tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69671475618976534042024-03-05T18:40:03.599-05:00The Whimsical CrafterStaciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-39423301703979439502013-05-08T09:00:00.000-04:002013-05-08T09:00:05.589-04:00Well of course THIS happenedFunny story for a Wednesday, hold on to your biscuits....<br />
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No, really. Hold on and don't ever let go.<br />
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<em>Soooooo,</em> remember when I was whining about <a href="http://sjloriginal.blogspot.com/2013/05/a-tale-of-theft-vomit-and-department-of.html">losing my wallet</a> at Coldstone last week and how could someone just take it and ohmigosh I have to replace everything blah blah blah?<br />
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<em>Aaaaannnd,</em> remember how I created this <a href="http://sjloriginal.blogspot.com/2013/05/a-tale-of-theft-vomit-and-department-of.html">huge fiasco</a> by not having the identification that was in said wallet for the closing on my house, sending me in every which direction to resolve said fiasco all while clutching a bathroom trash can turned puke bucket?<br />
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<em>Weeeeelllllll</em>, I found it on Friday. Actually Corey found it stuffed way down deep in the cushion of our recliner. I must have sat there while eating my ice cream, focused entirely on the Founder's Favorite <span style="font-size: x-small;">(srsly, they don't call it the "favorite" for nothing)</span> I didn't notice I even <em>had</em> my wallet, let alone that my hiney was slowly shoving it into the nether regions of our chair.<br />
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<em>Whoopsies!</em><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My first reaction upon finding it</span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Yay! Garage sale money is back!</span></div>
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My second reaction </div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Y</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">ay! Coffee club cards are back!</span></span></div>
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My third reaction</div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Dang, I already canceled my credit cards, and replaced my license.</span><br />
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My fourth reaction</div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Ooooo, I have two licenses now. I wonder if I can sell one....</span><br />
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My fifth reaction</div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Uh oh, I think I just added material to my FBI file.</span><br />
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My sixth reaction</div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Better call the Coldstone corporate office back and apologize for calling them "clowns."</span></div>
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<em>Buuuuuutt </em>by the end of the day after all that reacting I was hungry<em> </em>so I patronized Coldstone's competitor, Plum Dandy. Twice.</div>
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The end.</div>
Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-7324034031410151382013-05-06T09:00:00.000-04:002013-05-06T09:00:19.528-04:00Neon mom jeans, for today's hip ladies!Let's go a little off topic for a sec, gang.<br />
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Not like there is <i>ever</i> an on-going theme here.<br />
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Unless you call "endlessly random" a theme. That's the whimsy in me. They don't call me The Whimsical Crafter for nothing, am I right or am I right or <i>am I right?!</i><br />
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Oh, and by "they" I do mean myself.<br />
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So here we are, already off the topic I was hoping to be off topic....about.<br />
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And that topic: how old is <i>too old</i> to wear neon.<br />
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As in the neon that all the kids are wearing these days.<br />
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I guess we could turn this into a discussion on <i>any</i> trend that's out there now. Like what is the age limit on calling your fellow man "bro?" or when should one stop wearing gladiator sandals?<br />
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Because I know for us gals we're sensitive to how we appear to others. At any age. And we <i>especially</i> don't want to look like we're trying too hard.<br />
<br />
Me at the make-up counter at Macy's: <i>"I want you to pile all that crap on my face but for goodness sake make it look natural!"</i><br />
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So setting an <i>exact </i>age where you officially go from skinny jeans to mom jeans and from trendy printed tees to Hanes Her Way would be helpful when asking oneself "should I be wearing this??" while pulling on floral print pants very similar to the ones you remember wearing on your first day of third grade.<br />
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Hypothetically, of course.<br />
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But no, no, no. I am not having that discussion now.<br />
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No I just want to know about <i>neon</i> now.<br />
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<i>This</i> neon.<br />
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I went running shoe shopping Sunday and what I found was an <i>entire wall</i> of neon shoes in every color combination possible, and then off to the side were two or three plain white pairs with blue and purple stripes on a table with packages of socks.<br />
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<i>Hmmmm, I think what they're trying to say right now is that bright colors are a thing.</i><br />
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So I bought a pair. And they are <i>shockingly</i> bright<br />
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I remember wearing neon in elementary school, gang. I <i>specifically</i> remember my favorite sweater, it was black with hot pink and yellow stripes. And I also remember laughing at how ridiculous this stuff was years later when we were all wearing forrest greens and maroons and tying flannel shirts around our waists.<br />
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Please, oh please, don't let grunge come back...<br />
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So I guess what I'm wondering is if I can remember the inception of this style does that mean I'm too old to be sporting it the second time 'round?<br />
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What if I pair these bad boys with the yoga pants that fit <i>just above</i> my belly-button, does that help or hurt my chances of fitting in??<br />
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Luckily, these aren't my "everyday" shoes and will most likely only be worn to jog around the park at times when I will see the least amount of people on account of an awkward running style that may or may not have been compared to that of a duck during my high school track days. I don't want to talk about it.<br />
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<i>But</i>, I do have this same color in a nail polish and that <i>would</i> go with me everywhere, so please, your opinion is strongly requested.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">...as long as your opinion is that I can totally pull off neon because I don't think Dick's will return shoes with traces of duck poo. <i>You just had to "break them in" in the park, didn't you Stace?!</i></span><br />
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Thanksomuch.<br />
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<br />Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-77860646053016101372013-05-01T21:18:00.000-04:002013-05-01T21:18:10.303-04:00A tale of theft, vomit and the Department of Motor Vehicles<em>Oh. My.</em><br />
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Run away, friends. Run far, far away.<br />
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I'm afraid my streak of bad luck has reached its peak and <em>who knows</em> who will next be snared in it's gnarly claws of doom!!!<br />
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Save yourselves!!<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Pure Luck: the Stacie Lucas story</span></i></div>
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I'm writing this as a weekend update, even though the weekend is far from over and we'll be hitting <em>another one </em>before I'm even ready<em>.</em><br />
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I only just this morning felt well enough to go to work after a stomach bug hit me Sunday and left me flat on my back, unable to stand for even <em>thirty seconds</em> without severe stomach pains. So here I am, on Wednesday, feeling like it's Monday, trying to get my whole self used to the fact that it <em>is</em> hump day and tomorrow will be the day before the day before the weekend, and....no, you're right, that really isn't <em>too</em> big of a hassle.<br />
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So before I ramble any further about something that has nothing to do with anything...<br />
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Corey and I have been in the process of buying a townhouse since late February. As most homeowners know, these things take awhile. You know, with the bank stuff and the title stuff and insurance and blah, blah, blah. As most homeowners who are <em>married to me</em> now know, when I'm involved the whole process is <em>excruciating</em>.<br />
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Where art thou, Lady Luck?!<br />
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<em>"They're not all like this," </em>our realtor explained. <em>"This is the worst I've ever seen."</em><br />
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Great. I'll try to remember that when I never, ever move ever again.<br />
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Our closing was scheduled for this past Monday afternoon. It was originally set for early April but with so many additional requirements and lost <span style="font-size: x-small;">(but later found!)</span> paperwork we were relieved last week to finally have a <em>set date</em> to own our home! <br />
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Everything was finally going to be over! And done! And we could pop champagne! And potty in our new toilets!<br />
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<em>Oh, ho, ho naive little ones...</em><br />
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<em>This girl</em> had to lose her wallet on Saturday. Wait, no, I <em>set it down</em> at Coldstone Creamery and then someone swiped it. But in my defense, I had to carry my ice cream <em>aaaaand</em> Corey's milkshake. My subconscious made the difficult decision: dessert comes first, wallet must wait. <br />
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I had money in my wallet, and credit cards, and my work ID, <em>and my driver's license.</em> Annoying. So, so annoying. I canceled my credit cards right away. And I fumed about losing my weekend garage sale money on a day when there was a <em>ten family</em> sale down the street. Ten families, I said!! <br />
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My coffee club cards were in there too, and I was <em>this close</em> to getting a free coffee <em>any size</em> at Coffee Planet. I had big plans for that free coffee, a java chip frappe. <em>A frappe I said!!</em><br />
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Sigh.<br />
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So, my driver's license was <em>gone</em>. And being a first time home-buyer I didn't know the bank would like to see it and verify I am who I say I am before handing over my house. Imagine that. So there I sat Monday morning in my jammies, immersed in Lifetime movies and a heating pad with nothing left in my stomach to, um, expel when I got <em>the</em> <em>call</em> from Corey.<br />
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<em>Hey, you're gonna need your license...</em><br />
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Uh oh.<br />
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The next two hours was a blur of yelling, rummaging, running up and down stairs, sobbing at the DMV, and lots and lots of gagging and body cramps.<br />
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<em>Go get a temporary license from DMV....see if they'll print a picture on the temporary,be really nice....wait, let's look for your passport....where's your passport?.....I think it's at my mom's house....call your mom.....mom can you look through my stuff?.....wait I found it....don't worry, mom, we found it, p.s. sorry you're sick too....oh no it's expired!....can we use it anyway?....no? CRAP....ok, go get your license....ok, I need to take a puke bucket....wait do you have your Purdue ID?.....at my mom's house....call your mom....mom can you look through my stuff?.....no time, go to the DMV and get your license....mom, forget about it p.s. sorry to make you almost throw up climbing up the stairs to look through my stuff....ok, where's my puke bucket? can you get me some water for the road?....is this the right application?.....yes.....my (sob, sob) wallet was (sob) stolen and I'm supposed to (sob, sob, sob, sniffle) close on my house in forty-five minutes!!....here ya go hon'....that's it?!.....that's it....Corey I got it....that's it?....yep, that's it....ok, um, you gonna take a shower?....yes....ok hurry.</em><br />
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I call that the Reader's Digest version.<br />
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We get to the closing four minutes late with my birth certificate to prove the picture on my expired passport is really me, my marriage license to prove the person on my passport and birth certificate is the new, married me, my Social Security card to show I'm documented, and my temporary driver's license just for the hell of it. We crossed our fingers.<br />
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In the end the bank could not have cared less. I'm sure they would have taken a kindergarten self-portrait.<br />
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Of course.<br />
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<em>Of course!</em><br />
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***<br />
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So that, my friends, is the recent installation to the story of my no good, very bad luck.<br />
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It was nice knowing you, now run for the hills before I cause generations of early onset baldness or an outbreak of feline AIDS in your subdivision.<br />
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Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-12908420939744679542013-04-26T09:00:00.000-04:002013-04-26T09:00:18.005-04:00Confessing my real age of 78<div style="text-align: center;">
Sometimes I call capri pants <em>short pants</em>, just for giggles.</div>
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I giggle over small things, like <em>short pants.</em></div>
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I am not aware of the status of short pants. Is this something I can still wear or have we moved on to matchstick jeans and such?</div>
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Wednesday night while the potatoes were boiling I sat on the floor up against the fridge singing <em>"You're My Best Friend"</em> by Queen, the whole song....to the dog. He licked the chocolate frosting off my face.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">"You're my best friend too!...wait, do I smell tater tots?!"</span></i></div>
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***</div>
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Speaking of my little man, Arnie is always on a leash. Always. Except that <i>one time</i> I got lazy during a potty break. The same potty break that was, of course, his first squirrel sighting which led to his first squirrel <em>chase near the road. </em>And wouldn'tyaknowit also his first time meeting the nasty Boston Terrier that lives below us who nearly tore his face off.</div>
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Corey didn't understand my tribute Wednesday. </div>
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<em>"Beetle I read your blog, it was weird."</em></div>
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Safe to say he does <em>not</em> share in my love of birds.</div>
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***</div>
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What <em>does</em> Corey share my love of? Breakfast.</div>
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***</div>
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When I say I'm going to <em>go running</em>, I do what real runners call "moderate walking." In a 5k race a few years ago I came upon a 70 year old man who looked like he was barely moving and I Could. Not. Pass. Him. Tragic.</div>
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***</div>
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My friend, Jill, thinks I'm an old lady trapped in a beeeeeautiful, fit, young shell <span style="font-size: x-small;">(my pretty accurate interpretation).</span> And to that I say, <em>"Huh? Can you speak up??"</em></div>
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<em>***</em></div>
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And on that note, time for my daily dose of Metamucil...Happy Friday!</div>
Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-1830920324750451182013-04-24T12:28:00.001-04:002013-04-24T12:28:50.291-04:00This post is for the birdsHey guess what guys...I love birds!!<br />
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Yaaay!<br />
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Those pesky little dummies that are full of germs and diseases and terrify my little doggie<i> tickle my fancy</i> like nothing other than milk glass can.<br />
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Don't know what it is about the stinky poopers; maybe all the colors, the bright reds and blues and yellows, that they can be as big as a mid-size SUV or as small as a cockroach <i>or</i> it could be that they aren't actually dumb <i>at all</i>. <br />
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But most likely it's just one of those mysteries you can't explain.<br />
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Like why chocolate has such a strong, strong hold over me.<br />
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And is the moon <i>really</i> made out of cheese??<br />
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And almost more than I love <i>actual </i>birds, I love, love, love John Audubon's collection of <i>drawings</i> of birds; a collection of more than 700 species all drawn <i>to scale</i> and in their natural habitat. Be still my heart! The drawings are simple: not a leaf or flower too many, the colors are vivid but not overpowering...I'm getting a lump in my throat thinking about how much I love these drawings, is that weird?<br />
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I was traveling around the interwebs pretty aimlessly recently looking for accents to put in my bedroom after I paint and introduce some gold-toned bedding when I thought, <i>"yellow-breasted warblers, for SURE!"</i><br />
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Srsly. I did happen <i>just like that.</i><br />
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With that thought, I tracked down some of my faves to build an Audubon collection of my own.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Mourning Dove</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yellow Breasted Warbler</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Anna's Hummingbird</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Pelican</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Flamingo</span></i></div>
<br />
I die a little seeing the last two. Get ahold of yourself, Stace.<br />
<br />
It's safe to assume a healthy representation of Mr. Audubon's collection will find it's way into my home. What will Corey think, you ask? Well, when the options are drawings hanging on the walls or the real things eating his cereal and pooping on his furniture I think he'll warm up to my plan.<br />
<br />
Pictures to come just as soon as I'm finished....in three years.<br />
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Just kidding.<br />
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But actually that's probably accurate.<br />
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:)<br />
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Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-19961528654574023132013-04-22T09:00:00.000-04:002013-04-22T09:00:07.281-04:00I don't always eat cake, but when I do I eat the whole thing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>"Corey, I'm leaving now to get the groceries."</i></div>
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<i>"Hey, do you want to pick up a cake mix?"</i></div>
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<i>"Noooooo. You know I'm trying to get beach ready!"</i></div>
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<i>"........"</i></div>
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<i>"Okay."</i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> fancy eats Betty Crocker style</span></i></div>
<br />
They call me Stacie No Willpower Lucas.<br />
<br />
I'm a sucker for cake.<br />
<br />
And brownies.<br />
<br />
And cookies.<br />
<br />
And razzleberry pie.<br />
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And any other pie.<br />
<br />
And any other type of dessert, minus anything with raisins.<br />
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Raisins aren't dessert. Neither are carrots. <i>I'm looking at you carrot cake.</i><br />
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<i>Yummy yummy yum yum yum! Batter is tasty. I eat it with my fingers!</i></div>
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Hello dinner.</div>
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I also ate that corner piece. It was lonely. Also, I don't know when to <i>stop.</i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">they call him Arnie Eats Everything Not Bolted To The Floor Lucas</span></i></div>
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<br />
Arnie's wondering, <i>do I get a piece now oooooor do I just sneak one off the counter when you're not looking?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I distract him with chicken biscuits. And he's pretty flaky <span style="font-size: x-small;">(blonds, go fig.)</span> so it works.<br />
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But now that mama's in a sugar coma it's all fair game.<br />
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<br />Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-29700799173064474832013-04-19T09:00:00.000-04:002013-04-19T09:00:10.457-04:00Confessing my love of early 90's rapI used to do this thing back on the <em><a href="http://www.coreyandstacie.blogspot.com/">other blog</a></em> where I would confess the random//embarrassing//stupid moments of my week, not so much as a <em>"must repent of my thinking this was a nautical symbol:"</em><br />
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...but more of a <em>"laugh at me because I'm sure I'm the only dum-dum on the planet who didn't know what the heck this thing meant."</em> <br />
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I miss out on a lot when I've got my head lost in a bag of wool roving!<br />
<br />
...it's a felting joke, maybe you...never mind.<br />
<br />
And since my weekly confessions were met with rave reviews <strike>from my mom</strike>, I figured why not revive them here! I certainly haven't ceased to perform the random//embarrassing//stupid just because I stopped <em>publishing</em> those moments.<br />
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But let's <em>ease</em> into it with <em>just a few</em> juicy morsels, shall we?<br />
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">this is my baby...before he went crazy</span></em></div>
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Corey was nervous about Arnie meeting my sister's 112lb Rottweiler, Mika, last Saturday. Turns out he had good reason to be nervous: she did, in fact, pee on his head.</div>
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***</div>
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I gave Arnie a bath on Saturday.</div>
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***</div>
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Last weekend was Corey's annual Fella's Retreat in Vegas. Also known as Stacie's Vacation From Making the Bed and Putting Dirty Dishes in the Sink.</div>
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***</div>
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Also known as Getting Some Sleep Diagonal Style.</div>
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***</div>
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Also known as Fold That Laundry Quick Cuz He's Comin' Home in an Hour!!</div>
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I learned the lyrics to Whomp! There It Is in sixth grade, sometimes I sing them to myself when I do my chores.</div>
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<em>"Tag team back again, check it to wreck it lets begin..."</em></div>
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***</div>
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I am a big fan of pancake batter. Raw, pancake batter. Salmonella and all.<br />
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***<br />
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I like big butts and I cannot lie.<br />
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***<br />
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Just kidding, I had to throw that in there with the theme being 90s....never mind.</div>
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******</div>
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See?? Wasn't that fun?! </div>
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I know, it's a work in progress.<br />
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Until next time, have a lovely weekend!Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-25302427717058025072013-04-17T09:00:00.000-04:002013-04-17T09:00:07.796-04:00Turning 30: the good, the bad and the ugly<i>"Thirty ain't so bad."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>Said no one ever.<br />
<br />
Well, maybe people <i>say it</i>, but I guarantee they don't <i>mean it</i>.<br />
<br />
And then when they say,<i> "no, really, being over 30 is pretty great!"</i> it means they're dying a little inside.<br />
<br />
Can I get a <i>holla!</i> from the Over-30 Club?!<br />
<br />
Hello?<br />
<br />
<em>Holla?</em><br />
<br />
I know you're out there, you're probably just thinking to yourself, <em>"but self, although my mind and body have started to literally fall apart, I still feel some areas of my life are in fact better than before..."</em><br />
<br />
In this case I would have to agree. When it comes certain things, I'm feelin' pret-ty darn good, too.<br />
<br />
Like my appearance: no longer do I feel like the whole world is judging me if I wear my slippers into a convenience store, or if my morning hair and leftover make-up look like a combination bird's nest dumpster fire and I take that whole show out on the road for some pancakes.<br />
<br />
I take that back, the world <em>is</em> judging me, but now I don't care. I just want pancakes.<br />
<br />
Also I'm finally okay with <em>who I am.</em> And who exactly is that, you ask? I'm random and creative. I like to be impulsive but only if I can <em>plan on it.</em> Awkwardness doesn't even begin to describe my conversations with strangers and those moments where I shake someone's hand and our thumbs don't quite align.<br />
<br />
Side question: is it then okay to insert <em>left hand</em> to rearrange the shake to fit properly?? Oh I hope so...<br />
<br />
I'm funny and sarcastic and I don't take the right things seriously. I'll never be as patient as I'd like, or have enough self-control to <em>not</em> say exactly what I'm thinking when my feathers get ruffled.<br />
<br />
I'll never be like those girls who seem to have it all together and now I'm finally old enough to be okay with it.<br />
<br />
Most of the time.<br />
<br />
Now <em>on the other hand...</em><br />
<br />
Everything else is falling apart.<br />
<br />
Like my joints. They ache All. The. Time. And they don't tolerate anything other than soft cushions and 90-degree angles. Sitting cross-legged and playing on the floor with my nephew? Ha! <em>"Sorry J, Auntie needs her sittin' pillow, oh and can someone help me get up?!"</em><br />
<br />
And hellloooo anxiety! It's like my brain gave up on me, <em>"her? no, she definitely doesn't know what she's doing, enter panic mode stat." </em>I may or may not be having an anxiety attack right now. Over what? Is the dog pooping in his crate?! when am I going to have time to strip my chipping nail polish?! why didn't I put on two coats of nail polish?! Is the crock-pot going to burn my house down?! when are we going to close on the new house already?! is Corey going to flip out when I tell him my idea for bookcases?! it's freezing why didn't I wear socks?! <br />
<br />
It's fun.<br />
<br />
Another big part of my new found anxiety is I'm pretty sure I need to see a doctor about <em>everything.</em><br />
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<em>Is this bump in my cheek/nose crease cancer?</em></div>
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<em>My chest hurts, I'm pretty sure I'm having a heart attack.</em></div>
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<em>I need to do something about this self-diagnosed carpal tunnel.</em></div>
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And then there's my stomach. Talk about sen-si-<em>TIVE</em>. Drink a <em>full</em> glass of wine, she gets upset. Ride in the car with anyone other than me driving, she gets upset. Eat <em>lettuceforcryinoutloud,</em> she gets wicked upset. I never had an iron-clad constitution to begin with, but tummy grumblies after a burrito//ice cream sundae night??<br />
<br />
Gimme a break.<br />
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But on a positive note, even with the aches and pains that come with my body <em>completely</em> rebelling against me, I would still take the position I'm in, feeling confident with myself, over being able to do a cartwheel <em>without</em> throwing up afterward or sitting on the living room floor <em>without</em> memory foam but not having a single clue about who I am or where I'm going.<br />
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Now tell me Over-40 Club, does this feeling last??<br />
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<em>Please say yes, please say yes....</em><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Oh to be young again...but maybe not <em>this</em> young. (Kimberlie, Stacie, Katie on tamale-making day)</span></div>
Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-778530288142901662013-04-15T09:00:00.000-04:002013-04-15T09:00:06.330-04:00Friends don't let friends look like idiots in bootiesI am an awful person.<br />
<br />
Downright <i>nasty</i>.<br />
<br />
Srsly, be warned. If you are my friend, I just might purposely put you in a situation that will cause you to be unsure, unsteady, maybe even a little uncomfortable <i>just so I can laugh at you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Awful.<br />
<br />
Maybe you've read how I find a <i>great deal</i> of enjoyment in watching dogs in shoes.<br />
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Maybe you've read how I've spent many a lunch break looking up YouTube videos of dogs in shoes and then snorting wildly at my desk.<br />
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<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://img.youtube.com/vi/gqq_d-0EQIc/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://youtube.googleapis.com/v/gqq_d-0EQIc&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://youtube.googleapis.com/v/gqq_d-0EQIc&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">this one is my fave.</span></div>
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So maybe it won't come as a shock to read that the first chance I got to put my own dear, sweet, trusting puppy in shoes I jumped at it and then sat back, with recording device activated, to enjoy the show.<br />
<br />
That he didn't care last week when I put Corey's t-shirt on him and screeched, <i>"the baby's wearing pajamas!!" </i>wasn't an indication to me that I might not get the reaction I desired, so I proceeded to strap on four canvas booties I had previously purchased for Oliver (who summarily stripped them off when it was his turn without even a single <i>awkward prance</i> for his mother's sake. The nerve.)<br />
<br />
It was probably what my sister calls Christian Karma that Arnie <i>didn't do anything.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I mean, he had a moment of, <i>"here we go again...." </i>and danced around the kitchen for a few seconds, but it was more from a lack of traction than <i>ohmigawshthesethingsareeatingmyfeet!! </i>After a few uneasy steps he trotted all around my mom's kitchen, sniffing out the person who was shoving treats at him as I had him pinned to the ground to strap on the booties. <br />
<br />
<i>Not</i> the wild, flailing dance I was hoping for.<br />
<br />
Serves me right for trying to use my own puppy's uncertainty for my enjoyment.<br />
<br />
I gave him treats. Then I took off the booties.<br />
<br />
...and that's when my mom strapped them to her Basset Hound, Maggie.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(insert evil laugh here)</span><br />
<br />
:)<br />
<br />
*******<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">No dogs were hurt in the making of this post, they were only a little confused and maybe a tad embarrassed.</span>Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-2049501477905526552013-04-12T09:00:00.000-04:002013-04-12T09:00:00.059-04:00Minor change of plansI've been thinking of doing a little re-branding of my bid-ness.<br />
<br />
Like, I was toying with the idea of going from <i>The Whimsical Crafter</i> to<br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><i>The Whimsical Crafter with Carpel Tunnel</i>.</span></div>
<br />
What do you think?<br />
<br />
<i>???</i><br />
<br />
Oh, didn't I tell you?<br />
<br />
Yes, my hands are shot.<br />
<br />
I may be exaggerating, slightly. But as of the last several weeks, I can't do anything with my hands. Like felt, or string felt balls, or open jars of hot fudge. Typing feels <i>okay</i>, but there's still this soreness that runs from my wrists to my shoulders so maybe that's not <i>actually</i> a good thing.<br />
<br />
Dangit.<br />
<br />
How could I let this happen?! My hands are my part-time livelihood!!<br />
<br />
And in the somewhat near future I had planned to employ them in a <em>full-time</em> fashion, churning out such money-makers as <em>more </em>jewelry, and artwork, and whimsical home decor, and cheeky greeting cards with your likeness in a caricature on the front.<br />
<br />
I had planned to post a full step by step of what I do to make the felted wool balls I use in jewelry, but in short, and to explain how I rendered my left hand useless in texting while driving: my mode of felting is with needles. This means after I wind wool roving into a ball I then stab it over and over with the needles for about 3-4 minutes. No biggie.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
The needles have little barbs that catch the wool fibers, tangling them and making the ball more dense until it's the thickness I want. Like so:<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Then I let my puppy jump up on the table I'm working on so he can grab a mouthful and run all over the house dropping little slobber balls every three feet or so, giving me the opportunity to start all over on what was supposed to be a bracelet.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
See? Easy.<br />
<br />
But apparently all that repetitive motion is more than my hands can take and I'll have to rely on my revised back up careers:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Politics</span> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just call me Governor Lucas.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Acting</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
With my skills I could probably land a role as dead body number 2 in Law&Order.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Pancake Chef</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I like to eat them, so why not <i>perfect</i> them...and then eat them?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Personal trainer</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just because I can't stick with an exercise program doesn't mean I can't yell at other people to do theirs.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Professional waitress</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
People gotta eat, there's job security here.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Movie critic</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Do what you love, right? I love to watch movies and then say stuff like, <i>"Ooooo that was good," </i>or <i>"nope, not a fan."</i></div>
<br />
So basically, I have options.<br />
<br />
<i>Buuuuuut</i> I think before I plan any summer fundraisers I'll check with my doctor about getting some fancy wrist guards. Yaaaaay accessories...Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-78978595947261037542013-04-10T09:00:00.000-04:002013-04-10T19:20:36.480-04:00A note to my hair stylistConfession: I hate what you did//will do//have ever done to my hair.<br />
<br />
But in all honesty, you never even had a chance.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
I will be the first to admit I am your worst customer. I come in to your salon with my frizzed-out, combination hair that hasn't been touched by a professional in at least nine months and expect you to work wonders God alone could fix, and unless I walk out of your place looking like Jennifer Aniston with a "do" that only takes me 20 minutes to style in the morning using absolutely <i>no</i> product, I am not going to be happy with what you've done.<br />
<br />
My apologies.<br />
<br />
It's not you. It's <i>me.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
No, really. I'm what you'd call <i>unrealistic.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
My expectations are wildly unreasonable when it comes to certain things. Like hair. How much I can really eat at a dinner buffet. And Will Ferrell movies.<br />
<br />
To name just a few.<br />
<br />
Within a few days I'll get used to your interpretation of "layers and a trim." I might even <i>love it</i>. But that doesn't change the initial look of disappointment on my face I can't seem to mask no matter how hard I try to smile and say <i>"don't worry, my allergies make me sob like this."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Again, so, so sorry.<br />
<br />
I'll try to make up for it in my tip. Even though, um, I still don't know how much you tip your hair-doer despite having access to the internet <i>even right now</i> where I can look up tipping etiquette for every imaginable situation.<br />
<br />
But you could say this is just what you have to get used to being a professional and all.<br />
<br />
I'm a professional felt ball maker and you don't see <i>me</i> gettin' all bend out of shape when people walk into my booth at a craft fair and laugh at all the <i>"cute little pom-poms!!" </i>or<i> </i>say loud enough for every possible customer to hear that <i>"those things must be SO itchy ohmigawsh."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
No.<br />
<br />
You're right, I <i>do</i> get bent. And whiney.<br />
<br />
I'll try harder, future hair stylist.<br />
<br />
<br />Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-34772780291373818402013-04-08T09:00:00.000-04:002013-04-08T09:00:06.348-04:00My weekend in a tweetSo over the weekend I flew to the moon and had tea with the queen and then I took a nap before I saw the Rolling Stones perform a special concert just for me because I called Mick and was like <i>"what's that song you sing where you do that thing...??"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
It was a slow weekend.<br />
<br />
....<br />
<br />
Have you noticed I never, <i>ever</i> post a recap of my super, awesome weekend adventures? Now that I've dragged myself back on the blogging wagon I've given you <i>something</i> for your dreaded Mondays, but do you ever wonder what could I <i>possibly</i> be doing in those two days where the world is mine to do whatever I want with it, granted that <i>anything</i> is whatever can fit into one-and-a-half days because I <i>do</i> need my Sunday evenings to unwind by folding laundry in my jam-jams?<br />
<br />
You're curious.<br />
<br />
I can sense it. I'm good at reading people. That's why my friends call me Stacie Sixth Sense Lucas.<br />
<br />
But they don't say it 10 times fast. It's kind of a mouthful.<br />
<br />
Now that I've made you aware of your curiosity and my mystique I kinda hate bursting both our bubbles by telling you the reason I never give weekend updates is because they're so lame I fall asleep even <i>thinking</i> about them.<br />
<br />
Best part of this past weekend: finding a pair of kelly green matchstick jeans for 40% off the already reduced price. Bam.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Best part of the weekend before: I was given a coupon written on receipt paper for buy-one-get-one-free coffee by a man who called me pretty and said he could help me pick out a good non-alcoholic wine at his wine store after I told him, not sure how we got on the subject, that I can't hold my liquor.<br />
<br />
And the weekend before that: I got bangs.<br />
<br />
You'll be <i>glad </i>I don't do wrap-ups after next weekend; my mom has recruited me to pick up dog turds in her back yard. Imagine <i>that</i> play-by-play.<br />
<br />
I don't remember Corey and I having so little going on last year at this time, but it seems like I go into mental hibernation when the weather goes below 45 degrees so this could be a typical early spring boring routine for us that I just don't remember. Come late May when flowers start to bloom <span style="font-size: x-small;">(yes I said <i>start</i> to bloom<i>ohmigoshhowImissSoCalweather</i>)</span> we'll have trips to camp, vacations, hikes, BBQs, baseball games<i>goYanks!</i> and, if I have my way, kayaking <i>all over</i> that Saratoga Lake.<br />
<br />
But until then I'll just have to find <i>some</i> enjoyment in green jeans and dog poop.<br />
<br />
And lunch dates with her majesty.Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-5362122283630747502013-04-05T09:00:00.000-04:002013-04-05T09:00:00.566-04:00When I thought I was going to die....and ate six burritos<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"That balcony is going to come crashing down on top of me."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"And this crowd is going to cause a stampede and I'll be trampled."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Also, there's no fresh air in here. I'm going to catch lung cancer."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I said this one day last August. I'm a real peach.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But in my defense how can you <i>really</i> be sure of the structural integrity of a building, <i>am I right?!</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
This is the story of my first Phish concert.<br />
<br />
Also <i>my last.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>Maybe that was obvious.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
Last year Phish, Corey's favorite band from yesteryear, rolled into town for a weekend of shows at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center, an outdoor amphitheater with limited indoor seating.<br />
<br />
That's cool. Sounded like a swell time; a big group of adults in professions like accounting, and law, and elementary education all coming together to sway to the easy beats of a group that's been around for-<i>ev-er</i>, like from when all those adults were hacky-sack bouncin' college students who could grow thick, manly goatees and wear dirty Birkenstocks all the time.<br />
<br />
Sweet.<br />
<br />
Easy.<br />
<br />
Of course I said, "<i>hecks yeah, darling, I'll experience a major part of your youth!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>Maybe it was more like, <i>"sure."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>But either way, I looked forward to going to this concert! We had tickets for actual seats; after a less than pleasant experience at a Third Eye Blind concert in Fort Wayne I have an aversion to crowded, mosh-pit environments. <i>(shout out to my Colosseum EMS boyz, whoop whoop!) </i><br />
<i><br /></i>So I thought, <i>tickets, that means we have seats, that means I can sit back and relax and enjoy the music. Nice.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>Yes, I am that naive.<br />
<br />
The night of the concert I knew I was in trouble before we even left the parking lot.<br />
<br />
<i>"You can really FEEL the music, man, it's like in your DNA..."</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>"Corey, did you hear that?? That woman just said this music is in her DNA for crying out loud...what is this you brought me to?!?"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>Don't let that fool you, I really did enjoy watching the pre-show festivities. There were people jamming on guitars, others dancing, this was a whole new experience for me!<br />
<br />
And then there was "Shakedown Street."<br />
<br />
Oh. My. Stars.<br />
<br />
In one of the main parking lots a number of vendors set up shop in two long rows selling everything you <i>wouldn't</i> find at your local craft show. You know, bongs, pipes, and other "paraphernalia." Nerd alert: <i>"Ohmigosh they can sell that here?!"</i> This was all scattered between ordinary things like tie-dyed <i>everything</i> and rocks turned jewelry. I had to hold on to Corey's shirt in some parts of Shakedown Street there were so many people. <br />
<br />
So many different types of people! It was like going to a class reunion seeing the older, original fans, the ones who, like Corey and his friends with us, have been fans all along. But a lot of them were newbies, the second generation fans who were literally <i>babies</i> when these guys first toured.<br />
<br />
Young and old alike, in harmony, on a slack rope.<br />
<br />
So much to take in.<br />
<br />
Literally.<br />
<br />
As in, there was a whole lotta food in this dusty, dirty parking lot.<br />
<i><br /></i>Food vendors were everywhere selling burritos, pita things, questionable meat-on-a-stick. I use the term "vendor" loosely as I am pret-ty sure they violated every single health code on the books and would never, ever, ever be granted a permit to "vend." But this didn't stop me from buying <i>the best</i> vegetarian tacos sold out of the back of a van from a burly hippie I've ever tasted.<br />
<br />
After all this you might be wondering if we ever made it to the concert.<br />
<br />
We did!<br />
<br />
We waded through a sea of people to get into the park, found our seats, found out our "seats" were also shared by several other people then waited for the festivities to begin.<br />
<br />
Thirty minutes later we made our way out of our row, up the theater ramp, grabbed a handful of chicken burritos, pizza and hamburgers before heading out the gates and back to the car.<br />
<br />
I made it a whole <em>thirty minutes.</em><br />
<br />
Em-<em>barrassing...</em><br />
<br />
But I couldn't move! I couldn't breathe! And I swore the walls were coming down on me! After the first song I asked Corey how many were left.<br />
<br />
<em>"Ummm, 28?"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"But this ONE song has been 25 minutes!!"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Yeah....do you wanna go?"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"No. No, no, no, no, no. You want to stay. We can stay, we can stay, we can stay."</em><br />
<br />
<em>"We'd better go."</em><br />
<br />
<em>"OKAY."</em><br />
<br />
I felt bad that Corey couldn't stay. And with mouthfuls of pizza and burritos I said as much. Through mouthfuls of pizza and hamburgers he said it was ok. And together with mouthfuls of burritos and pizza and hamburgers we wondered <em>why were we eating so much food right now??</em><br />
<br />
So long story not-so-short, I can't do concerts. They make me feel like my life is coming to an end<em>rightnow</em>. What I <em>can</em> do and <em>will gladly</em> do are flannel jammies, milkshakes and Matlock reruns. And for that I have no shame.Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-61816681046147391802013-04-03T09:00:00.000-04:002013-04-03T09:00:06.226-04:00That was me, I fell for itMy psyche is bruised.<br />
<br />
April Fools, Schmapril Fools is what I have to say.<br />
<br />
Whoever came up with this <em>April Fools Day</em> nonsense is a real knucklehead because <em>this girl </em>falls for such trickery as Redbox now planning to sell meat out of vending machines and headphones for kitties.<br />
<br />
<em>Arrrrrrggggh!</em><br />
<br />
Fortunately, I survived this year without <em>much</em> embarrassment, although not without a good amount of stress and anxiety anticipating the next trap I just might fall into. But I've learned to keep my lips sealed when it comes to outrageous stories that could possibly be true <span style="font-size: x-small;">(c'mon, cats <em>could</em> have a thing for beats)</span> because one year<em> I didn't</em> and afterward I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide forever. Which doesn't feel fantastic.<br />
<br />
There is a weekly community newspaper in the city where I work that circulates to local businesses in the area, but it is known throughout the region to publish an April Fools edition every year where the entire front page is full of made up stories that are <em>just</em> believable enough.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Once upon a time I was new to the area and <em>not</em> familiar with this tradition.<br />
<br />
This was also the same time I started working for a New York State Senator dealing with various issues throughout her district including a nearly catastrophic dam break that really caused a lot of problems for one small community out in the country.<br />
<br />
I mean, we had a <em>huge</em> file on this case. Property was damaged, property values were damaged, there was major construction that had to be completed, permits, and lawsuits and <em>so much stuff. </em>Needless to say, this was the topic of most conversations among my co-workers. Not me, though. I was the newbie. Instead I sat back and soaked in as much information as I could so I would know how to be helpful in the future.<br />
<br />
April Fools week came just one month after I started. Lucky me. I walked into a local coffee shop for my morning brownie <span style="font-size: x-small;">(don't judge)</span> and read the most interesting article in the weekly paper there on the counter:<br />
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<em><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">Beavers to rebuild the Hadlock Dam</span></em></div>
<br />
Brilliant!!<br />
<br />
<em>I wonder if my co-workers know about this?!</em> I thought to myself.<br />
<br />
I was so excited that now, <em>finally!</em> I would have something to contribute to our discussions! So I skipped back to the office, burst through the door and shouted, <em>"They're going to get beavers to rebuild the dam, isn't that incredible?!"</em><br />
<br />
Blank stares.<br />
<br />
<em>"Yeah, DEC </em>(Department of Environmental Conservation) <em>is going to get a group of beavers to build a dam because, you know, beavers have been building dams for, like, EVER..."</em><br />
<br />
More blank stares. I'm so embarrassed for old me right now. For some reason I still wasn't catching on that this would be the dumbest idea in the world.<br />
<br />
<em>"...and then the construction guys would just go in and build supports around the logs!! It's genius!"</em><br />
<br />
With that, I made my contribution and then went back to working at my desk.<br />
<br />
The best//worst part of this whole experience is that I didn't realize the paper had April Fooled me until <em>months</em> later. I probably had this same conversation with a dozen more people by then. And when I finally did <em>get it</em> too much time had gone by to go back to all those people to say, <em>"Oh yeah, and that story about the beavers, I was totally joking. Ha. Ha."</em><br />
<br />
Because there's only a <em>teeny little</em> window of time between <em>is she for real?</em> and <em>ohmigosh she's serious </em>where I could have redeemed myself<em>, </em>I missed it entirely and for a better part of 2006 there were <em>a lot</em> of people who probably got a good laugh out of that girl who thought New York State was going to let freaking <em>beavers</em> rebuild a million dollar dam.<br />
<br />
I learned my lesson: keep mouth shut and verify facts. Always. All year. Just to be safe.Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-84316179259644076812013-04-01T09:00:00.000-04:002013-04-01T09:00:08.758-04:00He's hairy, but cute<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This is so exciting! Never in my years of blogging have I had a guest post, and here, today, in this very spot I have my <em>very first one!!</em></div>
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Please welcome....my very cute and fluffy dog :)</div>
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*****</div>
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<em>Hello.</em></div>
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<em>My name is Arnie.</em></div>
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<em>Arnie O Lucas.</em></div>
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<em>O no period, to be precise.</em></div>
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<em>But I'm not one to be precise, I just thought you should know. I'm actually pretty care free.</em></div>
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<em>Except when it comes to birds. I do </em>not<em> like birds.</em></div>
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<em>Or the ironing board.</em></div>
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<em>Or walks.</em></div>
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<em>I chewed up a sock once. That was pretty exciting so I try to sneak a few out to the living room whenever I get the chance. Once I grabbed something my mom called </em>underwear<em>. </em></div>
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<em>I have a twin brother. Srsly, he looks just like me. But I don't know his name because I only see him when I walk by certain parts of my house...the same parts where I see my mom's twin sister. And my dad's twin brother. And the couch's twin couch. And the table's twin table.</em></div>
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<em>Weird.</em></div>
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<em>Every now and then I get these little crunchy nuggets when I do things I would normally do. Like when I lay down. Duh, I'm tired. Of course I'm going to lay down. Go potty? I don't know what that is, but I'm going to pee now so if you wanna give me a snack I guess I'll take it.</em></div>
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<em>Did you see my paws? Yeah, I work out. Usually it's laps around the couch, but sometimes I carry my bone around the house so....you know.</em></div>
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<em>Life is pretty good right now. I mean, I have free reign of the bed every night until about 2am when my parents decide they should get some real sleep and put me in my crate. I have free reign of the couch. My mom said, "he's the same color so what does it matter??" Whatever that means. Last time I took a leak I'm pretty sure dirt is still brown. And I get all the food I want.</em></div>
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<em>Awesome. Five months down, at least thirteen years to go.</em></div>
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*****</div>
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Thank you so much Arnie O for taking time out of your very busy nap schedule!</div>
Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-38808006583358626422013-03-28T09:00:00.000-04:002013-03-28T09:00:09.832-04:00Horny serial killersYep.<br />
<br />
I said it.<br />
<br />
In one random post I used those words: horny. serial. killers.<br />
<br />
It was the one where I described how a trip to my friend's house out in the country had me driving through horny toads (real thing) out in the dark where <em>I'm sure</em> serial killers live.<br />
<br />
NBD.<br />
<br />
(that's No Big Deal, mom)<br />
<br />
But what <em>IS</em> a big deal is that there are people <em>in this world</em> that are searching Google for "horny serial killers", and those people apparently think they will find what they're looking for HERE.<br />
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OMG.<br />
<br />
(that's Oh My Gosh, mom)<br />
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I chuckle when I picture their reaction upon finding me instead of, well, something else....<br />
<br />
<em>"...I'mma tickle my fancy with some horny serial killers....let's see what the Internets can do....G-O-O-G-L-E and presto...wha....?! Felt Balls?! Night time frolicking in the country?!? CURSES!!!"</em><br />
<br />
I mean, I'm sure it went something like that.<br />
<br />
I taught that perv-o a lesson.<br />
<br />
WTF.<br />
<br />
(that's Well That's Fantastic, mom)Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-81195771451174522592013-03-26T09:00:00.000-04:002013-03-26T09:00:10.608-04:00They call me slim shady<div>
I made that up.</div>
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No one calls me that, in fact the only nickname I have is Beetle and it's less to do with me and more about a car I had once upon a time.</div>
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But I am on the skinny side.<br />
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See how I did that? <i>Easing</i> my way into a more "hot button" topic.</div>
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That's why they call me Stacie Seamless Transition Lucas.</div>
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Also made up.</div>
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<em>Weight.</em> That's what I'm easing into, <i>the</i> issue of the day. On most days. 'Specially for the ladies. The hot button part is when you've got someone like me talking about it. I'm, 5'8"* and I weigh 125 pounds, what the heck do I know about <em>weight </em>or the daily struggles associated with it? I've gained only ten pounds since graduating from high school thirteen years ago and if we're allowed to be a little honest here I'd say I'm proud that I have found a way to stay trim <em>and</em> not want to jab a fork in my eye out of frustration from any number of crappy diets.<br />
<br />
Wait, can I say crap here?<br />
<br />
But I know many out there <em>do </em>struggle and I want to share what is working for me:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">1. I don't drink soda.</span> <span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Ever.</span> Gave it up when I was 13 and never looked back<em>noIamlying</em>. I may or may not have partook in one or two or thirty captain 'n cokes during that phase in my life that shall remain buried in a closet of bad choices.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I <em>don't</em> drink soda. Or juice. Or sports drinks. Or alcohol. So. Much. <em>Shugga</em>. Not even the diet stuff; don't even get me started on the devil of aspartame which I pronounce as-PART-ah-may to be funny. <em>Funny, right?</em> This saves me those sugar "credits" to use toward an occasional candy bar or half a pan of brownies.<br />
<br />
<em>Say wha...?!</em> Yeah, I do actually have a pretty ruthless sweet tooth. I'm a slave to my body's need for Snickers, and cookies, and razzleberry pies. If I don't give in every now and then I'll end up stuffing my face with whatever bag 'o goodies is closest and I end up doing more damage.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">2. I stay away from processed foods and snacks.</span> This especially includes fast food, but also chips and those delicious Little Debbie treats among others. There's just something about a food that <em>looks better with age</em> that makes me think it might not be natural. Never mind all those unknown chemicals and preservatives that simply make me feel yucky, run down and depressed.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">3. I exercise moderately.</span> And in small increments because I get bored easily. 20-30 minute walk in the mornings and 30 minutes running and stairs every other evening. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Depends on whether or not I've been hung up on four times during the day and need to run out some steam.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">4. I give myself A LOT of flexibility.</span> Don't know if you noticed but I've been <a href="http://sjloriginal.blogspot.com/2013/03/im-still-here-are-you.html">going through some things</a>. Throw a puppy and a jewelry business in the mix and there is no time or energy to do any kind of exercise. I'd like to get my routine back, and I know I will, but in the meantime I'm not beating myself up over it. That's one extra stressor I definitely <em>don't</em> need.<br />
<br />
Also, I give myself flexibility in what I eat. For instance, when Corey walks in with three boxes of Samoas and four boxes of Thin Mints you'd better believe I'm going to eat each box. Because I know it's only one time out of the year we get these. Or when I'm at a social gathering I <em>will</em> tap that sour cream & onion dip with a whole lotta Lays, but just at that one get-together.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">5. I look for balance.</span> This goes along with flexibility. Those days I need me some fish and chips (yuuuuummm) I'll substitute the chips for vegetables. If everyone else is getting a java chip frappuccino I'll cave to the peer pressure but use skim milk and no whip cream.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">6. I do eventually buckle down.</span> Sometimes. When those inevitable extra pounds come on after a season of Girl Scout cookies and/or difficult, stressful times. But I still give myself that flexibility, just not as much. And I find that balance, but I lean more toward the veggies. It's a slow process to bring me back down to 125 but I always manage to do it because it doesn't feel like work.<br />
<br />
Obviously, more weight loss (as opposed to weight maintenance) requires a different approach, like more effort and more time. But ultimately <em>you</em> have to do something that's going to work for <em>you</em>. <br />
<br />
.....<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">* At one point in my life I was 5'8" so I will forever claim to be 5'8" even though my vertebrae are getting all lazy and saggy and I may or may not technically be hovering right around 5'7"</span></div>
Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-91456428011924845692013-03-24T14:02:00.000-04:002013-03-24T15:08:43.001-04:00I'm still here, are you?!Hello.<br />
<br />
I missed you.<br />
<br />
Let's not stay apart for this long again. <br />
<br />
Um, it's Stacie.<br />
<br />
No, not Tracy, <em>Stacie.</em><br />
<br />
Don't worry, I get that all the time.<br />
<br />
My fault, anyway. I've never spent this much time away from the blog. Not when I was so stressed I nearly <a href="http://coreyandstacie.blogspot.com/2009/06/98-days.html">threw my parents' printer</a> into their pool while trying to print wedding RSVP cards, or when I had the <a href="http://coreyandstacie.blogspot.com/2012/02/ive-been-missing-you.html">oh-so-hectic schedule</a> of work, work, work, quick dinner, memorize lines, rehearsal, felt during rehearsal, drive home, fall into bed. I always managed to have a story to tell, or had a story I <i>wanted</i> to tell.<br />
<br />
But I was also happy then.<br />
<br />
Now I'm just....blah.<br />
<br />
At church on Sunday I ran into a friend I hadn't seen in a few months. Our quick let's-catch-up-in-the-10-minutes-before-the-next-service-starts conversation made me chuckle in a laugh-so-I-don't-cry kinda way.<br />
<br />
It went a little somethin' like this:<br />
<br />
<em>"Hey! How are you?!"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Oh fine, and you?"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Good, good..."</em><br />
<br />
(small talk)<br />
<br />
<em>"....did you hear we got a puppy?"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Oh! But you still have Oliver, right?"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Well, no. We had to put him down in January."</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Oh no I'm so sorry!"</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em>"Yeah, he got sick...."</em><br />
<br />
(small talk)<br />
<br />
<em>"So how's your mom?"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Well...."</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Oh that's right, I heard her father died."</em><br />
<br />
<em>"In February, yeah...."</em><br />
<br />
(small talk)<br />
<br />
<em>"...and at least my mom has some company, with </em>(sister)<em> and </em>(bro-in-law) <em>living with her."</em><br />
<br />
<em>"What? I thought they lived up north?"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Well, in December </em>(bro-in-law, sheriff's deputy)<em> had to shoot and kill someone so now they're staying with my mom while he fights debilitating anxiety...."</em><br />
<br />
<em>...</em><br />
<br />
We only had a few minutes to talk so that's as far as we got. Plus I think there's this thing in the Bible about <i>not</i> complaining, so....<br />
<br />
It's just not happy-time here on the farm, is what I'm tryin' to say. <br />
<br />
I'm sad for my losses and for my sisters' struggles. I wish that my family didn't have to move halfway across the country leaving me all alone here. I'm ready for something to go <em>right </em>so that I can see a light at the end of this very dark tunnel...I <em>know</em> it's there but my faith is wearing thin.<br />
<br />
Or as I told my mom, maybe the sun just needs to come out <em>so I can get some vitamin D already!</em><br />
<br />
Not that long ago I saw a co-worker go through a similar year where one thing after another <em>just</em> <em>went wrong.</em> I felt bad for her and thought she had the worst luck in the world. But then things started to not go wrong, and eventually life evened out and I saw that it wasn't a case of bad luck that she was going through but one of those "seasons" big kids were always are talking about.<br />
<br />
<em>Seasons.</em> So mature sounding. Short for "that time I wanted to hibernate for six months."<br />
<br />
Another big-girl lesson learned:<br />
<br />
1) Sometimes things just go wrong for awhile.<br />
<br />
Also:<br />
<br />
2) Girl scout cookies make you fat.<br />
<br />
So, boo. All I can do just hang in there....<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3OTR62-5lbKQUElIcSJO5lpLMFyRnb3CH6KAbWBotS1wR_3TN5-HyszUdsplYGO_E8MSQsZ053eorLzbrlRH7LYWWlYqgGEDqajkSE48O4Od62i1tw9tPGAOvNirpUWf0tLhAko7W0E/s1600/imagesCA289KXW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3OTR62-5lbKQUElIcSJO5lpLMFyRnb3CH6KAbWBotS1wR_3TN5-HyszUdsplYGO_E8MSQsZ053eorLzbrlRH7LYWWlYqgGEDqajkSE48O4Od62i1tw9tPGAOvNirpUWf0tLhAko7W0E/s320/imagesCA289KXW.jpg" ssa="true" width="273" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
...and freak out.<br />
<br />
Just kidding. I'm just going to wait.Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-35312416007898440972013-01-28T16:44:00.001-05:002013-01-28T16:44:52.297-05:00Happy Birthday Katie-whats-her-face!Here's something funny: today is my younger sister's birthday!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Wait for it, that's not actually the funny part...</span><br />
<br />
She was born when I was four and we spent the next fourteen years under the same roof. We've moved across the country together and because our family is insanely close, we've been around each other <em>all. the. time</em>. <em>all. these. years.</em> We know the kinds of things about each other only a sister would know....<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><strong>....except for how to spell her middle name.</strong></span></div>
<br />
<em>Yeesh, Stace.</em><br />
<br />
Guilty as charged. For the life of me I cannot spell it.<br />
<br />
And I can't even pin this on my parents for giving her some wacky family name that's been passed down for some thirteen thousand years with, like, Js and Zs and Qs. It's Nicole for crying out loud but spelled with an H and maybe the E but I'm not quite sure.<br />
<br />
We laugh about it.<br />
<br />
I think <em>we</em> do....right Katie??<br />
<br />
Anyway, Happy Birthday sis!<br />
<br />
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Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-8961190954271901182013-01-22T16:10:00.000-05:002013-01-22T16:10:50.588-05:00Rod Stewart and candy heart distractionsMy dog died yesterday.<br />
<br />
<em>Whoa, way to just jump right into it, Stace.</em><br />
<br />
If you follow me and/or Corey on Facebook you got the play-by-play over the weekend. It wasn't a horrific, painful thing. Just sad. And quick.<br />
<br />
If you <em>don't </em>follow me and/or Corey those are probably the only deets you'll get because re-living the whole thing makes me curl up into a little ball of crocodile tears and snot and a lot of ugly. Really ugly. And right now there are a few puddles of water under my desk from the snow I tracked in so it's just not a good time<em> </em>to get all up under there<em>, </em>plus I already lost, like, four pounds from crying all day yesterday.<br />
<br />
It was water weight.<br />
<br />
So in an effort to 1) <em>not</em> talk about it and 2) distract myself, I'm going on a random streak.<br />
<br />
Be warned, I have no idea where this is going:<br />
<br />
There is a chair in the bathroom at my office. I'm tempted to just have a seat and wait for someone to walk in and carry on as if we're both there to chat about our days.<br />
<br />
My breakfast these days is a chocolate protein shake. I take my shake into the shower with me.<br />
<br />
I wanted to get bangs again, but I'm afraid that if I do it <em>now</em> everyone will think I'm on a Michelle Obama bandwagon. Not that I'm against that, I just like to march to the beat of <em>my own</em> drummer.<br />
<br />
With that said, I would hate to be a "groupie" of anything. Corey's co-worker looks <em>exactly</em> like Rod Stewart and while we were together at the track a few summers ago I thought, <em>"ohmigosh people are staring, they think we're latch-ons!!"</em> Did not like the feeling. What I did like: using that fake fame to get right into a busy restaurant later on.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
I don't eat potato chips. But sometimes I do, and those times I'm like, "uggghhh why am I eating these, I don't even like potato chips." And then ten minutes later I'm like, "ugggghhh why am I STILL eating these?" And not long after that I'm like, "uggghhhh I just finished that bag and now I have a stomach ache!"<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br /><br />
That just happened.<br />
<br />
I don't write about potty humor here even though I'm like a 12-year-old and find it <em>extremely</em> amusing. My thoughts on this: if I want people to take me <em>semi-</em>seriously as a business lady I should act a tad professional in my blog posts. I mean, I'm still 100% honest in my (very few) posts, I just leave out the gas.<br />
<br />
Even though I really want to tell you about the one night I was startled awake by a fart. It wasn't mine. Living with a boy has been interesting, and kinda smelly.<br />
<br />
I have four mini holes in the shirt I'm wearing today. It's only after I've been at work for a few hours that, oh yeah, <em>this </em>is the shirt that has all those dang holes in it!<br />
<br />
Speaking of swearing, I kinda gave up on my New Year's resolutions. You know, because I was looking for this year to be <em>better</em> than the last two and what with my dog dying I figured that puts a check in the lose column for 2013. Geez Louise.<br />
<br />
But I'm not talking about that.<br />
<br />
Still fighting a potato chip ache. But on top of the chips is now a milk chocolate/caramel heart my co-worker brought in for me. It'll be a long day of digesting.<br />
<br />
Do you watch The Bachelor? Doesn't Tierra look/act just <em>a tad</em> (sarcasm italics) like someone else we grew to loathe? *coughCourtneycough* And I am disappointed in Kacie B. Girlfriend was my favorite in Ben's season and now? Oh Kacie B.<br />
<br />
Don't watch The Bachelor? Please disregard the above. But you should watch so we have something to talk about.<br />
<br />
That's about it for now. I'm fixin' to have me a breakdown thinking about going home to an apartment with no wagging tail.<br />
<br />
You don't want to be around for it.<br />
<br />
Thanks for the distraction, friends!Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-81600318227316981192013-01-10T13:54:00.000-05:002013-01-10T13:54:24.538-05:00Swearing in the New Year!<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Happy New Year!!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>Let all acquaintance be forgot...</em></div>
<br />
Wait, wha...?<br />
<br />
Oh, we're <em>over</em> New Year?<br />
<br />
....we've been over it for a week now?<br />
<br />
I guess that means I'm right on cue.<br />
<br />
<em>This girl</em> is what we would call a late-bandwagon-jumper-on-er. I mean, if that were a real thing. And used real words.<br />
<br />
While it was still the cool thing to do, I read through <strike>every single blogger in the world's</strike> a few, just a few blogger's resolutions. Very eeeenterestingk.<br />
<br />
Some bloggers were pretty reasonable, like "buy toilet paper before I run out," and "wash my hair when it gets dirty." My favorite: "eat and breathe."<br />
<br />
But others were out of their minds. Srsly, you're going to build a miniature version of the Great Wall of China out of Chiclets??<br />
<br />
That would be impressive, actually. <br />
<br />
I used to make resolutions when I was younger. They were usually a combination of serious, totally unattainable, and nonsensical. I wanted puppies, more estrogen for the purpose of a certain focused development (ahem), and Brad Pitt. Because for goodness sake at 16 years old what else could I <em>actually</em> need to make my life better<em>?</em><br />
<br />
Now that I have a little bit more life under my belt, and I don't mean that literally even though I am<em> literally</em> growing enough on my thighs to build another person, I thought I should take another <em>more serious</em> crack at this resolution thing because this time there is room for improvement.<br />
<br />
But I'll do it <em>a tad</em> differently.<br />
<br />
Of course.<br />
<br />
Here's the deal: 2011-12 were not my best years. No. They were, in fact, my least favorite and if I wasn't trying to eliminate the negativity in my thinking I'd say they were <em>complete crap</em>. <br />
<br />
Were I not trying to stay so stinking positive I'd also say I must be doing something wrong and I should probably focus on doing the <em>exact opposite</em> this year because how much worse could I possibly do?<br />
<br />
As in, pull a George Costanza and do the <em>reverse</em> of everything I would normally do.<br />
<br />
But I'm <em>positive</em> now, so my official statement is: hey, just for giggles why don't I try doing everything I wouldn't normally do to see if that brings health and happiness to me and the whole wide world!<br />
<br />
Why not, this could be fun:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><u><strong>Opposite Day Resolutions for 2013</strong></u></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>Don't be lazy.</strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
If you don't want to get up to do something you probably should be up and doing it.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>Swear more.</strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
2012 Stacie felt swearing was crude and should be kept behind closed doors where only a certain husband could hear and know he was in big trouble. Not anymore. Bring that sh** out.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Eat McDonald's.</span></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Green beans and tofu will <em>never</em> compare, so why fight it?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Tweet fake rumors about Angelina Jolie.</span></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Because you're still not over the breakup of Brad and Jen. That was supposed to last forever<em> Idon'twannatalkaboutit.</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<strong><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Stand up to foo's.</span></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Tact, discretion: who needs 'em? If that lady in the 14 items or less line obviously has more than 14 items let her know her rudeness is unappreciated. Use swear words.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">No make up.</span></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Save time, save money. You already have a husband and he's not going anywhere.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>Move to Florida.</strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The humidity is good for curls.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>Pierce something.</strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You don't want a professional office job anyway, plus the only time you really feel <em>alive</em> is when a cold piece of metal is shoved through your skin. No, no wait that's when you really feel like <em>vomiting</em>, so never mind.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Consume adult brownies.</span></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
McD's will come in handy here.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>Take up plumbing.</strong></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Because students are not being encouraged to pick up a trade in school and are instead shoved into college programs that some simply cannot handle. I'm afraid there may be a real lack of plumbers in the next 10-15 years.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: x-large;"><strong>. . . .</strong></span></div>
<br />
That's my plan, I think it's a good start.<br />
<br />
Here's to a ***** ***** *** ***** 2013, and Happy **** ******** New Year to you and yours!!Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-55837809541251224152012-12-19T20:17:00.000-05:002012-12-19T20:17:06.708-05:00A Merry Humblebrag Christmas to you!!<div style="text-align: center;">
If Corey and I had not been so wrapped up in fantasy football and jewelry prep, respectively, the following<br />
would have been our Christmas letter to you:<br />
<i><br /></i>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivHsYYOfNAXuox2fNSofXE72T0kQou8RSmt3DsYfOmM9byw5wmHPAhT2q_6XHlhE6Sxz3M2PDZ_L71VBJhwsWG8Eki0E6DwWMOaFvk2B21vFqxHnA59rkxuLDSADl-JArRNaYVYT6NMrQ/s640/family+pic+1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">credit: corey and his cell phone</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Seasons Greetings to our family, friends, neighbors, work colleagues we like, senators, president, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>visiting dignitaries and bearded milkman!</i></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Oh how this holiday season crept up on us this year! We Lucases like to stay busy throughout the year and that means sometimes it seems as we're looking down at a summer Saratoga racing form </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>three months go by and it's time to roast that holiday ham!</i></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>This year Corey was promoted from technical recruiter at his company to owner. Of course this came with a 500% increase in pay which finally gave us the opportunity to buy that seven bedroom house on the beach in Puerto Rico we've been eyeing for years. Spring in "the Puerto" as us locals call it ;) is absolutely magical. </i></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>He also picked up his hockey stick and laced up his skates for the first time in two decades for a little recreational fun in the Saratoga men's league. The NHL got wind of his reemergence and signed him to a three-year deal with the Canadians! Obviously, this is just a part-time job. His real passion is for web-based system development.</i></div>
<i><br /></i>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcOBEqqYikFB1rxep23q-k3RwTlWb5fevts8U4WjCaultQZAbJ8HDcQ81AhFIX9-Ire2lMWMmCftP7jynT2EdgoUhiHrqnPh_lhFmkXltVJkMkgA_Bn3NGHGAwqdKqsI1r7l5zfhNlsQM/s640/family+pic+2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="480" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">credit: same celly</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcOBEqqYikFB1rxep23q-k3RwTlWb5fevts8U4WjCaultQZAbJ8HDcQ81AhFIX9-Ire2lMWMmCftP7jynT2EdgoUhiHrqnPh_lhFmkXltVJkMkgA_Bn3NGHGAwqdKqsI1r7l5zfhNlsQM/s1600/family+pic+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><i></i></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Stacie has landed<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>her first QVC special for her felted wool jewelry to air during this Christmas season. Actresses Angelina Jolie and Helen Mirren have even endorsed her natural alpaca line which is now selling so fast she has had to hire local teens </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>to do most of her felting. But although she has more work than time, she still manages to paint murals on </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>several of the city's graffiti covered buildings.</i></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Oliver joined the Navy SEALs and is planning his first secret mission later in January.</i></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Best wishes<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>to all, except those work colleagues we don't like, for a happy and healthy New Year!</i></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><i>The Lucases</i></span></div>
</div>
Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-61516954979004518932012-12-17T16:42:00.000-05:002012-12-17T16:42:49.891-05:00Mostly non-reflectionBlech.....<br />
<br />
....ugh.<br />
<br />
Anyone else at a loss for words today?<br />
<br />
Like you can't find a way to say how you feel about what happened in Connecticut without diving into thoughts and feelings that are so painful because to really <em>realize </em>there is pure evil so close to home you have to go to a dark place where no one should have to go, especially this close to one of the best celebrations of an eternal perfect <em>life</em>.<br />
<br />
Kinda like that.<br />
<br />
.....<br />
<br />
So be safe, friends. I'll see you in a little while.<br />
<br />
:)Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-38060230755339869972012-12-14T09:00:00.000-05:002012-12-14T09:00:02.527-05:00Just another crazy dog lady<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
I'm a dog person.</div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<br /></div>
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A weirdo dog person; one who stops strangers to pet the iddy-biddy long haired chihuahuas they're carrying deep down inside their coats even if it means invading some <em>serious</em> personal space.</div>
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And I would expect the same if I had somehow managed to strap my 80 pound Golden somewhere onto my person.</div>
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Which I cannot.</div>
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I have tried.</div>
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Also as a dog person I allow myself to become as tiny as possible when I sleep so that my poor aging Oliver has room to stretch out on the bed when we retire for the evening. After a few minutes of wrestling for position and covers and then fighting off nose jabs <em>to my face</em> we end up like this:</div>
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Oh the things we do for our D-O-Gs. </div>
Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6967147561897653404.post-90196299969451453262012-12-12T19:12:00.000-05:002012-12-12T19:12:32.881-05:00Car accidents and colonoscopies, they go hand in handFirst I would like to say I did not realize how close we are to Christmas, not that this adds any additional stress, I just can't believe <em>every single year</em> it's like BAM. Christmas is here.<br />
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Second, I got into a car accident last week and even though I'm fine I still want to talk about it.<br />
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And if we have time maybe we should start a dialogue on how I can transition better. Mmmkay.<br />
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So this accident. Yeah. Last Tuesday I found myself hanging out on a telephone guidewire after someone turning left from the opposite lane didn't see me coming. These things happen so fast. <br />
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It wasn't a very complicated accident: there was a break in one lane of traffic and she tried to rush a turn into my lane. I was <em>right there </em>so she hit me on my driver's side near my front wheel and pushed me right over the curb. I was still going forward so I ended up on the guidewire.<br />
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Guidewires have a little more <em>give</em> than solid wood telephone poles; it was a soft landing.<br />
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We both were fine, I mean aside from our stomachs being lodged in our throats.<br />
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Those crazy nerves.<br />
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Our cars, however....no. They were not fine.<br />
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Actually, I don't know what happened to her car. She seemed to have some fender damage but I didn't stick around to chat about it. I followed my car out on the tow truck.<br />
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It's funny how one second you can be driving along, singing your favorite Mariah Carey Christmas song, and then the next be sitting on the side of the road with your bumper clinging to life while you frantically dig through your glove compartment wondering why you didn't keep your registration and proof of insurance <em>together</em> so they'd be easier to find in the mess of fliers and napkins and receipts from your last four oil changes.<br />
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Fortunately, besides the obvious negative aspects of being in a car accident:<br />
<ul>
<li>$6,000 in damages</li>
<li>horrible, horrible deductible to be paid six days before Christmas</li>
<li>slightly stiff neck</li>
<li>nervous that every car in the world is going to find a way to hit me</li>
</ul>
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I have noticed a few positives:<br />
<ul>
<li>surprise day off the next day!</li>
<li>Corey got my favorite pizza and <em>two</em> desserts!</li>
<li>all of the mechanisms on one of my front wheels will have to be completely replaced, which means there is a 50% chance the squeak I hear from up front when I make right turns will be gone!</li>
<li>I get new engine parts!</li>
<li>my rental car has new fancy technology that lets me lock, unlock, and start without taking the keys out of my purse!</li>
</ul>
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The whole experience was a little traumatic, it was my first <em>real</em> accident <span style="font-size: x-small;">(I don't include my sister backing into me in the driveway or my other sister's clueless co-worker bumping me and then trying to tell her dad it was my fault)</span>, but so far it hasn't been an <em>entirely </em>negative experience.<br />
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If this is how I respond to nearly totaling my car I wonder how I'll feel about colonoscopies....Staciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16393433177339753709noreply@blogger.com3