us laugh AND sort of suck the air out of the trip.
Mom drove after this.
We ended up stopping at a grocery store called Ingles, which is open 24 hours to use the restroom and regroup. Unable to find a hotel with a vacancy that wasn't a total roach motel we somehow ended up sleeping for a few hours in the parking lot of Walmart.
And let me just tell you...WE WEREN'T THE ONLY ONES. It's like its own little campground/RV park/ lodge area.
I hated it.
Come morning, after several hours of me almost suffocating in the hot car (I'm no good at sleeping in warm weather apparently), we found a nice hotel to check into. The only catch? It wouldn't be ready until after 1pm. No big deal. My Dad offered to go ahead and pay for the stay with a $100 bill he had in his pocket, "no worries," the girl told him. "I'll put you down for it, pay when you return."
So while we'd all slept in the car, and we were all still in yesterday's clothes we decided to take the ride over to Lake Lure, the filming site of Dirty Dancing.
Getting to Lake Lure involved a curvy, winding mountain trek that is probably not for the faint at heart. Nor those prone to Altitude Sickness.
My Mom is prone to Altitude Sickness.
We pulled over numerous times up the mountain so she could get air. But we soldiered on, figuring she'd eventually get over it.
Lake Lure was pretty neat. I wish I'd gotten more pictures and felt more like exploring. But it was hot, I felt gross in the clothes I was wearing, so there are a million excuses. This was one of my single decent photos of the lake.
As I said, Dirty Dancing was filmed there, the red roofed building in the distance is the lodge used, you can see some of the beach there in the movie as well. There are tours to take that show you more. For obvious reasons we didn't take any.
It was on the way down the mountain, while my mother was puking on the side of the road that my Dad thought to check his pockets to make sure that 100 dollar bill was still there.
Cargo pants. Pocket, after pocket, after pocket. No money. Every crevice of the car. No money. The ground? No money.
My Dad completely lost a hundred dollars and my mother was on the verge of dying...or at least it seemed that way.
We all told him it was okay and that in the grand scheme of things that 100 hundred dollar bill was no big deal. Perhaps someone who needed more than we did found it.
But still. It does burn to just lose a hundred dollars and have nothing fun to show for it. Let's be for real here...no tacky souvenir, no night not spent in the parking lot of freakin' Walmart, no 5 course meal. Just a lost large bill of money.
At this point we struggled to make it down the mountain we'd just come up. Between Mom's puking and holding on to the seat for dear life at every curve, my Dad's meltdown over his lost money and mine and Jonathan's horrible decision to fore go breakfast that morning...we were a mess.
I'd started wishing I was home. If you read this blog you know that traveling is one of my absolute favorite things to do...EVER. But for the first time in my life I was over it. Over this trip. Over the clothes I was wearing. Over being in that stupid car. Over all of it.
In the meantime we drove through Asheville...semi lost...yet again, because my father has an innate inability to listen to my directions...*cough* *cough*. Jon and I had him stop at a DQ where we shared a chicken strip basket between the two of us and the dogs.
Mom threw up some more.
Dad checked his wallet for the millionth time.
His plan was now to head to the hotel we'd been promised a room at to check in, regroup...sleep and then see if tomorrow improved.
I'll be honest...I was against the idea. He said he didn't think he could possibly drive the rental car home, Mom was incapacitated and I wasn't 25.
I think you know where this is going.
I told him I figured it was a perfectly acceptable moment to invoke the clause that must be in the rental contract: when the parents are out of commission...the 23 year old can drive the car. At this point, he didn't think that was such a great idea.
So we went to the hotel. Walked into the lobby. Waited in line while a woman requested an extra towel for the pool. Waited again while another person needed something else. And then it happened.
The very minute my Dad opened his mouth to announce we were there to check in...the power when out for the entire street.
No doubt because we, with the worst luck ever, had walked in the door. And we were told they probably couldn't process our reservation until power was restored.
That was it. I'd had enough.
Which is how we invoked the imaginary rule that said this 23 year old could drive the rental car. And how I drove 5 1/2 hours home from Asheville, North Carolina on 2 hours of sleep, a puking Mom in the front seat and the sleeping brother/father/dogs in the back.
And how, as God is my witness, I'll never not meticulously plan another vacation so long as I live. As it turns out...my anal retentiveness when it comes to vacations is kind of a good thing sometimes.
However, it was...if nothing else, an experience. For that I'm grateful...I guess.
We took stupid car pictures. And my father checked out the rental car, like thoroughly (which is so quintessentially my Dad).
Jon was a rockstar,
Jill looked out the window,
Molly slept,
We stopped at the Berea Rest Area/Kentucky Art Center place (which is neat).
Took photos inside of the bathroom,
Then onto Jellico, Tennessee where we stopped at the world's worst state welcome center and saw this priceless motel sign,
And then we had a Chick-Fil-A picnic,
And from there on out, things went terribly, awfully, very badly down hill.
We rolled into Asheville sometime around 11:30 pm. And when I say Asheville, I mean we got to the signs that said Asheville, but really had no idea which exit to take to find the road with all of the hotels on it. So fast forward another hour of trying exit after exit and direction after direction from gas station attendants who don't know where they live. We need a GPS.
Upon finding the proper street we began trying hotel after hotel to find one that A) Had a vacancy, B) Took pets, and C) wasn't going to charge more than $100-$130 for a night. Less than that if my father had his way. He's cheap.
At some point in our evening, after driving up and down this road for at least an hour, stopping at lights that were green, pulling in and out of parking lots my mother noted to my dad that it appeared a police car was following us.
"I'm not doing anything wrong," he said. "Let him pull me over."
Famous last words.
So Dad wasn't concerned. And he decided to pull onto a road that led to a wildlife thing in the middle of the woods, because...and I quote, maybe they got a lodge up here.
Oh dear.
While I'm almost certain we passed a drug deal going on up that hill the cop was right there waiting on US when we returned to the bottom of it. And he followed us into the parking lot of Walmart. When we pulled into a parking spot and stopped he began flashing his special blue lights.
We were busted.
Turns out the rental car had expired tags, this coupled with Dad's more than erratic driving caused the cop to pull us over to assess the situation I suppose. No ticket. No nothing. But damn if it didn't both make us laugh AND sort of suck the air out of the trip.
Mom drove after this.
We ended up stopping at a grocery store called Ingles, which is open 24 hours to use the restroom and regroup. Unable to find a hotel with a vacancy that wasn't a total roach motel we somehow ended up sleeping for a few hours in the parking lot of Walmart.
And let me just tell you...WE WEREN'T THE ONLY ONES. It's like its own little campground/RV park/ lodge area.
I hated it.
Come morning, after several hours of me almost suffocating in the hot car (I'm no good at sleeping in warm weather apparently), we found a nice hotel to check into. The only catch? It wouldn't be ready until after 1pm. No big deal. My Dad offered to go ahead and pay for the stay with a $100 bill he had in his pocket, "no worries," the girl told him. "I'll put you down for it, pay when you return."
So while we'd all slept in the car, and we were all still in yesterday's clothes we decided to take the ride over to Lake Lure, the filming site of Dirty Dancing.
Getting to Lake Lure involved a curvy, winding mountain trek that is probably not for the faint at heart. Nor those prone to Altitude Sickness.
My Mom is prone to Altitude Sickness.
We pulled over numerous times up the mountain so she could get air. But we soldiered on, figuring she'd eventually get over it.
Lake Lure was pretty neat. I wish I'd gotten more pictures and felt more like exploring. But it was hot, I felt gross in the clothes I was wearing, so there are a million excuses. This was one of my single decent photos of the lake.
As I said, Dirty Dancing was filmed there, the red roofed building in the distance is the lodge used, you can see some of the beach there in the movie as well. There are tours to take that show you more. For obvious reasons we didn't take any.
It was on the way down the mountain, while my mother was puking on the side of the road that my Dad thought to check his pockets to make sure that 100 dollar bill was still there.
Cargo pants. Pocket, after pocket, after pocket. No money. Every crevice of the car. No money. The ground? No money.
My Dad completely lost a hundred dollars and my mother was on the verge of dying...or at least it seemed that way.
We all told him it was okay and that in the grand scheme of things that 100 hundred dollar bill was no big deal. Perhaps someone who needed more than we did found it.
But still. It does burn to just lose a hundred dollars and have nothing fun to show for it. Let's be for real here...no tacky souvenir, no night not spent in the parking lot of freakin' Walmart, no 5 course meal. Just a lost large bill of money.
At this point we struggled to make it down the mountain we'd just come up. Between Mom's puking and holding on to the seat for dear life at every curve, my Dad's meltdown over his lost money and mine and Jonathan's horrible decision to fore go breakfast that morning...we were a mess.
I'd started wishing I was home. If you read this blog you know that traveling is one of my absolute favorite things to do...EVER. But for the first time in my life I was over it. Over this trip. Over the clothes I was wearing. Over being in that stupid car. Over all of it.
In the meantime we drove through Asheville...semi lost...yet again, because my father has an innate inability to listen to my directions...*cough* *cough*. Jon and I had him stop at a DQ where we shared a chicken strip basket between the two of us and the dogs.
Mom threw up some more.
Dad checked his wallet for the millionth time.
His plan was now to head to the hotel we'd been promised a room at to check in, regroup...sleep and then see if tomorrow improved.
I'll be honest...I was against the idea. He said he didn't think he could possibly drive the rental car home, Mom was incapacitated and I wasn't 25.
I think you know where this is going.
I told him I figured it was a perfectly acceptable moment to invoke the clause that must be in the rental contract: when the parents are out of commission...the 23 year old can drive the car. At this point, he didn't think that was such a great idea.
So we went to the hotel. Walked into the lobby. Waited in line while a woman requested an extra towel for the pool. Waited again while another person needed something else. And then it happened.
The very minute my Dad opened his mouth to announce we were there to check in...the power when out for the entire street.
No doubt because we, with the worst luck ever, had walked in the door. And we were told they probably couldn't process our reservation until power was restored.
That was it. I'd had enough.
Which is how we invoked the imaginary rule that said this 23 year old could drive the rental car. And how I drove 5 1/2 hours home from Asheville, North Carolina on 2 hours of sleep, a puking Mom in the front seat and the sleeping brother/father/dogs in the back.
And how, as God is my witness, I'll never not meticulously plan another vacation so long as I live. As it turns out...my anal retentiveness when it comes to vacations is kind of a good thing sometimes.
However, it was...if nothing else, an experience. For that I'm grateful...I guess.
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