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

Doldrum

So as you’ve probably (not) read, I am without internet access for the time being. 

But instead of being lame and not blogging at all and using the no-internet excuse like I do for all my e-mail, I’m blogging in advance.

It’s a thing I like to call… the Anteblog!!!!

It’s like that time in fifth grade when you were learning about the Civil War, and all the teachers made a point of telling you that “Antebellum” meant the time period before the war because “Ante” means Pre- and “bellum” means War in the original Latin or whatever.

Yeah. It’s just like that time.

But in order to keep morale placid and spirits high, I shall not post all of these entries at once so that my readers can gorge themselves on all the recent Allie-ness like a box of donuts, but rather I shall post one of these a day so that my readers may savor them like dark chocolate squares.

I know this is slightly less fun for you, but some (Mum) might even argue that the dark chocolate is better donuts like that simile is even relevant anymore.

During the move, I came across my “life’s work of books” which was a box filled with notebooks and journals from fourth grade through middle school. Needless to say, I outgrew the box.

But the contents of the box are so incredibly distracting.

It’s like I can’t remember ANYTHING about who I used to be before all of life happened to me. What did I used to think about before Orlando Bloom? Books? I used to read things? REALLY? According to a twelve-year old me, The Sound and the Fury was not a very good book. Indeed, what a strange sixth grader I was.

Mike: “You were a weird kid. You’re still weird.”

But among all the dullness, there are delightful little quotes and stories that make me fall back on the bed in boisterous laughter. And so I keep reading along, like my life is a brand new story I’ve never read before.

I halfway expect to open up one and instead of seeing a true story, seeing “YOU SHOULD KNOW. YOU WERE THERE!”

But, you see, Little Allie did not write all of these for the amusement of Future Allie. I really thought that I would be some grandiose author/singer/actress (apparently) one day and while someone was scrounging around in my bedroom trying to piece together an autobiography while I was dead and gone, they would come across this box of Lisa Frank diaries and 3 subject notebooks. Instead of being appalled at how silly and stupid I was, they would think it brilliant and platitudinous and publish it, furthering whatever reputation I had.

It was cute in some weird Anne Frank sense of the word.

But doesn’t everyone want to be famous when they’re young?

Now my dream is not to be famous but to live like a retired person where I don’t have to BE anywhere.  Every time I do a tax return where someone’s occupation is “homemaker”, I sigh and dream about how simply wonderful it would be to be an oppressed housewife in the 1960s.

Where income just comes in and then I can do whatever I like while my limbs and joints still function like they’re supposed to.

I have these neighbors. 

I assume they’re retired because their house is gorgeous (at least on the outside). They have a screened in porch and all these nice flowers out back. The couple spends time outside together, gardening, landscaping, and doing chores, and I just admire how fruitful their retirement is.

Side note: they have this dog named Savannah, which I guess sounds better than a dog named Pooler.  I know this because Sam was doing kitty things along the edge of the fence, which annoyed the dogs, and then everybody yelled trying to get all the animals to shut up.

I guess this is one of those times where the grass is greener on the other side of the fence (literally and figuratively).

I need to work out. I wonder if there’s a way to say that without sounding like a prick,
TWS

Ghost Blog of Blog Ghosts Passed

If there is but one thing I wish I had right now, it would be internet access.

I am using a word processor right now to process these words, not a browser.

I’m told that we’ll be getting internet next Thursday. This is because Mike called to set it up on May 1^st, as opposed to, I guess, before we even owned the house.

But welcome to Hargray, where “24-36 hours” means half a month.

That reminds me of something. Our Homeowner’s Association letter came in the mail today.

It read, “Welcome to the Homeowner’s Association, where we make home-owning feel like renting.”

Ok, it didn’t really say that. 

But it might as well have. 

You have to get “board approval” for every little thing you want to do to your backyard, including a spa, which we already set up.

And there are some decent regulations like you can’t have a clothesline or huge satellite dishes in your front yard. But then there are others- like you can’t put rocks down instead of mulch. And your porch patio furniture has to be a certain kind. And you can’t just leave things on the side of the road for the trash to come pick up.

It just gave me this really creepy, trapped feeling. Like that feeling when you go to make a sandwich and the bread’s all moldy.

I’m probably breaking some arbitrary law just by sitting out here on my fire pit blogging.

“No blogging is allowed in the area behind the main structure without ABR approval.”

My cat’s probably not allowed to eat the grass, and this glow in the dark Frisbee is probably a violation of human rights or something.

I feel like God won’t have douchey rules in heaven. That’s most certainly a home to look forward to.

You can’t carry me away now please don’t steal me from my house,

TWS

Housing (In); Frightened Rabbit