Ahhh, lovin' the medicated life

*Disclaimer:  Since it has been two months since I last wrote a post, Blogger has changed their format and I can't figure a thing out.  It took me over five minutes just to figure out HOW to write a post...so it can only go downhill from here.

About two months ago (exactly when I quit writing) I was prescribed Zoloft for depression and anxiety.  I didn't realize how much my anxiety was affecting me until it was gone.  Suddenly, I could drive without screaming obscenities...I could visit the grocery store without my blood pressure shooting way up....I stopped wanting to punch just about anyone I talked to....I have stopped being all yelly at just about any customer service rep.  I am now calm and composed.  I am the honey badger - I just don't care.  Zoloft is magic! 

I have been enjoying the new me.  I am not a fake happy, I have just lost my scary edge.  But, it was my edge that also gave me my funny (ie - cynical) view on life.  Hence the lack of posting for a while.

Until yesterday.  I needed an eyebrow wax...desperately!  I stopped at WalMart two days in a row and they were too busy to do it.  Really?  That many people get their hair cut at WalMart?  Not really.  One day the employee was drying her own hair.  I don't know why.  I guess it was wet.  But I couldn't get my brows done because she was doing her own hair.  I didn't yell.  I didn't get sarcastically rude (which is often lost on the type of employee who would dry their own hair in front of waiting customers).  I just looked at her and left. 

I went to the mall and decided on a whim to go to the brow kiosk outside of Barnes & Noble.  Because I thought getting my eyebrow hairs yanked out with dental floss in the middle of the mall was a good idea.  The girl that barely spoke English took my glasses away and had me climb into the torture chair. 

She first offered to remove my moustache.  I tried to inform her I didn't have a moustache and she shoved a mirror in my face and pointed to absolutely nothing above my lip.  I assured her I didn't have a moustache and she started poking my upper lip.  I finally convinced her that I liked my invisible facial hair and she went to work on my wooly worm eyebrows.  As she was twisting the string around my eye area a guy walked up to the counter.  All I could see was a bald, mostly red blob. 

Reddish blob - "I can go out to my truck and get my lawnmower.  It'd make your job easier."

Girl who spoke little English - "huh?"

Reddish blog - "My LAWNMOWER!  Looks like you need it to tackle that job!"

By the time his comments made it through my Zoloft Shield of Happiness he had wandered off.   So now I had been insulted not once, but twice.  First by the girl insinuating that I had high testosterone levels and some stranger who thought it was appropriate to offer the use of his lawn care equipment on my forehead.

As I paid I asked the girl where the guy went.

Girl who spoke no English - "huh?"

Me - "The guy.  The lawnmower guy.  I want to know where he went."

Girl who barely knew what planet she was on just pointed out to the center of the mall.  I knew I couldn't find the comedian because all I knew was that he was fat and in a red shirt.  Along with about 10 other men within sight.  I don't know what I would have said to him if I found him.  But I knew it wouldn't be pretty. 

My edge was back.

Sewing/Craft/Cat Room Makeover

When I was first looking at houses, I wanted to have at least three bedrooms so that I could turn one into my own craft/sewing/painting studio.  I only had enough furniture for one of the bedrooms (mine) so I knew I would have the space available.

Then I moved into my three bedroom house and suddenly became the extra bed collector.  The rooms had furniture before I officially moved in... 

I turned one room into Phoebe's room (yes, the cat got her own room because I couldn't let the dog in there...so it just evolved into Phoebe's).  It has stayed this way for the past three years.

I started messing around on Pinterest and decided that I wanted a space of my own so that I can devote all of this non-existent time into crafty endeavors and make a million dollars by year's end.  So this is the room that Pinterest made:

The walls are Benjamin Moore's Sunwashed, a light peachy pink that gives them just enough color so that the aqua furniture stands out. 

My sewing desk is a "found" desk (I may have inadverently taken it...don't worry, it's not really stolen).  I sanded it down and painted it this color last summer.  It was just sitting in my hallway propping up knick knacks.  Now it has a new home.

The dresser is an antique that I found at a consignment store.  The drawers have been painted the same color as the desk.  And now my flip flop painting I did years ago has a spot!

My wicker chair is in the perfect nook to work on hand stitching or to just sit and relax in a clean room (I haven't had time to mess it up yet).  The picture on the wall are some of my "inspiration" pieces by Leigh Standley of Curly Girl Design.

I also put some shelves on the wall to hold my sewing box and other useful items.  I'm so proud of myself because I sort of measured and used a level instead of my typical eyeballing and then shrugging my shoulders when whatever I just hung up is crooked.  I'll recover the top of my sewing box at some point...

So that is my new creative space where I will create thousands of these little guys to sell in my new etsy store in order to pay off my student loans that went towards my latest degree I am currently not using.

Let me know if you need a pin cushion or two (or a hundred...).  

For the love of wild animals (March Issue of Bella)

I don’t have kids.  I have a dog and a cat.  And I should probably never have kids if my parenting skills were judged on my animal raising abilities.

The dog, Bailey, is the poster child for those bawl your eyes out commercials of adorable but sad puppies in shelters.  Never mind the fact that Bailey is overweight and has cushy beds in every room of the house.  According to the looks she gives me, I should be arrested and featured on “Animal Cops”.  Around 5:15 every day you would assume she was starving to death because I NEVER feed her.  She will lie down and look up at me with these big brown eyes that are just dripping with sadness.  Little whimpers of desperation escape her as she withers away before me.  She barely survives from one meal to the next.  When the longest fifteen minutes of her life have passed (dinner is at 5:30), she comes to life and skips into the kitchen after me (if dogs could skip…).  She alternates between jumping and barking as I fix her a big bowl of life saving food.  Her eyes are filled with excitement over a bowl of dry crunchy dog food.  And suddenly all is right with the world (until 7:30 anyway, that is her nightly Greenie time and we go through this whole ordeal again). 

Bailey is also a tormented pup.  She is a very submissive dog which I apparently take advantage of through various forms of abuse.  This abuse ranges from Halloween costumes (it was for a free day at doggie daycare) and bows around her neck.  I have even put a blanket over her head to test her canine IQ (the faster they manage to get out from under the blanket the higher their IQ).  Whenever I do anything to her, she hangs her head and slinks down to the ground.  Then she lets out a heavy sigh of resignation and just lays there.  I think she believes that if she stays there motionless for long enough I will leave her alone.  I guess this means her IQ is either in the negative numbers or off the charts because she is smart enough not to play my silly games.

But Bailey is not the only one whose life I have in my hands…there is also Phoebe the cat.  Phoebe came to me as a stray that was too young to feed herself.  I had to bottle feed and then wean her.  I essentially saved her life and she understands that.  I know this because whenever I leave the house she thinks I have left her for dead.  I am her only hope for survival. In order to escape the loneliness she will gnaw on her tail like a fox chewing through its tail to escape the trap.  I can typically leave her for a weekend but anything longer requires supervision. 

I recently returned from being away for two nights.  Phoebe greeted me at the door waving her bloody stump of a tail in excitement.  And because she had run her tail against the walls, my house looked like a Barbie-sized crime scene.  I was hoping Horatio Ken did not appear to try to arrest me in Miami Barbie CSI’s pink Hummer.   Phoebe ended up losing part of her tail and is now on kitty Prozac that I rub on her ears each night.  Hint: when the pharmacist tells you that you must wear latex gloves when applying the medicine to make sure that none enters your bloodstream; don’t say “Do I have too???”

Truth is I love my wild animals.  They make my life more fulfilling and I can’t imagine life without a little zoo in it.  There are definitely some days that make me question my caretaking abilities.  Bailey and Phoebe may be a little neurotic, but we are a little family.  I would imagine that parents feel the same way, not always sure of what they are doing but offer lots of love and support.  Maybe I wouldn’t be such a bad parent after all.

Be happy with your single self...

When I first learned that this issue was all about weddings, I struggled with what I should write about.  As a sometimes cynical (ok, mostly cynical) still single woman in her mid-thirties, I didn’t want to take the Bridget Jones route and quote divorce rates.  I didn’t think all of the wedding planning advertisers would appreciate me advertising for divorce lawyers.  Then I thought about giving advice on how not to be a bridezilla on your wedding day (such as “Who cares that your future mother-in-law is wearing white?  No one will confuse her for you….the BRIDE!”).  I assumed that the readers preparing for the beginning of many years of wedded bliss would not appreciate my thoughts.  

                Instead I decided to write something for the singletons out there.  A magazine full of happily ever after may inspire some women to dream about their future, but other women won’t read it because nothing applies to them. I’m writing for those women.  And I am writing my story.

                My last long-term relationship ended just over a year ago.  The relationship wasn’t bad, but it just wasn’t quite right either.  I couldn’t stand his family; my family couldn’t stand him.  It was a match not made in heaven.  I stuck with it because I figured he was good enough.  I thought this was my last chance at marriage and a family.  When we split I didn’t spend months mourning him, instead I mourned my dream of being a wife and mother.  I envied others who had found someone to marry.  Their lives seemed better than my own.   I wondered what I was doing wrong since I was still single. 

                I have been out on dates over the past year but I just wasn’t interested in anyone.  Instead of looking for another Mr. Almost Right, I did some soul searching.  A friend once told me that I shouldn’t judge my own life on traditional standards.  It took me a long time to realize she was right.  Just because I am not married with children yet does not make my life any less meaningful.  A husband does not equal happiness.  I’m not saying that people who are married aren’t happy (so save the hate mail for now) but that it is possible to be happy without marriage.  I can also do things a little out of order and I don’t have to wait on a husband in order to become a mom.

                I recently read an essay written by a woman about my age who had overcome cancer.  She said that before her illness she longed for becoming a wife and a mother.  She felt incomplete without those things in her life.  After she was diagnosed she realized that she was lucky to call herself a daughter, a sister, and a friend.  I am glad that it didn’t take a life threatening illness for me to understand the same things.  I too am a daughter, a sister, a friend, and the proud mom of Bailey and Phoebe (my two wild animals).  I am comfortable with who I am.  Marriage may be in my future but then again it may not be.  I have come to accept that.  It doesn’t mean that my future dreams have died; it just means they have changed. 

                Therefore my advice to you is to accept who you are and the path your life may take.  Consider your life whole before you decide to share it with someone.  Believe that who you are is enough.   Oh, and if you are planning your wedding, please don’t try to convince your bridesmaids that they can wear their dresses again.  They can’t.  Butt bows will never be fashionable. 

I'm not that hard to find...

Shortly after I moved into my home, I had a man who would drive his black BMW down my street and park in front of my house.  He would stay there for 15-30 minutes and then leave.  He would come at different times of the day on different days of the week.  I didn't think a man in a BMW would be all about robbing a poor first-time home buyer so although I found it curious, I didn't worry.  Plus, I let Bailey bark all ferociously at him so I assumed I was safe.  Bailey can be 60lbs of menacing spaniel.

Remember when I was afraid that I owed the US Department of Education a truck load of money?  If not, read about it in this post.  Turns out it was due to a clerical error (which has been corrected) and the small fact that the DOE lost my address.

When I called the DOE (repeatedly) and finally got to talk to someone who didn't hang up on me they told me that they had used "skip tracing" to find me.  I didn't think much of it and assumed that "skip tracing" was just fancy term for "overpaid federal government temp who knows how to use google".  I haven't tried to hide.  A quick internet search and someone can find my home phone number, my address, how much I paid for my house (courtesy of local GIS websites), where I work, my blog, my nonexistent tweets, my Pinterest pins, and my LinkedIn profile.  In addition, I figured someone who had access to my Social Security Number (such as the FEDERAL GOVERNMENT) could find something called a credit report which lists all of my addresses.   

After the small clerical error was cleared up and it was discovered that I did not owe the money, I forgot about the entire ordeal.

And then I started reading Janet Evanovich's mystery novels about a bounty hunter.  If you haven't read them, a movie is coming out this weekend (with Katherine Heigl as Stephanie Plum.  It has "Academy Award" written all over it.  I'll go see it anyway).  Stephanie becomes a bounty hunter and refers to herself as a skip tracer.  And her mentor, Ranger, drives a black BMW.  My few misfiring neurons started to make some connections....these characters were skip tracers.  The government had hired a skip tracer for me.  I had been staked out by a man in a black BMW.  Ranger drove a black BMW. 

THE GOVERNMENT HAD HIRED A FICTIONAL BOUNTY HUNTER NAMED RANGER TO STALK ME!

Great use of your federal tax money.  Much easier than Google....right?

Copious Notes

I love Sears, I really do.  Not necessarily for clothes, but I love tires, tools, appliances and electronics.  I am even the proud owner of a Sears Platinum MasterCard.  Ooooooo....jealous?

Because my brain is akin to scrambled eggs (I joke that if I ever get dementia no one will be able to tell the difference) I screwed up my payment to Sears this month.  I underpaid by $28.  My fault. 

Their first phone call alerted me to the mistake and I went online to correct it.  I was going to pay my $28 and lose my current "deadbeat" status.  Only their site was being upgraded and I couldn't pay.  Why is it that whenever I owe someone money immediately they decide to revamp their website?  I'm talking to you Department of Education, Verizon, and Sears.

So I called the next morning to pay over the phone.  Only their phone system couldn't take payments at that time.  I asked the nice lady in India to stop with the automated "you're a loser" calls because I would pay up at the store.  Which I did; I hauled my butt out to Sears and paid the $28 plus late fees.  I then called India back and my account was current.  Whew!

Except their automated phone system could not be turned off.  I received 4 calls from Sears yesterday asking for their money.  I began to call Sears back after every call.  I figured that if they were going to harrass me over my now current account, I would harrass them right back. 

India:  "I'm sorry for the inconvenience.  I'll make a note to stop calling."

Me:  "Notes don't work.  I'm still getting calls.  The last guy said he left a note."

India:  "Uh, yes.  I see you have already called today....three times?  I'll make a note for the calls to stop."

Me:  "Thank you.  And I will call you after every phone call I receive.  Hopefully I'll get you every time.  Let's see how many calls it takes until it gets old."

India:  "I'm sorry for the inconvenience.  I'll make a note to stop calling."

Me:  "You do a great job of reading a script."

India:  "Thank you.  Can we please get your cell phone number so we can reach you there as well?"

Me:  "Are you insane?"

I recieved another call this morning.  So of course I called Sears back.  This time I got a guy in Idaho who did not have a set of postcards with scripted responses. 

Idaho:  "Um, I see where you called yesterday.  Multiple times.  There are copious notes here." 

I was just impressed that he used the word "copious" in a sentence.  He promised me the calls would stop and apologized for ruining my beautiful Sunday.  He also asked me to stop calling because it took their automated system about 24 hours to stop.  He said I should not receive any more calls after noon today. 

I guess this is yet another company where my file says "CRAZY!!!"

Almost domestic diva

I recently became part of the black hole community known as Pinterest.  I call it a black hole because it just sucks you right in and you can't get out.  On the bright side, my creative juices have really been flowing since joining and here is my first creation inspired by pins.

I first saw this scarf...

I read through the tutorial found here and decided that I could do that.  I was drawn to this scarf because of the flowers and it looks all frilly and girly.

Then I started looking at other scarves and found this one which I liked even better. 

This one seemed even easier!  If you like this one, read through the steps here.  Both scarves are based off of one found in Anthropologie, and you just can't go wrong with Anthropologie!

I decided to make a hybrid of the two, I took the second scarf's design and added rosettes to it like the first scarf.  According to the directions for scarf two, you used elastic thread to gather it.  I read through the comments and everyone just loved working with elastic thread and just gushed about how easy it was. 

They lied.

I bought my fabric.  I wish I could tell you what I bought, but I just bought some gauzy white fabric.  Unfortunately I bought all that JoAnn's had, so I couldn't find it again if I wanted to.  I wanted to dye it purple, but once I got into the rainbow of RIT dyes, I went with aqua.  I went a little out of order and dyed my fabric before sewing the scarf in order to make sure my rosettes would be the same color. 

I wound my bobbin with the elastic thread and did a few test runs on scraps.  It worked ok so I started on my scarf.  My first row had the elastic so tight my 3 yard long scarf was shortened to about 12 inches.  Not quite long enough to around my neck.

I tore all of that out and tried again.  And again.  And again.

Finally, when I was about to give up I got all of my sewing machine settings right and made one row with elastic thread.  I went to sew row two and made it about 1/3 of the way down and my bobbin ran out.  There was no way to finish it off and start where it ended so I tore that out too.

I went through this two more times. 

This little scarf took an entire spool of elastic thread.

I then searched for ideas for my flowers and ended up on this website. 

I made three flowers which I attached on one side of the scarf.  I think it turned out fairly well. 

Yes, that is hanging on my front door.  I couldn't find anywhere to hang it...and it is a well known fact that I can't do self portraits.  I am not a very good photographer and I don't have a pretty dress form to hang it on, so you get a nice shot of my yellow front door. 

I may add more flowers.  I may not.  All I know is that I love my new scarf!  I can't wait to get into my next project...