Su Casa es Mi Casa?

Its not like I'm not happy with my house, but when you could very easily live in your friend's mansion without any member of their family noticing for a solid three to four months, you can't help but wonder...

We drove into Jackie's bi-level driveway last night, about two blocks away from Lake of the Isles. Through the garage, we pass her Cadillac, Suburban, and both of the Mercedes, and enter the old world castle. A couple bedrooms, a workshop, a kitchen, a bathroom, a 1/2 done living room, and THEN we go up to the main floor. The entire level has amazing 12 foot ceilings, hard wood floors, windows for walls that overlook downtown Minneapolis, antique telescopes, model ships, filled bookshelves with all time classics, and original paintings. The fridge and freezer put my in-door ice maker to shame, together easily bigger than my closet. A pantry filled with anything you'd want, and nothing was expired (an entirely new concept to me). Two ovens, a wine cooler, and kitchen appliances that surely have the intelligence to launch a NASA rocket ship well out of our stratosphere. Upstairs, we go into Jackie's room. Opening her closet, Louis Vutton purses fall from the shelves, and new Coach heels lay on the ground under her extensive wardrobe of designer jeans, trendy tops, and dresses I definitely saw someone wear at the Oscars. Walking into her bathroom, my feet are greeted by heated floor tiles. An early 1900's vanity with matching stool sit in the corner, and when approaching it, I find that its surface is covered with none other than Chanel make up. I felt in another world picking up the little gold pots, tubes and brushes, trying to figure out the purpose of half of it was. Her parents each have a walk in closet that Usher had on an episode of Cribs I saw once, and of course, his and her sinks. Empty bedrooms of two college-bound sisters each with equally impressive amenities, and we go up yet another flight of stairs to see a couple of offices with framed dipolmas flooding the walls, two more guest bedrooms, and an expansion room with sofas, TV, more books, and another stocked kitchen.

But hey.
My house is nice too.
We've got a tree house.

Two Tears For Every Inch

I got my hair cut today.
Its a sad, sad day.
Every few months or so, I'll get a sudden vibe that I NEED a haircut. This vibe is usually followed two or three minutes later by a frantic phone call to Design Line to see if June is available to cut my locks, right then. Of course, she's not, so I make an appointment for the next day, unless that's not available, I hang up, and make an impulse decision to go to Master Cuts. No joke. I've done it. Twice.
I always have a really good idea of what I want my hair to look like, or how much I want cut off but then I get there, panic, and tell her to just trim the edges and the bang. Tonight, (June happened to have a cancellation at 6:15 tonight when I called this afternoon) I had to have someone else explain what I wanted done, because I started to lie, and the words "just trim the.." were rolling off my tongue. But whether it goes according to plan or not, I ALWAYS go through withdrawal.
I walked out of Design Line today and tears were welling up in my eyes. I begin to pet the ends, missing Bottom Two Inches. Bottom Two Inches have been there the longest, and have seen the most of my life than any other inches. I feel like I have betrayed them. BTI, I want you to know that I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just cut you out of my life and these last years have meant a lot to me.
I just wish I could have said good bye.
May you rest in peace, BTI, forever in the Miracle Mile dumpster.
Or at least until seven tomorrow morning when the garbage man comes to collect you.
Then may you rest in peace while depleting the ozone layer in a South American waste land.

To Be A FES.

Christophe is a foreign exchange student from France, and the best thing to ever happen to the bubble.

Exhibit A:

Christophe(When trying to explain how a girl in his French class wont stop following him around): She is very...How you say...Sticky.
Me: What?
Chris: Sticky. Lizzie is sticky.
Me: Clingy?
Chris: What?
Me: Cllingyyyy
Chris: Cligney?
Me: No, cliNGy
>Both explode in confusion<


Exhibit B:

(While talking to his extremley protective-of-her-own-children, super conservative host mother, they look at pictures of Chris's drunken going away party in France)

Host Mother: So theres girls in this picture Chris...do you guys have like...co-ed sleep overs?
Chris: Ah...yes? (a bit of confusion)
HM: WOW! DO YOU GUYS LIKE...HAVE SEX?!?
Chris: No, you see, we have much to drink, and then- we pass out. Then we cannot have the sex.
HM: *blink*



More to come.

Keep the Change

Today I went to Target to replace the Carmex I lost this weekend.
I walk in, find the lip care aisle, gather my loot, and stroll up to check out lane 8 where Mike rings it up.

Mike: That'll be $1.05 ma'am.
I hand him 4 quarters and a nickel.
Mike: Wow perfect change!
Me: Haha..Yup.
Mike moves his eyes from the coins, to the Carmex, to the register, to me.
Mike: Would you like to save eleven cents by opening up a Target membership card today?
Me: [A quizzical look appears on my face, trying evaluate the sincerity of his question] Um, no thanks, Mike.
Mike: I hear you loud and clear.

Thank you Target, but I think I'll save this golden opportunity for a time when I plan on buying more than chap stick.
Maybe next time I run out of shampoo or if I need a single stick of gum or something.

Love at first....Fall.

Oh, how I love fall.
Its the perfect season..not inhumanly hot to the point where you must sweat your soul, but not so cold that going to get the mail means you may forfeit some necessary appendages.
I wait all year for the chance to walk down the block, right next to the curb and walk through the 6 inches of leaves that collects there every year.
I love to rake the leaves in my back yard, with my trusty work gloves that make me feel like a real gardener. I love the noise of the fallen leaves crushing together with every rake-stroke, but most of all, the pay out at the end. No, my mom does not pay me to rake, but I collect all the leaves from the trees in my back yard and put them in a huge pile at the foot of the ladder to my tree house. I filter through to rid them of pokey sticks, and rotten crab apples, sure to spoil the mass. And then, with not a shred of shame in me, climb to the 4th, (5th if I'm feeling risky) step of the ladder, and jump.
I love the sound of my corduroys making the corduroy noise wherever I walk, sure to make me smile if I'm walking in a hallway either by myself or with a complete stranger who must suffer through the whhit(step),whhit(step),whhit(step). Mittens can come out in the fall, another thing I look forward to after April forces them into my drawer. And to go with my mittens and corduroys- sweaters. Fall outfits are the only thing that make it okay to put away my beloved flip flops, although each fall, I seem to forget what shoes I wear in the non-summer months. I'm still trying to remember.
I love fall colors, mainly orange because its my favorite. Orange is the color of pumpkins which reminds me of the smell of the nasty you pull out when carving, a scent stapled into my memory with those pre-Halloween nights of my childhood, accompanied by the excitement and difficulty of deciding whether to be Mermaid Ariel or Princess Ariel that year. A clearly difficult dilemma only to be settled over the delicious confection that is candy corn. A sweet that is as waxy as it is perfect.
Lastly, I love that its called "fall". Non of that autumn nonsense for me. Its so simple, leaves fall, so it shall be called...Fall!

It's a beautiful thing.

Journalism: Not the path for me

11 pm Monday night, on the 24 Hour news channel.

Anderson Cooper: Well, ma'am, you've been reunited with your dog this evening, as she survived a month alone in the repercussions of Hurricane Katrina. A Chihuahua mix, isn't she?
Lady: Yes, her name is Precious.
Anderson Cooper: And how does it feel to be joined once again with Precious? Did she recognize you right away?
Lady: Yes, she did, it took her a moment to find me, but then she immediately recognized me.
Anderson Cooper: That's truly amazing, now I understand that you lost two other dogs in Hurricane Katrina?
Lady: Yes, I did.
Anderson Cooper: And what...uh..were their names?
Lady: Rico and Beefy.

Lessons learned...

...While working at a pizza/sandwich place.

1. Do not underestimate the force of a powerful overhead faucet. Especially while washing ladles.

2. Children in the 7th grade will always use "you're a _____" as a come back. See the following:

Kid A: [Walking into the store] Wow it sure is empty in here.
Kid B: You're empty..
Kid A: Can I please get a half turkey hoagie with no tomatoes?
Kid B: You're a tomato

3. It is a valid, and smart decision to wear no less than 7 aprons while washing dishes.

4. The dish room is very slippery when the no slip mats are taken up for cleaning.

5. Managers do not like it when you show up late.

6. Nor do they like it when you forget to clock out.

7. It's necessary to pick favorites throughout the store as well as reasoning for those favorites, to make it through a 6 hour shift on a Friday night. i.e. Favorite hoagie to make (half ham, for its sheer simplicity), favorite soap (sentry soap, because otherwise, I wouldn't know the word "sentry"), favorite microwave (microwave two because I can't reach microwave three, and one is always broken), favorite dish (the little plastic salad bar tops, because their so damn cute), etc.

8. It is not fun to be slapped on the face, or any part of your body, with a fully buttered bun.

9. With time, it becomes sad, yet true humor when you are unknowingly sprinkled with flour, and it stays there all night, until someone makes a phenomenally old dandruff joke.

A Lesson in Skill

Come on in. Okay sit down kids.
Today you'll be learning how to be skillful. See the following.

Exhibit A.
Subject 1 has a bad day and comes home to take her dog on a nice run thinking that it might be a nice way to make up for the giant bowl of ice cream she just had. Its raining outside so she thinks, well she'll just go around the school, and then down the big hill by way of oversized steps for young children. So she runs around the block, up through the school yard and the four square courts. Then, approaching the stairs, is overcome with the inner 4th grader who ran down those stairs everyday. This mentality does not come without the incapability to think "Hey, its raining, its slippery, don't run down the stairs" because that thought process didn't kick in until somewhere around the 8th grade. So Subject 1 picks up the pace, first at a nice jog and then suddenly into a full out sprint down the stairs. She thinks "Wow! I didn't think I actually had this hand-foot coordination in me!" Well, Subject 1, you do not encompass that, or any type of coordination. Attempt to slow down by the time she gets to the curb fail completely, resulting in a full-blown plant directly on the 2nd, newly painted, white rectangle on the crosswalk.

Exhibit B.
Subject 1 looses control of dog leash, sending small terrier off all by her lonesome. Feeling sorry for herself, Subject 1 proceeds to sit in the middle of the dark street as small terrier returns to the scene in sympathy for her walker. As it goes, Subject 1 looks up the street to see headlights coming her way, and stands up, realizing that the skin of her right knee now belongs to Square 2 of the crosswalk. Picking up the leash, she hobbled home in the rain.

Class Dismissed.

The unusually tall, hygiene, bobby pins, and other love/hate relationships

I'm not saying that tall people are BAD, just that they shouldn't stand directly in front of the rest of us at the Death Cab concert. And if you're planning on doing this, please, PLEASE, do not grow your curly hair out and then brush out your curls creating a giant, oversized afro, a tri-fro, if you will, going even further to block my vision of an acoustic version of "Soul Meets Body".
This rule actually applies to everyone, not just tall people.
But even the tallest, most giant fros could not keep me from the concert last night. It really was fabulous, and the First Ave atmosphere is incomparable. But coming home at a relatively early 10:30 lead to a lack of motivation to shower, biological clock confusion, and of course, the hungry. But apparently eating at night is really bad for you or something. So I went to bed covered in downtown nasty and with an empty stomach.

So this morning, I got up extra early to shower which is a big deal for me, as I've always been a night shower-er because my hair takes too long to blow dry and causes a lot of damage to your hair, and is considered visual damage to innocent bystanders if I let it just air dry throughout the day.
Well, all of that, and that extra half an hour in the morning is for sleep.
Anyways, after my unorthodox bathing routine, I had to find some way to deal with the beast (aka my hair) and pulled it up into this insane...Thing. I don't even know what to call it, it was so all over the place Starbucks could have set up shop in there.
And the worst part about it?
I just popped a few bobby pins in it (as if that made it okay?) and left.

Coffeeism No. 1

Do to yourself as you wish others to do to you.

Coffee, I did not ask you to dump yourself over onto my tevas, jeans, and eurobag, scalding the very skin on my itty bitty toes on their way to the market.
And after graciously forgiving you by drinking the rest, I did not ask you to dump yourself over upon my notebook and different jeans the very next day.
Nor did I ask you to do either of these acts before nine o'clock in the morning.

I want you to know, that we are officially in fight- and I would be in protest if you weren't so delicious.
I'm willing to forgive you when all of my jeans are clean, and I no longer smell of Starbucks Anniversary Blend.

Why Y?

Today in lit, we were talking about courage. And I was diligently taking notes, keeping up with the lecture, and even managing to come up with my own thoughts about courage somewhere in there, when it all came to a screetching halt. I found myself writing the word "courageous". Which is, by any means, a struggle. I mean, look at it. Its flippin 10 letters long, which might not be a big deal, other than that 6 of those letters are vowels.
So this got me thinking.
We can all recall back to about the 4th grade when we had to memorize the vowels. We all know them-- A,E,I,O,U. But how many were taught Y as a vowel? Personally I was taught it as more of a "half-way" vowel.
"A,E,I,O,U and sometimes Y"
Can I ask what Y ever did to deserve this "half-way" or sometimes not at all status?? All it ever did was make words like "why" work.
So from now on, please- think about all those times you felt a little "end of the alphabet-ish". Because Y doesn't have it hard enough.
I declare Y an official vowel, right now, at 3:40 pm on October 5th, 2005.

Somebody call Webster.

"Don't sweat the small stuff"

So just a minute or two ago, when I was supposed to be thinking about showering, (the pre-requisite to showering), for some reason, on my mental scroll, the age-old phrase, "don't sweat the small stuff" appeared.
Why?
How the hell should I know.
So it got me thinking, why is that such a commonly used phrase? When you think about it, it really doesn't make any sense at all. How could you possibly SWEAT the small stuff? Like do they mean physically? Is this to be taken literally? (Literal comments are for another date, my friend) And who, might I ask, is "they"? Who wrote this crazy falsity?!

Example No. 1:
Kid: Dad! I got 5/10 on my practice spelling quiz today!
Father: Aw, don't sweat the small stuff kiddo!
Kid: Okay! I'll make a note to stop perspiring misspelled words.

I declare this official Stop Making Up Phrases That Don't Even Make Sense Day where every false, commonly used phrase, which, lets face it, are pretty much only there for awkward silences, are hereby demolished.

And, yes.
This does mean that you may no longer use the "light bulb" classifier in regard to having a good idea unless you have every intention of carrying a light bulb around with you when you have plans of brainstorming.

JC Penney and other guilty pleasures...

So last year for a dance, my sister wanted to buy my dress because the dance happened to fall on my birthday. After much failed shopping, we resorted to JC Penney. The store where no employee speaks English, and every employee apparently smokes (because why else would it smell THAT bad?). After finding a dress that I thought would work and buying it, I got home to try it on and it didn't fit the way I wanted it to, so I go on back to edina's ash tray to return it, and sure enough, since I don't have Chris's credit card, they can only grant me a JC Penney gift card. That's right. $80 to a store that carries only Mudd jeans and SouthPole baseball jackets. You might as well have given me 40 pounds of human hair.
...or so I thought.
After several unsuccessful visits to get rid of the card, I found myself actually finding things I liked. Skirts for Europe, a hot pink polo, and this blue shirt which served as the womb of my muffin shirt. And the best part is, their clothes are so dirt cheap that they only make a small dent in the card..And if the clothes get demolished for whatever reason, you don't feel that bad because 'it was just from JC Penney'.
Then I got this hideous green shirt that I thought had hope to be reconstructed into something cool, but its just too ugly. But when I went to retrieve the receipt, it was gone. So when I went to southdale, I asked the nice JC Penney lady if you had to have a receipt to return things, and she said no, but if you didn't, they could only give you a, (drum roll please)
gift card.

life is beautiful, even if a percent of my wardrobe is St. Johns Bay.