Wednesday, October 08, 2014


OK, I did a really dumb thing last night.  It wasn't supposed to be dumb, it was supposed to be funny, but it turned out to be dumb and now I just have to wait it out!

For the past couple of years, I've wanted to dye my hair a wholly unnatural color.  I don't know why, but I do.  I realize I've crossed the midpoint of my thirties, and it's really not that appropriate for me to have blue or purple hair, but I thought it would be fun to do, at least once, before I turned 40.  I was actually going to do it after Sara's wedding two years ago, but because I'd just started working at the church, I didn't.

I finally talked to the pastor and asked if I DID do something like that, would it be a problem. See, at church, I don't see a whole lot of people who don't know me, and the people who do know me wouldn't think it was weird.  Well, they might, but they like me and they'd be OK with it.  However, since this IS a church, I didn't want to do anything inappropriate.  The pastor said he wasn't going to tell me I couldn't do it, but that I was representing the church when people saw me.  Basically, he wouldn't just tell me no, but he didn't want me to.  I can understand and respect that, and since having blue hair isn't really something that is vitally important, I don't mind not doing it.  We are a kind of old-school, conservative Baptist church and the only blue hair around here belongs to the old ladies, and they have earned it!

Just because I decided I wasn't going to dye my hair, doesn't mean I'm not going to threaten that I'll do it.  Honestly, I like to keep our pastor (and youth pastor) on their toes, and the fact that people with strange dye jobs and tattoos are immediately labeled as "strange" by them both, kind of makes me want to get both done just to spite them.  I usually just threaten to dye my hair (a tattoo seems a bit extreme for spiteful reasons) and whenever they start annoying me, I throw that out there.  They never know if I'd really do it or not, so it's fun for me.  I thought I'd just get a wig one day and wear it in, but I refuse to spend $50 on a joke (unless it's a really, really good one.)  So, the other day I saw this while at Wal-Mart:

It's supposed to be a very intense, but temporary, colorant for your hair.  Of course I bought it, because this was a perfect chance to play a joke on the pastor AND have blue hair, albeit only for a short time.  Steve made me promise not to put it in close to a Sunday (buzz kill), so I decided to do it on a Tuesday (last night) which would give me plenty of time to wash it out.  The box says it's supposed to coat your hair instead of penetrating it, and I've used (I thought) stuff like this before when I used to color my hair in high school.  So blue hair, freaked out pastor, all around win!  Only, it didn't work out the way I thought it would. 

I actually watched some videos of people using it, just to make sure it worked, and everyone seemed pretty happy with it, so I went into the bathroom and started putting it on my hair.  It had really strange directions.  It said your hair should be dry and untangled (check) and you should section off what you want to color.  Then when the stuff was dry, you comb your hair, don't shampoo it and voila!  Unfortunately, the stuff is very liquidy and it doesn't have an applicator of any kind, and trying to keep it in one place was impossible, so it got all over my hair.  As I waited for it to dry, I noticed a problem.  My hair was blue, a dark blue owing to my own dark brown hair, so no problem with the color, but my hair felt like I'd rubbed glue all through it.  I mean that literally.  My hair was stiff and sticky, and when I went to comb through it, the comb got stuck.  Not only that, but my hair was sticking out all over my head.  I looked like the bride of Frankenstein, but blue.  I tried combing it again, but I couldn't get the comb through it. I managed to get some of it brushed, but the underneath part wouldn't budge.  It was like trying to spread a sheet over a bed full of pine cones!  I knew that I couldn't go to church like that, and no joke is worth looking like Lady Gaga on a bender, so I washed it out.  Actually, I tried to wash it out.  A lot of the color came out, but my hair got really sticky.  Whatever this stuff is made of must have come from the bowels of hell, because I can't get it to come out!  Also, once my hair dried, I saw that it wasn't dark blue anymore, it was gray-blue on top of brown!  I still can't properly brush it, because it's still stiff and sticky, and so it's all wild and tangled looking.  Steve said I look like someone who was stranded on a deserted island and didn't have a brush. Nice.  I honestly don't care what color my hair is, so even though it turned greenish brown this morning when I washed it again, the thing that bothers me the most is that I can't brush my hair.  I can't even get my fingers through it!  Ugh.

Karma got me before I even got to play the joke.  Not cool.

On the bright side, my hair would really look awesome if it was blue.  Maybe I'll get it dyed after all.  :)

Tuesday, October 07, 2014


(TL:DR- I did a fun run. Now go about your business.)


So...guess what I did!  I participated in the Color Run (The Happiest 5K On the Planet!) (TM)!

What?  No, seriously, I swear.  Stop laughing.


Anyway.  I'm not really comfortable explaining my motivations as to why I decided to do a 5K.  That sounds mysterious, but really, it's because my reasons embarrass me.  Let's just say that I had a moment (while in Disney World earlier this year, which happened to coincide with their marathon/10K) where I realized I had no excuse not to at least try.  It was as simple as that.  I also knew I needed a goal of some kind to work on, because y'all...I don't do anything.  *Try to disguise your shock, please.*  I have nothing to work towards.  I stay busy a lot, but really all I do is work and go to church, and God forgive me for saying it, but I need something somewhat enjoyable to throw in there on occasion or I'm going to get sick of both of them. Although a race isn't something I'd necessarily consider enjoyable, I'd already decided that would be what I'd do. Who knows, maybe I'd love doing it and I'd have a new hobby.  Anything is possible, right?

Now, I'm sure if you look hard enough, or at least know what you're doing, you can find a 5K going on somewhere all the time.  Alas, I'm really clueless about those kinds of things.  Also, I'm fairly sure that even if I found some random race going on, any serious, or even semi-serious, runner doesn't need a novice like myself getting involved in a race if they have no idea what they're doing, because they'll just get in the way.  Randomly, and trust me on the fact that I was sure it was a long shot, I decided that if I could find "one of those races where they throw colors on you" I'd do that one. Those looked way less intimidating than others, plus, you know...colors.  So I sat back, somewhat certain it would be a while before anything like that happened, and prepared to forget about it.

Less than a month later, the ad for the Color Run showed up on my Facebook feed. I took it as a sign. Oy.

To give myself a little credit, I didn't punk out on it.  I saved the information and when the day came to actually sign up and pay my entry fee, I did it.  In fact, I did it on the first day so that I wouldn't have time to talk myself out of it.  At the time I didn't know it was considered a "Fun Run," but only because I thought a 5K was a 5K.  I didn't know the difference.  It was also a fundraiser for the Arts Council, and hey, I like art, so win-win!

I had to start totally from scratch on this one, and by that, I mean I had to Google "5K" and see what that equaled in American.  No, I'm not kidding, I had no idea how far a 5K actually was.  Turns out, it's 3.1 miles.

That's....actually not that far.  Not really.  Now, I say it isn't far, but I only know miles in terms of driving, so 3.1 miles didn't sound completely un-doable.  I began going to the gym more often to see if I could actually run/walk that far without dying.  I had to train a little bit, I knew, because I'd never done anything even closely resembling a run before.  I called what I did training, albeit an imperfect kind, because I know running inside of an air conditioned building on a treadmill isn't exactly a great way to get ready for an outside run.  My allergies, however, insisted on this kind of thing.  Apparently, I'm allergic to everything with leaves, and sometimes just driving home with the windows down is enough to seal off my sinuses and give me migraine strength allergy headaches. So, I figured that I'd just run inside and then see what happened outside! 

I actually did get much better.  By the time the actual race was close, I could run almost half of it, which for me is huge.  Not great, not Olympic qualifying, but for me it was great!  Baby steps, right?  I was getting excited about it, which for me is like getting excited about getting an injection. It was confusing. However, I was informed by a lady to whom I happened to mention I was doing the Color Run to, that it was really not a big deal at all. She literally shrugged.

Her words made me go all Sad Monkey inside.
I hate going Sad Monkey.

Understand, I wasn't looking for her approval or anything, and I know I'm not so sensitive that everyone needs to give me a big ol' pat on the back for doing something that can be done by a six year old, but I'd been WORKING towards this, damnit!  To me it was at least kind of a big deal, if only because I was stepping way, way out of my comfort zone to do it. I rarely ever do that. By the point I'd talked to her, I knew the race itself wasn't serious, but it was still something difficult for me, and when she said that it made me feel less excited and more...I don't know...dumb.  I felt dumb for being excited about it, and for considering it to be an accomplishment of any kind. Stupid, I know, but she totally harshed my buzz.  I know she didn't mean to be dismissive on purpose.  She is one of those people who doesn't have a mean bone in her body, but she also doesn't have a great deal of tact, so I won't hold it against her!  THANKS, BUZZ KILLINGTON! :)

Anyways, it kind of took some of the fun away, but I was still going to do it.  Don't let the muggles get you down, right?

The closer it got, though, and I started to wonder if I'd actually do it!  Not because of what that lady said, but because it was such a weird thing for me to do. Honestly, they are called comfort zones for a reason.  I don't usually do exercise things.  I certainly don't make it a habit to just sign up for stuff like this without someone else talking me into it, and really, this kind of fun run is something you do with friends or with your kids or whatever.  I was beginning to feel very nervous about the whole thing. I wasn't worried about actually running/walking the thing, but it was more about it not really being a "Me" thing to do. Does that make sense?  Anyways, I kept thinking "What am I doing? Why am I doing this?" and I kept answering myself by saying "You aren't wasting the money you paid to do this, now shut up and quit being a weenie!"  I don't always get along with myself, so...yeah.  Anyways, I was asking myself what I was doing right up until I was walking up to the starting line. Really, I was very confused.  

Although the fun run isn't timed, I still ended up having a relatively small time frame I had to be finished in, because I was supposed to sing at a funeral later that morning.  Within a couple of hours I'd have to do the whole run, get home, clean off whatever colors I was covered in, change into something appropriate and be at the funeral home before the service started.  Great.  I couldn't even just be lazy and mosey my way through.  OK, then.

Steve dropped me off at the starting place and I made my way through a sea of white t-shirts and people wearing tutus and colorful knee socks.  I don't really understand the tutus, but they actually sold them in the Color Run shop, so I guess they're a running thing? You got me. I was surrounded by strangers!  Eek. I was also trying to get near the front so that I could go out in the first wave of runners so I could get done sooner, but there were thousands of people there and I was stuck in the second wave.  No big deal.  I saw a lot of funny stuff.  A person in a full on Unicorn costume (he was a mascot of some kind) and a guy wearing a rubber horse mask, people wearing funny hats and things like that.  People watching was a lot of fun. Music was being played LOUDLY while a guy who sounded like a morning-drive DJ shouted things like "WHEN I SAY COLOR YOU SAY RUN..."   If it tells you anything about the people around me, one of the songs they began blaring was something called "Cha Cha Slide" or at least one of those kinds of songs you hear at wedding receptions that give you directions.  A girl in front of me shouted "Oh, my God they play some really good music!"  Oy.  I really just wanted to get started!  I don't like shouting one thing when someone else says another thing, or waving my hands like I don't care. I just wanted to run and get color thrown at me!  Also...funeral. I had to get out of there in time to do that!  After the national anthem, they let the first wave start.  I think they waited about 5 minutes, and then my group was allowed to start. As Forrest Gump once said:   I. Was. Run-ning.

I actually started off really strong.  I was running and thinking...hey, this isn't so bad!  Someone on the sideline gave me a high five.  People were cheering and it was awesome!  I don't know how far I got, but it wasn't that far, when my lungs said "NOPE."

I imagine they looked something like this, only they were also giving me the finger.

My allergies to outside have caused me to develop a mild, but nonetheless annoyingly persistent, adult onset form of asthma.  I'm usually fine, but occasionally I need my inhaler.  I usually go ahead and use the inhaler before I do anything that might require me to breathe a lot (shut up, you know what I mean) and I completely forgot to use it before this run.  My lungs locked up fast and hard, and since I wasn't getting enough oxygen, my leg muscles also clamped up, so I had to slow down to a walk.  Dad-gummit.  I actually had a moment of panic thinking that I couldn't breathe at all, but I got that under control. I didn't want to be the first person in Huntsville (maybe even history) to die doing a fun run. How embarrassing. Not once while running inside did I ever lose my breath like that, but outside it happened fast.  Oh, well, I just figured I'd walk until I could catch my breath and then I'd run again. It took a LONG time before my breathing eased, but it was partly because I walked as fast as I could.  I was able to kind of jog through the first color station (yellow) but breathing in cornstarch didn't do my lungs any favors.  I walked through the second (purple) and then there was a long stretch before the next station (pink).  During that stretch people were passing me, and I was passing others.  I began feeling a little irritated at myself that I was still walking, but if I can't breathe, I can't run.  Also, I was getting distracted because the route went right through the historic district and I kept looking at the houses along the way.  I couldn't help it!  It was the HISTORIC district, of which I am endlessly fascinated.  It got fairly hot and humid, which is never any fun, but I finally managed to pick up the pace a little.  Just as I was about to turn the corner, someone handed me a bottle of water.  That was nice, and the water was very welcome, but it's really kind of hard to run while holding a bottle of water if you aren't used to it.  I kept looking for a place to throw it away, but there wasn't anywhere, and I didn't feel right about throwing it down on the ground.  So, I had a Kanye West moment where I was resentful that I had to be responsible for a bottle of water.  The pink station came up and the lady throwing the color basically squirted me right in the face with the stuff.  They are supposed to keep the powder fairly low down, but I think she got distracted because it hit me right in the ear and floofed all over my face.  Yuck.

By that point I was breathing a whole lot better, and I managed to alternate running and walking more often.  I was getting hot and tired and I'm fairly certain I'd begun to hallucinate a little.  I swear I saw Andy Gibb on the sidelines, and unless I'm mistaken, he's dead.  I didn't stop and talk to him though because I was almost done!  Right before the last color station (blue) I saw Steve again!  Yay!  He took my picture as I rounded the corner and he got a couple of pictures of me there.  I went through the blue and onward to the finish line!  Just before the end, there was supposed to be a photographer, and I'd mentioned to Kenny that I was afraid any pictures that they took of me running would wind up looking like this:

However, he (a seasoned triathlete who gave me a lot of good advice about running my sad little fun-run) told me to find the photographer beforehand and basically be prepared to ham it up as I passed him.  So that's what I did.  Just as I reached the inflatable rainbow that signified the finish line, I put on a ridiculous smile and ran past him as if I was not hot and winded and had NOT just seen a deceased member of the Bee Gees!  So even though I felt like this:
Ok, so maybe with a little less dangling intestine...

I looked much happier crossing the finish line!  See?

I'm STILL holding that damnable bottle of water, too!

So I was finally done, and it felt really awesome to cross that finish line because I'd never done that before!  Yay!  I wasn't able to stay for whatever shenanigans that were supposed to happen once everyone got back in, so I handed someone my packet of color powder and headed home to get cleaned up.  It was very fun, and I'd like to do it again!  I'd also like to eventually run a real race of some kind, but that probably won't happen any time soon.  I'll work on it, though! One step at a time!

So there is the grand, sweeping saga of how I, inexplicably, decided to run on purpose!  YAY!

Monday, September 15, 2014


Do you want to know what happened to us this weekend?

Yellow-jackets! That's what happened to us. 

Stupid, evil, vindictive yellow-jackets.

Do you remember a couple of entries ago, I mentioned that I got stung by a bee while mowing the lawn?  Well, it turned out it wasn't a bee.  Unknown to us, a very large colony of yellow-jackets had built a ground nest near the edge of our property.  It's right up against the property line with our neighbors, so it isn't a place we spend a whole lot of time hanging out and we had no idea  it was there.  The last time I mowed, I guess I just barely disturbed them because I was only stung once, and because Steve said there were some bees hanging around the crepe myrtle, that's what we thought got me.  This time, though, I apparently did more than disturb them.  I must have disturbed them and said something horrible about their mother, if their reaction was any indication!

Since getting stung last time, I was careful to wear blue-jeans when I mowed.  I should have worn tennis shoes, too, but I didn't.  I thought that jeans would be enough, because really, statistically, how often can expect to get stung while mowing your lawn if it's only happened once in 14 years?

So I'm working on the last section of our yard, which is the big part in the front.  I usually start by going around the entire perimeter, and then sectioning it off.  This time, I was doing that, but decided that I needed to go over the same ground since I missed a spot, which was apparently the wrong thing to do.  I hit the nest twice, and as I went over it the second time, they came after me.  The first one got me in the ear!  THE MOTHER-EFFING EAR!  As I sat there, holding my ear, I got stung on my foot, my hand and my calf.  I panicked.  I literally couldn't figure out how to get away.  I realized, way too late that I was on a riding lawnmower, which I then managed to drive into the center of the lawn.  I was still in a panic, so I couldn't figure out how to turn it off, so I just jumped off and ran into the house.  For all I knew at that point, they were still following me.  I ran through the house, stripped off my clothes and I jumped into the shower to drown anything that was still on me.  Poor Steve had no idea what was going on, so he walked over to where I had been and he got swarmed.  While I was in the shower, I heard him running through the house and getting into the other shower.  He'd been stung 11 times on his legs.  He'd still managed to get the lawnmower inside and the garage closed, so points go to Steve in this instance.  We are so lucky that neither one of us is allergic, but we still popped Benadryl just in case.

Y'all, I'd like to say I was stoic and able to deal with the pain with no problem, but I'd be lying.  I always believed I had a pretty high tolerance for pain, but I was proven very, very wrong.  I'd only been stung 4 times, and I think the three on my hand/foot/leg weren't that bad, but it was the one in my ear that nearly drove me insane.  Imagine someone stabbing a needle into your ear and wiggling it around for hours without stopping.  The pain wouldn't back off.  The longer I sat there, the worse it got.  Steve said that his stings hurt, but they weren't that bad.  Me, I just laid down and cried.  I did everything I could think of to help them: we put Neosporin on the stings, we crushed up aspirin applied that, baking soda paste, cortisone cream, but nothing helped.  I finally decided that if I could just go to sleep, I could get away from it.  But I couldn't go to sleep.  My muscles were twitching so bad that I couldn't even doze off.  I tried icing my ear and applying heat to it, but nothing helped.  I even kept trying to take Tylenol and stuff like that, but nothing touched it.  We finally had to go to Target and buy some kind of after sting stuff (that did nothing) and I bought some Z-quil because I figured that if I couldn't go to sleep on my own, I'd drug myself into it.  By the time we got home, my ear was hurting a tiny bit less, but my hand and foot had begun swelling up like balloons.  I did fall asleep, which was a blessing, but I didn't stay asleep for long.  I finally just got up, took the sleeping stuff, and went to sleep for real.  I was going to avoid the pain as much as possible.  That probably doesn't speak well about my coping skills!  Steve said his stings had stopped hurting, but had started to itch like crazy, so he stayed in the living-room all night so that he wouldn't wake me up while he scratched. 

I woke up at around 4:00 that morning, and took more Benadryl, which was not smart on top of all of the other stuff I'd been taking, which made me too drunk to go to church!  Steve was not hurtinganymore, his bites were itchy but he was ok, so he went ahead to church and had to run the sound for me.  I slept for a long, long time.  When I finally woke up, I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, guys, my ear was 3 times bigger than an ear should be!  It was so gross!  I had a cauliflower ear, for real! It was so swollen that I couldn't even bend my earlobe!  My foot and hand were also swollen up so badly that they didn't look like they belonged on my body.  You know how babies have those little fat, boneless looking hands and feet?  That is what I had on one side of my body.  When I'd walk, my foot looked like a water balloon being compressed.  YUCK! So much yuck!  I WAS A MUTANT! 
Artist's Rendition 

I hid in the house for the rest of the day like I was the Elephant Man or something.  I probably could have gone to church that night, the pain was all but gone, but I was afraid everyone would be staring at my ear.  Seriously, it was like freak-show big.  It was still really swollen when I went to bed, but it did go down a lot during the night so I was able to come to work today. Besides, I can stand three people looking at my ear, but not dozens and dozens of them looking.  

At any rate, now we are mainly just very itchy.  My hand a foot are still swollen, but that is getting better.  I'll be glad when I can wear a normal shoe again, though.  We'll be lucky if Steve has legs left after he finishes scratching them. He really did get stung a lot, but he was able to stand the pain much better than me.  I felt like such a weenie.  

So, that was my weekend!  I hope yours was much better! :)

Thursday, September 11, 2014


I'm beginning to wonder if I'm not deeply and irrevocably flawed, or maybe just an enormous jerk or something.

I go onto Facebook every day.  I'm pretty sure that the cool kids don't do that, but I'm not going to lie about it.  I get bored and I want to pretend I'm hanging out with other human beings, so I go on Facebook and see what everyone is doing. Most of the time I see the requisite "Oh, my kids are awesome" or "Look at this place I visited! My vacations are fantastic!"  I'm OK with that.  That's what Facebook is for: mostly living vicariously through people we barely remember from high school and pretending like we talk to our actual IRL friends more than we really do.  That's OK! It's good we have at least that little bit of communication with people these days! 

Occasionally, though, I come across these...I dunno...odes (for want of a better word) to people from their family members/significant others in the status updates and sometimes it makes me incredibly uncomfortable.  Now, let me be specific: It isn't across the board uncomfortable. Like when someone dies, or is born, or if there is some kind of really special/significant thing that happens, I'm fine.  There is a time and place for holding someone up, and I recognize those things.  Mostly it's just the over the top birthday wishes, or mother's and father's day essays, or (and this one is the absolute worst to me) the husbands or wives getting on there and just, oh dear God, gooping the place up with their anniversary wishes, or birthday wishes, or *shudder* just the "oh how wonderful you are" mess that people do. You know, feeeeeeeeeeeelings.  It's gross.  It makes me feel gross.  I actually have to scroll past those things really fast because I become physically uncomfortable knowing that it is just out there for everyone to read.  It's like when you're watching a movie with your parents and a particularly graphic sex scene pops up, and you know that you want to run screaming from the room, but you can't because that would mean acknowledging it, and the last thing you want to do is react, so you just sit there until the scene is over, wishing you were dead instead of watching this movie with your parents?  That feeling.

Now, before anyone accuses me of jealousy or sour grapes, I assure you, that isn't true.  If Steve, or anyone else (you know, one of my various secret admirers), got on Facebook and said goopy, personal things about me in such a public forum, I might actually die of embarrassment. I'd feel my face catch on fire and I'd probably fall into a puddle of boiling, writhing, discomfort. I don't want that.  If you love me and want me to know, just tell me.  Do it in person, over the phone, or in a letter. I even accept YouTube videos set on Private.  I'll probably still be embarrassed (pleased, but embarrassed because I have a very hard time taking compliments) but I'd be OK with that.  Of course, if I die or something like that, you have my permission to say whatever you want about me on Facebook.  Heck, take out a billboard.

I know this is kind of weird and out of nowhere, but I just saw something so personal on Facebook from one spouse to another that I feel like I need a bath. It also bothered me enough that it made me write this.

That is all.  Carry on with your day.

Monday, September 08, 2014


1) I don't know why I'm thinking about the movie  "Indiana Jones and Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" this morning, but there is a scene where Butch has to rescue both Indiana Jones and Marian from the quicksand and has to use a huge snake as a rope to pull them out. Why didn't he use his jacket, or maybe his pants?  Is no one willing to use their clothes as tools to get themselves out of bad situations? You'd better believe I'd be stripping down if the only way I could get everyone safe is to use my pants as a rope or something. Why am I thinking about this this morning?

2) I've had a couple of weird experiences at work lately.  One morning, when I knew I'd be the only one there for a little while, I was walking downstairs to heat up my breakfast when I saw a body laying in the church's breezeway.  It scared me, because the last think I want to do is walk up on a dead person when I'm the only one there.  I mean, I wouldn't want to walk up on one if the place was full of people, but at least I'd have moral support.  I kind of snuck up to the glass doors and tapped on them and the man (thankfully) opened his eyes.  Now, I did a really dumb thing and opened the doors a crack and asked if he was ok.  He said he was homeless and was just sleeping.  I didn't have the heart (or cajones) to tell him he had to leave, so I told him it was fine and went back inside.  The poor guy slept there for a while afterwards, but it really freaked me out. I mean, he picked a really smart place to sleep, but it's disconcerting to have a stranger camped out on the literal doorstep of the place I work.  Luckily my coworker showed up earlier than I thought so at least I wasn't alone.  The man didn't ask for anything and he left an hour or so later, but still.  I wish I could have given him something to help him, but I didn't have anything.

We also have a man who has been showing up to church on Sunday nights that kind of freaks everyone out.  He's apparently functionally, well, kind of, mentally ill in some way.  He may be homeless or he may be under the care of one of the places in our neighborhood, but he shows up with a backpack during the middle of services, he talks out loud to himself and to others, gets twitchy and he tends to get up and wander around the church.  He tried following one of the ladies out of the service once, to ask for money I think, but another one of our members grabbed one of our deacons and they stopped him.  The pastor says he knows the man and that he isn't dangerous, but the policeman that goes to church with us isn't so sure he isn't unstable.  I don't know.  It's honestly such a fine line between wanting to minister to people who obviously need help and protecting ourselves and our congregation.  You can't really tell people they aren't welcome to come to church (definitely not what Jesus would do ) but how do we know when we might need to put a stop to something like that?  As far as I know, we've only ever asked one person to stop coming to church, and that was because she was starting to threaten people. 

I just love our church and I love the people in it, and I want them all to be safe.

3) You want to know something that bothers me? It's completely irrational, much like a lot of other things that bother me.  I read a lot of foodie stuff on the internet because I really, really like food.  Occasionally I'll come across these blogs or Pinterest pins that talk about how you can make a homemade, healthier version of some commercially available product.  My problem is that sometimes the people who write these recipes/directions say something to the effect of "I've found this great way to make home made Cheez-Its without all of the crap in them!" It makes me mad when people say that some food thing they don't like for one reason or another is full of "crap."  I can't even explain why, really, because it isn't the idea that they don't like the ingredients that bothers me, it's simply the fact that they use phrases like "Without all the crap in them."   It isn't even the specific word that bothers me, but it's like someone putting a cigarette out in my eye every time I read that sentiment.  I think it's partly because it sounds so pretentiously snotty or something.  It's completely irrational.

4) I got stung by what I'm pretty sure was a bee last week and it almost ended me!  It's been so long since I have been stung by anything (thank goodness) that my brain almost couldn't process what was going on.  I was mowing the lawn, and all of a sudden it felt like I'd been shot in the leg.  Quite literally, my mind went blue with the pain that shot through me!  I jumped off of the lawnmower and ran into the garage and grabbed the first thing I could find out of the freezer - a pint of ice cream- and put it on my leg, but it didn't help.  I went inside and tried the baking soda trick, which helped for a minute, eventually just put ice on it, which helped a lot more, but holy Moses did it hurt!  I realize how much like a weenie I sound, but unexpected pain like that just took over me.  Luckily I'm not allergic, but my leg swelled up and a weird, red, bloody dot popped up where I'd been stung.  My leg muscle actually contracted and didn't let go for a long time.  It was weird.  I was going to be filming a wedding that night, so I had to put pantyhose over that spot (which was not pleasant) but eventually the pain settled down to a manageable level.  My leg was very hot where it was swollen, though.  It finally stopped hurting the next day and now it just itches like fire.  Bees suck!  Sorry for admitting what a pansy I am. :(

Monday, August 11, 2014


1) Well, we finally found out that Steve's last day will be January 30th!  At least now we know, so we can figure out what to do from there.  Please keep your fingers crossed that he finds another job PDQ. : ) 

2) We've been redecorating the bedroom, and so far it looks great!  This has been a project a long time coming, and I'm just relieved we're finally making some progress.  We knew that we needed more storage in our room, but it was too small to add another piece of furniture. We decided to get rid of our old bed and order a new one with drawers underneath.  Since we were going to be doing that, we decided to repaint, too, because we've been sleeping in a beige room for nearly 14 years. Beige. Seriously, how did I wind up with a beige room?  Bleh.

Anyway, we've been collecting parts for a long time.  We ordered our bed months ago (It has been in the garage since it came in. We've only had it for a couple of weeks, but it's got to be assembled and we haven't had a chance to put it together yet. Steve's been so busy with work stuff that he hasn't had time, and the pieces are in 3 boxes, 2 of which are taller than me, so I've been too intimidated to try and do it myself) and we also got a new ceiling fan because our old one stopped working correctly. We couldn't do anything with those until we repainted, though, and paint was the last thing we decided on.   

Last Friday, we began moving everything out of the room.  There is just something about Steve and I that doesn't mesh when we're trying to do a project like that. We start trying to move a thing, we hit a snag, and when Steve is off trying to figure out the logistics of how to make it work, I just end up moving it myself.  Granted, he's probably trying to figure out a way to move it without destroying it, and I'm just trying to get it out of the way.  At any rate, trying to move furniture around with Steve greatly multiplies my desire to beat him to death with my shoes.  He told me the feeling was mutual!  Ha!  Luckily, we managed to clear out everything without a homicide! 

While I began painting (a lovely greenish-blue that the paint guy made fun of) he began working to put up the fan.  Unfortunately the wires, which are as old as the house, began to fall apart in his hands as soon as he started working with them.  Neither one of us knew what to do!  We'd had to cut the power, of course, and we were going to need some kind of light and power on that end of the house before Monday, even if the fan couldn't be installed. We also couldn't very well leave live wires dangling from our ceiling, so we had to find an electrician that would come out on very short notice, not to mention on a Saturday. Luckily we found someone and he was able to fix the wires and install the fan for a reasonable amount of scratch.  One thing about the fan, though, is that Steve and I didn't measure how big the old one was before getting the new one. We just guessed and grabbed one. The new fan is HUGE! It's intimidatingly huge. Sleeping under it makes me think of some kind of elaborate James Bond villain death trap. We haven't even been brave enough to turn it up as high as it will go for fear that our bedroom will take off like a helicopter.  It's a nice fan, just kind of scary.

After the electrician left, I was able to start painting again, and I've learned some things about myself.  I'd turned on my iTunes playlist, and I learned I work much faster when I'm listening to music!  Well, I would if the whole thing didn't break into a musical complete with dancing and arm movements.  I can't just listen to it, I have to EXPERIENCE it.  I also learned that I have no actual idea what is on my iTunes playlist, and the fact that it jumped from One Direction (just one song, shut up) to something about lonely women making good lovers that I don't remember adding, disturbs my inner chi.  I never think to weed out that playlist, so every time I turn it on is an adventure.  :) I also can't keep paint off of the carpet, even with a drop cloth. Luckily it was only two tiny spots, but one spot kind of got bigger when I tried to vaccuum it up thinking it was a piece of paper.  Oy.

At any rate the room has been painted and now I need to move whatever furniture I can back into it to get it out of the rest of the house. It's like playing an annoying game of Tetris in our house right now.  More stories about the room as they arise.

3) I think I'm too old to stay up late these days.  When I get really sleepy, it's almost like I'm drunk. I get really honest, slurry and very silly.

4) Last night during church we were doing "congregation requests" during the music time.  That's self explanatory, right? Anyway, while I was trying to find a certain song so that I could pull it up on the screen, I uncrossed my legs and my foot hit dead center on the computer's power button and the whole thing shut down.  I couldn't have done that if I'd been trying, but I did manage to do it by accident in front of the whole congregation. *Facepalm*

5) There was another thing I was going to put here, but I can't remember it.  :(  I'm sure it was both charming and entertaining, though.  To make up for it, here is a picture of Groot.

He is Groot.

Thursday, August 07, 2014

This is lovely.  Sad, but lovely.


This is just a quicky, but embarrassingly, I was excited and had to share!!!

I have an Instagram account.  I usually won't follow people unless I know them personally, or unless their posts are relevant to my interests.  I certainly don't make a habit of following celebrities, but I made one exception to this rule: Jorge Garcia.

This is him.

He is an actor who was on Lost.  He was my favorite actor on Lost, as a matter of fact. I have a small, plastic figure of him in my house in a place of honor. I feel weird about that. Probably not as weird as I should.

Anyway, I began following him on Instagram a while back, and recently he posted a list for something called a 30 Day Drawing Challenge.  The list gives you a subject for each day and you're supposed to draw a picture of that thing and post it to your picture feed. You're also supposed to use the hash tag so other people who are participating in the challenge can look at your stuff.  I thought it looked fun, so I am doing the challenge.  Not many people are currently participating, so I shouldn't be surprised that he's seen my pictures.  But he did comment on one of them!  He thought it was funny. I sqeed. I squeed so hard that I pulled a muscle.

Look, the normal, grown-up part of me knows he's just a guy who happens to be an actor, he likes to draw, and he's seen my picture.  No big deal.

The other part of me (the part that most of you know) is the one currently writing on my blog that he commented on my picture. It is also the part of me that sqeed.

Don't worry, I didn't try to engage him in any sort of contact.  I see people do that a lot on his feed and it embarrasses me.  I don't want to be that guy!