I've been trying all week to think of something hilarious to put up here, as this blog is supposed to be that. However, this week has been so craptastic that I can't even think past the very minute I'm in, as it's just way too depressing.

Therefore, I will write a haiku in honor of my favorite food, cheese, and then go make some French toast for breakfast and see if that helps at all.

smooth and creamy cheese

sometimes you smell just like feet

but it's not your fault

Merry Christmas, everybody. 

Dear My Neighbors,

I realize that you won't read this, as you are highly religious people and probably do not read frivolous things, such as blogs about farting and my love of cereal. That being said, I need to let you know something.

You guys are kind of jerks.

See, I am not religious. I am a Christian, and to me that's different, because it doesn't just mean I have a bunch of rules to follow. It means I have to love everyone. Every. One. Even you.

That's about it. I still drink beer, have a multitude of friends that I'm pretty sure you consider unacceptable (much in the way that I consider religions that denigrate women, ethnicities other than Anglo, and non-hetero people to be unacceptable), and have chosen not to use my fully functional ovaries to produce children. I know that in some people's eyes that lessens me and my family. It's okay; you don't have to like me, I am still trying my very best to love you, even though loving someone who is so openly judgmental of my life is really, really hard for me. But I'm trying, because in my humble opinion, there's no point in calling myself a Christian if I don't love people. That's pretty much the whole entire point.

At any rate, don't you think it's a wee bit hypocritical for you to look down on me because I'm not the right kind of religious, and then to steal from me?

Yep, if you get my mail and/or packages, then open it up, that's stealing. Point blank. Now, keep the circulars and credit card offers all you want. I don't care about those. What I do care about is the package that I ordered for my husband for Christmas that mysteriously disappeared for two days, then showed up on my doorstep last night in the middle of the night.

Sure, it's a possibility that the mailman came out and made a delivery at like 2 a.m., but then he's the one who tore open the box, pulled all of the wrapped items open, then folded the plastic over and taped the box back with regular tape.

I'm pretty sure he would've used heavy duty packing tape in that case. Seriously. Who wouldn't? I'm going to notice that one. That lightweight regular house duty tape looks nothing like the packing tape used on the bottom of the box, plus they don't send stuff out from the warehouse all opened and looked through like that.

So I know it was one of you guys. Nice.

Look, I don't want to make this a bigger deal than it is, but how dare you look down on me when you're a thief? Maybe try just being human beings together in a non-hostile way. We all have to live here together, and we don't have to be friends, but we could just be kind. That's all.

And, just so you know, I would never, ever steal your mail. That's crappy.

Love and Kisses,

The OCD Lady Who Notices Everything

Because it's all snowy and lovely, yet I still have to put on boots and go to work, I would like to present you with my top ten list of things that are just the worst. 

10. Having to get up at 5 am when it's not light until almost 7. That is poopy, and the story of my winter life.

9. Rashes. Especially rashes in areas where scratching in public is embarrassing or potentially illegal.

8. Running out of the good salad dressing, but not knowing it's gone until after you made the salad. Then you're stuck with a pale imitation of the salad of your dreams.

7. When your boss is talking to you and she farts and then says, "Excuse me." It would be easier to just ignore it and then giggle at your desk, but what are you supposed to say at that point? "No, I won't excuse you...that was nasty."? And you can't laugh, because that's not adulty.

6. Sticky stuff on the floor in the kitchen. Grandma Corky, I feel you on this one. It makes me die.

5. Making a huge batch of jam that doesn't set. I know it can just be used as syrup, but it's so much work and terribly disappointing.

4. When you run out of the comfortable pants and don't have time to do a load of laundry so you're stuck in the pants that make your butt look presentable but make life miserable for the whole day with their stiff scratchiness.

3. Getting a hole in the fabric part of your favorite pajamas, so you know you can't just keep mending them, as the fabric is so thin it's see-through, but realizing how many years it took the pajamas to get that soft and nice, and that you may have to do that all over again.

2. Looking at puppies online when you don't have a dog and know that with your allergies, you'll probably never have one again. Sigh. Puppies in Christmas sweaters, especially.

1. And the worst of the worst? When I get a sandwich at a restaurant and they cut it in half, which ruins it, because sandwiches should be eaten outside in, with a perfect middley bite in the center to save for last. They just shear that thing apart with no regard for my middley bite. Jerks.

So there you go. Enjoy your day.

Is it a new thing to go to appointments of one kind or another straight from a workout with horrendous b.o., looking like you've just been sprayed down from head to toe with sweat?

Apparently it is. At least, in my neck of the woods.

The real problem, especially in winter, is ventilation. It's just too cold to open a window, but if I'm gagging too hard to be polite, what else can I do? And then I say something ridiculous, like, "Hot flashes!" even though I know you know I'm not quite to the hot flashes stage yet, and then I feel guilty for hours, because I didn't want to sweat-shame you. I just didn't know what else to do.

I try to time my workouts so that I can shower after. Just, always. I would never, ever subject someone else to my post-workout hair, for one thing, and although I don't sweat very much (it's kind of weird), I am sure I don't smell like unicorns and rainbows. 

But within the past four days, I have already had two people show up for appointments fresh from the gym, only not-so-fresh.

Did I miss yet another memo? Is this okay now?

I don't know if I want to live in a world where people don't shower and then bring their aromas into my space. I just don't know, man. That is definitely NOT the Christmas spirit.

There are a lot of people in their 20s out there. Like, a lot. I guess they've always been around, but as I get further away from my 20s and closer to my 40s, they get weirder and weirder.

It couldn't just be me.

At any rate, they are out in full force on the interwebs, trying to be deep and educated and whatnot, and, for the most part, failing miserably. Kids, deep has already been done by the likes of The Cure, Fiona Apple, and Shia La Beouf. Give up and move on.

I get that you're educated and you're just now discovering Steinbeck and Hemingway, but everyone else has read that stuff too. As a matter of fact, some of us read it in our teens, because teens were smarter back then than they are now. Deal.

Also, why is it so important to tell everyone you know how altruistic you are, all of the time? I don't get it. When you do something good, that's great, but it diminishes it significantly when you have to rush to tweet it, like it's some sort of societal badge of honor. I mean, that's great that you spent your weekend at a soup kitchen, but posting a selfie on Instagram of you with a homeless person doesn't really make your deed any better. It's just you, seeking validation.

Also, try to keep in mind that everyone who is older than you is tougher than you, simply because we have survived longer. You don't know it all. I promise. 

Finally, talking about how very young and cute you are to all the people who are 10-15 years older than you isn't young and cute. It's annoying. Youth is not really an achievement. We've all done that, and then we move on. Calm yourself. If you want people to tell you how young and cute you are, go visit your grandma. That's what they're there for.

Yes, it's Monday. Why? Oh, my inner curmudgeon is showing. Oops.

So yesterday was the day of the gross.

I've been on this closet cleaning out thing for about a week now, because this weekend I'll be completely emptying two closets, cleaning and painting the inside and adding some storage thingies, and then putting everything back in.

I don't want to have to replace things I don't use.

Anyway, I've been selling some stuff on the interwebs and then meeting people in town, so I've been parking a lot more than usual. Yesterday, I was parked in a lot for a store, waiting for the person to come pick up her earrings, when BOOM. I turned around and this lady was projectile vomiting out of the door of her car. So much barf. And her feet were outside, so they were getting covered, and I kept turning away, but she just kept barfing. I almost did it myself after a minute or two. Whoa. It was pretty crazy. I have to remember not to park in that part of the parking lot there for a while. 

Then, I went to someone's house, and discovered what true filth is. I vaguely know this person, but not well, and I should've noticed when I was standing on the doorstep, which was covered in rat poop, and smelling the stinky funky house smell from outside. Did I run? Nope. Didn't want to be rude. Let's just say that the inside was way worse than the outside. It was a cornucopia of smells, including dog pee, rat pee, 30 years of cigarette smoke, and all kinds of old food, left out on the counter. Yeah. I about died. 

Immediately after that, I had to drive home to teach, so there wasn't enough time to shower, so I hung my 'dry clean only' jacket in the garage (of course, I wasn't wearing something washable...sigh), changed all of my clothes, and washed my arms and face to try to minimize that lovely crackhouse  smell. 

So gross.

At any rate, I hope today is cleaner. If not, I may die.

Ah, Christmas prep time. I love it. I was remarking to my husband that, now that November is about over, I only have one more month of the year that I actually like before I hate everything again.

Yep, I like October, November and December. That's it.

I know some people long for the spring and all that, but I seriously hate it. So my year is divided up into four parts. Not Summer, Fall, Winter, Spring, but similar.

First it's not Fall. It's "Ah, let's eat cookies and start on Christmas presents!" season, at least, in my brain. Because that's what I do. It's also hikey time, but this year I have failed to take even one hike, and that is just horrible, so I'm ignoring it for now. This season runs from October through November and is my all-time favorite.

After Fall comes "Christmas! Wait...it's over...can we at least get a snow day?" season, which runs from December through the beginning part of January. This year, for example, we were promised the whole El Niño deal, but I'm not buying it. I do love me some Christmas, but as soon as that's over, it's time for...

"How did I gain that much weight over Christmas? Holy crap, I need new pants. It's also going to be hot soon." season. Yes, the most angsty season of the year. Post-holiday-time feelings plus the anticipation of warm weather. Oh, and also the juniper, but since that's pretty much year-round, it can't really be crammed into a season. This one goes from January until May.

Finally, my most hated season of all, the one that makes me want to die for three solid months every year (this year was particularly wretched), "Why did we buy a leather couch? My thighs are stuck to it and I can't free them. No, I didn't work out, I was too busy sweating and complaining." season. Hate it. June through September. Maybe this year I will get that pesky time travel thing invented and just skip it.

Let me have my pretends. I've only got this one month of decent left before I hate life again. 

Well, it's the day before Thanksgiving and I'm not off work, but I have so much to do. I have to figure it out, because this week I ended up spending way too much time in the office and not enough time getting my own crap done. So today is catch up day, and it's probably going to kick my butt.

However, I don't mind busy. What DO I mind? Fifty thousand Facebook posts about everyone in their pajamas all day today, and knowing half of my students won't show up for lessons today because they'll forget because they all have the day off. Seriously.

When did we start adding days to holidays? I don't have the kind of job where I get holiday pay, so two days off, unpaid, is plenty for me, thanks. Especially since I just took a big old vacation and stuff. When did Thanksgiving Wednesday become a thing? Where was I?

I was probably in my head, not paying attention, but still.

Oh, well. I'll figure it out. I may not be able to wear pajamas all day, but I'll still get to bake my pies, so that's good, and maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to change out of regular pants by 6 pm. That would be swell.

And maybe next year, I'll remember, and just take today off like everybody else.

P.S. I'm totally not shopping ANYWHERE on Thursday or Friday. Not at all. I'm going to celebrate how thankful I am, and not buy into the meaningless consumerism that's ruining the holidays. Just a thought. Also, so many people. It makes me die. You should stay home, too, if you can. And if you have to work, ugh. I'm so, so sorry for all the crazy you have to deal with.

So this week was pretty poopy for me, and I thought it would be a good idea to take a few minutes to write down some good things. Just so I can remember when everything is not going as I'd like it to.

I have an awesome family. We fight and we disagree about ever so many things, and I think I may be more foul-mouthed than my mother ever thought a lady could be, but we also love the crap out of each other. We worry about each other and we stick our noses in each other's business, and we bug the heck out of each other. Because even though we have different ideals and religions and politics and lifestyles, we are an exclusive club of weirdos and we will always care for each other. So, yeah, awesome.

I have really cool friends. I worry sometimes that one day they will figure out what a dork I really am, but so far, so good. And even though I am perpetually busy and never have time to hang out, they still let me Facebook stalk them and occasionally meet me for a beer. That's pretty darn great.

I live in the most beautiful little house I've ever seen. These walls are mine, along with all of the weeds and the dust and the gorgeous baby trees. It's like Wild Kingdom in my backyard, except with birds, gophers and bunnies, rather than lions and stuff. I get to live here. Even though it's hard to fit all the crap I want to do in here, this is mine. Well, ours. And having a warm, safe place to live is freaking incredible.

Most importantly of all, I have a person. My very own person to take care of and bother whenever I want. He's mine, and I'm his, and there's no undoing that. And he has the the most lustrous hair you've ever seen, so that's pretty sweet. Also, he fixes all of the broken things and makes sure I don't forget the important stuff, which is vital because I inherited my father's memory for daily tasks. Basically, I can remember everybody's age and favorite color and what my mom's favorite dessert is, but I can't remember why I went to the grocery store or which bills I've paid this month. And he is just all-around lovely and I would pick him again in a minute.

So, yep. I have all of that. The other stuff is just extra. Plus, Thanksgiving is around the corner, so I should probably remember all this and get on board with the thankfulness.

I have some voice teacher confessions to make. It's been one heck of a week, and I feel like I should just get these things out in the open.

1. I start preparing for Christmas in August because you guys don't practice. If I thought you would be consistent, we would start in October, but we both know that's not going to happen. The few people who actually have their stuff together get to do fun Christmas songs and everybody else just gets to sing their pieces over and over with me, because they're not doing it at home. Trust me, you'll be glad we did.

2. Sometimes, the thought of teaching your kid makes me want to run into the bathroom and hide. But I can't. I know I'm going to have to sit through thirty minutes of, "I couldn't practice this week. My mom wouldn't let me." and I just don't want to have to keep a straight face so I know I'm just going to look down at my notebook and have your kid basically do a practice session with me. Instead of learning, which is what lessons should be, you're paying me to watch your kid do something he should've done a few times at home. Nice.

3. I know when your kid is spending ten minutes in the bathroom to avoid the above. And there's nothing I can do about it, except wait it out. Sorry.

4. I give out certain Christmas songs only to people who can sing them well enough to not make me die inside. There's a reason we don't do Silent Night very often: Because I like it and I'm picky.

5. Please take note that it takes me weeks to work up the courage to send you a note about your kid. I don't do it lightly, but sometimes it seems like the student is actually getting worse from week to week. When I do express my concerns and then you're dismissive, it lets me know that you're just using this as expensive daycare. Therefore, my goal for your student basically changes to getting through the half hour without anyone crying. Myself included.

6. Recitals are hard. No one likes them. I hate them worse than all the rest of you because I have to do all of the work. Don't act as though you're doing me a favor by being in it. This is all for your benefit, people. I would rather spend my evening at home watching Netflix and eating Chinese food.

7. I love some of your kids so much that I have periodic bouts of thinking I'm missing out on something by being childless. Thank goodness for those other kids that pull me out of my insanity.

8. Finally, I work two other jobs so I can afford to do this. It means something to me. Every time you cancel at the last minute or act as though the little bit you pay me is too much for what I do, it insults me and hurts my feelings. Maybe, I don't know, treat me how you'd like to be treated, and we'll all be just fine.

That is all. 

My studio's Christmas recital is only a month away, so we are in full-on repeat mode to make sure everyone's super memorized. One of the songs I'm hearing frequently is My Favorite Things from The Sound of Music, and it's been stuck in my head since yesterday, so I thought I'd share a list of my favorite things about my dental office job.

Yes, there may be some sarcasm on this list.

5. It is always my favorite when you come in five minutes late and then say you have to run to the bathroom. That means our schedule is thrown off by seven minutes or so, and they have to do forty-five minutes of work in only thirty-eight minutes. Nice. Make the people with sharp instruments in your mouth rush.

4. It's also my favorite when we hit a snag and are running a few minutes behind, and you get up in my face about it. Because, yes, I can totally help it. I can definitely control time and space and make that weird thing the doctor just found in someone's mouth that she's having to work around go away. Yep. Magical me. Therefore, come up and get mad. It'll help.

3. Another of my personal happy times is when you eat onions and garlic and b.o. and then come in without bathing or brushing your teeth. It's a small office with horrible ventilation. Yes, I do love smelling your b.o. all day long. Bonus points if you sit in my waiting area and fart.

2. There's no denying the delightfulness that occurs when you hit on one of the staff. I know, it's hard to resist someone who's wearing baggy scrubs and a mask, who's removing plaque and tartar and decay from your mouth. It's even cooler when you throw in the fact that the person you're aggressively hitting on is basically forced to be nice to you or she can lose her job. So, yes, pretty much a singles' bar up in there. Go for it!

1. Finally, my number one, tippy toppest, most favorite thing of all about my job? When patients yell at me because they have to pay for stuff. I've had three irate women so far this week, and I'm sure there'll be more today. I really do have control over the market prices, and it's not like my bosses went to dental school and it took a bunch of time and money to complete their training. Not to mention the nasty, slimy filth that lives in mouths with which they get to be up close and personal. Yeah, they don't really need to get paid for that. It's a privilege for them to get to scrape that crap off of your teeth and to pay thousands of dollars a year for special insurance in case they lose a finger or get sued by someone. So, yes, do come in and yell at me about having to pay for stuff. It's not like I know your address and the fact that you live in a $500,000 house, or that I know where you and your husband work, and I can pretty accurately estimate that you make more in a month than I do in a year. Go on and treat me like a pile of dog crap that just ruined your fancy shoes. Indeed, I do control the prices, and I can totally write off your entire bill if you're mean enough.

Today's going to be amazing. I can just feel it.

I have totally decided to do homemade Christmas this year. I'm not trying to be cheap; I just really want my gifts to mean something beyond taking two minutes to buy a gift card. I don't need anyone to buy me exactly what I want. I want something that made them think of me.

Yeah, I'm ruining the holiday for everybody else.

I just have decided, in recent years, that I hate the commercialism, and I'd rather have way less, but thoughtful stuff. So I'm making a huge portion of what I'm giving out for Christmas this year, and I'm pretty excited. I hope everybody else can deal.

My first project, that I decided on a month or two ago, is finally coming together, and it looks like it's going to be a success. It's a homemade skin care item, and let's just say that I tried it on myself yesterday, and I remain totally hive-free and it actually worked pretty well! So that's good.

I have a really long list of stuff to make, but it makes me happy. Maybe after Christmas I'll post what I did. The gift for the people at work is coming out really awesome, so I'll have to remember to take pictures.

At any rate, it's coming. Maybe we can all do our best to really be kind to one another and stop being turds. You know, in the spirit of Thanksgiving/Christmas time. Let's do that.

Alrighty. I had a bunch of questions the other day on the meat thing, and it got me thinking about exactly what it is that made me decide to keep on not eating meat. I haven't gone to full-on vegetarian, as I do eat soup made with chicken stock, and I will eat stuff that was cooked with meat and just pick the meat out. Also, I had pepperoni on my vacation, and it was pretty darn awesome.

Otherwise, I just don't eat meat. Or fish.

So, anyway, I guess what bothers me is the idea of these poor animals being raised in horrible conditions, being fed a bunch of crap, and then being killed so we can eat them. That's really it. I feel like if I buy milk from a good quality dairy, where the cows are treated well, that doesn't bother me, and if my eggs (as much as possible), come from a place where the chickens are fed well and treated humanely, that's okay too.

I realize it sounds a little wishy washy, but that's kind of how I roll.

So maybe if I felt like the animals got a little bit of kindness and were fed well, it wouldn't bug me. I don't know. But my whole life, I've had trouble with the idea, and I even had to pretend to myself that it was tofu pepperoni when I had that pizza. 

I am a very good pretender. It totally worked.

So, that's it. No deep philosophical or moral reasons. I have absolutely no problem with people eating meat. It just makes me sad to do it. I think I thought I might come up with a better, more compelling reason along the way, but I really haven't. Still just me, having some feelings, and despite thinking about trying to incorporate some meat into my diet, I just don't think it's time. I can get my protein somewhere else.

If only I could feel sad about eating cookies. That would be fantastic.

I decided, during my time at Disney World, to make a scavenger hunt so that everyone who takes a trip there can have just as much fun as I did. Be warned, though, it might take an hour or so to find all of these things, and it does require a park hopper pass, as you might need to visit multiple parks. Here we go!

1. Find twenty pairs of short shorts with a lace overlay. Really big ones count as two. Bonus points if the person wearing them has carefully coiffed hair that has just been ruined by a water ride.

2. Find someone throwing up in the bathrooms closest to The Mad Hatter ride. Those teacups can spin!

3. Find a mom with a group of four or more children who doesn't look like she's about to take an axe to the entire group. Bonus points if she's smiling. Good luck on this one.

4. Find a guy who is openly groping his girlfriend's butt while waiting in line to take pictures with Winnie the Pooh.

5. Find four full French fry cups, each just sitting on a table in the middle of an empty area.

6. Find twenty people using cell phones during a ride they just waited an hour to go on (20 sounds like a lot, but I think this is actually the easiest one).

7. Find a person who ordered the optional side of green beans rather than fries to go with their hamburger.

8. Find five guys in tank tops who are so hairy they keep getting mistaken for Brer Bear.

9. Find ten grown women (40s and up) who are wearing princess costumes, prancing, and tee-heeing.

10. Finally, find a drink. And a bench. You just won.

What's your prize? Just being awesome, my friends. Because that was rough, especially number three. Have a magical time.

Back from vacation! 

It was really wonderful. No flight delays, no baggage lost, no money missing, and nothing left behind. It all went almost too smoothly, which is unusual for us. We even slept well and didn't get sick.

Great time, but I'm so glad to be back in the land of dry.

Did I mention heat plus humidity equals hell? Because it does. I have no idea how people survive in that swampy crap, but I would just die. I would rather it be hotter, but drier, because that Florida business is ridiculous.

We walked about a billion miles a day, so I only ended up gaining about four pounds. That is some kind of miracle for me, because it's usually eight or more per week, and we were gone ten days, so I was scared. I think the not eating meat thing helped, though, because although it seems like Disney has options for vegetarians, they really don't have a lot for me. Veggie burgers out the ears, and some salads, but those had no protein, so not a great option. Would've killed for some eggs or peanut butter but no such luck.

They did, however, have chocolate croissants for breakfast, so I was pretty set there. It was amazing.

We got to ride lots of rides, go swimming, do a little shopping (not too much, though, because holy crap...pricey), and see a couple of movies. It was very relaxing and lovely. No wine or beer, though, at the Epcot food and wine thing, because everything was so expensive, and I just can't bring myself to pay $15 for a beer (imported, yes, but come on). People were paying like $8 for a Bud Light. Seriously. Just couldn't do it. I'll have wine at home.

So, yep, home now. In the cold, drizzly, rainy October that is just so much better than Florida's hot, sweaty, stickiness. Because ew.

Also, New Mexico skies and sunsets win. Hands down. No contest. So, there's that, too.

Yep, I'm still busy in my mind trying to match up people with their movie/TV counterparts. My dad's was pretty easy, but some of the others are giving me a harder time. So this morning, I'm going to go with a hybrid for my mom, since there are two people that stand out in my mind as her: she's a little bit Hyacinth Bucket from Keeping Up Appearances, and a little bit Rose from The Golden Girls.

Weird combo, yes, but that's my mom.

My mom is every bit as naïve as Rose. For reals. If you ae ever trying to sell something that may or may not be a piece of crap, go to my mom. She will buy one. However, here's where the Hyacinth kicks in, because she will (ever so nicely) hound you to your death when it breaks, until you fix it. 

She is also a ham and loves to be the center of attention, as does Hyacinth, and she calls my Dad to go do stuff every five minutes. My Dad is pretty much the epitome of Richard, except Richard never burps, so that's not an option for him.

With the sarcasm and general pessimism my sister and I bring to the table, and my dad's general stubborn hilariousness, my mom is totally Rose. She's got her own happy place up there in her mind and it's pretty hard to invade that personal space. Ain't nobody got time for that.

So my mom sort of floats around in her own little world, like Rose, but when it's time to get stuff done, she's all Hyacinth. So there you go. She's a hybrid. Like a Prius, but cuter and way more expensive.

I was thinking last night.

Shocking.

Anyhow, I was deciding what movie characters everyone would be if I had to pick. My dad was the easiest. He would definitely be Grandpa Joe from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Not the new one, the old one. 

Why? Because, number one, he would totally lie in a bed for years and years, eating cabbage soup and Dutch-ovening all the other old people just for fun, and then hop out of bed to go on an adventure. He pretty much does stuff like that all the time (not really on the bed part, but with all of that cabbage, I can only imagine the smell in their house...whoa).

I can also see my dad taking me somewhere where we would burp all over the place. We just do that. It's our family tradition. Plus, it's hilarious.

Finally, if I was in a contest where the guy was a poo at the end, my dad would've totally snuck us back into the fizzy drink room and we would've re-burped (et cetera) all over Mr. Wonka's ceiling fan. So, a little bit different from the movie, but still.

Have I mentioned that we burp and fart? Because we do. Frequently. My mom tried to teach us how to be ladies, but my dad was pretty much of the opinion that people gots to let that stuff out, especially our people.

It's in our DNA.

So that's my dad. I still have to think about the rest because it's pretty important that I get it as accurate as I can.  You know, for science and stuff.

The weather is really depressing right now. I mean, I get that some people might enjoy the warmth, but come on. It's October. Can I get a little sweater weather?

I've been checking The Weather Channel every five minutes, because obviously a major change is going to happen, and I don't want to miss it; however, for some reason that crazy thing is telling me it's going to be in the 70s all week next week.

For real? 70s? When I have a closet full of boots, sweaters, and other warm soft things waiting for me to wear them? That doesn't sound right. Plus, winter last year was pathetic. Pa. The. Tic. So I feel like we need double this year to make up for it.

I'm so sick of hot.

Ugh.

Just checked again. No change. Can't we do something about weather yet? Like, shoot cold air up into the sky so it gets the message? I don't know. I'm not a scientist. If I was, though, look out. I would invent all kinds of things to make it cold. Like air conditioners, but fancier and harder-working.

That is all.

So yesterday was just horrible. Just...yep, horrible.

I found out that my allergies are actually worse now than when I was originally tested (and at that time, my doc told me I was the most allergic adult he'd tested), and I have new ones, too. Including feathers, so that's great, considering I have a bird and I sleep on a feather pillow.

Well, not anymore I don't. Sleep on a feather pillow, I mean. The bird is staying put. He's mine.

Then, after all the loveliness of the allergy testing, I went and saw the jaw specialist. I've been needing to go for years, but I've put it off because...well...it's real, real expensive. No kidding. I am in the absolute wrong line of work, because holy cow.

Anyhoo, they confirmed that my jaw is, indeed, jacked up (to use the words of another doctor I saw about something related). Apparently, I am a big old deformed mess up in there. Plus, I'm allergic to or can't tolerate every medication they wanted to try to use to fix it; therefore, he actually recommended rectal ibuprofen. RECTAL. IBUPROFEN.

Yeah, can you see me taking my meds at work? Sorry, just one second, I need to take my ibuprofen. IN MY BUTT.

Thankfully, we're trying homeopathic anti-inflammatories first. Because gross. I'm just not a fan of putting pills in my hiney. I will also have a super sweet retainer to wear all the time, to ensure that the jackassery of my look is fully realized.

Maybe I need to grow a mullet and start wearing mom jeans all of the time, too. Acid washed ones. Just to really commit to the style.

I hate my new pillow.

I hate yesterday.

I need cake already, and it's only 6 am. Looks like today may be reeeeeaaaaal productive.

I made it!!

I survived a whole week without Zyrtec!!

Okay, that may not seem triumphant, since I'm also on Nasacort and Singulair and a steroid cream, for my eczema, but I can say now, for sure, that the Zyrtec is what makes the difference between me being a little rashy and itchy and me wanting to claw all of my skin off. One of those C.S. Lewis Narnia books (The Voyage of the Dawn Treader) has something like that in it, when a kid puts on a gold bracelet, becomes a dragon, then has to peel all of his skin off.

Except I didn't get the fun peely part, nor did I get to be a dragon, so I lose.

This itching has been really rough. But I had to do it so I can get new allergy testing done today. Still, though. Whoa. For the first six days, I had no steroid cream, either, because it was my week off of that, and let me tell you, I thought I was going to die. I've been fortunate enough not to get measles or chickenpox, but I imagine it's something like that, only mine is longer lasting and those are much grosser looking. I really did think I would die, though.

Okay, maybe not really die, but it felt like tiny ants were crawling all over me all of the time, waking me up all night, etc. Gross. Also, the worst itchy places were places which should never, ever be scratched in public. So I'm having to go around the corner every two minutes to scratch at that horrible patch on the back of my thigh right under my butt, or the one on my chest underneath there where the bra wires are. It's super ladylike. I'm sure my mother would be ever so proud. 

But tomorrow morning, I get to throw my Zyrtec back in there and get some relief, thank goodness. Also, though, Saturday was my day to start the steroid cream back up, and that makes a huge difference, too.

Yep, you wanted to hear all about my eczema. It's fascinating, isn't it?

Too bad. That's all I've been thinking about for like six months, so I get to share.

Okay, the day has finally come. I've been putting it off for...well...technically, it's been like 25 years or so, but I'm finally doing it.

I'm going to the orthodontist.

Yes, to talk about joining that sweet club called "Adults with Braces".

Maybe.

I don't know if I can handle it. I mean, I'm pretty easily irritated by things that feel weird, and having a bunch of crap in my mouth might just be too much for me. I don't know. I had a spacer for a while when I was a kid, and that was pretty terrible, but then again, when I was a kid I was a slob and I didn't ever remember to turn the key thing on the roof of my mouth, so I would only turn it right before my visit a bunch of times, which hurt like crazy.

I don't think I would do that now. I'm way too anal retentive.

At any rate, it's just a consultation, but I'm super nervous about it. I have all of these questions in my brain, but I worry I'll forget everything, blurt out something stupid, and arrive home with a mouth full of metal rather than the Invisalign ones which I'm really going to push for.

Ugh. Adults with braces are the worst.

No offense. But for reals, I am already dorky enough,thankyouverymuch. I don't need help from brackets and a big old chunk of my lunch. Can you just imagine me with a gargantuan piece of protein bar hanging out of the front of my mouth as I smile geektastically? 

I can. And it's terrible. I may die.

Maybe jaw pain isn't so bad, after all. Maybe it'll just go away one day and I won't need braces.

This may be a loooooong appointment.

Ah, bakey time.

It is my absolute favorite, other than canning time, which I will try for next weekend. I just ran out of weekend before I could get to the jam. It was nice, though, to get a bunch of my co-worker's beautiful apples processed and saved rather than just going to waste, which just kills me.

We had company on Saturday, so I did homemade hummus (which doesn't count as baking, but I wanted to throw it in anyway), a peach crisp and I finally got around to trying a recipe for brioche buns.

Not going to lie. They were glorious.

We actually had some leftovers so I got to have a big old vegetable sammich for lunch on one yesterday, and I nearly died from the happy. See how pretty?

And then yesterday, I baked two big batches of apple oat bars to freeze for later. My house has never smelled so good, plus I have a nice full freezer. I think next week, I'm going to do my jam making and try to make some more buns to freeze because holy cow.

Did I mention they were awesome? Because yes.

Call me Suzie Homemaker if you like. I know you're all just jealous of my buns.

I am so happy that it's Friday. So, so happy.

It's not like the weekend is completely off or anything, but this week was pretty hard, and I am just tired. Tired of everything. So it will be nice to do some normal houseworky stuff and to not have to dress up for a few days.

Also, beer.

Maybe it's just that deep down inside, I am incredibly lazy, and I just want to sit in a dark, quiet house and do nothing for like three days. That sounds awesome.

Alas, none of that in sight. But it is Friday and I made it through High Holy Days unscathed (and, really, those people at the temple are probably the nicest people I've ever worked for, so singing there is pretty awesome), and I have a shiny sparkly present to myself coming in the mail to match my shiny sparkly present from my lovely husband, so that's cool too.

I guess it's not so bad. As long as I make it through today. Also, beer.

It's a Yom Kippur miracle! I slept last night!

Okay, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but it feels pretty darn miraculous. I was not looking forward to doing Yom Kippur all sleep-deprived and whatnot, which is how I did the stuff for Rosh Hashanah.

And now I don't have to.

Also, it's pouring rain outside, which is pretty fantastic, too. Just an all-around awesome morning, and I'm so glad because not sleeping has been my friend for too many nights lately and if I had to pick a night to get sleep, it would've been this one.

Huzzah.

I believe what did the trick was the pink doughnut we picked up on the way home last night. That must've been it. It did have sprinkles, after all. It could've also been the exhaustion or the Benadryl, but I like to think it was the doughnut. Those things are magical.

At any rate, happy day today. Yessssssssssssss.

Oh my goodness this week has been crazy. It almost doesn't seem real that it's Thursday, so it's only been a couple of days rather than like a month.

Time is moving slowly for once. Weird.

At any rate, though, the slowness of time doesn't seem to have calmed anyone down. Rather, I think there is more catty nastiness happening this week than normal, which is saying something. I've come up with a solution to make everybody happy, because solving everyone else's business is exactly what I like to do. So here goes: Let's all have a nap.

That's right, nap time. But for adults.

The beauty part is that you don't actually have to sleep if you don't want to. You just have to go lie on your bed (or in the blanket fort under your desk), turn out the lights, and be quiet for a whole hour.

Just an hour. I think that's all it'll take.

Then, you can get up, go back to work, and stop being such a douche. Seriously. I think it'll work. I think everybody's just so wrapped up in all nine billion of their daily tasks to just calm it down and stop being crappy to everyone else. Seriously.

Oh, and maybe some graham crackers and milk would be a nice addition, as well, but I don't want to go overboard.

Well, apparently, not being able to sleep the night before a performance, no matter how small, is my new thing. Yay!

I mean, I was hoping my new thing would be a million dollars or losing twenty more pounds before Christmas, but hey...this is awesome too. Or not.

Ugh. 

I had singing yesterday and today, a gig that I've done for four years running, and I couldn't sleep night before last. So last night, after I get home from the gig exhausted and totally ready to hit my pillow, what happens?

Yep. I read for a few minutes, felt super sleepy, laid my book down and promptly could not sleep. Just, not at all. Wasn't dwelling on mistakes in my performance or any of that, just wasn't happening.

After about an hour of that, I moved my happy butt into the guest room so my husband could at least attempt to get some sleep.

Ugh again. Just ugh.

So now I'm contemplating going to the doctor for some Ambien or something like that, only the last time I tried it, a few years ago, I had a time or two where it didn't knock me out and I just stayed awake being cuckoo all night. That's no good. I have two more performances, and I would really love to sleep before them, as they are longer than the one last night, and being this tired does not, contrary to popular opinion, enhance what comes out of my mouth.

Unless you mean spit. I can still spit with the best of them.

So, ugh. Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh.

Alright, enough complaining. Time to go sing some stuff for some people after attempting to put on mascara after approximately two and a half hours of sleep. Huzzah!

I can't believe it's still so hot. Is it this hot every September? Have I just forgotten? And where is this below-average temperature action we're supposed to be having? This heat is giving me massive eczema, and I am tired all of the time. Let's just stop these shenanigans, shall we?

I think weather is a lie.

I have sweaters in my closet. I would like to wear those sweaters. And jackets. I have those too. Summer is the worst.

Why don't we all just concentrate all of our energy on making fall happen? Seriously. Instead of all of the other things in the world, let's worry about my comfort level, because I am seriously about to lose my mind with this whole summer equals eczema thing.

Except that I have it in winter too, so there goes that argument.

(Not to be off topic here, but spell check just corrected the word "argument" and changed it to "gargument". That is not a word. Not at all.) 

Anyway, let's figure something out here. I am done. I want sweaters. Let's do this.

If this post is any indicator of how my mind is going today, I really feel sorry for any work that needs to get done today, because I am probably just going to fail at that too. Because hot.

I am super done with this week.

Actually, it's Friday, so I am, indeed, just about done with this week. In honor of that fact, I would like to share a list of my top five things right now. These are the things that get me through my crazy, with number one being the toppiest of the top. Right now, anyway.

5. Murder, She Wrote. That thing is always going to be up there. I loves me some J.B. Fletcher and I loves me some TV yelling time. That show provides both in ample quantities, plus I can do other activities while I'm watching, so I feel like I'm actually accomplishing something.

4. The Weather Channel app. I check it about fifty times a day, waiting for a weather report that includes temperatures below 70 degrees. Because heat is killing me, for reals.

3. Coffee. I didn't even start drinking it until my late 20s, but this stuff is a lifesaver. Trust me. I almost look forward to the morning, so I can have more and become human again. Almost. 

2. Knitting a new scarf to wear with my new jacket for winter. See #4. I am completely done with summer, and I am knitting a new scarf which is fun because I usually crochet, so I'm trying something different. Which I usually really really really hate.

1. Sleep. I love it. It's the best thing ever. I would like more of it, please. Thanks.

So, that's my stuff. You're welcome. Happy Friday.

Wow. I think right now we just can't play nicely together. Anyone, anywhere.

Therefore, I am going to set some ground rules. These are for me, too, because I am not terribly good at certain things, and I also need to work on them:

First, it's none of your business. Actually, very little is your business, except for things that you are actually involved in and not just observing from the outside. So mind your own, let other people mind their own and learn from their own set of consequences just like you're doing in your own life, and butt out. Offering kindness and support is obviously okay, but sometimes we all go too far just because we can't stand to let other people live the way they choose. Just do it.

Secondly, your job is your job. It's not your personal fun time. You have the right not to be enslaved, abused, or forced to work without pay. That's about it. You don't have the right to express yourself or not follow your employer's code of conduct. Seriously, if I said sweatpants and a tube top was the only outfit I felt comfortable in, would that mean that my employer would just have to suck it up and deal? I think not. By the same token, if I just decided one day to not perform significant portions of my job because I didn't want to, should my employer just let me not do my whole job and continue to pay me my whole salary? Again, no. A job is not a right, guys. Humane treatment is, but otherwise, go in there and work your shift, get the job done, and quit griping. There are tons of people out there wanting to take your place for less money. Express yourself on your own time. 

Finally, try to remain calm as we approach election time. The person you like may not get elected, and it's not the end of the world. All of the politicians are probably a little bit good and a little bit bad, because they're human beings, and none of them is going to perfectly match any one person's ideology. So calm down. If Pee Wee Herman ever runs for President, call me. Until then, I really don't care. Stop bashing the crap out of each other because you happen to have different opinions. Grow some manners. Geez.

That is all. Be nice.

I just wrote an entire post about how disappointed I am in Cookie Crisp, and my iPad just ate it. Just crashed and the whole beautiful thing is gone. Sad times.

I guess I'll have to write it again. Right now.

Except it wasn't really that good, it was more of a warning to people. A warning about the lie that is Cookie Crisp.

I wanted it my whole life. My mom wouldn't buy it, even with brilliant arguments like, "Mother. It's a bowl full of chocolate chip cookies and milk. We need this, like, pronto!" She wasn't having that. We got Rice Krispies instead. A big bowl of loud nothing.

Except I now know that I prefer them to Cookie Crisp, so there you go.

At any rate, when I saw the big generic bags of Cookie Crisp (except these are called Chip Mates), I was pretty excited. I assumed my first bowl would go along with angels singing a duet with kittens, puppies and unicorns on a glittery rainbow. 

It was not. Not at all. It was just okay.

After a twenty-some odd year buildup, I just expected more. More buttery chocolate chip cookie goodness. It was basically a bowl of crispy sugar.

And now I have a ginormous bag of it. Which I will finish, because I don't throw away food.

I also have yet another thing to add to my list of stuff that sucks about being an adult. Ugh.

As our society shifts more and more into written communications, rather than spoken ones, maybe it would be a good idea to...I don't know...learn how to write at some point.

For example, there is a local page that I read frequently, mostly to see the battles that are waged between people due to misunderstandings that would never have happened if the parties involved had even the slightest idea of how much snark their little comments convey. Seriously. It's the reason some of us close everything with a smiley face. That little smiley face can make a slightly sarcastic comment okay.

Its absence can mean war. Facebook style.

But, I mean it. People need to read that stuff before hitting send. There's one guy in particular who, I have heard, is a really mellow, nice guy in person. His comments are rude and hard to understand, due to the fact that maybe one in ten words is spelled even close to correctly, and they make me cringe every time.

Of course, I don't get involved. That would require a level of "I give a crap" that I just don't have.

At any rate, this morning I read a thread in which he alienated every single person involved in the discussion, including the admins of the page. And he's trying to raise money for some people.

Oops.

It's a good idea to remember that Facebook is a free form of entertainment which no one has any control over, except their very own page. Any time a person opens up another person's page, she's stepping into the land of no control. So deal with it or get out. Don't get your feelings all hurt and threaten violence in the real world because you disagree with someone's poster about the starving ponies in Waikiki.

That's not a real poster, by the way. Starving ponies in Waikiki? I think not.

Just calm it. I know some people like to debate (I sure don't, but whatever), but try to keep it civil. A person is entitled to post whatever he likes on his own page, just as you can on your page. And no one else gets to have a say. That's your online room. You mess that up however you like, but don't go throwing your crap in anyone else's space.

And also, take an English class, please, please, please. Because, for reals, I'm dying over here. I'm not perfect, myself, but some of this stuff looks like they gave a keyboard to a baby and just let her randomly peck at the keys. It hurts my brain.

Yesterday, I was kind of having a day. You know, one of those days where a person is just going to feel kind of generally crappy, no matter what? So, on my way to an appointment, I stopped at Target.

Why? Because Target is one of the happiest places on Earth, along with Baskin Robbins and anywhere that serves a cheese plate.

Anyway, I only had 20 minutes or so, so I went straight to the clothes clearance section, and what I saw there cheered me up considerably: Jumpsuits.

Yes, rows and rows of jumpsuits. All shapes and colors and materials, many with short short bottoms, just hanging there, unpurchased.  The first thought in my head was, "Way to go, women of Albuquerque! Resist the jumpsuit!"

Although, to be fair, I have seen two people in jumpsuits that looked really cute. Both of them were extremely thin and modelly looking, so there you go.

Anyway, my next thought was that if I had enough time, I would go into the dressing room and try some on, because that would be hilarious. It would have set the tone for the rest of my day, for reals, because jumpsuits are never going to be a good choice for me. I'm too big, too tall, and just too unmodelly.

It did, however, make me very, very happy to see all of those rows of untouched jumpsuits.

Then I started wondering what they do with stuff that just doesn't sell. Do they end up donating it to a Goodwill or something? If so, I really hope they don't start heading jumpsuits out to people. That could be dangerous. Those things are just a bad, bad idea.

Unless you're doing surgery or handling nuclear materials or something like that. They could use them that way.

At any rate, I left with two new pairs of shoes ($8 apiece, yo!) and a good ten minutes of giggling from picturing different people in jumpsuits (my sister and I should get matching ones for Christmas picture time). Thanks, Target.

And thanks again, Albuquerque. Because friends don't let friends wear adult onesies. 

Life is really messy. I realize that's not exactly an earth-shattering revelation, but it's something that's difficult for me to accept, so I try to avoid thinking about it.

There it is, though, in black and white. Life is messy.

And I think trying to not have your life be a mess is completely a waste of time; however, I will continue to try because I like lost causes and also because giving up would just be ridiculous.

I know myself. I can't stop trying.

The only bright spot I can see is the fact that everyone else is messed up, too. That makes it feel friendlier and less like I'm the only one who has tangled herself in a situation from which there is no escape. Also, if I try to remember that most of my messes are due to my super mega high expectations for myself, and that no one else really expects or needs these things from me, that should help.

Right?

But it stinks when you've disappointed yourself.

Oh, well. Another week to conquer, and maybe this time I'll do slightly better than last time. Which is progress. Progress is good. I think. Sigh. 

Mondays are evil.

Most people feel the need to talk at length about feelings. I feel that talking about feelings is gross and creepy, unless you're with a therapist and paying to do so. In that case, have at it.

Otherwise, can't we all just make fart jokes until the situation goes away?

Every once in a while, probably due to some stupid nonsense, such as lack of sleep or estrogen, I feel feelings coming on. At those times, I've discovered it's best to just not. You know, go eat a brownie or something, but for heaven's sake, keep it in.

Keep. It. In.

If it's allowed to come out, there's just too much hiding in my shirt to be done, and what if I'm not wearing something stretchy? What are we going to do then, because you know there's no way I'm sticking around to deal?

That's not my strong suit. I'm more of a sarcastic comment behind your back sort of gal.

At any rate, let's all just do jokes about feelings today. I just can't.

So this past Saturday was my parents' 45th wedding anniversary. We all wanted to make sure it was special, so we had a big family shindig in Chama, NM, which involved riding the train and stuff, and it was great. Before all that, though, I decided to make it extra special by making my mom a fancy dessert...a dairy-free chocolate coconut tofu cheesecake.

Just let that sink into your brain.

Apparently, they sell tofu cream cheese. Let that sink in, too, because I had no idea that was even a thing. When I went to the store to look for it, I was expecting some kind of nut-based cream cheese, but I live in the boonies, and there is just none of that at our grocery store. But there was, lo and behold, soy cream cheese. This:

It does cost way more than regular cream cheese, but since my Mom hasn't been able to have a cheesecake without becoming violently ill (and, let me tell you, she makes that choice occasionally) since 2002, I thought it was totally worth it.

And then I tasted some of the actual tofu cream cheese.

Let me just say that the name, "Better Than Cream Cheese" is a lie. A big, big, big lie. It is not better than any cream cheese I've ever eaten. It is, in all truthfulness, only slightly better tasting than spoiled, moldy cream cheese. It is slightly sour, but with no other flavor component besides a faint chemical aftertaste. Needless to say, I was not too optimistic about the outcome, especially as I couldn't find a decent-looking recipe so I took a regular one and modified it, and I don't really bake that way. I like instructions and preciseness and all of that.

Big surprise.

So, anyway, made my graham cracker crust:

Threw that dark chocolate coconut filling together:

Et voilá! Baked it up, made some ganachey stuff with chocolate chips and (gasp) margarine, and threw that in a baggie and snipped off the corner and piped on some decorations because that's how I roll, and here is the final product:

Not bad, eh? It looked so pretty, I felt like even if it tasted like poo, at least my parents got a pretty cake.

And then, my Mom called and let me know how it was (we sent it over but couldn't come that night ourselves, so we missed out). I made sure to not tell them what was in it, because I knew they would think it was gross.

Apparently, my Dad thought it tasted even better than the regular normal cheesecake I made for my sister's birthday. Seriously. And my Mom thought it was really good, too, and they said the texture was perfect. Phew!

I was just glad it was edible. I need to pick up my piece so I can try it out, but I feel like my first adventure with non-dairy baking was a success.

And I learned that soy cream cheese, like most other healthy foods, is only edible if it's mixed with sugar and chocolate chips.

Well, last night sucked.

A lot.

I thought it was going to be an awesome day. I had my new dress on, I got to see my favorite friend, and I got all my work done in time to go home before my voice lesson and do a good warmup. Stuff was on track.

Then, we went to the press dinner.

I should've known something was awry. How? I don't know, but I should've. We got to the parking lot and we parked, then got in the shuttle. On the way in, I felt something give on the front of my knee.

It was my pantyhose, and my dress was knee-length. Yep. Huge run, right down the front of my hose. Good times.

Oh, but wait. It gets better. On the shuttle, we noticed all the men were in suit jackets and stuff. Let's just say we got the feeling that we were just nowhere near fancy enough, but I figured it should be okay. It was a dinner on a weeknight, and they didn't specify black tie or anything, so nice khakis and a button up should've been just fine for my husband, right?

Um, yeah.

Anyway, the shuttle dropped us off and we headed to the lady with the clipboard. She informed us that we were not part of the gathering they were having at that location. Our dinner is up the hill.

So we walked. Me, in my heels, with my messed up hose, up the hill. For like half a mile.

Aaaaaand then we got up the hill. Yep. Our feeling about everyone else being dressed real fancy was, indeed, correct.

Apparently, no one else had just come from work. It was all fancy suits and gowns and whatnot.

Great.

So we just kept walking, back to the car.

The upside was that my husband made me some delicious eggs at home, and I got to watch my shows.

But still, so embarrassing. And I ruined my pantyhose. Ugh.

Well, opera season is over. Sigh.

I feel like I always dread it a little, because it means every weekend for five weeks in a row is tied up, but once it gets here, it makes me so happy. Because opera and dresses and fancy time. 

Then it's over, and there's no more reason to be fancy.

I'm pretty sure I loved dress-up a lot when I was little. I love jewelry and shiny bags and shoes and elegant dresses. Opera is just like that, except that I can wear as much makeup as I want and there's also usually booze involved.

Yay champagne!

Also, for the opera, I have never painted my lips with nail polish because my mom wouldn't let me wear lipstick. For the record, don't do that. I still remember the burning and the removal process. Yeah, it was every bit as painful as it sounds.

At any rate, it's nice to be able to make plans (or not) again on the weekends, and not to have to worry about writing reviews that can't be over five hundred words when I need a thousand or more to say what I really want to say. I hate that part.

I will also enjoy not having creepy guy come ask me to the opera for another ten months.

But all in all, even with how hot and humid it's been, and how annoying certain aspects of the opera process are, I am sad it's over. Well, for now, anyway.

And I may just wear my fancy shoes and makeup to work. 

Hahahahahahaha. Not happening.

Footwear is a complicated choice. Although I would say that I'm definitely a shoe person, I'm not exactly a stiletto heel kind of person, or any other type of shoe where the odds will constantly be against me making it to my destination without falling fifty times. However, I've been noticing something weird this year at the opera, and it makes me wonder what's going on, and why I didn't get the memo.

Way less people are wearing hilarious heels.

It's sad, because for me, half the fun of the opera lies in watching women wearing ridiculously high heels totter down the stairs, looking like they're really, really drunk, and then making their way to either sit on a bench or lean on a wall, and then waiting until the very last minute before getting up and doing it all again to get to their seats in the theater. I know it's sad, but I wait for it every year. It's hilarious.

But it's just not happening this year.

Maybe one or two people a night. There have been a couple of people in really poorly-fitting formal gowns, as well, but it's not the same. Usually it's like ten people a night or more. Seriously. But this year, everyone's dressed way down, and even those who went so far as to wear dresses are wearing flats, mostly.

Come on, ladies. I look forward to this all year. We have one more opera, and I really want you to go for it. Stilettos. Anything higher than three inches. Come on.

Yes, my life is sad, but that's beside the point. It really is that fun to watch. 

The men are stepping it up this year. I'm seeing bow ties and brocade jackets, seen a few in low heels, which is delightful, as it's not seen as often and it looks awesome, and some really amazing hair and makeup (yep, I'm progressive that way....if women get to put themselves through all of that beauty stuff, I think men should too...equal opportunity fashion). At any rate, they're totally winning the mini style war going on in my head.

So, ladies, this is our last week. Let's do this. For my sake. I'll wear heels, myself, and then we can all laugh as I fall down the stairs.

So here's my two cents about opera, for what it's worth.

Not everybody is going to like everything.

Wow, I know. Mind blown, right? Seriously, though, no two people are going to experience anything in life the same way because everything we see and hear is subjective. So art is going to be felt and heard in a totally different way by every single person exposed to it.

I think that's the point.

Maybe we should all try some art ourselves. Try some activities that don't involve careers or making money, but put in some time and some effort, pushing ourselves past the point where it ceases to be fun, and really create something that does nothing more than beautify our souls.

I know, it's a bit much for a Monday, but I can't help it.

There are so many people that defer to "professionals" in any field of the arts, and just try to feel the same way that person feels about a picture or a sculpture or a play. For me, I get asked, "Well, what do you you think of her voice? I don't know anything, you're the professional."

(Am I really? Because jobs in music are getting fewer and farther in between...sigh.)

I get this comment probably once or twice a week, and every single time, it makes me die a little inside, because it just serves to illustrate that we've taken art away and made it into some fancy schmancy thing that only belongs to certain, very boring, people.

IT'S NOT MINE. I DO NOT OWN IT. I DO NOT HAVE ART SUPER POWERS. 

Boo for that last one, but for reals. I don't get to tell you what you like. You get to decide what makes you feel something. Art isn't about pretty, it isn't about happy, and it sure isn't about me.

It's about someone putting their guts into something that makes you feel something in your guts. And then you guys are gut buddies forever. Ha ha ha...gut buddies.

But really. Stop asking me what's good. You should know what makes you feel all of your feelings. I don't want to know because gross.

I mean, you can totally hear my opinion, because, hey, I've got more opinions than commas. That's a lot. And I do like to share them because I do tend to think they're super cool. But really, take the time to see and hear things yourself. We're all getting stupider because we're being force fed this mass produced crap that is watered down and then told how to feel about it. Let's not do that, mmmkay?

And Monday. Blech.

I am having a big old, "Thank you, thank you, thank you God!" moment right now, so I'm typing this while my mind is still in this place.

This beautiful, silent, clean space.

I realize that I have much to be thankful for, AND I realize (as do all of you who are, for one reason or another, childless) that there are moments where it sucks to be in this state, and so many times when we question ourselves and second guess every major life decision that led us to this Santa-free Christmastime and Grandkid-free future.

This is not one of those moments.

I just had two girls come to start piano lessons today, and it was a real eye-opener. The older one was awesome. Talkative and curious and eager to try and learn and just so super polite and adorable.

The younger one? Totally awesome, too, but in a different way and not so much for her Mom. Her Mom was dying a little inside as the thirty-minute long tantrum ensued, wondering if her offspring was going to break one of my delicate thingamajiggies or make me lose my mind. I believe the high-pitched screaming was even making the bird crazy, because he was doing his alert scream and seemed a wee bit panicky when I finally finished up and went to check on him.

No worries, Mom. I can totally deal with other people's screaming kids for thirty minutes. For the record, I grew up with the tantrum champ, and I have come to admire the spirit of all the kids out there who won't just suck it up and do as they're told. Those kids grow up to be completely ferocious.

However, as we decided that lessons just aren't a good fit right now, and Mom hurried the girls out the door, one totally excited about her new activity and the other just anxious to get as far away from me and the whole idea of sitting still as was humanly possible, I got the best gift of all.

I got to shut my door on the crazy and have 30 minutes of uninterrupted quiet time.

I adore these little people. I love my time with the small kids so much it just kills me sometimes. BUT.

Quiet.

I like that, too.

In my life, I've learned many things. I've learned how to make a protein shake taste less like poo, how to crochet a super-fancy bookmark for when I'm reading super-fancy books, and I've also learned how to say many, many bad words in multiple languages.

Just in case I ever stub my toe in France.

At any rate, I want to pass on a bit of really important information that I seem to be alone in possessing. Take note: If you're in TV show where they're doing a murder investigation, and there's a perfect suspect, but he or she couldn't have done it because he or she is in a wheelchair, that's your person. They're faking it.

Always.

It blows my mind that no one ever asks the person in the wheelchair for an alibi. Never. Well, Jessica Fletcher does, but she's just plain smarter than everyone else. It's not that hard. Ask for an alibi, and maybe set up a trap so you can see if the person does, indeed, have to stay in the wheelchair at all times.

I don't think this rule applies in real life, but it for sure does on TV.

So now you know. Once again, you're welcome.

I really like facts and figures. A lot. I like to see a table, with scientifically-backed numbers. I like a good pie chart. Therefore, when trying to figure out why my weight went up seven-tenths of a pound this week after two weeks with solid one pound or more losses, I went to the numbers to see what I need to tweak.

Apparently, I need to cheat more and eat more crap.

That's right, I actually ate almost 500 more calories over the two previous weeks than I did this past week. I also walked fewer steps, spent less time on the rowing machine and generally just did "worse."

So that will never make sense to me.

It's less than a pound, so I'm not going to die, but eating more to lose has never made sense to me. Also, I did eat a carb this week on no-carb Monday, so I would also like to blame it on that. 

But it's not that. It's just life.

And that stupid My Fitness Pal app that gives me false hope with its overly optimistic weight loss estimate every day. Yeah. Down 10 pounds in five weeks. That's totally happening. 

Liar. 

I may also need to work on my attitude. A bit. 

I've been doing a lot of googling for weird pictures lately and today I found what might be the awesomest video ever, just by accident.

It's awesome, mostly, because if you watch it once I can pretty much guarantee that you will be singing the song in it from now it until the end of time. So don't say I didn't warn you. 

Are you ready for the awesome? Can you handle it on this brutal no-carb Monday?

Here---

You're welcome. 

I'm going to run for President. Yep, I've decided it's time. America needs its first President who stands for cereal, dignity for everyone, and no perfume.

The "no perfume" part is really the most important.

I have been having a lot of trouble with my eyes this summer; I'm not sure why, because the pollen counts are really pretty low, but it's been awful. I'm having to use allergy drops and Benadryl cream around my eyes twice a day just so I don't have to scratch out my eyeballs. It's pretty much the worst eye situation ever.

Anyway, I had finally gotten to the point where I could use the eye drops only once per day, and the cream too, and then yesterday happened. Now I'm all the way back to the beginning, thus my need to be elected President.

I'm going to make it illegal. Just watch me. And then I'll throw all the perfumes in jail FOREVER.

Okay, maybe that's a little extreme, but seriously.

I went into work, with fully functioning eyes, and encountered a person who was wearing such strong perfume that my eyeballs immediately turned red and starting tearing up, and I had a lovely asthma attack. Gale-force winds of perfume were smacking me in my face and, as I was at work, there was nothing I could do.

It was really horrible.

By the end of my day in the office, my face was swollen, I had a massive headache, and my sinuses were completely clogged. It was good times. Then I had to go home and teach singing for a few hours, which is delightful when you're a big old snotty mess. With a headache.

At any rate, when I am President, no more of this. No more. I will outlaw all stinky smells, especially perfume, and this will all be over.

The rest of the things in the government may suffer, as I am a weenie and not very assertive. I can't help that. I just really hate perfume.

Alright. It's time for more pearls of wisdom.

I want to share something with those of you that have not had the benefit of growing up with a mom who was all about manners. My mom was crazy with those things; subsequently, I learned a lot about life and not being rude (note that I didn't say I always follow the rules, I just know them).

Apparently, there is a large portion of the population that is unaware that when one is getting married or having a baby, one does not simply throw a shower for one's self and then inform the world that he or she is registered at such and such place.

There, I said it. Nope, you don't.

It is so so so so so so so so super mega rude.

Had to get that out. I know it's exciting to think of all of those delightful gifts and whatnot, but you can't just throw your own "gimme gifts because I'm getting hitched and/or procreating" party.

Shocking, no?

It's really, really, really really tacky.

It's also really rude to post a PayPal link on FB asking your FB friends to give you money since you're having a baby and then send out private messages to your entire friends list (some being people like me, that you only know casually), asking them to contribute because it's been a hard year.

Yeah, I thought all of your vacation pictures (seven sets, but who's counting?) over the last year looked really tough. Going to Europe this past spring looked pretty miserable, as did your road trip to Sedona.

And then you ask people who are pretty much strangers for money.

I think not.

So, now, are we all clear on this? No throwing parties for yourself when it's an occasion that calls for gifts. It's tacky and rude. Get your best friend to do it, then it'll be just fine. 

No need to thank me. Your shame is all the thanks I need.

Okay, enough now with the hot.

Seriously. I feel tempted to wear a tank top out in public, and for those of you who know me, that is the last piece of clothing I would ever wear publicly.

But we're getting close.

Last night, my husband and I went to bed at 8:30, just because the house was so hot and our bedroom is really the only place with air conditioning that cools off decently. We have a portable unit in the living room, but at this point we would need one of those huge factory fans to circulate the air enough to cool off the rest of the house.

So, as I said, enough.

Also, opera season is upon us, which means we're going to be dressing up in fancy clothes on Saturday to be outside in this. If the temperature doesn't drop, that's going to be a lot of sweaty people in non-breathable fabrics. Could get nasty, in more ways than one.

I just want it to stop. MAKE IT STOP.

Am I being melodramatic? I really don't think so. Not when every waking moment that I spend in my house (aside from teaching time, because I don't want to scare the children) consists of me in a beater and boxer shorts, standing in front of a fan. No one needs to see that. It's so hot the air conditioners in the house are only cooling it off to like 80. Seriously. What's the point?

So, summer, enough already. I give. You win, I lose, print it in the daily news. Whatever.

Only please let it be cooler today. Please, oh please.

Yep. I'm a baby.