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Spatula tricks

Thursday, October 13th, 2011

So there I was, minding my own business, when I heard a ruckus.  I walked out of the office to find Gabe darting from the kitchen to the living room – never a good sign.

I walked into the kitchen and found… this:

Oh, how’s that? you ask?  Here, let me give you a better angle.

How this dog does it, I’ll never know.  But I am legitimately flabbergasted on a near-daily basis.

My new roommates

Tuesday, July 5th, 2011

As you learned in last Friday’s video, I now live with my sister Becca in the Hooker House.  Get used to it – I have a feeling that Life on Hooker Street will become a popular subject on this blog.

Aside from time time spent under our parent’s roof, this is the first time that Becca and I have lived together.  She is 3 1/2 years younger, half my weight* and twice my sarcasm.

Becca has a dog, and she’s pretty much obsessed with him.  His name is Gabe, but “The Greebs” is the moniker that’s stuck.  So obviously, I now live with the Greebs, too.

Are you curious about these two new roommates of mine?  Here.  I’ll show you.

Becca and Gabe

And in case you forgot, here is me.

So, yes.  This could be interesting.  ACKNOWLEDGED.

But so far, it’s been fun.

I’m teaching Becca things like “you have to rinse your plastic soup container before you put it in the recycling bin.”  And she’s teaching me things like “this isn’t Auschwitz.”

For all he sheds, and despite the fact that he ate one of my books, the Greebs is kind of becoming my best bud.  On hot days, I walk him the half-mile to Sloan’s Lake where he can swim.  And on the days when I work from home, he never leaves my side.  I talk to him in my voice reserved for dogs (admit it: you have a “dog voice,” too), and when I grab his leash and say, “You wanna go?” he jumps in the air like a kangaroo.

In the midst of so much upheaval and transition in our family, I am thankful for a sister to share a home with.  And despite our differences (which are many), there is a comfort in knowing that at the end of the day, I’m not alone.

Even if it means that my couch – and floor – and car – and clothes – are covered in dog hair.

*Not really.  But basically.


Thursday, August 20th, 2009

When I got home from work last night, the power was out.  It didn’t come back on for 15 hours.  FIFTEEN HOURS.  Right as I was walking out the door for work this morning, all of the lights kicked on – so then, I had to put down my purse, put down my Vera Bradley quilted lunch bag, put down my laptop, put down my gym clothes, and do a walk-through of the house to turn everything off.

My bedroom is upstairs, where, sans air conditioner, it is at least 12 degrees hotter than the rest of the house.  Needless to say, last night was sheer misery.  But that’s all I’m going to say about that, because this summer, I haven’t been complaining as much about the heat (proud?).  It doesn’t mean that I’ve been enjoying it any more, or even hating it any less – just not verbalizing my suffering as often or as strongly.

But just because I won’t talk about the heat doesn’t mean I won’t talk about other things.

Yet another brilliant segue by Annie Parsons.

But.  I don’t know where to take it.  So I guess that this is the end – unless you’ll allow me to add these things: it’s really difficult to read white letters on a black background, crouton rhymes with futon, and vote for Gabe.

What a good night’s sleep and a good hair day can do

Thursday, June 26th, 2008

Regarding yesterday’s post, here’s what I am learning. When I am feeling super lame and lousy, I should ask myself the following questions:

• Have I gotten enough sleep? (Usually, if I am feeling terrible, the answer will be no. I am becoming more and more convinced that getting enough sleep should be my number one act of spiritual worship. Seriously.)
• Have I had enough caffeine? Have I had too much caffeine? (Caffeine is my drug of choice – two cups of coffee every morning. But when I miss those cups, or overdo it by drinking an ENTIRE POT, then I’m in trouble.)
• Am I eating the right things? (A meal of salty chips and queso, along with margaritas, does not constitute a well-balanced diet.)
• Am I exercising? (But. Guys. It’s just SO HOT here right now.)

And finally,

• Am I being overly sensitive?

Oooooh. Sensitive. Here’s the thing. Ever since I was a little girl, it has been pointed out to me that I am strong-willed. Stubborn. A perfectionist to the core. With a granite-like resolve, it’s hard to change my mind, or my behavior, or my beliefs. But every so often, something will strike a nerve, and I’ll have a meltdown. Contrary to my rock-solid façade, I can be thin-skinned.

It’s a good thing to be able to feel. The ability to feel allows me to experience empathy, and compassion, and joy. But to open myself up to the good inevitably means that I will occasionally experience what is at the opposite side of the spectrum: suckyness. The capacity to feel pain is actually a healthy thing; it’s a sign that my emotions are alive and well. The trick is to keep those emotions in check, and stop the downward spiral of negative self-talk before it gets out of hand.

Oprah, I’m available for your show anytime.

– – – – – – – –

Tonight, I am Kansas City bound. Tomorrow, I am 14-hours-in-a-Camry-with-my-family Colorado bound. I’m not sure when I’ll have the chance to post again. And given the fact that my mom called my weekend update videos “creepy,” I can’t promise that you’ll have another one on Monday. Then again, a Parsonspalooza Road Trip video might be in order… especially because this guy will be in the car.

Love me some Lone Star

Monday, October 1st, 2007

At slumber parties, you never want to be the one to fall asleep first. Whoever succumbs to slumber first runs the risk of her pals deviously dipping her hand into warm, and then immediately following, icy water, causing the victim to wet the bed.

That was Austin.

Today is October 1st, and yet the temperature was well above 90 degrees, at 95% humidity. Ah, but the clever Austinites have figured out the miracle of air conditioning, and they know how to blast it. Therefore, my experience was a revolving door of hot / cold / hot / cold, leaving me in a perpetual state of needing to pee.

Or maybe it was all of the ice chips I was feeding myself in order to stave off a stroke.

Austin is amazing. I loved it. I want to live on South Congress street and eat at taco bars every day. I want to be one of those effortlessly cool girls in cowboy boots and hip jewelry, nursing a Corona and speaking Spanish intermittently. I want to claim every lone star I see.

I do NOT want to sweat. But I suppose I could powder my nose recurrently.

Austin is like that beautiful, intelligent, creative woman – the one we all know – seemingly unattainable to outsiders. And Austinites are the mysterious ones who have won her heart, who have achieved her favor. It is cacti and palm trees, Spanish crosses and mosaic art, bats and armadillos, vintage and edgy, red and yellow and gold and turquoise.

We loved it so much, we decided to become snake charmers.

We were so Texan, we found a LIVE LIZARD in the light fixture of Becca’s closet.

And I woke up each morning to this guy, who wanted to spoon.

I left Becca and Gabe after their first day of school, and they will be the stars of the class.