For the Dogs....

So I just shared with David a memory that I didn't even know I had. For those of you who would like to know MORE random little facts about me, here's a little story for you.

My mom used to have these friends in Little Rock named Rusty and Lois. Rusty had a ton of fish tanks all over his living room and Lois was bleached blonde and hopelessly thin. We spent a lot of our time there for about 6 or 8 months, then I never heard anything else about them.

I was probably only 10 or 11 when all of this took place, and my mom and Rusty and Lois would sit around the living room, talk a lot, and smoke a joint together. In heinsight, I should have been somewhere else, but I usually found myself in the middle of the room watching tv and catching hints of adult conversation here and there. We spent one fourth of July there and I almost caught their house on fire by lighting a roman candle (the one that shoots bright balls of fire) and aiming it upside down toward their bushes.

Anyway, one day we were spending time at their house and Rusty begins to talk about the "Dog Pound" club, or something like that. And they all had these incredibly cool nicknames, like TopDog and BigDog and BadDog. I wanted to be part of this club so bad. I also have no idea why I thought that this was cool, but again, I was 10 or so. I had badly permed hair and puffy bangs, and I coordinated green fold-down socks with green keds.

So in order to be part of the "Dog Pound" you had to eat dog food. I don't know how much, or why...but my mom told me that we could be so cool as some female-dog-name and "Pound Puppy". And we ate Milkbones as part of the initiation. I just ate a little piece, but my husband just found out that I have eaten dog food before. His response?

"Don't worry, I've tried one too."

"WHY?!" (I wanted to be cool and part of a group of middle aged stoners. What's his excuse?!)

"Just curious I guess...my dad did it first."

Parents are really bad influences.

Charred, silver linings

Praise the Lord that it has actually been above freezing for TWO DAYS IN A ROW. I still can't see grass in my backyard, but I know that it is just a matter of time before that groundhog doesn't prove he's a total punk.

To treat myself, I bought a lovely candle on sale last Friday from Urban Outfitters. I put it on my desk and try to drown out the smell of my coworkers favorite lunch, tuna and mayonnaise, as much as possible. This morning I cought some poor girl's application to the summer program that my department offers on FIRE. Again, this is something that only I can manage to do. I put it out with another important paper and now my desk is smeared with soot. Luckily I have some of those Lysol wipes in my drawer so I was able to hide most of the evidence. But the burned paper was a little undeniable. So I cut off the burned part (Luckily it was just the corner) and made copies. An obvious gray spot in the corner showed up in the copies. So I swallowed what little pride I hold on to and confessed to the mean German guy thatI work for that I cought it on fire. He didn't seem to care, but I think he suspects that I'm borderline retarded.

An Alternate Universe....

One where they advertise sonic to tease me. To mock me.

You see, sometimes I have these days when a pick-me-up is in order. It doesn't take much to do this for me. During college, my roommate Suzy showed me the endorphin releasing magic of Cherry Vanilla Coke (and only the sonic kind will do). I would have a monster final schedule, a bad hair day, and a 12 hour shift as a hostess to look forward to, but a quick trip to sonic would bring things back into perspective. Its like a rainbow in a styrofoam cup.

There are commercials for sonic, but I haven't seen one since I've been in Michigan. So I thought, "I'll just look at their website to find the nearest location." I would drive 45 minutes to go to an outlet mall on Saturday, and a trip to sonic would make it all the better if there happened to be one along the way.

But there isn't. In fact, there isn't a sonic for 15o miles. at least. The nearest one I found was in Indiana. I can't justify a trip to Indiana for any reason. I've tried.

There are great things about Michigan. They sell hard alcohol in grocery stores (Margaritas are now a one-stop option). There is snow consistently for Christmas. They sell soup everywhere. Lots of coffee and hot chocolate. Lots of diversity. Cool Music venues. Antique theaters. Beautiful scenery.

There are things I hold personally against Michigan. Like never closing down for snow. No HEB. No sonic. No mexican food. I can't ever wear flip flops. Or skirts. Or go sans-parka. No parking. Rediculous rent. I mean, this isn't California. It isn't New York. The closest major Metropolitan area is DETROIT. I don't want to pay $1000 a month for a one bedroom 45 minutes from Detroit. I want to be paid to live that close to Detroit. I'm scared to even visit Detroit. David went for a car show and said it was like stepping into a third world country. People are constantly getting shot.

Location, Location, Location?

Whatever

Cupid always lurks up...

So I blinked and Christmas turned into Valentine's Day, even while the month dragged on with sub-zero weather and snow everyday. And I realized the same thing I realize every Valentine's day.

I am a non-creative, sad excuse for a girl.

This is what I get for being romantically linked to the same person for 7 valentine's days in a row. So every year gets a little harder than the one before it. How do you let a guy know that he makes you a little bit better of a person every day? Chocolate? Unfortunately-this magical food doesn't do the same thing for boys that it does for girls, and to be honest, it only does it for me about once a month. It's delish, but doesn't quite do the trick. Flowers? Um. No.

I wrote letters a couple of years.

I made a book with illustrations (well, stick figures) one year.

I pretended I didn't care about the commercial holiday one year. I also happened to be lying that year.

Because Valentine's day is the one year when you are expected by everyone to publicly announce how amazing the person that you chose to be with actually is. Every other day, people think Oh just go get a room. Eliciting gagging isn't exactly what I'm going for, but lately I realize how rediculously much more considerate my husband is than I am.

Like if I am exhausted after being a peon at work for 9 hours straight, he leads me upstairs, tucks me in bed, and hands me the remote. Then he kisses my forehead, turns off the light, shuts the door, and leaves me alone until I emerge, two hours later, with sheet marks in my face.

On saturday mornings, he wakes up consistently at 9:30. He also consistently pulls the covers around me and lets me sleep until I feel guilty enough to drag myself out of bed. Then when I come down stairs, 50% of the time he is making something delicious for me.

5 days a week, he goes outside and starts the car so it is warm when I get in it. Even when it is negative nine degrees outside. Usually, these are the same mornings that he sweetly reminds me to go to work so that I can keep my job.

What says, "Thanks for letting me be a total sloth and still treating me like I'm worthy of being pampered"?

I mean really, sometimes I wonder why he doesn't send me back where I came from. I have good moments too, but I can be an utter brat. Lately, I don't really feel like doing anything unless it doesn't interfere with me sitting on the couch and watching 4 consecutive episodes of Friends. All of which I've already seen. At least twice. I also don't feel like going to work. I also think he should stay home from school and be a sloth with me. I also scatter all of the crafts that I have started on all over the area that was supposed to serve as an office. For now, I think of it more as a fabric/bead/yarn catcher. With a computer in the corner. See. He needs his head checked.

Maybe that's what I can get him for Valentine's Day...

I'm sure I won't get a multitude of responses, but do you have any suggestions?

My seasons are all jacked up....

This is my desktop right now. I have to think optimistically. Otherwise I'll run away to live with my friend Lucy in Hawaii. I mean, I still like the snow and all, but in my mind, snow = Christmas. holiday cards. Peppermint Mochas from Starbucks. All the way until the first week of January. But once the after-Christmas sales are over, I want to think about spring. Therein lies the problem. Spring is SOOOOOOOO far away. There is an inch and a half of snow on the ground. It's supposed to snow all week. Maybe longer. White valentine's day? Nonsense.

I'll go shopping to find more sweaters, since I've been wearing the 7 I own constantly since October. Do i find spring colored sweaters now that its 20 degrees outside? Nope.

Sandals. Skirts. Short sleeved shirts and halters. Bright new camisoles. BATHING SUITS.

Are you kidding me? I still look like the stay-puff marshmallow man. Layers upon layers upon layers. I can't even find winter clothes when I feel a little down. Only clothes that make me think about abandoning my loving husband and adorable puppy to live with one of my friends in Dallas. Oh, I realize that Texas has been under a little cold snap of its own, with snow and ice, but they have a light at the end of the tunnel. High in ann arbor: 29. High in Dallas: 45. High in Austin: 49.

Its supposed to snow and be gray until March. I'm starting to think about tanning beds. I'm looking into beach getaways. I don't know if I can do this for five years. I might have to go on anti-depressants or something.

BOO! I miss warmth. And sun. And the colors blue and green when they occur in nature.

Be forewarned. I may show up at your house and refuse to leave until the weather channel says the thermometers in Michigan have reached at least 60. I'm not even kidding.

On another note entirely...

David and I are now looking for a new apartment. Now, not only do we have to find one that allows Jack, has a washer and dryer and is reasonably close to Campus, but it also can not have stairs. Anywhere. Otherwise I might die.

Because I have a tendency to fall down them. Once head first, resulting in my head slamming into the wall and my elbow almost breaking the banister on the way down. Frequently on the way up, when I get ahead of myself and miss a step. Unfortunately, this one was witnessed twice in half an hour by Lizzy when she came to visit. And most recently, on my back the entire way down the stair case. My neck hit every step on the way down. I feel like I worked my back out with someone who recently won the strongman competition. So no more stairs. They're hazardous. If we buy a home, it can be ranch-style, sprawling across the neighborhood. Or david can install an elevator. Otherwise, I'm sleeping on the bottom half of the house.

On why I would be an amazing 50's housewife...

So if you have had any contact with me in the last 2 1/2 years you will know that I became obsessed with knitting and crocheting for anyone who thought it was as cool as I did (which was really only Erica, and so she got leg warmers and a thing to put her ipod in when I lived with her). Well, in following my new blog obsession I found a girl who used to go to A&M who was way craftier than I, and so I got inspired to try out some new crafts.

First, I bought a dishtowel from Target and made it into a waist apron. David and I cook a lot, and I thought this would be a good little project. David was a little confused about why I didn't make an apron with a bib (which in heinsight would have been very practical for my rediculously clumsy self) but I told him I really just wanted something to wipe my hands on. Plus the aforementioned crafty Texas girl had one and I must prove myself to be as good as she is. Even if I am the only one who knows it. It turned out really well, and I used it last night to make this amazing pot pie that I found on another Texas stranger's blog. I spilled flour all over my black shirt, but my pants stayed clean, Dangit.

Second, I learned to make earrings. I bought three different kinds of pliers and I am already a total pro. Okay, not a total pro, but I wear them in public and am not ashamed. They look like they could have come from Claire's. I'm working on other pieces of jewelry, and anxiously await the day that someone says "nice (insert piece of jewelry here)" so I can say "Oh, this? Thanks, I made it forever ago." Or keep my mouth shut but be very proud of my mad skills anyway. I tried to take a picture but it didn't work out so well.

Third, I made a baby blanket. It is my very first attempt to quilt anything larger than a throw pillow, and I did that when I was 7 years old with my aunt's supervision. But I'm proud of how it turned out. It is so adorable that I wish I had a use for it, but...well, I don't. But it was a good starter project, and it is made out of light green chenille. And now, I'm pretty much hooked. I'm going to drag David to the fabric store tonight to help me pick out fabric (the boy has way better taste than me, which makes me a little sad for several reasons). I'm so stoked, and that makes me mucho dorky.

This is how I rang in 2007. In Little Rock, with old friends and new redneck buddies, feeling grossly pre-pubescent next to my best friend and her work pal and their new, um... assets. And at some point I got annoyed with girls making me erase pictures that were PERFECTLY GOOD because they didn't like how they looked, and so I started sticking my tongue out in all of the retakes.

And everyone ran with that idea. Including Prachi, the guy probing my husbands ear with his tongue.

Christmas was really good, and although we packed on more than 3000 miles and my dog absolutely hates the car, I'd do it again in 6 months or so. 10 days in the car makes you space these little trips out you see. And since no one got me my s'mores machine, I bought one on clearance at Target for 7.50. I had to search all over ann arbor to find the fuel that makes it burn, but Me and David have had s'mores twice, and my heart is full again!

I've been inspired to learn to make a few new crafts, which I am positive will turn into obsession, seeing as how I spent almost a hundred dollars this weekend alone on pliers, beads, peices of cotton, and some polyester batting. I'm so stuck in the wrong decade.

But the best part, the thing I will look forward to all week, is that one of my friends from Texas is coming to see me this Thursday. I am still struggling to make friends with women my own age, and so a visit from Lizzy is just what I need. Especially since I want to quit my job by 10:00 a.m every day. I have to figure something else out. This simply can't be long term. Unless I find out that they will, in fact, reimburse my tuition after a year. Then I just have to suck it up, because being a secretary for 3 years it totally worth 75% off College. And I can do monkey-doo with my degree here, which is so discouraging. But, c'est la vie. Life's tough. Get a helmet.

I went to a church that I really liked yesterday, too. The music before the talk was really fun and kindof like being at a show in austin or something, and it is nothing but college kids, which could be an excellent opportunity to meet new people. It was really sad to me to figure out that one of the community outreach programs the church had was to go to local elementary schools and play games with kids when it is too cold to go outside. Where on earth has my husband brought me? Too cold for a little kid to not want to go outside and play in the snow? MADNESS! Me and my little sister would practically invite frostbite on the one day a year we were lucky enough to get an inch of snow. I remember losing the one pair of gloves I got during a decent snow fall and layering at least 6 pairs of socks so that I could make snowballs. Granted, it hasn't been that cold to me yet, but I have also taken to wearing yoga pants underneath my jeans or slacks and wearing 3 shirts at a time. I get cold when the thermostat isn't on 70, so I improvise. I like to look like this.


Oh, laugh if you want, kids on the playground, but my snowman will be bigger than yours, and if you try to beat me up, I won't feel a thing. HA!