I wore the hell out of my mom’s old Harley necklace.
Enli hung out with me Tuesday night.
Kate and I had a picnic Wednesday evening.
And of course you all know about my haircut.
I scored this necklace antiquing on Saturday.
First, someone on Callboard linked to this post from Runner’s World today and it felt extremely appropriate. Not just for me, but all the people in this city (and country, holy crap) dealing with tornado aftermath in the mist of whatever else is going on in their lives.
Second, I need to confess something. I’m normally pretty decent at money management but sometimes I make mistakes. Darren sucks at the management part but is good about actually watching our bank account. Sometime in the last couple weeks we went overboard and now we have no spending money left for the next few days until I get paid. I mean, we have enough for the dog food and toilet paper that needs to be purchased today, but y’know. But even after payday it’s going to be tight because, y’know, rent and stuff, plus D doesn’t get paid until the week after.
So! I’m going to [try very hard to] completely avoid spending any extra money for at least the month of June. June is going to be the test month, with it’s lack of holidays and no current plans. I’m not going to buy myself lunches or new lipstick or nail polish or clearance shirts from Target (okay… maybe no promises on that last one, but only if they’re under $7). I’m not going to let Darren talk me into dinners out. Expensive nights at the bar will become a bottle of something from the liquor store. And when we go to the store for dog food, we’re not going to walk out with dog food plus deli wraps plus a couple bags of chips.
Seriously. After June we can assess, and make a permanent plan from there. If we want to build up our savings and pay off debt (Suze Orman says you should pay off student loan debt first, Dave Ramsey says you should start with the smallest and work your way up. I think I’mma go his route), eventually replace our car and one day buy a friggin’ house, we need to actually take the necessary steps in doing so. Go effing figure. Bonus: we happen to be meeting with a financial planner on Saturday.
I think now that I’ve put this all out there, I can pretend I have an adoring public holding me accountable. I keep saying me, but I mean us. Team Baxter.
Whew. After all that, I do have one more item of note. Thanks to Kate, I cannot get this song out of my head. Enjoy!
I yelled at some dudes in the bar the other night.
I was out with a few ladyfriends (there was also one dude there at the time) and we got to discussing, er, negative interaction. I brought up this blog post I had read recently about a woman who decided she would no longer put up with people’s shit – regardless of whether it was directed at her or a stranger, she would stand up to the a-holes. And she did.
On reading the post, I realized I’m kinda that girl. I have no problem donning my bitch pants when necessary.
Example: A few years ago, I was out swimming with Kate, Heather, and Stephanie. We were bobbing around near a sand bar when we spotted a couple of dudes in a boat headed our way. Le sigh. We were having a great time and did not want to be chatted up by some tourist bros. Sure enough, they trolled up next to us and attempted to make conversation. I don’t think I said anything; the other ladies gave short but polite answers but made no real attempt to keep the conversation going. Finally, when they asked our names I turned to them and said “I really don’t think that matters.”
A conversation killer to be sure. The bros eventually trolled away and our peace was returned.
Anyway, the above was just one shining sample from a series of bitchery bestowed upon others by yours truly. I think it’s probably the meanest one, though. All other instances involved people being actual douchebags, as opposed to just clueless dudes.
So this herd of middle aged guys were sitting at the bar on Friday night, after spending a fair amount of time getting their pool cues all up in our faces. It was early, so there weren’t a lot of people there yet. For whatever reason (alcohol, I assume), they were rowdy as hell and loud. We ignored them for awhile but I of course reached Point Bitch and yelled back.
“SHUT. UP. Jeeesus!”
It worked well enough.
Apologies to Jesus, though.
Sorry in advance for being a big ol’ whiner…
To the ladies shopping at Target,
Is it really necessary to stand at the door of the fridge, grasping the handle ans you contemplate the yogurt selection? I just want the dip that happens to be shelved just below that yogurt. Please move.
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To the Subway Sandwich Dude,
Since when does “Club” sound like “Plain Turkey”? Glad I caught that. Also, stop making assumptions about what I want on my sandwich.
–
Finally, apparently the Club is no longer a $5 footlong. Disappoint. If I had known I was going to spend almost $8 on my lunch, I would have gone to Chipotle. But the sandwich was delicious, so no legit complaints in the end.
In my seemingly endless blog-surfing, I only just today came across this gem: reinventing sandyb. Dude. Girlfriend crafts some mighty fine posts, oftentimes including delightful iPhone photos. Sometimes I want an iPhone just for the photo apps. Also I think I might possibly want to live in her house? Plus she’s adorkable. I’m just sayin’.
Anyway, my perusal of her site brought me to this entry and guys, can I just say how relieved I was to discover that this bizarro and somewhat annoying thing that I go through regularly might actually be at least a little bit normal? I mean, not that Idoubted that, shoot. Whenever I go through that “what am I doing” phase I feel 1: guilty, and 2: like I’m heading toward some kind of quarter-life crisis that I just don’t have the time or resources to deal with.
So from now on, when struck with restless soul syndrome, I vow to just figure out my own best methods of coping with it. I may not be able to go on those crazy international adventures that I crave, but I’m thinking I can come up with something.
I know that Big News happened last night, but you don’t need to hear my take on it do you? It suffices to say that Bin Laden’s death is a huge deal and a bit of a game changer perhaps, but it’s not the end of any wars. I wish it could be, but it just isn’t. It’s not even the beginning of the end. Not even close. I’m also a little unsettled by the way we seem to celebrate these deaths.
And before I get into what I came here to post about, let me also say that I’m not unaware of the other more important things happening in the world. I know that shit’s going down and it’s bad. Libya (death to invaders: not a pleasant sentiment), Japan, Indonesia… look, I spend a good chunk of my day reading the news. Excuse me for liking a little fluffy romance in the midst of it all.
So.
The Royal Wedding. Yes, it is over. I loved every minute of it, even the ridiculous hats. I’m not the only one. (Have you seen the official photos, by the way?) But there are haters out there, and that’s fine. Although some of them are still drinking their Haterade (hee). Yes, the Royal Family has some money (I know that all the foliage they added to Westminster for the wedding cost something like $83,000. Yikes). And no, they don’t lead lives like, say, me. But unlike some rich, entitled kids out there (Paris Hilton, anyone?) they actually do more than party and spend money (although of course there’s been a bit of that as well).
The princes – excuse me, the Prince and the Duke – work, and they do good. They both have military careers, in case you weren’t aware. Harry was actually promoted recently. William is a rescue pilot. Will is a patron of several environmental and humanitarian organizations, as is Harry. They’re not just giving money, either. They give their time. They actually care about the world they live in and want to make it better. Spoiled, entitled brats they are not. They certainly know they’re well off and they use their status to help people. I wish the same could be said for every person of wealth.
Blah blah blah. I could be wrong. Maybe they’re all just in it for the hats.
1. Do you wish for anything at 11:11? If so, what do you wish for?
I don’t. Sorry.
2. Your favorite movie.
Most boring question ever. I don’t even have one.
—
Wow, good thing I have a story because those questions were totally lame.
I was on the bus home yesterday, all super mad because the bus was late and construction traffic was horrible so I knew I was going to miss my second bus. I was listening to music and fuming silently when I noticed the head of the man sitting in front of me.
At first I thought he was just a regular bald dude, but then I realized he was a head-shaver. How did I know? Well, here’s the thing. He was a heavier guy, and the the back of his head – near the neck – had this big skin fold/wrinkle thing. And when he moved his head the wrinkle opened up a little and you could see that there was still hair there, where the razor couldn’t get to it.
It was like a head mustache.
Gross.
This happened. I wish I had worn my glasses, simply because I think I look better with them. But I’m still totally framing these and putting them on the wall.
And because I don’t think this post has quite enough awesomeness in it, here is the greatest thing I saw all week.
Part 1. A picture of what you wore today.
That seems like a lot of work. Taking a picture of myself, then waiting until I get home to haul out all the cords required to upload a picture from my camera. No thanks. I’ll just tell you. I’m wearing a brown sweater over a light blue tank top, with jeans and brown shoes.
Part 2. A letter to someone who has hurt you recently.
Dear Universe,
What’s with all the tragedy in the past week? Give it a rest, would you? There’s the stuff I wrote about a couple days ago, plus a shitload of car accidents or car/pedestrian accidents in just this city alone… maybe take a nap now. Okay?
No Love,
Katrina
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How about a story? A ridiculous one, because I think I need it. Warning: It involves a shower. Please refrain from picturing me naked. Not that you would.
One night sometime in March I was in the shower pondering various things, like ya do, when the bathroom door opened. I had just finished shaving one leg. My husband walked in and said he had a surprise for me.
“Is it kisses?” I asked.
“No, it’s not kisses.”
I opened the curtain and he stood there with a shot glass in one hand and a lime in the other. Tequila.
I paused. “I need salt.” Oh yes I do.
He showed me a hand. “I have it. Also, this is a double. You’ll sleep well tonight.”
Oh, for the love of…
…all right, why not? I took the lime and the glass. Deep breath, lick the salt off the back of his hand, pound the shot, suck the lime. Juicy. He laughed, gave me a kiss, and let me finish my shower.
I did fall asleep a little faster.
fearlessly, myself. 