keeping resolutions

In my efforts to be nicer to myself, I went and got a pedicure on Tuesday, first thing. I called up, made an appointment, and an hour later I was sitting in a comfy chair drinking hot coffee and having my feet rubbed.

polish: OPI's Cuckoo For This Color

Other things I’ve done to be nicer to myself:

  • stopped yelling at myself
  • stopped stealing from myself
  • told myself my butt totally looks hawt in those pants

Okay, so I never stole anything from myself, so stopping that was pretty easy. But the other two are HARD. The 30 Day Shred has been helping with the last one. Hasn’t helped the first one.

Some more being nice to me stuff:

  • Christmas presents from Fred, who is always helping me figure out how to be nicer. Heh.

i smell nicer with this on.

i look nicer with this on.

 

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keeping resolutions

In my efforts to be nicer to myself, I went and got a pedicure on Tuesday, first thing. I called up, made an appointment, and an hour later I was sitting in a comfy chair drinking hot coffee and having my feet rubbed.

polish: OPI’s Cuckoo For This Color

Other things I’ve done to be nicer to myself:
  • stopped yelling at myself
  • stopped stealing from myself
  • told myself my butt totally looks hawt in those pants

Okay, so I never stole anything from myself, so stopping that was pretty easy. But the other two are HARD. The 30 Day Shred has been helping with the last one. Hasn’t helped the first one.

Some more being nice to me stuff:

  • Christmas presents from Fred, who is always helping me figure out how to be nicer. Heh.

i smell nicer with this on

i look nicer with this on

new order

I heard on the radio this morning that today was supposed to be the most depressing day of the year. Being the trusty information whore librarian that I am, I had to verify this information before passing it on to you. And a good thing I did, too, since today is NOT the most depressing day of the year. Hooray!

It’s next Monday. Oh.

At any rate, I doubt anyone is feeling overly cheery today anyway. So it seems like the perfect time to introduce what I hope to be a regular feature here… a roundup of things I like.

I know. It sounds earth shattering.

Here, let’s just get to it and then maybe it will sound less dull. We can hope, anyway.

calligraphy stamp

 

i'm a sucker for typography in decorating

 

sugar skull charm

 

"the best things in life are sweet"

 

want

There you have it. Some things I liked.

Find more at Pinterest. I’ll do my best to stop by here every Monday with some highlights of my latest finds.

new order

I heard on the radio this morning that today was supposed to be the most depressing day of the year. Being the trusty information whore librarian that I am, I had to verify this information before passing it on to you. And a good thing I did, too, since today is NOT the most depressing day of the year. Hooray!

It’s next Monday. Oh.

At any rate, I doubt anyone is feeling overly cheery today anyway. So it seems like the perfect time to introduce what I hope to be a regular feature here… a roundup of things I like.

I know. It sounds earth shattering.

Here, let’s just get to it and then maybe it will sound less dull. We can hope, anyway.

calligraphy stamp

i’m a sucker for type in decorating
sugar skull charm

“the best things in life are sweet”

want

There you have it. Some things I liked.

Find more at Pinterest. I’ll do my best to stop by here every Monday with some highlights of my latest finds.

not actual cash, but gift cards

Well!

Wanna see my private, personal ROOM OF SHAME?

Yeah, you know you do. We all love that feeling of “Holy CRAP, that person’s a PIG” satisfaction.

Okay, here we go. Presenting: my desk, aka Where the “Magic” Happens.

OK, no. But I had you going there for a bit? Right…? Hello?

Oh, FINE. Here’s my desk.

Sigh.

I can’t even begin to explain what’s going on. People, I found MONEY in there.

So I pulled up my big girl pants and did what needed to be done. I went to IKEA!!

And here’s what happened.

I moved my computer closer to the printer. You know, so I wouldn’t have to keep knocking over shit just to plug it in. In fact, maybe now it can stay plugged in ALL THE TIME. What a concept.

I also have a designated craft space.

With cat bed underneath, of course. Also, it should go without saying that the upper shelf there is not at all anchored to anything. Because I am both lazy AND impatient, a lethal combination. I also now have a lot of blank wall to deal with…

There it is. And it’s much better. In fact, I’ve written this WHOLE post without messing it up, even a little bit.

Fred gives it 48 hours. And I think he’s being generous.

not actual cash, but gift cards

Well!

Wanna see my private, personal ROOM OF SHAME?

Yeah, you know you do. We all love that feeling of “Holy CRAP, that person’s a PIG” satisfaction.

Okay, here we go. Presenting: my desk, aka Where the “Magic” Happens.

source
OK, no. But I had you going there for a bit? Right…? Hello?

Oh, FINE. Here’s my desk.

Sigh.

I can’t even begin to explain what’s going on. People, I found MONEY in there.

So I pulled up my big girl pants and did what needed to be done. I went to IKEA!!

And here’s what happened.

I moved my computer closer to the printer. You know, so I wouldn’t have to keep knocking over shit just to plug it in. In fact, maybe now it can stay plugged in ALL THE TIME. What a concept.

I also have a designated craft space.

With cat bed underneath, of course. Also, it should go without saying that the upper shelf there is not at all anchored to anything. Because I am both lazy AND impatient, a lethal combination. I also now have a lot of blank wall to deal with…

There it is. And it’s much better. In fact, I’ve written this WHOLE post without messing it up, even a little bit.

Fred gives it 48 hours. And I think he’s being generous.

once more, with feeling

I had this funny post in mind about how, about a year and a half ago, I had some crappy crap happen, and the long term result from it was that I didn’t cry. At all. Couldn’t. And then last week I watched an episode of The Biggest Loser (please don’t ask) and found myself blubbering like an idiot. And then Saturday happened and it feels like I haven’t stopped crying since.

But then I realized that it wasn’t a very funny post after all.

Last night watching the memorial, doing the ugly cry into a Dora comforter, I saw a familiar face sitting the front row. A friend from college, from within the circle of people that I associate with late nights and loud music. His mother had been shot, and survived, and he was with her the and the rest of his family. And once again, I was reminded that Tucson IS a small town.

once more, with feeling

I had this funny post in mind about how, about a year and a half ago, I had some crappy crap happen, and the long term result from it was that I didn’t cry. At all. Couldn’t. And then last week I watched an episode of The Biggest Loser (please don’t ask) and found myself blubbering like an idiot. And then Saturday happened and it feels like I haven’t stopped crying since.

But then I realized that it wasn’t a very funny post after all.

Last night watching the memorial, doing the ugly cry into a Dora comforter, I saw a familiar face sitting the front row. A friend from college, from within the circle of people that I associate with late nights and loud music. His mother had been shot, and survived, and he was with her the and the rest of his family. And once again, I was reminded that Tucson IS a small town.

i don’t like sundays

I just don’t. Never have. Sundays represent the end of fun, the beginning of not-fun. It matters not what the following day promises. I could be staring at a long line of vacation days but Sunday will still send my mood into a tailspin. Sunday mornings are tolerable. Sunday afternoons I can easily ignore, or sleep away on the couch. But Sunday nights — those are the worst.

Today was no different. I spent most of yesterday unable to look away from the TV, clutching my phone, and shaking my head because I just couldn’t wrap my brain around what I was hearing. It would be tragic no matter where it happened, but yesterday it happened in my home state, in my home town. Where my family lives. Where I still have friends. I saw the headline and called my mom to ask if she’d heard, a shooting at a grocery store there in Tucson. I had no details — what part of town, what store — the headline took me to a webpage that spun forever, traffic having sent the site down. She told me she would call my father and then called me back. He had gone to the store.

Tucson is not a small town. The shooting was at nearly the opposite side of town, nearly a 45 minute drive, from where my parents live. I don’t know anyone involved. The aide that was killed went to graduate school with an old friend of mine. That’s as close a connection as I’ll get. Watching the footage looping on CNN, it didn’t matter how far away it was, or whether I recognized any names or faces. It was in Tucson. Home.

I fell asleep yesterday afternoon on the couch, woken by Fred telling me we had an hour before we had to leave for dinner. I was zombied out. We dressed, left, and managed to put together a better than decent night.

This morning, Fred got up with Emma, and let me sleep. I stumbled out around 9 to a happy family and mug full of coffee. Emma busied herself, and Fred read the paper, and I climbed into a chair with my book and read. And read. And Fred brought me more coffee and I kept reading. And read some more. Later he brought me lunch. I ate it while I read. When I pulled myself up to get ready to take Emma to visit a friend, I complained about not being able to stay in my pajamas and read my book. And instead of making a crack or rolling his eyes, Fred said, “I know. You can do it when you get home.” Something about that — the way he said it — made this Sunday just a bit more bearable.

But I still don’t like them.

i don’t like sundays

I just don’t. Never have. Sundays represent the end of fun, the beginning of not-fun. It matters not what the following day promises. I could be staring at a long line of vacation days but Sunday will still send my mood into a tailspin. Sunday mornings are tolerable. Sunday afternoons I can easily ignore, or sleep away on the couch. But Sunday nights — those are the worst.

Today was no different. I spent most of yesterday unable to look away from the TV, clutching my phone, and shaking my head because I just couldn’t wrap my brain around what I was hearing. It would be tragic no matter where it happened, but yesterday it happened in my home state, in my home town. Where my family lives. Where I still have friends. I saw the headline and called my mom to ask if she’d heard, a shooting at a grocery store there in Tucson. I had no details — what part of town, what store — the headline took me to a webpage that spun forever, traffic having sent the site down. She told me she would call my father and then called me back. He had gone to the store.

Tucson is not a small town. The shooting was at nearly the opposite side of town, nearly a 45 minute drive, from where my parents live. I don’t know anyone involved. The aide that was killed went to graduate school with an old friend of mine. That’s as close a connection as I’ll get. Watching the footage looping on CNN, it didn’t matter how far away it was, or whether I recognized any names or faces. It was in Tucson. Home.

I fell asleep yesterday afternoon on the couch, woken by Fred telling me we had an hour before we had to leave for dinner. I was zombied out. We dressed, left, and managed to put together a better than decent night.

This morning, Fred got up with Emma, and let me sleep. I stumbled out around 9 to a happy family and mug full of coffee. Emma busied herself, and Fred read the paper, and I climbed into a chair with my book and read. And read. And Fred brought me more coffee and I kept reading. And read some more. Later he brought me lunch. I ate it while I read. When I pulled myself up to get ready to take Emma to visit a friend, I complained about not being able to stay in my pajamas and read my book. And instead of making a crack or rolling his eyes, Fred said, “I know. You can do it when you get home.” Something about that — the way he said it — made this Sunday just a bit more bearable.

But I still don’t like them.