Tremendous Blondette

Yes, I’ve been wearing the same clothes for 2 days in a row. They are officially my painting and moving clothes. And yes, they officially smell…bad. Dirt, sweat, paint, and “go get em attitude” sure can make a girl attractive! Soon, I shall shower and put on clean panties, socks, and a t-shirt. It will be beautiful.

I’ve forgotten Monday night, but on Tuesday I know I started moving things from my apartment to my new house. This involves walking down a flight of stairs, around a building, and to a car…and repeat. It gets old. And tiring. More than once I said to myself, “why did I stop running?” and “I don’t remember it being so taxing when I moved the last time, but I was much more physically fit.” I am remembering the definition of “muscle” and “muscle memory.” And sore. Shockingly, my left shoulder is snapping up a storm now from carrying the 6+ bags of clothes dead body style. (that was a taste of sarcasm- I have a shoulder “thing” that I should have had checked out about 4 years ago when I was weight training.)

Last night, I moved the cats over to the new house amid howls of joy. That was the sound of joy I listened to during the entire 15 minute car ride, right? Anyhow, I got them to the house, we slept on the floor for about 4 hours and then got up, showered and put on our moving clothes and started getting ready for the movers. My movers turned out to be pretty nice guys (okay, one of them was totally cute and my type, and probably a good 3 or more years younger…wait, that’s my type isn’t it? see also Chipotle cashier and Marine at OFR.) They were fast and efficient and one of them is supposed to return on Friday to buy my spare washer and dryer. (and yes, I am totally taking less money for them because he’s cute and he’s saving me from having to deal with them.)

Anyhow, most of my stuff is now out of my apartment (ugh ugh whine ugh ugh) and I just need to vacuum and clean and I’m DONE. It feels like it will never end. Meanwhile, I’m also setting stuff up at the new house. Here are some pictures of my two day fest of smelly.

Packing process of joy. Waiting for the movers. And more sorting and stacking.

You're doing something. What you doing?

Getting there at the new house...yes, same couch...for now. New couch and chair don't arrive until right before Christmas.

My dining room. Look I haz a table! Can you spot the cat?

View from the kitchen...getting there...really, I am!

Me with the key to my house. They aren't lying when they say you have to sign a lot of papers. And initial. I started misspelling my last name-- all FOUR letters of it. And Catherine is a kind of a long first name. But there I am with my key! My reward for not so awesome penmanship and a few thousand dollars. (or so) My hair looks great!

Okay, well now I’m off to go play at Home Depot and Hobby Lobby. tee hee.

I was just watching DMB (Dave Matthews Band) on Austin City Limits and it’s the first time since the death of LeRoi Moore than I’ve watched the band. I was DEVOTED to this band through college. I drove to Chicago, Nashville, St. Louis to see them. (doesn’t sound so impressive when I see it typed out- but keep in mind I drove those distances alone in my little Saturn…yeah, still not that impressive.) I thought about trips to further destinations but time and money were factors.

I connected with the music. The lyrics, the rhythm, the melody the emotion.

My first real exposure was when my flute teacher gave me a cassette tape of Crash so I could listen to the sax. (“LeRoi Moore on the saxophone!”) It was cool, but I wasn’t hooked at that point. Sometime in college I started to listen to them more and then I had a neighbor who was a bit of a fanboy and my crush on him didn’t hurt my growing like for the band. He showed me new ways to get the music, a community of people who followed the band, and then it was pretty much settled: I was a Dave Matthews Band fangirl.

I waded into the forums and eventually became a well-known top poster. I met people from the boards at the shows. I got very close with several people throughout the time. In fact today, I am still in contact with some of the people I met through the boards. I know of several marriages and relationships that were formed through the boards and meet-ups that occurred. People  found their best friends and soulmates because of the Internet and The Dave Matthews Band.

I devoured anything Dave Matthews or Dave Matthews Band. I had stickers on my car. I had all of the music, including the things you could only get online or from other sources. Rare tune or show, got it. One of the great things about DMB was their openness to sharing live recordings of their music. It’s how they spread. In the community, you were elite if you were pals with or were a taper.

There were levels of fans; real fans with live shows quoting date and location and then there were the Crash girls- the stereotype frat boys and sorority girls. There is a stereotype associated with DMB fans: pot smoking, drunks. While it’s true that there are some people who fit this mold (yes, I meant to leave out the “u”), a lot of the fans are just your everyday (hahaha) folks going to school and work.

But I tell you, I knew people of all ages, backgrounds, and income level and they were all in it for the same reason I was: they connected with the music. Some people outgrew the music and the band. That’s okay. What they didn’t out grow was the other fans.

Somewhere along the road of the past 3 years I’ve lost a few things; my workout routine and DMB included. I still get that jolt when I hear DMB on the radio, my iPod, or in a store but they don’t dominate my music listening habits.

I’ve never felt the need to meet the band, in fact, it kind of scared me. If I ever did I’d likely say thanks for making music because it brought me a connection to people I wouldn’t have known. It made me part of a community. It gave my emotions melody.

I am saddened by people who do not drink coffee. Not because it’s really sad, but because of the happy I associate with coffee. I have a weekend ritual to have coffee with my bff (yes, I just said BFF- HI TAMMI!) and it often motivates me to get out of bed and tends to lead to interesting turns of events (evidenced here here and here.) (did I get the pluralization correct? eh.)

Other benefits of coffee aside from the caffeine content:

• coffee is warm
• coffee is family in the morning- people come together to ensure coffee is brewed and sit around drinking, chatting, and figuring out what to do. I like these times. I might like it more because it’s not an everyday day thing for me. But, I like mornings and sitting around with someone you like/love, waking up, chatting, and having the entire day ahead provides a contentment of which a cat would approve.
• coffee provides topic of conversation and camaraderie with coworkers

So, while you wait for the coffee that bring such wonderful feelings consider filling your time with the following:

• put your dishes away
• clean your kitchen
• moan
• be bitchy
• bathe
• start laundry
• check the internet for new things
• tweak your blog
• feed cats (or you know, other pets)
• pick out clothes for the day
• sit on couch and watch morning news
• stare at coffee maker
• admire your mug collection- you may or may not know that one of my “things” is loving mugs and glasses. I like drinkware and I’m particular.
• admire your glass collection
• Rubix cube
• solve the mystery of life
• figure out the whole evolution vs creation thing
• go back to sleep

The great thing about some of the items on the list is that you feel even better about getting them done because you did them before you had your coffee.

Earlier this year I wrote that I was going to post as I was thought about it. This hasn’t happened. I have several drafts for things I’ve wanted to share, but haven’t. I haven’t felt like I had the right words. I’ve questioned how people will react. I’ve wondered about making people uncomfortable.

Recently, I read a post by on Copyblogger.com called “How to Stop Making Yourself Crazy with Self-Editing” by Sean D’Souza. The main idea I took away was that we need to stop editing so much and just write. Isn’t that how they say we get better? Isn’t that one of the main themes in any creative writing class? Write.

You work on exercises to stretch your brain. You open up your imagination, heart, and you have no time to edit.

They call this stream of consciousness. I’ve been watching the Emmy’s and tweeting my opinions. I’m a little upset that Neil Patrick Harris lost to Jon Cryer and that Jim Parsons lost to Alec Baldwin. In fact, Jim Parsons became (and still is) a trending topic on Twitter but most of the comments are junk. NPH is hosting with some crap material but he’s still good. Jimmy Fallon is hilarious.

9pm and it feels like 10pm Sunday night.

Let me go back to the beginning of today. I awoke and shortly after a heard my phone ding- yes, I keep it by my bed (it’s my alarm! and what if I wake up and can’t sleep and feel like getting on Facebook or Twitter? or texting? or checking my email? and well, it’s my clock so I know how much sleep I’m not getting) Boys don’t like this about me. (it was before 7am so I figured it was Tammi because no one else is awake and texting me that early- usually.) It turns out the text was from my dad. Suffice it to say (trite!) I was surprised, but in a nice way. The highlights of our text conversation where his joke when I told him I had exciting news (me: I’m buying a house. Him: that’s better than being pregnant – indeed Dad, indeed!) and when I told him I’d just email him since his phone was dying and he LOLed at me.

Lately I’ve been telling people and myself to “step back.” Pull yourself out of the moment and really look at the whole situation. Imagine, my dad texting me and us having a fun conversation. My mom has been trying to text lately as have Tammi’s parents. Anyhow, I followed up with a cup of coffee and getting to the coffee shop on time and securing our table! Coffee was exceptionally fun today with upbeat banter and adult humor and friends.

You know what, if this is growing up, then I say, thank God.

Right, I’m not a natural when it comes to cleaning and keeping my home in a state of domestic bliss. My priorities have never been with housekeeping and chores. For some, they cannot rest until everything is put away or washed. Eh. As long as I have a path and a place to park my ass, I’m good. Or so I thought.

My friends have all taught me bits of how to keep house. I learned some from my parents, but most of what I do now, was done with a little help from my friends.

One, I’m a packrat. OMG. I’ve gotten better about this and learned that one must assess things in the following way: Is this something I’d miss if I threw it away or gave it away? Have I used this in the past month? Do I need it? Is it replaceable?

Two, I work a lot. And truth be told, when I get home from work I really don’t feel like cleaning.

From Tara, I learned to embrace compartmentalization, aka use of boxes and bags.

From April, I learned that she’s way better at organizing my cleaning supplies than I’ll ever be. April helped me clean and organize my kitchen before Thanksgiving last year and she helped me clean out and organize my desk. She dove right in, threw shit out, and grouped things in logical sense.

From Tammi, I learned how to complete the laundry process.  Let me clarify. For me, doing laundry has always involved digging out the items I care about from a pile of everything dirty and clean (because the clean stuff ends up mixed in with the dirty, thus making it dirty again) and putting them in the washer. After they are dried, I usually either use them straight from the dryer, or I put them on my bed…where they often end up on the floor. Yes, my process did not involve actually putting the laundry away. This lead to a carpet of laundry in my bedroom and the need to shut the bedroom door if guests are over. Slightly inconvenient if you know what I mean.

My brother, Brian, re-organized my kitchen cabinets (by the way, I’ve been spelling that word incorrectly for years) for me. Yep.

What I learned about cleaning: it really doesn’t take that much time. It’s when you let it pile up and get backlogged that it takes a lot of time and effort. Well, son of a bitch. You’d think that alone would motivate me. Right? HAHAHAHA. Oh dear.

This is not to say I’m completely incompetent when it comes to housekeeping. I’m actually quite detail-oriented in most of my life and great at things like bill-paying and budgeting. I’m also great with furniture re-organization and moving. In fact, moving my furniture usually motivates me to clean. It clears my chi and brings a bit of zen. When I do clean, it’s usually not half-assed. Part of being a perfectionist is the mentality of all or nothing. I don’t usually like to do things unless I know I’ll succeed.

So, here’s to working on my habits and becoming a domestic goddess…in training.

…and not get caught (unless you want to.)

It’s quite simple if you want to fart in public and not get caught. Yes, these methods have been tested. In order to fart in public, and not get caught (and I’m talking really breaking wind here- rippin one, an SBD, crop dusting, etc) you must simply create diversions of sound, movement, humor, deflection, or another odor.

Here’s how it’s done:

Sound

1. drop something- a book, a passel of CDs, something that makes a loud bang, thud, or shattering noise.
2. wear loud shoes (easier for women wearing high heels)- no one will hear your fart if you wear loud click-clacky shoes! just make sure you are actually making them go click-clack when you go thrump-poot.
3. start talking loudly- you might catch someone off guard, or even out-right scare them, but they’ll be in so much shock from your scaring the crap out of them (good opportunity for them to get a fart in too- it’s a fart party!) that they won’t register any sort of disturbance in the force

Movement

1. Quickly evacuate the scene. “Haul ass” if you will.
2. The popular “crop dusting” technique would fit under this category as well- this is where you disperse a series of lower level, smaller “mini-farts” while walking.
3. Stroll off non-nonchalantly.
4. Become very interested in something just over yonder.

Humor

1. Own your fart. Laugh it off.
2. Make it into a public joke. (or a private one) Ever heard of “pull my finger?”

Deflection,

or “it was the dog.”

Okay, you can totally blame that stinker on the dog, if you’re near one, but if you’re out and about living your life and freeing your intestines of the oppression they suffer at the hand of your bean burrito, stand next to:

1. an old person- Sorry, but who’s the more likely candidate?
2. a teenage boy- again, sorry, but who’s the more likely candidate?

Another Odor

Either time the release when you are in a highly oderiffic area, or bring the odor to area.

1. gas pump- ha, yes, you too are a “gas pump” of sorts, but hey, if you’re out there, you may has well let it rip because the air is already so full of the smell of gas, what’s a little more?
2. fish counter- nothing competes with that horrid smell; I guess the fish has gone bad…
3. perfume spray- maybe you’ll make people sneeze which totally means they won’t smell your stink bomb
4. lotion smelling- HERE SMELL THIS! (heh heh)
5. flowers- mmm, take a big whiff! don’t these smell great?!

So, there you go. Those are some basic methods for farting in public. And as an added bonus, here’s a little ammunition to fuel the testing:

Things that make you fart:

1. Beans
2. Cauliflower
3. Carbonated Beverages
4. Dairy (in some people)
5. Beer
6. Artificial sugars/sweeteners
7. Broccoli
8. Apples

And how about some other causes of flatulance for good measure?

Toot-a-loo!

Last night I stayed up far too late in order to finish a book. It wasn’t because I liked the book; in fact, I felt it was twice as long as it needed to be. No, I wanted resolution. An ending.

Don’t we all want resolution? It keeps me up at night. (well duh)

I found pieces of myself in the flawed characters of the book. The girl who was raped and couldn’t bare to be touched; or if she was, completely disconnected from her body (no, I was never raped); the alcoholic mom (I’m not a mom) who struggled to face her truth. I’m struggling with the possibility of this truth. The kids stuck in the middle. The friend who’s been through it all and just wants to help. I spent the book just wanting to yell at the characters to figure it the hell out. Say it out loud. Face it. Own it. Strangely, I’m quite good at owning and facing my flaws. I was each one of those characters. It could be why I didn’t like the book but will remember it.

I believe in some ways I’ve been grieving. Sounds odd, but it’s true. I’ve also used things to mask reality and cope with the truths I did not want to face about myself, my life, and everything that I cannot control. I stripped myself of some of these masks.

I think people who move a lot as children share a common trait. We all have an itch and an intense need to ponder “where next?” This restlessness keeps us on edge; always waiting for the end; always waiting for the next time we have to adapt. We wait for people to stop caring and have an ability to close part of ourselves off and walk away. It’s not because we don’t truly care; it’s because we have to protect ourselves somehow.

We are who we are. We live our choices. We must accept our truths but must not limit ourselves by them.

Because I’m cheap I often offer life lessons in exchange for goods and services. Life lessons help build fine moral fiber. (and trust me, I’ve already paid for them)

I’ve decided that I should share a life lesson here each week. Lessons range from funny to heart-wrenching– just like life.

Be here for the exciting series of embarrassment and learning better known as Life Lessons by Katie.