Out with the old

Hey, how are you guys doing? Can you please answer a few questions for me? 1) What are your New Year’s Eve plans? and 2) How many Christmases do you celebrate? (For example, do you travel to Grandma’s, have a celebration with your own family, and then travel to your significant other’s family? That would be three Christmases.)

As for us, we’re going out to dinner tonight and then relaxing at home by finishing up our 2007 cribbage, foosball and dart tournaments. (I am totally losing in cribbage and darts, but thank god for foosball.) For the Christmases, we have five, FIVE Christmases to celebrate every year via various family and family-offshoot gatherings (actually 6, before we decided to rotate families every other year) and it is getting to be a bit much, what with all the traveling and the whole “driving instead of relaxing” that happens. So we’re going to figure out a way to fix that while still retaining holiday cheer and familial harmony. Yeah, right.

Anyway, I’m finishing up a cold, so I’ve got to go before my nasal passages pledge their entire contents to the Kleenex Foundation Telethon. Have a safe and fun-filled New Year’s Eve and we’ll see you in 2008, where I’ve vowed to eat more bacon and yet eat healthier at the same time.

lazy head mazy

Thank you so much for the wonderful birthday wishes. It was a great day. Jason got me some new Twins gear (an awesome jersey, hooded sweatshirt and t-shirt) and then took me to Dave & Buster’s so he could decimate me in the basketball-shooting game. (I am the WORST at that game.) It was a fun time and it was so great to have the week off.

The weather has been perfect all week, too. It was 66 degrees on Monday, so I tossed my winter gear in the closet and can now wear tennis shoes instead of clompy boots outside. The poop swamp is gone and our yard is now contaminant-free. (For now.) There’s only a few stubborn ice remnants left, and I kindly help them out by stomping on them with my heels so they can disappear faster. GET OUT, WINTER.

A neighbor cat peed on our patio window last weekend, so I washed it (the window, not the cat, although I would love to get even with that window-peeing menace), and then washed the inside of the window, and you guys, seeing the sun stream in through crystal-clear glass healed my soul. I’m not kidding. We took the plastic off our windows and opened up doors and screens and it was heavenly. Just heavenly. I knew winter this year was really affecting me, but I didn’t realize how close to the end of my unravelled, unknotted rope I was.

Hey, do you want to hear about my stupid dream neurosis? I hate when people in my dreams don’t listen to me. Last night, I was with a group of people fighting off evil attackers in some post-apocalyptic world. We drove off the last of the evil-doers and started congratulating each other, when I turned around and there stood Eric Bogosian. And I was like, “What the hell is HE doing here?” And people were telling me, “It’s cool. He’s with us.” And I said, “NO. That is Eric Bogosian. He’s a bad guy.” And they said, “No, no, he’s a GOOD guy.” And so on. They wouldn’t listen to me, even when I insisted that Eric Bogosian is ALWAYS the bad guy, don’t they know ANYTHING? And sure enough, a hidden group of bad guys ambushed us, Eric Bogosian started laughing evilly and saying, “I double-crossed you,” and as I started fighting back I shrieked, “Why doesn’t anyone LISTEN to me?”

Man, even in my sleep I’m a whiner.

You guys listen to me, right? Right?

Hello?

The name game

This past week has been so wearying, so heavily burdened, so disappointing, I’m taking it personally and anthropomorphizing everything.

My iPod is named Sammy. Jason’s work-induced stress ulcer is named Frank. (Also, his ulcer is Italian.)

The headache I’ve had off and on for nearly a week is called Stephen, but it insists on pronouncing it “Steeeeven” instead of “Steffen” because that’s so much more annoying. (Also, Stephen should not be confused with Steven, my pool cue.)

My overall mood this week – which pinballed between grim desperation, excessive annoyance, homicidal rage, teetering despair, giddy silliness and throbbing headachey-ness – is named Mark.

In other words, life right now is being a Dick.

Mindfreak

Want to hear something spooky, something so supernatural the hairs on your neck will stand up and salute?

I have powers.

Not necessarily powers that are awe-inspiring, mind you. For example, I can’t teleport or light a cigarette using my finger. I can’t fly or stop time or shoot icicles from my fingertips.

I can however, make dining establishments build locations close to my home.

It happened a few months ago, when I wished for a Dave & Buster’s to appear and it did. At the time, I had no idea of my powers and proclaimed that I wanted a Jimmy John’s near me.

And today, after months of fervent wishing, it happened. In the location that I desired, three blocks from our house.

It wasn’t all happiness and rainbows, though. It took lots of mental dedication and a refusal to give up. First, a Starbucks went up. Then a nail salon. Since only four more spots were available, I had to step it up. So I concentrated extra hard.

And I made it happen with my mind.

It’s there. The sign says so: Jimmy John’s Gourmet Sandwiches. Three blocks away.

I hope they deliver.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go wish for a Big Boy Restaurant.

You win this battle, Tuesday

I woke up this morning and as I was making the bed approximately 4.7 seconds later, I tugged mightily on the comforter, which was supporting 18 pounds of feline paperweight. Upon losing my grip on the comforter, my left thumb rammed spectacularly against the wooden headboard. The wooden headboard then returned the favor by pushing back on my thumbnail, in the opposite direction, so that I was immediately greeted by a giant pool of blood underneath my nail.

Then I forgot that today was “Everyone Who Owns a Vehicle Drive Into Downtown Minneapolis” Day and was nearly 30 minutes late to work, as I sat idling on the 4th Street Bridge for close to 27 minutes (Note: my entire commute is typically less than 9 minutes).

So ever since this morning, I have been homicidally trigger-happy and glaring slit-eyed at everyone and everything in my path. Not even my desk accessories are immune: (“Oh, what’s that, Mr. Stapler? You don’t feel like dispensing staples? How about after I pound you repeatedly against my desk? Feeling cooperative NOW?!?”)

***

In non-complainy news, I am a huge fan of the show “Heroes.” Man, I wish I could teleport. Although being the girl who never gets injured would be cool. I’d be a hit at parties: “Wanna see me and my stapler duel to the death?”

Nightmare on my street

I had a horrific nightmare last night that was so realistic I could describe in great detail the perfectly manicured mustache of the policeman named Bob who shined his flashlight into our basement window while searching for an intruder. The fear of being told, “There’s someone in your house…or your yard…we’re not sure – stay put!” was so realistic that Jason finally woke me up after I had screamed “No!” a few times at the top of my lungs.

That was kind of him, even though I completely fell back into the nightmare and found myself being shockingly startled by either the intruder or trigger-happy policemen as I wandered through various hallways and corners of the house.

When Jason’s alarm finally went off and shocked me awake for good, I was exhausted and adrenaline-twitchy. As he kissed me goodbye, he asked, “Were you having a nightmare earlier?”

“Yeah,” I murmured sleepily, eyes half shut. “I dreamt someone was in the house, but we didn’t know where.”

“Huh,” he said, as he left the bedroom on his way out. “That’s funny. When I woke up this morning, the basement light was on.

Then he skipped merrily away to work, while my eyes popped wide open and my bloodstream became infused with a lethal dose of old-fashioned, cold-temperature Fear.

Incident report

Date of incident: Friday, February 4, 2016

Time of incident: Approximately 7:38 pm

Location of incident: Driveway

Description of incident:
Complainant (hereafter known as Subject S) was returning her vehicle to the garage after a dinner out.

Defendant (hereafter known as Subject J) was standing in the driveway waiting for Subject S.

According to multiple neighboring witnesses, Subject J created a compact “snowball” made from remnants found in the subjects’ yard. Subject J then “lobbed” said “snowball” at Subject S.

Subject S was struck at high velocity in the forehead region, resulting in a temporary lack of logical speech, as evidenced by neighbors’ claims that she exclaimed, “WHAT the F@#$!” at top volume.

Subject J immediately inquired about Subject S’s welfare in between uncontrollable bouts of laughter.

Subject S reported that the frozen projectile “hurt!!!” and was “super cold, dammit!”

Witnesses also report that Subject S had partial remains of the frozen projectile stuck in her hair, scarf and coat.

When prodded as to his intentions, Subject J maintained that he did not “mean to hit her,” clarifying that he “only wanted to hit [her] in the coat. Or maybe the garage door…to scare her.”

Upon self-administering medical attention, Subject S discovered a red bump on her forehead that was described as “hurty” and “fricking freezing.”

Follow up: The red bump on Subject S’s forehead disappeared after 10 minutes, when it was replaced with a small cut, which according to Subject J “is barely visible.” Despite that assertion, Subject S maintains that Subject J “is so dead.”

Barely holding on

Things I have imagined myself doing to This Work Week if it were a person:

– Shivving it in the neck (by also imagining I was in prison)

– Making it cry by saying nobody likes it

– Telling it I’ve been wishing it dead since 8:31 a.m. Monday morning

– Not inviting it to my party

– Ignoring all its pleas for attention

– Crank-calling it at midnight

– Choosing it last during recess

– Washing its cotton sweaters in hot water

– Not telling it that it has spinach in its teeth

– Replacing its coffee with decaf

– Not answering its phone calls

– Punching it in the throat

Make me up, buttercup

Today at work was our last Spa Day (it got extended due to its popularity, wonder of wonders). I immediately signed up for another massage because DUDE. Free massage!

I also signed up for a free makeup session. The makeup guy was totally professional, knowledgeable, sweet and most importantly, gushingly complimentary toward my face. (Apparently, my eyes aren’t “brown,” they are a “pretty shade of amber.” And instead of referring to my skin tone as “corpse-like white,” he called it “porcelain.” HA.)

I’m pretty sure his greatest challenge, however, was preventing himself from rolling his eyes at me every time he asked a makeup question:

“What kind of eye makeup do you typically use?”

“Uhhh…you’re looking at it.”

“Oh. So you don’t typically wear eye makeup, then.”

“That is correct.”

“Does your moisturizer have SPF in it?”

“Umm…I don’t use moisturizer…or SPF…but I use Carmex on my lips! Does that have SPF?”

Luckily, he didn’t laugh or chastise me, but instead carefully explained exactly what he was doing as he masterfully mixed shadows and daubed on liquid eye shadow and patted my lids with brushes and Q-tips, and generally stuck his fashionable boot-clad foot over the line that indicates Nearly Touching My Eyeball Land, while I squirmed and fidgeted and tried not to blink or think about how my contacts will later exact their revenge.

And I learned, finally, the correct way to apply eye shadow, which, let’s face it, is the main reason I never wear eye makeup, unruly contacts notwithstanding. I have no less than three 4-color eye shadow sets and yet I have no clue about how to layer the colors. None. So I stick with the boring brown shades and instead of making my eyes pop, I essentially make them invisible.

So, girls (and rock star boys), here’s what I learned today about applying multiple colors of eye shadow (you probably already know this, but I am a makeup moron):

[The four colors he used on me were pretty natural: white, taupe, pink and charcoal gray]

  • Start with the neutral shade (in my case, taupe) and apply it with a small, rounded brush from lash line to eyebrow.
  • Take a smaller brush and apply the next-lightest color (white for me) in a thin line under the brow line. Dab a teeny amount in the corners of your eye lids to brighten your eyes.
  • If you want, at this point you can use a liquid eye shadow on your lids to add shimmer and to act as a base for your main eye shadow color. (He used a shimmery white on me.) Use the brush from Step 1 again to apply your color (for me, pink) on your lids over the liquid shadow.Note: Your eyes will start to feel heavy with gunk. Do not be alarmed. Apparently, this is normal. Also, your contacts will imagine they have 517 specks of dust in them. They are overreacting. Ignore them.
  • Finish with a skinny square brush by sweeping a line of shadow (for me, charcoal gray) along your lash line.
  • If you want eyeliner, apply it in your lash line, not above it. And apply it starting where your lashes are the thickest, not right at the corner of your eye. This way it will emphasize your lashes at their thickest point and make your eyes pop.
  • Apply mascara in a downward motion first, so it will get rid of any eye shadow powder that fell on your lashes previously. Then apply a second coat while brushing upwards. You can either curl your lashes before this or use a curling mascara.
  • Ta-da! You’re now beautiful and can call your husband and beg him to take you somewhere nice for dinner instead of sitting at home eating leftover spaghetti with bacon. Although it’s spaghetti with bacon, so maybe you’ll just eat at home looking all sultry and sexy.

Bittersweet symphony

Brain, tapping conductor stick: All right, everyone. Places! Let’s practice this piece one more time.

Legs: Um…were we always this long, or did these pants shrink?

Ankles: Yeah, we’re not used to being seen by the public.

Eyes, snorting: Yeah, those white socks look smokin’ with those jeans.

Brain: Quiet! Let’s take it from the top. Creativity, you come in hard and heavy and Sense of Humor, you enter three measures later, but keep it pianissimo, OK?

Sense of Humor: Got it.

Brain: 2, 3, 4…

[general music/life functions]

Stomach: [growls loudly]

Brain: Stop, stop, stop. Stomach – what the hell, man?

Stomach: I’m hungry. And I lost count because the cramps came in waaay too early.

Uterus: Sorry.

Brain: Let’s try this again. Stomach, you actually don’t have a part in this. Basically, you have a 4-hour rest.

Stomach: Look, the last time I checked, we don’t have a lot of songs that feature stomach growls.

Feet: Thank god. You’re always out of tune anyway.

Stomach: I think I would be doing this orchestra a disservice if I didn’t play the hell out of this.

Brain: Look, just go get some leftover rice-a-roni and shut it.

Stomach: [sulks]

Uterus: What about me?

Brain: You can’t keep the beat. Go hang out with Aleve and Bruce Dickinson next door.