I heard the NPR pledge drive was fast approaching, so I bought a new CD. This probably won't come as any surprise.
I'm a tiny bit obessed. I've listened to it about 7 times already, and I think it's going to be a good companion during the pledge drive.
Plus, She & Him take some pretty cute pictures.
I told Matt the other day that if I could choose what I looked like, I would look like Zooey Deschanel. He made a disgusted face, and said that she was too waif-ish. I think that was Matt's nice way of saying, "Oh, Mandy, I like you plump."
Other celebrities I would like to look like, say, if someone allowed me to just point to a picture and make it happen: Elizabeth Hurley, Jenna Elfman, Michelle Obama, Connie Britton.
On our journey toward financial solvency, Matt and I had to take a serious look at what was causing our money to evaporate. The biggest offender was eating out. So we eliminated that for the most part, and started cooking at home and planning our meals. Cha-ching! But then there was my greatest offense: buying unnecessary and ridiculous shit.
I've gotten better about that. Better. Not perfect.
I still buy kind of stupid and/or unnecessary stuff on occasion. And I'm pretty good at rationalizing why something is important, or why it will make me $20 happy, etc.
Sometimes people will ask me why I have a second job. I have a second job so that I can shop guilt-free. Basically, five hours of waiting tables each week afford me the opportunity to spend five hours shopping each week.
My go-to purchase on days when I'm feeling sorry for myself is pajama pants. (I have about 25 pairs of pajama pants. Now, that's over the course of like eight years, and 4-5 times per year of feeling sorry for myself doesn't seem so bad. Is it?)
I'll also buy ridiculous shit for the house. I try to buy things that are functional (even if that function happens to be "makes Mandy smile").
Lately, I've bought curtains for the guest room. . .
. . .and colorful lanterns to add the the Carport Bistro.
I have really made an effort to keep myself from buying stuff that is completely unnecessary or useless. (Such was not the case in college, when I apparently had some hidden desire to spend ALL of my money on the stupidest things possible. Roller skates for all my friends? Every Gap favorite tee that's been made?) But there's an exception.
See, my second job is waiting tables. It can be pretty lucrative, but it can also be pretty shitty. Nothing has contributed more to my being a misanthrope than my experience working in the restaurant business (which is really saying something because the rest of the time I'm working in a high school). When I have a shift that's REALLY shitty--and by REALLY shitty I mean the kind of shift that makes you think you'll have to quit in the middle, the kind where you're fantasizing about the customers choking on their overpriced chain food, the kind where you have a massive hangover, the kind where you think you may cry mid-shift--then I have a rule. That rule is that I am allowed to take all of the money that I made that shift and spend it frivolously. The more frivolous the better. (Note: I understand that this is not the smartest of plans. I know that if I had kids or bills that were going unpaid that this plan would not be an option. But I understand, too, that it brings me enough happiness to forget about the misery of the day, and it's worth it to me.)
Saturday was pretty horrible.
So I bought myself a pair of jeans (they looked pretty great and were only $20, so even though I'm not supposed to be buying clothes unless I'm buying them in a smaller size because of all of the weight that I've been losing--ha!--I decided that it was a good buy), and a candle:
Quick reminder: this candle smells amazing, but it does not taste nearly as good as it smells. In fact, it tastes like wax. Shit. Also, I burn this candle at all times in my classroom. It's aromatherapy. Kids walk in and smell cake, and they're instantly more happy and better behaved. That's what I've found, at least.
And some nail polish:
(PS--this nail polish is pretty great. There are lots of colors and the polish itself is even better than the OPI stuff I have. But this particular color, Thinking of Blue, reminds me of blueberries.)
And some flowers:
And this, the most ridiculous purchase of them all, Pet Head brand (by the makers of Bed Head products, the ones that smelled so good when Paxton and Becky had them that I tried to eat them--note: they do not taste as good as they smell) dry shampoo that smells like blueberry muffins. Yes, please!
(Also, I'd be a damned withholder if I didn't admit that I immediately went home and tried to use the Pet Head dry shampoo on my own greasy locks, but that it didn't turn out as planned. Shit.)
But I used this stuff on old Mitchell Pancake, and it was pretty cool. Now he smells like blueberries. Blueberry Pancake.
The blueberry-scented dog is much better smelling than the dog who smells like, well, wet dog because we spent half an hour today doing this:
Hope you're enjoying your Monday. I'm furloughed today, which sucks. But in my effort to look at the bright side of life (thanks for the tip, Brian!), I'm going to be happy about it. I'll sleep in, spend the day at the park with the husband, and eat too much.
What are you up to? What do you waste your money on?
Happy birthday to Danielle, who is also turning twenty-nine, but for the fourth time.
Not a month goes by that I don't have a dream that I'm back in Harrisonburg, working at BW3. I really don't have a good explanation for my creepy recurring dream, except that the three years that I worked there were so formative. When I started there, I was a nineteen-year-old kid who didn't drink, and was pretty wholesome by most accounts. By the time I left three years later, such was not the case. Not to mention, that job could be really stressful. We got out at two a.m. at the earliest, and our shifts began at five. Sure, it wasn't the hardest job of all time, and sure, we made buckets of money slinging wings and beer and Alabama Slammer shooters, but it was tough.
The people who worked with me during that time were really influential, in part because I was the baby of the group, and I always felt like they were looking after me, and in part because they taught me so much about coming of age in Harrisonburg, Virginia.
Danielle was the second person I met at BW3. (The first was her then-boyfriend-now-husband Scott, who probably deserves a post all his own.) She trained me, and I didn't like her that much. I thought she was a bitch. I couldn't have been more wrong. Well, kind of. She can be a bitch when needed, but it's the good kind of bitch. Let's just say she's assertive.
It didn't take long for me to realize that Danielle was actually quite cool. She was an English major like me, she had an awesomely-raspy voice (I'd pay $200 to be able to trade voices with her), and she held a really great outlook on life. And she's smart. I love it when my friends are smart.
As the years progressed, Danielle and I became closer, and I always looked forward to shifts when I'd be working with her. She even gave me a reason to hate karaoke less (We had karaoke 1-2 times a week, and it was excruciating, especially because our manager would play a game called "Kamikaze Karaoke," which basically meant that he would put our names in for songs that he chose, and then when our name was called he would force us to go up and sing the surprise song. Fun for the customers, awful for the employees.) For some reason, Danielle and I decided that our favorite song was "Copacobana," and when we would step up to the mike to sing we knew it was our chance to get back at the karaoke regulars (a.k.a., high school chorus rejects) with our own ridiculous antics.
But my favorite Danielle memories are of enjoying the simple life outside of work: watching O Brother Where Art Thou? over and over again (he done R-U-N-N-O-F-T!), planning our future careers as backup whistlers (we're both REALLY good at whistling), trying to refine our handwriting with nice pens, and planning how we would be soccer moms together years later. (Sorry, Danielle. I really dropped the ball on that one.)
In many ways, I felt like Danielle was the big sister that I never had. Looking back, I can see just how much she influenced me, with her casual outlook on life, with her candid honesty, and with her approach to relationships. Danielle and Scott always impressed me with their relationship. They were never overly kissy or gross, but it was clear whenever I was around them that they were deeply committed to one another, and that they didn't have to be sitting on each other's laps to prove that to the world.
When Scott told us that he'd bought a ring and was planning to propose, I was so excited for them. I knew that they were a great team, and it made me happy to know that Scott and Danielle would be taking on the world together.
And I was excited to see what kind of kids they would spawn. Fortunately, I wouldn't have to wait long. About forty weeks to the day after they got married (And the wedding was pretty fun, from what I remember. Sorry I fell off that chair, Danielle. How did that bouquet even end up in my hand?) they had their first baby, Scotty (who we thought would be a girl but surprised everyone).
Danielle's really taken to being a mom. She has two great kids (who, by the way, look like miniature versions of her and Scott) and a super cute pup, and she's thriving.
She has even fulfilled our long-term goal of being a soccer mom!
Even though I don't get to talk to her that often, when we do talk we're able to pick up right where we left off. It seems that we can't talk for any less than two hours. I've known Danielle for a decade, and I admire her and appreciate her more with each passing year.
Happy birthday, Danielle! If I was up there, I'd make you these:
(I stole all of the pictures from Danielle's Facebook, because I do not have a scanner. It's probably for the best.)
Hey you guys, it's me, Mitch. Oh man, I'm so exhausted right now. Let me tell you why.
First of all, I'm six. That's like forty three in dog years, which means that I'm middle-aged (immortal if you ask my mom). So I'm no young pup. Sure, when people stop me at the park to remark about how beautiful I am and to and ask about my breeding (American Dingo, natural selection all the way!), they are always so surprised to find out how old I am because I project such youth and vitality. But, I mean, that's just when I'm out for walks mostly. Because when I'm at home, I'm either sleeping on the bed, sleeping on the couch, sleeping under the bed, sleeping beside the couch, or sitting on the couch watching out for kids or mailmen (so that I can scare them with my loud and vicious-sounding bark.) Point is, when I'm on walks, I'm all about being Energy Dog, but when I'm at home, that's time for Mitch to relax.
When my mom and dad kept talking about this "spring break," I thought I might get to forget about some of my stresses, you know, like cats and bicycles and kids bouncing basketballs.
But apparently "break" is more like "stress," because I had a really stressful "break."
First there was Fletcher. I mean, we've talked about Fletcher. I kind of like him; I just wish that he would chill out. Come on, Fletcher. You don't have to be punching me in my face every waking minute of our visit together. We can just relax in a dirt spot. And wipe that grin off your face. Okay, and like, when I first met Fletcher, he wasn't that much bigger than Reilly, but now he's as big as I am! What the hell is that? I'll tell you one thing, Mitch is not okay with Fletcher getting bigger and bigger.
Basically, with Fletcher I just growl and growl and maybe snap. Sometimes I can get him on the ground and start "dancing" with his face, but not too often. Fletcher is so strong! But he sure is handsome--so handsome that it's hard to overcome my desire to "dance" with his face.
So, anyway, Fletcher came, and he was only here for a day, and I was all, "Thank goodness! I'm so tired!" So I had a day of rest. Only a day. One day. That's it.
Because the next day we had another visitor, Phebe. Phebe is even younger than Fletcher, but she's not quite as big, which was nice. And you know what she did? She ate my bones! Sure, I had my own bone the whole time, but she'd just saunter over to MY bed and start chewing on a bone that came from MY bone jar. So you know what I'd do? I'd drop the bone I was chewing on, march my dog butt over to Phebe, and take that bone back from her. Why? Because I'm Mitch, and sometimes I'm an asshole.
Phebe was here for a couple days, and she did get better. I even decided to give up on being so jealous about bones. She liked to run, so I would chase her around the house trying to wear her out, but you know what? You pretty much can't wear out a puppy. They have so much energy! What the hell, you guys?
Then Phebe left, and so did my mom and dad (Thanks a lot, Mom and Dad. It's not like I wanted to go to the lake or anything. I hate the lake. Oh yeah, that's right. I LOVE the lake. And now I hate you guys.) I thought that with everyone gone I would finally get some solace, but I was again mistaken, because Reilly came over. Now, Reilly time is like really exhausting but also really fun (kind of like a trip to Mexico, except that I didn't get to go to Mexico, either. That was just another example of Mitch being left behind. I seriously would bite my parents if they didn't sprinkle parmesan cheese over my food), and he's getting older and more into naps, so we had a great time. We even rented some of the old Air Bud movies and popped popcorn. Maybe you didn't know this, but dogs LOVE popcorn. And also steak.
And no sooner did Reilly leave than Mom and Dad returned. I mean, can't a dog relax? I really need my alone time!
Mom and Dad are back at work now, and whining about getting up early and needing rest, but I'm happy, because I needed to get some rest to make up for that "break."
Today, during my planning, while I did everything I could to avoid grading 90 essays on how Animal Farm is a satirical allegorical fable, I was listening to my "My Girl" radio station on Pandora. Smoky Robinson's "You've Really Got a Hold on Me" came on, and, unexplicably, the only thing I could think of was Sesame Street.
I couldn't figure out why, until I decided to Google it. (Or Lougle it--yeah, Hot Tub Time Machine!)
Because all good things must come to an end, our perfectly-balanced-between-fun-and-relaxing spring break is over. I spent nine days getting my body to adjust to staying up late and sleeping in, just in time to have return to work, just in time to have to force myself to wake up early again. Boo for waking up early. The good news is that there are only forty-five more school days until summer. That's really not a lot of days.
And birthday week/month is over; we ate the last vestiges of it tonight. (PS--Here's a great gift idea. Sneak Fresh Market ribeyes into your friend's refrigerator when you are house and dog sitting. Your friend will be forever grateful. Muchas gracias, Cris!) Year twenty-nine has been pretty great so far, I must say. If the next fifty point five weeks are as lovely, I'll be a happy, happy girl.
We don't really have anything exciting happening anytime soon, but there is a certain comfort in returning to our routine. And since we are admitted television addicts, our routine includes way too much of the tube. Here's what we've been watching of late:
Breaking Bad. We (and by we I mean Matt) have been hearing about how great it is for some time, but hadn't gotten around to watching it. Why is it so good? In case you haven't heard of it before, here's the premise: unsatisfied high school chemistry teacher finds out that he has terminal cancer, and begins cooking crystal meth to be able to leave money for his family. And it's got the dad from Malcolm in the Middle, only now he's an evil genius.
American Idol. Psych! We stopped watching this season. It just sucked too bad and I couldn't stomach Cara.
Amazing Race. This season's coming to a close, but it's been great fun. Plus, three of the five remaining teams are ones we chose: cowboys, gay brother/straight brother, and the idiot models. Every time we watch Matt curses the models for still being in the race, even though he picked them. If only the Buffalo Bills could be as successful as the stupid models.
Top Chef Masters. This hasn't actually started yet, but it does tomorrow, and we'll be watching and loving every second.
Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution. Hugh and Cassie recommended this show (and Christina was raving about it), and I think Hugh put it really well when he described it as being one of the best-edited shows on tv. And Jamie Oliver is officially one of my favorite British people.
Jeopardy!. Always. We're watching it right now. It's 1:28 a.m. Matt is ranting about how he would have won this game.
Lost. I'm really not that interested since I know what the numbers mean, and that's all I really cared about, but I watch it anyway. Just looking for closure, I suppose. Tonight's episode was pretty good. I like how Desmond and Jamie Oliver always call people Brother. It's so endearing.
60 Minutes. We're really, really old.
The Pacific. Matt's watching this; I'm not. I'm sure it's good and all, but all those army boys all look the same to me, and I have trouble figuring out who's who. And, yes, I'm quite stupid.
Treme. I will be watching this one. The guys from The Wire doing a show about post-Katrina New Orleans? Yes, please.
500 Days of Summer. It's not a tv show, but we just watched it last night and I loved every second. A modern-day Annie Hall, if you will. Charming and funny and bittersweet. Plus, it had the girl from Elf!
And here's a hump day video to get you through the day: President Obama playing HORSE--I mean, POTUS--with Clark Kellog, who is good at basketball. (Better at basketball than damn Kentucky, who is not as good at basketball as I thought.)
Spring break has been spectacular. The weather has been so perfect that it's seemed fake, I've got a tiny bit of sunburn on the backs of my legs--not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me that summer is fast approaching--and I haven't been this relaxed in a loooooooooooong time. I'd be a damned liar if I didn't admit that I miss my child:
But my birthday gift from Matt's parents is helping to soothe the pain. If I haven't said it before, I have some of the greatest in-laws around.
This has nothing to do with anything, really, but I want to share a story. Back at JMU, one of my friends was buying beer at the local Food Lion. Ahead of her in line was a gigantic woman wearing a mu-mu (moo-moo?) who was buying a single toothbrush. When she moved forward to pay for her toothbrush, an entire ham fell out from underneath her mu-mu. She looked around, seemingly surprised, and yelled out, "FOR REAL, THOUGH, WHO THREW THAT HAM AT ME?"
Happy Easter!
(Matt and I spent the last two hours watching Breaking Bad, and now we're watching What a Girl Wants. I'm definitely having bad dreams tonight.)
It might be a good treat for those who gave up sweets for Lent. Me? I gave up knitting. That's a lie. I gave up nothing, because I am not Catholic and because I have no self-control.
What a week it's been! This time last week I was frantically cleaning the house and running errands so that I could relax and enjoy birthday/spring break. And after an incredible birthday celebration I got to hang out with Caitie and her daughter Phebe for a few days (and now we're relaxing at Matt's parents' lake house--more on that later).
I hadn't had that much time to just hang out with Caitie--stress free--since we were roommates in college. Those days were pretty glorious: roller skating around Harrisonburg, stalking professors, ganging up on our other roommates, sitting on the sidewalk waiting for cute boys to ride past on bicycles, eating freez-e-pops, skipping class, and lying on her ridiculously comfortable bed watching the "I'm so excited, I'm so excited, I'm so--scared" episode of Saved by the Bell. You get the picture.
But we're grown-ups now, and being a grown-up is sometimes less fun than roller skating past a professor's house trying to catch a glimpse of her new Chinese baby. Now we have real responsibilites and slower metabolism and stressors and bills, and even though life is still good, it's rarely as carefree as it used to be. But this week? This week has been like those days on Grattan Street.
After waging war on pollen and these supposed allergies, I woke up yesterday able to breathe through my nose. I took a bath, painted my toenails, cleaned the house, blogged, and waited for Caitie to get up. Then we shopped and lunched and shopped some more. I bought my one millionth hoodie:
And then we went to Forsyth Park on what might have been the most beautiful afternoon of the year. Phebe came, too. And I took 600 pictures of her.
Look at that FACE!
After people-watching and Phebe-watching, we met up with Matt and got ice cream at the Forsyth Park Cafe.
And then? Then what did we do?
UNIVERSOUL CIRCUS!
We had really good seats--so good that I was kind of hoping that one of the tigers would attack the trainer, because I could get good pictures of it. But we don't always get what we want. (I felt really bad for the tigers and elephants in the show. I did not feel bad for the troupe of trickster poodles, which was probably Caitie's favorite part of the whole circus, because it was really obvious that their trainer loved them.)
Meow!
The only disappointing part of UniverSoul was that the cage of death jumper guys from last year weren't part of the show. Good thing there's YouTube.
When I called Matt during intermisison to tell him that we hadn't seen them, he responded, "Yeah, because they probably died." Hopefully not. (They're not being mean to tigers, so I'm more worried about their safety.)
When we returned home, Matt had dinner ready (we use chicken instead of shrimp), and then we all ate and talked and drank too much.
To sum up: baths, beautification, shopping, lunching, parks, pups, pictures, ice cream, circus, pasta, wine, friends, and husbands. It doesn't get much better than that.
Somewhere in the world there exists a video of Aunt Darcey dancing to Beyonce's "Single Ladies," and then tripping over a cooler in the Carport Bistro and busting her ass. It's a good video, but since Darcey is a professional, and since I do still retain some sense of propriety, I probably won't be posting it on the interwebs for the whole planet. (Hear that, Darcey? Target gift cards will work just fine. Just how much is that video worth?)
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