'the Heck???

Today, while typing away at the computer, I felt a little chilly, so I rubbed my legs (I was wearing shorts).  As I tried to warm myself up, I  noticed that my knees felt cold to the touch, which made me theorize why.  Must have something to do with the ratio of meat to bone and the fact that bone doesn’t have all the warm blood coursing through it like flesh does.

 

Which then led to this thought:

 

“One day when I die, this is probably how the rest of my body will feel.”

 

Macabre, party of one, your table is ready.

No Post Today

I cut my finger while making dinner last night.  Actually I cut 3 fingers.  By the amount of blood, you'd think I had lost an arm.  It's really nothing more than a little slice, but I can't type very well right now and I hane no backup posts to fill the slot.

My priorities firmly in place, I braved the blood to grab my camera and get a few pictures for an upcoming post.

Pray that I don't contract gangrene.

You Call It The Thrift Store, I Call It The Weedy-Weedy

I like to shop.  

I'm also a tightwad.

These two traits of mine often leave me conflicted.  

I can't remember the last time I paid more than $15 for a shirt or $19.99 for a pair of pants. This probably explains why my wardrobe is so....so....eclectic.  My outfit choices range from downright dowdy to eyebrow raising flashy.  There is no in-between when it comes to the clearance section at Marshalls.

But I luuuuv finding good deals.  Something about being able to say, "Don't you love my sweater, it was only 12 bucks!" gives the the tingles.  This tendency towards prideful frugality seems to be genetic, a trait passed exclusively in xx chromosomes of my family line.  It has clearly skipped the men of my family, who think nothing of spending $15 on a single pair of tube socks (I'm talking about you, Chris, and your Thorlo's).

Not sure if it is because we grew up broke or because we grew up Mexican, but thrift stores have been a part of my life for a very long time.  If you're familiar with thrift shopping, you'll know what I'm talking about when I speak of the thrift shop "smell" that meets your nostrils the moment your foot crosses the threshold.  Last week, I was met with that familiar smell, and for the first time in my life, I thought, "ahhh, the stinky smell of my childhood."  It actually conjured a familiar, happy sensation.

How gross is that?

Anyway, last week, I decided I was going to hit the local shop and see if there were any treasures to be unearthed at the local Goodwill.  And I.  Hit.  Pay.  Dirt.

No joke, for a mere $11.93, I brought home all these treasures.

Can't wait till it warms up enough to wear this.

Who doesn't need a good thermal shirt?

This has beach camping written all over it.

A Free People shirt!  For 99 cents!

You can never have too many unique tees.

Ugly on the hanger, but super cute on.

Halloween is only 8 months away.  This dress screams Peter Pan.

Kids tap shoes?  Remember the part about how I love to shop?  Lucky for me I'm a tightwad.  Only 4 bucks!

The downside of thrift store shopping is that your sense of good taste can go downhill fairly quickly.  Kids' size 3 tap shoes?  Who on earth am I buying these for?  My 3 boys?  Not really.

Take this chair for example.  I love it in the same way a momma loves her ugly baby.  I see the beauty in it.

What's not to love?  This chair is GORGEOUS.

I got it at a thrift store in Santa Barbara.  My mom and I were taking advantage of my sister being under the knife to go hit a shop before she woke up.

Side note:  mom's are notorious for getting you to buy something you wouldn't normally buy for yourself.

I fell in love with the price tag on this chair ($4) probably before I even fell in love with the chair itself.  How could I resist?

Only after returning home, with a new chair in the back of the minivan, did I doubt my purchase.  I think the moment hit me precisely as I was unveiling my glorious find to BH.  For this is what he saw:

Vinyl covering, cheap finish, uncomfortable seat.

The look on his face said it all.  I believe he might've said something about a waste of money.  That's ok, I still love my chair with the good bones.  And BH is now banned from sitting on my chair.  Forever.

You know those people who have beautiful homes that are tastefully decorated with the perfect combination of modern and vintage?  Ours is not one of those homes. 

And you know those women who are always put together with amazing vintage tops paired with perfectly cut trousers?  I'm not one of those women either.

Ours is the house with the ugly thrift store chair I won't let go of and I am the lady at the grocery store with the thrift store tag she forgot to tear off. But it works me and mine.  

So if you happen to also be a tightwad who likes to shop, your local thrift store (or La Segunda, if you're hispanic (or the weedy-weedy, if you're hispanic and grew up in Oxnard)) might be the past time for you.  These places are a delicious, acquired taste.  You should get out there and try one some day.  

Just stay away from mine.

Rugers, STDs, and Public Transportation

How was my trip to Georgia, you ask?

It was pretty good.  Memorable, even.  I don't know if it was the Ruger flashed in the minivan or the STD comment made by the innocent boy-genius or the fall I took in the MARTA.  Whatever it was, a good time was had by all.

Notice that death-like grip?  There's a reason for that.

The "business" part of this business trip was nothing to write home (or on a blog) about.  Work is work.

In my usual (as of late) lazy blogger style, I'm going to bullet a few of the more interesting parts of the trip.

• LAX is a people-watcher's dream come true.  Did you know that there are still women out there with permed mullets?  Poodle in the front, Lhasa Apso in the back
• For some, 7:30 in the morning is not too early for a mixed drink :(
• Pitch Perfect is maybe the worst movie I've sat through in 15 years.  Not counting kid's movies, of course...I have no choice but to sit through those
• There IS such a thing as too much cheesecake
• Public transportation in Atlanta is scary; don't let anyone convince you otherwise
• You've got to try the public transportation in Atlanta at least once in your life
• The World of Coca Cola attraction in Atlanta felt like a huge rip off
• The CNN tour was fun, mostly because my expectations were low
• No one was interested in eating a peach while in Georgia, nor were they interested in singing Alan Jackson on the bank of the Chattahoochee.  Heathens.
• I learned that Twin Peaks and Tilt a Kilt are giving Hooters a run for their money
• I had a star sighting at ATL airport

No really, I saw the REAL Terrence Howard.  I also saw this sign of him.  Both times, our eyes met.

• Centennial Park looks a bit like a cemetery

Creepy, right?

• Worst Coke drink EVER is Beverly from Italy

Trust me.  This stuff is nasty.

• Buckhead has some nice buildings to photograph

I feel like this post could've been way more exciting, given the stories that have come from this trip.  Unfortunately, work is currently sucking every ounce of creativity out of me, which is odd, considering all I do is crunch numbers for a living.

Perhaps my next post will be more entertaining.

Every Office Has Its Secrets

My Georgia associates don't mess around.

Are The Peaches Really Better in Georgia?

I'm going to Atlanta next week for work.  Instead of blogging, I should be documenting the genius insights I will be imparting unto the gathered masses, but that would be no fun.  Instead, I'm going to share my thoughts on this upcoming excursion.

• BH is going to be on his own with our three terrors from Monday through Thursday night.  This means he is going to be stressed out about having to leave work more than an hour early every day so that he can get home with enough time to pick everyone up from after-school care.  Nothing takes the shine off a vacation, er business trip, more than knowing that my better half is going to be glaring at me when I return.
• The thought of walking through metal detectors in my bare (or socked) feet makes me queasy.  I wouldn't normally consider myself a germaphobe, but I can't help but wonder just how nasty that portion of the ground is. There has to be some research findings published on it somewhere.  If not, someone needs to find themselves a grant and get moving.  I suspect that, next to airport bathrooms, the dirtiest place in the world might just be the ground surrounding the metal detectors at LAX.  Honestly, I obsess over that path.  I'm considering taking a throwaway pair of socks.  Or two.  You know, for the return trip.
• My flight is at 6am, which  means the shuttle will insist they must pick me up at 3am.  That's gonna be rough.
• I'm traveling alone, which is good.  I prefer to travel alone.
• My coworkers and I are taking a tour of CNN when we get in.  I was inordinately excited about this excursion, mostly because BH is a CNN junkie.  When I got home to rub it in, his response wasn't exactly what I was hoping for:  

BH:  "I don't care about Altanta.  I want to go to CNN New York."

Me:  "There's no CNN New York, it's in Atlanta."

BH:  "Anderson Cooper is in New York.  That would be the good one to go to."

Me:  "What?!?  You're right.  You know you could've just let me have my moment."

BH:  "Hey, you were trying to rub it in, that's what you get."

Me:  "If you really loved me, you would've let me make you feel bad."

• Richard Blais from Top Chef has a burger place in Atlanta.  I'm doing everything I can to get the group to take me there.  The nutella and burnt marshmallow shake sounds like something I need to try before I die.

• I've saved the best for last.  Guess what river made world famous by a certain Alan Jackson runs through Georgia?  That's right, the CHATTAHOOCHEE!!!  Or "the hooch," as the locals call it.  I really don't know anymore about the Chattahoochee than what I've learned from listening to Mr. Jackson sing about it, but it's enough to have me weak in the knees at the thought of catching a glimpse of it.  Rumor has it, I may be disappointed, but how bad can it be with lyrics like this?

Way down yonder on the Chattahoochee

It gets hotter than a hoochie coochie

We layed rubber on the Georgia asphalt

We got a little crazy, but we never got caught

Pure poetry.

Pictures will be taken.  And maybe shared.

PSA: Move Over Sarah McLachlan

Starving children have Sally Struthers.

Abused animals have Sarah McLachlan.

Children and pets...these two segments of our society, the most adorable and deserving of protection, have, for years, been the focus of charity efforts.  And deservedly so.  They're innocent, filled with goodness, and vulnerable to the evils of this world.

But this post isn't about children or animals.  It's about a currently under-served, yet vital, productive member of our society.  These members are much loved and little protected from the abuse and risk that comes with their position.

 People, I'm talking about stuffed animals.

Stuffed animals are as adorable and as vulnerable as any puppy or baby out there, yet ZERO dollars are going towards the protection and welfare of these silent victims.

Often the perpetrators of such abuse are precisely those who we are devoting much time and resource protecting:  children and animals. 

I'd like you to meet Pinguino2.  Pinguino2 was little brother to Pinguino1 and older brother to Pinguino3.  Pinguino2 fell victim to Charley last night, after years of failed attempts on his life.  Pinguino2 and his family have lived in fear for their lives for years.  The constant abuse that he, along with his siblings, has faced is hard to even imagine.

Warning: the following images may be too graphic for young children.

This kind of fate is not uncommon for the many stuffed animals of the world.  Aggressive violence and blatant neglect at the hands of children and pets is rampant in the stuffed animal community.  

But you can help.

For as little as $5 a day, you can help build a safe, secure environment for this under-served population.  And with your donation, you will receive a photo and a personal profile of the stuffed animal you are adopting.

Meet George.  He was rescued from an abusive 18 month old.

 

Won't you please help the (stuffed) animals?

Children in the Workplace

I have a coworker who is a genius.  Well, technically he might not be classified as "genius", but he graduated from a top college at age 17.  And what took me 23 years to achieve in my career...well he's managed to do in 2 years.

He's 19 now.

And he's my peer.

At first, I thought, "oh great, just another slam to my already fragile ego...now I have to deal with a kid showing me that what I thought was kind of challenging work is actually something a trained chimp could do."

But he has grown on me.  And he really IS pretty bright.  So I don't feel so bad anymore.  

Sharing a cubicle wall with a 19 year old genius is exactly what I thought it would be like.

Too bad I can't share any stories with you.

Because he'll be my boss one day.

Q4 2012 Post Season Wrap-Up

Trying turkey neck for the first time.  Gag. 

Never trust the words, "You've never had them?  They're DELICIOUS."

 
Getting a family member to cry at the Thanksgiving table.  Sorry Mom!

Really?  I made someone cry AGAIN?

 
Going salt-free (a fate worse than death).

Low Sodium chicken broth?  Might as well be drinking water.

 
Rum cakes and polvorones.

World's worst baker, right here.

 
Family Time.

Crazy runs in the family.

Mental note:  Stop taking pictures with my 20 year old cousins.

Momma.

This would've been great if it weren't blurry.

 
Gift Exchanges.

Is anyone ever really happy with gift exchanges?

 
Discovering just how bad of a dancer I am.

 
Holiday eating.

BH and my three blessings.

I have no idea when M learned how to eat with chop sticks.

Now that's my kind of holiday spread.

I'm classically conditioned to salivate at the sight of Reynolds Foil.

Hope your holiday season was happy and filled with warm times.

Santa's Newest Reindeer

An Unconventional Holiday Gift Giving Guide

Gift giving season is upon us, and with that comes the dreaded holiday gift exchange.  Every year, I do my best to bow out of this annual ritual, but they cornered me this year.  So I'm Secret Santa to some poor shmoe, and some poorer shmoe is Secret Santa to me.  

The problem I have with office gifts is that they're usually so generic and impersonal that they hold no appeal to me.  Wine, Liquor, Coffee, gift cards.  That pretty much covers it.  I like to buck the system and gift gifts that I think are pretty cool.  Like one year I gave this glass head to a coworker.

I thought it was fun and could be used a myriad of ways.

It was returned within the week.  And now I'm known as the tacky gift giver.

I thought last year's gift idea was great too, but it didn't take off as I had assumed it would.  I guess my tastes are eclectic.  So for those of you who happen to think glass heads and bulletproof clipboards are fantastic gifts, here are some more from you, straight from my personal wish list that's posted for my Secret Santa at work.

Vinyl Place mats

Star Wars Car Decals

2013 Hamster Sports Calendar

Rainbow Brite Snuggie

Mythbusters Mug Set

Beard Beanie

Doormat

Star Trek Door Chime

Wampa Snow Scraper

Happy Shopping!

Allergic Shiners

Scene from an allergist's office:

Doctor (to the nurse, is taking notes):  "Lungs, clear.  Nose, pale boggy.  Eyes, mild shiners."

Me (to the doctor):  "He has shiners?  I never noticed them on him."

Doctor and Assistant (together):  "Oh yeah, he's got them.  See there and there?"

P (aka "the patient"):  "What are shiners?"

Me: "They're kind of like faded bruises around the bottom of your eyes, from allergies that affect your sinuses."

P (lightbulb going on):  "Ohhhh, those are shiners?  Mom, you have big ones, right there and there."

Me:  "Uh, no, those are just dark circles."

Later, while typing up this post... 

L (noticing my photo-editing):  "What are you doing"?

Me:  "Trying to give myself dark circles."

L:  "Why?  You already have them."

It's either laugh or cry in this family.

Teaching Art, Part 4: Monster Drawings

Last weekend, L checked out this book from the library:

He is ALWAYS checking out "How to Draw" books, and truthfully, I'm not a big fans of them.  They take all the fun out of winging it, with all those circles and squares, connected by lines and such.

But this book was different.  Instead of the typical routine, this book gave examples of different facial elements and body parts for the reader to piece together his own creation, in this case, a monster.  So when M saw the book on Saturday night and asked if I would draw with him, I said "Sure."

Have I told you before how happy I am to have all sons?  I don't know what I would've done if I had birthed a daughter.  Probably would've made a wreck out of her.

After a good 15 minutes of looking through the book, deciding on which nose to use and which eyes to make, we got to drawing.  This project had already gone 10 minutes too long, so I finished up fairly quickly.

M would have nothing to do with such marginal participation.

"What's it called?  You have to add more details.  And write some words about pumpkin pie."

So I named it and added more detail.  And wrote something about pumpkin pie.

M's masterpiece, while not a conventional monster, has a dark intensity that I like.

Mine is a little more by the book, which means, minimal creativity.  But the coloring is quite nice.

When L found out that we were having a grande old time drawing monsters with HIS book, he insisted that I go another round, this time with him.

Now any great artiste will tell you that a work of art (no matter how bad) takes a great deal of energy to create.  Fortunately, I am no great artiste, so I was game for Monster Drawing, Round 2.

So began another 15 minutes of perusing and planning for the perfect monster.  I played along, patiently.  And when I put my pen to paper, something odd happened.  It was as if my hand had developed a mind of it's own; inexplicably, it was now guided by a supernatural monster-drawing presence.  As if I was suddenly channeling the ghost of Picasso himself.  

What became an exercise in patience, turned into an exercise in fear, for this is what I scrawled.

Alright, so it's not Picasso quality, nor is it even all that scary.  But is was creepy enough to make me wonder what is going on my subconscious.

L's work of art was just that:  a work of art.