Saturday, June 28, 2008
Finally scrapped one of my husband's motorcycle trip photos. Long live the Bromance!
And just because I had never tried it, I made the layout into a quickpage which you can download HERE.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
I can hardly believe how quickly June is flying by. It seems as though it was just yesterday that the trees were beginning to leaf out, and now it's a bower of green as I look out the window. Amazing how many greens there are, and how lovely they look together when they're all vegetation. I could wear different colored green clothing and people would think I was crazy, but Mother Nature pulls it off. I guess because she can get the bee to sting you if you criticize, LOL.
But I digress. I'm not too much of a theme scrapper, but I did think it would be nice to have something to scrap pix from several years of Fourth of July celebrations, so just in time, here is Americana:
Sorry, links have expired
Monday, June 23, 2008
more cat pictures
So when I was looking through an old photo album last night, I found something amusing, and one thing led to another, and now we have this:
Heh heh. It's good to have one's children at one's mercy.
And because I didn't have the right black background I had to make one. Maybe some of you have a lolcat to scrap too, so you can download it HERE.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
For those of you who have your own drag racer to scrap, maybe the flag would be useful, so I'll pass it along for you ;)
Download it HERE
Saturday, June 14, 2008
I have a total lack of control where mascara is involved. This is odd, as I've never been much of a makeup person. I was NOT one of those little girls who could hardly wait until her mother allowed her the privilege of Wearing Makeup. At least I don't think I was. I remember playing with toy makeup when I was little, but I don't think it has ever been that big of a deal to me - in fact if anything, I still feel a little like I'm playing "pretend" when I wear it now, even at my Advanced Age. It seems that there's just something about a slender tube filled with a brush and black stuff that beckons to me and I seem to be powerless to resist. In fact, I got a brand new one just last week:
It was to replace this one:
Replace is probably not the right choice of word. It implies that I didn't care for the fantastic lash. That isn't true. It just wasn't the new one anymore. You see, purchase of mascara, for me, does not in any way guarantee usage of the product beyond the first week or two. It's more like, "come stay at my house and rest comfortably in my makeup drawer. There will be lots of other friends for you to chat with, because I don't really use them, either!"
I don't really understand my susceptibility to the Lure of the Lash. I can resist the temptation of the Perfectly Pink Pout, the shy attraction of the Beautiful Blush, the somewhat temperamental promise of Flawless Skin (this one being entirely too dependent upon choice of color, and of too many instances ranging from Looking Like A Ghost (too light) to Swarthy Is The New Orange (too...colorful) to Saw The Ghost And It Waved At Me (ashen grey is not a desirable look, apparently) thereby discouraging additional experimentation in this area due to financial restraints). I guess that ease of color choice is the main draw. My eyelashes are black+ mascara comes in black+ it makes my black eyelashes better = Must Have More.
Once the shiny new tube is safely home with me the battle begins:
- Will it make me look like the beautiful girl in the poster who batted her incredibly long, incredibly curvy, incredibly gorgeous eyelashes at my lack of self-control in order to get me to put the tube in my shopping basket?
- Will it truly be "easy to apply?" and when I say "easy to apply" I really mean, "how hard will it be to rid my skin of the blotches and blobs of black that inevitably adorn my eyelids, undereyes, tear ducts, and occasionally (on very jerky days where my hands seem to be independent of fine motor control) on the whites of my eyes (which triggers a larger, more whole-body approach the the jerk, and distributes black to various areas of nose and forehead, and possibly the bathroom floor).
- Will it be clump free? (because truly, having it look like you have one very wide, solid eyelash on each upper lid is not a look I find at all attractive, and I have seen this often enough to have proof that it does nothing to enhance my beauty in any way, shape or form; and the variation of having four lumpy bumpy lashes on each lid really just makes me feel that a spider that got stuck in tar and then curiously divided and affixed to my upper lids WILL have its revenge, if it hasn't already)
- Will it be WATERPROOF? This is a very important item, because I have found that the likelihood of me shedding tears is directly related (exponentially, I'm afraid) to whether or not I'm wearing mascara and the degree of moisture resistance contained in said product.
- Will it be worth the effort of putting it on? The answer to this, sadly, is almost always No. Sooner or later, the effort will outweigh the positives of application, and the Not Quite So Shiny tube will move a little further back in the makeup drawer as I rustle around looking for hormone-induced necessities such as cover up and powder. But it's okay. I know it's there if I need it. I know it has a good, safe, resting spot. I know it won't be lonely.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Download Elements HERE
Download Papers HERE
Monday, June 9, 2008
For instance, last week when I tried to turn around and push my office chair away from my desk to address my daughter, got stuck in the divots in the chair mat, tipped over, and found myself looking at her from a far different perspective than originally intended- THAT was both embarrassing AND silly, and failure to acknowledge the absurdity would be as disingenuous as trying not to limp the next day when I discovered the swollen, and black and blue toe resulting from the crash (and the road rash on the elbow, LOL!). So even though my dignity tumbled with an aplomb equal to the awkwardness of my person, I had no trouble sharing my humiliation with my friends. It was funny!
Far less entertaining have been my thoughts as my younger daughter celebrated her 22nd birthday here at home with her boyfriend and family. This certainly isn't the first time that we've done the boyfriend thing. We met a couple of Kate's, and a couple of Molly's. And it isn't the first time I've had a daughter turn 22, or 23, or even 25! So why has this particular event sent me into a downward spiraling helix? I know it isn't entirely because I'm growing older; I am aware of that and still manage to find some entertainment in the growing parade of indignities my body has visited upon me. And it isn't really because I'm trying to keep my girls dependent on me or their father - I want them to be strong and independent and happy.
After a lot of thought, I think I have at least a partial answer. Before now, the aforementioned events triggered such nostalgia for me. Memories of *my* birthdays, memories of *my* boyfriends, memories of the way I felt when I met *my* Mr. Right... All of these events served to underscore my relationship with my children by sparking similar memories. Ever so loverly.
For some reason, though, this weekend, I had a blinding flash of memory that nearly sent me over the edge. Not the memory of myself at 22, celebrating a wonderful moment in my life with my family and a special guy, but rather the memory of my mother, my in-laws, celebrating the wonderful moment, but from the periphery. It's the first time I can think of that I have ever felt anything from what must have been their perspective, and it made me feel distant, separated, and, well, irrelevant. Because really, at 22 my focus was all about David and Julie, and the adults around me were sort of a warm but indistinct cocoon. A cocoon that I was doing everything I could do to leave, LOL!
Understanding this new perspective is a little humbling. I'm not comfortable with it yet, and not quite able to grasp the laughter from the ashes of my vanity. I don't doubt, however, that soon there will be a flurry in the crater and my sense of the ridiculous will climb out of the debris; a little bruised, a little sheepish, and ready to move on.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Subject: Trials of the Blonde
Okay, here it is in a nutshell: I am not serious enough to be a juror. They knew what they were doing when they confined me to the alternate position; I'm sure folks all over town are fervently praying or hoping, or sacrificing to magic crystals in the hopes that no "regular" juror becomes ill or is unable to attend.
I just can't shut up. We get into the Jury room, and it's deathly quiet because we know we can't talk about the case, and you can only complain so long about them never letting us out when they SAY they are going to let us out. I picked up a very bad habit with my college piano professor -- he was a very quiet man, and I couldn't stand the silence, so if he didn't say anything, I would just start to jabber. I became VERY adept at this over the course of four years, and the unhappy habit has trailed me ever since. The odd thing is, I'm not really a very outgoing person, and I'm not terribly comfortable with groups of strangers, but here I am chattering away in a manner that would put a Furby to shame (and often making just about as much sense as our fuzzy little friends, too, I might add).
And I'm in love with the bailiff. He is the quaintest, cutest little guy, with a grey beard, and a twinkle in his eye. Today he wore a tie with a picture of an ice cream sundae on it. I had a really tough time not making a quip about it when I filed past him to get into the jury box (in front of God, witnesses, judge and defendant -- this would have really gotten me in deep trouble, I can sense it). He teases us about little stuff, like stealing the Jury badges, and closing the door to the Jury room when we come out (this is MY job, and I'm getting EXTREMELY good at it). He teases us about our chairs squeaking, and even oiled one gal's ;-) The other bailiff is a very refined woman whom I would judge (see, I'm using legalese, here) to be in her early sixties. She's very precise, and quite nice. Today when I handed her my parking permit for stamping, I said "Will you sign my note, Mom?" I got a very refined little smile; no teeth.
I don't mean to be squirrely, it just happens. I guess it has always been my way to deal with uncomfortable situations... lighten things up a bit. I actually have to bite my tongue sometimes to keep from doing or saying something inappropriate. I stare at my shoes and the divider wall in front of me to avoid making eye contact with someone and looking unduly sympathetic or twinkly or.... The unfortunate thing is that someone has carefully etched the following into the divider wall:
Obviously, the latter two are unfinished (one can faintly see the beginnings of a c and possibly another consonant after the larger one. I am consumed with curiosity as to how someone managed to accomplish this feat of carving (and spelling) without being observed. I contemplate different methods of duplicating the deed; for one wild moment I even toy with finishing the unfinished project. This final thought sends me into such a state of horror that I would even THINK of doing such a thing that I tuck my hands under my knees, and concentrate VERY HARD on the witness. Unfortunately, the witness at this time is the defendant, who I will admit that I am reluctant to be kindly towards, and as this is probably another violation of my sacred trust as juror, the action sends me into an agony of indecision as to where to look next. I compromise by closing my eyes. Then it occurs to me that they might think I'm not paying attention, so SNAP go the eyelids, and I look at the defense attorney. Unfortunately, another juror has pointed out just this morning that he looks a lot like the local weather guy, and this likeness distracts me again. I affix my eyes upon my steno pad (which we have to leave on our chair when we leave the courtroom) with its pencil neatly tucked into the spiral ring. (The first day I opened it up and held my pencil poised and ready, but the urge to doodle was SO strong, that I closed it up and stuck the pencil back in the spiral, because I am under the impression that doodling jurors are frowned upon.)
So there you have it -- I am a disgrace to my fellow jurors, and constantly living on the edge of disaster. My goal is to make it through the trial without any of the legal professionals present pointing at me and loudly declaiming
I've added a few more pieces to the Urban Geometry kit, as well as the matching lower case alpha. Threw in the car and the gas pump just because SOMEONE must be scrapping gas prices!
Lower Case Alpha
Urban Geometry Bonus