This will cost me a few dozen street-cred points

Why does checking out three Nicholas Sparks books from the library make me feel about as uncool as a teenager shopping at the mall with her parents?

Nicholas Sparks' Message in a Bottle was my 24th book of the year. And I liked it. I haven't read any Nicholas Sparks since the summer before my sophomore year of college. Sparks' romance stories set in small coastal towns in North Carolina make for perfect summer reads. I almost forgot how easily I get sucked into his sappy tales.

But I'm confused. When did Sparks' writing get so steamy? My cheeks flushed on the bus the other afternoon as I felt the man next to me peeking over my shoulder to see what I was reading. The pages might as well been stolen from a Fabio-esque bodice-ripper. There was the kissing of breasts. There was the tangling of lovers in sheets. There were multiple orgasms. (Sigh, I already regret the inclusion of these keywords on my innocent little blog.)

Up until this point, the books I've read this year have been respectable--at least in my humble opinion. A nice mix of classic lit, contemporary nonfiction, poetry, and a few plays have brought me nearly half-way to my goal of reading 50 books by the end of 2008. Authors including Vladimir Nabokov, Bebe Moore Campbell, Tennessee Williams, Charles Bukowski, and Hunter S. Thompson, stand along side David Sedaris, Jeannette Walls, and Stephen Chbosky. Do I really want to blemish the list with a smattering of Nicholas Sparks? Yes! I read for my enjoyment and no one else's. Dammit!

Recalling my fondness for A Walk to Remember, The Notebook, The Wedding, and a few other Sparks novels I've read in the past, I headed to the library to return Message in a Bottle. After depositing the book in the return slot, I headed to the S-section of fiction. Not always a master of the alphabet, it took me a moment to find "Sparks." Like a beacon, an entire shelf devoted to the man who make women around the country cry into their cafe mochas sang out to me. Without wasting a second, I grabbed three titles I haven't yet read and made a beeline to the check-out desk. Afraid that the librarian would secretly judge me for not picking more intellectual reads, I hesitantly made eye-contact and slid her my library card.

"Here you go. Enjoy." she said as she stacked the books together and handed them to me.

"Thanks," I mumbled as I hid the books into my canvas tote bag--away from the prying eyes of literary snobs.


What are you enjoying right now that makes you feel unhip?

Where can home girl buy a salt lick?

I read around the blogosphere (can't remember where, sorry)[EDIT: I read this on the fabulous Sophia's blog a few weeks ago] that our taste buds regenerate every seven years. Because of this, I'm guessing foods take on a slightly different taste every now and then. Maybe this explains that time I was shocked to discover--in my early 20s--that the once delicious Cookie Crisp cereal now tastes like stale cardboard.

Just a few years ago, I was known as "The Cookie Monster." I am the girl who has never turned down chocolate... except that one time. (But in all fairness, when my junior high stalker pulled that chocolate covered pretzel out of his pocket and it was shrouded in blue jean lint, I didn't technically turn it down. I just threw it on the floor in the school stairwell when he was out of sight. Any sane teenybopper would have done the same thing.) I would make trips to the bakery and leave drooling over my dozen fudge thumbprint cookies with chocolate sprinkles. I could not get enough sweets.

I kept a bag of dark chocolate in my office to keep my sugar cravings at bay. On my worst days, I would march across the street and order a chocolate chip walnut cookie from the French cafe. $2 for a cookie? Don't mind if I do.

Things started changing about a year ago when I caught myself fantasizing about sinking my teeth into a giant kosher dill pickle instead of a decadent piece of fudge. Instead of snacking on Chips Ahoy or Oreos, I would sit in front of the TV with a jar of green olives. Or kalamata olives. Or salt and vinegar chips. Do we notice a pattern here? Salt. Salt. Salt. Pizza with anchovies? Yes, I went there.

Sushi drenched in soy sauce is now one of my ultimate food fantasies. I crave it every day. It is not a cheap addiction. I just returned from a sushi lunch date with Boyfriend. $40 worth of sushi is not a good investment when my credit card bills are at an all-time high. (Buying furniture? So not cheap.)

Yesterday, while on our weekly grocery shopping spree, I hid a tin of sardines in our shopping cart. While unloading the groceries back home, I admitted to the secret salty fish purchase.

"Your salt addiction is really out of control, huh?" Boyfriend asked. "Maybe you have some kind of sodium deficiency?"

Yeah, I don't see how that can be true. I think at this point my organs are nicely preserved in a generous coating of salt. Yum.

Can I get a four day work week up in here?

Exhausted as usual. Despite crossing a few things off my to-do list at work, I'm unfocused and in need of a nap. I spent my lunch reading outside, hoping the sun would recharge me. I'm not feeling too peppy, but I am a little more tan. I'll take what I can get.

I am amazed that I still am not completely unpacked... but then again, our closet rod was just fixed yesterday. Tonight I will get all of the clothes off the futon and out of sight. Let me tell you how fun it is to root through a sea of clothes hanging off their hangers and onto the floor each morning as I try to find something that won't make me look like a five-year-old who dresses herself in the dark. About as fun as getting a headache from smelling burning plastic every time we turn on our oven. (A story for another time.)

Sorry I've been AWOL around here lately. A busy weekend consisting of laundry, unpacking, cleaning, a going away party/birthday party, family gathering at the new house, another birthday party, shopping for patio furniture and a new grill, and dinner with Boyfriend's fam has not left much time to stay on top of my google reader. Oy. No wonder I'm so tired. Going to bed early tonight. (Yeah, right.)

XO

A day of mourning

'Last Lecture’ Professor Randy Pausch, 47, Dies

I never met him, but he did his life's work just down the street from my office. He was so brave to stare death in the face and decide to keep living his life to the fullest. I'm so incredibly sad for his young children who will only know their inspirational father through memories.

Let's play the dreaded baby food game

See poll on the right sidebar.

I'll start things off...

I pick... baby food!

Have a great weekend!

I'm it! Tagged by the Blogging Challenge

Check it out. Biscuit in a Basket tagged me in his blogging challenge. The rules are simple. Answer his questions of the week and then pass it on by tagging another blogger. You can use these questions or make your own.

All systems go in 3...2...1...

1. What will I try to improve on next week?
I will try to start crossing more things off my to do list at work (currently has 6 unfinished projects) and get back on the reading wagon for my 50 books in 2008 resolution. I'm on book #24, which may or may not be "Message in a Bottle"... shut up.

2. What was I most proud of this week?
I am so proud of all the hard work Boyfriend and I have done on the new house. We have cleaned our butts off and unpacked and unpacked and unpacked. Somehow we also had time for all you can eat wings with some good friends.

3. What was my biggest accomplishment this week?
Turning an empty house into a home.

4. What have I done to get closer to my life goals this week?
That's a tough one. I guess I have been so caught up with moving that I haven't had much time to think about self-improvement. Shucks.

5. What was hard for me this week, and why?
Getting rest. My conscious won't let me forget there is still so much to be done at the new house. It's impossible to fully relax when I always feel like I should be mopping the floor or organizing my closet. I definitely need to catch up on my sleep this weekend.

6. What was my biggest waste of time this week?
Easy. Waiting for 30 minutes in line at a McDonald's drive through when I was craving iced coffee. (Note: I do not go to McDonald's EVER. It proved to be a very bad idea. When did fast food got so... um... not fast?)

7. What did I do this week that made me ashamed?
I ate a huge tub of gingersnaps that I brought to work. It was supposed to be enough to last me a few days. I ate them ALL in three hours. Oopsie.


Now it is MORGAN'S turn! GO on gurl!

I'm the one and only panda from the sea!

Dear Natalie Dee,

I was willing to forgive you for not writing me back when I asked if you would consider illustrating a children's book I wanted to write (about poop). You are busy and quasi-famous. I am a huge fan. I have three of your t-shirt designs (and one of your husband's)! Many hours have been spent perusing your archives until I am so weak from laugher that I must surrender and do actual work.

But now you have double-crossed me, Ms. Dee. You have made a mockery of me and everything I stand for! Maybe you didn't know that my alter-ego is a panda from the sea... otherwise known as Merpanda. But wouldn't that make this quite the strange coincidence, Ms. Dee? Frankly, I'm not sure I buy it.

This is a warning. I'm thinking about taking you to Judge Judy--as I did not give you permission to use my likeness on your Web site. And to paint me as some cruel blood-thirsty animal? This. Means. War.

Sincerely,
Merpanda


nataliedee.com

Probably some of my best work

I usually don't have any doodling skillz, cubes not included. Today I just couldn't focus... so I did what people did to procrastinate before there were blogs.

Look at that silhouette of a dog! Isn't it adorable?

Backwards Prioritizing

Talents I am often recognized for in the office are my organizational skills and ability to prioritize tasks. I have not one... not two... not three... but FOUR calendars in my office. Four! That's a lot of calendars, people!

I have two on my wall (one displaying the current month, and the other displaying the one after), one on my desk (it really serves no purpose other than giving me pure joy when I flip the pages to "Friday"), and one purse-sized planner that keeps my life in order.

Some people may consider this obsessive. Some people would be right.

I feel my OCD spinning out of control right now... and not just because I am in the throes of a battle of backwards prioritizing. (Why did I feel the need to start and finish a project that isn't due until September 8 yesterday--when I have something due in a week that I haven't even started yet? Who does that?)

There are things in need of repair at the new house that are keeping me from being as unpacked as I would like to be. The massive closet rod is bowing under the pressure of not even a quarter of my clothes. Um... problem. Boyfriend has clothes too. Crap.

When I get home from work I just want to lay on the couch and zone out. Relax. Maybe eat some ice cream. But instead, I am a slave to my OCD tendencies--which are at their worst when I move.

Everything needs to be washed. Everything. That platter that was clean when I packed it three days ago--wrapped in a clean bath towel for protection from breaking? Needs washed. Every kitchen utensil that we own? Including five spatulas... who needs that many spatulas?!? Wash them! All of them. What's that? No one has ever used these cabinets before because they were just installed less than a month ago? FILTHY! SCRUB!

See what Boyfriend has to put up with? It's really sad. He wasn't even allowed to watch Family Guy reruns on our brand new cable (we're like real adults!) last night because there were still three boxes of books to be unpacked and knicknacks to arrange.

I can't rest until everything is in its place. Luckily, the landlord is repairing our closet rod tomorrow. Maybe everything will be ok. Maybe I can has ice cream.

Busy Busy Busy

Oh man. My google reader has more than 400 unread posts. You guys are prolific, to say the least. I have not had a second to catch up since the big move. The boxes are slowly disappearing and the new place is starting to feel like home.

I'm looking forward to reading about the BlogHer exploits. From what I've heard so far, it was a good time. I'm so glad :)

I was off yesterday and work is piling up. I'm cranking out the press releases like a well-oiled machine... so I guess I should get back to work.

I should be back to my old bloggy self by tomorrow. (At least I sure hope so!)

XOXO

Did you know...

You can use a hair straightener as a substitute for an iron in a pinch?

I'll be on my company's booze cruise this afternoon. Sailing the three rivers with an open bar is the best way to spend a Friday if you must be "at work."

The big move happens tomorrow. Won't update until Monday--when I should have the Internet up and running.

To all my pals at BlogHer, live it up!

Testaments

Today I am the contributor for Lauren's amazing Testaments series on Half Deserted Streets. You can find my tale of heartbreak here.

Please check it out. That's all I have for you today. It is a crazy busy day.

No cupcake faces here

While people are googling cute things like "cupcake face" and stumbling upon Jenn's blog--people are finding my blog in a rather uncute fashion.

"Feeling nauseated due to accumulation of mucus in stomach"

Ok, bloggers. Take heed. If you ever mention the word "mucus" on your blog, a lot of phlegmy Internet surfers are going to find you.

In addition to the many snot-related searches that bring people to my blog, there are also these gems:

"I hate working out"

Me too, dude. Meeee toooo.

"Stop the lol"

Never!

"best normal people sofa beds"

I never claimed to be normal. Which blog is this person reading?

"blog anonymous married secret"

Whoa! Not even going to ask...

"the way it tastes right it is not normal what is normal"

HUH?

This will make you incredibly happy for an 11-year-old in NY

I promise.

P.S. Happy Birthday, Jenn!

Hairs belong on scalps. ONLY.

My tummy rumbled and I couldn't bear the thought of eating Quiznos again. I mean, I like Quiznos as much as the next person, but I need a little variety here. Desperate for something different, I headed to the new vegan cafe less than a block from my office. Faced with a hot food bar and a salad bar, I had no clue what to choose. I saw no olives on the salad bar--and since olives are really my only motivation for eating salads, I searched the hot food bar for something yummy looking. I have to be honest. The pickings were slim. Everything looked bland. Everything except the curried chick peas and sweet potatoes. Yes, please! The hot food bar is $13 per pound? Um... huh? Ok... well... just give me a few scoops and some rice and send me on my way. Add a juice box. $9. For real? Ok. Here. Thanks.

I headed out to the patio, which has brand new tables with umbrellas. (Not gonna lie. Those umbrellas were my real motivation for trying this vegan joint. Hey, I'm a carnivore.)

I opened the box, ready to put this organic goodness in my mouth. Wait. Where did it go? I swear to you, my $9 gave me about half a cup of curried slop and a few dozen grains of rice. I was all like, "HUH?"

Well, I already paid for it. Now I know to stay away from the $13/pound hot food bar next time, I reasoned with myself. Just eat your meager meal and get on with it. We have library books to return, missy. (Yes, I talk to myself.)

Oh, wait. Oh -- hell no. What is this. A HAIR?! Are you kidding me? I just paid $9 for a spoonful of slop and a freaking hair?

I paused a moment to talk myself out of puking all over the patio. I do not do well with mystery hairs in my food.

I plucked the hair out of the gruel. (Don't ask me why I felt the need to touch it. I was hungry and not thinking clearly.)

Rushing to the trash can, I threw my hairy $9 in the trash and walked away starving and disgusted... sipping on my juice box.

Secrets

The tearful toasts by the groom's brother and the bride's father left the wedding guests feeling warm and squishy inside. We were about to start eating our salads when the bride requested a microphone.

"Hey, I know everyone is hungry, so I'm going to keep this short," she said. "There's some big news that Alan and I have been waiting to tell you all." (Pause for dramatic effect.)

Meanwhile, the guests are stirring. What is this? Thoughts of babies are running through our minds. Was this a shotgun wedding?

"Look at you! You're all going crazy! I love it!" the bride said followed by an evil cackle.

"We've actually been married since October. We had to--or else Alan would have been deported."

Dead silence falls upon the room. Jaws drop. Best friends exclaim, "I hate you!"

Ok, so this wasn't really a big deal. The groom is from Scotland, and he would have been sent back to his homeland had they not gotten married many months ago. I totally understand that. What I don't understand is--who can keep a secret that long? Especially such an awesomely huge one!? Major props to them for their locked lips. Seriously, there's no chance that secret would have lasted 24-hours if I was the bride.

Secrets aside, the wedding was lovely. Outdoor ceremony (it was approximately one million degrees outside). Oh, and I caught the bouquet! I think that means I'm getting married or something. Pics below.



Pre-wedding photo shoot with Boyfriend. Check out his angelic white suit and purple socks! We matched like it was prom.


No wedding is complete without masks of the groom's face. How disturbing is this?


Boyfriend with the bouquet I caught. There were only minor injuries.

Nice day for a white wedding

Well folks, I have the day off and I slept in. I'm now thinking about showering before I have to show the apartment to a potential new tenant. Thinking hard about it.

I have much to do today, as I promised Boyfriend I would pick him up from work and then head over to the site of Jess's wedding--Boyfriend is doing the audio for their ceremony. Apparently I'm helping. This could mean I will in part be responsible for ruining someone's wedding. Not. Good.

I just want to tell the Internet that I do not want to end up in a nest of towels on the floor of the bathroom tonight. I am not a big drinker. But for some reason I have a bad track record with weddings. How many glasses of wine is acceptable? Three? (Definitely not letting Boyfriend talk me into doing shots with him this time. I blame him for the nest incident.)

Alright, well all of you have a great weekend! I'm leaving you with this.

Seacrest. Out.

Still plotting my revenge

(This post was inspired by Ben. His engaging and LOL-worthy writing has made him one of my new favorites. Thanks, Ben!)

I'd made myself at home in his apartment. After all, we were going to be moving in together in just a month. It was one of the few truly sunny days of summer in Pittsburgh. And I was sweating. That ceiling fan just wasn't cutting it for me.

I helped myself to one of Boyfriend's glasses from the kitchen cupboard. I filled it quickly with chilled water from the pitcher in the fridge. I poured it down my gullet so fast--that I almost didn't notice. Something wasn't right. I held the glass up to the light and saw foreign matter swirling in the inch or two of water that remained. I started spitting. Gagging.

"A CREATURE!" I screamed. "I DRANK A CREATURE!"

It resembled a seahorse. I don't even want to think about what it possibly could have been.

Boyfriend emerged from the shower to find me still gagging, still spitting.

"I think I drank a seahorse... or a critter. Or something!"

I showed him the glass.

"Oh, yeah. My sister gave me those glasses for my birthday. I haven't washed them yet."

"You what!? You haven't washed them? But they were in the cupboard!"

"Oh, yeah. I know. I just wanted to get them out of the way."

(Blank stare.) I DRANK A CREATURE!

Doing a little dance

The traffic on this little blog of mine more than doubled yesterday. I am doing a little dance, yo. Now the pressure is on. I don't want to jump the shark.

To celebrate this milestone I've decided that I will follow in the footsteps of some of my favorite bloggers and start commenting back on each comment left for me. I haven't done this in the past because I honestly didn't know if people check back for that kind of thing. So hey. If you do check back for that kind of thing... um... start checking back for that kind of thing? (Oh, crap. I feel my readership slipping into single digits...)

Some people ::cough, boyfriend, cough:: have brought it to my attention that my trash can blog post yesterday seemed a bit mean-spirited. I just want to clear up any confusion--it was. But in all fairness... it's a ROBOTIC TRASH CAN! Come on! Too easy.

(Love you, Jess. You will be a beautiful bride tomorrow. Even if your registry is overwrought with expensive trash-receptacles.)



Here's a gorgeous shot of Jess at her bachelorette party from this past weekend. The party took place on a karaoke limo bus. Yes. Karaoke on a bus. It was totally weird and wonderful. Move over David Cook. Jess is coming to snatch your title away.

I can't resist

(I'm sorry if you are reading this, Jess, but I really cannot resist making fun of blogging about this robotic trash can.)

My friends Jessica and Alan are getting married Friday. I'm really excited to bust out my new purple frock and dance the night away--and hopefully not wake up hungover in a nest of towels on the bathroom floor... a story for another time.

Anyhow, there has been much rumbling about one particular item on their registry. A $100 robotic trash can. Say it with me. WTF?



This little baby is "touch-free" and battery operated. It features an infrared sensor for "automatic, hands-free opening and closing." Ok. Go ahead. Slip into fantasy land and imagine how hassle-free it would be to throw away your egg shells with a robot looking out for you. Now come back to reality for a minute. Come back! Go look inside your archaic obsolete plastic trash can. Go ahead. I'll wait for you.

Did you see that? Food gunk? Maybe even some mold? I don't know about you, but I consider trash cans to be disposable. Give me a year with one and I will coat it in mysterious food goo that will turn your stomach.

This is why I will not be registering for a robotic trash can when the time comes for me to walk through Target with my little scanner registry thingymajigger.

Is this thing on?

Helllooooooo? ::Ahem:: Test. Test. Test. Yeah? Can you hear me now? Test. Test. Test. Oh... now? You can? Oh... alright...

Hey! Is anyone out there? Is blogland on summer hiatus?

::crickets::

Hmmm. I guess the show must go on!

I've been meaning to write about this article in the June 30 issue of Newsweek, "My Shrink Says... Blog!" Apparently confessional blogs are considered medicine to mental-health experts.

... Psychiatrists are starting to tout the therapeutic power of blogging, and may have begun incorporating it into patient treatment. A forthcoming study in the joournal CyberPsychology & Behavior even suggests that bloggers might be happier than nonbloggers....

... According to psychologist John Suler, the anonymity of blogging provides another therapeutic boost: it's high intimacy but low vulnerability. But blogger beware. "Revealing too much," says Suler, "can cause shame or guilt." So blog to your heart's content, but leave some things to the imagination.

So what do you think? Is this news interesting or common sense? Expressing yourself on a regular basis leads to a happier you. Seems logical, no?

Is your blog essential to your mental-health? Do you feel noticeably unhappier on days when you can't blog?

Lately my blog has been causing me some stress. There are things I want to share and vent about here, but this is not an anonymous blog... so I sometimes feel restricted. I'd elaborate, but this is me "leaving some things to the imagination."

Riding an American Gladiator centaur? Really?

Yawn. I am so exhausted. This is my life. It doesn't matter if I sleep a solid 8+ hours or not... I wake up feeling like I haven't slept a wink.

My mom and grandma have fibromyalgia--which includes such fun symptoms as excruciating muscle pains and sleep disturbance. Because of the wide range of symptoms, it is almost impossible to diagnose. But alas, as it is thought to be genetic, and I'm thinking I've too been blessed with the fibro. My worst symptom is my inability to get into the restful stage of sleep known as stage 4. My nights consist of me constantly wallowing from one crazy dream to the next. Vivid dream after vivid dream after vivid dream. It never ends. And I remember everything. Right down to riding the American Gladiator Centaur. Um. Yeah. So what? I dream about riding a centaur with the upper body of Wolf. Is that weird? What if I told you he had a mohawk?

I need to get thyself to a sleep study. STAT. I don't know how much longer I can function in a permanent state of fog. Yawn.

P.S. Doesn't Wolf totally look like he has dentures in that pic? That kind of ruins everything...

Cut from the team

Let's talk about guilt. Not the Catholic kind, or the kind you feel when you eat the last cupcake. I'm talking about the guilt associated with deleting your subscription to a blog that you've realized just isn't your cup of tea.

Am I the only one who feels like I'm committing some kind of blogging sin for turning my back on one of my own?

Must have been a beautiful baby...

Quick update on the furniture situation and then on to bigger and better things.

We bought a futon last night. I picked a blue suede cover that ended up clashing horribly with my birdie desk--which as actually more of a turquoise as it turns out. Tonight we head back to the store, which happens to only sells futons. (Who knew such a store existed? And only one mile from my house!) I'm planning on exchanging the blue cover for an olive green shade that will complement the painted accents on the desk, rather than compete with them.

So... um... have I told you lately that I like you? Oh, man. I'm blushing. No. Really. I am so glad to be part of this community. I think it is awesome how our posts inspire each other's writing and lift up our spirits. Ok. That sounds insanely corny. I'm sorry. Moving right along...

I want to thank Jenn for inspiring me (yet again) to share some silly pics of me as a little tot with the blogosphere.

So feast your eyes on these photos and everyone have a great holiday weekend!


This is me and one of my first pets, Fraggle. We lived in the hood. My parents decided the area was getting too dangerous when my dad's car was stolen (twice.) I often tell people I was born and raised in the hood to give myself some extra street cred--even if we did move to the suburbs when I was three. Details, details. Fun fact: I'm moving back to this same hood in two weeks. Isn't life funny?


Sporting some sweet Mickey ears and shades in Disney World. I went to Disney World a lot as a child, as my dad's best friend lives in Daytona, Florida. How lucky for me!


Playing in the balls at Chuck E. Cheese's... where a kid can be a kid!


I think I was some kind of princess Barbie for Halloween one year. Notice the hooker make-up and stone-washed jeans.


Batgirl! The curly-haired munchkin next to me is Wonder Woman... I mean, my sister. This costume was actually meant to be pajamas. Shh! Don't tell. It might ruin my street cred. Take a nice gander at those sweet LA Gears with the hotpink laces. Turquoise socks? Who dressed me!? Oh, and if you look reeeeaaallly closely, you will see that I'm wearing dangly batman earrings. I still whip those suckers out for special occasions.....


Bringing it full-circle with a shot of me eating meat at a Brazilian restaurant where they bring you a never-ending supply of meat on swords. I was wearing the batman earrings in celebration of Boyfriend's new job about a month ago.

It's ok. I didn't want my identity anyhow...

Remember when I said Kinko's was keeping my identity safe and sound in the lost and found box? Well, they are liars. I went to pick up my W2 forms last night and the clerk (ugh, hate that word) looked through the damn box three times. He found three W2 forms with names that were not mine. This was irritating because this was the phone conversation I shared with this exact Kinko's employee 24-hours earlier:

Me: Hi. I think I left some W2 forms in the copier last week. Could you tell me if anyone has turned them in?

Dude: Sure. Let me look in the lost and found. Hold on.

Me: (Holding)

Dude: Ok. Yeah. We have them... what was the name on them?

Me: Amanda (Last Name)

Dude: Yep! We have them!

Me: Oh, great! Can you hold on to them for one more day? I will pick them up tomorrow evening.

Dude: Sure thing! Bye!


Ok. So... wtf? Did the Kinko's man steal my identity and then play dumb when I came to pick up the forms? Did he just take for granted the forms were mine and not even check the names? Ugh! This is going to be like those awful commercials where an old hairy biker dude is talking in a high-pitched voice getting a pedicure with my identity. Not cool.


P.S. What's worse: wearing peep toes with 3-week-old peeling green toe nail polish--or unpolished nails? I finally took off my old green polish last night and didn't have time to repaint them. And if you asked me right now, I'd say unpolished nails is definitely worse.

Bird is the new orange?

Oy... I feel bad for boring you with nonstop babbling about the new apartment... but the beat goes on...

After browsing our local Pier 1 this weekend, I mentally dismissed the orange couch once I laid my eyes upon this desk and chair set.



It is blue and has gold and red accents--including hand painted birds and flowers. I literally threw myself on top of it and shrieked, "I LOVE THIS! THIS IS SO ME!" My eyes even started filling with tears of joy... what a huge loser I am.

Well, I bought it. (Duh.) And the matching chest. I don't know what I'm going to use the chest for yet, but extra storage always comes in handy. Plus, can you see how freaking adorable it is?



I can already envision much blogging happening a top the birdie desk, which will go in the second bedroom--or as I now refer to it, "the blogging parlor." All you etsy fans out there, keep your eyes peeled for some matching bird decor. I'm scouring the net for a super cute lamp to put on the desk. No luck so far.

The moving date is just 17 days away. Boyfriend and I are not sure if our money will be best spent on a sofa bed, futon, or air mattress for the guest room/blogging parlor. Sofa beds are expensive and not that comfortable. Futons are a little too college dorm room for me. And air mattresses seem like a royal pain in the ass. Please take my poll (side bar) so you all can help me figure this out. As a guest, would you rather sleep on a sofa bed, futon, or air mattress? This may not be purely hypothetical, as a few of you have already expressed interest in testing out the guest room :)

P.S. $450 furniture splurge = most expensive impulse buy ever.