I love our new apartment. I really do (pictures coming soon). It's very pretty and brand new, not to mention a hell of a deal rent-wise. Also: Bryan and Lara are moving RIGHT NEXT DOOR. Supreme awesomeness, yes? Well, almost.
You see, there are some issues with our new apartment, some of which I've discussed before. The screen issue has been amended, the air conditioning one has not. Which is okay at the moment, since I'm still rocking the heat set at 70 (because that's as high as Blake will allow me to set it) and about five blankets when I sleep. Thus, I do not consider this to fall under the category of "pressing." What I do place in that category, however, it the complete and utter infestation of SPIDERS that have invaded my dwelling.
Which is so not okay.
I am not a sissy. Really, I'm not. I like to camp and be one with nature and shit. Really, I do. When I fish (which is not often, trust) I can bait my own hook. Really, I can.
But things that crawl on me without my permission are, in a word: unacceptable.
The other night as I was laying in bed and Blake was brushing his teeth, he came in the bedroom (which is actually the office but is currently being used to sleep in because we still need to move my bed from the old place to the new place...convoluted, I know) to say something to me with a mouth full of toothpaste. Instead of instituting the intended conversation, his eyes darted to the wall above me, grew to the size of Wiley Coyote's right before Roadrunner dropped an anvil on his head, whispered "don't look up", and exited the room. So what did I do? I looked up. Of course I looked up. Wouldn't you look up? Except I really wish I hadn't. Because about two feet above my head was some sort of creature with approximately 5263 legs and all sort of grossness. I, of course, froze in fear (I chose not to scream because we've got neighbors and I'm polite like that) until Blake returned with a wad of Kleenex to dispose of the freakish beast*, at which point we discussed how it could've entered the apartment and the possibility of it's friends following suit. This did not please me. *He also plunges toilets. I think I'm in love.
Granted, our unit is "garden level" (aka half basement), so creepy crawlies are logically more apt to finding their way inside than they would be in apartments that are totally above ground. However, as I mentioned before, it's also brand new. This means that there should be no cracks in the dry wall or foundation, and therefore a very slim chance of outside intruders. It was during this conversation that we made a discovery: an uncovered electrical outlet on the ceiling. Perfect portal for arthropodic foes. And don't try to tell me that the cats will protect us. Presley is fat and lazy. And Kitty is way more interested in her catnip mouse than defending me from insect attackers.
Needless to say, I felt like I was being smothered by bugs all night. It was like a bad episode of "Fear Factor."
And then... AND THEN As I was typing this post a few minutes ago, I happened to look up (what is it with me and looking up? Why must I always look up? Ignorance used to be such bliss) and saw another enemy...spider this time...chilling out on our ceiling. Naturally, I enlisted the aid of my former defender, who told me I would have to wait until he finished the game of Halo he was tied up in. So valiant, he is. It was during this waiting period that the spider decided to shimmy down it's little thread...directlyinto the ceiling fan. It never knew what hit 'em.
Now, there are either spider guts all over my bed, or a very pissed off and possibly paraplegic arachnid lurking somewhere in the dark corners of my bedroom, plotting his revenge. Tonight is going to be awesome.
Edit- I went to climb into bed (heavily medicated, of course) just now, and discovered this hiding underneath the covers:Shortly thereafter, I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water in order to calm my nerves, and this was waiting for me in between the refrigerator and the wall:
Blake wants everyone to know that it was the best $1.99 he's ever spent. Previous statement of love and adoration = retracted.
So, I will preface what I am about to write by saying that I am not a mother. Not unless you count my cat (plural now that I am cohabitating with another person), but I don't get to count him as a tax deduction so for our purposes today he will not be considered my offspring.
No I'm not a mother. But I know mothers. I have a mother. And I love mothers.
Occaisionally, I read Mommy Blogs even though I'm not a Mommy Blogger. I also hate the term "Mommy Blogger" because I think it's slightly derogatory. Like, "Oh, is that all you do? Raise children and write on a blog. Hah." Do not mistake, people: keeping up with a blog is h-a-r-d. I've heard that raising a child can be mildly challenging, as well. So the combination of the two is most likely somewhat of a task.
I guess I read blogs written by mothers because it moves me to see how much one person can be inspired by something that they love so deeply. They paint such a clear picture of the beauty and depth of this world, even though this world seems very ugly and shallow at times.
She was my first foray into the world of Mommy Blogs. I found her little piece of the internent though a link on MSN (of all things...this was back in the days when MSN was my end-all, be-all of popular culture...gross) that was part of an article describing her horrific crash and how the world rallied around her after news of it got out; people donated money, food, gifts, time...anything that they could contribute.
I am, despite my sarcastic and sometimes cynical hard-candy coating, a gooey-centered individual with a penchant for human-interest stories. This little blurb drew me to Stephanie Nielson's blog, and into her beautiful life.
From there, I found her sister Courtney's blog that narrated her own life as a mother of one small child, and then as mother to her sister's four children while their parents were recovering from their injuries sustained in the plane crash.
All of these women have children, yes. But make no mistake: they are not defined by being mothers. They are defined by the person motherhood has made them become. Each and every one of them discusses often and at length the changes having children in their lives has brought upon them. It's difficult, yes. There aren't any lies about how seamless and easy motherhood is (I know this because I babysat every kid on my parents block...maybe it's not quite the same but it's my only point of reference here). But being around young, inexperienced minds seems to add a different sort of clarity to life.
Maybe I'm just a big dork because of all this. Whatever. There's a point to what I'm saying.
A few days ago, Melinda from Anything Said wrote a brief post about how Shana from Gorillabuns had tragically lost her infant son, Thalon. As I read the original post, the comments, and all the subsequent posts linked to the first, I started to cry (yes, at work again. Lara is going to fire me). Like I said, I realize I'm not a mother. But when I think about how I would lay down in oncoming traffic for Sophie and Ethan, who are my cousins and NOT my children, it proves to me that the power of being a parent is real and not just something people make up to project an image of domestic bliss.
And it is with this thought in my head that I cannot even imagine what it is like to be Shana right now. I don't know her. And she sure as hell doesn't know me. I've never commented on her blog or linked it or officially followed it or anything like that. It was just a peek into a life that didn't belong to me, narrated through a funny and intelligent voice. And that's the other thing: I think everyone expects mothers, particularly ones with small children to be all about Gymboree and diapers and graham crackers. But read these blogs and you will be amazed, as I was.
The problem I've always had with organized religions is that many of them put their faith in one entity. Which I'm sure gives people comfort, but is also really scary if you think about. One being. One being for all these people. I know that God or whatever you choose to call it is supposed to be omnipotent and doesn't make mistakes. That there's a big plan and everything happens for a reason or whatever. But a plan that involves taking someone's child away from them? A plan that causes someone so much emotional pain they can't breathe? A plan that allows someone to create a life through love and happiness, bring it into this world, only to have it taken away from them before they really had a chance to show it the full measure of everything this world has to offer, thereby leaving this person to feel like they've done something wrong?
That is a plan I cannot support.
Because the point is that bad shit happens. And sometimes there's nothing we can do about it. More often than not, the awful things that happen to us make us stronger and more determined people. But sometimes...sometimes the things that happen to us are so painful that they don't make us stronger. They tear us apart and we're never completely whole again. When we did nothing to deserve them. And there are those who would try to tell me that something planned for all of this? That there's a bigger scheme out there that involves to total and utter destruction of a person's character?
How is that fair?
Oh wait. It's not. Not to Shana, not to Thalon, not to anyone who has ever had to deal with the kind of pain that only that kind of loss can bring.
I know that this is usually a venue for me to sit and talk about how I ate too many cookies or my car blew up or something like that. But occasionally, it becomes necessary for me to say these kinds of things. Because they're important to me, and they should be important to you too. I'm not trying to offend anyone (all four of you who are reading this). Sometimes, certain things just need to be said. And quite often, I'm the one saying them even though I probably shouldn't.
Why do cute shoes always mangle my feet? I feel as though everytime I find a really cute pair, the rip my feet up. It's not fair. I bet if I could afford Manolos like certain New Jersey socialte/nannies/lawyers/bloggers that I am aquainted with, my feet wouldn't look like raw hamburger. Raw hamburger covered with bandaids.
Why do married men hit on me? And only married men. Swear to Jeebus. Like I give off some sort of "irresponsible and a good potential midlife crisis candidate" sort of vibe. It's very weird and confusing. Anyone else have this problem? Probably just me.
Why do Peeps taste better stale? The only food in the world that falls into that category. Also very weird and confusing.
What the F is up with this weather? Stupid April. It supposed to be warm. And stuff. This is not conducive to my cute dresses and sandals plan. Time for Plan B. Except for too bad I don't have one of those. So, let's get with the program. Do you hear me, Spring?
Ugh. Time to go move more shit.
In other news: WE GET INTERNET TOMORROW!
Sooo...maybe I'll be doing some posting from home?
I would buy everything in this store. But I don't, so I can't. Maybe just one or two or five things. I know I just cleaned out my closet, but whatever. (I'm not listening to you Lara....lalalalala....can't hear you) Until such time as I can afford to support Keiko monetarily, I will support her by reading her blog. Doesn't she seem like a really lovely person? I'm kind of jealous of how cute she is, too.
I wrote a post some time ago about how I am a total bibliophile and have this need inhale books that way humans need oxygen. At this moment in time, my reading list is a little pathetic and depressing because we're moving (still...even though we've been paying rent since the 5th and are STILL NOT TOTALLY MOVED IN...that's why the Universe gave us Easter Sunday. Sort of.) and I have no time to sit down and actually read. I'm also so overwhelmed with everything that is going on right now that I've come to a point where I can't really muster any enthusiasm for reading. Which is weird. Especially for me.
I think I need to add some more books to the list.
My Antoniaby Willa Cather: it's Gramma's favorite book. Therefore, it deserves a place on my list.
The Pigman by Paul Zindel: this one happens to by my Mom's fave. Which is strange because it's so...depressing. Everyone is dead. Ruth is not a depressing person by any means, so what the hell? Despite the oddness to it, the book is still very powerful. I remember reading it in 7th grade and crying all the way through it. But, that's what I do sometimes.
Before I change my mind, someone needs to take these away from me so I don't injure myself:
Anyone remember Dunkaroos? We should petition to bring those suckers back. I could go for some frosting and kangaroo-shaped graham crackers right about now.
We get to move into our new apartment (score!) On Easter Sunday (not score!) But hopefully we'll be done by the end of this weekend (maybe score?) Which would be grand.
If you haven't already, you should probably play yourself some Peggle.
I just discovered this wonderful site. It makes me happy. Most fabulous.
After work today, I am getting myself the biggest, most giganticist pear martini in the tri-state area. It's gonna be swell.
Oh, and sushi too.
Stumbled across this little article. I give an enthused, wholehearted *thumbs up* to the first and third. I am always on the lookout for good date ideas. Because that is my job. Much like Blake's job is to move all of our heavy stuff.
We all make them. Some of them involve too much tequila or a second cupcake or the color mauve. All of which I of course know nothing about. Some of them are a little more serious. Some of them have a profound effect on the rest of your life.
My choice tonight was none of that. It was purely self-indulgent and the result was something along the lines of me getting the sh*t freaked out of me. Which is really productive when you're in a big building all by yourself, you know, at night and stuff.
Sometimes when I work these overnights I watch movies or television shows on websites that stream media. I don't download anything- I just watch stuff that's readily available. As of late, I've kind of been on a "WB shows of my adolescence" kick. I just finished the first season of "Rosewell", and tonight I decided to see what "Supernatural" was all about. I guess you could kind of say that my television show tastes while working fall into the same category as my reading habits (see: Cullen, Edward): teenage girl.
I will admit that I've always been something of a scaredy-cat. I couldn't watch "ET" until it was re-released when I was, like, 17. "The Leprechaun" scarred me for life and to this very day I cannot watch it or even look at Warwick Davis without experiencing chills up my spine. This made viewing "Harry Potter" a little difficult. The giant mole-thing from "City of Ember" still give me nightmares. And I saw that movie a mere two months ago. Basically I have little to no tolerance for things that are even remotely unnerving.
So...and why did I choose to watch a show entitled "Supernatural" again? One would think that a show whose title pretty much implies that it has everything to do with ghosts and demons and monsters would send up red flags all over the place.
No so much.
I suppose I figured that I could handle it. After all, if I can survive living in a studio apartment with 96876 boxes, a single bathroom, two cats, and one cranky boyfriend, I can probably deal with any daunting thing that the worl has to offer. Besides, how scary can a show birthed from the same network which spawned the likes of "Dawson's Creek" and "Popular" really be? Apparently very. At least for me.
Don't believe me? Let's just say... There's a security guard from the main hospital on his way out here right now to check the building for anything ghost-oriented.
So, we got the keys to our new apartment today. Yup, that means it's official. I'm living with a boy. Heaven help me.
I'll post some pictures real soon. I will say that the apartment? Super-cute. Lara and Amber died when they saw it. Marie saw it too and I think she liked it, although her response was a little more subdued. She's more of the strong, silent type (yeah right).
Comcast (aka the devil) is coming to set up our cable and internet tomorrow. So, that's good. We have dark cherry hardwood floors, polished porcelain tile, brand new cabinets, and granite counter-tops. Also good. Except for there is no rod for the shower curtain, shelves in the linen closet, bars in the clothes closet in either bedroom, no screens on the windows, and no A/C unit at the moment. Bad. Blake=a little peeved. Especially since this was all supposed to be done, and we even told our landlord that we didn't mind waiting to move in until everything was finished.
On the bright side, we don't have to live in my teeny weeny studio anymore. Which is cool, because we were getting ready to kill each other. Blake claims that I was the only one getting annoyed with the living situation and that he was perfectly calm the whole time, but I know that deep down he really did want to punch me in the face just like I wanted to punch him. Small living spaces plus a crapload of stuff are not conducive for healthy relationship communication. It leads to dumb disagreements like whether or not the Barack Obama poster should be in a frame or not (answer: no, it should not because framing it defeats the purpose of having it in the first place...it's supposed to be grassroots, not wall art). I'm very excited to not have to live like that anymore. Can you tell?
In other news: I just bought this. I'm really excited for it. It's a custom lisitng from Etsy seller HotButter. Her name is Ashley and she's really nice and obviously very talented (she designed and made it herself!). Originally, she'd made red ones around Valentine's day which I'd come across in my Etsy travels and thought were really cute. Bored at work one day, I was browsing my favorite items for a new make-up bag because the one I have is approximately 5 years old (maybe more) and I was in need of an update. I sent her a message asking her if she could use the same design concept but with purple and voila! Image courtesy of HotButter. Supreme awesomeness. Thanks Ashley!
Swear to Zod, Etsy is like crack for me. Seriously. Affordable, handmade items that support independent artists? It's almost guilt-free. And, you can find pretty much anything on Etsy. Like, if I see something (example: a piece of jewelry) that I love but it's super expensive, chances are that there will be something very similar, if not EXACTLY like the original item. I've also found some incredibly unique pieces on there.
Like this little beaut. I have to admit, I was a little skeptical at first. But I've worn it several times and I love it. I get compliments on it every time I wear it. cookoorikoo has other ones in different colors. I might be buying another one. And by might...well, we all know that that means.
You should also know that I just went back and added about six more to my favorites. Because they're just so darn cute.