I Fought the '09 Swiney and Other Minor Accomplishments

Even though I hate year-end wrap ups, even I am not immune to the charm of kissing the old year goodbye by recapping the highlights.

* I fought the Swiney, and I won: Late October had me up to my elbows in haunted house work, and then had the haunted house staff up to their bloody limbs in H1N1. Over the course of the week, 80 percent of the crew was hit by the Swiney. But with Airborne and surgical masks in hand, we still got the job done. Way to pirate up, staff:)

* Grad school? Eh, why not: Three years after getting my undergrad diploma sent to me in the mail, I decided I couldn't live with myself if I didn't get a Master's in something. Library Science, it is. Hopefully the degree (which I actually start in January) teaches me...something.

* A little less wise: After putting it off for the better part of a decade, I caved and had my impacted wisdom teeth pulled. Good drugs plus a diet of mashed potatoes and ice cream? Can I do it again in 2010?

* Crotchety crochet: About two weeks before Christmas, I got the genius idea to teach myself to crochet. Which was a perfect compliment to my mad jewelry-making skills that I have been tediously putting to use...look for more new projects and items up on my other blog sometime this winter.

* It's only a quarter-life crisis if you buy a new car: This year, I got my nose pierced, chopped off my hair into a fab mod 'do and put purple streaks in it, completely re-vamped my wardrobe and re-evaluated what I want my sense of style to be. For me, it was a big deal. Let's see if I can keep being a little bit fabulous on a daily basis in 2010... I also bought a new car.

* Life has approved your friend request: I made a conscious effort this year to both be a better friend and require better from my friends. I've been blessed to discover some wonderful people in my life, both old friends and new, and I've learned that if a friendship is so fragile that it can't stay standing when the boat is rocked, perhaps it's not strong enough to withstand the test of time, either.

Auld lang syne, everyone. Stay safe and have a happy 2010.

Roll, (Yule) Tide, Roll

Christmas spirit doesn't really settle in to our house until we've viewed our favorite Yuletide classic. No, not It's A Wonderful Life.
The holiday season starts at our house with A Very Brady Christmas.
Don't get me wrong. I love me some Christmas movies - and TV specials, and cartoons, etc. I even count White Christmas among my favorite movies of all time, regardless of the season. And it's not like I am a particularly big Brady Bunch fan, because I'm not. I just really, really dig AVBC.
Fortunately for me, I married a man who both understands and appreciates this. Unfortunately for me, the rest of the world still has yet to discover the magic. The movie is not available on DVD, and unless you catch it when it airs during the holiday season (which is usually at an absurd time like 9 a.m. on a Wednesday or something), you, too, will miss the enchantment of one of America's greatest TV families, reuniting in the spirit of the season (unless you DVR it and save it for a year....just a suggestion).
After the annual Brady bash, I can fully delve into the shopping and wrapping and other Xmas-y festivities.

So do yourself a favor - check in with Carol, Mike and the gang. See what old Alice is up to. Get a glimpse of Peter (before he went off and married that Joliet model). Pay particular attention to his questionable choice of nightwear...Yule be glad you did:)

What Is It About Birthdays, Anyway?

It's 10:30 p.m. the night before my birthday. It's a Friday. I don't work tomorrow. And yet, here I sit at home, Lola happily laid out at my feet. Should I be out celebrating the big 2-6? The hubbs is out catching a flick with some friends, and I hear we have a big day planned tomorrow, but for now I think I'm actually pretty content to be here with my thoughts.
I spend a lot of time worrying about things, like money, work, etc. It's just my nature to be always prepared for the worst. But this year, I know I have a lot to be grateful for on this birthday.
Maybe I don't lead the kind of lifestyle that the average 20-something would long for, with mortgage payments taking precedent over fun weekend trips, and Friday nights at home with the dog are preferable to crazy nights bar or club hopping.
But I look around me at my beautiful home, see the early birthday wishes posted by friends on Facebook, feel a cold, wet nose prodding my foot and know that I am blessed.

May 26 be just as good as 25. Cheers.

More Like Octo-blur

I love me some October. You'd be hard-pressed to find someone who enjoys Halloween, or really all fall activities, as much as I do. But as much as I enjoy it, by November 1 I am usually wiped out.
For the past few years, I've been helping to coordinate and run a haunted house through my church. Wait, don't think that it's one of those "We'll scare you straight into the arms of Jesus" haunted houses, full of burning gays, botched abortions and the like.
We're an actual just-for-fun, fundraising haunted house. With *real* haunted house things, like mazes and dark rooms and pop-outs, oh my!
A lot of people are surprised that we do this, but we're a pretty liberal group, and all of the money raised goes to missions in Kentucky and Honduras. Plus, there's a bunch of repressed theater folk, and whenever we repressed theater folk come together, magic happens.
So, prep for the haunted house usually starts in July or August, with a meeting to pick a theme and start throwing around ideas for a script, which I then write up for our first September meeting. After that, it seems like mere hours later it's Halloween, and we've spent weeks building and creating and costuming and writing. But it's always a blast.
So, long story short, I've been a bit, uh, absent in my blogging, but truthfully, I doubt anyone has noticed:)

The Spinning Nail File of Doom

The hubbs and I, hardly impervious to the charm of As Seen On TV! labels, recently bought one of those spinning pet nail trimmers to use with our squirming, grooming-phobic dog. Lola was suspicious of it, but then, she's pretty much afraid of everything, so we didn't push. We put it out a couple times, like the instructions recommend, letting her sniff at it. But the second we turned the thing on, she was up the stairs and under the bed in a whirl of white fur.

So this morning, tired of her falcon-like claws tearing up my legs, arms and sofa, I sneakily got out the trimmer and coated it in peanut butter, hoping her love of snacks would outweigh her fear of the machine. She circled it a few times, then cautiously lapped all the peanut butter off. I put some more on there, and turned it on. She hesitated for a moment, then went to town on the stuff, licking the trimmer clean. The buzzing must have thrown her off though, because when all of the peanut butter was gone, she started barking like crazy. For like 10 minutes.

I get her calmed down, pick her up and *gently* grab one of her paws to trim. She lashed out with her back claws so hard, I dropped her on to the couch. She tore off like a mad woman out of the living room, and I had to seek some antiseptic help for the wounds she left on me.

Next time, I'm sending her to the groomer.

Totally Awkward Tuesday

For those of you not familiar with TAT, pay a visit to Tova's great blog for the rules.

Hello, my name is Alissa, and I'm awkward. Not just once a week, not on the rare occasion, I pretty much snafu my way through life. And that's okay, because mishaps make for the best stories...

In honor of my youngest sister starting high school this month, today's TAT moment is a flashback to MY first day of high school.

Going from my small grade school to the large high school was a big jump. I am the oldest in my family, so I had no big sibling to shadow around. My first day was basically the first *real* time I had exploring. Which wouldn't have been that bad if the layout of the school wasn't like something out of an M.C. Escher painting. The trickiest part is that on the second floor, a wing suddenly dead ends. You have to either go up or down the stairs to get to the rest of the classrooms with a 200 number.

I was flustered from trying to get from one end of the school to the other in the allotted time, and it was almost the end of the day. I was heading into what should have been a freshman honors biology class. As the bell rings, I duck into the classroom, take the first seat I could find and look around. Some of the faces looked familiar, but I didn't really recognize anyone, which is strange because there aren't THAT many honors kids, and I had been in classes with mostly the same people all day. The teacher stands and welcomes everyone to ... sophomore chemistry. Oops. Blushing furiously, I tried to nonchalantly head to the door, when the teacher stops me. My cheeks were hot pink as I, mumbling, told him I thought I was in the wrong class. I heard someone mutter "freshman" under their breath, and I could feel several sets of eyes rolling. I was off by one number on the classrooms. I should have been next door.

To make matters worse, as I slunk in the next room, obviously late because I got lost, trying to slump in the first seat. But this teacher had alphabetical ordered seating, and he had to "place" me where I belonged. I think he was pissed that I was wasting his time, because for the rest of the year, he blatantly mispronounced my name EVERY DAY while taking attendance. I corrected him for the first few weeks, but then gave up. I'm sure that now, more than a decade later, people still think my name is something entirely different.

Anyone else got any first-day-of-school TATs to share?

The One Where I Find Eternal Happiness

Covet. I didn't just want the patchwork Coach tote. I needed it. I stalked it.

I remember the first time I saw it, about a year ago, encased in a glass display to keep the grubby-handed general masses away from it. With its smooth suede, funky animal prints and classic-but-hip shape, I was smitten instantly. I looked. I longed. I ... moved on. The $500 price tag was more than an obstacle. My first car was worth less than that bag.

My *ahem* fiscal conservativeness is fairly well known (read: I'm cheap), but even if I wasn't always budget-conscious, I don't think I could justify that kind of money for a bag. Heck, I didn't pay that much for my (designer) wedding dress.

So I watched and waited, scouring the Coach factory outlet store seasonally, hoping it would be marked down to a reasonable price. Mind you, at this point in my life, the most I'd ever paid for a purse was $30.

Fast forward to a month ago. After another disappointing trip to the local outlet mall, we stopped at designer discount store. There, hanging on the rack was my bag. Same shape, same design, not a replica, not a knock off, MY BAG. Authentic Coach. The price was dramatically less than it originally had been, but still more than I could justify. So, after clutching it adoringly for a couple of minutes (probably much to the chagrin of the sales clerk), I hung it up, waved goodbye and moved on.

Then, a couple weeks ago, I had a HIGHLY successful garage sale. After using a portion of the funds to replace the dining room table that we sold, I had about a little bit left over. I planned the ways to spend it - send more on my student loan? Maybe a nice dinner with the hubby? Save it for a rainy day? In the back of my mind, though, the plan was hatching. A couple days later, I *accidentally* stopped at a different branch of the discount store, thinking it would be a sign if the bag was here, in a different location, almost a month later. I knew, going in there, that if that bag was on the rack, it was leaving with me. Responsibility and rationale be damned! I was going to splurge. On something for myself. That I'd wanted for almost a year.

It was with a quiet reverence that I carried it to the register. It was with a gentle force that the clerk had to pry it from my hands to scan the tag. And it was with sheer euphoria that I carried it to my car.

When I got home, I kind of dreaded the hubb's reaction, seeing as I rib him pretty incessantly about his video game/fantasy sports spending. I took the purse out of its protective dust bag.
Me: Isn't it beautiful? *breathes in smell*
Hubbs: It's okay...please tell me you didn't pay $500 for that bag.
Me: Of course not. I'm obsessed, not stupid.

I lovingly placed the bag back in its protective home, stashing it high up in my closet, so not to provide temptation for the dog, or the dust, or, well, anything destructive-like.

It took me two weeks to work up the nerve to carry it. For one, I was afraid. What would people think? It's sad, but I hoped others would think it is a knock-off, rather than think me the sort to spend that kind of money on a bag. We have several friends who are going through rough times with unemployment right now. I just bought a new car, we have a wonderful house...I didn't want to be the sort to rub my good fortune in my friends' faces.

Plus, what would I do if something happened to it?

But once I carried it out, the world just looked brighter. I felt thinner. And more fabulous. To me, it feels like I'm carrying a piece of artwork on my arm. It's beautiful, and luxurious, and it reminds me that life is too short to only think about the bad. Sometimes, it's okay to buy something just because you want it. And if it's got leopard print somewhere on it, even better.