Friday, October 21, 2011

Making Things, Mending Broken Things

Making Things, Mending Broken Things

I wish I was Martha Stewart.

I mean really? When I want to bake something or make a cool craft—I turn to Martha. I believe I have 3 or more of her books, and if I can’t find it in a book, I find it on her website. She has a whole section in Michaels, as I found out last night while perusing for Halloween party ideas with Gretchen.

So I have this idea, that Gretchen and I should use all of skills: marketing skills, baking skills, nun chuck skills… and make a super company that provides everything from wedding planners to wedding cakes, fashion blog (on her end,) and much, much more. If I were not me, I would buy a fancy cupcake from me, if I were in the right location.

Michael’s had a peacock wreath in the Christmas section: Gretchen said, “Be a peacock for Halloween! Just put that around your neck!” That’s great advice. Unfortunately, neither of us really got much done in all of our perusing and planning last night, and we’re still costume-less. We did, however, buy some awesome cookie cutters and some cupcake liners.

I felt like I was in heaven and spent twenty minutes in Michael’s just looking at the overpriced, but beautiful cake decorating stuff—sprinkles, food coloring spray paint, edible glitter <3 This is such fat girl talk. Did you know that Duff from Ace of Cakes has a line of cake decorating stuff?? Granted, its $20 for a small tub on fondant, but that’s neither here nor there.

The Michael’s trip was a nice finish to what had been one of the worst days in a while. I was running into less than nice people everywhere I turned all day. The day started off bad when my alarm clock failed to go off again—I hate scrambling first thing in the morning. Also, I’m not sure if it’s the weather or my poor hair cut, but I was having the worst hair day ever. I burnt my toast and then my mother yelled at me about it with unnecessary roughness, kind of like she yells about everything. My day was packed with people telling me they needed things done five minutes ago, and I was swamped.

While I sat in my doorless office at work, I listened to an eighty year old man talk smack about me in the hallway ten feet from my desk. (He will be getting a nice email today.) What made it even worse was at that exact moment, I was texting a friend who was calling me out for doing the same thing to her. I literally got sick to my stomach. I had talked about her behind her back, and even though I could defend myself by saying I hadn’t meant it maliciously (which I didn’t) I still shouldn’t have done it. I felt awful, and not just because I was getting called out, which is not fun at all, but also because we haven’t been close in a while, and I had no idea it was because of that. I felt stupid for letting something like that waste so much time that could have been much better spent. I hate knowing I’ve made someone feel bad, especially long after the fact.

I have to say though I was thankful and pleasantly surprised when the conversation ended well, and not with “You know, I hate you, and I don’t want you in my life any more” which I was kind of expecting—maybe not “I hate you,” but still. Even though I didn’t necessarily do anything right, I must not have done more wrong, because it seems like I’m getting another chance here to not be a crappy friend. It was a weight off my shoulders and a weight out of my stomach.

It was nice to have Gretchen to see at the end of the day, because she is awesome. We had plans to make lots of plans (I LOVE Plans, if you haven’t caught on already,) but when we ended up winging things, and aimlessly wondering stores and then the internet without any plan or direction—much like our current lives—we still had a great time. I didn’t even start tweaking like I normally do when tentative plans fall through.

We were attempting to book a room and buy our Broadway tickets for our next Girl’s Night Out (aka High school Reunion Weekend.) Our original game plan was to stay in a 4 star hotel so we could feel glamorous and have a reason to wear obnoxiously high fashion clothes, and hit a Broadway show.

Side note: The only good thing about getting a colonoscopy is that you’re expected to drop like 5 or 10 pounds from the disgusting amount of crap that just hangs out in your system, so maybe I’ll fit into some glamorous New York clothes even better!

Side, Side Note: I ordered $200 worth of sweater-wear from Victoria’s Secret website. I am not naive—I am aware that the clothes I buy will not fit me like they fit the models that are wearing them online. I do, however, expect stuff to be the same color I ordered. I bought the stuff last, and I was so excited when I saw the UPS guy pull up, because it’s only been like 3 business days or something super fast. Unfortunately, when I pulled the stuff out of the bag, it was really disappointing. I bought a sweater dress that was gorgeous online—black with silver gemstones around the color—that turned out to be some flimsy black long sleeve t-shirt dress with cheap looking gold sequins on it. It was $70. I also got a couple of silk/cashmere blend sweaters, and while they do feel luxurious, they don’t look great on me—definitely not good enough for what I paid, so now I’ll be paying $5 to send them back. L This is my luck with online shopping. I don’t know why I still do it.

After looking at prices for hotels in the city the weekend we’ve planned to go, it’s looking like we won’t be getting a 4 star hotel room without a miracle. We saw rooms with 2 single beds in them for $400/night. I still have hope though, maybe we’ll get a breakthrough, or maybe we’ll have to bring a tent and pitch it in a hotel lobby instead. Either way, I’m still confident that we’ll be having a great time. We technically have 4 weeks to finalize our plans, and buy our tickets, but in reality, we have like 2 days since the prices for hotel rooms are only going up with the Christmas countdown.

The imminent count down for me today however, is to Brian’s birthday. He is going to be 27 on October 27th, so that’s kind of a big deal. I finally got a definite head count for his surprise outing this Saturday (Thank You to All who responded, and other choice words for his flakiest of friends) and I bought his present last night. Although I’m sure he does not read my blog, I won’t reveal any more details until post-event.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Festivities and Colonoscopies

Festivities and Colonoscopies

Things I love about fall:

  • Hoody Wearing Weather
  • Neutral and Earth Tone Fashion
  • Halloween
  • All Accompanying Fests
  • Food
  • Planning Brian’s Birthday

I’ve been busy lately—working, trying to get to the gym at least 3 days a week, and planning. It’s so dorky, but I really love planning.

Things I’m currently planning:

  • Brian’s Birthday Outing
  • Our next Girl’s Night (which will be Girl’s Night In this time)
  • Halloween Party and Corresponding Costume (which is not going so well—the costume part, anyway.)

This past weekend was fun and relaxing. I spent Friday night in the Tropicana celebrating my friend Brandon’s birthday. I was the DD, which was fine, because alcohol is off my list until Halloween weekend anyway. We had dinner at Hooter’s which was classy, and we had the cutest little Spanish waitress I have ever seen—accent and everything. I wanted to put her in my pocket and take her home—she really was that cute.

Saturday I went to Cranberry Fest in Chatsworth with the two best men in my life—Brian and Duane.

It was really nice; the weather was perfect, the whole place smelled like kettle corn, and there were blocks and blocks of vendors with crafts, food, and great chintzy stuff. As usual, I didn’t buy anything besides a food—a slammin’ gyro and a bag of the most delicious kettle corn I’ve ever had. I also bought some jelly—thing I would only buy when intoxicated with smells and scenery of a fest. I’m a huge fan of fests. On our way home from the fest we stopped at a few party and dollar stores looking for Halloween party ideas and decorations, and then I introduced Duane to Costco.

I kid you not when I say we spend over an hour in Costco deciding whether or not to get a chicken pot pie for dinner….we decided against it considering it was big enough to feed a stoner Brady Bunch. We bought rotisserie chicken and pumpkin bisque instead; then Duane and I baked an apple crumb while Brian played his new Godfather video game upstairs.

10: the number of times Brian said that Duane and I should get married on Saturday. It could be the fact that we finish each other’s sentences, or that we’re both foodies, but I know that we should at least live in a duplex together at some point.

Countless: the number of times in the past week that Brian has told me he is seriously considering a life of organized crime.

Duane and I are both planning this Halloween party, since we’re renting a house in Ocean City from one of our best cleaning clients in the summer. She gave us a really good deal on the house for the weekend—she made me an offer, I couldn’t refuse. As super excited as I am about this party, I’m nervous because A.) She’s our best client, so I don’t want anything broken and I don’t want to piss off the guy that lives in the apartment under the house (who I only just realized existed.) B.) I’m hosting this party, and I still don’t have a costume! When I invited people to the party, I emphasized the importance of having a black light friendly costume, and so far my only idea has been a black swan costume—which will make me invisibly in the black lights. Other options I’m considering: Sushi, a Mermaid, and actual invisibility. HELP!

You’ve probably noticed the second part of my title: colonoscopies.

Lately my mother has been looking into (and requesting I join her in Googling) good places to get enemas. What the hell do I know about them?! I thought it was gross and mildly amusing, until last week.

Without going into detail, I have been procrastinating going to the doctor for some annoying issues. I finally went last week and these issues became even more annoying when Dr. Dude told me that not only would I need to get blood work done, but I would also need to do a… wait for it…. Take home POOP test. Kill me now. As if that wasn’t the worst thing you’ve ever heard, please consider that I had to do one of those poop kits three months ago for some stupid other thing that ended up being a whopping nothing at all.

It gets worse. Twenty-two year old me needs a colonoscopy. My world is almost over at this point until the doctor tells me he is at least recommending me to a lady gastrologist. He actually told me to “put my big girl panties on,” which was weird. After throwing out some names of alarming condition my issues could be, and seriously worrying me for 24 hours, I called the gastrologist office to make an appointment. The earliest CONSULTATION is November 2nd, which means colon-time will be schedule a few weeks after that—this gives me plenty of time to dread this. It’s also obnoxious because I’ll probably have to take a whole day off for the procedure, as well as half a day the day before because you have to “cleanse.” The nurse told me this “cleansing process” could take all day, which means I’m going to move my TV into the bathroom.

I didn’t tell my mom about that appointment, or the fact that I’m making an appointment for a colonoscopy, because she’ll either worry unnecessarily, or tell me I’m worrying unnecessarily—both of which are annoying.

When I got home from the doctor that day, I found an “Enema in a Box” on my bathroom counter—my mom has been searching for one of those for a couple of weeks—she finally found one at some rinky-dink pharmacy, because real pharmacies must agree that enemas are no longer in style. Last Friday, she asked me if I would take her to her colonoscopy appointment on Halloween. Go figure. I’m wondering if I can actually get this all done and over with without telling her.

This weekend I went to LabCorp (before Cranberry Fest) and got my blood work done. The women there were all incredibly rude, but the blood taker did a good job, and I did not pass out. They sent me home with my own personal poop kit, that I must… complete… and return. It has about 8 million vials, and a thick instruction book that I haven’t had the nerve to look at yet. Let’s see how long I can put that off.