by statia on June 28, 2006
I’ve decided that I have a little habit. It’s not really anything out of control or something that I can’t stop at anytime, really. I swear. It started with an innocent idea, which I thought would become a passing hobby that I’d toss aside and forget about. But the idea didn’t die, oh no. It slowly snowballed itself into this enormous habit that we now have and while it’s a great time passer for the inevitable dragging two week wait, if I told you the insane amount of money we’ve spent on “stickas” (and you have to say stickas because we’re from Long Island and that’s what they rightfully should be called) you’d probably choke on your ham. In fact, we haven’t even tallied it up because it would just be too sad to know that we’re THAT lame to spend so much money on something you can really only use once.
And this isn’t some loosely thought out hobby either. Oh no. Stickabooking is a craft to be mastered. First, there’s the ebaying. Never bid on an auction until the last minute. Esniping is the way to go. Esniping is the equivalent of being a cat in the grass. Lay very low, and very still, quietly watching the others mill around your shank of beef until the very last second wherein, you POUNCE on that auction like the king of the jungle that you are, silently laughing to yourself at the other person that you outbid at the last second.
Arranging the sticka book is great therapy for those of you who are trying to overcome your OCD. Because you can secretly tell yourself, that while you’re working on fixing the problem, rules are rules and you can’t go breaking the rules now can you? All I can say is that if I were to come across my 7 year old self, I would tell her the rules of organizing the perfect sticka book and she’d probably kick me in the face and say “where in your life did you make the wrong turn from perpetual slob to anal retentive organization whore?” And then she’d go back to organizing her sticka book like the slob that she, I mean I was. How many of you would peel them off and move them, leaving a big old sticky mess that looked hideous? How many of you actually STUCK THE BORDER of your stickas in your sticker book when you had no more left? How many of you put fuzzy stickas with puffy stickas? THERE IS NO CROSS CATEGORIZATION IN THE STICKA BOOK. Shiny stickers on one page, puffies on another, sniff stickers on another. Mixing them up is a crime. And it’s not easy when they make characters that are sparkly and christ where the hell do they go? I have a character page and a sparkly page. WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO NOW???
Seeing as how I ended up not finding my dream sticker book, I went out and bought a purple 3 ring binder with some magnetic photo pages and got creative. This is how I spend my nights. And when I’m not organizing the sticka book, I’m looking through it, fondling the pages, petting it and sniffing all of the stickas inside.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check in on my ebay auctions.
by statia on June 26, 2006
Dear Mother Nature,
Why in all that is holy, did you create the earwig? What the hell purpose do they serve except to skeeve people out by hiding in rogue places? Fuck earwigs.
Love,
Statia
Also? Guess who found a GREY pube…
by statia on June 24, 2006
My lack of updates these days is due to unpacking, cleaning, assembling, organizing, yard work (!!! Me, YARD WORK. People, this is beyond anyting that this pretty pretty printhess would ever think that she’d stoop to. Weeding? Are you KIDDING ME?) and somewhere in there, sleeping. It’s coming along. Slowly, but it’s coming along. We’re down to finishing up setting up our entertainment systems in both the living room and bathroom. Organizing the office, the garage and finding places for our clothes that we just have no room for. The yard work I’m learning is a never ending thing and I got a blister from raking. Why no one warned me about this shit beforehand, I have no idea, but you’re all evil. EVIL. You need to warn a girl of this sort of shit. Ironically, I do find that clipping hedges and weeding, kind of relaxing and I actually have the desire to go out and buy an edge trimmer because hello? Power tools? Power tools are fun AND sexy.
We had our FET yesterday. It was pretty smooth and painless (granted, I took two valium when I got there because I loves me some valium and I had just sat in traffic so I needed some forced relaxation). I kinda almost fell asleep on the table. It’s kind of surreal and I really haven’t been thinking too much about it, because my mind is preoccupied with the weeds that are growing in between the landscaping and also with thoughts of how I should oranize the garage. I’m torn between alphabetically or by color.
I have some serious checking in to do on all of you guys. It’s end of quarter at work on top of all of this, and I miss knowing what you’re all up to. I’m having an old friend for dinner tomorrow night (heh) so, it’s going to be another long day.
Beta on July 5th.
by statia on June 19, 2006
If you guessed a Statia that is beyond cranky, you would be right. I grew up with a/c. I don’t know life without it. Ok, not entirely true, as our last apartment didn’t have it, however it didn’t need it. It’s always in the northern peninsula.
The move is finally over, save for the last few things that are at our old apartment. Just a small car load, a quick vacuum and we’ll be out of there.
The unpacking part is hellish. I’m of the mind that the sooner you get it done, the sooner you’ll be able to enjoy your new place for a while. You’ll think of all the cool things you can buy. “Ooh, that console table would fit perfectly in the entrance hallway”, or “That is the most PERFECT vase for over the fireplace.” All while trying to keep it clean for at least the first five minutes, until the novelty wears off and you don’t care anymore. What’s a little extra dirt on the floor, that’s what the dogs are there for. Yeah, so the unpacking? Not going as fast as I’d like. Also, did I mention that we’re STILL not finished painting? I have this running list of chores in my head that need to be done, but they’re in there in ADD fashion so I think of things and forget because I think of something else, which is exactly how I unpack. It’s a wonder we even have the furniture arranged.
FET is on Friday.
I think I picked the wrong week to start weaning off the meds.
by statia on June 15, 2006
I’m so over the painting. I don’t want to do anymore of the painting.
We still have more painting to do.
Moving to commence this weekend. It’ll be nice to actually enjoy the house instead of work on it.
by statia on June 12, 2006
G-Man is pissed off at us. Not just “you won’t give me peanut butter and I hate you. I hate you, I wish I was never born” kind of mad. We’re talking the all out, rolling his eyes when we speak to him, huffy, I won’t even look at you kind of mad. Oh yes. He’s pulling out the big guns.
All because he knows we’re moving.
I swear it’s like he’s got some sort of weird ability to understand things. Not even on an sensory level. He remembers. He hates moving, because I’ve done it so much in the last few years. When I moved to my last apartment? He unpacked my dishes while I was at work, as if to say “no, I think we’re good right here. Let’s just put this stuff back, shall we?” When we moved here, we shoved him in a 35″x24″ section of the car for 4 days. He was beyond pissed through that whole ordeal. Meanwhile, Miss M. has no idea what’s going on. She could care less. He’s just so codgedy and set in his ways, he doesn’t want to think about having to deal with getting used to a new place (or worry about being locked in a car for four days). Even if that new place has a fenced in yard for him to run around in.
Plus? We already sealed up the box containing the dishes.
by statia on June 8, 2006
I have a confession to make.
I hate myspace. I don’t get it. Maybe I’m considered a bitch or a snob because I refuse to get on the myspace bandwagon. I think it’s blogging for retards. I’ve had my own domain and my own blog for so long, that for me, it’d be considered going backwards. It IS going backwards as far as I can see. Sure sure, it’s great for networking and connecting you say. But fucking hell, if you’re using that for networking with all of the damn blinkies, bad backgrounds and embedded music, it wouldn’t surprise me if no one wanted to talk to you. I mean, maybe it’s me, but when did bad graphics from 1997 come back into style? Myspace is like an imposter blog.
And chances are, if you have a myspace account, I will make fun of you.
There, I’ll sleep better tonight now.
by statia on June 6, 2006
Still no crying with the lupron, but jesus, if I thought I had hot flashes last time, it was NOTHING compared to what they’ve been like this time around. Unfortunately for me, nudity isn’t socially acceptable in public. Fortunately for you, well, nudity isn’t socially acceptable in public. The constant sweating is getting to be somewhat annoying. I’m sweating in places where I didn’t know I had places. Boob sweat, ass sweat (a.k.a. swamp ass), cleave sweat, ear sweat, hand sweat, back sweat, foot sweat. You name a part, I’m most likely sweating from it. The nurse at Dr. Pompy’s (aka, Dr. Nice) clinic said that it would probably subside when I started the estrogen patches. Me being the ever hopeful NAIVE person, chose to believer her and HAHAHAHAHAHA, let’s all have a good laugh at sweaty Statia’s Naiveté.
Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to go lift my boobs up next to my ears, so that I can wipe the sweat out from underneath them.
by statia on June 3, 2006
The meester and I like to think we make a great team when it comes to doing things, like home projects or driving cross country. There were a few things we had to do before moving into our new house to make it feel like home for us. Things like painting (which, it needed anyway), replacing switch plates, toilet seats, shower heads, that sort of thing. Seeing as how we had limited time today to get things done, we worked as fast as we could, save for making sure that the dogs weren’t running trough the paint, which a certain little dog was doing pretty much all day, but whatever. We worked pretty quickly and got a good portion of the house done save for a couple of rooms, but by the time it was over, the meester had but a few specs of paint on him, and me? Well, I was covered in head to toe. He wondered how I had gotten so dirty, while I wondered how he had stayed so clean. His answer was that he’s anal compulsive and he probably had picked it up from painting in his room and making sure he didn’t get it anywhere. When it comes to things like painting, I like to get my hands dirty and feel like I accomplished something. There’s something satisfying about it. Like when you used to make mudpies as a kid and just let yourself get filthy. By the time we left, both Miss M. and I were covered and the meester and G-man were virtually paint free. Like mother like daughter I guess.
I bet that people like Van Goh and Michelangelo made mud pies.
