Neon mom jeans, for today's hip ladies!

Let's go a little off topic for a sec, gang.

Not like there is ever an on-going theme here.

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 am I right?!

Oh, and by "they" I do mean myself.

So here we are, already off the topic I was hoping to be off topic....about.

And that topic: how old is too old to wear neon.

As in the neon that all the kids are wearing these days.

I guess we could turn this into a discussion on any 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?

Because I know for us gals we're sensitive to how we appear to others. At any age.  And we especially don't want to look like we're trying too hard.

Me at the make-up counter at Macy's: "I want you to pile all that crap on my face but for goodness sake make it look natural!"

So setting an exact 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.

Hypothetically, of course.

But no, no, no.  I am not having that discussion now.

No I just want to know about neon now.

This neon.

I went running shoe shopping Sunday and what I found was an entire wall 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.

Hmmmm, I think what they're trying to say right now is that bright colors are a thing.

So I bought a pair.  And they are shockingly bright

I remember wearing neon in elementary school, gang.  I specifically 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.

Please, oh please, don't let grunge come back...

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?

What if I pair these bad boys with the yoga pants that fit just above my belly-button, does that help or hurt my chances of fitting in??

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.

But, I do have this same color in a nail polish and that would go with me everywhere, so please, your opinion is strongly requested.

...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.  You just had to "break them in" in the park, didn't you Stace?!

Thanksomuch.

Turning 30: the good, the bad and the ugly

"Thirty ain't so bad."

Said no one ever.

Well, maybe people say it, but I guarantee they don't mean it.

And then when they say, "no, really, being over 30 is pretty great!" it means they're dying a little inside.

Can I get a holla! from the Over-30 Club?!

Hello?

Holla?

I know you're out there, you're probably just thinking to yourself, "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..."

In this case I would have to agree.  When it comes certain things, I'm feelin' pret-ty darn good, too.

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.

I take that back, the world is judging me, but now I don't care.  I just want pancakes.

Also I'm finally okay with who I am.  And who exactly is that, you ask?  I'm random and creative.  I like to be impulsive but only if I can plan on it.  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.

Side question: is it then okay to insert left hand to rearrange the shake to fit properly??  Oh I hope so...

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 not say exactly what I'm thinking when my feathers get ruffled.

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.

Most of the time.

Now on the other hand...

Everything else is falling apart.

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!  "Sorry J, Auntie needs her sittin' pillow, oh and can someone help me get up?!"

And hellloooo anxiety!  It's like my brain gave up on me, "her? no, she definitely doesn't know what she's doing, enter panic mode stat."  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?!

It's fun.

Another big part of my new found anxiety is I'm pretty sure I need to see a doctor about everything.

Is this bump in my cheek/nose crease cancer?

My chest hurts, I'm pretty sure I'm having a heart attack.

I need to do something about this self-diagnosed carpal tunnel.

And then there's my stomach.  Talk about sen-si-TIVE.  Drink a full glass of wine, she gets upset.  Ride in the car with anyone other than me driving, she gets upset.  Eat lettuceforcryinoutloud, she gets wicked upset.  I never had an iron-clad constitution to begin with, but tummy grumblies after a burrito//ice cream sundae night??

Gimme a break.

But on a positive note, even with the aches and pains that come with my body completely rebelling against me, I would still take the position I'm in, feeling confident with myself, over being able to do a cartwheel without throwing up afterward or sitting on the living room floor without memory foam but not having a single clue about who I am or where I'm going.

Now tell me Over-40 Club, does this feeling last??

Please say yes, please say yes....

Oh to be young again...but maybe not this young.  (Kimberlie, Stacie, Katie on tamale-making day)

They call me slim shady

I made that up.

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.

But I am on the skinny side.

See how I did that?  Easing my way into a more "hot button" topic.

That's why they call me Stacie Seamless Transition Lucas.

Also made up.

Weight.  That's what I'm easing into, the 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 weight 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 and not want to jab a fork in my eye out of frustration from any number of crappy diets.

Wait, can I say crap here?

But I know many out there do struggle and I want to share what is working for me:

1. I don't drink soda.  Ever.  Gave it up when I was 13 and never looked backnoIamlying.  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.

Anyway, I don't drink soda.  Or juice.  Or sports drinks.  Or alcohol.  So. Much. Shugga.  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.  Funny, right?  This saves me those sugar "credits" to use toward an occasional candy bar or half a pan of brownies.

Say wha...?!  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.

2.  I stay away from processed foods and snacks.  This especially includes fast food, but also chips and those delicious Little Debbie treats among others.  There's just something about a food that looks better with age 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.

3.  I exercise moderately.  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.

4.  I give myself A LOT of flexibility.  Don't know if you noticed but I've been going through some things.  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 don't need.

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 will tap that sour cream & onion dip with a whole lotta Lays, but just at that one get-together.

5.  I look for balance.  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.

6.  I do eventually buckle down.  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.

Obviously, more weight loss (as opposed to weight maintenance) requires a different approach, like more effort and more time.  But ultimately you have to do something that's going to work for you. 

.....

* 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"

I'm still here, are you?!

Hello.

I missed you.

Let's not stay apart for this long again. 

Um, it's Stacie.

No, not Tracy, Stacie.

Don't worry, I get that all the time.

My fault, anyway.  I've never spent this much time away from the blog.  Not when I was so stressed I nearly threw my parents' printer into their pool while trying to print wedding RSVP cards, or when I had the oh-so-hectic schedule 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 wanted to tell.

But I was also happy then.

Now I'm just....blah.

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.

It went a little somethin' like this:

"Hey! How are you?!"

"Oh fine, and you?"

"Good, good..."

(small talk)

"....did you hear we got a puppy?"

"Oh!  But you still have Oliver, right?"

"Well, no.  We had to put him down in January."

"Oh no I'm so sorry!"

"Yeah, he got sick...."

(small talk)

"So how's your mom?"

"Well...."

"Oh that's right, I heard her father died."

"In February, yeah...."

(small talk)

"...and at least my mom has some company, with (sister) and (bro-in-law) living with her."

"What?  I thought they lived up north?"

"Well, in December (bro-in-law, sheriff's deputy) had to shoot and kill someone so now they're staying with my mom while he fights debilitating anxiety...."

...

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 not complaining, so....

It's just not happy-time here on the farm, is what I'm tryin' to say. 

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 right so that I can see a light at the end of this very dark tunnel...I know it's there but my faith is wearing thin.

Or as I told my mom, maybe the sun just needs to come out so I can get some vitamin D already!

Not that long ago I saw a co-worker go through a similar year where one thing after another just went wrong.  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.

Seasons.  So mature sounding.  Short for "that time I wanted to hibernate for six months."

Another big-girl lesson learned:

1) Sometimes things just go wrong for awhile.

Also:

2) Girl scout cookies make you fat.

So, boo.  All I can do just hang in there....

...and freak out.

Just kidding.  I'm just going to wait.

Swearing in the New Year!

Happy New Year!!

Let all acquaintance be forgot...

Wait, wha...?

Oh, we're over New Year?

....we've been over it for a week now?

I guess that means I'm right on cue.

This girl is what we would call a late-bandwagon-jumper-on-er.  I mean, if that were a real thing.  And used real words.

While it was still the cool thing to do, I read through every single blogger in the world's a few, just a few blogger's resolutions.  Very eeeenterestingk.

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."

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??

That would be impressive, actually. 

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 actually need to make my life better?

Now that I have a little bit more life under my belt, and I don't mean that literally even though I am literally growing enough on my thighs to build another person, I thought I should take another more serious crack at this resolution thing because this time there is room for improvement.

But I'll do it a tad differently.

Of course.

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 complete crap. 

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 exact opposite this year because how much worse could I possibly do?

As in, pull a George Costanza and do the reverse of everything I would normally do.

But I'm positive 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!

Why not, this could be fun:

Opposite Day Resolutions for 2013

Don't be lazy.

If you don't want to get up to do something you probably should be up and doing it.

Swear more.

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.

Eat McDonald's.

Green beans and tofu will never compare, so why fight it?

Tweet fake rumors about Angelina Jolie.

Because you're still not over the breakup of Brad and Jen.  That was supposed to last forever Idon'twannatalkaboutit.

Stand up to foo's.

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.

No make up.

Save time, save money.  You already have a husband and he's not going anywhere.

Move to Florida.

The humidity is good for curls.

Pierce something.

You don't want a professional office job anyway, plus the only time you really feel alive is when a cold piece of metal is shoved through your skin.  No, no wait that's when you really feel like vomiting, so never mind.

Consume adult brownies.

McD's will come in handy here.

Take up plumbing.

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.

. . . .

That's my plan, I think it's a good start.

Here's to a ***** ***** *** ***** 2013, and Happy  **** ******** New Year to you and yours!!

Just another crazy dog lady

I'm a dog person.

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 serious personal space.

And I would expect the same if I had somehow managed to strap my 80 pound Golden somewhere onto my person.

Which I cannot.

I have tried.

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 to my face we end up like this:

Oh the things we do for our D-O-Gs. 

You might love/hate this one too

Merry Christmastime everyone!

'Tis the season for lighting Yankee Candle balsam fir votives.

'Tis also the season for hanging live wreaths.

For eating candy canes and watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

Both old and new versions, which I normally wouldn't say because I'm a stickler for keeping traditions exactly as they've always been but Jim Carrey's Grinch costume is just too adorable for words.

But I digress.

'Tis not the season, however, to have love/hate relationships.  It's a Scrooge-ish thing to do.

But I have to admit I am cultivating one.

Not one that eats away at my sooooooul, but love/hate feelings nonetheless.

A friend of mine turned me onto this blog by Katie months ago and I have been enamored by it ever since.

I can't exactly put my finger on what the blog is all about, it's just a smattering of pictures.

Really, really wonderful pictures.

Wonderfully clean, simple pictures that show just how awesome her little family is.

Awesome and perfectly tattooed.

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She wears pantyhose while decorating the Christmas tree for crying out loud.  This is adorable.  Do you know what I wore to decorate my tree?  $5 Reebok stretchy pants that I got at Value City when I was seventeen.  Oh, and a sweatshirt over the t-shirt I wore to bed the night before.  Goodness gracious.

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And is this not the most relaxing place to take a siesta?  My photo of this scene would include rolling tumbledoghairs and a book on the history of pancakes.  There would also be cheese and cracker crumbs scattered throughout the rug.

Oh that rug, I could fall asleep just looking at it.

Now, when I call this a love/hate relationship I have with Katie and her blog, I don't in any way mean that I hate anything about her.  I love how her pictures inspire me to have a more simple life, and that having or doing less can be oh-so satisfying.

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Honestly, have you ever found so much relief in a pomegranate?

Sigh.

There really is no hate here, I should really label this a love/tears-hair-out-in-frustration relationship.  I get frustrated at how not-simple having a simple life can be.  My days are full of unfolded laundry, piles of wool and dog hair, sloppy pizza and cranky complainers. 

Of which I have no pictures, you're welcome.

So until I'm able to reduce all my cares in the world to finding the best way to arrange fall foliage I will just have to learn to be satisfied with trimming my tree while wondering when I washed my hair last and relaxing with a book on my favorite breakfast food as my neighbor blasts club tunes.

Because I'm sure even Katie had to deal with moments of anxiety//road rage//stinky feet//less-than-perfectness before finding her groove, too.

Before the pajamas come on I wear my big girl pants

So.....it's obvious what I do in those spare hours of my night just before I drift off into a Matlock or sometimes banana split induced slumber.

I make jewelry.

Sometimes I make homemade Christmas decorations.

But mostly, I make jewelry.

Do you have any idea what I do before I do what I really wanna do?

As in, what my big girl, daytime job is?

I don't talk about it much; it's just a job.  Nothing special like brain surgeon or professional cheerleader, but occasionally it has it's noteworthy moments.

Like today.

I work for a New York State Senator handling constituent issues.  If someone in the district has a problem with something me and a few others try to solve it.  Problems range from the genuine to ridiculous, but for the most part I leave with a sense of doing good by others.

I also leave and figuratively beat my head against a wall.

There's just something about being complained to every single day....

Usually, though, there's a case that comes around every other week or so that makes what I do worth it.  I've helped one girl get back on her feet after being left homeless, another I helped to avoid tens of thousands of dollars in agency fines on her business.

Today on the phone I came across a real gem that just might get me through the week:

"Thanks a lot for your help.  What's your name again?"

"Stacie."

"Casey?"

"Stacie."

"Tracy??"

"No, STACIE."

"Ooooh, Stacie.......I had a lover in high school named Stacie.  God was she hot."

".........."

Fantastic.  Now how long before pajamas and wool time??

Give thanks!

Puppies

Chocolate

Family

Autumn

The smell of asphalt when it rains

Salvation

Long underwear

My talents

My abilities

My personality

Iced coffee

Oliver

Evidence of creation

Big birds

My job

Snow, lots and lots of snow

Technology, like DVR and seat warmers

Waking up today

Friends

Anti-wrinkle cream

America

Hot showers

Education

Success in business
Romantic comedies

My thanks and praise for all things big and small to God alone :)

Have a Safe and Happy Thanksgiving!!

Newsflash: smartphones are pretty handy

"You never know a good thing until it's gone."

Someone said this.

I know, a lot of people say this, but someone had to say it first.

And for a very good reason reason: it's true.

So, so true.

I'll get right to the point, I desperately need my smartphone back.  Like a dope I gave it up for a simple talk//text phone early this year.  I felt I was too attached to instant email//facebook//twitter//Youtube videos of dogs in shoes and people being startled by things jumping out of them.

Seriously, so funny.

I was constantly wondering "ohmigosh did she get back to my email??" or "ohmigosh did anyone like my photo??" or even "ohmigosh what could all of my twitter friends be doing right this very second!?"

Everything is always "ohmigosh!!!" in my head, by the way....and occasionally out of my head.

So there I would sit at my desk, on the couch, In. My. Sleep, wanting to check my phone for updates.  It was too much.  I felt disconnected to the world and what was going on around me.  Super cheesy, but I really was addicted and I don't like to be addicted to too many things at once.

It wasn't hard to give up my smartphone.  I still had access to a computer and the internet most times throughout the day.  I never had pressing emails that needed immediate attention and I could almost always wait to see that picture of your cat on facebook doing that thing in the thing, hilarious.

But every now and then I would venture out by myself and wouldn't you know it something mind blowing would happen.  Like I would get humongous pancakes.  Or Oliver would pee on a political sign with absolutely no urging by me I swear.  These are the moments I had to learn to paint mental pictures of on facebook or blogs or in emails to people who know I tell tedious stories and still love me the same.

And that's fine.  I got used to it.

But that, I think, is negatively impacting this business I'm trying to grow.

I'm not talking about how I'm suffering from not being able to post pictures of the pile of vomit outside my office with a caption of "ohmigosh grossest thing EV-ER."  By not being able to bring my friends and customers and potential customers into my world and my day I'm neglecting that relationship (however one-sided, which is ok by me, I can just keep talking and talking and talking and talk.....) and my business.

Heck, half of the reason I don't blog or facebook more often is because I'm so frustrated I don't have pictures of those random moments in the fabric store where I swear that print looks like wieners, and how can I just tell you about something like that??

I can't believe I just wrote wieners.  Does that make me PG-13?

And twitter?  Same frustration.  I mean, not with wien....indicators, but other random events I can't share as they happen.

**sigh**

I tried to take a step back from this technology bubble but I'm going to get left out.  My smartphone day is coming (back) soon and when I have that sweet, sweet gadget in my hands....

....Imma get me a big 'ol write off baby!!

Hecks yeah.

And the winner is....ME!

Well look at me.

I won a blogging award!

The Liebster Award, which is, uh, an award for those who excel in the art of, um, blogging.  Sensibly.

No, it's not. 

Well, it might be.

Natalie from The Cat Lady Sings nominated yours truly because I fit the criteria of 1) must be under 200 followers (check: I have four) and what I assume to be 2) because I really am part of the cool kids club.

Also, because we're soul sistas from the LBC.  Represent.  Except, if we were real sisters, she would be like the older prettier one who has all the boyfriends because she's the super volleyball star and doesn't say awkward things when nervous.  In other words, she's like a much better version of me.

Hmmm, and why is it you only have four followers....?

Anyway, with this award, as many of you may already know, comes a few stipulations: like offering up firstborns and running around my house in my underwear, but because it's a little chilly up here in the frozen tundra of upstate New York I'll settle for following the following:

You must thank the person who gave you this award.

Thank you, Natalie.  This is fun!

You must display the Liebster heart on your blog.

Check.  See above.

You should nominate 3 to 5 up-and-coming blogs (with less than 200 subscribers).

Sassin' Southern Style Erin is funny, people.  The witty kind of funny that only smart people can master, smart people who take chemistry classes on purpose.

Something Different This Way Comes April has adventures of the kid kind, and since I can now say I know these little animals, her stories take on a whole new life!

Married Filling Joint Kathryn's posts are all over the place with books and food and whatever pops into her head, which is just what my scattered brain needs.  Plus her husband is a band director, which allows me to relive my days as a marching trombonist.

Post 11 things about yourself.

1) My hair is pretty long, you wouldn't know it b/c I wear it up every single day.  2) My sisters and I don't look anything alike.  3) I have an addiction to nail polish.  4) My middle name is Jo.  5) I just realized my dream career is anything that doesn't require eight straight hours of work.  6) In other words, I need variety.  7) When I was younger I thought two men lived under my bed: one small brainy man and his big, brawny sidekick.  They had machine guns.  Every night I would run and jump onto my bed and I'd picture the little guy smacking the big guy for "missing her again!!"  8) I have a vivid imagination.  9) I'm hard on myself.  10) I'd like to live in a foreign country for a year.  11) My favorite TV show is anything science fiction.

Answer the questions the person giving the award has sent you.

Did you ever have a teacher who yelled at/embarrassed/totally ruined you for life? If so, tell the story.  My second semester design teacher in college would yell at me for not being prepared class.  Like I should have known I was going to have an idea that required black doll hair before going to class, for cryin' out loud.  She is part of the reason I changed my major.

What is your dream career?  Making stuff.  All kinds of stuff.  A variety, if you will.

Unicorn or Sasquatch for president? Sasquatch for so many reasons: he can physically beat the snot out of our enemies, all of them; he doesn't give a hoots patoot what you think of him; and I doubt he'll cave to the demands of special interest groups.

What is your most embarrassing habit? I tend to "check out" from time to time.  I have a blank stare that one friend told me was creepy.

If you could have one talent that you do not currently have, what would it be? Oh how I wish I could sing.  I mean, I do sing, but I think I'd like to be good at it.

Last meal on earth: describe in detail. I’m hungry.  Pulled pork nachos with jalapenos.  No details, I'm full.

If you could only bring three things on a deserted island, what would they be? A ship, a ship captain, and a book.  I'm not a big fan of being deserted anywhere.  At least without something to read.

Favorite guilty pleasure? RomComs.  Maid in Manhattan, I die.

What kind of car do you drive, and what do you think that says about you? Hyundai Tucson, it says this girl likes to drive a car that no one will ever notice.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? I would be less thinky.  I over analyze every. single. thing. an. y. one. says.

Favorite Disney movie? The Little Mermaid, although those little swampy people still terrify me. 

Create 11 questions for the people you will be giving the award to.

 1) What did you want to be when you grew up?  2) Are you...that?  3) Favorite book and why?  4) If you could have any accent, what would it be?  5) What food can you just not stomach?  6) What is your favorite chore?  7) Least favorite chore?  8) What would you do with $10,000?  9) If you had an unlimited supply of empty toilet paper rolls, what would you do with them?  10) Favorite childhood memory?  11) Where do you want to be in 5 years?

Choose 11 people to award and send them the link to your post. Go to their page and tell them.

This feels redundant, so I'm going to skip it.  I hope that doesn't jeopardize my award....

....

Speaking of redundant, this was fun!  Enjoy your Wednesday everyone!

Wait, it's Thursday....enjoy that too.

The business of being scared

If you live out west, my apologies.

Over here in the Northeast we kinda hijacked all of your national news programs.

You know, with this little Hurricane Sandy business.

Trust me, we wish it didn't have to happen either.  But you know how much say we have in weather patterns....

A lot, if you believe the government is using jet trails to affect climate.

Let's pretend I didn't go there.

Luckily, where Corey and I live we didn't see much more than a little rain and at times some heavy wind.  So no limbs sticking out of car windows, flooded basements, or overturned grills.  Phew!

But our power did go out for five hours.  At night.

This was a major problem.

I'm afraid of the dark.

As in, if I have to potty in the middle of the night I run from the bathroom to the bedroom afterward.

The bathroom is five feet from my bedroom.  Sad.

On top of that, I am married to someone who is not able to sit still.

As in, when the power goes out he has to get in his car and drive around to see who else doesn't have power.

I don't mind so much when it's 5:30pm and I can still see my hand in front of my face.

At 7:30pm I mind.

It's dark at 7:30pm.  And there are just some areas a candle flame does not touch.  Like corners.  And closets.  And under tables.  So there I sat. In the apartment, by myself.  Paralyzed with fear at every creak, because our apartment creaks.  Paralyzed even further, if that's possible, when the dog started barking at the creaks. 

In the light, creaking is just creaking.  Old buildings settle, I get it.  But in the dark creaking is....

...something coming to get me!?  Something ghoulish and gross that has one desire in this world and that is to claw my eyeballs out and feed them to my dogyesIreallydobelievethisjunk.

On Corey's last trip out of the apartment to pick up our dinner I went with him.  It was safer to be in a car driving under and around large trees in heavy winds.  Definitely.

The rest of the story is uneventful.  Not like the beginning was a real page turner either.  Went to bed, woke up when the power came back on, cursed out loud that I lost an entire evening of work with the craft show just four days away.

Then I saw all the damage in NYC and New Jersey.  Yikes.

I'm sure some people there are afraid of the dark.

And raw sewage.

And cars floating into their living rooms.

Guess I had it easy.

.....

Send prayers to those who were really hit hard.  People have died fighting Sandy and that's much scarier than the dark!

I work hard for the money

Hey-o!

Here I am.

Alive.  And well.

And not in an abandoned pit somewhere, thrown there by my crazy sister.

Because that's not real life.  It's All My Children, 1991.

Truth is, I've been pret-ty busy.

Time flies when you're felting your fingers to the bone for a two-day craft show in just two weeks.

Two weeks.  TWO.

Can you feel the urgency?  In just two weeks I have to make all the jewelry. 

Nope.  No.  I don't want to talk about it.

But I will show you my studio.  Because I think you're gonna like it.

I love it here.

I love it so much I've begun to fill it up so that it doesn't look like this anymore.



This is the clock I hit my head on every. single. time. I come up here.  Half the year it's set to the wrong time, the other half the year it's not working at all because the batteries died. 



I stole borrowed this lamp from my sister, Katie.  And then it broke.  Now I'm hoping she doesn't read this and remember that she wanted it back when she moved into her own house.

This is the little nook where I read every morning.  My favorite spot in the entire apartment.  It's also where I store my library book sale finds.  Also known as the books I will probably never read but will keep anyway because I only paid 50 cents for crying out loud.

I had high hopes of getting a nice futon for the occasional guest to sleep on, but now those hopes have turned to bigger purchases.

Like a house.



One of two easels.  You would think I was a painter, but you'd be wrong.  I just dabble.

Badly.



And then there's some junk.  Random things that just can't seem to find a home.

Whaddya know, more things without a home.

Months after I took these pictures I found a shelving unit by the side of the road.  Knowing how Corey feels about me picking up strange pieces of furniture I made sure to swipe it while he was gone.  Getting it up two flights of stairs by myself was a challenge and I do still strategically hide the candle wax damage but problem almost solved in the junk department!

Did you notice the humongous skylight?  This is pretty much the best room in the entire building.

My favorite.

But right now it's reminding me of all the work I have to do so this is where I call it quits to go browse pictures of celebrity pets.

:)

Your life depends on THIS post. Srsly.

This is your lucky day.

No, really.  It is:

Reason number one:  I am about to clue you in on something you didn't even know you were missing.

Reason number two:  I am going to give you 10% off something you didn't even know you were missing.

Last month in my email inbox I had a message offering me 100 absolutely free business cards.  There was some cross-promoting going on between this business card company and Etsy, the e-marketplace where I sell my jewelry, and the only string attached was my cards had to include the Etsy logo.

Free business cards promoting Etsy where I also have a shopmmmmkay.

I hear what you're saying.  Business cards, schmidness cards, right?

But just hold on to your britches, these aren't your typical business cards.

They are Moo cards.

Say wha...?

Specifically they are Moo MiniCards.

Let's just say for a sec' you have a little business, some side project you're busy building that will soon take over the world.  You first need some interest.  Actually, you probably are gonna want a lot of interest.  These Moo minicards are nothing if not interesting.

The packaging is sturdy and cheeky.  I keep my little Moo box with me wherever I go.

....because I like cheeky.

The details.  Oh the details!



Moo MiniCards are squatty versions of a regular business card!  They're made from a strong card stock with a smooth finish that make them stand out from that average-Joe card you got from your electrician.

Bonus: use your own photos of your work.  People eat this stuff up, it's like a grown-up trading card.

I have a JTT Photography, I'll trade you for an SJL Original.

Ok, but not the one with the hot girl sitting on the couch pretending to work.

...so embarrassing.

Simple, simple, simple. 

But, of course you can opt for one of the hundreds of designed themes that give you color options and swirly patterns.

Me, I'm a simple gal.

Unless we're talking about my eating habits in restaurants.

But in my defense I don't see anything wrong with making local proprietors aware they have a customer who prefers her meals to be prepared using local ingredients most specifically free range poultry and grass fed beef on the rare occasion I choose to eat red meat.

But I digress.

Now it's time for you to scoot on over to www.moo.com to claim your 10% coupon off your first order.  And while you're there, check all the other ways you can use MiniCards.

(make sure you click on the link above...that's the only way you'll get the discount)

Tell them Stacie sent you.

I mean, you can just say that to your computer screen because it's the code in the link above that's going to do the telling.

.....

You're welcome and enjoy.

Dwayne Johnson in 2016!

Today is Monday.

I mean, I know it's actually Tuesday, but I was vacationing yesterday so that made Monday feel like Sunday which would make today Monday and tomorrow Tuesday.

Wait.  Now I'm confused.

Regardless of what day we woke up to, this day is the day I need to physically jump start my brain.  Reset its features.  Git 'er going.

Step One: coffee break first thing in the morning.

Check.

Step Two: three immediate potty breaks.

Check.

Step Three: meaningless blog post that takes us nowhere.

Check. 

Step Four: contemplate what life would be like if The Rock was president.

Check.

Step Five: eat.

Check.

I believe with that I'm ready to work!

...starting first thing tomorrow.

Spending my nights with serial killers and horny toads

I consider me 'n Corey city kids.

I grew up on the wild side of Long Beach, California.

Corey grew up in Air Force town, Plattsburgh, New York just south of Montreal.

And now we live in the city of Saratoga Springs.

In other words, we like it when light shines in our apartment all hours of the day and night.

Because serial killers live in the dark.  Everyone knows that.

But go just 10 miles east and you're in a whole other world where you can almost reach out and touch the dark and "traffic" is whichever toad dares to cross the road.

I was there last night.

And I lived to tell about it.

Corey and I have a friend who is a born and raised country girl, bless her heart.  Now she lives on an honest to goodness horse farm complete with, well, horses and horse accoutrements, and last night it was about time I visit her neck of the dark.

One thing, people, about this sprawling expanse of green is that your typical directions are useless.  There's no "go two blocks, turn where you see the Starbucks then go about half a mile and turn again at the other Starbucks and then BAM, you're at Macy's."

This is the only way I know to get to her house:

• Head up (I don't know my directionals, please excuse) route such-and-such.
• Keep going until you think you've gone too far.
• Go further.
• Turn onto P. Road.
• Try not to vomit on the hills.
• Veer left and then turn onto the street that comes out of nowhere.
• Veer every which way because now streets are laid out according to the wandering paths of cats.
• Turn onto the road that comes out of nowhere.
• Also the road that smells like cow crap.
• Turn at the end of that road.
• Drive just long enough to wonder which serial killer is living in this very field you're driving past.
• Turn where you don't think there is an actual road.
• Reach your destination.

Obviously on the return trip you do the reverse and hope and pray she someday finds a cozy, well-lit home in the city.

One month of wrinkles

We're friends, right?

I mean, if I were to share something intimate and private you could keep that between the two of us and, you know, not spread it to the farthest corners of the world.  Right?

I knew I liked you.

Anyway, there is something I've been wanting to get off my chest.

That's a funny expression.  To get something off one's chest.  Where did it come from?  I always picture a man with with lots of chest hair making grand motions of taking all his invisible cares and throwing them upward and outward.

So dramatic.

Not sure why the hairy chest.  That's weird.

But I digress.

My friend Jill says I digress too much.  There are all these little conversations I have with myself when I'm telling a story, sometimes I keep them to myself and sometimes I think you'll want to know about hairy chests.

Where was I?

Oh yes, secrets.  I wanted to tell you something you can't tell anyone, especially my mother-in-law.  With this I am sure she will disown me and never ever again buy me Vera Bradley purses.  Which could mean the end of my world.

So....here it goes:

Ihaven'tfoldedasinglepieceoflaundryinoveramonth!!

I know, I know, I know.  This is bad.  This is SO bad.  We have a literal mountain of laundry that towers over our bed.  Poor Corey can't find matching socks anymore; I'm not entirely sure he isn't wearing one black and one blue right now.

Or at least one spotted black sock and one striped black sock.  Still so sad.

But in my defense....it's the felting.  People enjoy draping themselves in felted wool beads.  I can't fault them for that, I can't.  And so I must sacrifice that precious laundry folding time to give the people what they want. 

If that makes me a terrible person who shall never own a beautiful Laptop Travel Tote in Portobello Road then so be it!  At least my conscience is clean!!



...just like our unfolded laundry.

Anniversaries are for buying sneakers and dog treats

My wedding anniversary was Tuesday.

Time goes by so fast.

It marked Mr. Lucas and my third go 'round on this crazy domestic train.  And apparently the gift for three years is Italian food.  Thanks for the risotto and tiramisu, Corey...it's what I always wanted!  I hope you enjoyed your slab of meat and cream puffs because I put a whole lotta thought into it.

When you've been together long enough, seven years total for us, I'm learning the every day interactions lose a little bit of that spark from the earlier times.  Conversations are less about the "I love yous" and more "make sure you clean the toilet before John and Liz come for dinner...they don't need to know we're tamale-intolerant!"  Which is why it's so important to set aside days every now and then to revisit what brought you together in the first place.

An anniversary is the easiest place to start.

The following is advice to you taken from my magical day; use what I've learned to create a little romance with your boo:

1. Wake your mate up early.  Trust me, he's going to love smelling your morning breath through your whispered sweet nothings.  He may ask you if you swallowed trash the night before, but this is just his way of saying, "hey, you are special to me."
2. Go to work.  All day.  Don't take the day off; absence makes the heart grow fonder.  It also makes you forget for a second that you can't plan a meeting for right after work so maybe keep a little sticky note nearby as a reminder.
3. Don't talk on the phone either.  It's easier to not fight about whether you may or may not have forgotten to mention you will be going out of town for the weekend if you do not speak at all.
4. When you are both reunited, go buy some running shoes.  For your partner.  In the pouring rain.  He probably won't use them for the next several weeks, but this really is the best possible time to do it.
5. Next, drive to the pet store and buy your dog a bag of Greenies.  While it is still raining.
6. Go home.  Put dry clothes on.  You're going to a fancy restaurant for dinner, for goodness sake.
7. Try that place you used to love but haven't been to in awhile.  And take their only table in the bar.  Yes, it will be the size of your bathroom sink but that can only bring you both together.
8. Splurge!  Have your one glass of wine for the month on this day!  And then giggle uncontrollably as you fight your significant other for the last piece of bread.
9. Make conversation.  Talk politics, let him laugh at just how little you know about the state of our national debt for someone who works for a politician.  Just remember as he posts your nonsense on Facebook he's laughing with you.
10. When you get home, put on some pjs, get ready for a night of snuggling to one of your shows, grumble about how you're too full to watch Chopped on Food Network and then drift into a Riesling induced fit of slumber full of dreams about having to share your man with the girl who lived next to you in the dorms your freshman year only to be reminded that, yep, he's all yours as he wakes you up with a snort and yanking of all the covers.

The End. 

Now, enjoy your own magic making, friends.  I'm so glad I could help.

I quit.

Let's get real, people.

Sometimes life is shizz.

No mom, I said shizz.  It's totally not the same.

She's a little sensitive.  I spent the weekend using semi-foul language with the sole intention to ruffle her feathers.  Kind of like an I'm-an-adult-see-what-I-can-do kind of thing.

I also eat dessert and then tell her about it.

It's how I say I love you.

But I digress.

What were we talking about?

Shizz?

Yes.  What shizz we have to go through sometimes, eh?!

And isn't it grand that there are more times than we care to count when all the shizz hits the fan at once?

Snarking grand.

But this is all to say that eventually that shizz that stunk up our mental places turns into fertilizer; metaphoric crap we can actually use to make life better.

Oops, I said crap.

Crud.

But actually, crud doesn't make too fine a fertilizer.  You need literal poo.  But here I go getting away from myself again.

No, I'm not really quitting anything.  Sometimes I'd like to, but I'm not.

Shizz is only shizz if I let it get to me.

So I go back to the drawing board and do it differently.

.....

How vague can I get, you ask?

Mmmmhmmm.

Bon Voyage!

No, no.  I'm not going anywhere!

I'm still snuggled up all cozy in my Saratoga Springs.

It's my parents and youngest sister, Kimberlie, who are packing up and moving on. 

To Wisconsin, of all places.

Wisconsin??  Where the heck is Wisconsin?

Good question.  Very good question.  Unless you're from the midwest, all those no-coastal states get jumbled together.

Surely Oklahoma borders Illinois and maybe parts of Ohio where that jut-out thing kinda juts out like it does....

Extra points if you know the shape of the state if not where it goes.

Minus points if you lived in Indiana for 11 years and still don't know what's on the other side of Illinois.

Stacie Jo.

Tsk tsk.

So without further embarrassing ado, I share the ridiculously short list of things I know about the great state of Wisconsin:

(wait, it is great right?  I'm just assuming it doesn't suck...)

{one}  Cheese.  People make cheese in Wisconsin and then they wear it on their heads at certain times.  Possibly when there are a lot of people all together in one place.  And then they call each other cheeseheads, but in a good way.

{two}  Green Bay Packers...whoop whoop!  And in watching Green Bay games I know that it snows a foot a minute all winter.  Which begins in October.

{three}  People say "eh?" at the end of sentences, turning all general statements into questions.  I can imagine this makes conversations very, very lengthy.

{four}  The state borders Lake Michigan and is home to Milwaukee and beer with a very misleading name.  Milwaukee's Best?  I sure hope not.

{five}  Home of the Badgers.  As in University of Wisconsin Badgers.  GO PURDUE.

{six}  Serial cannibal Ed Gein lived and "worked" here.  Is it weird that I know this?

...

Of course there's more to the Cheesehead State...

The, uh, Badger State...

Packer Nation?

The Land West of Lake Michigan Yet East of Minnesota, The Land of Ten Thousand Lakes?

Anyway, those Wisconsinites (actual term) have found a real gem in that there state.  Something that gives them a real reason to trudge around in armpit-deep snow while fending off flesh-eating cheeseheads and still say first thing in the morning, "I think I'll do it all over again today, eh?"

Goodness gracious.

So good luck Mom, Daddy and Kimberlie!

Corey and I will be there just as soon as you've dug a path for us.