Holy crap it's September?!

Wow.  Time flies, does it not?

I'm getting married in less than a year (cue coos and "aww"s).  I'm the antithesis of bridezilla.  The thought of all that planning and detail sort of makes my head hurt.  I apologize to those who thrive on deciding whether the napkins should be folded like a pocket or an origami bird, but thats' not me.  And chair-back ties?!  Who in the world decided that there should be 1736482991 ways to TIE A BOW on the back of a chair?!  That's just ridiculous.  Just make a bow.  Or a knot.  Or wrap it around the chair straight-jacket style.  I don't care.  Just point me to the food and the cocktails.  And the cake.  I like cake.  Speaking of cakes, I came across this atrocity a while back and then saw it again today in one of my picture folders:

Are you serious?  When I see this cake, I think of Easter Bunny vomit.  And murdered flowers.  It honestly looks like an old disastrous bedroom/bathroom color palette I had in Frisco.  Add in yellow and you've got the "Clown Puke Display" (as my dad liked to call it.  He obviously wasn't a fan).

Anyway, what else.  Ah, yes, I'm brainstorming a novel.  Any ideas would be appreciated.  I hope to make it as a best-selling author as a back-up plan to my dreams of being an attorney.  It's good to have options.

Short entry, I know, but I'm tired.  Night!

Air Delivery

Every now and then, I like to throw in childhood stories, to keep you guys on your toes.

So, as I've said before, my family moved to Ontario, NY when I was about 7.  After getting over my initial despair and disgust about the desk and bus-boarding situation (see "Meltdown in Ontario"), I settled into a nice little life there.  Part of my excitement stemmed from having my own bathroom for the first time ever.  And because it was my first bathroom, my parents gave me free reign to choose all the fixtures and colors.  That was a terrible choice on their part, because when we moved I was in the middle of my "I love pink" phase.  And not cute pink either.  As a result, we ended up with a bathroom that included a sink, toilet, and bathtub that all resembled Barbie's vomit.  I guarantee if we had stayed there longer than 3 years I would have insisted, and thrown an only-child tantrum, to have those changed.  But, at the time, I was in love.  I also happened to have the only bathtub in the house.  The other two bathrooms only had shower stalls.  NY didn't do Texas-style master baths in those days.  So, I would charge my mom to use the bathtub. I was a savvy businesswoman even then.  Now, before you go all "wtf?!" and call me terrible for charging my mom to use something she and my dad paid for, it was her idea.  Everytime she wanted to take a bath, she paid me something like a nickel.  I don't understand how I never got rich that way.  I should have played my cards better, I wouldn't even need a job now!

Another hobby of mine was riding my bike.  My bike with the HANDLE BAR brake.  Not the slam your feet backwards, child bicycle.  This thing was amazing.  The pads on the bike were purple, with neon yellow lightning bolts all over them.  Slick.  You probably think I took that bad boy off-roading, and raced cars through the neighborhood.  Well, you'd be wrong.  Instead, I liked to pretend I was a mail-lady.  Yes.  You read that right.  I liked to ride my bike down the street, stopping at every person's mailbox, and pretend to give them mail.  After I did this a few times, I got the mail handling lecture from my dad.  He warned me to never actually touch the mailbox or whatever was inside, because that was a felony.  I had NO idea what a felony was at the time, but I certainly didn't want to go to jail.  I was only a wee lass!  So, to make my hobby even more lame, I didn't actually deliver anything to my neighbors, or touch anything.  I just stopped in front of their mailbox and made delivery motions in the air.  I even had friends that did this with me.  We'd split up the neighborhood and then make small talk like adults do when they run into one another out and about.  Don't you wish you had been part of this?

During one of my many mail delivery air-motion sessions, I was coming up on a house, and I was super excited about their fake delivery.  That day, they were getting a giant air box, and even though I made this whole thing up, in my game I didn't know what was in the box.  I was just excited to deliver it.  Anyway, I got distracted on my mail-truck phone (probably one of those crappy grocery store "cell phones" that used to be popular until kids actually started using real cell phones), and before I knew it, I was flying end-over-end through mid-air, landing in someone's front yard.  I had actually plowed into someone's mailbox, flew off my bicycle, and came to a stop some 10 feet away in their grass.  The mailbox post snapped in half (wooden post, not brick mailboxes), and was laying on the sidewalk next to me.  I FLIPPED OUT.  Having remembered my dad's warning about touching the mailboxes, I was convinced I was a felon.  I still didn't know what that meant, but I was certain I was going to jail.  Imagining being in a cell with dirty drug dealers and murderers, I burst into tears.  (Obviously, in my mind, ALL criminals were kept together.  Murderers with mailbox felons).  With no other ideas, and terrified of being detained by the neighbors while they waited for the police, I got on my bike and raced home, running into the house sobbing.  I might have even begged my dad to keep me out of jail.  And then ensued what was I'm sure ANOTHER embarrassing conversation between my dad and someone on account of something I did and/or wanted.  We went back to their house where we knocked on the door.

Neighbor:  Yes?
Dad: Hello, we live down on Centennial.  I'm not sure if you've noticed, but your mailbox is, um, a bit messed up.
Neighbor (looks around us into the yard): Oh my God, what happened?!
(Dad looks at me)
Me (sniffling): I hit it with my bike.
Neighbor: I'm sorry?
Dad:  She was...."delivering mail" (I don't know if he made air-quotes, but for this he did), and she lost control of her bike.  Obviously we'll pay for the repairs.
Neighbor:....ok.  Thanks, I guess. 
Me (still sniffling): I'm really sorry.
Dad:  Yes, she's sorry.

At this point, I was waiting for the neighbors to call the police and report me for touching their mailbox, but they didn't.  Instead, the whole thing blew over and after my parents paid for them to get a new mailbox.  All was well. 

I continued to "deliver mail" after that incident, but I was completely focused on the road. 

I promise I'll post loft pics soon.  We're almost completely unpacked....finally!  And now, I'm out.

A week!

I've officially lived in St. Louis for a week now.  The loft is slowly starting to look like a loft and less like a federal disaster area, so that's promising. 

For the most part, the animals have adjusted to their new life.  Cherry seems completely oblivious that anything has changed, and happily rides the elevator and plays around in the park across the street.  Truman was another story.  For the first few days he absolutely refused to go to the bathroom anywhere but the park, and even then it took several minutes.  He preferred to walk around with pee literally dripping out because he had to go so badly than submit to this new life.  But, after a few days him not having his good old backyard, he finally caved.  Except he still won't go to the bathroom at night.  Whatever, it's not my problem.  He'll stop being a diva eventually.  This coming from the dog who refuses to walk on wet grass because he doesn't like getting his feet wet.  He'll stand safely under an overhang, while Cherry beelines for the nearest mud-puddle to roll around.  Quite the contrast. 

I like having the park across the street.  It makes it much easier having two dogs in a downtown loft when I don't have to go far for them to be taken care of. 

The upstairs part of our loft is pretty much always 10-15 degrees warmer than the downstairs.  As a result, I sleep with a fan pointed directly at me, like some sort of sweaty old person.  Don't judge.  The upstairs consists of our bedroom, a bathroom, and an open office area that looks out over the living room.  I'll try to post pics of everything once we are fully clear of the mountains of boxes and newspapers. 

Back to the dogs for a second- I'm amazed at how many people are completely terrified of them.  They're a great self-defense mechanism.  I'll be walking along and some people will walk up to pet them, noticing their excited bounce.  Others think the excited bounce is a sign of impending death, and make a giant arc around me to avoid them.  Others jump back into stores they've just exited.  I'm glad my completely harmless and defenseless animals can provide such protection!

And now, I make dinner.  Have a good night people.

New City

Well, you will all be pleased to know that I survived my first night in St. Louis, and I didn't get murdered, raped, or robbed.  I call that a victory.  Here are a few things I've learned in my brief 24 hours as a resident of downtown St. Louis:

1. While I've been given reliable directions, I'm still not sure how to get to any major highway from my loft.  I do, though, know where the Arch is, and if I can find that, I can get places...albeit the long way.

2. The radio stations here play maybe 4-5 songs.  Among those are Katy Perry, Jason DeRulo (sp?), Mike Posner, and Rihanna and Eminem.  That's it.

3. The shootings near my building happen on Sunday nights.  This is because of a certain nightclub that's open, and that nightclub attracts a certain kind of clientèle.  So, that being said, I won't be going out much on Sundays.

4. My parking garage reminds me of a particular scene in "Saw."  Those who have seen it know what I'm referring to (where the guy gets abducted in the shady parking garage).  I will be investing in some excellent pepper spray, and perhaps even a rape whistle. 

5.  There is an "elite" dog park group.  I didn't even know those things existed.  But, there is a park across the street from our building, and there are two fenced in areas- one is fine, but the other one is far cooler.  It has sprinklers and toys and stuff, and you need a key to unlock the gate.  THAT one is the elite one.  It's like $50/year to join, and they have meetings and stuff.  (For example, the next meeting has an agenda that includes talking about new benches).  Apparently the elite park is kept cleaner, and it drains much better after a rainstorm.  We will be looking into this.  I like being part of something elite.

6.  The sliding doors to our bedroom do not keep our slut of a cat Shelby out of our room.  She reaches into the crevice and forces the door open.  Once she has it open, she proceeds to jump on/walk all over our stomachs and faces, as well as play with every possible object she can...loudly.  She got locked in the bathroom at about 4am.

7. DirecTv still sucks. 


8.  At times, karma really DOES work.

I think that's all I've got for now.