Even though I said I would not mention the varied reasons why I have so neglected my little ol' blog, I am going to mention a new passion. No, it isn't a steamy hot new lover (damnit), but it is … photography!
I recently traveled to Arizona and I seemed to have picked up a bug for photography .. as an actual hobby. I've already enrolled in a class, read 3 books on photography, & begun to stalk several photoblogs. This is how my obsessions start. I am ok with that, too. So this new found hobby has two very expected consequences: 1) I will eventually re-do my blog (again) to allow me feature some work and let you guys tell me how awesome horrific passable my photography skills are, and 2) I will be posting photos that I particularly like. Starting now.
This little one sat still and preened while I took a gazillion shots. Easy photo bait.
I was utterly fascinated by the variety of colors in the flora of the desert.
The necessary sunset shot.
I will let you all guess what this is. Go ahead, leave a comment with your perceptions/guesses.
Purple beauty cactus
Playing around with stop-motion photos.
So, what do you think? It's ok … be honest. I won't ban you for life. I swear.
I might have also ranted about this here:
Tags: blogging, hobbies, photography
photo courtesy of imageshack
So I have been REALLY sucking at being .. you know … an actual blogger who actually writes on her actual blog. It's a combination of several things, none of which I shall bore you with here.
However, I am making this public proclamation:
I will blog every day for one week. Every day.
So there you have it. Now I expect you all to call me on my shit if I slack off, ok? Go ahead. Do it. You have my full permission.
I might have also ranted about this here:
Virgin Gorda, British Virgin Islands
I might have also ranted about this here:
Tags: beach, photography, Wordless Wednesday
Sometimes life is like a bad run at the craps table. You were up a few $1000 and then BAM .. you are digging lint out of your pockets to survive another round. Worse yet, you get thrown out of the casino .. shoeless and penniless.
Ok, maybe that is a little hyperbole-filled, but still. Thus is my last few days. My son has now decided that waking up multiple times a night for no apparent reason makes PERFECT sense. Every day I had plans to go for a much-needed run, it has rained thus killing my exercise mojo. Then this morning, I stepped in a pile of dog throw-up and when I went to go get stuff to clean it up, I returned to find my son PLAYING IN IT. Vomit. And by 'vomit', I mean 'I wanted to … '.
So, now it is raining, I am feeling like Tuesday is kicking my ass already and it's only 9:00 in the morning. My apathy has reached epic proportions. Suggestions?
I might have also ranted about this here:
You know, I remember the days when I could go out … have a drink or 4, have a great time, then wake up the next morning, eat a greasy breakfast, go for a 4 mile run and be ready to take on the world. What happened to those days? I mean, seriously. What good is that ability when you only have it in your 20's?? For realz, I need that ability NOW. RIGHT NOW.
Two children under the age of 4, shitty sleeping patterns, a husband that I love dearly but that drives me nuts on a semi-daily basis = pass me a fucking drink. I NEED to be able to get my drink on, then get up and be a mom the next morning without feeling like my brain is going to spill out of my skull and my body wishing to kick it's own ass. Instead, I drag and drag and moan and moan the day after my drink total goes above 2. Pitiful.
No offense God, but you got this thing in reverse order. When I was 20, I didn't give a crap about anything. I was all about my freedom and finding my way. What I needed then was some balance, some parameters, some roadblock that kept me from making stupid decisions. But when I was 20, I could recover from a night of drinking like it was NOTHING. Now, I am (mostly) mature enough to make good decisions, but you took away my ability to recover from a night of drinking with my friends. So what good is that now?
Come to think of it, grey hair, wrinkles, body aches, constipation, and dementia are really shitty ways to reward us for surviving to old age, don't you think God? Wouldn't a better plan be to have us be progressively: 1) better able to hold our liquor, 2) better able to recover from said holding, and 3) be horny 12 hours out of the day when we are *ahem* older? Isn't that a nicer way of saying "you rock .. you made it through adulthood. You raised (fill-in-the-blank) children (or dogs, or husbands, or gardens), you survived downsizing and second career challenges, you survived the stress that life brings you for the first 40 to 50 years and therefore you should be rewarded"? Doesn't this make sense? I mean, if folks get a nice watch upon retirement, shouldn't God maybe give us some good genes for partying our asses off without suffering the penalty once we get above the age of 29??
Anyone else with me?
I might have also ranted about this here:
(This is a fun blogging meme we do every Thursday. Join us, won't you?)
Woo-hoooooooo … another topic I can get excited about. You ladies at Girl Talk Thursday RAWK!
I have a primary bitch and several secondary bitch needs. I shall start with the 1st. I shall say sincerely, kindly, & coquettish-ly ..
FUCK SEARS.
You see, my cooktop freaked the hell out several months ago. We wrangled with our home warranty company for several weeks over who was going to pay for what. I lost this argument. The home warranty company offered to 'settle' the repair with a gift card to Sears (for an amount, might I say, that turned out to be much less than what replacing it cost. <shocking>). We were instructed that we could use the gift card as we saw fit (except for getting cash value for it) and that all future dealing with said broken cooktop were to be dealt with through Sears.
Sounds ok, right? WRONG. Here is the cliff notes version of the clusterfuck that is Sears:
- I ordered my cooktop. The lovely salesperson warned me that I should double check the measurements of the unit because I would be penalized at 25% restocking fee if I returned it because I ordered the wrong size. She kindly waited while I took out my trusty measuring tape and measured my broken unit and verified that it was in fact 21" x 36". She ran all the numbers, gave me a final total, I gave her my credit card info and yiipppeeeeee … I was finally going to get my new cooktop. (SIDEBAR: in order to use my stove now, I have to turn on and off the emergency gas line EVERYTIME I need to use it. Boo).
- Cooktop arrives, I call to schedule installation.
- Installer arrives and informs me that this unit won't fit into my 'cut-out'. (Bonus points to ANYONE reading this that knows what the hell THAT is.)
- Installer says they should have told me about the cut-out measuring. Installer then (nicely) gives me very confusing instructions as to how to pick out the appropriate size cut-out dimensions so that I can re-order a replacement cooktop. But I master his algorithm and order a new cooktop.
- Sears then informs me that they are going to hit me with the 25% restocking fee. Wait, what?
- I fight back on this nonsense. I talk to no less than 8 people at Sears.
- I wait 3 fucking WEEKS to get a response.
- The various responses I got:
a) we are looking in to it;
b) there is actually at 50% restocking fee;
c) you should have been told about measuring for the unit;
d) I can't waive the fee, I have to talk to a District Manager;
e) do you know who you talked to because I can't verify your story if you don't know who you talked to? (excuse me? what kind of shitty customer service is THAT?);
f) the 50% restocking fee doesn't apply to you; g) if the box is open, then the restocking fee applies,
h) if you purchase a more expensive cooktop to replace the perfectly-fine-but-ill-fitting cooktop, then we may waive the 25% restocking fee. (and conversely, if I ordered a less expensive cooktop, then they will charge me the 25% fee).
As of this writing, I still have NO answer.
My secondary bitches:
- If my husband doesn't stop putting dirty glasses on the counter on TOP of the dishwasher instead of just putting his dirty shit IN the dishwasher, I'm gonna go postal.
- If life keeps getting in the way of my Twitter addiction, heads are going to roll.
- If I have to listen to ANYONE argue that Tiger owes us an explanation, I'm takin' a 9-iron to someone's ass.
- If I could sleep for more than 7 hours straight EVER, I would be significantly less bitchy. Just sayin'.
Thank you for your kind attention. Also? FUCK SEARS.
I might have also ranted about this here:
Valentine's Day. A cute little Hallmark conspiracy of a holiday. Sure, romance is lovely to celebrate. I can be a romantic. Really, I can. Stop laughing. But shouldn't romance BY DEFINITION occur more than one day a year? Isn't love a lofty enough ideal that we should maybe move behind a random day in February to celebrate it? February? Really? It is cold as shit in February. What is romantic in February? Staying in the bed wearing flannel PJs while watching a movie? I do that many winter nights. Also? NOT sexy.
Now, don't get me wrong. I don't have a horrible memory of jilted love on Valentine's Day. Moreover, I remember being excited when the cute boy from homeroom gave me Valentine in elementary school. I appreciate the gorgeous flowers my dear husband buys me on Valentine's. I think kindergarten handmade Valentine cards rank really high on the 'awwwwww' scale. But c'mon. The Greeks wrote epic poems about love. The Romans fought wars over women. The best we can do in our country is tacky and/or sappy cards, cheap roses grown by child labor in some forsaken country, and chocolates full of nitrates and fillers and whatever?? Seriously?
You wanna impress me? Don't get me one DAMN THING for Valentine's. Say "Happy Valentine's Day sweetheart". Give me a wet kiss. Nothing more.
THEN, give me a little token of your love EVERY day for the rest of February. Buy me roses on a random Thursday in August. Give me footrub whilst watching football. Let me sleep in on a Saturday morning. Give me good sex and don't ask me to go get the washcloth. These things impress me. These things show me love. Do them regularly. Do them with love.
Cupid is based on the Greek myth of Eros. I'm digging their interpretation better than ours. Just sayin'.
I might have also ranted about this here:
Tags: Girl Talk Thursday, GTT, Valentine's Day
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