Archive: November 2007

For probably the first time since football season began, JG and I managed to have a weekend that balanced fun and productivity. Usually, we’re so sacked out from yelling or heavy lifting or tailgating in the rain to be good for anything and we spend the rest of the weekend alternating between sleeping and watching football on TV. Then, we feel like slugs, which is not pleasant, and the weekend has flown by. This past weekend was a refreshing change and a jump start into the holiday heyday.

I braved the new stylist and came out with a sassy haircut, which I love. The salon itself was very chic and modern, so much so that I felt almost underdressed in a sweater, jeans, and ballet flats. My new girl sat me down, listened to my crazed spiel about my hair, paused thoughtfully, and said, “So, it sounds like you are in the mood for a change, but you’re not sure what that is.” Um, yes. Thank you for summarizing two minutes of babbling into one sentence. She agreed with me that the length was weighing me down, but she understood that I wanted to be able to put my hair up if I needed to. Ultimately, I ended up with a cut that looks basically the same from the front, with just about an inch off of the overall length. However, in the back and around my crown, she did some trickery with layers that somehow gives me volume! And body! I was amazed to see myself in the mirror. A few days later, I am slowly getting the hang of this styling thing, but I think I can handle it. If nothing else, I have a cut that is miles better than what I was getting before, so that will make all the difference. I have also learned, from this experience, that taking pictures of my own hair is a skill I do not possess. My arms are just not that long enough.

We bought new bedroom furniture! We scouted out sets online and I was relieved that, when we found the one we liked the best, I liked it as much in person. The wood is a darker cherry finish, and I think we’ll go with the brushed metal knobs rather than the wooden ones. Thanks to a tricky scheme for people who don’t pay off their credit cards, we managed to get 12% off and come in under budget for a bed, two nightstands, two dressers, and a mirror! JG is uncharacteristically excited about the prospect of having somewhere to store sweaters other than the wire closet system we have now, so the December 1 delivery date can’t come soon enough.

JG and I went out for free drinks and appetizers, courtesy of friends who won a giant gift card to a local microbrew chain. JG sampled lagers and ales while discussing the state of college football while I sipped mojitos and discussed the wedding of a newly-engaged girl. Laughs were had when I was unable to push myself into or out of the table; I am simply too short to sit in pub chairs! For the small cost of chipping in for a tip, we had a really excellent time and I am so glad we went. We are usually weekend homebodies because of cost, tiredness, or lack of interest, but this time, I actually felt like a twenty-something, young professional out on the town.

I finally finished a book for the first time since September, which is more of a score for dignity than an actual accomplishment.  I wrapped up the somber Angela’s Ashes and immediately jumped into The Pilot’s Wife, which I didn’t know was about a grieving widow, but now I am completely sucked in.  So much for some light bedtime reading, I guess.

Now comes the time to start executing all of the holiday-time lists I have going, starting with the Thanksgiving packing list. JG has parent-teacher conferences this week, so our schedule is kind of wonky, but we’ll settle in at Mimi’s soon enough for all of the Thanksgiving rituals.

With less than a week left before Thanksgiving, I’m in full preparation mode for the upcoming Christmas season. JG and I are already planning out the scheme for our Christmas lights, how tall the tree will be, and what we’re making for Christmas dinner. One of my favorite parts of the groundwork stage is making lists, because that is really what this time of year is about. I jest, of course, but lists are a huge part of how I get through the holidays; otherwise, I would feel very overwhelmed and not in control, which we simply cannot have. So far, I have running lists/spreadsheets to track the following subjects (yes, a list of lists):

• Items to pack for Thanksgiving
• Gifts to give
• Gifts to receive
• Secret Blogger Santa participants
• People to receive Christmas cards
• Ingredients needed for Christmas dinner
• Desserts to make for Christmas
• Items to pack for Christmas
• People to e-mail about New Year’s Eve
• Food to make for New Year’s Eve
• Policies to follow to take holidays off from work

The stress of showing up, being dressed properly, bringing the right gift or dessert, accounting for everyone, fulfilling family obligations and expectations, and still maintaining a light, fanciful holiday mode weighs heavily on me. Left to my own devices, I would let all of these worries roll around the floorboards of my mind until I was convinced that I had forgotten something or someone. The lists save me from waking up with a start, wondering if I remembered to pick up molasses or buy holiday stamps. They keep me from trying to decipher wee-hour scrawls on the notebook I keep on my nightstand. They mark off my accomplishments with dark slashes or a clean swipe off of the white board. It feels wrong to admit it, but the lists help me enjoy the weeks leading up to Christmas because I am confident that everything is where it ought to be.

All of this functional, preserve-my-sanity talk is only partially a cover for my deep-seated belief that lists are totally fun. They can be color-coded, categorized, alphabetized, and prioritized! What is not to love?

Over the weekend, JG looked down at Ted and said reluctantly, “He doesn’t look like a puppy anymore. He’s actually a dog.”

Sad, but true. Our puppy has grown into his ears and filled out around the face to look more like a Westie every day. In honor of Ted’s six-month birthday on Sunday, which marked two-thirds of the way to technically full-grown, this week’s Dogarazzi is a retrospective account of the progress that Ted and I have made over the past four months.

Ted can:

• Go up and down the stairs
• Stay within the invisible fence barriers
• Take a walk without chewing on the leash
• Eat 1.5 cups of food a day
• Free a dog treat from his Kong ball in 20 seconds
• Stand on his hind legs to get into all sorts of mischief

I can:

• Hold Ted without either of us squirming
• Resist freaking out if he starts kicking
• Walk Ted in a calm, assertive way
• Lapse into my “puppy voice” without skipping a beat
• Prop up Ted against my knees and make him dance
• Type on a computer on the coffee table with Ted sitting on my lap

I say a pat on the back is in order for both of us, eh?

Get your November Daily Dog Dose with Bugs, Rufus, Ben, Ted, and Gus!

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Don’t forget! Tomorrow is the deadline to sign up to be a Secret Blogger Santa!

I am terrified of hitting a deer on the road, and this fear has only compounded with the addition of Walter to our family. Thanks to switching the clocks back an hour, I now leave work in the dusky hour just before evening, which is prime deer time. I wouldn’t be so nervous if I was capable of spotting reflecting deer eyes on the side of the road, but even when JG points them out, I just don’t see them. Last night, I drove at 35 miles per hour around misty curves, gripping my steering wheel with white knuckles and sweaty palms. What’s that? In the fog?! Oh, it’s a horse. Agh, horses are huge! Oh, wait, there’s a person riding it. Oh. I did my best to breathe deeply during the rest of the way home and thanked my lucky stars that I had one more safe commute under my belt. And then, in dense fog, JG and I almost hit a deer that evening. [Note: When JG slammed on the brakes, the first thing I did was cover my ears because my reflex was to shield myself from the startling noise, not bodily harm.] Commence the hyperventilating.

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I am so excited about tonight’s Project Runway season premier! For the past three seasons, I have gaped at the screen, in awe of the designers’ talent and audacity, all the while shouting my commentary to the empty room around me, since JG can only take so much arty hoohah. I love the tension of the challenge announcement and that dramatic, percussive soundtrack in the background of Heidi’s sing-songy “One day, you in; the next day, you out.” By dangling a spreadsheet in front of my nose, Valerie lured me into joining her PR Fantasy League, and I am only slightly less than clueless as to how I am going to hold my own. I have never taken part in fantasy anything, unless March Madness brackets qualify when they’re made with the rationale of knowing someone who attended there or how much I like the team’s colors. I understand the scoring system whereby my team can garner points by winning, losing, or throwing a fit, and I made it through the Klum Division draft yesterday with two hopefully-decent picks (Chris and Kit), so I guess all I have to do now is watch, wait, and keep score. But, wait! PR shows on my self-imposed television-fasting night — and who am I kidding? I can’t stay up until eleven and expect to be at all useful the next day — so I need to rely on DVR and the silence of the masses so nothing gets ruined for me. Please do not ruin it for me, masses. I shake my fist defiantly.

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I am really grateful to have resilient hair that manages to stay shiny and straight despite whatever lack of care I put into it. It has withstood countless bottles of cheap shampoo and conditioner, bad brushes, and four years of sketchy student hair cuts, and it still behaves relatively well when I rip a comb through it in the mornings, dump my head over to blow-dry it on high blast, and run out of the house. My hair has never turned on me and I love it. At the recommendation from a friend, I’ve made an appointment for Friday to get it cut at a classier place with a new girl. I’m not sure whether to let go and tell her to “just do whatever” because I have such love for my hair and I’m incredibly nervous about having something great when I leave that is impossible for me to maintain at home. I thought about laying out my perspective on my hair situation, but so far, the spiel is more “raving lunatic” than “conscientious client”: “I really like how long my hair has gotten, but the bottom is so thick that I feel like a triangle and I’ve had the same exact long layers for four years so maybe I need a change but it seems to work for my type of hair but can you thin it out so it’s not so bulky because takes forever to dry right now and I need to be able to put it back at least halfway so the layers can’t be too short and I’d like my hair to be stylish without having to be styled everyday, if you know what I mean, and, oh, I really love my hair, so please don’t butcher it because I heard you were really good and if you’re that good, you can give me something chic and easy to care for that doesn’t require a $50 purchase of products or tools.” In other words, I am a nightmare.

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After two years of home ownership, JG and I are (finally!) outfitting our bedroom with real, grown-up furniture. Thank you, volleyball coaching money. Right now, we have a metal bed frame, two mismatched nightstands (one was my television stand in college and the other cost us $15 at Ikea), a hand-me-down dresser from one of my bridesmaids, a defunct television cabinet, a Rubbermaid set of plastic drawers, and a shared closet. On Saturday, we are scoping out an actual bed, two dressers, a mirror, and nightstands, and get this: they will all go together. Holy crap! I am more psyched about an impending furniture delivery than seems reasonable. You know how, on those home décor makeover shows, couples are always saying that their master bedroom was the last thing they touched because no one ever saw it? Well, that’s kind of how it is for us. No one goes in there except us, so we’ve scurried to make our guest bedrooms and bathroom presentable, even if we don’t spend any time in those rooms, while we are sorely lacking in storage and cohesive style in the second-most-used room in the house. No more. The situation is be rectified this weekend. If we find the right stuff. And can afford it. And can agree. Oh, dear.