tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83105130498800910702024-02-19T03:48:16.875-06:00neverthelessElizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comBlogger271125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-10785861126731980992012-04-04T09:58:00.000-05:002012-04-04T09:58:09.574-05:00MinutiaI've not moved. I kind of want to, but every time I think of some super clever and unique name for a new blog, I check and find out it's not unique at all. And so here this poor, lonely neglected page sits... untended.<br />
<br />
I still like my new job. Did I ever tell you guys what I do? I don't know if I did, and I'm too lazy to go back and read. I work in the marketing and communications department for a school district. Newsletters, course catalogs, social media, etc. I get to write some, edit a lot, and do graphic design. The first big community education catalog that I did won a statewide award. Neat, huh?<br />
<br />
I'm doing the couch to 5k thing. I hate it. I hate running with a burning passion. But, I've been told that a certain amount of exercise is good for you.<br />
<br />
Lucas got his white belt in Kung Fu last week.<br />
<br />
Merry will be five next week. <br />
<br />
I've fallen down the Pinterest rabbit hole. Such an intoxicating time suck.<br />
<br />
I broke my left fuck you finger and it healed all crooked.<br />
<br />
I got a juicer. Last night I made vegetable juice with beets and it looked like I had juiced a small rodent with all the blood red juice and discarded pulp. <br />
<br />
I've had this song stuck in my head for nigh on a month now:<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/FmNH8ngjGTU" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
It almost makes running fun.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-42891039454297115202012-01-16T08:47:00.000-06:002012-01-16T08:47:48.727-06:00Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-badI woke up bad today. Bad like my everyday makeup of tinted moisturizer and mascara looks like clown makeup on my bad face. Bad like my everyday work outfit of cords and a sweater looks like a garish costume on my bad self. My coffee was bad, the weather was bad, my attitude is bad. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So. I'm back.<br />
<br />
The happy rush of my new job is past. I still like it, but it's slowed down and I'm no longer consumed with the marvel of going to a place every day with nice, supportive people who value me and my opinions, where I do something that I'm proud of and enjoy... Nothing to sneeze at, I know. But the old me is starting to come back. The one who would really rather stay in bed all day, hiding under my puffy comforter and re-watching all of Firefly on DVD than go to <i>any</i> job.<br />
<br />
I finally got that chunk of money I'd been waiting for forever. I bought a new car. Brand new. Paid for it outright. And I love it. The rest of the money is in savings for now. And after I get new windows on my house, the balance will be responsibly stashed away into an IRA or something. But again, much to my surprise and chagrin, having a nice fat hunk of money squirreled away, waiting for me when I retire, hasn't solved all my woes of today.<br />
<br />
<br />
Last week was the anniversary of my dad's death. Guh, talk about bummers. Christmas was tough without him this year too, ya know? And my birthday.<br />
<br />
And that thing where I thought I had carpel tunnel syndrome in my hand, but turned out to be a pinched nerve in my back? That's back. And I think I need to get glasses.<br />
<br />
I didn't make any resolutions this year, but maybe I should have. I feel aimless and irritable. And lucky you, you get to read all about it. All this bitching is just my way of saying that I've decided to blog again. <br />
<br />
But there's this: This particular blog seems finished to me. I'm not sure why. I'm itching to start over. A new blog for a new me. Or whatever. Will I lose my meager following if I jump ship and set up house somewhere else? (Can I mix you a metaphor?)Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-31258474526149071122011-12-07T12:08:00.000-06:002011-12-07T12:08:49.071-06:0039 and 364 daysToday is the last day of my 30s and it seems like I should commemorate that somehow. Do something essentially 30ish. Unfortunately, I have no idea what that would be. I'd kinda like to muster up a mid-life crisis for you, it would give me something to write about. Finally.<br />
<br />
Alas, I'm pretty satisfied. I got nothing to prove.<br />
<br />
Ask me again tomorrow. Maybe 40 will be filled with juicy blogging torment.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-36288457254394868672011-10-28T12:18:00.001-05:002011-10-28T14:26:33.248-05:00Checking inAt my old job I had tons of down time. Literally, metaphorically, spiritually.... Lots of time to blog. But now I've got this great new job, and I'm busy and happy. At the risk of sounding like I've been recently brainwashed, at this new job, I don't <i>want</i> to do anything but work while I'm at work. I like it that much. And I used to always think people were lying when they said stuff like that.<br />
<br />
So, a synopsis of the past month:<br />
I got this new job, Eric surprised me with a trip for my upcoming big birthday-that-contains-a-zero. We're going to Hilton Head. I haven't been on a real vacation for like, seven years. My ex got married last week, it was <i>super</i> awesome to see the pictures all over Facebook. My mom sold her house in Wisconsin and is looking for places here. I can't wait to exploit her for babysitting. The end.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-41709683655214293922011-09-29T16:11:00.002-05:002011-09-29T16:31:46.155-05:00Four-year-olds get it.If you ask Meredith how our dog, Lincoln, died, she will tell you that he ate a bee.<br />
(He died from a tumor in his spleen.)<br />
<br />
If you ask her how her grampa died, she will tell you that aliens came down in a space ship and scared him to death.<br />
(He had a heart attack.)<br />
<br />
I would like to be able to believe how she believes.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-83627215712143287562011-09-26T13:28:00.000-05:002011-09-26T13:28:48.552-05:00Big NewsI finally got a new job. It's with the school district, so the benefits are great and the pay is bad, and I'm super excited because I get to be all organizey <i>and</i> creative and I will probably even get to write some.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-44881412525875643302011-09-15T11:59:00.001-05:002011-09-15T12:07:36.877-05:00PieSo. That <a href="http://butnevertheless.blogspot.com/2011/09/message.html">pie in the face</a> from the universe? Yeah.<br />
<br />
When I got to work that day and checked in on all my <strike>stalking</strike> social media sites, there was a Facebook post from an old high school friend about a job at his company. I jumped on it. At first it seemed like it was going to be the solution to all my problems, but now it seems to have fizzled out. F-word.<br />
<br />
But something life-changing <i>did</i> happen to me that day. Have you heard about Levi's and how they have this new "Curve ID" system with their jeans for people like me, who have smallish waists and biggish bums whose jeans always gap at the waist, or just plain slide off? I was curious, if a bit skeptical, so I went to the Levi's store at the Mall of America that night to try some on. And you guys, these jeans are my butt's holy grail. The "bold curve" fits my waist <i>and</i> my hips. And they come in different inseams too. So they fit my waist <i>and</i> my hips <i>and</i> my short legs! I swear to Garp, this has never happened before.<br />
<br />
So yeah. My life changed on that day. I now own two pairs of jeans that fit me. Not quite the change I was hoping for, but better than a sharp stick in the eye.<br />
<br />
All those other things? I still don't know.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-31546273159069279702011-09-02T09:23:00.002-05:002011-09-16T09:11:12.795-05:00The MessageI haven't been around here much lately. Well, I've been here, but my mind has been elsewhere. (I love that word: elsewhere. It's right up there with nevertheless. ) Worrying about Stella and Kelly, getting the kids ready for school, job hunting and feeling sorry for myself seem to be occupying all my brain space these days. I've been in a funk. Anxious about finding a job before my health benefits run out, wondering where to put the <a href="http://butnevertheless.blogspot.com/2010/09/how-grown-ups-make-decisions.html">money</a> I'm going to get soon, sure I'm going to make the wrong decision. My brain's tied up in knots.<br />
<br />
So this morning, I dropped the kids off at their dad's for the weekend and as I was driving away this song was playing on the radio.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="345" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/phWv7l8Lm_A" width="420"></iframe> <br />
This is one of those songs that, when you hear it by chance, you're supposed to stop and look around you and see what kind of message the universe is sending you. And pay attention. And then <i>act</i>.<br />
<br />
So I'm sitting at the light on a ridge looking out over the valley - at Valleyfair, it always seems like Brigadoon on foggy mornings like this, an amusement park, shrouded in mist, appears before you from another world - and the kind of car that I've been thinking about buying with some of the money turns in toward me from the left. Is this what the universe is trying to tell me? I should go ahead and buy this car? It's got all wheel drive and would be safer in the winter, and the automatic transmission would make my torturous daily commute a little less painful. (What kind of an idiot buys a stick shift car when they spend two hours a day in stop and go traffic on a four lane highway? This kind, right here.)<br />
<br />
Or maybe I'm being given a sign that one of the jobs I applied for this week is going to work out. Maybe I'll get the call today. So I'm sticking with that thought as the light turns green and I pull out onto Flying Cloud Drive, which would be such a nice name for a road if I didn't have to drive on it so early every morning, when a garbage truck roars past and cuts me off. I pull into the other lane, still meditating on what message I'm being sent.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, a piece of garbage flies off the top of the truck and whirls toward me. I flinch, it's round and metallic - am I about to be beheaded by a hurling hub cap? No time to react, I hold my breath, watching as it whips in the wind and shoots straight for my windshield - SPLAT. It is a pie tin. Pie residue spatters across my car and I realize as I exhale and turn on the wipers that the universe just got my attention <i>and then threw a pie in my face.</i>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-50594385191916693532011-08-23T08:35:00.002-05:002011-08-23T16:39:55.193-05:00For StellaI'm not really religious. At all. But my friends just had a baby, born with a heart defect and in critical condition. And there's nothing I can do, but I feel like I need to do something, so I pray. I don't know if I'm praying to God, or rather, begging the universe to just this once not let the worst happen.<br />
<br />
Please let Stella be OK.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-58312841871245078932011-08-18T10:52:00.001-05:002011-08-18T10:54:17.067-05:00Books<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPnOBAlgr8Yk9THqnq0lhS_AmM24-0tn1sUgkcOpun7mnB8TPFMxY0E7yV-HD4OLRu02_J6E1gmG8l0ekxYPVtUlGb4mtglfkX8inpcJ5dEdSCDz4LQhpJ38kom_vKLO0ENxpRql1pzG88/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPnOBAlgr8Yk9THqnq0lhS_AmM24-0tn1sUgkcOpun7mnB8TPFMxY0E7yV-HD4OLRu02_J6E1gmG8l0ekxYPVtUlGb4mtglfkX8inpcJ5dEdSCDz4LQhpJ38kom_vKLO0ENxpRql1pzG88/s640/photo-1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Mom retired from teaching this year and is putting her house on the market so there's been a major purge of books from her house: kid books <i>and</i> grown up books. Lucky us. Everything from Plato to Alice Hoffman. It's like a bookstore barfed on my stairs.<br />
<br />
I've got a hot date with some bookshelves this weekend.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-37517713911659922612011-08-17T10:58:00.004-05:002011-08-18T12:14:34.587-05:00Where I'm From<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">I am from homemade bread, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">from </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Campbell's Soup Kids cups</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">goats' milk.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">I am from an overgrown log cabin with cattle skulls nailed above the door - drafty and crooked, and clay grit in the carpet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">I am from sticky jack pine sap and peeling birch tees, the island in the river, and mini bikes tearing through the hills. From the fire tower and the woodpile and the attic of the barn.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">I am from reading together on the floor, dinner in front of the TV and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">dogs in my bed</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">I am from Tolkien and Millay and The Beatles.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">I am from sarcasm and silliness and tickling until you cry.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">From sticks and stones will break your bones but words will never harm you. (But they will.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">I am from bitter, lapsed catholicism and the hole that it left.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">I'm from </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">names with too many consonants that cannot be pronounced, sauerkraut and sausage for Thanksgiving and oyster stew on Christmas Eve.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">From the Tet Offensive and a Bronze Star, from freezing toes in too small shoes and learning to knit in Mexico, from the cold, snow-bound winter with no water when we all had the flu.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">I am from a folded flag, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">battered records and books that have been moved a hundred times, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">ancient and fragile glassware, and a creaky family album that still smells like home.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">I am from all the stories that I have yet to hear.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">(from <a href="http://www.swva.net/fred1st/wif.htm">here</a>, via <a href="http://bugginword.com/2011/08/10/where-im-from/">Elly</a>)</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><br />
</span></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-38129996062271345192011-08-10T08:15:00.002-05:002011-08-18T16:04:13.013-05:00The PlotYou know that storyline in TV, or is it movies? Both I guess, but mostly movies. Anyway there's this hapless schmuck who just wants to do right by his family, but he's just beaten down by the man, humiliated, and he can't catch a break no matter how much he tries and then finally he snaps and turns to a life of crime?<br />
<br />
That.<br />
<br />
(except the he's <strike>a she</strike> me.)Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-12862417965563753222011-07-20T08:18:00.000-05:002011-07-20T08:18:26.786-05:00On Vampire SexJust like the youth of today, when I was a teen, I was obsessed with vampires. Because before Twilight, there was Anne Rice, and then Buffy and Angel and I ate that shit up like crazy. Immortality. Yes, please. And pale, perfect skin too, of course. What goth girl doesn't wish for that? The idea that a vampire dude could live for hundreds of years and eat thousands of girls and then pick you to want to boink instead of kill? That, my friends, makes you special. And I wanted to be special.<br />
<br />
And so when I started watching True Blood, I was kind of expecting it to be the same. Romantic and darkly beautiful. It's not. Don't get me wrong. I love the show. It's campy and gory and it sucks you in. (Get it? Sucks?) But it all changed for me last night as we were watching an episode from last season where Sookie and Bill are having shower sex, and he bites her and the camera pans down her body as the blood mixes with the water running down her skin. And instead of thinking of hot vampire whoopy all I can think is, "That looks like menstrual blood running down her thigh on a heavy flow day."<br />
<br />
And poof. I no longer think vampires are sexy.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-88669311935957205062011-07-13T10:43:00.000-05:002011-07-13T10:43:03.316-05:00To my fellow bloggers:When I'm feeling quiet (a gentler word than blocked) and I have nothing to blog about, I don't like to look at my site. It just sort of sits there looking back at me and says, "Yeah? Whaddaya got to say now, smartypants?" And then I mutter an incomprehensible excuse and go check twitter. And when I don't write, I don't read. Cause you all live on my blogger dashboard, see? So please don't think I'm breaking up with your blogs, OK? We're just on a break.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-41277501990130831892011-07-06T09:52:00.002-05:002011-07-06T16:21:35.551-05:00But words can never harm me?I think I've finally realized why I'm having such a hard time finding a new job. It's simple really: I am a complete retard when I get nervous, and I get terrible fear-induced verbal diarrhea during interviews.<br />
<br />
The interview at the educational management company? When the guy asked me if I had any experience in an education setting, instead of answering a simple and honest, "No", Wanda McWordvomit made sure to tell him that my mother, sister-in-law, and several of my aunts are teachers. Um?...<br />
<br />
The interview at the super conservative health benefits corporation? Asshat Dorkington III used an ingenious metaphor involving the use of meth to describe how I work under pressure.<br />
<br />
Finally, out of frustration and hormones, at the interview I had last week at a financial planner's office, I decided to just say fuck it and be myself and tell the honest truth. Which was mostly working out until he asked me that dreaded question that comes up in every interview, "What is your greatest weakness?" (Eric, usually my biggest cheerleader, actually admitted to a face palm when I emailed him to tell him that I had been honest in answering that question too.) Princess Spazzyslacks is a terrible procrastinator.<br />
<br />
But this is all good, right? The more of these disastrous interviews I have the more things I learn <i>not</i> to say. At this rate I should be interview safe in no time. At my next one I plan to bring up this blog. I bet that'll land me a great job.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-40817759732622102302011-07-05T08:47:00.000-05:002011-07-05T08:47:44.750-05:00RedactedYou know that angry post I did last week? I took it down. For a couple reasons. First, it was a poorly written rant that made me sound like a loon, and second.. no, that's about it.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-6150043039054597182011-06-27T08:35:00.001-05:002011-06-27T08:36:42.165-05:00Flowers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOr_5fhgxbWjiDrhLJgf8wJzpx1h1fiZH2L9-jbAsdV9zn_CLgxtrRvkPsgJXExmJWwqSi9rrZJtHB2dVwJJU6mR-EGZeKcekF4j1lbAISbQg_Ya3nct9rJ6jOi1U0y6Ly5nU3YUkKt3hL/s1600/IMG_0913.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOr_5fhgxbWjiDrhLJgf8wJzpx1h1fiZH2L9-jbAsdV9zn_CLgxtrRvkPsgJXExmJWwqSi9rrZJtHB2dVwJJU6mR-EGZeKcekF4j1lbAISbQg_Ya3nct9rJ6jOi1U0y6Ly5nU3YUkKt3hL/s640/IMG_0913.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJyt75d5lr379W49IIhiOX8s253PFedBt01Oh8RXullFJgcmWv9SKclXWZOsP9uOJrm5J_TenvsXZp7KPJXObwW29SuWRFiXAhidS2RqmoFiqv2Z5oemTf3C-TZ4Oo8T37zdCZS43LJ9id/s1600/IMG_0904.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJyt75d5lr379W49IIhiOX8s253PFedBt01Oh8RXullFJgcmWv9SKclXWZOsP9uOJrm5J_TenvsXZp7KPJXObwW29SuWRFiXAhidS2RqmoFiqv2Z5oemTf3C-TZ4Oo8T37zdCZS43LJ9id/s640/IMG_0904.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEecHPUp-WGLq3-yEiInLJZ-lwPaOWlPnwvmR5VbMg5s-BJuGl7e28ekOphahbQpzugmn7OyzaACnsDZe-6nU30opDGeF4C6FMChVCbfX8Hu9Df6xTEHsfvaSnpVBtKVrx8YmjcYuR7Bj/s1600/IMG_0905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEecHPUp-WGLq3-yEiInLJZ-lwPaOWlPnwvmR5VbMg5s-BJuGl7e28ekOphahbQpzugmn7OyzaACnsDZe-6nU30opDGeF4C6FMChVCbfX8Hu9Df6xTEHsfvaSnpVBtKVrx8YmjcYuR7Bj/s640/IMG_0905.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Most of the weddings I've done have been for friends, or friends of friends, or friends of friends of friends. But this one was for my friend's aunt, and so, the first one I've done for someone of a different generation. She chose much more conservative flowers than I normally do, but I think they turned out pretty well.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-4937787232738744472011-06-23T08:37:00.001-05:002011-06-23T09:11:28.290-05:00Bad AssIt makes me feel like an old lady to even say the word sciatica. But I have it.<br />
Bad ass sciatica.<br />
Bad. Ass sciatica.<br />
Last night, Eric gave me acupuncture to try to ease my ass ache.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYcJzhXCyB_1RW7Kaw7cONeXAKU9N-foyusnK2mLoTb2doi5_z16RT487othd1NecFVk5n0zOOzJ71kpJ6F3eDDNiVGz0PY6adsqdcd1LRHgsEdBFDjMljuvI0a3XJ-OzbGk6WapbysbbI/s1600/IMG_0893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYcJzhXCyB_1RW7Kaw7cONeXAKU9N-foyusnK2mLoTb2doi5_z16RT487othd1NecFVk5n0zOOzJ71kpJ6F3eDDNiVGz0PY6adsqdcd1LRHgsEdBFDjMljuvI0a3XJ-OzbGk6WapbysbbI/s640/IMG_0893.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Do you SEE the length of this needle? I can't show you a picture of it in use, cause, well, it was in my butt. But trust me. That thing was stuck all the way in.<br />
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*** In my butt <i>cheek</i>, you guys. Jeez.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-79227068559685058652011-06-22T15:49:00.000-05:002011-06-22T15:49:13.402-05:00Still life with orange tree and shopping cart<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltbuy_a1n_hEY49fs157v2IhGCGFDJZhEsY3ImD_pcY5nhwy5O_PL8ylE81QylsF1UeOoAYyhQKSQJ_Akc7RhOL7yoI6t0m3s3JO8xj0u_vNxbP5S5G32dmV7-oOD0Wq_VI9oqh-JdqUt/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltbuy_a1n_hEY49fs157v2IhGCGFDJZhEsY3ImD_pcY5nhwy5O_PL8ylE81QylsF1UeOoAYyhQKSQJ_Akc7RhOL7yoI6t0m3s3JO8xj0u_vNxbP5S5G32dmV7-oOD0Wq_VI9oqh-JdqUt/s640/photo.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">This picture is a pretty good metaphor for the state of my psyche today.</span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-15750180998908055262011-06-13T09:26:00.000-05:002011-06-13T09:26:56.794-05:00Just like the TARDIS<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPO9eI-U4n20X2Ep9Q4u6zbr3gmq5irbfXgU0mIJmMTVpwXdVyH6__L_WwxFKVwRcV9bcsekBak1F0Ws-o1OMUQDs4WBgNbWwdeXTst2iVtqQLhLmmMQQQjvJ4bj6ocNZC77l_knonPs9/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPO9eI-U4n20X2Ep9Q4u6zbr3gmq5irbfXgU0mIJmMTVpwXdVyH6__L_WwxFKVwRcV9bcsekBak1F0Ws-o1OMUQDs4WBgNbWwdeXTst2iVtqQLhLmmMQQQjvJ4bj6ocNZC77l_knonPs9/s640/photo.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Alamo - It's bigger on the inside</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-35661768854427698182011-06-09T16:30:00.000-05:002011-06-09T16:30:40.797-05:00Listfullness part 2My thoughts are scattered. I will dump some more of them here for you in hopes that they congeal.<br />
<br />
1. We're leaving for Texas tomorrow and I have just developed a nice shiny new head cold/allergy that should make that whole air pressure-ear popping adventure a treat.<br />
<br />
2. I am wearing strappy gold sandals to the wedding on Saturday which will look awesome with my hippie walking shoe tan lines I've been working on all spring. I hope to draw attention away from what looks like the cover of Def Leppard Trapper Keeper design by painting my toenails this color.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcCK44sx3R-eA0F8KWlnqRBAJYlv9oshw9ONSVBDlMPLXJjEKkDO7XBzG-zi08HCogrk3IjBAxmUlHRbzFCxWFb9YeBGOj-XmuLmLSgL5kPr3ADR349esSR26OAru6s-JUTiZFB1br8hWz/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-06-09+at+4.12.45+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcCK44sx3R-eA0F8KWlnqRBAJYlv9oshw9ONSVBDlMPLXJjEKkDO7XBzG-zi08HCogrk3IjBAxmUlHRbzFCxWFb9YeBGOj-XmuLmLSgL5kPr3ADR349esSR26OAru6s-JUTiZFB1br8hWz/s200/Screen+shot+2011-06-09+at+4.12.45+PM.png" width="100" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's from their Texas color line. So... duh.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>3. I've been thinking about my dad a lot lately. Father's day is coming up, as is his birthday. I used to always feel put upon that I had to get him two gifts in one week. He was a total kid about presents and would pout if he didn't get something for every occasion. Even though he often forgot my birthday and tried to sneak in a belated "This is your birthday/Christmas present" thing. His brothers and sisters are planning a reunion in Tacoma this summer. I want to go. I don't know if my bank account can swing it.<br />
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4. I've jumped through four of the hoops to get that corporatey corporate job that I was telling you about.<br />
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5. Have I ever told you how much I hate to fly? With the pressure of being the queen of following rules to the letter to the point of ridiculousness so that I don't get stopped by security and holding the airplane in the air with the power of my clenched butt cheeks and Hail Marys, it's exhausting.<br />
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6. I am allergic to sunscreen.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-27296857769679835912011-06-02T10:43:00.001-05:002011-06-02T11:36:56.699-05:00ListfullnessThere are things I could write about. Goings-on. But I am feeling uninspired and listless. And we all know that the only cure for listlessness is to add more list. Listfullness.<br />
<br />
1. Eric and I went on a spur-of-the-moment road trip to The Badlands and Deadwood and The Blackhills. It was majestic and campy and fun. We each gained five pounds on the trip because all there is to eat in South Dakota is beef.<br />
<br />
2. So You Think You Can Dance is back on. Equal parts cringey and cry-y. I cannot look away.<br />
<br />
3. I am job hunting again. Interviewing with a giant corporatey corporation with a twelve step interview process. Is this a job I even want?<br />
<br />
4. I had a meeting at Lucas's school at which I was told that Lucas is very smart, and sweet, with a high IQ, but he's way behind in school because he <i>cannot sit still</i> or <i>pay attention</i> and words like behavioral therapy and medication were tossed around quite a bit. Because the universe has decided that having one eccentrically non-conformist child was just not enough for me.<br />
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5. Eric and I will be off again next week to a wedding of a high school friend of his in Laredo, Texas. I have a funny story about the last time I was in Laredo. The time when I was 21 and my mom and I had gone on a road trip to visit friends in Mexico and when we were coming back across the border at Laredo, we got stopped by border patrol and our car was searched and then the drug sniffing dog went ballistic in it and they couldn't find anything even after they dismantled half the car and did body searches on Mom and me. Because there was nothing to find. Honest. But I always thought the funniest part of the whole thing was when the lady guard was feeling me up looking for - for whatever she was looking for - she said, "You're not wearing a bra?!!" Like she was totally scandalized at my impropriety and wantonness.<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">6. My home internet has been out since all those storms hit Minneapolis last week and knocked our power out for a few minutes and I spent a very long time on the phone last night with Comcast who then transferred me to Buffalo, the manufacturer of my router and after another very long time on the phone with them restarting my computer and reconfiguring my router, I was suddenly disconnected. And I couldn't call them back because I had been transferred to them by Comcast and I was irrationally super mad. And also? Why do IT people never know anything about Macs?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">7. I am doing the flowers for a wedding in a few weeks. Something I'm normally really into. But with all the other stuff going on right now I haven't planned anything for it yet. The bride is probably totally stressed and thinking that I am going to flake out on her. I'm not. It will be awesome. This is something that I am good at. I just also happen to be excellent at procrastination.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div><br />
</div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-49464349363948193452011-05-31T21:31:00.000-05:002011-05-31T21:31:39.345-05:00Not now, maybe laterI would like very much to tell you about our trip but I'm all ouched and tired and cranky right now.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-19631373230036644762011-05-26T09:00:00.001-05:002011-05-26T09:02:39.201-05:00Weekend Plans?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJuvRzZ9MVF_6bABTVd_Wj6g-h9up0XUwqBt1PLWQYzj8J61fPEWam448e3ng-n0UQkligwkK7nv7BU4lAtLHtmH6ySUEwVQS4OCwk7MS_bASFf6B4mLHfNNfAsp9q37GAtG1OvP9039c/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-05-26+at+9.01.16+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJuvRzZ9MVF_6bABTVd_Wj6g-h9up0XUwqBt1PLWQYzj8J61fPEWam448e3ng-n0UQkligwkK7nv7BU4lAtLHtmH6ySUEwVQS4OCwk7MS_bASFf6B4mLHfNNfAsp9q37GAtG1OvP9039c/s640/Screen+shot+2011-05-26+at+9.01.16+AM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just get in the car and drive. We'll see how far we get.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310513049880091070.post-43762574794183017542011-05-25T08:35:00.000-05:002011-05-25T08:35:37.964-05:00Yesterday BlewYesterday:<br />
The check engine light came on in my car.<br />
I found out I didn't get the job I have been hoping for.<br />
My hairstylist interpreted my quip about not wanting "mom hair" to mean I wanted to look like Kristen Stewart in The Runaways.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCM72HdX3gsu2JGRz9IL9J4QKEoVI6QAwe-xeekb8pZvLmZzTgn_LkcCzm5dWzpM736YdHzf9tBxSctDxrAYFMh5KFN3JaiFO7bAhG2L16wVz0aOTdqKWGO2Y9b05opclRzpu_GfmA6v0u/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-05-25+at+8.33.25+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCM72HdX3gsu2JGRz9IL9J4QKEoVI6QAwe-xeekb8pZvLmZzTgn_LkcCzm5dWzpM736YdHzf9tBxSctDxrAYFMh5KFN3JaiFO7bAhG2L16wVz0aOTdqKWGO2Y9b05opclRzpu_GfmA6v0u/s320/Screen+shot+2011-05-25+at+8.33.25+AM.png" width="320" /></a></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15293144084369159687noreply@blogger.com3