Damn it feels good to be a gangsta

So this is me as Little Red Riding in tha Hood. You can see that I’m iced out – thanks to my boy Mark, who, when I called to borrow the giant earrings and the best ever “Pimp” belt buckle, gave me all of his bling. I’m just going to say that he pulls it off much better than I do. Because this picture is of me attempting to look street. And failing miserably, I might add.

I made the “Little Red” emblem on my shirt, because I’m crafty. It reminds me of a song: “She’s crafty – and she’s just my type!” You know who did it. Yeah you do.

And not to be all old or anything, but how in the hell do those kids walk around with their pants hanging so low? First of all, it’s hard to keep them up, especially when I start to, oh I don’t know, MOVE? And second, I was walking on my pants all night. I guess I needed bigger shoes so that my pants wouldn’t drag on the ground or something. I think what I really needed was a whole other person, because I’m thinking that they could have fit in my pants and my sweatshirt quite comfortably and then maybe my issues with keeping my pants from falling down would have been resolved. Maybe next year.

So yeah – word up to Halloween and whatnot. See? I just can’t pull it off.

The least spooky black cats you'll ever see

I'm not sure how it happened, but Karen, Beth and I all ended up with black cats. Karen owns Rocco, who (although you can't see it in the picture) has a prominent underbite, due to the fact that his jaw was broken when he was a kitten. The family decided they didn't want to pay to have his jaw fixed, so they just left him at the animal hospital. Dr. Karen, vet extraordinaire, to the rescue! She fixed his jaw and took him home. The caption of this picture when she sent it to me was "isn't he handsome." This picture doesn't do him justice, because he really is.

Beth has Boy. Boy is the boss of Beth. He is the cat that will sleep where he wants and do what he wants whenever he wants whether Beth likes it or not. Boy has a prominent overbite, and so it always looked like his fangs were out. He looked very menacing. Not really, but he tried. Anyway, he no longer has the fangs, as the vet decided they should be pulled. Beth cried when that happened, but did decline to take the fangs home in a jar. She has her limits, you know.

I have the Inspector. He is the best cat ever (and is this picture not just PRECIOUS?). I got him as a tiny little one pound kitten who was sick and needed a foster home to stay at until he got better. He was so gross -- boogery and sneezy and his eyes would get all stuck shut. I used to have to get up in the night and wipe his nose so that he could breathe again. But he had THE CUTEST personality -- he will win you over in seconds flat. He is not like most cats in that he would like to be with you at all times. On you, licking your face and purring. I named him the Inspector because he was into everything when he was a kitten, plus, I thought he needed a unique name. However, because he was such a gross little thing, I always called him "Booger Cat" and now he only answers to "Booger," or "Boogie," which is what I usually call him. But at least he has a cool REAL name so he's not embarrassed when his name is called at the vet.

A little more Bob Vila, a little less Tim Allen

I am a fricking home improvement GENIUS. Since I’ve been on this “fixing up the house” kick, I’ve spent all my free time, well, fixing up the house. And it gives me an immense sense of accomplishment and satisfaction.

Now here’s where I admit something. My house is a little over 1200 square feet. It has two bedrooms and two bathrooms. It has a large entry hall closet, and each bedroom has a walk-in closet. The closet in my room is practically the size of the guest bathroom. And yet? I can’t find anywhere to store anything. It ends up that stuff is haphazardly piled everywhere and I can never find anything. This does not work for me.

So I took matters into my own hands and bought this. I thought it would be your typical “you only need a screwdriver” type of assembly, but it turns out that while I did need a screwdriver, I also needed a tape measure, pencil, hammer, level, and drill. Luckily I have all those things, and more importantly? I know how to use them. This little shelving unit requires actual mounting into the wall and so the OCD kicked in and I drew pencil lines all over the closet so that I made sure everything was straight and level. I finally finished it yesterday afternoon and spent last night reorganizing my fantastic new closet.

I can’t wait to show Not Boyfriend, because I think he thinks that just because I’m a girl, I can’t use tools properly. He called while I was installing the shelves, and was quizzing me on wall stud placement and why they call anchors “butterflies.” Dude – my dad can build and/or fix anything on this planet, and I spent every weekend as a kid either watching or helping him do carpentry projects. And, I’ve lived alone for four years – I know from fixing and building stuff. I fully admit that there are some things I can’t do, but I leave those to my dad. And Not Boyfriend is a “professional” fix-it guy, because he works in construction, so I allow him to tell me things that maybe I already know. I might not know the technical name for everything, but I usually know what to do with it. And you know what? If I waited around for those two to do all these things for me, I’d end up sitting in a corner, rocking back and forth and mumbling about how I know those Christmas ornaments are around here somewhere, but because the closets are such a mess, I’ll just never know. As a result, I did it myself and am now unbelievably proud of my accomplishment. I keep opening the closet, just to look at it.

I don’t have any pictures for you today – so we’re going to be celebrating Halloween for a few more days this week, and that’s just how it’s going to be. The reason is that I had my brother’s camera to document my weekend, and that means I am now at his mercy as far as when he gets around to downloading my photos. However, I promise that sometime in the very near future, you will have pictures of me in my costume, the Halloween Cats, and the house in my complex that I have (very appropriately, I think) named “The house where Halloween threw up.” You will love it.

I'll blame this on the fact I'm tired -- how's that?

Everyone has been writing such profound posts lately that I think I must have exhausted all of my own profundity on commenting. So yeah, like after one comment, I'm toast. Therefore, you get more random thoughts. Lucky you!

I usually appreciate the surround sound system my downstairs neighbor rocks. I envy his ability to play loud music at all times. I do however have to take issue with the fact that this afternoon, that system is playing Shania Twain, who I hate with a fiery passion. I figure that his girlfriend walked in the door, turned on the stereo (and turned it UP) and now? Pure torture.

Is it wrong that I called one of the youth group boys to see if I could borrow some of his bling to complete my gangsta-themed Halloween costume? Is it more wrong that he has a ton of the stuff to loan me? Is it even more wrong that he’s the pastor’s son? I hope to have pictures of the costume, which I will post and you’ll see what I mean. Wrong.

I went and visited my friends’ brand new baby last night. Can I just tell you that that was six pounds of pure ADORABLE? What? Did you say something? I couldn’t hear you over the TICKING OF MY BIOLOGICAL CLOCK. I kid, I kid. I AM a kid. Therefore, not ready for a kid. Anyway, after I left (at like 7:30 – he went to sleep and apparently parents take the sleep when they can) I went to Dan’s, where I was only planning to stay for a minute. Or five hours, could be either. (I chose five hours, because when I got in my car and looked at the clock, I was horrified that I'd have to get up in entirely too short of a time). We sat on the couch and made surprise playlists for each other on iTunes and laughed our asses off at stuff that I laugh at some more when I think about it but won’t put down here, because it was most definitely a “You had to be there” situation. Oh the Dan is so amusing.

Off I go. Tomorrow I’m going to two Halloween parties and prior to that, going to see my aunt at the airport while she’s here for a layover. My mom called today because she’s making signs for us to hold up – this particular aunt is my mom’s youngest sister, who just graduated with her Ph.D, and she’s funny as hell. Clearly this is a situation that requires signs. My mom asked me what I wanted my sign to say and I told her “Congratumalations on your edumacation” – I hope she spells it right.

This is the part where I just write some stuff down for no particular reason.

I'm pretty bored. I'm the only one in the office today, yesterday and tomorrow, so I have no one to talk to. So. Bored. We did have a fire drill yesterday, which basically consists of people streaming out of the building and then standing in their designated area in the parking lot until we get the all clear. It gave me the opportunity to actually talk to this guy in our suite whose name I still don't know, but who I refer to as "the guy with the nicest ass ever." Like I'll say to Marlene "Hey look -- it's the guy with the nicest ass ever." And he really does. Can you be sued for sexual harassment if you don't work for the same company? You know, I'm, um, just curious.

You may remember that back in September, I wrote an entry about how there was this skunk that was way past dead on the highway on my drive home. I saw it every day and I was repulsed every day because even if I psych myself up for like a mile before (“don’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlook”) I look. And my reaction? Well, to quote myself, it is “every day, my gag reflex kicks in and I’m like ‘gaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!’” It’s been over a month and while I have gotten the gag reflex under control, that pile of used-to-be-skunk is STILL THERE. It’s rained. It’s snowed. And yet? STILL THERE. I’ve actually seen kind of an abundance of dead skunks on the road this year, leading me to believe that skunk moms should better educate their babies about the correct way to cross the street. Or even better – don’t cross at all. They could cite the prairie dogs as an example – although I’m thrilled when prairie dogs are killed because those horrible rodents overrun everything. I hate them. Anyway. I’m not looking forward to daylight savings time because that means it’ll be dark when I’m driving home and the probability of me hitting a deer is higher. It’s wildlife-tastic around here, I tell you what. (You say that last part like Hank in "King of the Hill").

So I’m wondering when my transformation into my mother will finally be complete. Because after Tuesday, I feel like Dr. Jekyll – he knows that he’s going to turn into Mr. Hyde, he fights it…fights it…and yet? Mr. Hyde always wins. Turning into my mom isn’t a bad thing at all, I just feel like I’m too young for that yet. The reason I say this is because I got this fabulous new bathtub cleaner that seriously is MAGICAL. My bathtub looks brand freakin’ new. I love it. However, I did love it slightly less when I woke up at 2 a.m. choking on the residual fumes. You would think that 8 or 9 hours would be long enough for them to dissipate, but not so much. Once I realized that that was probably the cause, I went out and slept on the couch. And woke up late for work. But possible permanent lung damage is a small price to pay for that magically sparkly tub. I also got this stainless steel cleaner that makes my sink look new and this stovetop cleaner that makes my cooktop stove look new. Clearly, I'm all about the looking new. I’m re-reading this now and boy do I sound pathetic. Pathetic – but with a really clean house. And hence, I’m turning into my mom, because she is a major clean freak. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I think I found the perfect comforter for my new, non-pink room. I want it. Really bad.

And now, some quotes.

Me: “I decided to wear my camouflage t-shirt – see, it’s the blue one. If we were underwater right now, you totally couldn’t see me.”
Not Boyfriend: “If we were underwater right now, whether or not I could see you would really be the least of our problems.”

Not Boyfriend, after looking at my wall where I have all of the various shades of mocha/beige/taupe/khaki paint color swatches taped: “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you paint this room brown.” At this point I just rolled my eyes and attributed that remark to the fact that boys have no sense of subtlety. But then…
Mom: “What are all those paint color swatches doing on your wall?”
Me: “Take a wild guess.”
Mom: “Ok, well why are there 600 shades of beige then?”

Geez. Does NO ONE have a sense of subtlety around here? Honestly. (And you say that last part like Austin Powers).

Remember when I talked about James Blunt opening for Jason Mraz the other night? Well I downloaded the song that I loved -- I'd say it's the least "fatalistic" on the cd -- it's called "You're Beautiful." And I can't stop listening to it. I think it's so sweet and his voice is so pretty and full of feeling, but at the same time I feel like I might start crying and never stop. Because the way he sings it and the lyrics? Heart-rending. And yet -- it makes me feel kind of happy. I don't understand it either -- I'm an enigma wrapped in a mystery, apparently. Anyway, you should listen to it.