Quivers

Some ruminations:
If you give a man a fish, you feed him for a day.
If you give a man a poisoned fish, you feed him for a lifetime.

The French word for fish is le poisson.
That probably has no connection.

I had a really bad hobby day yesterday. Like, I was bad at all my hobbies.
First, I tried to bike to work, but then I discovered my back tire was flat.
Then when I got home, I tried singing, and that was wretched.
Then I tried to blog, and I could only write stupid sentences for some reason.
Then I even wrote a comic about how terrible my hobbies were, thinking that would make it better.

And now I present to you the worst comic I have ever created.

Fortunately, there are two things I know of that will never be a waste of time:
1. Reading the Bible
2. Exercising

And so then I did both of those things instead.

I wonder if cavemen had granite counter tops,
TWS

Brave

Will my unusually long fingernails survive three days of tax software training?

My head says no.

But my heart...

Says no.

People at work were super slightly freaking out about me riding my bike home in the dark. 

I don't know why, though. If anything, the night makes my bike lights even more visible to passers-by. 

Passer-bys.

By-passers. 

I mean, yeah, it's a little unnerving when you've just watched the Walking Dead the night before and there are some things you can't see rustling around in the woods, but then you just think about Jesus and hymns and everything's okay again. 

In fact, most everyone I talk to is "afraid" to bike because they're certain they'll get killed.

As if being in a car is any safer. To quote one of my favorite bloggers of all time, safety is an expensive illusion. 

You should read that article if you disagree with me at all. 

Like even a little bit.

Do it.

I've actually found that I enjoy riding at night. There's less traffic, so you get to hear things that you would never hear in a car- like crazy frog and katydid sounds. It's so peaceful. 

I also found that I like riding next to 18-wheelers. I know, it's weird to like an enormous, loud, scary vehicle 6 inches from you, but I feel like truck drivers know what they're doing (as opposed to bus drivers). Occasionally, they'll do a friendly honk as if to say, "Keep on saving the world, girl." 

I also love to be behind them at stop lights because they take a longer time to accelerate than a normal car, which gives me enough time to pedal and keep up with traffic for a bit. 

In addition, especially in my town, they're carrying logs or sawed lumber which smells like a pine forest or Lowe's and it's just so delightful. 

The next sentence is either going to make you like me a little more or hate me much more, so here we go:

Life can be comparable to a video game.

Ok. Everyone still there? Or did everyone close this browser window to read more link bait and ogle more sonograms on Facebook?

In any case, whoever is still reading this, congratulations. Just stick with me. I promise we'll get through this.

So in the majority of video games, you progress through the game via stages and levels and boss fights and gain "experience" while doing all these things. Experience makes you awesome. More experience means you level up quicker, get more abilities, better gear and weapons which helps you have more fun in the game later on, and I'm totally nerding out right now.

To bring it back to life in general:

Experience makes life fun.  Some might even say that you are who you become because of your experiences. Having experience is how you find out what you like (surfing), what you hate (going to Wal-Mart), what you never want to do again (skiing), what you're passionate about (playing guitar). Experiences give you certain abilities, and experience in the right activity can even provide career opportunities. They help you develop skills and ideas, and, at the very least, give you something interesting to talk or write about. 

So if you want to cower in your car, all afraid that some outside force might come careening into you if you happen to travel outside of a metal box, hey- that's totally your call.

But don't encourage me to do the same.
I will be outside, day or night, getting experience.

And also collecting coins and/or prize bubbles, if available,

TWS

Blogging Molly

"Another person's trash is another person's trash."
-Mike Harshner

I had absolutely zero plans for this weekend.
Normally, this would frustratingly result in "having a Sunday", which is a phrase coined by Mike and I that conveys a sense of boredom with not feeling like doing anything in particular. It's a time where you have free time and yet none of your hobbies interest you.
It's torturous.

But this weekend was different. I didn't plan to do anything; I just did things as they came along. Let's see all that I accomplished today:

1. Slept in. This is a big one. Normally I set my alarm so that I don't "sleep in too late and waste the morning". But this time I just slept until Sam made it impossible to do so.
2. Played Little Big Planet 3 with Mike. Super fun.
3. Made a delicious lunch: tuna on romaine with celery and green tea.
4. 2 loads of laundry
5. Made Kale-Aid/green smoothies: kale, green apple, banana, lemon, celery, cold water. Can't say they're delicious, but they're not bad.
6. Emptied out the hot tub for the "winter"
7. Painted my nails
8. Finally finished the Yukari dress that I've been working on for almost a year
9. Went with Mike to get his hair cut and buy french onion dip
10. Gave myself a haircut with really cool bangs
11. Wrote a song from beginning to end which I haven't been able to do in months (okay, the song is missing a bridge and a half, but those will be easy to fill in when I practice)

It's been a highly productive Saturday even though I never previously intended to do most of those things.

I got S done.

And more and more, I'm realizing that I really love creating things. Songs, clothes, designs, ideas...
I even designed a bathing suit last night for my own summer collection, which features whales (how cool is that?!).

But in my day job, this Little Big Planet-like creation is stultified because accountants don't really get to create things. I guess we're more like throughput processors.

We solve the problems you didn't know you had in ways you don't understand.

So for all the haters that are like, "What are you going to DO in retirement?"

Creation, with no time constraints.

That, sirs, is what I'm going to do.

It's all the little things that fill that list,
TWS

Letters Home; Radical Face

Art and Craft

Funny quotes:

Me: So I cleaned the bathroom. I could actually see myself in the mirror through the glass door.
Mike: You saw yourself? Were you like, "Who is that foxy lady?....And why is she watching me?"

Sarah: Are there anything cool things going on in Savannah?
Me: Well, there was this art fair in downtown that we kind of walked through yesterday accidentally.
Sarah: Oh, like SCAD kids?
Me: No- it was Telfair stuff.
Sarah:...
Mike: There was a watercolor booth.
Sarah: Oh, cool
Mike: But we didn't get to look because Allie was walking so fast.
Sarah: Yeah, that kind of runs in the family.
Me: You mean it walks in the family.
Sarah: It slow-jogs in the family.

Sam jumped off the table and went to go sit on the toolbox, which is sitting on the floor.
Mike: Sam doesn't like sitting on the floor. It's beneath him.

Mike finished washing dishes and went to go sit down.
Mike: Whoa- my phone just said, "Good evening, Mike."
Me: Your phone's trying to get in your pants.

And now for this weekend's artwork:

I call this one "Like Two Whales Passing in the Night"

But Allie, they don't have fins!!!
It's okay. You can still tell that they're whales.

Time for tea,
TWS

Wizdumb

Every retail radio commercial ever:

"The more you buy, the more you save!!"

How in the world can that possibly be true?

The less you buy, the more you save.

Look at me- I'm not buying a thing, and I'm saving 100%!!!

Marketing.

Don't let it get to you.

E-mail confirmation,

TWS

"Life Event"

When Mike proposed, he didn't get down on one knee.
He sent me an engagement letter.

And, then, when he asked if I would file jointly with him, I told him that I would with reasonable assurance.

Ah, accountants.

Disclaimer: that is not how Mike proposed or how it happened AT ALL. That is not to say that this method didn't cross his mind, but he did not go through with it. Therefore, I am obliged to tell you that it is not a true story, and I suppose I'm not living up to my name.

Good thing I'm about to have a NAME CHANGE. *zing!*

Fancy H's and r's ~ Letters with which I have no experience.

I may just have to buy a rubber stamp signature. Rubber stamps seem so "meh" as a kid but are actually quite appealing as an adult. Like refried beans.
I have an obscene relationship with refried beans.

What if the song Chocolate Rain was about white chocolate?
That would change the whole dynamic, I think.

At one of our first Bible study groups, one of the ice breaker questions was, "If you could own any kind of restaurant, what would you own?"
I totally nerded out and said something like, "I wouldn't own a restaurant outright. I would invest in a limited partnership that owned and managed the restaurants."

I really hate the idea of owning a restaurant, and I think everyone kind of does, but I didn't want to be lame and say, "I wouldn't own a restaurant."
So instead, I came up with some daffy tax answer.
Yay, me.

A while ago, in the old building where I used to work, some people came into my office to look at the ceiling tile/roof leak in my office.
I didn't understand the fascination.

One week, it rained. So, naturally, Savannah flooded, and the rain came through the little holes in the roof and dripped into my office. It didn't ruin any important documents in the time that I was there, so that was cool. Probably because I didn't leave any important documents just laying around. Hashtag client service.

The day after that happened, a guy came to look at the small rain stain, and he handed me his business card.
Like, he just looked it.
According to the business card, he was the "Estimator".
And it's so awkward when there's like another stranger in a closed space such as an office, so I just left and hung out in the bathroom or something because it is so awkward.

Then after that, two more guys came out to just look at it and admire my ceiling like it was some great spectacle or museum exhibit for old water stains.

And since more people in my office equals more awkwardness, I left and hung out in the bathroom.

Unfortunately, those guys smelled really bad. After they left, I walked into my office only to be confronted with an unruly stench of roof repair and manual labor.

Except they didn't repair anything. They just looked at it and somehow still managed to make my office smell.

It wasn't even the good kind of construction worker smell (like gasoline, sawdust, and Gatorade). It was a body odor, mildew, roadkill kind of a smell.

What I'm trying to tell you is that I am very, very happy.
And, also, some people stink.

Sometimes in more ways than one,
TWS

Sow

Halloween reminds me of a famous quote said by myself, circa 2004:
"Don't try to be somebody else. Just be them."

I'm either going to be Yukari Takeba from Persona 3 or John Nolan from TBS for Halloween. I would bet 5 cents that none of you know who those figures are, so here are some pictures:

Yukari Takeba

John Nolan

I'll probably be John since I already have the plaid shirt thing going on.

Last night, I shaved my legs with men's shaving cream and now my legs feel all minty.
Don't ask me why I did it; it just happened.
To make it even weirder, it wasn't even Mike's shaving cream.
If you must know the full story, we will have to close the door for a close-the-door story.

Oh, and for all the HATERS out there who were all like, "I dunno 'bout that" about my artwork (this means you, Biff), some carpenters were in my office rearranging some shelves, and they commented on how awesome it was.
First, the guy came over and said he couldn't help but notice my art on the wall and asked if I had a kid that did it. I was like no, it's art by me because I like color.
Then, he said that he wasn't degrading me like that, but it just looked so thoughtful and yet simple at the same time.
FINALLY. Someone besides me gets my art.
"Yeah," he said, "I mean that one makes me want to ride a big one."
They left saying how well-done and nice it all looked.

Boom shackalacka.
Acceptance.

So now that summer is gone...
Well, it's mostly gone. The weather's still here, but the pool times (boat times, if you're Old Greg), sundresses, long days and ice bucket challenges are all gone.

Speaking of ice bucket challenges, no one ever challenged me.
*shrugs*

I like when I have dreams where I'm researching stuff because whatever I find is going to be something I already know.
Try Googling something in your dreams. There will only be like two search results, and one won't even be relevant.

I also like space heaters. They remind me of staying home and actually having a Christmas break.
The sun is a giant space heater.
Think about it.
It heats space.

I've been doing that thing where I plan fervently for retirement again.
Looks like best case scenario, 13 years. Worst case scenario, 16 years.
It's kind of depressing, considering all the things that I want to do in "retirement", I need a young body to do.
Someone please tell me 37 is not too old to go surfing in Hawaii and vacation in St. Croix for a week.
Even if that is true, I'll still need to be in peak physical condition when I do these things.

"Why don't you just work until you're 40 and do those things while you're younger?"

It may have to come to that. I just really hate coming back from vacations. I want life to be an eternal vacation instead of having to work 3 months straight just to have a four day weekend because, yeah, that's how accruing vacation time feels.
Especially when you're an "experienced non-manager".

Leo: Yeah, you just gotta stay positive, man. Like I don't wanna learn French, so every day, I think positive thoughts about not learning French. And look at me; I don't know a word of French!

Golden delicious is better than red delicious.

The fruit of the spirit's not a banana,
TWS

Of Chorse

Hay.

I have a comic for you.

I know there are plenty of neigh-sayers who would complain about my horse-drawing abilities and dryness of humor.

My mane goal was to harness the idea of illustrating a trite metaphor. Don't be surprised if I subsequently draw the pot calling the kettle black. I've only herd a number of these certain metaphors in my time, but when I hear people say them with unbridled enthusiasm, I feel reminded that, yes, people do still reuse and rehash the same aphorisms like they're 19th century playwrights.

At the very least, I figure it gives me a stable supply of comic-drawing material.

I pun for fun,
TWS

99 lbs

I biked to church today.

4.76 miles!
It only took me like half an hour, and I didn't even die.

"Allie, that means you were going less than 10 mph. That's terrible."

Whatever, man. I don't have to exercise later.

And it's such a pretty day,
TWS

Diffidence

Do you want to know something weird and unnatural?
Pants that zip in the back.

Do you want to know something else that happened to me that was very weird and unnatural?

"Yes."

The Story of the Bananas That Would Never Get Ripe

First, you must know that I eat a banana every work day. I prefer this breakfast because it's tasty while not being messy or requiring a microwave. For those of you who would like to yell at me about how I should be eating home grown eggs, wild berries, and wheat chaff for breakfast, save it. I do that on the weekend when I can make a mess and don't have to balance a boiling hot bowl while climbing down a rickety spiral staircase in heels.

(Though, the microwave/staircase situation should improve with the new workplace.)

Secondly, you must know that Mike and I go grocery shopping on the weekend whenever Mike has resolved with himself that it is indeed time to grocery shopping. I like to go soon after I wake up on Saturday, but this is abominable to Mike, so we wait until I've nagged him enough and then we go. Why don't I just go by myself? Because grocery shopping is a feat too terrible to take on by oneself. Plus, Mike is like uncannily good at spotting bargains.

One time, I had company coming in on Saturday, so in order to have food and not be worst hostess in the world, we had to go grocery shopping on Friday night.
It was a hot date.
No, really, it was. Because living in Georgia is hot always!

Then that weekend, we were able to enjoy our days off and not have to make any special trips to go pick up food. We decided that, perhaps, it is better to get grocery shopping out of the way on Fridays so that we can just chill on Saturdays. (btw, if you go on Sunday, you really don't get a day off because then it's church-grocery shopping-cooking-choir-church-sleep)

Now, see, the thing about bananas is that I like them barely ripe. A clean yellow color is best. Yellow with a little green is good. Yellow with a few freckles is tolerable. But anything else = horrible.
When bananas are past their prime, not only is the banana-taste amplified to a disgusting level, but the texture of it is eerily similar to fecal matter.

Some ol' fokes may like dem like dis.
But not I.

When we went shopping on Saturday, I would be at the mercy of whatever was already picked over in the banana selection department. Sometimes, I would be stuck getting yellow ones which were great on Monday and Tuesday. By Wednesday, things were getting iffy, and my Thursday and Friday bananas would've been better in a smoothie. Or pudding. Or the trash can.

Last Friday, we went to the grocery store, and I faced an even greater dilemma. Shopping one day earlier means I have to buy my bananas that much greener so that I won't have to torture myself with rotten food at the end of the week.

Luckily, there were some very green ones on the display. I put these in the cart thinking that surely they would be green/yellow by Monday and a good yellow by Thursday.

Side note: the worst is when they start turning brown while they're still green. You can't just skip phases in your life, banana. You have to suffer through it all just like everyone else does.

Sunday night came, and I was packing my lunch. The banana was still very green. Maybe it will be more yellow tomorrow, I thought optimistically as I stuck it in my bag.

Monday morning, I did not get to eat my banana. It was so hard, I couldn't even bend it. No, that's not what she said. The skin was unbreakable. I couldn't even penetrate it. No, that's not what she said.

Tuesday, same banana, same story. These were the bananas that never got ripe. Mike was like, "Maybe you bought plantains by mistake", but on one of the bananas, there was an innocent little Dole sticker that said "Banana". I figured bananas wouldn't just blatantly lie about their identity like that.

Wednesday, I finally decided to find out what was really in this thing. I tore it open with my hands like Tarzan because it didn't open like a normal banana. It was stiff, and the skin still clung to the fruit. I broke the fruit apart, and it snapped in half like Styrofoam. Then I put it in my mouth. Yep. Super ripe and so chalky tasting that I spit it back out.

I felt horribly betrayed. It was like the time I found out that Harriet Tubman's Underground Railroad was not only not underground, but it also wasn't a railroad. I think I was less upset about Santa not being real than I was about the Underground Railroad not being, in fact, a railroad under the ground.

So anyway, it was a bunch of bananas gone to waste. I don't even think that if I put them in my compost that they would decompose. They were like freeze-dried on the inside. Slowdance on the inside. Taking Back Sunday. What?

I kind of want to return them to the store, but Mike is all like, "The bananas were cheap. No reason to return them."
It's not really about the money with me, though. It's about principle. And the fact that later in life, I could be like, "Hey- remember that time I returned the bananas that would never get ripe?"

Never exposed to Ethylene,
TWS

Dem Ol' Fokes

You can tell the economy is growing, not by how misleading and crappy your stock portfolio is doing, but by how businesses are willing to pay for manual advertisements.

Two examples:
1. At the end of our street, there are some balloons with signs that advertise the new construction going on in our neighborhood. On Sunday, there was a guy that stood out there all afternoon twirling a sign so fast that you couldn't even read it.
He brought 3 jugs of water to sustain him through his shift, I guess.
Mike was wondering where he would go to the bathroom. He was pretty much standing in a forest.
So...probably the forest.
Gross.

2. Near Kroger, there is a Great Clips that is fairly new. They had a few signs posted advertising a $7 haircut sale. Standing RIGHT beside one of the signs was a guy holding the very same sign.

Do you really need people to hold signs? Unless you're picketing, I think not.
Even if you are picketing, I think not.

But if those are wages and payroll taxes that you want to pay, go right ahead.

I keep having dreams about thrift stores. In one dream, they were having a bag sale, so Mike went and bought me a bunch of cute stuff for like $2. In another dream, I was picking out a lot of neat tops from That 70s Show at the thrift store.

I wonder if garbage chic is ever going to be a thing.

"Allie, what's garbage chic?"

I'm not exactly sure. The internet says it's something like Ke$ha, but I drew this at lunch and it made me laugh:

I'm going to make Michael sit down to a painfully in depth discussion about the difference between accountable and non-accountable plans and the tax implications.
He just pulled into the garage.
I can't wait!!!

Purpley pink,
TWS

Mob Security

When it rains, it pours is the storm of the century.

Let me detail to you all the things that have gone wrong in the past 36 hours.

First, I must preface this with the fact that Mike is sick and has been for a whole week with like 14 different ailments. First it was food poisoning, then it was a sore throat, then we thought it was the flu but then it wasn't, and then his stomach hurt again, and then he lost his voice.
So recently, he's sounded like a squeaky man boy thing and coughs a lot.

Our air conditioning broke Thursday night. We turned down the air like we normally do at night, and it never came on. The outside unit was still churning with purpose, but the fan was not having it.

So we opened the windows, put a box fan up, and tried to not think about sleeping in sweat.
About half way through the night, it got to be a decent temperature.

Friday morning, Mike finds this cool HVAC fixing company. I call and make an appointment for them to come out at 5:30.

Around 4 it starts to rain.

At 5 twenty something they call and say it's too dangerous to work on the unit because of the rain and that they're going to reschedule until Monday because it's supposed to rain all weekend.

I'm pretty disappointed, and yet I think to myself this is an opportunity to be like a native American and save some electricity by having the air off all weekend. Plus, I love the sound of rain outside.
Blind optimism.

The evening was pretty uneventful with our windows open, save for the horrible smells coming through them. At one point, it smelled like someone took a dump in some gasoline and poured it all through our house, but that passed. Then someone burned something, so the wood smoke scent carried through our house.

We went to bed, but Mike was coughing a lot, so after 30 minutes, I went to sleep somewhere else. Then at about 3:30 am, the fire alarm went off.

In my experience, fire alarms are 100% inaccurate because every time I've heard a fire alarm, there has been no fire. This was also the case last night.

Mike fiddles with some circuit breakers and I try to read on the internet how to shut that thing up because it's so obviously wrong. I suppose it had only started yelping because it detected the smoke that wasn't our smoke that came through the windows because we had them open because the air conditioning people couldn't come because it was raining.

If you give a moose a muffin...

So that's currently what I'm dealing with now. And everyone asking the following question or variations of it:
When are you getting married!?!?!??!??
ISN'T HELPING.

So... stop it.
Please.
Please stop. Forever.
Thank you.

And now I'm going to drive a cool car do a cool beach and learn how to surf.

A dotted line you'll sign for me,
TWS

Beat Up Car; TBS

Joy

Sometimes I feel like Outlook takes 17 years to open.

In other news, I've decided to stop pussy-footin' around and commit to biking to work.
If I keep pussy-footin' around, I'm going to end up looking like this:

Sam = the pussy-footer

Even though he is cute and fluffy and adorable, look at the way he doesn't fit in his clothes from last year (and that one golden eye is just creepy).
I want to be cute, but not at the expense of being fat...

So in an effort to besuade myself from not committing to commuting by bike, I've come up with a series of dichotomies to thwart even my lamest excuses.

"Wait, Allie, 'besuade' isn't even a word. Like, seriously, I typed it into Word and a red squiggly came under it."
I know, I know. I have a habit of inventing words.
But if you want to be cool like me, "besuade" means to persuade someone against something.
For instance, I besuade you from doing drugs because it ruins lives. "Persuade" doesn't make much sense here.
So there. If you say it fast enough and with conviction, it sounds quite impressive.
Increase your lexicon!

And now onto the dichotomies:

Problem: My butt hurts so bad after like eight miles.
Solution: First off, be thankful that you actually have a butt. Secondly, be thankful that your commute's only like 10 miles. Thirdly, buy some padded biking shorts.

Problem: I usually drink coffee on the way to work. What am I supposed to do, take coffee in a Camelback?
Solution: Don't drink coffee on the way because you're going to have to pee like a cow on a flat rock before you get there which will lead to some even more uncomfortable riding. Drink some water when you're half way there and then get free coffee at work. Also, drinking disgusting work coffee builds character and makes weekend coffee taste that much better.

Problem: It gets dark earlier and earlier. How am I supposed to not get killed while biking in the dark?
Solution: Buy some snazzy, cheap lights from China with free shipping. Seriously, I just bought a set for like $3.

Problem: I wear heels to work, and I don't want to lug them around in my backpack.
Solution: Bring all the heels you ever wear to work and store them the bottom left drawer of the desk. Yeah, you know the one with nothing in it. You don't wear your boring work heels to church or anywhere else anyway, so they might as well live there.

Problem: I sweat.
Solution: Bring a change of clothes, duh.

Problem: I get really, really hungry and tired after working out.
Solution: Eat a few pounds of vegetables first. Then oatmeal, beans, chicken, eggs, greek yogurt, and nuts. It may not be all super tasty, but you'll be so hungry you won't even care. You might even start drinking black coffee. As for being tired, good thing you'll be sitting at desk for 8+ hours after your ride. And then...
And then and then and then
You get to go home and eat and sleep. Doesn't that sound WONDERFUL?
Yes. Yes, it does.

Problem: What if it rains?
Solution: We're actually still working on this one because it hasn't happened yet. Well, I did ride in the rain to Lowe's that one time. But that's because I grew a pair and just did it.

Problem: I'm going to have to wake up stupid early to do this.
Solution: Just by 40 minutes... Plus, you don't have to put on makeup at the house. You can just change and go. And if you do it more and more, you'll get faster, maybe, and then it will take even less time.

Problem: I'm going to get home stupid late to do this.
Solution: 5:15 isn't that late, and you won't even need to spend time in the evening to work out. That way, when you feel like collapsing into a heap of bones after dinner, you can. Win.

Problem: People are going to look at me all weird.
Solution: Be cool. Because you are cool. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but you are way cooler than you used to be.

Tie my handlebars to the stars,
TWS

Caving In; Owl City

Australia

Somehow, I got invited to this:

It was so cool.

Stuffing my face with renowned wings in a restaurant before it even opens without having to pay for it?

Heck yeah!!!

Though, I did spend $3 in the following way:

Me: "Dillon, am I allowed to tip you?"

Dillon (waiter): "YES."

The bad news is that I didn't get to go surfing last Saturday. It looked like it was going to be all hurricane-y, so I called and asked if they would cancel my lesson. I didn't want to drive two hours just to be turned around.
Tom, the guy at the place, was like, "I'm not going to lie; it doesn't look good."

That always baffles me. The way people sometimes preface sentences with, "I'm not going to lie."
Does that mean that when they don't say it,  they are lying?
I mean, wouldn't that be burdensome to put that in front of every sentence you said if you wanted to tell the truth?

"Allie, that's ridiculous. It's just something people say."

I guess I'm just wondering why it ever became a valid phrase.
I'm a truth advocate. Who advocates truth. Always.

(Also, the phrase "going to hell in a hand basket". I mean, aren't there other ways to get to hell besides a hand basket?" These are the kinds of things I think about.)

It's bad when the closest concert of my favorite band is in Chicago.
Or is New York closer?

Bereft of all social charms,
TWS

Note: It just occurred to me in the post before this that I mentioned both a guinea pig and hot wings. The two are not correlated in anyway because I got the invitation to the party today. Life really is just that coincidental.

Conscientious Objector

I had a dream involving the girl from The Ring, estimated tax payments, a grey guinea pig that ran really fast and bit people, and dating a guy that wasn't Mike.
It was pretty much a nightmare.
Guess that's the last time I'll ever eat hot wings right before bed.

GUYS. I don't understand time travel.
I feel like there are so many books on it that it should be a real thing, but I don't understand how it should work. If you are "from another time" and you go back to the past, and you change anything, then you could potentially not exist in the future. So then where would you go?
And since time as we know it is linear, while you're in the past, do people in the future know that you have gone? What happens to your life then? Is future time equal to past time? Like, does an hour in the future equal an hour in the past? Could you opt to forgo the future since you could quite literally live in the past?

And how come whenever time travel happens in these books, they never arrive at night? Isn't that just a little too coincidental?

I just finished reading The Here and Now by Ann Brashares. It was pretty disappointing. I kept waiting for my mind to be blown, and then it just wasn't.
Also, it didn't have enough hot action.
The Time Traveller's Wife also didn't blow my mind, but it had way too much action.
Balance, people.

I don't know. Maybe time travel isn't for me. Kind of like how being an astronaut or a vet sounded cool, but they were never for me.

*Mike picks out some deodorant*
Mike: 48 hour protection? Cool. That means I don't have to shower for two days.
*laughter*
If I only put it under one arm, do I get 24 hours of protection?

My legs are asleep. This feels so cool. It's like they're not even a part of me anymore.
I bet this is how amputees feel.

My city is pretty,
TWS

Let's Get Weird

I have so much exciting news that I can't share with you yet.
And it is absolutely killing me.

Maybe if I pretend like I'm writing about each piece of news, it will make me feel a little better:

1. Exciting thing number one:
This is the best thing that could've happened, in my opinion. I was like- YES! Opportunities! And new ferenz. I think I even have the ability to grow my mustache a little longer.

2. Exciting thing number two:
She was all like, "Can we move it to the fourth?" And I was like, "No" because I REALLY want to go this Saturday. So I'm going this Saturday. And I get to put together a great playlist to remind me of the time I hung out with myself.

3. Exciting thing number three:
I've got this HUGE project I'm working on. Like, I'll come home. Eat. Work on it from 6-11, then go to bed, wake up, work, repeat. It's that good/terrible artist's cycle of "omg i wish i could just stay home all day and do this one thing".
I'm so incredibly focused and driven it makes me think I really could've done this for a living when I was 17.

Especially when I was 17. That's when my love life was tumultuous.
Let's all pretend I didn't just say that.

So in working on this HUGE project, I came across some writing I did back in high school. Most of it was, dare I say it, not bad? A long short story that I thought I didn't finish, I actually did, so I have even more to work with!

By the way, this is one that you've never read before, which means it is neither The Specificity of My Phenomenal Maneuver or I'm Dating the Drum Major (which I didn't really finish anyway).

Yesterday, I was able to turn all my handwritten scribbles to processed words. I just have to make the last few chapters make sense and tie together, which will be kind of hard.

But not as hard as what I've been working on the past two days: l'amour.

Do you know how surprisingly DIFFICULT it is to write love scenes?

Now I'm not talking about the erotica-50-shades-of-poop kind of scenes, alright?
I'm talking about the ones like in the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants.
PG-13, as it were.
Where there are feelings, with a little physicality, but it's mostly a mental wave of emotion.

My problem with such scenes is not that I don't know what to do. My problem is that all the words that are typically used to describe such hot action are inherently disgusting words to use, in my opinion.
Let's review the list, shall we?

tender (this word is acceptable only if you're talking about chicken nuggets)
caress
desire (this one is atrocious and should never be used. Not even if you're talking about how bad you want chicken nuggets.)
touch
soft (this word is just highly offensive to everyone)

I could think of more believe me, e.g. stroke, tease, etc., but then we will start wondering where are heads are.

The problem, then, is that I have to delicately construct this love scene out of not a lot of words.

Here's what happened: He kissed her. She liked it.

So here's what I want to convey:

But without being gross, juvenile, or trite.

I tried putting myself in both pairs of shoes. I got the girl part, but I only sort of know what guys think but I don't know how guys feel (or if they even do), so I kind of went through a small gender crisis while wearing those shoes.

Then, I tried to recreate the scene with Mike, but he was being uncooperative.

Then, I went to my library and tried to find other scenes with words I didn't hate the sound of, and that sort of helped. I think I got, like, one.

So, it's been quite a challenge.

"Maybe you should just leave those scenes out of your book." - A Puritan

Sigh.
Is it bad when you start to fall in like with one of your own characters?
YES.

There were a lot of Amish people, but they never raised a barn,
TWS

True Science

I know you've been weight-ing for someone to explain the difference.

I hope you found it up-lift-ing.

Uninstall AVG and be free,

TWS

Simple Machines

Do you ever do mic checks and have nothing to say except the boring old "check, one two three"?

Majority of audience: "No."

Well, here are ten more interesting things to say while your audio team is fiddling with the levers and pulleys:

1. I saw a hippie girl on 8th avenue; she barely looked at me for a second or two. And I suddenly realized I no longer look much like a hippie. Mmmmm.

2. You have reached the Sprint Voicemail box of...Nine. One. Two. Four. Seven. Eight. Nine. One. Three. Five.

3. Hallo. Ich heisse Allie. Ich mag schwimmen und Gitarre spielen, und ich mag Katzen. Ich komme aus Amerika und meine lieblingsfarben sind orange und blue da ich habe zwei lieblingsfarben. 99 luftballoons. Tschüss!**

4. This one time at college, I was putting on my make up in the dorm room, and I sneezed. At the same time, a guy was walking by in the hallway, heard me, and said, "Bless you!" I said thank you and he said you're welcome. And we never saw each other. True story.

5. They say that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself. But what about the daddy long legs?

6. If you're faithful to your daily practicing
You will find your progress is encouraging.
Do mi so mi, do mi so mi, fa la so it goes
When you do your scales and your arpeggios

7. I always try to minimize the amount of noise that the microwave makes, so I usually just press the 30 Second button and let it go. In order to make popcorn, I have to press it four times. I was like, "Wait; four beeps seems like a lot of beeps for just two minutes." So then I tried pushing a 2 and two zeroes and the start button, and that also makes four beeps. Looks like popcorn's just going to be noisy no matter what.

8. If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now. It's just a spring clean for the may queen. Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run, there's still time to change the road you're on.

9. The man who did the waking buys the man who was sleeping a drink. The man who was sleeping drinks it, while listening to a proposition from the man who did the waking.

10. I come from a land, from a far away place where the caravan camels roam. Where they cut off your ear if they don't like your face. It's barbaric! But, hey, it's home.

Citations: Jeffrey Lewis, The Aristocats, Led Zeppelin, Pirates of the Caribbean, Alladin.

No, silly, that's not my phone number,
TWS

I did more art again.

I just can't help myself.

Teahupo'o, Tahiti

Big Sunday,
TWS

Smudges

When people ask me how I chose the adrenaline-pumping career of accounting, I usually tell them one of two of the following stories.

The false story: I didn't know what I wanted to major in at college, so I looked at the list of majors, picked the first one, and went with it.

The true story: I wanted to be a chiropractor in high school, but then I didn't want to go to med school for a billion years, so I took a career test. Apparently, my strengths and interests aligned to being either:
a. a comic book writer, or
b. an accountant

Since I wanted to actually make money in life, I chose accounting.

But it's nice to know that even five years later, I still want to write comics.

And, yes, I over-sized them so you could read them.

TWS

Solve for Y

I went to the pool a few nights ago. One of the pool rules is, "No unattended solo bathing permitted."
I don't know if that's a nice way of saying "No skinny dipping" or if I'm not supposed to be there by myself.
If it's the latter, I think it'd be funny if some moron caught me and said something moronic like, "You're not supposed to be swimming alone." Because then I could narrow my eyes and say, "Well, I'm not swimming alone now since you're here, right?"

ZING

I love when there's no one at the pool, though. It's been especially delightful now that all the children have homework to do at night. It gives me freedom to play with the toy boats that they leave behind.

Mike: Is there such thing as drinking too much water?
Me: Yeah, it's called drowning.

Cats are mysterious creatures.

You know how they ask to go outside, and then you let them outside. Then they want to come back inside, then they want to go back outside, but when you open the door they kind of look out as if wondering, "Do I really want to go out there? Didn't I come in last time? Why do I want to be out here?"
So then you kick them outside, and then they want to come inside, but when you open the door they kind of look in as if wondering, "Do I really want to go in? Didn't I go out last time? Why do I want to be in there?"

It's a maddening cycle for any cat owner.

But yesterday, it was nice enough to open the windows. Sam watched in awe from outside while I did this. Then he started sticking his claws in the screen like a bad kitty, so I went outside to bring him in. As soon as I come out of the house, he runs as fast as he can to the back edge of the fence like he's got somewhere to be. I catch up with him, and he tears around to the basil patch. Then to the hot tub. Then finally, his big butt gets tired, and I bring him in.

I just think he got so excited about open windows. And I think he likes weird things like being chased and smacked on the head.
Mike and I were talking about this last night. Almost every day, Sam will stretch and reach his big claws on the corner of the bed and start scratching. I will reach down and smack him with my hand, a pillow, book, curling iron, etc. Then he runs away. It's like he forgets every day that it's a bad thing. And he has to relearn this every day.
But it doesn't make sense that he can't learn not to do it. It's not like the bed is changing every day, so he must enjoy getting the bejeezus smacked out of his skull.

Or maybe he has no neurons and just goes through one, painless life like the big hunk of fur that he is. Maybe I should try psychological manipulation.

"You don't want to scratch the bed..."

Just kidding about the curling iron, though.

I walk in my neighborhood about the same time each day. I think it kind of makes people think they're in a Truman Show situation.

For example, there's this guy near the cul de sac who is always putting stuff in his truck like he's going to the gym, but he smells nice like he just showered. I don't understand why you would go to the gym after taking a shower.
And then there's the people who are always on their front porch when it's really miserable outside. But then when it's nice outside, like yesterday, they weren't there. There's also like 40 people that live in that house.
There's a rotund dog owner that walk his rotund dog.

Mike and I talk about doing neighborhood shenanigans. It's something I would never do, but it's fun to imagine.
For example, we walked by this car one time. No one was around, and the trunk was open which revealed a big ol' bag of red mulch. We could've started some neighbor wars by taking that bag and putting it all around the house beside the owner's.
And there are always bikes and things strewn on people's driveways. Like, what if we just moved it one driveway over? People would think they're losing their minds.

It's like Woodstock, but with a greater emphasis on vans,
TWS

Decadence

Ten years is a long time.

Where was I ten years ago?

I was thirteen. Middle School. Just started 8th grade.

Madly in love with Pirates of the Caribbean. (Still am.)

Just started playing guitar. 

I had just started this blog, too, I think. 

It was really ridiculous back then. I'll go back and read it occasionally for the lols/cringes. 

Sometimes I really wish I could reach through the space time continuum and give my 15 year old self a punch in the face.

Because, my goodness, I really needed one back then.

Where will I be ten years from now?

I'll be thirty three, which, surprisingly doesn't really seem all that old.

Working part-time, and maybe for myself muahahaa.

Married and raising a family...of kittens!

Hopefully closer to home? I miss having, like, friends.

I'll have really long and pretty hair. Or, maybe, really short pretty hair. Michael likes short hair. But I feel like everyone gets shorter hair when they're in their late 20s/30s, and then they keep this cut well into their 80s. 

I mean, seriously- go into any nursing home. You will not find any old ladies with hair below their shoulders.

In ten years, I should be fluent in German.

I watched Schlussmacher last night. It was like the opposite of Hitch and in German.

And, oh my goodness, his girlfriend sewed and was really pretty. (And so was he.)

It's hard to envision the future, though, because so much can happen in ten years.

I got a text from an unknown number that said, "The oddsmakers have made a huge mistake in the TEXAS A&M/SOUTH CAROLINA game. They have no idea what they are doing. They totally blew it. This is by far the strongest opening day game we have ever seen. Simply reply STRONG and we'll text you this guaranteed winner absolutely free. Reply STRONG."

So, naturally, I replied, "You're an idiot."

A long time ago, left my home for a job in the fruit trees,

TWS

One More Dollar; The Wailin' Jennys

Teaser

Let's be real.
5th grade social studies was pretty fun.
Elementary school was pretty fun altogether, but I liked Mrs. Thomas' 5th grade social studies class.

Then in middle school, history class got progressively worse. I don't even know what sixth grade was about. 7th grade we "learned" what Islam was and about the Taj Mahal, and then 8th grade culminated in the dreaded Georgia History Class.

However, without that class, I wouldn't know what an atlatl is.
Very valuable learnage that was.

Then in high school, it got even worse.
There was Coach Connor: "Gorbachev looked like someone pooped on his head."
And AP US History where we had to read A Miracle at Philadelphia Terribly Boring Book. Over the summer.

And then in college, history class was insufferable, with Steinberg's impossible multiple questions that were all like:

Is this a question?
a. most likely
b. probably
c. yes, but with exceptions
d. sometimes
e. none of the above and you probably don't want to pick this one again since the last four questions were this answer

Anyone who's had Steinberg knows what I mean.

Finally after that class, history was, well, history. I was never required to learn about it again.
There was no stupid "History of accounting" because, I guess, accounting's boring enough as it is.
Hardy har har I can laff at my career now

But something is different now.
Now that I'm not forced to learn it or regurgitate it on some test, learning history is actually fun again like it was in 5th grade.

Leverage says you. I feel a change in the wind says I.

I've been learning about church history and reading Joshua and looking at the archaeological and culture stuff surrounding it, and it's interesting in a way that has never been interesting to me before.

Like- do I like history now? Is that okay? Is it okay to like history?
Is it okay to want to know what happened in the past because it has direct implications and symbolism on other stuff?

Something that I had previously dismissed as boring and irrelevant has become increasingly not so.
And I think archetypes are pretty cool.

Read Joshua.

Mark doesn't even need lipstick to make his teeth look white; they just are,
TWS

Cornmeal

Yesterday, I felt ALIVE.

I was sitting on my couch after dinner thinking, Man. I am so tired. But Michael is broken so I have to go walking by myself.

I don't know what degree to which Michael would appreciate me sharing the following information, but he doesn't read this blog anymore, so it really doesn't matter.

The company that Michael works for has instituted this new health initiative. The goal is that it keeps employees healthy, so they go to the doctors less, and the company ends up paying less in insurance premiums each year. They have "stretching time" every day at like 10 am where everyone stands up and spends a few minutes stretching to improve flexibility.

It's been a personal goal of Mike's to be able to touch his toes. He's only done it a few times, but it's a pretty huge deal to him. His leg started hurting him a few days ago, and then it went away. Then yesterday, he bends down to stretch and something went horribly, horribly wrong.

All I heard from him after that was how bad it hurt, how he could barely walk, etc. He came home and looked at the back of his leg, and there was a big, purple disease-like bruise about 5 inches by 3 inches above his knee.

Yeah. He tore something.

Then began the ice-pack making, and he sat for the rest of the night. If it doesn't get better, he might actually have to go to a doctor. The real irony in this? The health program was supposed to keep you from having to go to the doctor.

Anyway, so while Michael felt like he was dying, I was experiencing an inner conflict: do I stay with him and forego my walk, or do I go for a walk because he's on the phone with his bff anyway?

"Let's not be fat anymore."

I decided to go for the walk. But walking can be so, like, pedestrian.

So I did a walk-run. And then, I walked by the pool, and I was like, man a pool would feel so cool right now. Then I walked home, changed, got my bike, and rode to the pool.
It was more amazing than I had even imagined before some Hispanic children came and threw a ball in my general direction.

Then it was like 8, and I figured I should be getting back so I could go to bed really early. I rode my bike back, and I just felt so ALIVE. The wind was blowing, the clouds were moving, the sun was setting, and everything was just awesome. I didn't think that feeling was possible after not sleeping well having to drag myself in a body bag through work.

Announcer at The Hulk ride: "Please remove all bags before getting on the ride. This includes purses, handbags, book bags, body bags, the bags under your eyes..."

Then, after I showered, the weariness returned.
Sam and I got in a tussle. He started it, though, and he almost won, but I had some cool moves that his little kitty face didn't see coming.

But running, biking, and swimming all in one night?
It's honestly probably the closest I'll ever be to doing a triathlon.

The goal is to have teeth as white at Mark's,
TWS

Villiamsburg

In my German lesson, I had to translate the following:

Was ist Ihr Geschlecht?

Means, "What is your gender?"
It's one of those things that if you have to ask, you probably shouldn't.

I was on my bike on Saturday, pedaling through a shady grove that wasn't Shady Grove. The sun was shining, the locusts were humming, and a little butterfly was fluttering along beside me.
It was all delightful until I realized I was going the speed of a butterfly.

Did you know that warm coffee is better than hot coffee? That's a true story.

I actually had a full cup of black coffee the other day. 

I know people who drink black coffee usually have something to prove, and that was true for me as well. I had to prove to myself that it could be done.
Spoiler alert: it can be.

I was pondering deep questions today, such as "What is the meaning of life?" and "Why don't piranhas eat each other?"

Go to Yahoo! answers, and there's a few brazen scientists using words like, "instinct" and "pheromones" and all types of whatnot. But I think they're all overlooking one very important factor.

Piranha Jesus.

In the beginning, piranhas were vengeful hateful creatures. They still kind of are. Razor-like teeth and a murderous spirit did not bode well for the continuation of the species. God knew this and therefore sent Piranha Jesus to calm the stormy sea, so to speak. Piranha Jesus came and gave the commandment for piranhas love one another and not to eat each other, and so they don't. In fact, he even did them one better by dying for their past sins so that whoever believes in Piranha Jesus may have an eternal fishy life.

I mean, animals just don't wake up and know not to eat their own kind, right? Right. Something has influenced piranhas in such a deep, moving way that it caused them to refrain from eating their own kind.
Holy mackerel! What a miracle!
There is evidence of piranhas not eating each other. Therefore, there is evidence of Piranha Jesus having once lived, and once died, for the sake of all piranhas in the world.

Piranhas swim by faith and not by sight (or smell).

Omg look at this website,
TWS

The Letter N

Feels. I have so many of them today, and most of them are not good feels.

I will compensate by giving you a list of five good feels:

1. When you're wearing high heels, and you walk across some grass, and you sink your heels into the dirt and just revel quietly in the satisfying, sinking feeling of heel into mud. This feel works especially well after a sprinkler or rain.

2. Squeezing a tomato as hard as you can and feeling the insides give up and watch them come through your fingers. Bonus feel: makes your hands soft if you do it enough.

3. When it's really cold and windy outside, and your car has been sitting in a parking lot with the sun shining on it all afternoon, and you run to it and jump inside and bask in its stuffy goodness. Swim practice in the winter intensifies this feel.

4. Silky panties.

5. When something gently strokes or pulls your hair. Sometimes, I'll just be laying there, and Sam will put his claws on my head and do that flexing thing that kitties do and oh my goodness the feels.

That is all I have for you today.

I must find out how Matt got to go youth tubing and then do likewise,
TWS

Crux

$29.96 for a cell phone bill feels good, feels good.

It's been a long time since I came on here and babbled about nothing in particular like I used to do over at the Ooga Booga Surf Company.

So what's been happening while I was away?
Nothing much?

Let me tell you a true story about the first time I used a business card.

I've been carrying a little packet of them in my bag, lazily anticipating the day where I might need to take one out and say, "Here's my card. The person you would actually want to talk to is not me, but here is all of my information."

Or, "Here is my card. My address, phone number and e-mail are all work-related, so if you want my personal information, I'll have to write it on the back."

Needless to say, I had never used one until one day, Mike and I decided to go to the Mexican restaurant at like 7 o'clock after exercising. This is a key point to the story because had we not been there so late, it would've been less crowded, I wouldn't have sat down in the waiting area, and I never would have seen the jar.

But I did see the jar. And it was like, "Drop your business card in for a chance to win a $10 gift card!"
I got all excited. "MIKE!!!! I CAN DO THIS! I actually get to use one of these things!"
So drop one I did. Apparently they do a drawing every month.

And then I got a congratulatory e-mail this morning saying I had won.
I love winning stuff.
Especially tacos.
Much better than winning an iPad.

Baby you a sawng, you make me wanna rowl mai windows down and crooooz

What if, while you were walking around your neighborhood one night, you found a grill that someone threw out?
Plot twist: instead of being a grill that you cook stuff on, it was a grill that someone wore on their teeth.

Nobody, like, cross-stitches anymore,
TWS

The 200

An instant message conversation this morning:

Mike
I would love to go to the J-Ville zoo.. we already went to the Atl zoo

Allie
ok
when?
in the fall?

Mike
tomorrow

Allie
are you going alone then?

Mike
hahahah
i wouldn't mind doing it soon though.. maybe that will classify as my "hike" lol
walking around a ZOO
but we should do it when the temp cools down
so fall works

Allie
yeah, that's what I was thinking
late sept? octoberish
if they're open then
i don't know if zoos close for the winter
let all the animals fend for themselves

Mike
just open all the cages
it would be like a zoo

Toad: "Finish!",
TWS

Wasserfarbe

Hey dude(s).

I have some pictures for you.

I did a watercolor that looks almost nothing like the original picture I was trying to imitate.

Original: a cropped Child of Light wallpaper

My painting:

NAILED IT.

Ok, not really, but I actually liked the way it turned out. Even when Sam sat on it between sessions.

I had to make that pink cloud a little darker than I had planned in order that it be an intentional cloud. Otherwise, it just looks like I set my hand in wet paint.

And then I hung it in my office.

#clientconfidentiality

It really brightens up the place.
Whenever I look at it and that cool water with all its marvelous shading, I feel like I'm standing right there with Aurora and the windmills.

I have concluded that this was an excellent use of a $1.75 paint set from Dollar General.
I should do more paintings.

Maybe I should get a Kickstarter account to fund this. Since my upfront costs are so small, I can invest all of my proceeds and make a salary and be a watercolor artist for life.

Nicki Minaj: FA LIFE.

One night, I was laying in bed, and I wondered where Sam was, what he was doing.
I looked out into the hallway.

I saw traces of a kitty.

Upon closer inspection...

KITTY LEGS!!!!

And now I have Nicki Minaj stuck in my head,
TWS

Unincorporated Townships

I miss home sometimes.

And even more than that, I miss the goofy little institutions of yesteryear and all the little memories that go along with them.

"Allie J, about what are you referring?"

I'm so glad you asked.

The Cart: the cart was (and still is) this weebly wobbly wooden piece of furniture that served as our kitchen island for quite some time. I remember my parents cutting huge watermelons from the backyard on it, and my mom kneading sourdough bread on it. I can still remember the smell and taste of that sourdough bread and the way the yeast looked fermenting in our fridge.

The Other Cart: the other cart was in the garage, and it held all the toys and other random stuff. Badminton rackets, baseball bats, baseball gloves, baseballs, kickballs, jump ropes, and an ancient set of lawn darts that nobody ever played with because they were at the bottom where all the spider webs were. What's funny about this cart is that I don't even know where it came from. It looked like a peasant donkey rickshaw. It had wooden wheels for crying out loud. It was actually several years before I discovered it was an actual cart. I just thought it was a toy bin.

The magnolia tree: It's still there. I used to climb it all the time because it was one of those nice, established trees that had enough branches that opened up. I'd write up there; I'd take naps up there; I'd just hang out in trees with my grass-stained shirt and dusty knees #DarWilliams. And, like, no one would bother me. When I was in my room, there was always the threat of mom coming to find me to fold laundry, or I'd have to listen to Bonnie bangin' on the piano.
But in my tree, there was peace. Except for that one time there was a huge spider. And then I never really went back after that.

Also, picking up magnolia cones? One of the worst yard jobs ever. By far.

Community: So I was a weird kid; I think this blog has established that. Once upon a time, I mapped out our backyard, all the paths in our forest, and I named them like it was a city. We called it "Community". Looking back now, it was actually really useful to have names for all the places so you know where your sister was talking about. Greeter's Path, Rocky Mountain Road, and Hole Avenue (that's where I lived because I always wanted to live on an avenue. I know. Weird.)

The Tar Car: While my parents were re-roofing our house in the middle of a summer, the Tar Car was the accumulation of old shingles in which my sisters and I somehow managed to sit in and pretend it was a car. I remember on this particular day, I was trying to learn multiplication tables from the back of a shiny ruler.

The time my sister found that arrowhead in the rocks that we used to have for mulch: I was so jealous that day. Over a stupid arrowhead. I think I was so jealous I even wrote about it. So jelly. So peanut butter and jelly.

The Ear Stuff: A liquid made out of vinegar, rubbing alcohol and magic. Used for putting in one's ears after swimming in the pool to prevent water from being logged in your brain indefinitely. But the feeling when the liquid came out of your ears onto the pillow and it was all warm and it made you shiver? ZOMG. Nothing like it.

The Swing Set: This is where I learned to make up songs and sing. Almost every day, I'd just go out there and swing and sing whatever like the birds do. When I saw the neighbors, I kept my volume down, but I was still out there singing and swinging. Snow White was pretty much my idol. No, really, you can ask my mom.
 One day, I was putting my heart and soul into it, and Dad was bricking the house. Unbeknownst to me, he came around the side of the house to mix a batch of mortar. Instead of mixing his batch and enjoying the free music, however, he decides to grab the hose and spray it at me interrupting my performance!!!

The Snot Sucker: The most feared tool in the blue bathroom. As the name implies, it got the job done, but it was disgusting. As was the homemade Tonic also administered when you were sick. The Jansens didn't mess around with illness of any kind.

My chapstick collection: this one's actually pretty scary. So, as a little girl, I loved chapstick. I still do. I used it obsessively, so I ran out quite frequently. Instead of throwing away the old tubes, I accumulated them in a box instead with the notion that I would one day grow up and find someone who could duplicate my favorite scents into more chapsticks. Creepy right? Yeah. A little creepy, but mostly unrealistic expectations of a fourth grader.

Anne of Green Gables: I think this may be the only fiction that my mom has ever read. I remember coming in from the pool on hot summer days, and after the Ear Stuff treatment, my mom would read those books to us in the den. And when I grew up, I learned that I was like the only person ever to live in a house that had a "den".

That mural on the wall: that everyone would always ask, "Who painted that?" to which we'd always reply, "It's wallpaper." It was just so farm-like and homey, like the butter section at Kroger.

And I have lost so many things,
TWS

Cheap Clothes; Whitley

Retirement Planning Part II

Dr. Marley.
I will never forget him.

He was one of the best professors at Georgia Southern. Not only did he give me a tip on an investment that has since been fruitful in both growth and income (BP, in case you're wondering), but he also said one of the most inspirational things, I think, without even meaning to be inspirational.

His classes were mostly graduate-level discussions and so much of the class was conversational with him, the teacher, and us, the students. In one of the discussions that the following statement was relevant to, he briefly said, "I'm actually retired- I'm just teaching this course for fun."
And he was telling the truth.

I spent the rest of that particular class wondering... what? How old is he? He doesn't have any gray hair, he always wears these spiffy suits, and he drives a Mercedes Benz.  How could he be retired?!?!

On his LinkedIn profile, he was involved in various very successful start ups and knows a lot about everything in a lot of different industries (which made him a very good teacher). So basically, he got in, made a bunch of cash, and he got out.

As I've said previously, he was an awesome teacher. Could it be that his "just doing this for fun" is what made him such a good teacher? Other teachers are so concerned with grades, the structure of how they calculate grades, and meeting deadlines. But even on the very first day, he was like "I just want you to learn something useful." A phrase that is ironically rarely ever said in school.

I think there have been other studies that show that when you're not dependent on income, you're way better at your job. You do your best because it's fun for you and you want to, not because you have to because if you don't, you won't be able to put food on your family and your house will be foreclosed on and you will die in a sewer.

I love the idea of getting to do what you're really passionate about without financial consequence.

And I happened across a hard-core early retirement blog this past week and have found truth in the following sentence:
"Saving is money spent on buying freedom." - J. L. Collins

Short term goals (1-4 weeks):
1. Increase exemption on W-4 from 0 to 1
2. Hang dry most clothes
3. Set the thermostat to 81 during the day
4. Cook 6/7 meals of the week at home
5. Say "no" to cable and Direct TV

Long term goals (6 - 12 months):
1. Buy a bike, exercise more, drive less
2. Put down principal on house (get mortgage insurance to 0)
3. Invest savings strategically
4. Lay up treasures in heaven, not on earth

Eventual goals (4-5 years):
1. Wake up without an alarm clock on some random Thursday morning and have coffee.
2. Do something I'm really passionate about without financial consequence

Lamps throw all types of shade,
TWS

Butter Knife

I don't know how this happened to me, but my work e-mail gets all these ads for CPE that I don't recall signing up for.

And some of them are really stupid because they're like, "Become an enrolled agent!"
Becoming an EA while I'm already a CPA would be like asking your spouse to go steady with you.

Normal people probably wouldn't mind getting these e-mails. It's not like they're flooding my inbox. Maybe one or two a day.

Me, however? I cannot handle such nonsense, so I went ahead and marked them as spam.
I didn't know this until after I did it, but Outlook (or maybe just our work server) has a "feature" where sends you an e-mail that lists all of the spam it caught for you.

So now instead of getting an annoying spam e-mail a day, I get an annoying non-spam e-mail per day telling me about the spam e-mail that I didn't get.

Isn't that retarded?

I told Mike about it, and he was like, "Feed the spam!"

Accordingly, I added the spam report e-mail address to my spam list. Now every time a real spam e-mail comes through, it will generate the spam report e-mail. But since I also blocked the spam reports, then that e-mail will generate another spam report e-mail, which will generate another spam report e-mail and so on and so forth until it all blows up in my face.

Genius.

Faulty wiring,
TWS

Polyglot

There comes a point in every twenty-something's life when you just feel frustrated with all the progress you have (or have not) made in:

your job

your relationships

your financial savings plan

your Sudoku book on the back of the toilet

It's time to learn something new. It's time to throw yourself into something exciting and fun and challenging and rewarding. 

Those are the same words found in job posts by recruiters.

But I'm wise enough now to know that the only jobs that are actually exciting, fun, challenging and rewarding are volunteer work. 

Somehow, establishing a value to your time sucks all the fun out of it.

Think about that.

Like really think about that.

They should sell milk in 3 liter bottles, 

TWS

Dilluted

Yesterday, I was sitting in my hot tub and going through a French lesson, crushing it, and I felt totally at peace with everything ever.

Then today I felt, like, the opposite.
I went on a walk, though, to clear my mind, thoughts, and glasses, and I decided that I needed to make a to-do list.
To-do lists seem to simplify my woes; they always have. But I have a bad habit of putting really easy tasks next to really hard ones:

1. Eat a cheerio.
2. Publish a book.

So today, I was like, Okay, Allie- keep it light. Keep it easy. That way you can get stuff done. You love getting stuff done according to your predictive index.

My to-do list came out to about five things. And only like half of them are "hard", and by "hard" I mean time-consuming.
And so I look down at my measly list like- What was I so freaked out about? I can probably get all of these done by the middle of next week.

I guess when I got out of school, I got out of the to-do making list model because my life didn't have due dates or semesters anymore.

People always tell you that when you get out into the "real world" (as if that's an actual place), that you'll miss being in school.
I don't really miss being in school; I miss quirky little things about it.

Like doodling in my notes before class. Or sunning myself in the chairs on the third floor of the college of business right before a final. Or trying to stifle laughter in the computer lab.

I still doodle, and sun myself, and stifle laughter sometimes. Still, there are no things like those things.

But I'm bringing back the to-do list.
And Jansen's going to make A's.

Some days I just don't feel like listening to music,
TWS

Limes

More than occasionally, I’ll really want to start my own business.

Last Sunday, I made the most refreshing smoothie. Frozen berries (straw, black, and blue), Greek yogurt, and almond milk. Don’t ask me what quantities so that you can make this at home. Not that I want to prevent you from making it, but rather I simply don’t remember the proportions I used.

This is pretty much how all Allie J recipes look:

Ingredients – whatever looks/tastes/smells right

Cook/Bake/Broil  time– however long until things start changing colors

Yields – different amounts every time, depending on how much of it you eat while you’re making it

True story.

Anyway, my impromptu smoothie was amazing. It tasted organically sweet in all the right places. I was sitting on the couch, talking to Mike and said, “You know, I could sell these. Start my own little smoothie business. I’d call it ‘A is for Banana’ and never sell a smoothie with a banana in it.”

And then because we’re accountants, we did the math of how many I would have to sell at what price in order to cover my direct materials, my salary, and overhead. I’d have to sell like 80 every day at $5 each to make a yearly salary of $45,000 before taxes.

Not to mention getting a business license, taxes, organizational fees, liability insurance, and the seasonality of smoothie sales.

A is for Banana got really complex really quick. I bet that most small business owners don’t even consider the things I just did. They’re probably like, “I can make smoothies!” And then they rent out some place somewhere and sell smoothies but don’t do the math beforehand and then wonder why they can’t turn a profit.

The thing that scares me about sole proprietorship is I feel like you never get a day off. Even if you’re not working/making smoothies, you’d probably still be thinking about it because that’s where your livelihood comes from. Soon, your $45k a year gets diluted in all the hours you’re putting in to smoothie making, and I don’t think I’ve ever met a person who likes unpaid overtime.

This is where consulting firms have it made. They made a business – get this – out of making suggestions on how to run a business. They collect a fee and never have to get their hands dirty.

If I ran a consulting firm, I’d still call it A is for Banana.

Sam’s experiencing real birds for the first time, and it’s pretty much adorable,

TWS

Refreshers

This was last Thursday.

I was unusually productive today. I say “unusually” because not only was there a staff meeting today, but I also had to make a phone call.

“Make a phone call? Allie J, you are ridiculous. You used to have to make collection phone calls all the time.”

Yes, but the Georgia Department of Revenue isn’t exactly the same thing as a Georgia Southern non-paying student. Both of them owe money to the client/school, but at least there I had the upper hand. But now I have to pry information out of their cold, dead hands. And one time this guy at the IRS had a cow because my power of attorney didn’t have a CAF number.

(Get it? CAF = calf = cow!!!)

Anyway, phone calls totally interrupt my day. Making or receiving.

I’ll procrastinate until I’m in the right mindset to call someone, but then there’s always that fear of being that inconvenient caller. Like what if they’re making cookies when I call and have flour all over their hands?

Or what if they’re in a different time zone and I don’t know about it!?!?!?

One time I called this guy at like 9:30 and left a message, but it was actually a California number and I was calling him at like 6 something. But even on the east coast, is 9 am too early to call? Or will they be at lunch at 12 so that I’ll leave a message and then they’ll call me back at 1 when I’m at lunch and then we’ll just be in this infinite loop of phone tag?

Barbossa: So what now, Jack Sparrow? Will it be two immortals locked in an epic battle until judgment day and the trumpets sound, hmm?

*This is honestly the quote I think about every time I have to call someone back who’s left me a message after I initially called them.*

Jack: Or you could surrender.

YES. SURRENDER THE PHONE. USE E-MAIL. After all, it is 2014. And though we may not have hovercrafts or jetpacks, we do have an internet connection.

Or at least some of us do. 

Those of us who moved into a new house recently and ordered internet 2 weeks ago still don’t.

We put a MAN on the MOON,

TWS