There are many things in the world that make my brain hurt; however, today I can't handle anything else that's too stressful, so I am concentrating on hangnails.

I have really dry, thin skin. It's awful. Much worse in the winter, and the fact that I have almost morphed into the host from Creepshow is entirely due to my defective dermis. Epidermis. Whatever...SKIN. I got the second manicure in my life on Friday, and I have learned two things from that, so I'm sharing.

First, I don't even remember my first manicure. I was going to do a walk through at a college, so that tells you it must've been 15-20 years ago, and I remember it was dark green. But I used to bite my nails, so there wasn't a whole lot going on there except some stubby looking nastiness. Times have changed, and I went with glittery pink this time. Lesson learned? Glitter polish is the way to go. I have scrubbed like 9 billion dishes since Friday, and only the tips have worn. This stuff is like rocks on hands. Pretty pink rocks.

The second lesson? Hangnails come right back. No matter how much filing they do. I have been using lotion every ten minutes since Friday and my hands are already back to crap. Actually a little worse because the lady scrubbed off all the callouses so now the skin on my fingertips is sore and bleeding, and I can feel it. I usually can't. Ugh.

Overall thoughts? Probably not worth me doing manicures. I wash my hands WAY too much, and that's not changing any time soon. I did, however, learn that glitter polishes stay like crazy, so I may paint my own nails a little more. I don't know. We'll see. 

Time to go clip off the new hangnails. Yikes. This is going to hurt.

Facebook's ad algorithm continues to amaze me.

This morning's selections are ads for alcoholic beverages and fancy mixed drinks, along with ads to turn my dead loved ones into tree pods.

So that's pretty appropriate.

Also, a lot of puppy videos on my feed, so that's a plus. I may make it to Christmas, after all.

The story of my life? 

Waiting until 11:00 so I can legitimately eat my lunch. Right around 10:00, it starts getting rough, but the worst part is 10:50 on. I seriously watch the clock those ten minutes, willing it to move faster.

Yeah, I've broken down a few times and eaten my lunch earlier, but I always feel really bad about it.

And then, it's really not officially lunch, so I kind of have to eat again around 1 pm, because I don't want to skip lunch.

I've thought this out pretty carefully.

At any rate, this blog post only took four minutes, so that's another 56 minutes to kill.

I can do this.

I can.

I am so hungry right now....

Recital week last week. Whoa. Things got real crazy, real fast.

I've been holding studio recitals for 17 years (holy crap, how am I that old?) and I think I've never had my students be as flaky as they were this year, nor have I ever had a kid actually stop during the recital in the middle of a song to cry.

So, yep. Bananas.

Recital was Thursday, and by Tuesday afternoon, I had five makeups scheduled because people had faked sick and not come to the lesson the week before. But now help was necessary. And a couple didn't even call the accompanist until two days before the recital, either, when I had asked repeatedly for them to call earlier. Like, two weeks earlier. Not to mention I've sent out bi-weekly reminder notes for the last two months.

Also, only like two families (out of a dozen) decided to bring a plate of finger food to share, but they all stayed and ate it and drank my fancy Martinelli pomegranate apple juice stuff. 

Nice job, guys.

This week, it's payback time. You don't even know. I have new warmups that you're all going to hate.

Merry Christmas, me.

Short rant here, for your Friday enjoyment.

If someone is giving you a gift, suck it up and say, "Thank you." Don't be a rude little turd and complain about the gift, or complain about who else did or didn't get a gift, or crap on the way the gift was given. Have some manners, and be gracious.

You can go home and complain to your close friend or your partner or your dog or whoever.

I feel like maybe some people were sick the day all of the moms in the world explained that. So, naturally, I have to pick up the slack. It makes me crazy that people think they just deserve to dictate not only the gift itself, but the manner of distribution, and to whom gifts are given.

None of yo business. None. Not even a little.

And even if you don't like a gift, still act like you did. What does it hurt? It's just common courtesy, and at least there was a little kind thought towards you in there. So be kind back, you jerk.

Geez.

Okay, so the worst story from our trip is probably the hellish trip home. It was really bad. Like, worst trip home EVER.

Well, maybe not, but it felt that way.

So we get to the Orlando airport early, breeze through security, and then get to our gate. They announce, after a bit, that the incoming flight is delayed, so we'll be a bit behind, but only a few minutes, so it doesn't matter. Well, we already had a forty minute connection to make in Houston, so that freaked us out a bit. My mom lets them know, and they arrange for one of those little cart thingies to pick us up at our gate and take us to the next gate, since my mom needs help getting around right now.

Well, we get on the plane, after the smoothest boarding I've ever seen (everyone else had connections, too, so we were all on our best behavior), and as they close the doors, the pilot announces that there's weather in Houston, so he has to taxi until he knows whether or not he'll be able to land.

So we taxi for a bit, then take off, but he's pretty sure we'll be on time.

Yeah, no. After a few minutes, he announces that we'll have to fly around and approach Houston from another side, so we'll be about 30 minutes late. Then, after numerous other announcements which didn't end up being accurate, and my mom having to barf, which is no fun, we finally land in Houston about twenty minutes late. I check my phone, and there's a text from the airline, saying the next flight is delayed until 6:55, which gives us an extra hour, so we're good, and not freaking out.

We get on the airline cart thingy and are driven by the most sullen man on the planet to this area and dropped off. We stand there forever and then finally a nice lady comes over to push my mom in her wheelchair, and she uses her walkie-talkie to call in to see what gate we're at. Not only did the airline change our gate, but they bumped our flight back forward (did you know they could do that???) so she hauls butt with the chair, taking us through the back way, while we all run to the gate so we don't miss our flight.

Wait...this isn't even the bad part.

We all finally get on the plane, and it's a little plane, with single seats across the aisle from a pair of seats, so me and my husband are in single seats a few rows apart, with him behind me, and my parents are together across the aisle from me. In between us is a family with a "21-month-old."

Oh, and props to the guy who asked if it wouldn't just be easier to say "two." Yes, guy. Yes, it would.

Anyway, Dad comes on to the plane apologizing in advance for the kid. Oh, holy crap, we should've known. Pretty much screamed the entire time, whenever her whole family wasn't doing whatever she wanted, which was usually running up and down the aisle. SCREAMED. Like, bloody-murder-I-am-being-stabbed-my-shoes-are-on-fire screaming. Oh, and have I mentioned I have a bad ear that can't deal with loud, high-pitched sounds? Yeah. That. My husband was right next to them, so I can only imagine how bad his headache was.

So, we all survive, get off the plane, finally home, get our luggage, get to the car, and stop at McDonald's on the way home so we can get some food. On our way out, a crazy drunk hobo attempts to start crap with our family, but, thank goodness for him, his friend tells him to knock it off.

Because I was in no mood. He would've lost whatever teeth were still in his head.

So, that was the trip home. Glorious day, no?

Well, we got to go on the big trip to Disney World with my parents. So that's where we were.

Also, I had a gross surgery in my jaw...called an apicoectomy (look it up, it's not that painful, but, holy crap, it's noisy and bloody while they're doing it), and so far (I'm on my second day after), it's healing nicely except for the fact that I'm swollen and I look like I've been punched in the face. Hopefully, this will help with all the jaw pain. We'll see.

And, finally, it's Thanksgiving, and I have so much to celebrate today. My mom has started putting on weight, and my dad is getting to go back to his speed-walking, which makes me very thankful. I have a beautiful kitchen and tons of counter space for pie-making, which makes me thankful, as well. We have family and friends here and more coming for Christmas, and I'm extremely thankful for that, too.

Mostly, though, I'm thankful for my husband. He's pretty cute.

So, that's the update. I do have stories, but I'm making pies and just don't have time right now, so they'll have to wait. Happy Thanksgiving!

Just in case you're wondering, I'm scared today. Scared of a country run by a TV reality show star with no political experience who runs his own business "empire" an inch away from bankruptcy at all times, then throws in the towel, suffering no real financial consequences, and starts again.

I'm afraid of a people who voted for him, who think that belligerence, bullying and hate are the way to go, and who aren't concerned with civil rights because they've never experienced racism, sexism, discrimination due to a disability or hate because of the way they were born. Not all Americans have the same privilege.

I'm afraid for the angry young people who are enraged by the fact that, in a state like ours, our votes don't even count because of the electoral college. They have every right to their frustration, but less idea of the fact that rioting doesn't solve anything and tends to make these situations worse. I hope that they will be smart enough to see the potential consequences of their actions and channel their anger into something that will actually create change.

I'm afraid that now the ultra-rich are in power, and the middle class will continue to disappear and we will be made to carry even more of the tax and social burdens that our government doesn't see fit to care about, especially since the new President-elect has the House and Senate on his side.

Finally, I'm afraid of losing all of the social progress we've made over the last several years, and of our country again devolving into a place where people's morality is legislated, and people who don't fit into the narrow, heterosexual and/or same race box can't choose the person with whom they want to spend their lives. These are personal moral and ethical choices, not a matter for anyone to have a say in besides the people directly involved. All types of people...they're people. Just people. Doing what they need to do to get along in life and have a little piece of happiness.

I will not leave, I will not run, but so help me, I will not stand for the people I love having to hide in the shadows again. And I will sit tight and keep hoping for an America with class and manners. 

Not holding my breath for that last one.

Kind of want to barf.

I have this new piercing in my left ear, called a daith piercing. It's supposed to help with headaches, but as I've only had it a week, and I've been taking a ton of ibuprofen to try to deal with some other stuff, I can't tell if it's working yet. No headaches, though, which is pretty unusual for me.

But, as I said, ibuprofen.

Anyway, it's been a weird week with this thing, mostly because even though the piercer said it was okay to wear earplugs to sleep, I've read way too much on the Googles about how that's not a good thing, so I'm trying to give it some time.

And now I know I'm addicted to earplugs.

When those bad boys expand inside my ears, it's like I am in a cocoon of sleep. It's great. Earplugs are the awesomest thing I've ever used. And now, sleeping without them is lame and sad.

Also, I am a right side or stomach sleeper. Always. And for some reason, all I want to do the minute I fall asleep is to roll over onto my left side. Seriously. Last night I kept waking up on my left side and thinking, "No. This isn't right. I'm doing something wrong." But then I'd have to figure out what it was and I am way too confused when I'm sleepy so I just sat up until I figured it out, went back to sleep, and then repeated the procedure FIFTY MILLION TIMES.

Ugh.

Change is just unavoidable, I guess, but I sure do hate it. Less headaches would be glorious, though. We'll see.

It seems October just isn't my month for blogging. Oh, well. 

At any rate, I happened upon something hilarious this morning and wanted to share. Okay, it's probably just hilarious to me, but whatever.

I was in college during the first election where President Obama was running. If you know me at all, you know that I don't really talk politics because, well, fighting. I hate it. I am a registered independent, and I will never argue about stuff unless it's with immediate family because I HATE IT.

I am a licensed conflict avoider.

Anyhow, it was a crazy time on campus, and there was a lot of vandalism happening, and I remember freaking out because my husband and I had just gotten a brand-new car (I was 30....I went to college really late), and there was this completely insane kid in my music theory class who was saying he was going to bust out all of the windows of the brand new cars in the parking garage to show, and he seriously said this, "...those capitalist swines (yep, he said swines...I remember because I was trying not to laugh) who they're dealing with." He also made a number of other statements, mostly regarding the evils of Christianity and anyone who voted republican. Then he asked if anyone had a dollar so he could get some more coffee, and I pretty much realized maybe more coffee on that kind of insane would be a super idea.  Super. 

Yeah. So I started parking all the way upstairs in the farthest space from the elevator, because I was betting he'd be too lazy to walk out to the far spaces, and I was right. He eventually told someone that he busted out a couple of windows and then moved on, because I'm imagining that took more work than he'd thought, and he probably also didn't want to have to go to jail or anything like that. I would bet no busting even happened, because car windows are pretty thick and I feel like it wouldn't have been worth the effort. Still a pretty big d-bag, though.

Fast forward to this morning, and I saw that a friend liked a picture of these two really cute little kids on their mom's Facebook page. And then I noticed the last name, and I thought, "Hey...that is an unusual last name, and that kid looks vaguely like the guy from college. So, of course, I go to the mom's page. Yep, she's married to that guy.

The funniest part? Guy lives in a swanky house in the suburbs, and his wife went to a Christian college, and is a religious Republican. Yep. Mr. I-Hate-All-Things-Conventional is living the dream. I also saw a picture with a pretty new looking car in their driveway...windows intact, naturally.

Ah, how times have changed. Cute kids, though.

Perusing the Facebook today, I wanted to smack a bunch of people I don't know in their heads. You know, to knock some sense into them. But since I don't know them, I have decided to proceed with a passive aggressive blog post.

What did all of these miscreants do to incur my wrath? They all responded to their friends' posts with the same sentence: I know how you feel, such and such happened to me.

When are we going to realize that we NEVER know how someone else feels, and they obviously posted whatever they did, or came and said whatever to the other person, because they needed some emotional support? Turning the thread or conversation back towards one's self is not being supportive, it's being narcissistic and crappy.

It may not be your way to post things like that, and you may not go talk to people when you're having a hard time, but that doesn't mean that's not a way some people go about trying to heal their emotional wounds. We're all just trying to make it through. Maybe show some sympathy, or maybe just scroll on by, but don't take over the thread and make it about you. That's poop.

I feel like we should all know by now that all people really need to hear is that you're sorry they're hurting and that you care. How hard is that? Or just pretend you didn't see it and don't comment. That's fine, too. But acting like you know what they're going through is ridiculous. We're all just so different. Go post your own story if you need some emotional support.

I swear if I see one more, "I know how you feel..." I may lose my mind. All the way. For reals this time.

Yes, yes, I was just getting back into posting twice a week, and then BOOM. Nothing for two weeks. Ugh.

The holy days are done and they went just fine, so there's a chunk of time every week that I'm getting back, and that is great.

We went to Pagosa Springs and did pretty much nothing for four days, and that was also great.

There are all sorts of other great things, too, but it is kind of hard to think about them right now, because a week ago we lost our sweet boy, Bruce.  The sixteen-year-old cockatiel who had laser-like poop shooting accuracy and also had the uncanny ability to make a chirp sound like a smart ass comment at just the right time.

He loved to whistle super long musical themes using the Andy Griffith song as a base.

He loved sunflower seeds and millet and would refuse almost everything else.

He would scream bloody murder when he heard his dad come home, until his dad came into his room and said hello.

He loved little kids and would cluck and coo at anyone who was less than four feet tall.

He was beautiful and ferocious and I never knew how empty our house would be without him.

Our hearts hurt.

Good grief, this one's rough.

Well, Rosh Hashanah services are down, and we've still got rehearsal and Yom Kippur to go, but I feel pretty good about how it's gone so far.

But.

(Yes, there's always a but.)

I am out of home improvement shows to watch on Netflix, so I'm having to just watch reruns, and it's ruining my life. Okay, not ruining it, but when I'm on that treadmill, I need to yell at stupid people who don't pick a house that has the perfect layout that's in the perfect neighborhood, and instead pick a house that's either too small or too expensive, that's going to double their commute time, or that is just generally all wrong, because they like the paint colors and the decor.

It gets me through, man.

How do these people function? Why on earth would you buy a house that's over your budget? Why would you buy a house that is a fixer upper when you have no money left and no handyman skills? Why would you buy a house in a horrible neighborhood because you like the cute knobs in the kitchen (I kid you not, that was an actual episode)?

So now I'm re-watching.

Basically, Netflix needs more episodes of all my HGTV shows, right now. RIGHT NOW. I have another week to go, and it's of vital importance. I need to hit the treadmill every day to keep sane during crazy time (and not gain a billion pounds), and pollen counts are too high for me to be outside too much.

Also can I get another season of Lady Dynamite? While they're at it?

Thanks, guys. Thanks.

So I have a lot of dreams about all of my teeth breaking out.

I have read about it, and it seems like it's a pretty common thing and all, but it's really scary when it's happening, because I have cracky teeth anyway, and I am already paranoid about that. So when it's super realistic, it's like a night-long freak out. 

Last night was that way.

I dreamed that I was at work, and all of the dentists but one was out of the office, and the one that was in was super busy, and my gold crowns kept exploding. Full on explosions in my head. With showers of glittery gold stuff shooting out. It would've been pretty, except it was my teeth, so gross. 

Anyhow, the dentist kept shifting other patients to try to get temporary crowns on the exploding teeth, but then a new one would explode, and then all the metal fillings started exploding, too, and he was pretty much like, "Let's explore dentures!"

And then I cried. In front of everyone.

So, yeah, pretty much a typical day at the dental office.

Except the explosions and glitter and dentures and crying. Minus all that.

Didn't get to watch the debate last night; had rehearsals and didn't get home until late. I did, however, get several really awesome insults and decided to share because I can't quite believe the stuff that comes out of people's mouths.

First, when someone sings a song, don't tell them that it's the "oddest version" you've ever heard. That's not nice. If you don't have something nice to say to the singer, just don't say anything. That's okay. It's allowed.

Secondly, if you aren't guessing way young, don't guess a person's age. Seriously, I do not look like I'm in my mid-40s, but thank you for your effort. I realize my eye bags and neck skin may be a tad excessive, but for reals, mid-40s? Ouch.

Aaaaaaand finally, don't tell me I'm still young enough to do something about all this excess weight in my midsection. I know I'm chubbin' it. That's okay. I'm eighty pounds less than I used to be, and I eat healthily and I get lots of exercise. Also, come on. It's rude to go up to a complete stranger and tell her if she would fast for a few days a week she could be acceptable.

So that was my evening. Pretty much exactly like the debates, but no yelling, from what I'd guess.

Fan-fricking-tastic.

I just decided that childhood me would've totally thought adult me was rich. For one simple reason, which I totally forgot about until just this very minute: We buy Kleenex.

Okay, so it's Costco brand, but still.

I was just in my bathroom, blowing my nose with toilet paper and it suddenly hit me that when I was a kid, I thought only rich people had Kleenex, because we only used toilet paper (which is actually handier than a box of Kleenex when you have a cold, because that tube is a built-in place to stick the dirty t.p. between trips to the trash can....I mean, I'd never do that now, but when I was a kid it was on). I guess we just didn't feel like tissues were worth it when we had perfectly good rolls of t.p. that served pretty much the same purpose. Every once in a while, when I had a bad cold, my dad would buy me a box of Kleenex and it was glorious. I felt so dang fancy, I would still use the toilet paper, and keep that box of tissues for as long as possible.

Fortunately, I married someone who really likes having a box of tissues around, rather than rolls of toilet paper, and with my sinus issues, it's pretty much a snot fiesta up in my neck of the woods. For reals. And when I blow my nose, even though it's quieter than it was before my sinus surgery, it is still trumpety and magnificent, so you can imagine the snot game I have going on. So, yeah, Kleenex is a fine idea.

So, little me, guess what? 

Even non rich people can buy that huge bulk pack of boxed tissues at Costco (theirs are less linty than Kleenex, too, so it's a pretty amazing deal). 

Or maybe we are rich and somebody forgot to tell me.

That would also be amazing.

But at least we have a ginormous box of boxes of tissues in our garage.

So, has it been crazy in your house? It's been all kinds of crazy in my house. That's okay, though, because we have discovered a new form of awesome. Less than an hour away from my house is this magical place where you can watch a movie AND have dinner AND have beer.

Except I've got fluid in my ear and I'm taking stuff to fix it that has Tylenol in it, so I'm not drinking at all, but when that's over, then I will have beer with my movie.

Anyway, movies and food and beer are some of our favorite things, so we're pretty happy we went. I also realize that this theater has been around for ages already, but we've been too busy to check it out.

Until now.

Whoever invented this is the most geniusy of all the geniuses. Seriously. It's like Disneyland but cheaper and without those scary people in costumes or 9 billion unwashed hands. Oh, and no rides, but did I mention they have pizza? So there's that.

OH MY GOSH I WANT TO GO EVERY DAY.

I want to just live there.

Maybe it's weird to like a movie theater this much, but there is also limited seating, and it's assigned. So you know where you're going and you don't have to think about it. Also, the seats are big enough that even when you're sitting next to someone else, it's not too bad and you don't feel like there's a possibility of their weird fabric softener smell migrating over to your jacket. Or maybe that one's just me. And they have fold-up tables to put your food on while you eat.

It's like my inner fat kid's dream came true.

I almost can't believe it.

I almost want to skip work today and go back.

Yes, kids. Believe it. I actually like something. This calls for jazz-hands and a Carol Channing-style rendition of a Frank Sinatra song. Happy Monday.

Cold or allergies?

I wish there was a kit where you could blow your nose into a machine and it would tell you so you could be sure to not infect other people with your gross. 

No such thing. 

It's times like this that I wish I was a scientist and could invent such a machine, because I'm pretty sure I would be a multi-billionaire in like five minutes, but alas, I am not. 

I'm just a lady with a dream. A snot-testing dream.

That doesn't sound pathetic at all.

Not even a little bit. 

I just had the nicest weekend.

We still had to do some work, even though it was Labor Day and all that, but we did a lot of fun things, too, and I got to have my husband all to myself for a bit, which was lovely. 

We went and did touristy stuff in Santa Fe, which we haven't done for eons, we had a fancy dinner out for our anniversary, we went to a movie, we took a drive in the mountains, and we even did a long walk together.

I know. None of those things involves work or even being productive. Crazy.

We also got all of the things we needed to get done finished, around all the fun stuff, even including an extra-long rehearsal for me last night. So I don't have to have any guilt about slacking off. I also don't have a ginormous pile of dishes or laundry or anything waiting for me, because we already did that.

Ah. Now, if only this morning hadn't arrived extra early, it would be perfect. But, close enough.

Yesterday, the most awesome thing EVER happened. Well, it really wasn't that awesome, but it was hilarious to me, so I thought I'd share. Here goes! 

I came back home from a day of being on the road, and pulled into my garage, but I left the door open because I needed to walk out and check the mailbox. The (extremely religious) neighbor kids were riding their bikes in the street. As I got out of my car and walked down the driveway toward the mailbox, I heard one of the kids say, "Hurry! She's going to murder you!"

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.....we're those people. 

I have a feeling it's because we don't always go to church on Sundays, and we also have friends of a variety of sizes, hairstyles, ethnicities, religions (or lack thereof), and various non-1950s sorts of family types. We're also both voters that are registered as independents. Plus, I sing really loudly, a lot, and sometimes we play the Johnny Mathis Christmas album in the middle of the summer. Oh, and did I mention we don't have babies? Throw that in there, too.

Hide your kids, people. We are bona fide weirdos (also, do yourself a favor right now and type out bona fide and see what your spell checker does...mine was fantastic).

Ha ha ha ha ha. I love my street.

So my singing hasn't been going terribly well lately; in fact, my jaw has been locking up more and more every week. I had a rehearsal that was epically bad this past Monday, and it made me almost die in public.

I cried. In front of people. Holy crap.

So the next day, I met with a person who offered to take a look and see if she could help me figure out what's going on. We tried some stuff, it went okay, and now I'm adding some of it to my normal stuff. I'm also telling all my students about it so they know that it's definitely normal to have bad times, and we don't have to let it keep us from doing what we need to do to be singers. We just keep going until we can't anymore.

I'm getting perilously close to that "can't," but I'm not quite there. We'll see after a few weeks of trying.

At any rate, there are a lot of things that I'm trying, but there are two that, by far, are killing me. The other things, like stopping immediately and moving my jaw and tongue around when I even start to feel a tiny pull, are super easy and also feel much better. The ones that suck? I have to practice looking into a mirror, and I can only practice for twenty minutes at a time.

I am dying.

I don't want to see what I look like when I'm making sounds that call to mind a dying cow. It's not pretty. Sometimes I drool, and quite often, I see a zit or a stray eyebrow, and then I have to go fix it, and it just ruins my concentration. And stopping after twenty minutes? Come on.

I usually sing for about an hour at a stretch. It's not always good, but I push through.

And that's just what is not helping my problem.

Ugh.

So I'll give it a shot. It's better than encouraging the muscles in my neck to tense up and feel like a Charley horse up in my face, but it is also seriously annoying.

I may die.

Okay, maybe not die, but still. Yuck.

There better be beer for dinner tonight. That is all.

I think last night I must've been engaged in an epic squeezing battle with my pillow. 

I've got to stop doing that.

Maybe it's just stress and I'm trying to work things out in my sleep, but I remember waking up periodically with my head twisted into some weird place while my pillow was attempting to migrate onto the floor, and then no matter how hard I tried to coax it back into place, I would have to grab it, squish it up into a big ball, and then try to put my head back on it. 

Which didn't really work.

So I woke up with my head tucked over to the side and my face squished with my pillow all the way up against the wall.

Jerk.

Pillow, you may have won this round, but it isn't over. Not by a long shot. Tonight, I shall succeed and you shall support my head and neck in the manner to which I have become accustomed.

Or else I'm going to beat the crap out of you.

So we went to the Denver Aquarium this weekend. It amazes me that so many people will pay that much to go look at fish, and spend the entire time looking at their phones.

Seriously. It was twenty bucks. Can't you look at your phone another time? 

Also, so many ladies taking selfies in front of every single fish tank. Do you really need that many reminders of your day at the aquarium with your phone?

Ugh. So all of the walkways are clogged with people staring at their phones and no one is talking to each other, and even kids are looking at phones. Have we not realized that we have a problem, guys? This phone thing is getting out of hand.

Not to mention that everywhere else I went this weekend was also dominated by phone use, including (yikes) a wedding. Yep. DURING THE CEREMONY. Ermahgersh.

So maybe I won't bring mine with me next time I go out. Or maybe it can just stay in my purse, so I can use it when I need it. Because it's getting ridiculous.

Also, twenty bucks. Come on. If I paid twenty bucks to look at fish, why on earth would I spend the entire time looking at my phone when I could've just done it outside for free? Really? 

Or maybe I'm just easily annoyed.

Or maybe it's both. Yeah, probably that. Anyway, put your phone down briefly. Feel the freedom.

You should see my fridge. It's really good in there. Like, I have a rainbow of produce, and I have yogurt and cottage cheese and milk and absolutely no beer.

And I gained two pounds this week. Gained.

Seriously, what the hell? I've walked 3 miles every day, fast, in the sweaty hot sweatiness, I've eaten under my allotment of calories every day, but not too much because that's bad, too, and I've had protein shakes for breakfast all but 2 days, and those days I had healthy oat cereal.

Yes, that's right. No generic Lucky Charms this week. And I have it, just sitting up there in my pantry, mocking me with its colorful marshmallows and rainbow deliciousness.

I have had no rainbow deliciousness.

Last Sunday, I decided to really be awesome this week and next and see how much I could lose. Apparently, I did the backwards thing, because 2 pounds. 2. How???

I weighed. I measured. I recorded. My protein percentages were through the roof.

And still.

Ugh.

This is the story of my life, right here. I wish I didn't care, but I got rid of all my big pants when I originally lost the 80 pounds, and I really don't want to have to buy them again. I keep reading articles about how if you go back to weighing and measuring, you'll see that you were eyeballing portions too big or not writing stuff down.

These people have obviously never met me. I eyeball like a champ. I can measure out 16 grams of peanut butter like nobody's business.

But apparently that's not the issue. 

Ugh, again.

Maybe it's time to try a weird diet. Like Atkins or something. Except Atkins plus no meat would be a disaster. I'll have to look around. Because for reals. This is stupid.

So I thought I'd share.

Ack.

Okay, here goes. I'm going to just get this out, so I can move on and lead a more honest life from here on out, okay? Ready?

I don't care about the Olympics.

There. Said it publicly. That's no longer my dirty little secret. Actually, I know for a fact that there are others Ike me; we're just too scared to freely admit that we could not even care a tiny bit less about who won the something meter freestyle swimming medal. Badge? Nope, it's medal. Right?

Yeah, definitely medal.

Anyway, sports are not my thing, too much. I like tennis, baseball, and football, and I really want to learn to play golf, because any sport where you can drive around in a little cart, drinking beer, is okay by me. Oh, and I love to hike, but that's not really a sport, so there you go. And I rarely watch any of them except baseball, but only in person, and football, because I remember watching it with my dad when I was little and I totally have an emotional attachment to that.

But that's it. And I don't know teams or players, either, except that I like the Broncos because my cousin had a Broncos shirt when we were kids.

Just getting everything out there in the name of honesty.

Opening up the Facebook this morning, I realized that I had better come clean, since no other person on the planet feels this way. My feed is all about swimmers and medals. And how many we've won.

Except, how can you watch other people swim for nine hundred hours? Especially my mom, who loves the Olympics but never once wanted to go sit at the pool and watch me swim for hours. Seriously, mom. And I was doing tricks and stuff.

So, there you have it. I have watched exactly zero Olympics, and it's likely that will remain unchanged.

Sorry, America. I just don't sports.

I made this deal with myself this summer that I would paint my fingernails every week or so, and that was supposed to encourage me to use more lotion, to help my hands not look like 90-year-old lady hands, with some dishpan action thrown in there.

So far, I have only been mildly successful.

Why do I hate lotion so much? Especially with this thin, pale skin that is all Sahara-ish and wrinkly? I should be taking baths in the stuff, but I can't seem to work up the enthusiasm necessary to take the five seconds I need to put it on.

Urgh.

Sunblock is another thing altogether. If I skip that, I know I'll be a lobster in less than fifteen minutes, so I'm pretty good at getting that all over my face. 

Maybe I need a more fear-based type of encouragement. Like, if I don't put on lotion all day, dust mites will come and devour all the dead skin and multiply and take over my house.

Except that kind of really happens.

Gross.

Maybe I just really, really need to not look at my hands at all. Then I'll never know.

I may go with that. Sounds pretty good.

So I had to get gas yesterday, and I heard the most awesome Los Alamos Dad conversation. Thought I'd share it. Keep in mind, though, that this is a town with more than its share of scientists and academic overachievers, so yeah. Lots and lots of pocket protectors.

Dad One is telling Dad Two about how his kids went to the community college during high school and ended up graduating a year early, with almost a full year of college credit under their belts, and one got a good scholarship to Yale and one got a full scholarship to the University of New Mexico to study medicine, so his kid will be making "that Doctor money" two years sooner.

Dad One was pretty proud.

Dad Two, however, would not be beat. His kid did a full extra course load at the community college, graduating two years early, and getting two years worth done on the college front, as well. But the cherry on top? Full scholarship to UC Berkeley.

Dad Two has his chest puffed out and is looking pretty pleased with himself.

Dad One, suitably impressed, says, "Wow! What is she studying?"

Dad Two, starting to deflate slightly, mumbles, "Art History."

And then we all looked away and got in our cars and drove off. But yay for following your dreams, kid. Yay for following your dreams.

Okay, so we have been doing this chemo thing with my mom for about six months now, and I have to say that yesterday, at her last session, something happened that irritated me more than any of the other stuff.

I know, I know. It must've been pretty bad because I never get annoyed.

Ha ha ha just kidding. At any rate...

We were there and finally got seated and started after the blood tests and a chat with the nurse/doctor and all of that, and we were seated next to an older lady who was the only person in the chemo center who didn't have a friend with her. The nurse came over and asked if she was waiting for someone, and she said, "My son dropped me off and he'll pick me up downstairs when I'm done. He can't deal with all this hospital stuff."

As the chemo went on, it became apparent that this woman was having some issues with memory loss and confusion, as she kept asking the nurse when her chemo would start (she had the IV going and had been there a couple of hours at that point), and she would get very distressed and forget where she was.

Finally, at the very end of her treatment, a nurse found her son in the lobby downstairs and dragged his butt up there to go sit with his mom.

I wanted to grab him by the collar and scream at him. If your mom needs someone to sit with her, SIT WITH HER. If she is scared and confused, GO WITH HER. You "can't deal with this hospital stuff"????? I'm pretty sure your mom is loving being poked and prodded in a strange place with no one she knows and not a familiar face in sight.

SHE'S YOUR MOM. She gave birth to you. She made you sandwiches and cleaned up your messes and wiped your butt. I'm sure all of that wasn't peachy for her. Maybe if you have a bigger family, there would be the option for you to have someone else go in with her, or maybe you could find a friend or church member to go sit in there with her, but holy crap, guy. Don't abandon your mom. Figure something out so she's not sitting in there alone and scared.

Argh. And he wasn't even kind to her when he went in, he just sat there being sullen because they made him come upstairs.

I wanted to punch him.

I also needed a snack pretty badly at that point, so I went with that, and I think we're all happy with that outcome. 

But still. Moms need a chemo buddy, too. Geez.

Yep, I just went a whole week without writing a blog.

Because I forgot.

Because it's so hot.

Seriously, when did July in the mountains mean 90-100 degree temps with no rain in sight? Especially when we were told that there was an El Niño going on?

Therefore, I am calling shenanigans on this particular El Niño and moving myself to Alaska. 

Where it's probably still at least going to be in the upper 70s today.

Argh. No escape. I may melt, even with the a/c.

Whenever we learn about a new concept in music class, I like to try to tie it to something in regular life, so it sticks in the kids' brains better. So I'll ask them a question about something at home, and we'll go from there.

The last few years, it's been getting a little more difficult, as I ask frequently about chores, and no one has any.

Seriously? Moms out there, you are missing out on a valuable source of free labor. Last week, I asked four kids about chores and every single one said, "None" except for one, who said she has to make her bed on weekends.

For reals. And some of these kids are eight or nine. Kid, by the time I was eight, I knew how to make that chrome in the bathroom shine like nobody's business, and so help me if that toilet wasn't properly cleaned.

Moms, if you don't teach them how to clean a bathroom, they'll never know. And unless you're prepared to provide them with maid service, that's not going to prepare them very well for life.

Show them how to clean a toilet outside in, so you're not spreading the poopy stuff where it shouldn't go.

Show them that it is, indeed, possible to have a shiny faucet for years and years with a little bit of wiping up every day.

And, for the love of all that is good and clean, please show them that it is never, ever okay to expect someone else to clean up any big poopy messes they make (this one's primarily for my benefit, because gross).

They'll thank you for it when they've got their own kids who are being used as free labor. Keep the tradition alive.

I had the best dang idea today, and it got shot down. What was it, you say?

Above-ground swimming pool.

I know. Sounds miraculous, right? YES. The in-ground ones are too expensive and, let's face it, we've got more space than money at this point. I say, let's get us a big old above-ground one, get our swim on for a couple of years, and then see where we're at.

Plus, swimming. In my yard. With no one judging my thigh fat.

I would have so many pool parties, except mostly with just me because I am massively antisocial. We could get floaty things and drink tables and junk and we would have so many swimmy good times. 

We totally would.

My husband, however, does not agree. He thinks those pools are crappy and they look bad and then it's just more work for him. Which is true, to some extent, but seriously.

SWIM TIME.

I think I'm going to lose this battle.  Ugh. I want to swim so much right now. I know there are public pools I could go to, but that involves leaving my house, seeing other people, and public swimsuiting. I am a fan of none of that.

Oh, well. Maybe I'll go sit in the tub with some cool water and see how that goes.

But it won't be the same.

Hmmm...it's a lovely morning and I got all my other stuff done yesterday, so I have a couple of free hours before I have to start work. What to do? Oh, I know, I'll have a minor heart attack (along with my bird) when a sparrow flies straight into the front window and it basically makes a sound like someone threw a brick at the house.

Seriously. Our bird is sitting on the floor of his cage right now, shaking and refusing to be held or comforted.

Yes, we did buy all new windows for our house shortly after moving in. The old ones were fifty years old. Apparently, the shiny newness equals an invitation to come on in for all of the birds in town. Except they can't because GLASS.

The back windows get flown into regularly, but not the front ones as much because they have those little bar looking thingies in them...don't know what they're called, but I'm sure I could google it and find out in approximately two seconds if I felt like it, which I don't...who am I kidding, now I have to know...okay, they're called grilles. You would think the grilles would give the birds pause, but no.

And they fly right into them, lie on my sidewalk for half a minute, then fly away, but I know that they have to have massive brain damage after a collision that extreme.

So now my yard is full of brain-damaged birds and I feel guilty for having these big shiny windows.

And my bird is permanently scarred emotionally because he just heard a loud crash.

Moral of the story? There is none. Unless maybe it's that windows can, indeed be too clean for the birds' health and safety. No more cleaning those bad boys. I can live with that.

Summer colds are lame.

Well, this may be allergies, I really can't tell, but at any rate, I'm sick of snot. Last Thursday was my birthday (really nice, by the way, minus the sore throat), and I had a bit of a sore throat all day, but it's allergy season like crazy so I didn't think anything of it. 

Went to sleep, woke up two hours later with the worst sore throat I've ever had, couldn't sleep the rest of the night.

From a sore throat? Yeah, it was that bad. So, basically, since then I've been trying to stay away from my mom in case of any viral contagiousness, and then just trying to figure out where this bad boy's going. I haven't ever felt badly at all, except Friday from not sleeping all night. I mean, that was it. If this is, indeed, a cold, it's the weirdest one ever.

Today, it seems to have moved down my face into my chest, so I'm pretty sure there's going to be some coughing, but I feel like with the fifty tons of water, Mucinex and DayQuil, I've got this thing covered.

But I'm still producing way more snot than I'd like. 

I always think that I can beat a cold with my superior mucus handling techniques. Maybe that's why I've not felt badly, or maybe it's really just allergies, in which case, can we just throw all the juniper, grass, and lamb's ear far, far away? Like, dump it somewhere freezing so no one has to deal.

I know, I know, people Ike their lawns, but grass is my worst allergy. I have no lawn, just ragweed, which is my other worst allergy, so I'm basically screwed on the outdoor plant front. I'm gunning for pouring concrete and having a swimming pool. I feel like a big pool and then patios is way less work than almost an acre of grass.

Come on. You know it is.

At any rate, it would probably mean less snot for me. And I like that.

Fingers crossed that today's the day it starts going away. I'd like to breathe without whistling in my nose and/or hacking up a lung.

Even though my birthday isn't until tomorrow, I decided yesterday that I should probably start accepting the fact that I'm now really in my late 30s. I know 37 is late, too, but I always felt like it was more a part of the middle.

So, 30-34 is early, 35-37 is mid, and 38-39 are the late thirties. In my mind. 

Which is an unequal distribution, but come on. We live in a society where we become irrelevant at 27, so we're basically old farts for the last three-quarters of our lives. We've got to stretch that youngness out as long as possible in order to remain valid human beings.

Or do we?

I think maybe no. I've felt old all of my life. Maybe that's why I have no illusions about looking any younger than I am. I always looked older, as a teenager and stuff, because of my size and stature, and now I look older because of this glorious Irish skin (as my grandma used to say) that gets more and more spotty, red, and wrinkled every day. Thanks for the skin, guys.

There is just never enough moisturizer.

At any rate, I guess I don't mind being an old fart. It's not so bad. I don't like my parents getting older and more achy, and I certainly don't like the idea of my husband getting large masses of ear hair and not being able to lift heavy stuff, but there's not really a whole lot I can do about any of that.

Plus, I get a little closer to that magic age where I automatically stop caring about what I look and/or smell like every year. I'm not sure exactly when it'll hit, but I'm pretty excited about worrying about one or two less things. Bonus? AARP. Also, you get that National Parks Pass and you can take classes at the local college for only $5 per credit hour. I'm going to go back and get me a cheap degree, just for fun. Maybe by that time they'll actually offer one in underwater basket weaving, because that would be hilarious.

So, I'm okay with late thirties, I suppose. I just wish I had a lawn to tell the damn kids to stay off of. Or off of which to tell the damn kids to stay. Either way, kids. Watch it. I'm not getting any friendlier. 

I am really trying hard to keep my motivation to eat healthy, but there is just nothing that I want to eat on the acceptable food list on my diet.

However, this week is my birthday/Father's Day week, so I know the dessert action is going to be pretty intense. I decided to go ahead and seriously no carb it up Monday-Wednesday, so I can eat desserts and whatnot on my birthday and Father's Day and not gain five billion pounds.

I realize that number sounds like an exaggeration, but it's only a slight one. I can gain weight like nobody's business.

I'm into day one about six hours, I've only had a protein shake, I did an hour on the treadmill, and I already want to punch a wall. Or eat a cake. Or punch and eat a wall made of cake, if that's even a thing. I'm trying to remind myself that opera fancy dress season is coming soon, and I need to fit into all my dresses in such a way that I won't need to wear a girdle, because it's outside and already hot enough without having to vacuum pack all my fat into a spandex sausage-style casing.

It's working so far but I'm not sure how long it'll last.

I need more work to distract me, but I've already finished half my work for the day, and lunchtime is approaching quickly.

And I'm so hungry.

And I know how to bake cookies, and I have a whole hour at lunch so I could, feasibly, do so.

And there's wine in the cupboard.

Goodness gracious. This one's rough going. That birthday cake had better be awesome.

So I typically get up an hour before I have to, so I can stay on a sleep schedule, but also so I can sit in the dark and drink coffee before having to interact with others.

I have noticed that, lately, it's taking more coffee.

I used to be good with just the one cup. Now, it's two, but I'm seriously dying for a third cup, and I generally make one and start in while I'm starting to work.

What's going to happen next? 

If I go up to three cups before I even start my day, the logical next step is four, and then maybe I will just need to brew an entire gallon and wear two cups on my head, maybe modifying one of those beer can hats to dispense hot liquids. I don't know.

That certainly seems more practical, but I will pretty much wet my pants every five seconds, and then I'll spend more time going to the bathroom than working, which is counter-productive, so what's the point of all the coffee?

See my dilemma?

I know for sure that my grandma pretty much just drank that stuff like there was no tomorrow, but she drank it without the cream and sugar. I just can't. I have to at least have some cream in it, or the heartburn will make me die, and that means more calories go towards coffee, and less go towards food, and I just don't know about that.

Ugh. The dilemma.

Maybe I should just sleep an extra half hour, and then I wouldn't be so tired, and then I wouldn't need the coffee.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Like that's an option. More coffee it is!

I finally got around to canning in my new kitchen! Granted, I only did one small batch, because it was a new recipe and I wasn't sure of the outcome, but I did it.

It was glorious.

The whole reason for so much counter space (it's like miles and miles of it) is so I can have room when I'm canning, and the plan was perfect. I never ran out of room, nothing melted or got burnt, and even cleaning up afterwards was awesome.

Oh, and pineapple jam? It's pretty darn good, too. See?

I just had the greatest weekend.

Nothing super spectacular happened, beside the fact that I didn't have one bad day. Not one. Nothing terrible happened, no one got sick, and I actually stopped worrying for a bit.

It was wonderful.

I got to stay in a hotel, watch crap TV, have room service nachos, go shopping and find a set of 1960s olive green nesting Pyrex mixing bowls, go to the movies, and just generally do all my favorite things with my favorite person in the world.

And, I got to wake up this morning to a condescending email from an ex-student's mom, basically asking me to make copies for her. I don't do that. And I was able to write a very nice email in response, telling her how to do what she wanted her very own self, and I didn't even worry about it.

Yep. Good weekend continuing into what will be a good week.

Keeping my fingers crossed.

Wow, it's been a rough week.

My mom ended up in the hospital again with a mystery fever, and it's just been a little crazy up in my house. I mean, head. House, too, but mostly my head.

At any rate, I would love it if I could just breathe for a minute and not have any new and terrible things with which I have to deal. Wouldn't everybody like that? And the whole "Trump is in Albuquerque" thing is ridiculous, and that's basically what my feed on every social media website in the world is full of, so that's also as annoying as is humanly possible.

There is not enough coffee to fix this, but I'm sure going to try to find me some positives for my day. Here goes:

I feel like my screwed up jaw joint is starting to feel a little better, what with my new normal night guard and my physical therapy stretches and whatnot. That's a good thing.

Also, my new kitchen is the business. So that's good, too.

Mom is home, and Trump is far, far away, so that's another two super ultra mega positives. (Sorry to get political, but white supremacists scare the crap out of me) 

I have successfully meditated three times, for more than five minutes per time. That's a total of over fifteen minutes of empty brain time. I realize that keeping track and charting it probably isn't the right thing to do, but I'm not used to meditation and I don't know the rules. Bear with me.

See? I can be positive, too. Just like all the positive people who I don't really know, but I always want to emulate.

Because we can't be friends. Too perky.

Anyway, have a glorious day out there. Eat you some cake. It's okay, I give you permission.

We are in the home stretch, as 90% of stuff is done on the house, so now it's definitely time to hit the diet pretty hard.

I gained way less weight over the holidays/cancer time/emotional roller coaster/renovation goodness than I would've expected; however, those in my family can attest to our bodies' ability to gain 50 pounds at the slightest provocation with only a minimum of food.

Seriously. I have gained double digits in days when I didn't think I was doing too badly. We have to be so careful, it's ridiculous.

At any rate, we're clearing out the garage, and the treadmill is almost visible, so that's a good thing. We also need to eat more vegetables; however, our grocery store just recalled all of the frozen vegetables we have, so I guess it's time to get some new ones. Or maybe fresh ones. I don't know. Ugh, vegetable shopping. Not a good thing. Everyone says they love vegetables, but come on. Green beans, or cake? Or wine? Or wine and cake? Or a beer and a whole pile of cheese and bread?

There is no question. The delicious things are never as good for you.

Unless there's sauce.

So I'm hitting it really hard this week, since I have a thing I need to wear a dress for later on this week, and I really don't want to have to rein all this in with a girdle. It's too warm for girdles, and the effort required to pull that thing up is something that I'm just not prepared for.

Therefore, I will protein shake and salad it up this week. Maybe eggs, too, but we're also almost out of those. We are also out of cake. And beer. So that's how this week is going to go.

It's so Monday right now. So, so very Monday. 

My family got some really good news on the medical front yesterday. It seems that the treatments have worked remarkably well, so my mom is on the road to recovery. That's awesome.

In other news, though, I still have to get up and work and stuff today, so that's kind of lame.

I think when we get some kind of humongous news that is either good or bad, we should get at least a week off. You know, to digest the news. Maybe said week should be on a beach somewhere, but not somewhere too hot. Somewhere just right.

Maybe also somewhere where they have daiquiris which aren't too sweet, have zero carbs so they actually cause a person to lose weight, and they serve them with toast by the beach.

Yep. This is my dream, and I want daiquiris and toast. Deal with it.

While all this is happening, everyone's hair should remain perfect at all times, and every bit of clothing fits perfectly, avoiding even the slightest hint of stomach bulge. No one ever drops butter on these shirts and ruins them, and every person is smiling and being nice while not doing anything that I might find annoying.

Ah.

Nope, instead I think I'll have a day full of kids who are at the end of the school year, so they no longer give a crap, and adults who have some strange idea that I'm a magician and can make them sing perfectly no matter how little they practice. That sounds awesome.

Yep. I'll take option two. Meh.

It's done!

We were working yesterday afternoon, and we reached a point where we realized our kitchen was done. All the way. No more little things to fix.

Holy crap.

Here's what it looked like before. It actually didn't look horrible at all, I don't think. I mean, it was completely okay but storage was an issue, there was a total of about five feet of counter space but all broken up, and there were some weird problems with the cupboards, which happens when you have a fifty-year-old kitchen which has only been cosmetically touched up. It was just time.

Yes, there it was, in all its glory. The best part about it was the dishwasher, so we kept that. Everything else? Gone. But almost every bit of it went to another house where it's being used, so that's nice. Besides being warped and just a little too small to hold modern dishes, they were pretty burly little cabinets.

This is it ripped out, in case you haven't seen. Keep in mind we also did the whole rest of the house, too, so there was a time with no floors, anywhere. But I didn't die, so that's good.

If it looks bigger, that's because it is. We ripped out the washing machine closet area and moved those out to the garage because counter space was the number one priority. I need room to bake, man.

We also moved the door on the left hand wall which leads to the garage. It gave us another three feet or so, which enabled us to get a pantry. I have a pantry. They are pretty much the most amazing invention ever and way better than the laundry area/garage storage combo. I highly recommend them.

We also had to move the plumbing so we could have a refrigerator with water, and move the gas so our stove could go on the back wall. This way there's enough room for at least two butts in the kitchen. My husband did all of that himself, and learned a lot, and it went amazingly well. Very smoothly. I lucked out big time, because we only paid a tiny amount of labor costs, since he can do almost all of those kinds of work himself.

In case you didn't notice, I'm a little proud.

So, yesterday, we finished, and it didn't seem real, because we've been living with this almost finished kitchen for such a long time. And we're over a month, but that's not so bad. Now we can finish the other little things around the house and we're done.

So I made a cake!

Here it is, though, with all its shiny newness. I never want to work with a contractor again, because getting him to commit to times and such is just such a hassle. However, these cabinets and countertops are beautiful, and the cabinets are real wood and both are made here in the U.S. (which is really important to me, and you'd think would make them prohibitively expensive, but they weren't any more than the others of this quality level) and I'd hire him again in a minute just for that. Except not right now, because the annoyance is just too fresh in my mind...

Yes, my iPad is getting old and the camera is kind of crappy. And we also need to hang the new back door. But that is not within the kitchen area, therefore we are done.

I'm so glad. Because ugh. And if we had not already put down deposits and stuff when family calamity time hit in January, we might not have pushed through. But we did, so at least we got to double up on some of that stress. Blergh.  

Now on to everything else in the world. But at least I can bake again! 

I still can't believe this is my house.

I had a thirteen-year-old try to explain to me yesterday that I was incorrect about music notes being circular (meaning the order a-b-c-d-e-f-g-a-b-c, etc....to do a scale you stop where you started....oversimplifying, but if you draw it as a circle, it helps some people). She stood there and argued for about two minutes, and then I said, "Well, I went to college and studied this, so I'm pretty sure I'm right about it. I even graduated." Of course, I say it all jokey and smiling and whatnot, and then she comes out with, "Then that explains it. You're old, so you don't know about any new discoveries. You probably don't even know about Pluto." All serious and whatnot.

Wow.

For a second, I was confused, because I've been teaching this kid for a long time and she's never really been super mouthy, then I realized that she must actually think adults don't learn anything new at all, they just keep using the skill set they built up during their years in school. Also, Pluto is a planet. You're not convincing me otherwise. I will learn new country names and slang terms, but you can't take Pluto away. It's my favorite. At any rate...

If only that were true, kid. Life has taught me more since I was 30 than I ever learned in school. Most of it awful, but also some stuff I can use to beat my dad at Jeopardy! (I know it'll never happen, but let me have my dream.)

So I told her that was ridiculous, and that I will keep learning things until the day I die, because it's fun and there's so many things to learn about, just for the fun of it, that I'll never really run out.

She agreed and we moved on.

Did think that at her age? Did I think that all adults were really stupid because they weren't in school anymore? Yikes. I hope not. Now I feel really embarrassed for teenage me. Even more embarrassed than usual, because I was pretty horrible.

Wow. Kids are completely insane. 

I mean, I'm completely insane, too, but at least I know that there are a billion people who know more about everything than I do. Thank goodness for that. It would stink to be up on a pedestal and then have life knock you down when the inevitable better person shows up.

Also, pedestals are small and they look wobbly and I'm pretty sure I'd fall, anyway.

Also, also, it is Friday. We all made it. Hooray.

Yeah, I took a week off from blogging. What of it?

At any rate, we are still in project mode, although we are approaching the end, so we actually had some time to just sit and watch tv yesterday, so that was pretty awesome.

A lot of really big things got finished up at the end of last week. We got the cabinets adjusted, finally, so I can use all of them now, and the trim piece was hung so it's not just sitting on the floor of my living room. We also got the tile put up and the ceiling around the perimeter of the room got scraped, repaired, and painted.

So, so close. But still not there.

At this juncture, we took the big piece of art that we had framed and stuff especially to hang in our new kitchen, and just propped it up.

It doesn't work.

You guys. It doesn't work. We planned and planned and planned, and it's all wrong. Mostly because of the wall tile, but still. So we had to figure out an alternative, which I think is actually going to work out very nicely, but still.

Yuck.

Also, my arms are still sore. They've been sore for like a month. And I still haven't stained all the new closet doors. I may be in trouble.

Yes, all my blogs will be about this project until further notice. We're so close, and I haven't gone completely crazy yet, so yay me.

I realized this morning that I must've been googling a bunch of weird stuff, because my Facebook feed and my Amazon recommendations are both completely insane and I am a little worried about myself now. In honor of that, here are my top five Amazon recommendations and my top five recommended posts from Facebook. Just because Friday.

1. Amazon recommended a bunch of supplements for irritable bowel syndrome. Don't have that, but thanks, guys.

2. Amazon also recommended several books about Stockholm Syndrome. So many ideas about where they got that suggestion...

3. Amazon would like me to consider purchasing a wide variety of mega high platform shoes, generally in white patent leather. Apparently my feet don't look large enough on their own.

4. Amazon keeps trying to sell me creams for low testosterone. Seriously. Among all of the problems I might have, that one is the least worrisome, guys.

5. Finally, Amazon really, really, really knows I like to wash my hands. I get so many offers for deals on hand soap, you wouldn't believe it. Amazon just doesn't understand that I have limited storage space for my nine million spare bottles of moisturizing hand soap or, as I like to call it, "other people's poop particle remover" because, as I've said repeatedly, it's not about germs, it's about poop.

Now on to the Facebook!

1. Facebook recommended four separate articles about dealing with OCD. Yeah, maybe that one makes sense. I just didn't think fb knew me so well.

2. Facebook also posts numerous articles about Gary Johnson, which is weird because I never say political stuff on my page, except that I hate Trump because, well, he's just awful. But I did watch that video where GJ referred to Trump as the p-word a billion times because, I mean, come on. Gary climbs mountains. Trump can't even get his foundation to not look like Cheese Whiz.

3. Facebook knows I'm obsessed with Keeping Up Appearances. There are so many video links and articles about it on my page. I have said maybe one thing about it on there, ever. That is just creepy.

4. Facebook thinks I should eat more fruits and vegetables, because links to articles about improving health through diet pop up like every two seconds. Honestly, guys. I get it. I'm fat.

5. And, finally, Facebook knows I'm freaked out about Alzheimer's. There are about fifty articles about prevention, cures, research, and everything else on there, every day. All the time. How did you get all the way into my head, fb? It's just weird.

So, yes, my internet knows that I am a hand washing weirdo who votes third party and obsesses about my genetic predisposition to every disease known to man. Great. Maybe I should just turn it off.

Hahahaha, just kidding. That would be way too boring and might lead to dangerous activities like thinking. Never!

We have a sink!

I didn't realize at exactly which point I would start to feel like the kitchen was coming together, but it's totally at this point. The sink point.

Maybe it's just because we spent the weekend away and got some sleep and some good food and just had a lovely relaxing time, but I'm feeling so much better.

Also, it's freezing and snow-rainy and just beautiful outside today, so that doesn't hurt.

At any rate, today, I get to clean out the new cabinets and put dishes in them and get a wee bit organized, so I am super happy about that. 

Well, as super happy as I ever am, which is okay by me.

I can now wash my hands and wash dishes and throw stuff away in my kitchen, rather than getting water from the bathroom and going out to the garage to fill my kettle. So much fun for me, right there.

Acupuncture later, too. Don't know if I can handle this much goodness in one day.

Getting closer to done.

I keep telling myself that, but little tiny booboos keep cropping up, and I'm at the point where I just want to throw in the towel. Can't do it, though, as we're way way way past the point of no return.

Let me just say that people with OCD should never ever do anything. Just buy everything ready-made by machines so you never have to see un-straight lines, countertops that aren't quite level, or knobs that aren't exactly square. I'll just get in at the end of the process and try not to look.

But in the real world, sometimes you have to deal with these things.

And I know that some people wouldn't even notice the things that drive me the most crazy, but I like straight lines and squareness. 

And straight. 

No bumps.

Just straight.

And square. 

No round.

No crooked.

Oh my goodness I hope we're done soon. I may have gone all the way to cuckoo. 

I just realized that I didn't publish my last post. Over a week ago. I may be a little tired.

At any rate, it's a lot better now. All the floors are in, and I have most of my house back (except the kitchen, which I don't even want to think about because it's now weeks behind schedule), and now it's just finish work for the most part. So that's good.

The less good part is just how the rest of life is kind of stinky right now what with all of the illness and sadness and tiredness.

So, just because I want to remind everybody, and this is my blog page, today's post is a PSA-type reminder. I want you all to remember that you need to get your colonoscopy when your doctor tells you to. Seriously. I've had like ten. They're really not that bad. Just watch some Netflix on your iPad and maybe play some mahjong.

It's not as weird and embarrassing as you think. Really. It's actually really funny once the drugs kick in.

The alternative is losing a quarter of your intestines, having to go through chemo that gives you horrendous diarrhea and severe pain, and basically being confined to your house for months. It's awful.

So, let a doctor put a tube with a camera in it up your butt. That's the moral of today. Wow. I hate to guess what the moral of tomorrow is going to be.

I feel like, at this point, we should probably just bring our camper to Lowe's, so we can just sleep there and make trips home occasionally. It would be more efficient.

I suppose these are the pitfalls of doing projects in a tiny town with a hardware store which has limited items and super high prices, but come on. Who can afford to just hire people to do every little thing? That's crazy talk. 

In any case, as we approach the last weeks of the project, it seems like more and more things are requiring different things than the things we've already got, so we need to make more and more trips to Lowe's. Or Home Depot, but that's about twenty minutes further than the Lowe's, so we're definitely making do with Lowe's whenever possible.

We are also learning which cashiers to avoid, which is a very good thing, perhaps the only plus from our many trips. There is one girl who has a voice that is the human equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. Seriously. When she speaks, dogs all over the neighborhood go crazy and I'm pretty sure glass all over the store shatters. It's bad. There's also a crazy old lady who took five hours to check us out and then asked, "How many of these?" When we told her there were five, she repeated it after us, then proceeded to ring up ten. And insisted we told her ten.

I just can't. 

I am learning that some families like to wear a ton of perfume when shopping for hardware, so if I see a large group, I need to approach them cautiously before breathing normally or I will get a throat full of fragrance and be wheezy the rest of the day. Strange, but accurate.

And finally, I have learned that the smell in the lumber department is quite possibly my favorite smell of all time. Too bad we're not buying much lumber.

All in all, the end is in sight, and I have a feeling we just may survive. It's just those multiple trips making us insane. The house is starting to come together- the kitchen and living room have a floor, some of the gross old bifold doors have been replaced, the bedrooms are prepped and ready for carpet, and the cabinet installation has started. Maybe, just maybe, we'll  finish on time.

And maybe we won't have to make any more Lowe's runs.

Bahahaha...that is so funny, I can't stand it.

Okay, so this article called, "Five Things People Without Kids Should Never Say To People With Kids" popped up in my feed five times this morning. FIVE TIMES. Different people, none of them connected (and also no one who actually reads this blog, but never mind that).

I would just like to call b.s.

I get that having a kid is really, really hard. I get it. But there's a reward there that those of us without kids will never get. Never. No sticky baby kisses or tiny toes or graduations or weddings or any of that stuff. Maybe there are people out there who talk smack about moms, but I'm certainly not one of them. So stop complaining about how much harder your life is than mine, and how we childless people always give you crap. I would never say what you're doing is easy; I know it's rough, and I would never compare my struggles to yours. But I do have them, they're mine, and to me, they're difficult.

I give you major credit for raising teeny people; in fact, I think parents are pretty amazing beings, and I don't know how you do it. That just isn't my path. But don't assume that my childlessness is my way of silently judging you. I don't feel like any of us has a right to belittle another person's problems. 

I don't judge you on Mother's Day, when I have to leave the house in order to take my Mom someplace special to celebrate how awesome she is, and I have to hear either, "Hey there, Mom! Happy Mother's Day!" or,"How come you don't have kids?" a billion times. Seriously.

I don't judge you when strangers feel like they can comment on my lack of babies, or even people who know me say things like, "Oh, she doesn't like kids." (Total and complete lie, btw. I absolutely do. My reasons are way more complex and entirely none of anyone's business.)

I don't even judge you when it's Christmas and I get to see all of your beautiful pictures of kids happily opening fun presents from Santa and I know I'll never get to do that. It's not easy, guys. Sometimes the cute that pops up on my Facebook page is almost unbearable.

Yet, I never, not even once, made an attempt to compare my difficulties to yours.

I will gladly listen to you tell me how hard it is. I will gladly sympathize with your lack of sleep and total failure to make it through a movie without having to leave because someone peed his pants or started screaming because something random was scary. That sucks. And I get that it's hard.

But don't put down my life because of it.

Life is a terribly complicated thing. Nothing is simple, nothing is straightforward, and NOTHING is fair. We make the best choices we can, and move on from there. And I applaud you for choosing to share your life with those miniature insane people. They will grow up, it will get better, and you will sleep again. I will never put down your choice, and I will never compare my struggles to yours.

Try to think of that next time you feel offended by my lack of offspring, and for me daring to say that I ever have difficulties. Your life is yours, mine is mine, they're all tricky, and we should all support each other. Period.

So this is my last week of teaching for a bit, since I'm taking a couple of weeks off while the house is all torn up. All day yesterday, I kept getting the question, "How are you going to cook?" 

Well, if our dinner yesterday was any indicator, we're going to put half a dozen eggs in the egg cooker, start it, have it overflow all over the makeshift counter, then run out of water too soon to fully cook the eggs, and then have a runny batch of eggs which we will then try to microwave, but will not cook any further without turning into a wet bunch of eggy goo, which will then get thrown away, and we will eat cheese sandwiches.

So that, my friends, is how we're going to cook.

I believe we will also have us some pb&j, yogurt, and string cheese. Might throw some lunchmeat and/or some microwave popcorn in there, too. Just to spice it up.

Thank goodness we don't have children, because the whining would just kick this project into a very, very bad place. A place involving McDonald's at every meal and gaining fifty pounds over the next three weeks.

But that is not the case. Yet.

Three weeks from tomorrow, we'll be done. 

No more eggs, though. 

Sigh.

Well, we're up in this business for real, now. We took down the wall.

Granted, it was a little tiny wall, just one dividing the kitchen from the laundry area, but seeing as how we've never done that before, it was a little exciting. See, here's what it looked like before...

Old cupboards painted brown, and about four feet of counter space altogether. Which is just not enough for canning. Or so I keep telling myself. We took the washer and dryer out about a month and a half ago and put them in the garage, which, I must say, is working really well. Keeps that lint out of my house, yo.

Anyway, here's where we're at now. 

So much bigger. I mean, it's really only four feet, but holy cow. The ceiling seems higher and it's a lot brighter, too. Also, since we moved the doorway to the left down by about three feet(these pictures don't really show it), we'll have room for a pantry. A real, live pantry.

I'm pretty excited. Or, I will be, once this mess is over.

It will end, someday. It will. Four more weeks. Or, really, three. Then we just wait a week for appliances because when you live in the boonies, you have to get things delivered when the people feel like delivering them. Poops.

At any rate, I still have a sink, so I can wash my hands. And that's what matters.

P.S. Knocking down a wall is fun, but it really makes your arms hurt. Like, a lot. Invest in some ibuprofen if you're going to do that.