Process

I half-heartedly regret to inform you that the renowned spider in yesterday's post has moved away. After Michael saw my documentary, he couldn't get over the fact that there was a spider that large just minding its own business in the backyard. He began to campaign me for ways to get rid of it, and now that it's gone, he feels like he hurt its spider feelings.

Spider. Feelings.

Now that we're talking about feelings, I FEEL like this would be a good opportunity to tell you that I am now struggling in my once-acclaimed "gift" of songwriting.
I can't really put a finger on when I stopped being able to write good songs. I would sit down to play guitar and maybe write a new song, but nothing came to mind. Then I overplayed the stuff I had written, and eventually lost interest in it because nothing was ever new.

And now I'm having that artist-like-Bright-Eyes moment where I question if anything I do is actually good or if it's a waste of paint.
Of tape.
Of time.

Then I thought back to when I first started playing guitar OVER 10 YEARS AGO. OH MY GOSH I'M OLD and it's because I wrote in a journal like every single day.
Yeah, it was mostly about boys (or, boy), random pictures and quotes, and how much better I was than everyone I encountered, but hey at least it was honest.
The original "True Story".

Writing at that age was an amazing thing. It was how I made sense of life and people and things. It was an escape. It was a way to devise, make plans, and illustrate people's faces that annoyed me. Instead of channeling all my teenage angst into better and mature adult decision-making, I vomited it all over the pages of more than four 250 page spiral bound notebooks.

And then what did I do?

I turned them into song.

I know, I know. Seems cliche and very Harriet-the-Spy-meets-Taking-Back-Sunday.
And in a way it kind of was, but it was the only way I could be myself around other people.

Here is a huge lie that teenagers are told: "Just be yourself, and people will like you for who you are."
Nope.
Absolutely untrue.
Falsehood.
Right there.
Damnable lie.

That only applies AFTER high school.
In high school, you really don't know who you are. So how do you know who to be?

I see now that I was a girl that cared way too much about what people thought.
My music was a way to tell people what I thought without having to say it to their face, and I found so much comfort in that.
I could be honest without being judged.
That's, like, a teenager's dream right there.

So wrote songs I did. Yes, plenty of songs.
Some worse than others, and some better.
I'm looking in one of my old books right now and I see I wrote at the top of a page, "This is the best song I have ever written."
Oh, how many times would I say that in the next 10 years? (more than I care to count)

Sometimes you just have to pull out the old nostalgia to bring you some inspiration.

I thought maybe my key to good song-writing, or maybe just song-writing, could be found in writing more and more. It doesn't matter what I'd write about: what kind of soup I had today, how the clouds look, a character sketch of my coworker, how kitty Sam is.

Just putting pen to paper makes me feel more like who I am supposed to be.
"Allie, you're so emo and hipster."
Really?
REALLY?
R.E.A.L.L.Y.

Writing more has helped me get back to guitar playing, and not hating my worn out songs so much.
A lot of times, I think "This would be so much better in a band." or "this could use some harmony".
But mostly, it's just me having an Emily of New Moon moment.

And since none of you have actually taken the time to read my favorite book by L.M. Montgomery, I shall explain to you the scene to which I am referring.

It's at the end of the first book, and her teacher, Mr. Carpenter, is going through her bits of poetry, throwing out most of it, saying it's cliche, trite, overdone, and belaboring.
But every now and then, he finds a good line. Emily's whole dream is to be a writer, and though the bulk of her work in that moment is being deemed not good, she's inspired by the small portion that someone else thinks is good.

In my situation, I am both Mr. Carpenter and Emily as I find little bits of verses, both old and recent, that still sound so good to me. They haunt a deep 14-year old bone in me, and they make me feel like I'm not so bad after all:

I will miss you more than I can say. Words aren't the only thing I've lost.
Already

I was your outside conscience; you'd talk to yourself, but I'd listen.
I'd be careful not to mistake it for trust
Because to depend on words you say, depend on you I must.
After Tomorrow

You drove me home that night, and you told me everything.
So I thought I saw inside; I thought I had you figured out.
And you would be mine- it would only take time.
But you said, 'Not now.' Of course you would.
Of Course You Would

There were things we didn't know.
We tied our hearts to balloons, and we let them go.
Square

I never saw your point of view like I should.
That's probably why your shoe never fit my foot.
Size 7

You've been gone for weeks now
And no tears stain my cheeks now
I only miss you when you're around
So I'm not missing you at all
Why Should I

A slow dance, take it apart
I know this melody by heart
I hear the notes, simple beat, simple beat
I'm just waiting for a harmony
I've got time
All I Have

Does she like sunrises better than sunsets
Because the beginning is so much better than the end
Doppleganger

We were separate but equal, painting our losses on our own easels
I'm still struggling; it was easier when you were alone
Moving On

I was the girl you'd talk to in the mornings while you were half awake
I was the girl you'd run into the hallways by mistake
Time

Someday we'll grow up, and we'll live up to all that we said
Like "I'm gonna be a famous singer" and "I'm gonna live 'til I'm a hundred."
Someday

You're the one bad habit I haven't broken yet
And if lungs are hearts than you're my cigarette.
Heart Disease

Streetlights go by in flashes
Tears bead up on my eyelashes
And I, I held it in all through the night
Did I make you move, did I make you move, did I make you
Three Small Words

Let's watch the fireworks from our apartment deck
Let's ring in the new year in complete silence...
You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders all the time
But relax, you're not Atlas, you're Michael, and you're mine
Michael

"If it's in you to climb, you must,"
Mr. Carpenter
TWS

Acreage

What do you do when you find a garden spider in your yard?
Make a British documentary of course.





If Sam was a crustacean, he'd be a soft belly crab,
TWS

Unnecessities

Why do I have a stomachache after vegetable soup?
That's weird.
The way you spell stomachache is also weird.
It's a word that could go on forever.
Stomachachachachachachachache
Kind of like banananananananana.

The Modern Farmer came in the mail the other day, and I was so happy.

As some of you know, I get magazines for free because I recycle.
Every few months or so, I'll get those pesky final issue notices and so I'll go see what they have out there.
Recently, I've been subscribed to magazines like Shape, Health, Self, Running, Bicycling and other one word titles. After a while, they all start to blend together into a bunch of topics in which I am no longer interested.
I mean, how many shoe buying guides do I really need?
(zero)
The truth is that any useful information in these can be found online, so it's probably just a way for corporations to market products to me while I'm reading them doing unmentionable things.
I don't care what beauty products celebrities use, or what anti-aging cream I should use at ages 35, 45, and 55.

So this time, I decided to subscribe to something completely different.
The Modern Farmer.
It's a quarterly magazine instead of monthly, but it's nice and thick like a piece of cheesecake.
It talks about people making a living by doing things with their hands.
It's amazing, and I really like it.
To quote Hyde when accused of watching Little House on the Prairie, "It reminds me of a simpler time."

I think there are deeper reasons of why reading about farming is far, far more interesting to me than reading about things marketed to women.
I feel like I am one of the lowest-maintenance females on this planet. and I think I've become even more so after marrying Mike because he's one of the lowest-maintenance people ever.

But here's something you may not have known about Mike:
He is a BEAUTY GENIUS.

Let me show you some cool pictures from our trip.

Road trips are fun.

So we get there, and the view from our cabin was awesomesauce.

And this was a fancy cabin, too, with carpet in the bathrooms, guys. Carpet. In the bathroom. Guys.

So I was like "Miiiiiiiiiike. I feel so grooooooooooss. I haven't washed my face all day and I feel disgusting."

And in all his earthy wisdom, he said: "Don't wash your face so much. It'll make you break out. Just rinse with water."

Clown barf hat ftw.

And then at night, I was like, "Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike. I don't feel like showeringggggggggggggggg."
And in all his earthy wisdom, he said, "So don't."

The next day: MOUNTAIN SELFIES.

Look how not-disgusting my hair looks.

I even got it to do that cool flippy bang thing.

And when we went hiking, the good looking-ness continued.

MOUNTAIN GOATS.

Eating lunch under the bridge by the river.

Fixing hair in the camera reflection.

Hiking without aviators is not as cool as hiking with aviators.

"Let's take fake engagement pictures by the waterfall!"

How does my neck even move at this angle? ____creepy____

But I don't think I've ever had a more photogenic hike than this one.

Key points from this article:
1. I like the Modern Farmer
2. Makeup and showers: less is more.
3. The trip to NC was fun and way too short.

And here's Mike and Mark having a thumb war with oven mitts on.

We're all dude-bros,
TWS

Content

My parents' yardwork is so much better than mine.

I know that's a weird sentence to say, but it's a true story.
Over the weekend, I helped my dad on the saw mill with sweeping and stacking wood. It was a beautiful day on Saturday, and I just felt like being outside all day in the nice breeze and shade.

I remember all the things my dad used to say to me to try and get me to do yardwork when I was a lazy bum.
I didn't believe him at the time, but all of them are true.
"It's good exercise!"
"You'll feel great!"
"You'll look at what you did and feel accomplished!"
"You get paid for it!"

Now that I'm a "grown-up", I guess that last one isn't true anymore.

So then I come back to my other home, and everything just seems so LAME.
I am not motivated at all to do chores or yardwork or cook or even shower.

TMI? TMI.

How do you bridge the gap between having to and wanting to?
Needing to and "getting" to?
Whining to whistling?

I feel like things are easier when they're not exactly my responsibility.
Like, I'm a way better helper.

Let's contrast and compare:
("Lift up your shirt; the wound isn't there." - Bright Eyes)
"Allie, please do the dishes." - NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
"Allie, can you help me with the dishes?" - ABSOLUTELY I WILL.

Even with cooking, I task Mike to help me, where helping is either chopping an onion or stirring cookie batter. Sometimes, it's even standing there watching and talking to me.

So maybe it's just the chores I have to do alone that suck monkey bars.

Think about that.
Sucking monkey bars.
How many germs from how many kids.
Pretty terrible, right?
Yes.

Blogging is a grown-up version of whining,
TWS

God vs. Curtains

A few months ago, I stopped studying German because I felt like it wasn't really going anywhere.

Why do I need to know the word for curtain? I don't and  probably never will, so why am I learning this?

I also felt kind of bad because I was spending more time studying a language than I was the Bible.

Then after talking it over with a fellow Christian polyglot-enthusiast, I realized:
WHY NOT BOTH?

I am proud to report that tonight I read Genesis 1 in German, and it was so freaking cool.

I read the Luther Bible 1912 version and also the children's book version, which was very amusing with its comic sans font, Microsoft Paint illustrations, and droll phrasing such as "Sea creatures and fish and birds were next on God's list."

I learned a lot, and I feel like this is such a better way to learn because it combines my love for learning in both language and content.

Besides, if and when I do speak with other Germans, I would probably want to talk to them more about Gott (God) than Vorhänge (curtains).

Alles ist Spaß,
TWS

Quantum Stockings

Here is a real life math problem.

WeLoveColors.com has flat rate shipping.
Ergo, it matters not if you buy one pair or twelve pairs of leggings/tights/thigh-highs.
Shipping is $5.
.

(that meant period)

So the more you buy, the more you save on shipping.

But guys, listen to me.
THEY HAVE SO MANY COLORS.

Like, this isn't your walk-into-Wal-Mart-and-they-only-have-brown-grey-and-black-so-I-guess-I'll-just-get-one-of-each situation.
I could get every single color of the rainbow plus different shades and patterns and I'm about to lose my ever-loving mind because having so many options is overwhelming and complicated.

And when things get overwhelming and complicated, I tend to pull out the old spreadsheets and try to devise a way to make them not so.

But this situation appears unquantifiable.
My best solution is:

8x + 5 = Stocking budget?

WHAT IS MY STOCKING BUDGET?
IS IT THE SAME AS A TIGHT BUDGET?
OMG THAT WAS A PUN.

Maybe I should just do process of elimination.
I'd never wear hot pink tights.
Or white ones.
Or anything purple.

Super. Now I only have 41 to choose from.

41(8) + 5 = $333

-_________________________-

There are probably other things I could be doing with my time.

TWS

Blue Hydrangeas

This is a story about the best waiter in the world.

The Best Waiter in the World

Once upon a time, my husband and I went out to dinner.
I think this was last fall around the time we got engaged, but that detail isn't irrelevant.
We went to Cheddar's.
I remember we went on an odd night. Like a Tuesday, or a Thursday.
It wasn't very crowded, but it also wasn't very sparse.
We were seated to our table quickly, but without haste.
And the best waiter in the world came to our table.

He was tall.
He had light brown hair, or maybe it was blonde, cut so short that it was hard to tell.
He wore a black shirt tucked into black pants with a black belt and black shoes.
He wore glasses, but I didn't get a good look at his eyes.
Then again, I wasn't trying to make eye contact with a stranger.
I was just trying to order food.

He came over to our table and asked for our drink order.
He took our order by writing it down instead of trying to memorize it like a tool.
He didn't go on and on about specials, or try to flirt with my husband/fiance/boyfriend.
He didn't introduce himself and say he'd "be taking care of" us that evening.
He took our orders and walked away quickly.
He didn't saunter.
He didn't visit the other tables in our area.
He took our order back to the kitchen with the diligence of a marine.

While our food was cooking, he came by our table to replace Mike's glass.
He did not bring a noisy pitcher full of ice to try and fill the glass.
He had noticed it from a far, took away the old, and replaced it with the new.
He did not interrupt our conversation.
He did not ask if we "were okay".
He left as quickly as he had come.

Our food was done shortly after, and he brought the dishes to us instead of having some stranger bring out the dishes to us, get them all confused and forget stuff.
He asked if we needed anything else.
"Enjoy your meal."
And then he WENT. THE HECK. AWAY.

Mike and I then continued to have a very pleasant experience.
He replaced our glasses as he had before, never interrupting our conversation.
He brought the check out at the perfect time.
Wasn't too early that we felt like we were being booted.
Wasn't too late that we felt we were waiting on him.

When he brought the check, he didn't bring it to Mike, assuming the man always pays.
He put it face down on the middle of the table and walked away to get us to-go boxes.
When I looked at the check, I reflected on how great a dinner it was.
It was quiet. I got to enjoy the company I came with.
I felt like I had had an actual service with my meal instead of a forced relationship with the waiter.
And in an ironic plot twist, I actually felt like I had a deeper connection with the waiter.
Like he understood me.
He understood that I didn't need to be babysat like other restaurant-going Americans.
He understood that I wanted to have a conversation with my date instead of my waiter.
He understood the perfect timing and elegance of wait-staffing.

Just for that, I then I felt like I should tip him tremendously more.
But then I realized, no.
He is an excellent waiter.
He is the best waiter in the world.
But he is what all waiters and waitresses should be.
Respectful, humble, accommodating.
Instead of gregarious, overbearing, flirtatious.

It was just that I had gotten so used to the annoying antics of all the other waiters and waitresses that I had forgotten what good, honest wait-staffing looked and felt like.
Many might consider his behavior brusque, uncaring, and aloof, but I would disagree.
I think people put too much value in verbal communication.
We were indeed "taken care of" without ever needing to exchange a word.
I'd argue that in the service industry, actions speak so, so much louder than words.

In the many times we have returned to Cheddar's, we have never been as fortunate to be seated at his section in the nights that we see him working.
I'll look over and feel slightly envious of the customers of his that get that quick, servitudinous nod of his when my view is blocked by my large, lip-sticked waitress asking me if I'm "feeling up for dessert tonight".

I gave him a tip, but he gave me hope.
Chivalrous wait-staffing is not dead.
It's just rare.
Alarmingly rare.

For reasons unknown to me,
TWS

Old Money; Lana Del Rey

NSFW

Here are some sketches my mom sent me that I embellished.

#productiveFriday,
TWS

Tuna Bus

Sean asked me if I had any plans for the weekend.
I thought about it, but I couldn't think of a single thing I had planned for the weekend.
I realized that I don't really make plans for the weekend.
Even though it's only two days away, or one, if you count Friday, I like to think of it as a completely unscheduled piece of calendar.
Every weekend is left wide open so that I can actually look forward to it.
The best weekends, I've found, are when I can just chill at home and I don't have to go anywhere except maybe pick up a pizza - but only if I want to.

I now realize that this is totally different from the way that a lot of people go out and do things on the weekend.
People make "homebody" seem like such a dirty word.
But not having plans is complete freedom. You can be up for anything!
It's like a Bud Light commercial but without the alcohol and alpha males.

Some weekends I'm super productive and do a lot of my hobbies.
I'll sew and cook and clean and plant stuff and learn a song or maybe two and go running.
These are the weekends I am proud of.
Other weekends, I just don't feel like moving at all and so I don't.
Instead, I'll read a book and watch Gossip Girl and research investments and nap a lot.
Maybe cut out a pattern or my hair if I'm feeling ambitious.
These are weekends I am less proud of.

But they're just as fun- I promise!

Never have I spent a weekend at home and thought, "Man, I really wish I would've gone out."
Because let's be real:
Go? That means I have to drive somewhere. And probably pay for something I don't need.
Out? That means I have to dress and act like a person.

However, just because I like to be at home doesn't mean I hate people. Part of what makes home home is the people (and kitty) that are there.

So it also baffles me is when people say something along the lines of, "I love getting the house to myself without the wife and kids."
First off, why have kids if you're not going to spend time with them?
Secondly, I freaking love spending time with my spouse. Even if we're just both in the living room doing our own things, we can still share snacks, jokes, and exchange interesting conversations like the following:

Me: I've got a hypothetical question for you.
Mike: Ok.
Me: Alright- so let's go back four years. Let's say that you had your college degree, but you didn't get the job offer from Mitsubishi and you had just gotten fired from Arby's for sexually harassing someone in drive thru. What would you do?
Mike: Am I an astronaut?
Me: What?
Mike: This is very important. Am I an astronaut?
Me: No...?
Mike: Oh. Well, you were throwing out so many hypotheticals, I thought I may get to be an astronaut.

It's so fun to be married someone who is so on the same page as me.

This is my idea of fun,
TWS

Video Games; Lana Del Rey

Aragorn

Did you guys see the sky tonight?
It was so pirate outside.
There was the moon and some foggy clouds.
No skeletons, though. That would've been real.

I went on one of my nightly strolls around the neighborhood.
I like to play this game called Tar, Toad, or Turd.
It's when I'm walking on the road in the dark, and I see some blob ahead of me.
If it jumps out of my way, it's a toad. If I get nearer, and it seems to have sunk into the pavement a little, then it's a turd. We have a lot of geese around. They poop a lot. And if it's neither of the two, then it's tar, gravel, or a rock.
Fun times.

Speaking of poo though, I was mowing the lawn yesterday, and my manual lawn mower got stuck in a pile of dog poop.
This is mysterious on multiple levels.
First off, I don't have a dog. And if I did, I wouldn't let it poop in my front yard.
Secondly, it was right on the dividing line between my neighbor's yard and mine. They have two dogs, but I doubt that they would let them poop there or in my yard. In fact, the poop has been there a week and we have both mowed around it, neither of us claiming it.
Thirdly, when the poop got stuck, it didn't gum up the blades or anything. It was like trying to mow through a pile of rocks. Like a combination of tar and turd.

So, you see, this is a very mysterious situation. So mysterious that books should be written about it.
Nancy Drew and the Case of the Mysterious Dog Poop
Hardy Boys and the Terrestrial Turds
Or would they be extra-terrestrial? Maybe that explains where it came from.
SPACE POOP.

I apologize. I have talked about poop way too much in two consecutive posts. I will try my hardest not to turn this into a crappy blog. But I won't try so hard as to not get hemorrhoids.

Ok. That was the last one. I promise.

Anyway, I decided to go on a walk tonight instead of a run. I've been gearing up for my 10k training, which I've already kind of started. I'm back up to running 1.5-2 miles a night. I even got this spiffy little app to track it all, and it turns out that my "Two mile" loop is actually 2.1 miles, and 2.25 if I go all the way home (which I do).

My pace is a little better than what I thought it'd be, and there's still plenty of room for improvement. I have surprised myself by getting back into shape quickly and being able to power through the heat. Running in 77 degree weather is like running in 97 degree weather. If I could just find a way to keep my earbuds from falling out of my sweaty ears, it'd be greeeeeeeeeeeeeat.

Tonight I decided to just walk. That's what happens after a three course Mexican meal, where the courses are taco, taco and taco. I like to get out just to stay in the habit of getting out. Gotta keep these 24 year old bones and joints still working.

Can you believe that? 24 years old? I'm almost an antique.

I still feel like I sit too much during the day.
Bible Study - on chaise in the living room
Commute - car seat
Work - chair
Lunch - bench
Dinner - couch

I'm even sitting right now, but I'm on the floor, so I'm building character. I feel like I'm always building character. Like last night, I was mowing the lawn (this was after I got the dog poop out of the blades), and sometimes you have to man-handle the yard. It gets really thick in some parts, so you have to pretty much run through the patch of grass so that the blades will cut it.

Keep in mind, I have it on the lowest setting, so I could make it easier on myself. I decided to be an overachiever so that the yard looks extra-decent!

So I'm out there, sweating my eyeballs off (this was before my two mile run) thinking Why don't I just PAY someone to do this!?!? 
And then I thought that I'm saving myself that money. $20 a week. That's like twice my normal pay.
Plus, exercise benefits. SWEATY DIVIDENDS.
Character building. I have so much character now it's not even funny.
And then I decided that lawn service is another luxury that I shall save up and pay for when I don't have to work for money anymore.

Sometimes you get up and bake a cake or something,
TWS

Racing Like a Pro; The National

Spelling

We gave Sam a bath today.

Well, a half bath.

The Why
Although Sam is not a full-bred Maine Coon, he has the fur of one which hangs off his little kitty legs.
Natural processes happen sometimes and get caught in the fluff of his legs. Most of the time, he's able to clean out the matting himself.
But sometimes kitty gets diarrhea and things get really bad.
That's what happened.

The When
I was so convinced that Sam had died this morning. Usually, he's up on the bed staring at me at promptly 4:33 am to get fed. This morning, I had a full morning of nice, interrupted sleep.
It was extremely nice, but it also felt wrong.
I went downstairs after getting dressed for work to look for him. He was cowering under the chaise, which was weird because he never sits under the furniture- always on top.
As I got closer to inspect, a distinct odor reached my nostrils as I discovered that MY CAT SMELLED LIKE DOODOO.

I guess he felt so ashamed of what he had done that he didn't want to sit on the furniture or asked to be fed. To say he was "covered in it" is an exaggeration. However, his backside was such a thick turdy-hair disaster, that I knew something had to be done right then.

I got Mike out of bed to say that Kitty is not dead, but there is poo and it is bad. Real bad.

The How
I put on my disposable gloves used for cleaning out drains and some heavy duty scissors. Mike held the front end of the beast and I tried to carefully cut around his legs.
Then I discovered the poo was not all dry.
I gagged.
So then we took him to the sink and started rinsing off his bottom half.
BAD IDEA.
That made the smell so much worse. Mike and I were both gagging. The drain backed up. The water turned brown. Sam was yowling. Great way to start the day.

So then we moved him to the tub, which splashed poo water all up on the sides and made the bathroom smell a little more like death. Sam was so upset. Mike grabbed towels to soak up the water.
"I think we're done for now."
I threw the towels in the laundry and Sam laid down.

During the Day
Mike and I went to work, but we were traumatized. We knew it wasn't finished. We spent some time looking at cat groomers. I called all three PetsMarts in the area and not one of them groomed cats.
What the heck.
It's not like I asked you to do a sanitary trim on my iguana.
Then we looked into the pricey boutique grooming shops.All of them would be closed by the time we got there, assuming we could actually fit Sam into his cat carrier, and this had to be done today.
We came to the stomach-sinking realization that we would have to do this ourselves.

The Shopping List
Cat shampoo
A brush
Fancy Feast
Kitteh Drugzzzz (catnip toy)

After Dinner
I put on the gloves again, and we drew him a nice little bath. Mike held his arms as I tried to scrape the poo out of his fur as fast as I could. The water helped it form into cuttable pieces, so I was lopping it off like a hairdresser during the Saturday morning rush. At last, we began to see the pale pink skin and the poo was getting washed away.
We sprayed him down to get all the soap out, and his little kitty legs looked so pitiful. The fluffiness of his fur completely disappeared and he just had these spindly little wet chicken legs holding up his blimp-like belly. His fluffy tail turned into a spindly snake lookin' thing.
Wet Sam was NAGL.
And then he started to weep. I kid you not. He had these little kitty tears welled up in his little kitty eyes. It was heart-wrenching and adorable all at the same time.

When It Was Over
We gave him a good rubdown with the towel, gave him a big helping of the Fancy Feast purchased for this very occasion, and put the catnip hedgehog toy in his face. After a few minutes, he was purring again, though his back half looked like a sewer rat.
I shudder to think of what he'd look like if we'd given him a whole bath. He probably would've scratched a lot more.
During the bath, he seemed to work with us rather than against us. It's like he knew the poo had to come out this way. Though he was meowing pathetically and digging his claws into Mike, he didn't try to run or jump away. He knew that this cleaning was a necessary evil and that his parents were taking care of him.

And now he's sitting right in front of me on the recliner like nothing happened.

I think the Harshner family grew a little bit closer today.

<._______________.>

TWS

Durch den Wind

Some thoughts on Earl Grey tea:

Let's not make it harder than it has to be,
TWS

Windows 10

Don't get excited. This post has nothing to do with Windows 10.

Two things happened again.

1. I responded to another Craigslist ad for female vocals. I feel better about this one because it's more than one person, and I responded the day after the post. Also, I think they have a sense of humor. They said that they would respond "with the quickness".

Maybe it's just a bunch a teenagers trying to start a garage band.
Somehow, that idea doesn't deter me. Oh, what it would be to go back and be 17 again but without acne and a fear of public speaking!

2. I'm starting to feel the strong need to start biking to work again. My job is only 8 miles away from my house now. I wrote down the reasons why I haven't done it yet, and my solutions beside them.
Here were the results:
1. I have to carry a backpack -----> Get a bike basket.
2. I have to wake up way earlier -----> #dealz
3. There's traffic around the interstate -----> #dealz

#dealz is a term that Mike invented to connote "Deal with it."

So I guess I'm just going to have to get a bike basket, affix it to my vehicle, and deal.

Speaking of dealz, I don't understand why glasses.com sends me an e-mail every day with their sales and dealz. Do people really buy new eyeglasses as often as they buy... other things?

There are few things I hate more than being marketed to.

What if I got saddlebags instead of a bike basket?
And I rode a horse instead of a bike?

"What if the moon was your car, and Jupiter was your hairbrush?"

So many possibilities,
TWS

Ocean Sounds

Today wouldn't be today without an awkward 21-square comic.

Fun fact: I spilled coffee on page 2 while writing it. I cropped it out, but you can still kind of see it on the left side.

TWS

This Risk

Today I did one of the riskiest things known to man.

I responded to a Craiglist ad.

Something about needing female vocals for chorus harmonies on an EP. 

The ad was about a week old, so who knows if I'll even get a reply.

I still feel nervous, though.

This is like that time I got into a car with strangers in Chicago.

Or like that time I bought a bike from a guy on Craigslist.

You know. Either/or.

What if it's like some old dude from Sonic Youth,

TWS

Sam Weighs 21 Pounds Now

Do gift cards count as assets?
'Cause I have a lot of gift cards.

We STILL have not bought curtains for our living room yet. I'm not really sure how doing so will change my life, but I once thought the very same thing about ice and a toaster, and now my life will never be the same without ice cold water and jam on toast.

It's still puzzling to me how curtains are called "window treatments". When I hear that term, I think of it being one step up from the silent treatment. Like, instead of ignoring your adversary, you throw them out of a window.
A defenestration, as it were.
A window treatment.
It's a life changer.

Today was semi-exciting. On Thursday, my capo broke. The metal just snapped when I tried to use it. I was upset, but then I remembered that the thing was about 10 years old. Just like clothespins don't last forever, I guess capos don't either.

I made plans to go to the guitar store this morning, but then I realized that I had these cool coupons from an Enmark for free breakfast that just happened to be on the same road as the guitar store.
And then I realized that breakfast stopped being served at 10:30.
It was 10:11.
So Mike and I promptly hopped in the car and got to the Enmark just in time for the best free vanilla latte I've ever had. And then we went to the guitar store and bought a new capo.

I also made a kiwi peach smoothie today. Just like any sitcom, it started off pretty good, but got worse over time. I think it's because the acid in the kiwi started to sour the yogurt.

When I was born, I was so surprised, I didn't talk for a year and a half,
TWS

Feelings

Came home today.

Ate dinner.

Edged the front lawn.

Played guitar.

*poof*

Just like that. 

My night was gone.

I'm doing this "time management" thing more halfheartedly than the way Iron & Wine sings Fever Dream.

But they fixed the ice machine at work, so that's been cool,

TWS

What Just Happened

One of the things that I really liked when I first got into running was how dark it was. I would go after dinnertime during the winter, and it was just me and the moon. Now, they've expanded construction to the far side of the subdivision, so my boulevard of broken dreams has streetlights now.

boooooo

Although, running through sprinklers owned by people who negligently water the sidewalk is a summer pleasantry. It cools the legs, and if you can catch the breeze just right, it feels amazing.

In connection with my last post, I've decided that instead of adding an extra hour to my day, I'm going to attempt to slow time down. When I do things out of my routine, the days seem to last extra long, so I went to the park tonight to exercise instead of running the same old route in my subdivision.

First of all, the park is awesome. There's water and trees and grass and forests and ducks so many ducks there are many ducks yes ducks. And it's great. An established forest is such a nice change from the suburban pavement and construction scenery.

Secondly, I high-five trees when I run past their low hanging branches.

Thirdly, I can't NOT run to Avril Lavigne's song "Girlfriend".

Fourthly, I can't decide if it's okay to run in just shorts and a sports bra. I always see pictures of girls working out in a sports bra in magazines, and there are guys at the park who run topless, but I can't figure out where to draw the line.
Maybe sports bras are like the skinny jeans of working out. Like, if you can rock it, then you could. But if you can't, then for the love of all that is good and holy, don't.

Fifthftlhftlhflthly, I drove home with my windows down blaring playing and screaming singing to Taylor Swift. I pulled in my garage, turned off the car and kept singing. Then I was like, "Oh, look, the recycle people came. I'll just go wheel in my bin." So I keep singing the whole way down my driveway because there's no one out here, right? And then I grab the bin, turn around, and there's my neighbor, enjoying a cup of tea on her porch.

And waving at me.

It's like that time I was singing and my dad sneaked up on me and sprayed me with the water hose.
Except without the water hose.
But with all the overwhelming embarrassment of an eight year old girl.

Should I go back should I go back should I,
TWS

Asthenia; Blink 182

Gear

I organized the hospitality drawer.

The hospitality drawer is a drawer in our kitchen that Mike and I used to throw all the little extras that we saved from restaurants and hotels. Napkins, duck sauce, Wendy's chili crackers, sugar packets, Domino's parmasean cheese, Taco Bell sauce and the like.
Before, it was just a huge assorted mess, which was kind of overwhelming once we started running low on stuff and I had to go rummaging around.
So I organized it into neat little bags. Now when my dad asks for jelly, I can open up the drawer and quickly see that, no, I still don't have any jelly.

Someone put googly eyes on my phone at work. It was a great day.

Tomorrow night, I plan to drive to Savannah, have a nice dinner, spend some wedding store credit (OMG TOASTER), buy Mike some new jeans, maybe get some ice cream...

This is after, of course, we go to the DMV to get my name changed on my license. I was able to get my social security number changed through the mail. I used food stamps.

My food stamps:

I had to buy these from the government.

I'm not even sure Mike wants new jeans. He ripped his only pair chasing after Sam in the backyard, so his Fridays haven't been casual for weeks.

I offered to take him shopping for his birthday, but I realized that was more like a punishment than a gift, since he really hates shopping and trying on clothes. But I can't just buy him stuff and expect him to like it, much less wear it.

Me: I should've just bought you something for your birthday. 

Mike: I'll use my birthday money, I promise.

Me: But I feel like I have this outstanding loan to you. A Michael payable.

Mike: Well, at least I'm not charging you interest.

Me: Are you sure?

Mike: Yes...unless you're interested.

Can you believe I laughed at that? I laughed at that pun. 

I was also on some mild painkillers at the time, but still. I laughed.

Something has been heavy on my heart lately.

Something that I went years thinking at which I was good.

Time management.

In school, this meant getting all your S done before the deadlines.

But now, it's more to make sure life doesn't just pass me by.

I was talking to my dad about this, and he says time isn't moving faster. We just have more "landmarks" than children do, so it just appears to go by faster now than when we were kids.

I've done some of my own research. Here are the things that take the most time:

1. Sleeping

2. Watching TV

3. Miscellaneous crap like reading the mail, checking Facebook, doing chores, plucking eyebrows, picking out your outfit for the next day

Which is why weekends go by so fast because I'm mainly sleeping, watching TV, and doing chores. Mystery solved.

This is how a typical workday is for me:

7:00 - wake up

7 - 7:15 - get dressed/makeup

7:15-7:20 Go downstairs, get coffee

7:20 -7:50ish Bible study

7:50 - 8:05 pack lunch, brush teeth, unload the dishwasher if I feel so inclined

8:05-8:22 commute

8:22 - 8:30 walk across parking lot

8:30 - 5 work

5 - 5:07 walk across parking lot

5:07 - 5:30 commute

5:30 - 7 change clothes, eat dinner, watch shows with Mike

7 - 10 ACTIVITIEEEEEEEEEEES

10 - 10:30 shower/dry hair/read Pillars of the Earth

10:30 - 11ish go to bed

What's interesting to note is that it takes me one more minute to walk from the car to work than it does to walk from work to the car. True story.

Activities include fun ones like playing guitar, sewing, and blogging, but it also includes unfun ones like exercising, cleaning, mowing, and paying bills.

But 7-10 just goes by SO FAST for me at night. Sometimes I just sit on the couch thinking about things and then BAM it's 9 already. 

I feel an Enya song coming on. 

whoooooo can say where the rooooad goessssssssssss where they day flowssssss only tiiiiiiiiiiiiime

So I've thought about how I can shove an extra hour in the day. 

How about getting up at 6 instead of 7?

Theoretically, I'd wake up, and get exercise out of the way. I'd have a nice breakfast and maybe clean some around the house. Or I could sew a little and study German/write my German pen pal (oh yes- I have one now!). 

Then do my normal routine starting at 7:15 or so and go to work.

That way, when I come home, I don't have to exercise, and I can just do more activities. But then I feel like I'd get tired an hour earlier, and then it'd just be my same routine with one hour shifted to the front.

Plus, when I get tired, I can't do anything useful anyway. I start acting like a computer that hasn't had a Windows update in a while.

So that's the caviat. The catch 22. The way Milo Minderbinder buys eggs from himself and sells them to himself to make a profit.

I don't really enjoy costume jewelry,

TWS

Tutelage

I was heckled earlier by a fan who urged me to post.
I know. I am SUCH a slacker.
I'll give you the same excuse that I have for not studying German anymore, not playing Roller Coaster Tycoon, and only researching investments on my lunch break:

I get paid to spend 8+ hours in front of a computer, which makes me want to come home and not sit at a computer. So instead, I come home and do ACTIVITIES!!!!!!!

Plus, it's summer, so, yeah.

The blog you should be really excited about is this one. I have THREE, count 'em, THREE new outfits to update on and they are some of my best projects yet. I feel like I'm getting good at things.
According to this illustration, it only takes 7 years to master something. I've been sewing for about 6 years, so I guess I'm approaching it.

Which means my mom is like a god...ess.

I don't feel like I've almost mastered it, though, but there's definitely some evidence. I'm even taking out some of my old poop projects and either fixing them or putting the materials to better use!

Also, I can listen to music or "watch" Gossip Girl while I sew. Serena is retarded. And I just found out today that there is a band called True Story.
True story.

Mike and I built a computer last night. I guess that's what married people do. It took three and a half hours, but it works. Building a computer was never on my bucket list of things to do.
Still isn't.

 I've realized that I've one of these people that saves everything to their desktop.
The following folders on my desktop are named as follows:
"That random folder I miss so much"
"For now"
"New Folder"
And yet I still have a tornado of files surrounding them all.
I think my brain remembers thing by location.
What's the file called? I have no idea.
Where is it? 4 icons up, 2 over. Rise over run, baby.

In order to clean it up a little bit, I dragged and dropped everything in another folder that I simply called "Atrocities."
Now I'm not going to be able to find anything.
Not like I'll ever really need to. Bazinga.

I think one of my projects one day will be to go through all my files and really delete stuff.
Right now, I'll ashamedly admit that I'm still in that vulnerable phase where I come across some huge accounting project from school that I could very well delete but instead think, "What if I NEED it? How will I validate my degree and existence if I don't hold onto all of my spreadsheets of fictional companies!?!?!"

I'm so logical.

I have become better over time, though. Much like Sam, who has become fatter over time.

*picking up KFC one day because sometimes you just gotta use KFC coupons*
Me: Can we have chicken in the car?
Mike: NO! We're not going to be like fat Americans who eat in the car! We're going to be fat Americans who go home and eat it in front of the TV.

I'm now going to talk to you about two things:
1. My blogging process, when I do actually get around to doing it
2. My new job

Blogging Process

Good ideas are kind of like farts. They just come out of nowhere, sometimes when you're not expecting it. And sometimes, they happen in the shower and then you are suffocating yourself in the glass box and cannot wait to get out so you can breathe/write it down so you don't forget it.

Sometimes it will be just a quote, line, verse to a song, or just a culmination of ideas and ruminations.
But these are GOLDEN NUGGETS, and they must be saved!

So whenever I have a good bloggable idea, I go ahead and type it as a draft. Then, when I feel like writing, I just start going and occasionally pick one of these drafts to include or add onto or leave out altogether.
Currently, I have 13 drafts, so it's not like I haven't been busy. Unfortunately, some of them relate to my former job, which isn't relevant anymore.

Example:

Me: How can I pack pasta for lunch? Because pasta doesn't store well, so when you open it up the next day, it's all limp and mealy. What I'm hoping is that I can put pasta sauce on top of the noodles, and then when it microwaves, the sauce will ignite the pasta and burn the building down and then I won't have to go to work anymore.
Mike: Wow. I did not see that coming.

My New Job

I feel nothing like the former paragraph but I am SO AFRAID of saying that I like it because I also liked tax at first, when it was learning everything and doing the fun little work before it got all complicated, stressful, and boring.

But yes, I like it. I like it a lot, actually. It makes me think this is what I should've started off doing right from college.

Again, I'm still in the learning phases, which is really fun for me, but what's also nice is that I have a nice give 'n take of tasks to do.
Working in tax was like standing on a beach watching a tsunami come.
Working in corporate is like sitting in the sand, feeling the nice, ebb and flow of the daily tide.

I took a day off, just to enjoy today.
I'm also going to help some friends move later.
There's something about moving in three digit degree weather that makes me feel alive and dead at the same time.

Haulin' cube,
TWS

Indoor Pool

I had a fascinating phone call with a retirement representative today.

The goal of the phone call was to convert my SIMPLE IRA (I'm not yelling at you; that's what they're called) to my shiny, new 401k.

After two transfers and explaining my situation to 3 different people, I was put on hold to "see if the plan allows this". Turns out yes, and then I just need to submit this, that, and fill out this form, and then everything will be okey dokey brown and smokey.

After I got off the phone, I looked at the form, which blatantly lists SIMPLE IRAs under "unauthorized sources of contributions".

So then I called a fourth representative that confirmed yes, I was right, and no, there would be no transferring of funds between retirement accounts.

Retirement accounts become more retarded the more time I spend looking into them, which is another reason I'm glad I'm not in public accounting anymore or advising people on what retirement vehicle to use because in my mind, they all suck.

My favorite part of the first phone call was when he was looking at my investment choices.

"I see you picked an S&P 500 index fund. You have a pretty aggressive allocation. If you would like some help with that, we are always here to help you out."

My  thought is that if I can't touch this money until I'm too old to ride roller coasters, I might as well stuff it in the highest earning accounts I can and not worry about it.

SO SORRY that my radical thinking doesn't "align" with the "recommendations" for my "age group".

Also, he was passive aggressively trying to sell me a managed account feature.

In my experience, here is how managed accounts work:

Taxable earnings:         $8,000

Management fees         <2,000>

Actual return:                 6,000

Here is how non-managed accounts work:

Taxable earnings that you can earn 

just by picking a few solid mutual funds:  $6,000

Management fees:                                                     0

Actual return:                                                     6,000

It's almost a no-brainer.

Almost.

And don't be fooled how management fees are "tax-deductible". They're like medical expenses. If you have enough of them to deduct, you probably have a bigger problem than saving taxes. 

I guess in my case, they wouldn't be taxable or deductible since it is a "tax-advantaged" account. Even so, less money is less money.

So what I'm trying to tell you is that I need to go roast some coffee right now.

Every time I see a pretty person marry another pretty person I'm like yessssssssssssssss,

TWS

Debrief

Cat, meet bag.
Bag, meet cat.
Cat, find way out of bag.
I GOT A NEW JOB CAREER.

Of course, if you're reading this, you probably already know that. Maybe because I told you ahead of time, but maybe also because it was the fourth sentence of this post.

I'm still kind of in shock that I actually set out to find a new position at the place that I wanted in the field that I wanted, and that everything worked out. You may recall from this post that I did interview with them before.

I called it my dream job then, but in just a few weeks it will be a reality.

The whole career change thing started as an innocent little mentoring meeting where I wanted to talk about how to advance in the area of small business and move away from estates & trusts.

The situation was that the mentoring partner is 61. All partners must leave the firm at age 65.
When it's five years away, they have to have a secession plan.

I'm not really sure how this works in a limited partnership. Some partners are "sweat equity" which means you buy-in to a partner position by working there so many years. Other partners are capital partners which means they purchased an interest with some sweet cash.

Enter me: the green CPA with two years of experience and an interest in small business.
Manager/partner in five years?

I'm not sure if I would be expected to work until I'm 65 or buy-in with sweet cash, or some hybrid of the two, but the whole "being a partner" thing has a whole kind of permanence feel to it.

"That's an option for you...if you want it."

I guess that's what all or most CPAs aspire to.

Not me.
I've always said, "I never want to be partner" to friends and family, but in a professional setting, when I get asked where I wanted to be 10 years from now, I'd innocently say, "I don't know" while thinking, "Retired?"

But with the opportunity staring me straight in the face, I'd be a fool not to jump on it, right?
And if it didn't work out, then I could just leave whenever I wanted to, right?

I did the scary thing and looked long-term at where I actually wanted to be in 10 years.
Turns out, it had absolutely nothing to do with public accounting.

Because with all the prestige and money and community and posterity, there is of course a down side.

That being the mere stress of it all.

Busy season aside- do you know that good and happy things can equally cause as much stress as bad things?
Try wedding planning. It'll make you never want to get married again. (And if all goes right, you won't have to!)

So mulling over this "opportunity" in my head a week after the mentor meeting made me realize why I was hesitant to jump on it at first go.

I am not cut out for busy season. I'm just not.
It encroaches on to your weekends. Even if you don't go into work, you're still thinking about clients and their needs and dreading the impending e-mail storm that hits every day.
It infects your mind. In infects your dreams. It infects your life.

Some people thrive during busy season. Busy is good, but too busy where you become sick 3 times in a 3 month period? Not good.

I worked my fanny off in college, and it definitely paid off, but when a semester was over, I felt like I could LIVE again. My goal after college was just to find an accounting job. I didn't care what it is. As long as it paid $40k or more and I got to play with numbers, I was game.

Of course, public accounting was the solution since turnover there is so high anyway. I wanted to get my license too, so that worked out.

But I think that's all public accounting was going to be for me. A job.
I was always hesitant to call it a career because it didn't feel like one. Taxes never lit my soul on fire with the flaming passion of a thousand burning suns.
Granted, I don't think any career will ever do that, but it'd be nice to come to a job that didn't make me want to stuff my face in a blender (tangible tax returns).

One day a couple months ago, I was so bored that I started weeping at my desk.
I think I was working on a trust tax return at the time. It literally bored me to tears.

I thought that if I got away from the boring stuff into small business, I'd be fine. But the more I said that, the more I felt like a foamy, phony piece of baloney. Small business seemed interesting and all, but I'd be responsible for more than a dozen clients and marketing to get new ones and it all seemed very overwhelming.

So then I took a step back.
Took a big step back.

What do I actually enjoy doing?

Bookkeeping stuff.
Details, baby, details.
Reconciliations. Schedules. Transactions. Journal entries.
I liked when I got to help out with that review over the summer with that one company.

That was the key. Doing all of the detailed fun stuff for one company.

It suddenly all made sense. Financial and managerial accounting were my favorite classes in college. Not tax. Not auditing. Just doing the behind-the-scenes puzzle-solving number-crunching.
There were reasons I still liked parts of my job, but the things I did like couldn't outweigh the things I didn't.

For instance, a lot of people like public accounting for the client interaction. I actually don't like this as much as I thought I would. I think it's because I'm a big, fat introvert, and I don't enjoy small talk.

*phone rings*
"This is Allie."
"Hi, Allie. This is _____ from ________."
"Oh, hi! How are you?"
"Fine. How are you?"
"Fine."
__________________________________<--- this is the part where normal people carry on the conversation but instead I just hold the phone waiting for things to happen. I mean, after all, you called me.

No man is an island, but I am definitely a peninsula. Hanging on by an isthmus.

Also, I am so afraid of being wrong. I always feel like I'm on a stage when I'm talking with a client. I get all nervous, and they ask me questions because I'm the professional. And I do know a lot of things off the top of my head, but I always like to double double triple double super check things before I say them or send them in an e-mail because people will probably go with whatever I say because that's what they pay for, right?

Right.
And that's kind of terrifying.

I'd hate to be wrong because it involves people's money. And people get really angry when their pecuniary expectations are not met.
I would know. I did work in student accounts for two years.

So even though I was good at what I was doing, and I had the opportunity to advance, I didn't inherently enjoy what makes public accounting public. After realizing all of this back in February, I got kind of sad. I really didn't want to start all over at a new job because I had worked so hard in this one. But after some long runs after long days, it became clear that it was exactly what I needed to do.

Then God posted the perfect position in a prestigious company within even closer biking distance to my house.

It had to have been God. It was too perfect not to have been. When everything worked out, I realized that it was so, so far above me, and so completely out of my hands.

I am where I'm supposed to be.

TWS

Quixotic

Certain events have transpired since we last spoke.

Or since you were last lazily scrolling through your newsfeed and saw this update.

Being done with busy season has opened up some opportunities to get back to things I think I remember I liked doing:
1. Sewing
2. Blogging
3. Drawing comics
4. Watercolor paintings (oh yes. OH YES.)
5. Sleeping in

I didn't get to do that last one on my day off because Sam came in screaming with a feathery toy in his mouth and would not leave me alone. So then I got up, got coffee, and he laid down beside me and napped. What the heck, cat.

Did I tell you Mike and I are going to start roasting and grinding our own coffee now?
"Omg Allie. That is so, like, hipster."

But it's not for any of the hipster reasons other than we like coffee.
We're not getting organic coffee, we're not doing it to save money, we're not starting our own business. We're just doing it because it sounds like a cool thing to do.
And we really really, like, like coffee.

One crack, light roast.
Two cracks, burnt toast.
Life hacks, gulf coast.
Black axe, white ghost.

That's not really anything. I was just saying words.

I had a delightful day off. After being woken up by the previous mentioned kitty alarms, I had my coffee, bought some stock, and  read all my happy birthday messages from Facebook, which were just absolutely wonderful.

The rest of my day happened as follows:

I cleaned the entire house. Except for kitty's room. That's kitty's responsibility.

I had a grilled cheese and organic tomato bisque for lunch. Don't worry - I found it for half off in the bargain bin at Kroger. I am fancy, but I'm not that fancy.

I had a long conversation with the air conditioner guy about cats. It was less of a conversation and more of just me listening to him talk about his cats.

I made my own ramen noodles. We'll see how this works out. During the last week of busy season, I found a cup o' noodles on the bargain bin for 30% off, which was hilarious, because I got it for 19 cents, where it was normally 29 cents. I SAVED A WHOLE DIME. WHAT.

Anyway, it tasted way better than it should have, so I kind of bought some more just to get me through the week without having to make lunch because having to make your lunch is one of the worst things. But now, I can concentrate on how to make a similar tasty product without committing nutritional suicide. I boiled some noodles and shocked them in cold water and now I have par-cooked noodles and chicken base to play with. I'm probably even throw some cooked shrimp into one.

Then, I ate popcorn and researched random things on the internet for a while, like sirenomelia.

I fixed two dresses and a top while singing Taylor Swift VERY loudly. And then I did some sketches of some cool pants I plan to make.

It was a surprisingly productive day. I don't know why I'm always so surprised when I accomplish so much in my days off. I guess it's because it's just so unlike most of my other days.
Hahaha
Haha
Ha

I'm afraid I'm becoming like Wal-Mart.
To quote Mike, "Wal-Mart does a lot of things, but it does none of them well."

Sometimes I feel like I have too many hobbies, and I want to do and learn to do so much in the world, but there is just not enough time or talent to do them all, so I do as much as I can, and I try to do it well, but everything I create is not really phenomenal or great. It's just all kind of mediocre and a diluted version of what-could-have-been.

I sew, but things are still flawed.

I run, but I'm not even fast. I mean, I'm faster than I once was, but I'm as fast once as I ever was.
Toby Keith, what have you done to my language?

I try to learn German, but I'm still not fluent. Although, I did get really excited about this time that I interpreted a paragraph and only didn't know like 5 words.

I write songs, but none of them are paramount. Or even coffee-shop performance material.

"And everything I made is trite and cheap and a waste of paint, of tape, of time."
-Bright Eyes

Yes, I DID just quote Bright Eyes because there is nothing that explains this feeling better.

I guess the only thing that keeps me from being totally depressed about this is that I have fun with these things. I mean, I'm not doing them to make money or to make any sort of living. I'm just messing around, but I'm having a blast.

I wonder if Wal-Mart has fun sucking at all that it does.
Probably not.

And that's the difference.

My how the years have flown,
TWS

Just So Happens

Only one more month of being une mademoiselle.
Then I'll be a Mrs.
How weird will that be?

AND YET HOW EXCITING.

In approximately one month around this time, we will be making berth in the port, some of us a little more married than others.

And since we're doing countdown sorts of things: only two more Saturdays to sacrifice to the tax gods. I haven't gone running since Tuesday.
*shriek from audience*
I know, I know.
Shriek is a weird word. It's like Shrek, but not.
Still, I'll have a good two weeks between my birfday and my wayden to become more beach-bum-surfer-girl looking-ish.

Starting with... THE MALL opens the day after my birthday. Which, for the past 3 years, I have celebrated as my birthday. I also started the tradition of watching a Disney movie on my birthday last year. I think this year's movie shall be... the Little Mermaid.
Because she gets married on a boat in the end.
DISNEY IS JUST LIKE REAL LIFE YOU GUYS.

I kind of have to brag on my fiance a bit here.

So you know that new mower I was gushing about last post? It came on Tuesday. Mike had to put it together since I was still at work, and then he wanted to see how it worked, so he started mowing a bit in the back yard. And then suddenly, he was half way done and thought he might as well finish, so he did.

When I came home, I wanted to see how it worked, too. It's a little bit louder than I expected- so scratch the mowing at midnight idea. It sounds like a bike with metal cans tied to the tires. Also, I tried to mow with all the outside lights on, and it was still too dark to see, so scratch the mow at midnight idea AGAIN. I only got one of the side yards done.

The next day, I was still working crazy hours. So not only does Mike go pick up food for us to eat, but he also finished mowing the front lawn.

And he got off early from work today to take my sister to the airport.

I have typed and deleted so many sentences just now because I cannot explain in words how much this means to me.
I caint essplane it.
He has been such a rock the past few months.
Like a really good rock.
Like a rock that is so good you wish it was a person.
And he is.

Mike: Sleep is just a thing invented by people who wanted to sell mattresses.

Days are good and that's the way it should be,
TWS

Bright; Echosmith

Annuity

I was looking for my headphones today, and I found them in my purse having a dirty, dirty threesome with my lipstick and a pen.
I felt like I had walked in on something really wrong.

In other news, I am really excited about our new lawn mower!
Hashtag grown-up enthusiasm.

"But Allie, didn't you just buy a lawn mower less than a year ago when you got a house?"

Aye. But the "guaranteed to start" slogan is an egregious falsehood.
We replaced the spark plug.
We emptied the old gas and replaced with fresh gas.
We changed the oil.
And the thing still sputters like an old tired horse.

From reading online, it might be something with a carburetor and a dead battery and at this point any other time or effort spent on it is a sunk cost.

So we bought a push reel mower. One that doesn't require spark plugs or gas or oil or engineering know-how.
All you have to do is clean the blades and sharpen them every couple years or so.

I. AM. STOKED.

I think the best part about it is going to be lack of noise.
Es ist sehr ruhig.
We could mow at midnight if we wanted to.

Sure, it might be harder to push than a self-propelled machine, but it's about time I got some muscle-y arms. Michael already has muscle-y arms. He can do a WHOLE push-up.
I'm so peanut butter and jelly.

However, I did actually got a compliment on my calves the other day.
Baseball legs?
Yeah I don't think so.

In a pie chart of exciting things happening in my life, the lawn mower is about 10%. The wedding is about 40-50%. And the other 40-50% I cannot share with thee. I know I'm always doing to this to you guys. Blogging about "secrets" and whatnot. It's like, why does Allie even blog at all? She doesn't really tell us much anymore. She used to be such a whimsical scribbler, but now all she does is write about things she can't write about. It's like reading the blog of a secret service agent.

Chyeah, if the agent was about to get a cool lawn mower!

But do you want to know a different secret?
Red lentils are better than regular lentils.
They probably make better mosaics, too, if you're into legume art.

I said, "Yeah, okay, cool. That looks like it will work." to the dress,
TWS

Farce

Today I was driving home after working an 11 and a half hour day.
I had my top down to enjoy the weather and what remained of daylight.
I didn't feel like listening to the radio; I just felt like singing some of my own songs.

I began warbling, but as I picked up speed in my car, the wind drowned out my sound, and the vehicles beside me created additional noise.

At this point, I reached over to my volume button and actually tried to increase my own volume as if my voice was coming out of my speakers and could be controlled by a dial.

o.O

True story.

Among other things,
TWS

Swatch

I have some feels for you guys.

Here are some feels:

Sheer Terror
That moment when you almost pee your pants because you set a file on the total button on your adding machine, and it started feeding the paper when you were total-ly not expecting it to.

Bitter Disappointment
That moment when you have your convertible top down, and you're cruising onto the interstate, increasing acceleration on the windy turn from exit 162, only to be brake gradually and slowly merge into rush hour traffic on I-16.

Absolute Serendipity
That moment when you realize that your wedding is 9 weeks away and that the weather is going to be so pretty and that since you set the date on your four year anniversary, every time you celebrate your anniversary, the weather will feel like it did when you first fell in love.

I'd rather my dream be just mine,
TWS

Besides; Sam Behymer

Guaranteed Payments

It's 29 degrees out.
I'm ignoring Sam and his incessant pawing and ripping at the door to go outside.

Allie Buys Discounted Fruit

I discovered the discount fruit rack at Kroger about a year ago.
On this rack, as you would've guessed, is discounted fruit. Every bundle you find is 99 cents.

Most of the time, it's bananas teetering on the edge of decomposition. One time, there was a bunch of bags of avocados. They were so squishy, they were pretty much just guacamole encased in skin.

A lot of the time, too, they'll have grab bags of old regular fruit. Like an orange, a pear and an apple. Or three apples. Or when Mike points out the bag to you with four apples in it when you were about to buy the one with three in it, you get the one with four.

I started buying discounted fruit because I always feel, like, guilty if I don't get around to eating it. This is why I only buy 5 bananas at a time, and why every winter I debate whether to buy a whole bag of clementines because even if I eat 1-2 PER DAY, some will get moldy by the time I get to them.

I'm also always reluctant to buy a whole bag of oranges or apples because what if I don't feel like eating them, you know, like, ever? And then you forget about them in the bottom drawer of your fridge and end of throwing them out when you actually do find them.

Like right now, I know I have anywhere between four and six grapefruits that I know are too far gone. I could go get them out and throw them away now, but instead I'm going to let future Allie deal with that.

Buying discount fruit makes me feel less guilty because I didn't spend much money on it, and if I have to throw it out, it was probably bruised to begin with. No biggy.

But here's what I'm finding out: I actually eat all the discounted fruit I buy.
First, it's because they only come in sets of like 3-4, it's a perfect amount for a week, so I don't have to figure out how to store 10 pounds of produce because it was "such a good deal."
Potato sales.
Yeah.
You know what I'm talking about.

Secondly, they take all the guess work of having to pick out fruit.
Mike gets so upset with me because I'll spend "hours massaging" (his words, not mine) avocados before deciding on one.
But if they're already bagged up, I just pick the ones that look the least gross and roll with it.

Thirdly, they give me a variety of apples! Red delicious, Gala, Fuji, Yellow Delicious, Granny Smith. All in one week. And I didn't even have to think about it OR think about which ones were on sale.
Sometimes, Honeycrisp apples (my fav) are like $3.49 a pound, which is ridiculous.
Today, I found one in my lunch that cost about 20 cents (yes! they had stuck FIVE apples in a bag this week).
It was the highlight of my day.

What I'm trying to tell you is that Kroger rox. And if they ever EVER take away that discount fruit rack, words will be had.

Words.

Sig-oths,
TWS

Foyer

Dial's Himalayan Pink Salt scented hand soap is a life changer.

It costs $1, and I fully endorse it.

You know what is another life changer? Consistency.

In this article, the guy talks about how consistency is his superpower.

My superpower is Googling things for people older than me, but consistency is a close second. 

I have recently discovered this in the past 2 or 3 months where I have been consistently working toward certain goals. This is not meant to be a bragging-in-your-face kind of a post, but an inspiring-let's-all-win-at-life kind of post.

Learning German - I have been sitting down every night to knock out a few review lessons. Sometimes it's after 11 o'clock at night. My course tells me I now know 51% of the language, but I think we all know that's a bit high. However, I tried to translate an article the other day, and I actually knew what they were talking about! And sometimes, I'll be in the kitchen or at work just thinking in German. 

E.g. "Es ist zeit fur Kaffee. Kaffee macht alles bessere."

Yeah, that may be misspelled and missing some umlauts, but I know some things, man, and some stuff.

What's encouraging is that it's only going to get better from here. 

Losing weight - I was very surprised at this one. As you know in my January 23rd post, I wrote about running. I had always heard that cardio is what helps you lose weight. I'd add that it's consistent cardio that will help you lose weight. Day after day I ran (which is why that post translates to "Every Day"), and week after week, I saw results. I also started eating homemade vegetable soup for lunch every. single. day.

Let's throw some numbers on the board:

October: 

Weight: 137.2

Waist: 28.5

Hip: 39

February:

Weight: 127.4

Waist: 26

Hip: 37.5

It didn't take me 4 months to do that. I lost the majority of weight after I started running consistently after my 5k in January. I may be inclined to post some pictures when I'm all the way there.

Fair warning.

But here's what's so exciting about this and I why I wanted to lose ~15 pounds in the first place:

My clothes fit sooooooo much better. In fact, today at church, I was able to wear this dress, which is one of the first dresses that my mom and I made together. A few months ago, I tried it on and it was SO tight in the waist it would barely zip up. This morning, it fit perfectly.

Quick note: I got a couple compliments from the older generation today on the dress. Probably because it came down all the way to my knees. 

o.O

So now my skinny jeans are falling down on me? And I've reached last belt loop?

Yes. This is what progress feels like.

(And, yes, I may have to go buy new pants soon.)

I ran 6.3 miles yesterday, which is more than a 10k. I texted my life coach, and she said that a 10k is 6.4 miles. I don't understand how a 10k could be more than twice a 5k, but math has never been my strong suit.

Oh, wait...

But if I had told my high school dryland-hating self that I'd be running this mileage in just 6 years, I would not have believed me. Perhaps this is why time travel is not possible.

Singing - So I've actually been working on a new album...I've written 2 whole new songs in the past 2 weeks which is probably more than I did all of last year. 

Like, playing guitar is almost at the point of "omgomgomg I can't wait to get home so I can play it" and I LOVE IT.

I haven't been riding my bike to work, so when I get in the car, I listen to music on the way to and from work. 

And I sing. 

Oh, I sing. 

I sing LOUD.

Doing this consistently has really improved my ability to turn meh songs into AWESOME songs. 

That is, I sing better-sounding and more challenging things because I CAN.

Saving money - I'm going to keep this short because you guys know all of my thoughts. But consistency has definitely worked for me in this area, too.

That, and the phrase, "Is there a greater waste?"

Growing spiritually - In Sunday school, we talked about how the ordinary means of grace are a long term strategy for ministry. Essentially, it's not going to be some showy worship service or emotional revival that changes your life long term. It's doing the ordinary things: studying the word, taking the sacraments, prayer; and doing them week after week. 

Then suddenly (plotzlich), you look back at where you were a year ago and you realize that you're not in the same place. You're not the same person. In fact, you're way better off, and you know so much more. How did that happen? 

Grace upon grace.

Consistency.

I wonder who Allie's life coach is,

TWS