Archive for November, 2011

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November 15, 2011

…And That’s Why “Ability to Multitask” isn’t Written on my Resume.

by Katie

I have issues.

Clearly.

Not the least of which is my inability to make a decision — especially when it comes to home interiors.

While for me, spending money on things for the house is about as fun as getting a tooth cavity filled, I also think that, after 4 years, it might be nice for this place to feel like “home.”  Especially when I spend a good bulk of my time photographing other peoples’ gorgeous homes.

I just did a mental assessment, and I realized something quite shocking:  The only  room in which I’ve hung anything besides towel bars on the wall is the laundry room. The laundry room.  In there, I hung a doohickie on which I can hang the ironing board, so it’s purely functional.  Not decorative.  I also hung these kind of pretty wall hooks.

That’s it.

I did hang a gallery corner in my living room at one point, but that came down when I repainted the walls.

What does this mean?

That when it comes to decorating, I’m an indecisive, noncommittal, ball-less freak of a woman?

That’s a start.

But also, I’m pretty sure that nothing triggers my Life ADD more potently than decorating.

Case in point: I was alone this weekend.  It was the perfect opportunity to peruse Pinterest in search of simple, inexpensive and inspirational ideas for the master bedroom.

My first problem?  Why was I looking for master bedroom ideas when my office still has an unshaven armpit?

Well, I would get on the office thing, but the bedroom seems so much more pressing right now because for 4 years we’ve lived with falling-apart plastic vertical blinds, hand-me-down blonde wood furniture (which I intend to paint), blank white walls, and a popcorn ceiling.

In other words, it hasn’t been touched.

And a week ago, I bought a pillow.

The pillow was called “Crazy Ol’ Bird” and I thought it would be perfect to inspire a bedroom because I’m a crazy ol’ bird.

We can relate.

So I’ll bring the pillow here into the living room while I search on Pinterest, and wow — I kind of like that pillow in the living room.  And anyway, it doesn’t match the duvet cover which is something I’d rather not spend money on replacing, so yes.  I’ll leave the pillow in the living room.

Which gives me an almost-blank slate in the master bedroom.  And a green duvet.

And of course, if I’m going to think about the master bedroom, I should probably tie that in with the master bathroom, which still has this horrendous wallpaper border from when we first moved in.

So maybe if I start picking at that, the blank slate will give me some ideas.

Okay, I’m bored.  This stuff isn’t coming off.  And I can see into the bedroom that there are cracks in my vertical blinds, which means that anyone standing outside in the darkness can see me, so maybe I should get back to the relative safety of the living room and order some curtains.

I’ll start with curtains.

But it’s too quiet.

I’ll see what’s on Netflix and just put that on in the background while I search for curtains.

What’s this?  The Walking Dead?  Sounds like zombie stuff, which definitely won’t hold my interest for more than like a second, so that will be perfect.

Four episodes later…

I need  more wine.  But I can’t go into the kitchen because I don’t have blinds and it’s dark outside and there are woods.

And quite possibly zombies.

I really should order some shades.

Oh yeah, that’s what I was supposed to be doing.  Finding curtains for the master bedroom.

Concentrate, Katie.  Seriously.

Okay, wow.  Did you know there are like a bajillion curtains online?  Oooh, look at these from Anthropologie.  They are kind of groovy and scrolly and chic, which is exactly how I am, so these would be perfect.  I’ll get them.

Click.  Click.  Double click.

Wait.

Can that be right?

$148 for curtains?

No, that’s not right.

It’s $148 for just one panel.

I need 2 panels.

Yeah, I can picture that conversation.

Me:  So I bought some curtains for the bedroom while you were gone.

Justin:  Great!  We needed some.

Me:  They were $300.  Plus tax.  And shipping.

Justin:  Did they come with a hooker?

Me:  No, just 192 inches of velvety goodness.

Justin:  That sounds like they came with a hooker.

Me:  I’m pretty sure Anthropologie doesn’t sell hookers.  Or rent them.  But I can ask.

Justin:  So you’re telling me you spent $300 on curtains.  Do you have any idea how much steak we could’ve bought for $300?  That’s like… an entire cow worth of curtains.

Me:  I know.  I’m hoping they’re awesome because now I can’t buy anything else for the bedroom or the entire house ever.  And we will probably need to eat Ramen Noodles every night for dinner until February 2013.  But that’s okay because we can still budget for wine and now we have curtains.

Justin:  Did they come with a hooker?

So.  Obviously, I can’t buy these curtains.

What else can’t I buy at Anthropologie?

Oooh, a wine glass.

It’s $32.00.  Which is more than I spend on a bottle of wine.  Sometimes more than I spend on 4 bottles of wine.

Did someone say wine?

I need more.

But I can’t go into the kitchen because I don’t have blinds and there are zombies out there.

Shit.

Quick.  Ebay.  Order the same shades that are in my living room.

Done.

Now I can go into the kitchen because even though I don’t have shades right now, the thought that they’re on their way is strangely comforting.

So all-in-all, I’d call this a successful evening: Zillions of rooms perused on Pinterest, 4.7 square inches of wallpaper border removed, velvety curtain dreams developed then crushed, shades ordered for kitchen, and 5 episodes of The Walking Dead completed.

Clearly, when it comes to preaching about experiencing life, I really know how to walk the walk.

Welcome to my world.

Posted in Around the House, Crafts and Decor | 22 Comments »

November 14, 2011

Peace, Love, and… Who the F* is Kim Kardashian?

by Katie

For the longest time, I’ve maintained the very real and personal belief that I was born sometime in the mid 1940′s, lived passionately in the ’60′s, and died of a dramatic drug overdose (is there any other kind?) sometime in the 70′s.

I came back in a hurry as a child of the ’80′s so I wouldn’t miss anything, but it turns out, unfortunately, I did.

I feel this way mainly because of a strong, inexplicable affinity for Vietnam era music and the television show, The Wonder Years.  I feel no such connection to feathered bangs and slap bracelets.  And Nick Carter couldn’t hold a candle to John Lennon.

I mean, really?

But there’s just something about the innocence of a time prior to all of the distractions of the present day — when answers came from actual books instead of Google, when entertainment came from imagination before television, and when people actually understood their cause.

Photo by Burk Uzzle.

Well… for the most part.

Photo by Burk Uzzle

The world was a scary place, for sure, but still there was hope.

And I think that maybe I would have liked to live then — when reporting still involved research and passion and integrity.  When family and friends conversed with each other during meals instead of fondling their phones.  When people became famous for doing extraordinary things — not how pretty they were or how many sex tapes they filmed or how envious they made us of their shallow lives.  When little girls were beginning to learn their intellectual worth, dreaming about building careers as scientists or writers or soldiers — not about how famous they could become for bleaching their hair, using their friends, and doing nothing of memorable note.

I realize it’s not healthy to live in the past.  Especially when, if you don’t believe in reincarnation, I never actually lived in the past.

But here’s the thing.

I think that maybe we’re forgetting ourselves here.

We’re too worried about how many Facebook friends we have rather than building real relationships.  We’re filling the empty parts of ourselves with stuff we don’t really want because it’s too hard or too time consuming or too terrifying to think about what might really be missing.

None of this is revolutionary, of course.

But think about this for a minute, the next time you look down at your phone when there’s a real, live person in front of you — the next time you tell a little girl how pretty she is instead of asking her about her favorite book — the next time you spend hours watching and envying how celebrities live their lives:

Life is built on experiences — the stimulation of conversation, the taste of good food, the reminiscing of a day well spent.  So maybe, just for a night, we should turn off our phones and experience it.

*Steps down from pedestal.*

Posted in Just Sayin, This 'n That | 21 Comments »

November 11, 2011

On Wiggly Mutts and Puppy Butts

by Katie

I had a dog.

I’ve pretty much always had a dog.

First, there was Muffin.

Muffin had a white triangle on her head.

She was a gift to my brother right before I was born, undoubtedly intended to lessen the blow of the impending realization that there’s going to be a baby in the house.  And a baby might mean people sometimes forget about my brother, the non-baby, but that’s okay because they gave him a puppy.

Muffin looooved Joel.

But she loved me, too.

Thirteen years later, Muffin died in my arms.

Soon after came Lexie and Beemer, named after 2 cars my parents wanted but would likely never own.

Mom, Beemer & Lexie

If you ask me, the dogs were better than the cars.

I missed them when I moved away from home, but they always remembered me when I came back.  No matter how long it had been.

Over time, the homes changed.  The people in them changed.  But the dogs were always there.  Beemer, with his incessant need to Fetch! and Lexie, nibbling my hair by way of greeting.

Earlier this week, Beemer got sick.  Ed and my mom took him to the vet, but they didn’t take him home.  They had to do what people sometimes need to do when they own a dog.  When they love a dog.

They had to say goodbye.

I said goodbye too, on the phone, trying desperately to keep my voice from catching on the lump that had lodged itself deep inside my throat.  They said his eyes lit up.  He heard me.  He knew me.  And when I hung up, I lost it but good.  Big, ugly sobs producing big, ugly tears.  That horrifically hideous cry that comes when you don’t care what it’s doing to your body, because all that matters right in that moment is the need of your soul.

And that need is release.  To grieve.  In waves with each new realization:

I’ll never throw him a frisbee again.

Ugly sobs.

I’ll never again bury my face in his fur.

More ugly sobs.

I’ll never get to see his entire butt wiggle with excitement when I give him a treat.

There isn’t enough tissue in the world, sometimes.

My dogs came to comfort me that night, nuzzling into my sides and laying their heads in my lap.  And the grief crested again, when I realized this probably wouldn’t be the last time I’d have to feel this way.

So.

I’m not sure it’s wise to admit how much that furball affected me.  And I’m sorry if I’ve made you sad this morning or if I’m only confirming the fact that I’m crazy.

If you’ve never known the undying adoration of a dog, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.

They just get in.

And when they do, they don’t ever really leave.

I’m gonna miss you, Beemer-butt.  You always made me happy.

And I hope that wherever you are, the peanut butter is plentiful and the frisbees never stop flying.

 

Posted in Little Monsters, This 'n That | 17 Comments »

November 9, 2011

“Hey, Baby — I Don’t Care About Signs. What’s Your Mood?”

by Katie

I was watching a show the other day that took place Great Britain in the early 1900′s where the characters wore black arm bands when they were in mourning.

I don’t know if you knew this, but people died a lot in the early 1900′s.  I’m pretty sure it’s because they didn’t have Echinacia.

Or Viagra.

Or iPhones.

But one thing they did seem to have was an inherent understanding of the fact that people can’t read other people’s minds.

Bear with me for a sec.

I think you’ll find it hard to disagree that most people, at least here in America, are pretty self-absorbed when it comes to their day-to-day business.  When we order our triple-shot-chai-caramel-mocha-latteatto from the pony-tailed, too skinny girl behind the counter at S’bucks, we’re not concerned about what kind of morning she’s having.  We’re not worried about whether or not she’ll pass her mid-term or get into law school get an abortion.  We just want our damn coffee, because WE are having a DAY.

So we might be a bit snippy with the skinny latte maker — we might be too busy thinking about how she must be thinking about how cool we are in our work skirts and ties and rushing off to a busy busy day to notice the fact that she’s actually thinking about her mother, who’s somewhere in Afghanistan and hasn’t called home in 4 days.

Or her boyfriend, who just dumped her for a skinnier latte.

Which brings me back to the arm band thing.  While politeness and compassion are virtues that we should probably practice all of the time, it’s sometimes easy to get wrapped up in our own little whirlwind wonderlands and forget that there are other people in other wonderlands that, on occasion, are actually sometimes a wee bit more jarring than or own.

And maybe, had we known that one of these little satellites within our colossal orbit was having a bad day, we would have been a little nicer.  Or understanding.  Or… equipped.

I’m talking about mood bands, people.

If the dumpee at S’bucks were wearing a red arm band to symbolize just how ticked off she is at the world, we’d know to leave her the eff alone.

And maybe give her a slightly bigger tip.

And maybe hit on her, depending on our gender or sexual orientation.

Or, if our co-worker shows up to the office wearing a black arm band to symbolize mourning, we know not to heckle him too much about his losing football team.  Unless the band is for mourning that loss, in which case he’s abusing the system and should be heckled to no end.

Our waitress is wearing a green arm band?  Perfect!  She’s happy and helpful and will likely fill our drinks in a timely fashion.  But watch what you say — if you cross the line of rudeness and she returns wearing red, you might want to pass on dessert.

I’m thinking I could be on to something big here.

Posted in Just Sayin, This 'n That | 18 Comments »

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