Semi-Retired.

Hello my many, many blog readers!
I mean, my faithful few blog readers.
Perhaps, my close family blog readers?...
Hello... my one reader?

Scratch that.

Hello blog!

I haven't seen you in a very long time. Not that I haven't wanted to.
But you know me. Livin' the dream. (aka. "being an adult")

You see, when I started you blog, I had plenty of work hours to contemplate what I should fill you with. That lasted for a year or so, but somehow I find myself actually 'working' at my current job. It's a strange sensation.

Today is the first day in months that I've sat down, looked around and realized that I actually have a free moment to do something other than stare at paperwork, calculate figures and run to the DMV.

"Maybe I'll write a blog post!", I thought.
But then I realized something. I couldn't think of a single blog topic.

Usually I have a bunch banging around inside my head (painful, I know) that I have to write down, so as not to forget, and then expound on later. But blog, I realized that I haven't done that in quite some time now.

Maybe it's because I've run out of things to say.
Or perhaps we've just grown apart.

Regardless, please know that it's me, not you, that has moved on.
Maybe I'll see you soon. Maybe not.

Maybe I'll send you a yearly postcard, just for old time's sake.
And maybe I'll resume writing on you frequently when I revert to old habits and eventually become a bitter old cat lady.

Who knows.
Just remember that I love you, and only you, and that will never change.

Well and bacon.
And bad jokes.

You get my point.
Until we meet again blog,

Craysee Speshal.

On a pretty frequent basis, I encounter moments that just scream to be memorialized on my blog. It's almost as if fate sends all of the crazies my way just so I'll have something to write about.

I encountered one such 'crazy' earlier this week during a quick Macey's trip. I stopped to grab a few groceries and very quickly realized that I had been holding it all day at work and needed to find a bathroom ASAP.

So I sped-walked to the little ladies room, quick as a jiffy, to take care of business (if you know what I mean...). After choosing the second stall (always the best choice) and settling in, I noticed the entrance of another bathroom occupant.

"Brr. Cold. It's Cold." she mumbled, "Cold. Cold. Cold."

Pretending not to have noticed, I listened as she proceeded to fiddle with the door to the adjoining stall, sliding the lock back and forth and making a general ruckus. Apparently there was a problem, because she relocated to my other side and tried her luck there.

It's wasn't long before there was a knock at my door.
Which I found extremely unsettling considering our location and the purpose for being there.

"Occupied.", I sputtered nervously.

"Oh. Right. Of course." she voiced loudly, "There seems to be a problem with the locks around here. So I'll just wait 'til you're done."

No pressure, right?
It was then I noticed her feet protruding under my door. The woman's nose must have literally been touching the outside of my stall. She may have also had an eye pressed against the crack, I was too stunned to check.

"Okay..." I hesitated, "but I might be a minute."

Now, maybe it's just me, but I usually avoid conversations with strangers from within public restroom stalls. It borders on extremely awkward, and I try to avoid that at all costs.

But apparently, she was fine with it. Because two seconds later she started jabbering again.

"No problem. No problem. Maybe I can get this dang thing to work.", she decided as she tried the locks again. Much to my relief, one miraculously worked.

By this time, I was ready to wash my hands and get the heck out of there, but decided to avoid a face-to-face confrontation at all costs and stay within the safety of my stall. Where I remained during the next five minutes during her continuous stream of brain vomit. (You know, the thoughts most of us keep in our head, but in her case, voiced without filter or reserve.)

It went a little something like this:

"Come on, come on. Let's go!" (I'm scared to think what this was in reference to...)
"Yuck. Gah, Idiot." (Also, ew.)
*sighing impatiently*
"Good thing I got that darn door to lock, huh?" (No response.)
*laughing nervously*
"They should really check on those sorts of things." (I think it was a user error, personally.)
"Geez. It's stuck."
*grunts*
"Phew." (Why me?...)

Pretty sure there was some humming somewhere in there as well, but I could never be sure.

Before long she had made her way to the sinks (after hearing no flush, to my terror) where she proceeded to wash her hands. Well try, at least. Apparently the technology of the world was working against her because nothing seemed to be functioning correctly.

I went to my happy place and pretended I was invisible, seriously considering pulling my legs up to hide my shoes on the off chance that she might recognize them and strike up a potentially disastrous conversation, should I encounter her in the store again.

Naturally, there was additional commentary as she tried to figure out the paper towel dispenser, eventually giving up and exiting wet-handed.

Just to be safe, I waited an additional few minutes before making my escape. She could have come back, you can never be too careful.

Out of curiosity, I checked the offending stall locks.
As I expected, they were fully functioning and quite easy to maneuver. The toilet (which was actually an automatic flush) was also in perfect working condition. And when I washed my hands, guess what? The soap dispensed beautifully and the automatic towel machines easily detected my motion.

Which left me particularly puzzled.
How could one woman be so completely confounded by a multitude of simple machines? Most of them requiring only her motion to produce the desired result.

My only conclusion was that she must have fallen out of the 'special' tree and hit every special branch.

Regardless, it was an experience that I do not hope to repeat.
Friendly bathroom banter included.

Potty-mouthed.

I've noticed that I sometimes get strange looks. Crazy, I know, but most often, these looks occur after I've called someone a name.

I never knew it before, but I apparently choose strange words when taunting people. All throughout high school, I got flack from a friend who maintained that calling someone a 'silly goose' was highly unorthodox.

I don't know about you, but to me, using your own special language when mocking others leads to some highly entertaining name calling.

My favorites of late are:
1) turd
2) lard
3) skank
4) hoe
5) butt-head

I know, I know. You probably haven't been called a butt-head since fifth grade, but that's what makes it fun. :D

Lacy-Hacy also has some creative nicknames. For some reason, hearing her call her nieces and nephews 'shit-lits' brings immense joy to my heart.

I'm sure you're all aware of my recent obsession with swearing. At least, my mom is. She informs me daily that she is concerned for my immortal soul.

Okay. Maybe not daily but on a regular basis.

What you don't know is that I rarely actually SAY any of the commonly accepted obscenities. I'll go down to check my laundry and, for a split second, think I've forgotten to push start on the dryer, leaving me to believe that I will not -- in fact -- have any clean underwear tomorrow. Which leads me to loudly exclaim 'SON-OF-A' before realizing I actually did push start and the dryer was just speedy and finished its cycle before I expected it would.

Commence happy laundry folding. Suspect nothing.

So, naturally, I was confused when I came upstairs and Mom asked me what was wrong. "Uhh... nothing. That I know of?", I stammered.
"I just heard some pretty choice words a few minutes ago.", she responded with her well-known and frequently used disapproving look.
"Choice words?..." I chuckled, "Was it 'son' that offended you? Or are you easily insulted by prepositions?"

See what I mean? I have been unduly judged. Because saying 'frick' and 'son of a biscuit eating bulldog' shouldn't make me a bad person.

Other fun phraseologies:
"What's the word, hummingbird?", "What's up, buttercup?" and, my personal favorite, "What's the gist, physicist?".

Granted, they're not particularly accusatory, but I still like 'em.

So if I happen to call you a 'meanie-head' during one of our future exchanges, don't take it to heart. I say it with love. Always.

Because, according to my mother, you'd know if it wasn't.

My Lips Hurt Real Bad...

I'm having a crisis at the moment. Read my lips. (wah, wah, wah...)
The gloss Lacy-Hacy gave me a few weeks ago is practically gone.

Do you know what this means??...
Soon, very soon, I may go into a dry lips coma.

Which can only end with a new tube of lip-smackin' Bonne Bell VitaGloss O2.

Some of you claim that I am addicted to the stuff.
But I just keep a stiff upper lip and say, "Don't give me any of yo lip!"
Ba Dum Dum.

I can't help it if my lips are drier than the Sahara Desert.
Like two pieces of shriveled jerky, they are.

The way I see it, lips shouldn't stick together when they're momentarily united. (I'm talking top lip and bottom lip, you sicko.)

And don't be fooled into thinking licking your lips will do the job. That only exacerbates the problem. I know this from experience.

Instead, show 'em a little love and use some product.
Balm, gloss, stick. It don't matter!

In fact, should you choose to use all three simultaneously, no one needs know. I promise. My lips are sealed.

Exactly Different.

I hate recipes that claim you can make something exactly like a famous restaurant. It's never true.

Granted, my mom did make some pretty amazing Winger's sauce from scratch. Good? Yes. A perfect reproduction. No.

Because no matter how much you try and convince me, it is impossible to make baked chicken that tastes 'exactly like KFC!'. Fried is fried people.

My mom is especially guilty of this.
She hates spending money so much that she insists on making everything from scratch. 'Just like the real thing'.

Except it never is.
And I am always disappointed.

I'll come home, describing my immediate need for a McDouble and she'll happily pipe in, "Why don't you just make one?"
"Because you don't have the ingredients.", I'll respond.
"Oh sure we do." she'll counter, "Everything you could possibly need."
"Buns?", I'll question.
"Well... no." she'll interject, "But you could make some!"
"Hamburger patties?"
"Hamburger that you can form into a patty."
"Cheese?"
"Swiss is just as good, right?"
"Pickles?"
"Bread and butter flavor."
"Onions?"
"Oh wait. I just ran out of those."
"MUSTARD??"
"Dijon..."

Yep. Exact replica, Mom.

What you should know about my mom is that she is an amazing cook. Without fail, every time I visit the house, she's in the process of whipping up some new concoction that she found in one of her beloved Home and Garden cookbooks.

And everyone knows that her homemade bread is to die for.
Especially the artisan bread. Mmm...

But the woman substitutes ingredients like there's no tomorrow.
This habit usually results in success but sometimes, oh sometimes, DISASTER.

I only need utter the word 'Chutnagna' in the Haymore household and it sends an immediate chill down every spine. Long story short, chutney can not be used instead of spaghetti sauce when making lasagna.

Even our trusty dog, Rowdy, wouldn't eat it.

And so today I make a desperate plea.
Do not try and convince me that your creation is 'exactly like the real thing'. It's not.

It may be tasty. It may be delicious. I may eat it.
A lot of it.

But, by golly, when I want a McDouble,
digging for change in the sofa becomes incredibly worth it.

My Fingers Hurt...

In case you haven't heard, I am now a seamstress for the masses.
A certain aforementioned brother-in-law, known for his zealous teasing tendencies, stopped by my office to drop off a bag of pants that needed hemming.

"Take off a couple inches or so.", he instructed.
"Uh... How much exactly then?...", I questioned concernedly.
"Well, they're 36 and need to be 32. So, four.", he responded.
"Is that how men's pant measurements work?", I replied.
"I dunno.", he shrugged and then proceeded to loudly embarrass me in front of my coworkers.

So this should be interesting. Apparently, he trusts me wholeheartedly. Let's hope that doesn't come back to bite him.

But the real kicker is when he announced that I had 'volunteered' for the job. Not quite how I remember it... In fact, I don't think I've ever volunteered to be anyone's personal slave in my life.

It's just... happened. Over and over again.

Perhaps my favorite stories, involving sewing and servitude, are as follows.

Story #1: My eldest sister, Jenny, frequently requisitions my services for sewing projects. From bedroom drapes to ill-fitting swimwear to baptismal dresses. But the project that most stands out in my mind was when she commissioned I 'help her' create a shower curtain for her father-in-law's new camping trailer.

She provided me the material & dimensions and set me to work. Before long, I delivered the (perfectly, I might add) finished product. Jokingly, she mentioned that her in-law would love her forever for helping him with this small task.

Thinking no more of it, I went on my way. It wasn't until several weeks later that I discovered the truth. Naturally, her father-in-law was grateful. Grateful to HER. The little turkey had taken all of the credit. I'm sure my name hadn't even come up over the course of their pleasantries. Throw me under the bus why don't cha...

Story #2: 'Someone' (who prefers to remain unnamed) apparently learned from story #1 that dishonesty pays off. Because for a subsequent English project, they pawned off two princess dresses and cloaks, made for my nieces, that I had lovingly paid for and slaved over for hours on end as her own work.

And they got an A. AN A.
From my blood, sweat and tears!

Ah... the humanity!

So it all goes to show, Corinner-Elly has been used ill. Very ill.
But I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment in that way. I just can't say 'no'.

Let alone HAIL no.

'Peas' Don't Make me Eat Them.

Due to a lack of inspiration for an entertaining post today, I shall document my favorite and least favorite fruits and vegetables and my love/aversion to them.

Thrilling, I know.
Here's the gist: peas and squash are nasty.
Watermelon, peaches and cherries are delicious.

Peas, or 'little green abominations' as I like to call them, should be banished from off the face of the Earth. Nothing good has ever come from eating a pea, cooked or raw.

They are simply little squishy balls of death.
Determined to ruin my fried rice.

The same with squash. Anything with a stringy consistency should not be eaten. Except for mango. Mangoes are delicious. I guess that the difference is mangoes taste good behind all that stringy-ness. And squash does not.

I have been told that I am crazy for this viewpoint. Hundreds of times, in fact. *cough, mom* That squash, with a little pad of butter and salt/pepper, is delicious and nutritious.

I still hold that anything, given enough butter, can be edible.
But what, pray tell, happens when you don't have enough butter to douse it in?...

No, no. Peas and squash. Do not eat them.
Stick with versatile vegetables like potatoes and green beans.

Watermelon, on the other hand, I could eat everyday for every meal. Especially when it's nice and cold. Every year, I'm sad to see summer come and go for this reason especially.

Why-oh-why can't you last all year watermelon season?

Same with peaches.
Someday, I'm going to have an orchard of peach trees. And I'm going to eat peaches with sugar and milk every morning for breakfast. I am.

Scratch that. I'm going to have an orchard of peach and cherry trees. Don't want to leave my very favoritest fruit out.

Cherry is, by far, my favorite flavor. Everything is better with it.

Cherry pie, Sonic cherry CreamSlush, cherry chapstick, Jergen's cherry-almond lotion. Maraschino cherries, cherry cordials, pretty-please with a cherry on top. You get the idea.

There is nothing that cannot be improved by a cherry. Or two. Or seven.
Actually, I take that back. Peas can not be improved by a cherry on top. Squash either.

Some things are just beyond the magical powers of the cherry.

Normally, Crazy-Interesting.

There are about five-million times each day when I'm reading some witty quote on Pinterest and think to myself, "That is so totally me!"

So after thinking that the five-millionth time, I decided it was about time I compiled a list. Don't cha think?

And so, without further ado,

25 things you should know about Corinner-Elly:

1) I adore spontaneity, providing it is carefully planned.
2) I'm a recovering people pleaser. (Is that okay?...)
3) My fear is that PMS doesn't exist and this is my real personality.
4) When I say I won't tell anyone, my best friend doesn't count.
5) I eat my feelings and they taste delicious.
6) Sometimes, the best part of my job is that my chair swivels.
7) I may look calm, but in my head I've killed you three times.
8) If eye-rolling burned calories, I'd be anorexic.
9) I have an irrational fear of wasting a good outfit on an insignificant day.
10) When I'm feeling sick, I Google my symptoms and usually find out I have cancer.
11) My only professional ambition is to get a desk where no one can see my computer screen other than me.
12) When I die, I want my last words to be, "I left a million dollars under the..."
13) I hate it when I'm drinking and the ice just attacks my face.
14) I'm the type of girl who will burst out laughing in dead silence because of something that happened yesterday.
15) I do many things well, none of which generate income.
16) If I ever had to run for my life, I'd probably die.
17) I hate it when I don't forward a chain letter, and I die the next day.
18) I don't have pet peeves, I have whole kennels of irritation.
19) I hate it when crumbs fall in my cleavage. Sometimes, my boobs eat more than I do.
20) If you tickle me, I'm not responsible for your injuries.
21) I'm sarcastic and have a smart a** attitude. It's a natural defense against drama, bull crap and stupidity.
22) I have CDO. It's like OCD but all of the letters are in alphabetical order, like they should be.
23) I don't need to flirt. I seduce people with my awkwardness.
24) I try not to laugh at my own jokes, but we all know I'm hilarious.
25) I'm still haunted by the things I did for a Klondike Bar.

So there it is. Me in a nutshell.
Don't judge.

According to my niece, Allie, people fall into one of three categories: normal, interesting or crazy. And the way I see it, there is only one possible choice when describing me.

And we all know what that is, right?...

WTFrick?...

Is it just me, or have common text acronyms such as 'lol' lost their original meaning an/or context?

I mean, for me at least, 'lol' has changed from meaning 'lots of laughter' or 'laughing out loud' to 'I find that slightly amusing'. Of course, LOL still means I'm dying from hilarity, but you get my point.

And why do some people insist on writing in all caps
ALL OF THE TIME?...

Are they literally yelling non-stop? Because that cannot be good for the throat. That or their keyboard is broken, in which case, I'd think they'd refrain from posting comments on Facebook until it was repaired.

Either way, it's annoying.

But it's ridiculous how many text and chat acronyms there are now. I thought I knew most of them until I moved in with Lacy-Hacy.

That girl has introduced me to a great many new things...
My mom is concerned.

One of which being SOL. (Sh** out of luck. Surely, if you're ladylike.)
Am I the only one who had no idea what this means?...

Likewise with SSDD. (Same sh**, different day.)
You can tell she has a favorite swear.

But you can make any phrase into an acronym, really. Don't know why you would want to, it would probably create unnecessary confusion. But still.

For instance, typing IRBAWAWTEAC is surely not as effective as just saying 'I'm really bored at work and want to eat a corndog'. But some people are just addicted, I guess. I figure they figure it's easier to say 'lol' when they have nothing to say than to say nothing at all.

I'm more of a proponent of not saying anything unless you have something worth saying. But I dunno... whatever floats your boat.

In any case,
GTG. TTYL.

Clan Conspiracies.

On Monday, I brought 'someone' home to meet the family.
He was subjected to the expected interrogation and mild insults.
All manageable.

We were, however, luckily enough to have missed a certain brother-in-law, who was absent due to some twist of fate. What a relief.

It was the annual Haymore pumpkin carving/painting FHE, and we, of course, were determined to walk away with the best design respectively.

By the end of the night, we had both completed veritable masterpieces, I with swirling carved forms and he with a sculpted depiction of Oogie Boogie from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

The drive home consisted of debating whose was better. He insisted that mine was not technically 'Halloween' worthy, and therefore inferior while I maintained that my concept was entirely superior.

Being the saint that I am, I offered that we might both consider ourselves grand prize winners, I in the 'Autumn' category and he in the 'Halloween'. But he swiftly refused, claiming that he and only he was worthy of 'gold place'. (I'm pretty sure this is a mixture of 'gold star' and '1st place', but who knows?...)

We decided that the only way to settle it was to take a vote and seeing that everyone in my apartment would naturally vote for me, I decided to post it to Facebook. Leave it up to the good people of the web to decide.

The voting started off well, and it wasn't long before I was in the lead.

But apparently, I was not fully aware of the bond he had somehow formed with every single member of my immediate family during such a short visit. Because less than 24-hours later, he had already earned the entire population's votes.

Including several of the family dogs.

This is why I both love and hate my family at the same time.
Love because they always come together and do things as a team.

Hate because, in this instance, the team effort was aimed at destroying me and my pumpkin personally.

In fact, since writing this post, there have been several new additions to the 'We Love Dan' club. Pretty sure this is mutiny of some kind.

So thanks a bunch, fam.
I have never met such a determined group of people so set on watching me squirm. And let me tell ya, you've succeeded.

I was told blood ran thicker than water. But now...?
I see how it is.

Brush it Off.

In high school, I remember hearing someone rant about how they absolutely hated it when people brushed their teeth anywhere other than the bathroom.

I sat there thinking, "That's the lamest thing I've ever heard."
Dental hygiene is the most monotonous and mindless activity that we are forced to repeat, at least twice a day. Why not multi-task and kill two birds with one stone.

I, for example, as part of my morning routine, make my bed while brushing my teeth. It sounds intensive when really it's not. Brush in front, throw the pillows in a pile. Brush in back, tuck in the corners. See? Easy peasy.

Doing something while brushing your teeth is both fun and productive.
I can think of nothing that you can't do while brushing.

Granted, there are things that you probably wouldn't want to do while brushing, eating being at the forefront of my mind, but that's beside the point.

I solidly reserve the right to brush whenever and where ever I please. Be it in front of the TV or while checking the mail.

So it's no surprise that after having an entire conversation with my mother this morning she finally commented, "Why does it sound like you have mush in your mouth?"

Yup.
I was shinin' them pearly whites.

Pointless Holidays.

Happy Colombus Day everyone!
Do you know what this means!??

Neither do I.

I thought holidays were about celebration?...
So how is it that I'm at work... on a holiday?

By all accounts, it doesn't make any sense.

I think it's a travesty to call Columbus Day a holiday.
And tell me why, exactly, we commemorate Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday on an annual basis? Washington too. They're not the only human beings who've ever done something noteworthy. Why do they get special attention?

At least I get a break on Labor and Memorial Days.
Even if I'm not exactly sure what I should be doing to celebrate...

I think if the government is going to fabricate silly holidays and then do nothing in order to set them apart from the mundane, we should find creative ways to celebrate on our own.

For instance:

Brilliant, no!?

I plan on doing exactly that this afternoon.

Okay, maybe 'house' can be loosely interpreted as 'Lacy-Hacy's room' here, but you get the idea.

If you're not so dedicated, you can always visit someecard.com where they have a hilarious assortment of Columbus Day ecards for your viewing delight.

I am.

And will be for approximately the next hour and fifteen minutes at which point my shift will end and I will be heading to the D.I. in search of my imagined Halloween costume.

Wish me luck.

I Swear on My Life.

I know how much you all love 'storytime', so I thought I'd oblige you today. This excerpt came from a recent conversation I had with my mother and it went a little something like this:

Me: *ring*
Mom: "Hello?"
Me: "Hi."
Mom: "Hi!"
Me: "Hi... How's your day been going?"
Mom: "Pretty good."
Me: "What did you do?"
Mom: "Gardened. Yoga. Made bread. The usual. You?"
Me: "Went to work. Took a nap. The usual."
Mom: "Huh."
Me: "Yah... so... just calling so that you feel all loved and everything and know I'm still alive."
Mom: "Well that's good. Thank you." (Notice refusal to acknowledge sarcasm.)
Me: "Okay... well... love you."
Mom: "Love you too. Wait, wait, wait. I have something to talk to you about." (insert concern) "I was looking over your Facebook wall recently and there seems to be a whole lot of profanity going on there. I want to you know, I do not approve."
Me: *laughing incredulously* "Please define 'a whole lot' of profanity. I need examples."
Mom: "Well there was that word spelled out by blocks in your room..."
Me: "That was compliments of Lacy-Hacy."
Mom: "And what about that sign on the back of your door?"
Me: "Oh, right. That was definitely me."
Mom: "I don't think it's very fitting for a young lady to be using such language. I'm sure boys find it very inappropriate."
Me: "I'm sure boys find it hilarious."
Mom: *disapproving silence*

Which leads me to my topic of 'blog'scussion for the day.
(I just made that word up. It just popped right out of my head.)

Swearing vs. profanity.
I, for one, believe there is a distinct difference between the two.

For instance, I find it extremely entertaining when someone who you would never have guessed to be a potty-mouth, spouts out a curse word as if they're some bad A.

The perfect example being Sheldon from TBBT.
Declarations of "Damn you wallet nook dot com." and "Oh, gravity. Thou art a heartless bitch." bring me immense amounts of joy. Because to me, jovial cursings aren't vulgar.

It's when someone uses these words in an angry or confrontational manner that I become uncomfortable. And I've been hearing quite a bit of that lately.

Namely, I'm pretty sure my boss suffers from Tourettes Syndrome.

I'll be sitting at my desk, looking all pretty and pleasant when I hear a stream of obscenities a mile long filter past my desk. The first time it happened, I looked around nervously, trying to verify that everyone else had heard what I just heard.

There was no reaction. Not even a blink of an eye.
Thinking it rather strange but not wanting to seem impertinent, I falteringly went on with my duties.

But alas. It happened again. And again.
I am beginning to think that I'm going a bit craysee-craysee.

Because, apparently, I am supposed to refer to customers as 'guests', be as welcoming as possible and always, ALWAYS assume that they are right.

Whereas, management is allowed to pawn off visitors to various departments, stomp around melodramatically and delight all surrounding ears with the melodious mixings of venom filled expletives.

So, swearing isn't always profanity.
Is it just me, or would you agree?

I mean, swear words are just words. Their connotation comes from the method and the intent with which you use them.

It's like how my group of girl friends lovingly refer to each other as 'hoes' and 'skanks'. (But never sl**. That's unnecessary...) It means absolutely nothing to us, because of course we don't mean it in the literal sense of the words.

The amusement comes from the irony in calling a bunch of Molly-Mormons harlots.

But accidentally yell "You hoe!" when your mother intentionally sprays you, your freshly baked banana bars and all of your clean clothes with the hose upon immediately stepping out of your vehicle , and all hell's going to break loose.

Sorry Mom.
"Heck."

Caught Napping.

It's funny how things work out sometimes.

I've been thinking a lot lately about what I'm doing with my life. Especially with my degree. Up until this point, I've known exactly what I should be doing and when I should be doing it.

I went to grade school, middle school, jr. high and high school because that was the natural line-up of things. Then I went to college because I knew it was expected of me.

Four years later, I'm finding myself at odds with what to do next?...

I went on a fantastical trip abroad, had an amazing carefree summer and now I work part-time from 8-1 as a receptionist/cashier at a car dealership.

How does this apply to my desired field of interior design?
Simply stated, it doesn't.

Unless you count designing the magazine placement in the waiting room.
I do that a lot.

But then again, being a working professional never was what I wanted to do. I've wanted to be a mother and homemaker for as long as I can remember. Perhaps with a small home business but at home, nonetheless. Seeking a degree and a full-time career was only something I did in order to be practical about my life and about what may or may not happen for me.

But I'm tired of being practical.
I want a break gosh dang it!

I went four-years, non-stop from eight in the morning 'til eight at night doing crap that I really didn't want to do with a smile on my face. (Well... most of the time.) And now I deserve some rest.

So I feel no shame in taking a nap.
Every day. Sometimes for three hours.

Last time I checked, it's not illegal.

Favorite reactions from certain family members, who shall (but probably shouldn't) remain nameless,  usually fall within three categories: disgust, jealousy or remand.

They're disgusted when they call at three in the afternoon and discover upon my groggy answer that I've been sleeping. They're jealous that I have enough open time to allow such leisure. Then they usually rebuke my lifestyle, commenting that I'd 'better not get used to such a schedule if I plan on having 10 children'.

Really??

I am perfectly aware that it won't go on forever.
What better reason then to savor it while it lasts?...

Because it doesn't last long. No it doesn't.
I know this because this morning I was notified that I will soon be promoted to assistant office manager. It will be a full-time position with benefits and my own desk. Hoo-sha.

And though it has absolutely nothing to do with my degree, I'm content.
I always knew that there was the possibility of working in an entirely different field.

So I'll spend my days doing what I need to do, my nights doing what I want to do and my weekends doing what I probably shouldn't do.

All the while never forgetting about my ultimate goal.
Ridiculously long naps or no.

Summer Lovin', Had Me a Blast

As of last Friday, it is officially Fall.

I have mixed feelings about this.

Because as much as I love the changing of the seasons, my summer was so amazingly fantastic that I don't want it to end.

This is documented by my two Facebook photo albums containing over 300+ pictures of my adventures. You can thank me now for refraining from posting them all here.

It was also evidenced by 'da twinneh's' "I hate you and all of your summer fun." comment.

I can't help it that I was unemployment and carefree or that she slaved away day-after-day for the majority of the time...

But do you know what's not fun?
Writing, yet another, entire blog post (complete with a list of 35 fun things I did this summer) and then realizing none of it saved due to some strange act of the Blogger Gods.

So, suffice it to say, between touring Europe for a month, spending a week in a $10,000,000+ beach house in San Diego, horse riding, rodeing, camping, eating, cliff jumping, star gazing, going to Disneyland, carrying out an ongoing prank war, living with some of my most favorite people in the world, country dancing, karaoke-ing and living it up college-style, I am plum-stuffed full of of summery fun.

I did everything I wanted to do and then some.

I even accomplished a goal I highly doubted the likelihood of.

Let's just say it's been a productive summer.

And Corinner-Elly may have finally gotten her fairytale.

Hey... Take it Easy.

So yesterday, I completed my Scrabble fridge magnets.
Once I figured out where I had put my dang magnet strip, it was easy-peasy from there on out. It is an understatement to say 'I love them'.

As you can see, they've already been put to good use.

I decided to one-up Lacy-Hacy on the swearing issue.
And it was a good choice too because, no joke, after being home less than two minutes, she had already adorned the front door with a resounding 'OSHIT'.

Lovely.

She then continued by chewing me out over not being able to find a particular letter.

"What the F!!? What did you do with all the 'Y's??!", she bellered.
It was then that she noticed the "<3 YOU LACY" in front of her nose.

Bet she felt sheepish.

But it's ok. I forgive her.
She's the only person I know who can be yelling at me one minute and laughing at me the next. And I the same with her.

I just can't stay mad at the girl.
Plus, we have some pretty fantastical arguments.

Yesterday, she accused me of never listening to her. I, of course, accused her of the same. Keep in mind we were both accusing loudly at the same time so in essence, we proved each other right. Haha.

But by the time I left to go stargazing, when I yelled 'love you' on the door step, it was immediately countered with a 'love you long time' response.

It's nice having a home away from home.
A family too.

Dysfunctional as it may be.

That's... 'Pin'teresting...

I have something to admit.
I am a shameless addict.

A week or so back, I noticed certain posts on Facebook beginning to appear. They notified me that certain people were 'pinning' things.

Confused, I decided to look in to it.
And that is when it happened. I took my first dose of Pinterest.

And now, pretty sure I'm never going to be able to stop.
I won't go to rehab. You can't make me!

It doesn't help that my job is an enabler. I can only stare at the closet door in front of me or click my pen so many times before I develop a twitch.

So, instead (to keep me alert and active) I scroll through pages and pages of Pinterest pins. If you are unfamiliar with how Pinterest works, let me educate you.

Copied directly from their website:
"Pinterest is a virtual pinboard. Pinterest allows you to organize and share all the beautiful things you find on the web. You can browse pinboards created by other people to discover new things and get inspiration from people who share your interests. People use pinboards to plan their weddings, decorate their homes, and share their favorite recipes."

So it's like a giant collaboration of photos that provide inspiration for whatever you're in to.

What they neglect to mention is that people use Pinterest to waste gigantic amounts of time. But if you enjoy wasting the time, is it really time wasted?...

Regardless, it has really gotten me into a crafty mood.For some time now, I've wanted to refashion a sewing chest I was given as a 7-year-old for Christmas. I hate to bash Mom *cough* I mean Santa, but even then it looked dated.

Seriously, there are no words to describe my distaste for the combination of forest green and what appears to be a piece of medieval tapestry.

So instead of taking my daily afternoon nap (it was a tough decision), I decided to whip out my scrap fabric, spray paint, glue gun and get crackin'.

Okay, okay. So I still fit in a short nap. The paint needed time to dry...
But I also finished my now ridiculously fabulous sewing basket.

It was no where near as intensive as I imagined it'd be. All I had to do was pop out the lid and dismember the pieces. (I watch a lot of SVU. Can you tell?...)

Then I taped the sections I didn't want to be painted and started spraying. While that was setting, I re-covered the padded lid with a zebra print that has hot pink accents.

It's freakin' hot. Not gonna lie.

Then all I had to do was put it back together, hot glue gun at the ready.

I did make a small whoopsie when painting the wooden insert tray.
Word to the wise, do not cut corners when taping off sections. Because when I removed the newspaper, there were some ugly black stains on the fabric lining.
 

Never fear, I don't sweat the small stuff.
I quickly found a piece of hot pink leopard material which I lined the offending compartment with.

And I actually like it better than I did before. Yay for happy accidents!

But can you believe it, I didn't stop there.
I've seen many of variation of this, and I've always wanted to try it.

So I did.

I absolutely love how it turned out!
I found the three plates and two candlesticks at the D.I. The top smallest one is completely white with a cool shape/design, the middle one is black with white polka-dots (obviously) and the third is a simple black IKEA plate.

I couldn't get a picture that makes it look proportional (as it is in real life) so you're just gonna have to believe me when I say that it looks perfect.

I have it sitting as a centerpiece on my kitchen table, just waiting to be filled with some sort of tasty goodness.

So that was my productiveness as of yesterday. Hopefully the girls who gave me strange looks as they passed by while I crouched in my grungies spray painting in the stairwell won't judge me to harshly.

Heck, like I care.

I'm way excited for my next project.
If you know me, you know of my affinity for everything Scrabble.

A while back, I found a ghetto Scrabble board at the D.I. that still had all of the pieces. I bought it so that I wouldn't have to steal my parents' set, but within months it was Christmas and Santa brought me the brand-spankin'-new Diamond edition complete with swivel game board, raised edge tile slots and shiny black letter pieces.

I couldn't decide what to do with the thrifted game, so it's just been sitting in my game closet. That is, I couldn't decide until I was browsing through Pinterest (again) and kept coming across engagement photos and crafts containing those little Scrabble letter tiles.

And that is when I had an epiphany.

I am going to glue all of the old tiles to pieces of magnet and...

wait for it...

stick them on my fridge!!!
Then Lacy-Hacy with be able to spell obscenities with ease and leisure!
It's brilliant I say!

I'll let you know how they turn out.

There's No 'There', There.

Is it possible to have a semi-photographic memory?...
Because if it is, then I think I have one.

Or maybe I just have a normal memory like everyone else.
When people remember things, don't they see them in their mind almost exactly as they saw them in real life? Like the arrangement of words on a paper or the placement of things in a drawer?

And if that's true, don't we all have (at least to some degree) a photographic memory?

Most of the time, I can picture exactly what I'm trying to remember. I mean, I can't recite back word-for-word everything I've ever read but, take for instance, yesterday I wrote an entire blog post which, to my horror, didn't save properly.

I went through the stages of grief rather quickly. Shock, pain, anger, depression and finally acceptance.

At first, my 'acceptance' equated to giving up and cursing life.
But then I decided to cry me a river, build a boat, get over it and just write the dang thing again.

Thank you Natalie Dee.

To my amazement, I quickly re-wrote the whole post almost word for word.
In fact, I think my second draft was even a bit better.

I was rather shocked at my ability to remember the order of topics I had discussed and even the same phraseology that I had used.

But I suppose not everyone can do that.
Because, apparently, even using a turn signal throws some people for a loop.

And I find myself quoting Scar from The Lion King in his declaration, "I'm surrounded by idiots..." far too often these days.

It's settled. I've come to the conclusion that everyone has a photographic memory. Some people just don't have any film.

'Bump'kins

Zits have been on my mind lately.
Well, on my forehead at least.

And I've come to two conclusions:
1) I do not like the word 'zit'. Saying it makes me feel like a high-schooler again. I've decided to replace it with 'blemish'. Much more refined, no?

-AND-

2) I'm 22. Why am I still getting blemishes?...

Okay, okay. To be fair, I don't get nearly as many as I used to.
In fact, I hardly get any at all.

But when I do, why do they have to be the ginormous, third-eye kind?

And why do they have to appear when I will be visible to the public? Like on Sundays and... every other day... Never mind. Bad example.

Speaking of Sundays, is it just me or do people mispronounce words during their talks quite frequently? I mean, it's understandable. I, of all people, understand the terror that comes along with public speaking.

Every talk I've ever written has been shot to he** as soon as I stand in front of that pulpit. I'll have worded it out beautifully and rehearsed it several times, but inevitably, my one goal changes from doing well and inviting the Spirit to focusing all my energies on not passing out.

I'll get back to my seat and have absolutely no idea what I just said.
Which makes me wonder how many words I've flubbed up?

My favorites from yesterday were 'apathetical' instead of 'apathetic' and 'lackadaisic' instead of 'lackadaisically'.

Snickering at people's mistakes is fun and all, but it makes me miss having kids running around the building. That's the problem with singles wards. Kids make church entertaining. I love how they're always perfectly honest, even when it comes across as mildly insulting.

Not to mention they're funnier than heck.
I was lucky enough to have my four nieces with me yesterday, which was a sight indeed at a BYU singles ward. They were the talk of the ward.

'Talk' used here intentionally, because that's all they did. Loudly.
Not quite sure how the bishop felt about that?...

But we all burst out laughing over something six-year-old Messy-Jesse said.

She was sitting by my roomie, Lacy-Hacy, who was helping her doodle on one of the announcements and write random words.

"How do you spell your name?", she asked innocently.

"Here. Let me write it down and then you can copy it.", Lacy-Hacy responded.

After it had been scrawled out in a single flowing line, Messy-Jesse looked at it confusedly for a moment before exclaiming, "Not in SPANISH!"

She later informed us that she had meant to say 'cursive' but it had come out wrong. Needless to say, it was hilarious.

But it's moments like this when I forget all about the giant crater on my face and become endlessly grateful for the 18 (soon to be 19!) little munchkins in my life.

Funny Business

Sometimes I don't understand people and their sayings.
For instance, my mom is addicted to using the phrase: "She/he's so funny."

You might be thinking, "What's wrong with that?... People are funny?"

The thing is, when she says this, the person is usually not being funny.
Most often, far from it.

In fact, they are usually being downright irritating.

I most vividly remember her using the statement when my grandma was alive and living with us at the house. She'd make ridiculous requests for her crackers to be meticulously placed in two neat piles of five and demand that her water cup be first completely filled with ice and then water or else snottily reject it.

To any normal person, this would be extremely annoying. Not 'funny'.
But of course, as I fumed over her demanding nature and ridiculous requests, my mom would simply laugh and say, "Oh, she's so funny!"

Puzzling, no?

On a side note, I don't think being old gives you the right to be a crank. It might make you feel better when you're trying to justify acting witchy, but it really doesn't fly. No offense Gran.

Also, why do people say 'no offense' when they intend to offend someone?
Why put on a happy face when you really don't mean it?

Personally, I'm all for expressing how you really feel. I mean, courtesy is always the best policy, but so is honesty. Don't pretend you like someone to their face and then talk about them behind their back every chance you get.

And especially don't post blog posts or Facebook status updates, that you know good and well they'll be able to read, subtly documenting your distaste for them.

If you don't like them, how about just removing them as a friend? Eh?
Then you can post all of the nasty statuses you want.

Of course I don't say this from experience...
What makes you think that?

*nervous laugh*

Maybe that's why my mom is so determined to insist that bad behavior equates to a warm-and-fuzzy feelings of endearment. Maybe it's easier to tell yourself that people are sweet and innocent as opposed to malicious and hurtful to keep from exploding inside.

But then again, if you don't have the angelic disposition of my mother, saying "SHE'S SO FUNNY" repeatedly, while angrily glaring and clenching your fists might not be quite as effective.

Looks like I'll have to stick to my normal methods of coping.
Namely, long blog rants and bubble wrap.