Making a list. Checking it more than twice.

It's safe to say that crossing things off a "to do" list is one of the best feelings ever. Whether it's a list for the day, or things to accomplish on a more long-term timeline, checking off things as "completed" - even the smallest things - gives me warm fuzzies. Most of my "get this stuff done" lists make their way to post-it notes in my quaint little cube. They sit waiting in my peripheral vision. Sometimes taunting. Sometimes nagging. Sometimes just there to subtly remind me. And oftentimes, they sit there for a while. Which makes the reward all the better when my Big Ultra Round Stic Grip (that sounds dirty) makes its way through the words.

With my age and vast maturity (ha), lists have made their way in my brain and in my brain alone. I used to be the type of person that had to write things down otherwise there was no hope of recalling the "needs to be done/bought/called." Granted, I find myself forgetting small things more frequently these days (mainly grocery store items.) But my "to do" lists don't even have to be tangible things anymore. Achieving goals now give me much more reward than they used to. Take, for example, a hiking adventure in Colorado recently to reach the top of this mountain:



I hadn't eaten much that morning. I'm a nerd with asthma. The thin air effected me early in the excursion. But in my head, I told myself I wouldn't stop. I'd make it to the top. (When it comes to physical exertion anymore, I'm basically a wimp. Relatively, anyway. I don't push myself like I used to.) I got dizzy at times and really questioned if I'd stick to my word. But I did. I made it to the top. See?



So what I'm saying is that I've come to appreciate accomplishments a lot more lately. Whether it's finally doing the laundry that's piled up, overflowing the brim, or climbing to the top of a mountain and to get married where there are flutes playing and trombones and flowers and garlands of fresh herbs. And dancing 'til the sun rose. And then our children will form a family band. And we will tour the countryside and you won't be invited.

(Movie quote. Thumbs up to the person that calls it.)

Ode to Andy

Like his baldish head
My coworkers killed his fish
Fancy spectacles

Shake, rattle and roll

I've recently acquired some new furniture. And I didn't even have to purchase it with my own hard-earned monies. The management of my apartment community was graceful enough to gift it to me. It really rounds out my place, since there are new pieces in the living room AND bedroom. (I'm a lucky gal.)

The new additions include a "massage chair" in futon form and one of those vibrating beds I thought only existed in sleazy motels in movies and cartoons. So what stemmed the atypical generosity? It seems they had a genius revelation in that industrial-sized air conditioners should sit atop one lucky apartment on the roof in my building. As you might have figured, I am the fortunate tenant.

So for anywhere from 20-40 minute increments, with no more than 10 minute breaks in between, my futon turns into a massage chair or if it's bedtime, my mattress turns into a belly shaker. Auditory ambiance is created through rattling frames on walls, track lighting and stove top burners. In addition, the more indirect rooms to receive such treatment contain an incessant, low "hum" ... if you can really call it that. You know those whistles with such high pitches only dogs can hear them? This sound is on the opposite end of pitch range, but I imagine what my ears experience is similar to that of those poor canines.

You can imagine the excitement I had to silence when I got to stay up until 4:30 a.m. last night to listen to the dulcet tones of air conditioner bliss. I had to stifle such excitement because I wouldn't want to wake anyone at that hour of the night/morning. I imagine I'm the only one who aches for opportunities to be kept up for such unique experiences.

P.S. I'm moving.

Bucket, please

I'm not exactly sure what birthed my queasy stomach. It wasn't my mom, that's for sure. She's the type that would ask a doctor if she could be in the operating room to observe her daughter's knee surgery.

I don't think my dad transferred the trait. No justification for that assumption, but it just doesn't seem to fit him.

And I haven't had this uneasy tummy as long as I can remember. I didn't freak out when I skinned a knee ... which I did countless times. From what I recall, I didn't squeal with disgust at the sight of blood.

But now, even talking about it makes me feel faint. In fact, I have to take breaks as I type because of bouts of "the willies" and general dizziness. To you, dear readers, this may seem like a seamless flow of prose genius ... ha ... but I need you to know that's not the case.

Anyway. Generally speaking, the following ick factors make me lightheaded, shudder with fear and overall displeased: needles, blood, conversations about needles or blood. Sometimes people's fears, especially with needles and such, improve with age. Turns out my case is the opposite. It's only gotten worse. Besides the inevitable fainting spell while having blood drawn for tests (yeah, a tiny vial's worth has the ability to knock me unconscious, so you can forget about asking me to donate BAGS of blood), apparently I'm adding to the list of what makes me grossed out. For one, raw meat ... not for moral reasons, I've just grown to incrementally dislike it more and more each day. (Exception ... sushi.)

But my newest discovery is the most random of all. One of my favorite shows is Three Sheets. (You should probably most definitely check it out here. Tell Zane I sent you.) In short, the host Zane Lamprey visits countries to learn about locals' drinking customs and favorite beverages. And when he visits some countries to partake in alcoholic beverages, their traditions get downright gnarly. Several episodes have featured the mostly involuntary consumption of liquor that has been infused with dead snakes or other critters ... lizards, seahorses, etc. While viewing these occurrences in previous seasons, it was gross, but nothing induced vomiting. But last night, while watching his episode in Saigon, they visited a shop that had endless jars of alcohol filled with dead animals. It doesn't help that I was eating brisket while watching, but I seriously could not watch without gagging.

Then there was the time Zane tried to cure a hangover by eating soup that contained coagulated cow blood. Makes me dry heave as I type.

So the next time you try to buy me a shot laced with dead serpent, blood and pieces of raw meat, served by way of syringe, I'll punch you in the nose.

The latest announcement

"Attention VML, the Ford Canada bus is now leaving. The Ford Canada bus is now leaving."

Um. Ok? ...

Another thing that doesn't suck ...

Is a great friend. Thanks to the fellow who brought me cupcakes to help me "keep a chin up." And not just any cupcakes. Baby Cakes. One carrot cake, one strawberry and one chocolate with buttercream icing. The strawberry is sitting in my tummy right now, wondering how it was devoured so quickly.

But seriously. To my cupcake yielding friend, thank you. Even though I told you not to bring them to me (I know you too well, huh?) ... you did. And my tummy is grateful.

And they say comfort can't come in the form of food. Liars.

P.S. I neglected to mention that Bop also got me a cupcake yesterday. I didn't forget, however, so I had to give her props. Thanks for making me chunky, guys. No seriously ... I love it.

Negative Nancy vs. Positive Patty

Things kinda suck right now, I'll be honest. But you know what doesn't suck? A good date.

Something about me is that I'm not good at hiding my emotions. So when things get downright crappy at work, it takes its toll at home as well. But last night the boyfriend and I attempted to get away from said crappiness. (You'd think being in the Bahamas on a cruise for a week last week would trump it. You'd think wrong.)

Initially we planned on either going to a movie, or renting one and baking cookies or brownies. As incessant crying hampers my appetite - no small feat, may I add ... making me cry OR making me not want to eat - I opted out of the baking option. Theater it is. While we had originally planned on finding something to eat at home, I had developed a craving for Buffalo Wild Wings ... no idea where it came from. But since things suck right now, I get my way. (Hi, I'm a brat. Nice to meet you.)

It was seriously de-freaking-licious. We don't have a BWW close to us, so it doesn't come up on our dinner-option radar often. But sometimes we think of it on Thursdays because of 50 cent boneless wings. I don't think I'll ever go back on a Thursday ... while it's still awesome, I've now found the non-boneless promo nights are amazing. Four spicy garlic, four medium ... all dipped in bleu cheese goodness ... for half an hour, my worries were sent soaring.

Looks like I'll have to eat Buffalo Wild Wings for at least a week. My life is so hard.