Insomnia and Some Other Such Somethings. Or Whatever.

So.

Insomnia. 

I mean, so what if the alarm is going off in 3 hours and 9 minutes? Who needs to sleep? All I know is I've been laying waiting for Tired to show up like 7 years now, and still, nothing doing.  And then I thought "Stretching!" because stretching helps a whole heck of a lot when you're feeling all cranky and creaky and insomniac-y.  So I stretched.  And while I had my left ankle on my right knee stretching out those glutes, I glance at my ankle and thought "Cankle!"  And then I had a panic attack or 7 because hello, wouldn't you?  Turns out it's not really a cankle situation, so much as it is a swollen ankle situation.  Which is still kind of alarming considering there is no logical reason for it to be swollen.  Well, that thought train turned into an extensive search for the bug bite that I most certainly had because hello, look at it!

Y'all, let me just tell you this: The human body is kind of rad. Because apparently when one's 30 year old body is confronted with the choice of sitting up to look for a bug bite on one's swollen cankle ankle at 3 am or remaining in a horizontal position and looking for a bug bite on one's cankle ankle, I'll be danged if one won't be able to stretch that cankle ankle all the way up to one's face to give it a looksie!  Tired + cranky + possible epidermal violation = mad bending skillz, yo. Math is math, people.

Anyway, so somewhere in that whole cankle/not cankle time of my life, my thought sparkles sparked "Blog!"  Because there is nothing more that people love to read than incoherent thoughts of a bendy insomniac, amiright?  I know I'M clicking on that link, so, you know, there's that.  Oh, but what happened was Brain said " Blog!" and then I had a rapid fire idea fest where I came up with all kinds of witty things to tell you.  And clearly you can tell how that movie ended.  I do know it had something to do with my laptop not working correctly, and how I can only open it to approximately a 45 degree angle before the screen goes black.  Which means I can only use my laptop when I'm lying down, which, in turn, means it's hyper annoying to try to type numbers of any sorts because of that whole "lacking a 10-key" thing and then I have to crane my neck up all awkward-like to use those number keys at the top that nobody ever uses or remembers are there.  So I guess whatever I thought about to tell you required numbers?  Weird, right?  Especially considering I did some mind-blowing numberless math not one paragraph ago.

Good gravy, people, are you even still around listening to this?  What am I even going on about?  This is like the Seinfeld of posts.  It's a blog about NOTHING!  (Please tell me you get that reference.  Because otherwise a certain younger brother of mine will not rest until you get it. So.) 

Note to self:  When you are insomniating, you get hungry at about 3:15 a.m.  And you know what else you get at 3:15 a.m.?  Tired!  I know, right?! Win!

Oh, and while we're on the subject, can we all please please please agree to stop saying "Just sayin'"?  Because really, most of you aren't using it in proper context anyway, so it's really just kind of annoying. Especially when it's used after every single thing you "just said." We know you're "just sayin'" because you JUST SAID IT. I don't know. It just seems to me that the whole eventual breakdown of society is hinging on this phrase.  Well, that phrase and rompers. And taking pictures with kissy lips and peace signs. Because really? Are we still doing that?  The answer is no.

Alright dudes, I think the ride on this thought coaster is over.  Disappointing, I know.  There were some thrills in there with some loops you weren't expecting, and in the end, you probably feel a little nauseous, but deep down, you know you'd ride it again.  Until next time, your homework assignment is to come up with a really cool name for the Thought Coaster. Make it really amusement parky!

You know you love me.
xoxo,
Gossip Girl


And P to the S:

Hollerrrrr!

All the Rage...

This post is about underwear.

And garage sales. 

And cold.

But mostly, it's about underwear.

Last Saturday, I hauled boxes of my crap stuff over to my friend Annie's house for The Great Purge Garage Sale of 2010.   It was 39 degrees outside.  And I know all you northern folks totally just rolled your eyes because really? 39 degrees?  But, yes, 39 degrees.  I am from the South, and 39 degrees is considered COLD especially during that first cold snap when our humidity sensors haven't acclimated yet.  It was cold, and also, it was pretty early.  I don't get nice until at least 9 am, so I was still making my grumpy faces when I pulled into Annie's driveway.  And now that I've typed all that, I really don't know why that has any relevance at all except that I probably just wanted you to feel sorry for me, in my tired, cold state. Or something.

During the Belongings Exfoliation of 2010, I realize I had this whole big box of underwear that I no longer wear but that was still in really good shape (I had a shopping problem once.  Darn you Victoria's Secret and your Semi-Annual Sale!)(Also, it's totally weird to say your underwear is in good shape, yes?) Now, I myself am not a secondhand underwear buyer. The thought of it FREAKS. ME. OUT.  But hey, some people don't have a problem with it, and also Goodwill sells underwear so it must be ok, right? I texted Annie:

Me: Do people buy underwear at garage sales?
Annie:  Idk, worth a shot if you ask me.

Settled. 

One of our first few customers was a rugged looking dude, who, when I first saw him, I assumed was looking for tools.  Or broken lawnmowers.  Or socks.  Because that's what the rugged dudes come to garage sales for, you know.  He picks up a few things to buy, then spots the box 'o' underwears.

"I don't mean this to be embarrassing," he says. "But what size is the underwear?"

Me thinking: Cha-Ching! 

I told him what sizes most of them were, and after a short discussion about what size jeans his lady friend wears, I told him I didn't think they'd fit her.  He said ok, paid for the other stuff, and went on his way.

Important note to the fellas:  Do NOT buy your lady person underwear at a garage sale.  She can buy it herself at a garage sale if she chooses, but do not, under any circumstances, bring it home to her.  The only exception is if you have detailed instructions where she specifically states, "If you see underwear at a garage sale, please buy it for me."  This is NOT the same as "I need new underwear."  PLEASE make note of this.  You will thank me.

A lady showed up and sat down next to the box and looked at every single pair, like she was shopping that Semi-Annual Sale. She walked away with 11 pair by the time she was done.  Another lady snagged one pair and several more asked about sizes. People, underwear sells at garage sales! I mean, can you get over this?

After we've been out there about 3 hours, Rugged Dude from earlier comes back.  I see him walking up the driveway like he's on a Rugged Dude Mission.  "He's coming back for the underwear," I said to Annie, laughing.  He glanced over everything on the driveway that he already looked at 3 hours earlier and says, "I was on my way home and thought I'd see if y'all put anything else out."

Me:  (thinking) Liar.  You want panties.

About the same time, there was a lady browsing who was sorting through the boxes of clothes, which were directly next to the underwear box.  Rugged Dude is all randomly picking up items and pretending he's so very interested, but his eyes keep darting to the side, waiting for the lady to step away from the unmentionables.  She then starts looking through the underwear, talking about how she is going to get some for her granddaughters. (Grandmothers:  The secondhand-underwear-buying-for-others rule applies to you too.  As in: Don't.)  Rugged Dude's face gets tense and, trying to be all nonchalant, he says, "Oh yeah, that's what I was coming back for, too."

Me:  (thinking) Mmm-hmm.  Told you.

We all sort of chuckled because, oh well, you can't slack when it comes to garage sale bargains, homeboy.  Everybody knows that. Underwear-Buying-Lady (UBL) dumps the whole box on the table and says, "I'll just take them all."  Rugged Dude gets all antsy and asks if she's sure she's buying them all, to which she replies that she is.  He stomps off down the driveway, jumps in his car, and PEELS OUT while speeding off! Seriously! Reckless underwear deprivation driving in full effect y'all.

The three of us looked at each other.

Me: Uhhh....
Annie:  That wasn't normal right?
UBL:  Uh, no.  That wasn't normal.

About 5 minutes later, as we stood chatting and I bagged the stuff she bought, RUGGED DUDE CAME BACK! He pulled his beater up in front of the house and barrels up the driveway with a wad of cash in hand.

Rugged Dude: Ma'am. Are you sure you're going to buy all of them?
UBL: (slightly dumbfounded) Yes, I am.

There is a slight air of What The Heck now floating about.  Rugged Dude looks at me.  I look at Rugged Dude.

RD:  And that's all you have?
Me:  Yes, that was it.
RD:  I'll give you $10 for the whole box!

Dude.  I can't make this stuff up.

Me: ......
Annie: ......
UBL: ......
Me thinking: ......
Me:  I'm sorry, but I already sold them to her.

*Tension*

He wheels around and storms back down the driveway in an underwear fueld rage, and again, peels out.  Now help me understand this:  Does the peeling out help you cope in some way?  Because it's not like I'm about to chase you down the street and change my mind because you were clearly upset enough to PEEL OUT AT A GARAGE SALE!

And y'all, it's not even over!  He drove by TWO MORE TIMES glaring at us.  Freak me out, why don't ya?  The second time he drove by, the Underwear Buying Lady was gone, and since I'm pretty sure that's who he was looking for, that was the end of it.

Moral of the story:  Let Goodwill take care of the underwear selling.  

Words of Wisdom #467...

If one attempts to outrun a pomeranian that has been unleashed in an open field for the first time in said pomeranian's life, one will lose. Badly.

It is written.

3 Years....

 

3 years ago today, you had to leave us.  Too soon, we were left without your smile, your humor, your friendship, and your love.  Not a day goes by that you are not remembered and missed terribly.

Love you whoadie.

Simple Mind, Simple Pleasures...

Oh good gravy, people, do you have as much stuff as I have?  I mean it's like a Belongings Party all up in my homestead.  My lovely parents were kind enough to load all of my belongings that were still behind in the Texas and haul it all down here when they came for a visit. (Ed. note:  My parents RULE parentdom.  Fact.)

When I first moved back to my home sweet home state in March, it was after having been out of work via layoff for almost a year and a half.  I was a little bit broke, and due to circumstances, couldn't afford to transport anything.  But, I had an unbelievable living situation fall in my lap that I could not pass up.  So I loaded my tiny little Mazda 3 down with whatever pomeranians and clothing and miscellaneouses could fit and drove on home. No furniture. No bed.  No nothing.  My dear, darling friends, Shara, Amanda, and TJ, met me at my new townhouse to help me clean and get settled.  I sat in an overwhelmed heap in the middle of a room FULL of trashbags while my little busy bees buzzed all around me, cleaning and organizing and mother henning.  I owe those girls. Huge.  Were it not for them, I would undoubtedly STILL be sitting amongst those trash bags in a fetal position, trying to figure out just where to put everything considering the whole "no furniture" thing. Amanda and TJ loaned me an air mattress and sheets that I would end up sleeping on for a good 4 months.  Some would call them friends.  I call them angels. (OMG, can you believe I said that?!?! hahahahaha. My cheese-o-meter REFUSED to budge unless I typed it! Ha!Sorry! Live, laugh, love, and all that.)

Point:  After living so sparse for a good block of time, it kind of frees the mind a bit. I've been unpacking and unpacking all of the stuff my parents brought me, and while there is a good bit of it that I intend to keep for want/need purposes, I realize how much of the stuff I "needed" is really just stuff.  Something about the sentimental reasons I keep things goes by the wayside when I've lived without it for a significant amount of time. Or maybe it's just in the grand scheme of life, when you've been through the fire, it all of a sudden seems so trivial.  The sentimentality behind it can remain, but the material thing is just that: material. Just because I'm getting rid of that glass dolphin (yes, I have a glass dolphin. Shut up, you know you do too.) that I've been hanging onto all this time, because ohmygosh, I got that from so-and-so that one time at that thing with those people, doesn't mean I'm garage sale-ing the memory, you know? 

Wouldn't life be so much easier if I could just apply this thinking to all areas of life?  I don't want that shirt anymore because it no longer fits or serves a purpose in my life.  Can't I say the same thing for an unhappy memory or an unresolved hurt?   I've been hurt. BAD.  So have you.  So what good does it do us to let ourselves feel that ache everytime a certain song comes on or a reminder pops up?  There needs to come a point when the scar has formed just enough that I can choose to not wince when something hits it.  How much of it is actual pain, and how much of it is just a habit?  How much of it is the fact that I want to hold onto it because admitting it doesn't hurt as much means admitting that I'm letting go?  Nobody likes to let go.  Nobody wants to get rid of their crap that's buried deep in the recesses of home and heart.  Because it becomes comfort.  It becomes what we know.  But what if we cleaned out our hearts/minds like we cleaned out a cluttered closet?  What if we vacuumed and swept and Febrezed the heck out of our spirits so that anytime we open that door, we're bombarded with the scent of fresh and clean and airy?

Whew.  That went down a totally different thought path than I was expecting.  I planned to tell you all about my Electric Youth perfume (with the hot pink lighting bolt inside the bottle!)(!!!!), but instead we had therapy.  What do you guys think?  Do you have cluttered lives? Cluttered emotions? 

Let's share a group hug!

Words of Wisdom #145...

One never knows how flexible one is until one attempts to bathe a dog that does not wish to be bathed.

Go forth young grasshoppper.

Whole Living...

Ten Tenets of Whole Living

 

1. Happiness is a choice. Make that choice today and every day.

2. Good health isn't a gift; it's a habit you cultivate.

3. A healthy, fit body is not enough -- true fitness engages the spirit.

4. Think more about what you should eat than what you shouldn't.

5. Laugh at yourself. You're funny.

6. Nurture your spirit. It's your source of strength.

7. Stay connected to the natural world. It will feed your soul.

8. Believe in yourself. Your intuition is rarely wrong.

9. It's never too late to take the first step toward your aspirations.

10. What you pay attention to will thrive.

Read more at Wholeliving.com: About Body+Soul Magazine