Talking

I live alone.  Well, except for one dog, one cat, and one fish, I live alone.  And because I live alone I have gotten into the habit of talking out loud.  I'll talk to Bailey, Phoebe, the fish, my plants, the tv, and really pretty much anything else.  I also talk continuously in the car (mostly yelling expletives...). Yet, the majority of the time I manage to keep this talking in my head when out in public.  Although I have been known to keep the running dialogue going with Bailey on our evening walks:

"Really?  What would you do with a bunny anyway?  You don't need a bunny. Keep moving."

or

"Put that dead squirrel DOWN.  NOW!"

or

"Leave the cat alone...you already have a cat at home that you don't want anything to do with...let that one be."

That is where my talking to things ends in public.  But with school being out for the summer my talking has increased.  And it is getting a little bit harder to control.  An example would be at the gym.  Since I exercise alone and try my best to ignore everyone else around me (if I can't see them, then they can't see me doing my 10 lb. shoulder press...Wonder Woman, I know).  And then my brain slips back into all alone mode from out in public mode.

Like most gyms, mine has tremendous televisions lining the walls so that we can drown out our muscles and joints as they scream in agony.  Do you know how hard it is to keep my mouth shut during the Price is Right?  Especially when a girl won $10,000 at Plinko?

"You go girlfriend!  You show that Plinko board how its done!"

Oops...was that out loud?

Or during Who Wants to be a Millionaire....

"C!  The answer is C!  Moron.  Who needs to use a lifeline for that question other than a moron???"

Oops again. 

I thought listening to my iPod would be a better choice.  Wrong again.  What do you mean no one wants to hear a tone deaf girl try to sing Big Bang by Rock Mafia?  No fun.

So today in order to thwart my brain into silence I watched The Weather Channel.  And as a result, I paid more attention to every single pain inducing step and waited for my 30 minutes to be up.  Oh how I missed Plinko....

Ho'omake'aka

As part of my whole gym "experience" I have started taking some fitness classes.  I have done Body Flow which is a mix of Tai Chi, pilates, and yoga.  That one left me sore for two days (and we will just not mention the day I fell over trying to do the triangle pose...that's my little secret).  Next I tried the hula dancing class.  The instructor for this class is a native Hawaiian.  She is young, beautiful, a wonderful dancer, and as nice as she could be.  I tried to hate her, but I can't because she is so friendly.  She makes hula seem so easy...just a few butt shakes with some arm movements...and that's hula!  Since I have ample butt to shake, I assumed I would be a natural at this class.

I had forgotten my college experiences when I learned I had no rhythm.  In college, my sorority had "song practice."  During song practice, we would all gather together in the chapter room and practice our songs and chants.  I would always get corrected during the chants because I couldn't clap and chant at the same time...it was either/or.  I could chant but not clap or clap but remain silent.  If I tried to do both, my chanting would end up off and my claps would be the lone sound in the middle of the other girls' claps.  Big loud clap from the group - one little stray clap from me - big loud clap from the group, one little stray clap from me.  You get the idea here.

So it was with this inability to do more than one activity at a time that I entered the hula class (mistakenly assuming that there was a hidden hula girl me waiting to get out).  The first couple of slow moves I could handle and my confidence grew.  Then she picked up the pace and added arm movements.  I suddenly became a flailing disaster.  People were moving away from my spasms I was trying to pass off as hula.  But I made it difficult to move away from me because I also couldn't seem to stay in my spot.  I tended to wander forward, backwards, to each side with arms going every which way.  Just like song practice where I couldn't sing and clap simutaneously, I also can't move my legs, shake my butt, and wave my arms all at the same time.  I have to choose one movement and stick with it. 

I am also stubborn and went back to the class again.  I am convinced I will work my way up to the advanced hula class and be able to wear a grass skirt to perform at the local nursing home.  This one didn't go much better.  She had us walk across the room while shaking our hips in circles.  I could either master the hips or the walking...the two could not happen together.  While everyone else was shaking across the floor, I would take two steps, shake a little, take two more steps, and shake a little more.  At the end she tried to teach us an actual hula dance.  She broke it down step by step and we would practice.  I got it!  I actually got it!  I was so proud of myself!  Then, she put it to music and we had to do it all together.  I am surprised no one called 911 for the poor girl (me) have a seizure in the back.  I finally just stopped and stood there.  I figured no movements would draw less attention to me than the hula spasms. 

I'm going back on Thursday.  I am waiting for the day she pulls me aside and just asks me nicely not to return...

A dog's story

Bailey has been quite bored with me lately.  She has been quite mopey because she doesn't find cleaning the house fun.  All she does is lay around with these big sad eyes. 

Since I don't want my dog to hate me because I am not an exciting human, I took her to the park today.  She was so excited when we got there that she just barked "LET ME OUT!"  Or she may have been barking at the German Shepherd in the next car...who knows...she's a dog.



She ran straight for the water because what is my dog's favorite thing to do?  That's right, stink herself up with nature. 

After soaking herself in the water, we walked through the park.  And by walk I mean run in circles, stop to smell stuff, roll in stuff (because it was stinky), and chase birds.

After a nice stroll (or me being dragged) through the park, she jumped back in the water one last time to cool off.  Now that she was tired, wet, smelly, and happy, we headed home.  She was little more bright eyed and bushy tailed for the trip home.  A good stinky time always improves her mood.  Too bad my pics aren't scratch and sniff...

Due to the stench of the happy wet dog, she needed a bath.  And what is Bailey's least favorite thing to do?  Take a bath.  She loves water, but bases its fun value off of the smell rating.  Dirty creek water?  Fantastic!  Clean bath water with citrus shampoo?  Steer clear at all costs.  She refused to look at me in the tub...she either looked away or closed her eyes.

Then, to make matters even worse, the creature she despises the most (we know her as Phoebe the cat) tried to help Bailey dry herself.  Bailey just ran from hidey hole to hidey hole trying to escape the grooming habits of a very fastidious cat.  The humiliation was almost too much to bear.

I hope the horrors and shame of the bath/cat licking don't outweigh the fun at the park.  Maybe, just maybe, my dog loves me again.

Here we go again

I did it again.  I joined a gym.  This is the third gym I have joined.  I have also rejoined Weight Watchers (on a sidenote, my blog from WW that hasn't been updated in over 6 months now has 35 followers...where did they come from? and how do I get them here?). 

In between gym forays I took up running.  Remember how that ended?  With me attempting my first 10K, injuring my foot halfway through, and coming in dead last behind the 75 year old man with a limp.  I haven't run or walked for any type of exercise since.  So I bit the bullet and joined yet another gym.  They were nice enough to give me two free personal training sessions.  When I first met with her last week, she informed me that I had 62 lbs. to lose. My eyes widened and I explained to her how I tend to ignore crazy talk like that.  She just looked at me and asked me what my goals were.  My goal is to lose 10 pounds before the beach so I can fit in last year's clothes...that's it...no more.  Then she informed me that I was using the crazy talk this time.  She suggested I set an "event" that I can use as my goal.  Since she expects me to lose the the equivalent of a child by February, I told her I would sign up for the Disney half-marathon in January.  While I was on the floor giggling at my insane answer, she replied with total seriousness that I needed to sign up now because it sells out fast.  Um, yeah, not gonna happen.

So, because shopping is my favorite thing in the whole wide world (besides cupcakes...but that is what got me in this mess to begin with), my events are shopping events!  Yay!  I can barely wait!

So, for my first 10 lb loss, I can buy some new booksends.  Yes, I realize they are from Pottery Barn "Kids", but who cares?  They are the perfect little touch of whimsy for my home.

Now since I think I will actually lose 20 lbs when pigs fly, I thought a flying pig would be appropriate.  This is courtesy of Ballard Designs.

If I actually reach 40 lbs, I will allow myself this completely frivolous purchase:  Kate Spade Tidbit Plates.  Do I have many, many plates already?  Yes.  But do I have Kate Spade plates? No.  Therefore these are needed.

Lastly, if I make it to 60 lbs without killing myself, I can buy new glasses.  Did you know that Tiffany & Co. makes eyeglasses?  Neither did I!  Our local LensCrafters doesn't carry them and I would have to make a day trip to try them on, but I think they may be worth it.  Plus, February (if I manage to stick to the trainer-who-hates-me's schedule) will fall after tax time...absolutely fabulous.

Therefore, by my calculations, this endeavour should cost me about $550.00.  Still cheaper than entering a race I will never finish, plus travel money and hotel fees. 

Intruders (or just a lack of brain functioning)

When I was growing up my dad made us do "bed making practice".  We were expected to get our beds made every day before school and if we missed a day, our Saturday was not spent watching cartoons but instead making our beds.  We would make the bed, and then Dad would come in for inspection, unmake the bed, and we would go through the entire process again until he felt we had learned our lesson.  I think out of the three of us I had the most bed making practice sessions.  Therefore, you would think that I would be meticulous about making my bed now some 25 years later.  Not so.  I am lucky to make it out of the house fully clothed in the mornings, much less get my bed made. 

Then I starting thinking "What if I had an accident on the way to work in the mornings?  What if I died?  What if I ended up in the hospital for a long period of time?".  My mom would have to enter my bedroom and she would see my slovenly bed making habits.  I couldn't have my mom mad at me at my funeral for letting all of those years of bed making practice go to waste.  So I started making my bed again on a sort of regular basis (in other words, it is a good week if it happens twice).  Today was a good morning and the bed got made up.

When I got home, I went upstairs and was shocked to see my bed made.  "Who broke into my house and made my bed?" I thought, looking around my room in a panic.  I also wondered how they got past Bailey.  Then the thought fog slowly lifted and my feeble mind remembered that I was the one who had made my bed.  See...that's how unfamiliar I am with seeing a made bed.  But that would be a scary intruder, someone who would break in so they could clean.  If there were intruders like that I'd probably just keep my doors and windows unlocked in the hopes they would drop by. 

The time I almost died

The time I almost died was tonight.  I realize I have a tendency to exaggerate and over dramatize situations, but this potential death experience was real (in my head anyway).

I have this little closet under my stairs that houses the water heater, two artificial Christmas trees, my tool collection, every color of paint used in this home (and that is a lot), a ladder, a vacuum, more wrapping paper than any sane person should own, as well as a pile of wreaths for the front door.  Last week this smell started emanating from the closet, but sometimes it gets a weird smell, so I ignored it.  Today when I went downstairs, I noticed the smell had transformed itself into a full fledged stench and I was sure that some poor little critter had curled up in there to die.

I slowly opened the door, expecting whatever was in there to attack.  Then I remembered that I was looking for a dead something.  Dead somethings usually don't attack.  Unless it is a zombie...  My fear of finding something dead morphed into finding a little zombie mouse hiding out behind the water heater.  I figured that wearing flip flops while searching for zombie mice was not the best idea, they could pull my toes right off (and I just got a pedicure today!).  I briefly consider running upstairs to put on my wellies but rational thought wins out (and because I was already hot; rubber boots would not help). 

As I am searching for either dead or undead mice, a spider lunges forward in attack mode.  He lodges himself in the corner with his tremendous fangs ready to bite.  Luckily, I keep Raid spider killer on hand and I spray him.  It has no effect.  He just wipes it right off.  I spray him again; longer this time.  He starts to scurry a little but still doesn't die.  Isn't this stuff supposed to kill on contact?  I spray him four more times and he is soon sitting in a white, thick, oozing puddle of Raid.  I thought I would die from the fumes at this point but he still managed to wave a little leg in defiance before he succumbed.

I ran to identify him, and decided he was a brown recluse.  If he had bitten me I could have lost my leg! (well, according to google images anyway).

I am now sitting on my sofa paralyzed in fear.  I don't dare put my feet down for fear of zombie mice and brown recluse spiders.  Oh, and there are still some residual Raid fumes wafting about.  We are lucky I am still alive.......

PS - never found any dead critters

Full of big ideas

One of the best things about living with ADHD is that I am full of wonderful, big ideas.  One of the worst things about living with ADHD is the complete lack of follow through on any wonderful, big ideas.
There was the time I thought quilting would be fun.  Did I start with a small wall hanging like any other normal beginner?  Nope.  I started out with a tremendous bed sized quilt.  I loved buying my fabrics, going to quilt stores looking for inspiration, and I loved planning my quilts.  I just hated quilting.  I managed to finish two quilts, start on three different quilts, and buy enough fabric that I could open my own quilt shop out of my spare bedroom. 

Then I decided to paint floor cloths and sell those at the downtown market.  I painted 1.5 of those.  I currently have a trunk full of paint propping up the boxes of quilting fabric in the closet.

Now I am facing a summer without employment and decided I needed something to entertain myself.  I love to paint, but unfortunately I don't think I am very creative.  I can copy any one's work, but I can't come up with my own.  So I briefly thought about making millions through art forgery...but I would end up posting my own version of the Mona Lisa on here and then being arrested. 

So what is the big idea?  Pin cushions!!!!  I love to sew, but only small things because if the project is too big I get bored.  I love to match fabrics, but not enough to want to do another quilt.  I need something quick and easy that I won't wander off from halfway through.  But what should I do with many, many pin cushions?  Why sell them of course! 

I have bought all my little fabrics and embellishments and have managed to finish one pin cushion.  I also bought a book on how to set up my own business on etsy.com.  According to the book, I need a business plan, a way to do accounting, a business license, someone to file my taxes for me (I don't think TurboTax could get me through this one), a branding idea, apply for a state tax ID so I could pay my sales taxes in Virginia, a high quality camera for taking shots of my whisicle pin cushions on barn wood (a little homage to my fellow Regretsy readers), and then doing some difficult mathematical formula to determine a price.  I had already picked $10 out of thin air.  Apparently thin air isn't mathematical enough.  I also need to start a Facebook fan page (who will be a fan of pin cushions....really?) and start a crafting blog (not a blog full of nonsense like I already have). 

I thought I could just make some pin cushions and take pictures of them with my crappy break-up consolation prize camera and stick them up on Etsy and hoped they sold.  Apparently there is a little more to it than that.  I have already lost interest in my pin cushion idea. 

Now what?

Short post about nothing

So my sister invited me to an event next weekend.  Do you want to hear more?

Bingo-A-Gaga!

And what is Bingo-A-Gaga you ask?

It is a bingo night hosted by drag queens.  And how do you top that fabulousness?  You throw in the theme of Lady Gaga.  It should be a night filled with big hair, inch thick make up, and outrageous clothing (and men who look better in a slinky dress than I do).  And don't forget the bingo...it should be a night like no other.