On This Day of Mothers...

Since I am on a plane, bound for paradise and rum and all-inclusive wonderment, I found it fitting to pay tribute to the reason I am here (literally, she dropped me off at the airport): my mom.

I don't even think she knows this blog exists, but I do, and in honor of the holiday, I felt it only fitting to honor her appropriately. So, Mom, if you ever read this, or know that I have a blog, or what a blog is, this one's for you.


Thanks for instilling in me early on a love of bargain-hunting that is worthy of its own show on TLC. My retail-therapy engaging self appreciates that you taught me early on that 30% off is NOT a clearance, and that paying full price for anything is for suckers.


Thanks for letting me be brave enough to embrace my nerdhood through all those awkward pre-teen/teen/okay still now years that had voices from everywhere telling me that what I liked was uncool. You made it okay for me to prefer the History Channel to E! and libraries to dance clubs. Rock on.


Thanks for thinking that you still want me around and even hanging out with your friends, even though I'm a total dweeb. I realize that I think I'm awesome, but it's nice to have backup.


Thanks for teaching me that politeness is always important, but if someone is doin' you wrong, from salespeople to friends to family, you best be willing to defend yourself.


Thanks for instilling in me the value of an education, and for insisting that I could be a pole dancer if I wanted to, but I'd better dang well be a college-educated pole dancer.


Mostly, thanks for just being awesome. You rule.

Shop-cceptance

Lately, my shopping mojo has been revving like nobody's business. Funny, my desire to buy, buy, buy is inversely proportionate to my income. Mi madre thinks it's because I've spent most of my life being Extremely Responsible Finance Girl, and that I'm starting to rebel. I think it's that I've discovered the joy of buying things that I love. Either way.


Once a year, I do a major weed of my closet, mostly because of size restrictions: My closet's too small and my...everything else is too big. Plus, I have an unhealthy love of thrifting, and sometimes I end up with some ... interesting stuff that needs to make its way back to the local Goodwill. This year was harder than most, because I had to tank a lot of my college and immediately-post college stuff. But there is something invigorating about both liking and fitting into everything in your wardrobe. It makes getting dressed more fun when you aren't taunted by clothes from two sizes ago, sitting there with their single-digit numbers, laughing at you.

Plus, if you've got hoodies that have wear holes bigger than the one you put your head through, it may be time to retire them.

Library Land Isn't Lunch Lady Land

In the library world, I hear a lot o' things. For the most part, I maintain composure and keep on typing/cutting/pasting/etc. But sometimes, a giggle escapes. Or a snort. Or an eyeroll. Geez, I'm lucky no one has called 9tothe1tothe1 yet, thinking I'm having some sort of seizure.

* A high school girl came up to me last week and asked me for the book Heroshemia. I thought maybe it was some manga-ey thing, so I asked her what it was about. This is how that conversation went:

Me: Okay, what was that one about?
Girl: It's a made-up story like about when the Americans thought they were going to have a bomb.
Me: Oh, you mean Hiroshima. You're looking for a book about Hiroshima.
Girl: Yeah, that's it.
Me: Okay, do you need a specific book, or just any old book?
Girl: I need a pacific book. It has a Ferris wheel on the cover. And it's a made up book, like with chapters?
I was able to find what she needed (neither made up nor featuring a Ferris wheel), but it wasn't in, so she left disappointed, and I, once again, became disenchanted with these youths of America.

*There's this a-plus-dorable little girl that comes in with her mom on Tuesday nights. She's about seven, really sweet, and tells me all the time that I am her favorite because I have fun shoes and jewelry in my nose. Loves her. But she also has an issue, just a teensy one, with passing gas. It's actually kind of hilarious. She'll be talking, then mid-sentence, you'll just hear a "toot," and she keeps on going. Happens several times a night. Haven't snorted yet, but I have had to leave the area to keep from giggling. You go, non-self-conscious girl. May you never be embarrassed by bodily functions.

*There's this older guy that comes in with younger kids. They are very well behaved, they just sit on the computer and play games. But the dad, well, he has the most fun of them all, because he builds these epic structures with the giant blocks we have in the preschool area. The kids are all, "hey Dad, come help me find Winnie the Pooh," and the dad's all like "hold on just a second, let me finish this tier." Awesome.

*One of my favorite storytime kids is an absolute doll, and really well-spoken for being barely three years old. She comes up to me today and asks me why I look like Ariel now. "Ariel?" I asked. "Yah, the Little Mermaid." I've heard worse.

* This gruff sounding guy calls in, and he's looking for a book called The Very Cranky Bear. "Okay," I tell him. "Let me see if we have it." We don't. I check a few other local libraries. No one's got it. So I tell him that I'm having a hard time tracking it down. He sighs this big, awful "you're ruining my day" sigh and asks me if I am spelling it right. I told him, yes, I'm sure that my second-grade spelling skills can handle Very. Cranky. Bear. Would you believe that he hung up on me?

Things I Love...

...just because.

The weather has gotten to be downright springy here in Chicagoland, which leads me to believe Apocalypse is coming because spring doesn't exist in Chicago - we go right from parkas to swimsuits. But warm weather has perked me up, and as such, I felt like sharing the love of some new finds:

*Arrested Development. Yeah, I know I am a few years behind the curve here, but someone bought it for the Hubbs to entertain him while recouping from surgery, and I just loves it. Also, Jason Bateman is my new TV boyfriend. Sorry Alton Brown. It's smart, and funny, and I want to watch it all day.

* These rain boots. I ordered them a couple of weeks ago, and I've worn them several times. Without rain.

* These wedges in yellow. Angels sang when I pulled them out of the box. And I cried, for the beauty was so great. One of my storytime kids told me they were the best, and that she couldn't take her eyes off them. Win. Plus, I love Steve Madden like a fat kid loves cupcakes, except, you know, I haven't really tried to eat them. Yet. But these may tempt me, with their little perfect rosettey goodness. Omnom. Nom.

* Marshmallow Peeps. Only yellow chicks or pink bunnies, thankyouverymuch.

* Crystal Light Lemonade. I always get a hankerin' for lemonade when it gets warm out, and combined with my increased consumption of Peeps and my desire to not look like a beached whale in Mexico, I've started drinking this stuff like it's water. Because, well, technically, it is.

* Hot boys sans shirts. Yummo. I mean, I only have eyes for my husband and never look at the scenery. Because that would be wrong, righ?

* My new bike. Guess who can ride it like a big girl with no training wheels? This kid right here. I am a few handlebar streamers away from full-on lurving it.

* The History Channel. Shut up, I'm a nerd. I get it.

* Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter by Seth Grahame-Smith. Oh. My. Word. If this book was a guy in a bar, he wouldn't even have to buy me a drink to get me to go home with him. Its awesomeness probably deserves its own blog post, but alas. I heard the movie rights were optioned by Tim Burton. If that actually comes to fruition, there will be much swooning. Loves.

The one where I relearn a skill every kindergartener has...

Do you remember the episode of Friends where Ross finds out Phoebe never learned how to ride a bike, so he buys her one and tries to teach her, with comically disastrous results? What, like every adult just *knows* how to ride a bike?

So...in an attempt to get fit, get fresh air and have more o' that coupley-quality time that we lurve so much, the Hubbs purchased me (used, from Craigslist) a fabulous hot-pink mountain bike. I went with him to pick it up, but refused to test it out. "You do it," I told him, "since you know so much more about them," (do I know how to stroke an ego, or what?).

He sees, he likes, we pack it up and get in the car to head home. Halfway through rocking out to "Hotel California" (which might be one of the greatest songs OF. ALL.TIME), he turns the radio down (bad move, mister).

Hubbs: So, why didn't you try it out? It's yours, you know. You can ride it.
Me: Oh, you know, I don't really know much about breaks and gears...
H: Um, do you know how to ride a bike?
M: Of course I do? Who doesn't know...okay, maybe I haven't been on a bike in 17 years. And maybe I've never been on a mountain bike. And maybe the only place I was ever allowed to ride is up and down the sidewalk in front of my parents' house, so I've never really been able to "ride" ride, per se...
H: *laughter* You are going to fall on your butt in front of all the kidlets in the neighborhood and they are going to laugh at you. This is going to be great.

And that's the supportive relationship I'm in. The bike, by the way, has been sitting in the garage for a week, just waiting for me to hop on...

Words of Encouragement and Calorie-Free Love, Please

So we're going back to the Mexico again for a little taste of heaven. All inclusive in Puerto Vallarta was calling our name, and we answered.

Sadly, this has meant a complete overhaul of current lifestyle-ness. Back to dieting, back to the gym, and thanks to the beauty of a little ol' thing called Craigslist, hopping on the for-reals bike to burn some cals and tone some booty.

By the time I get to Me-hi-co, I am going to be in desperate need of every frozen drink they will give me.

Seeing Red

For most of my college life, I was a redhead. Not naturally, of course, but courtesy of my good friends at Clairol. I liked being a redhead, it made me stand out in my group of friends (because really, when all your friends are hot, smart, and funny, there's no sense trying to corner the market on one of those). It gave me license to let me temper flare. It was more of a lifestyle choice then a hair color.
But, one instance of grabbing ruby instead of auburn, and gone was the sexy Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge look. Here to stay was the Ronald McDonald's crazed offspring look. So I kissed red goodbye and went back to brown.

Until Saturday. At the behest of the hubbs and a couple of other friends, I told my stylist I wanted to go red, but natural looking red. She lit up with glee and got to work a-mixin' some goop. She oohed, she ahhed, but alas, this color is only found in nature on tropical birds and poisonous lizards...but I think I love it anyway.