Magazines Make Me Feel Bad

Have you ever had a friend who was so fantastically good at stuff that every time you visited you'd leave feeling like maybe you were lacking in some undefinable way? Like, why can't I decorate in a quirky manner and whip up a gourmet meal from nothing? Why are we not having dinner around the the dining room table while discussing world topics? Why don't we even have dining room chairs?

This kind of thing used to really bug the shit out of me because I felt like maybe I missed a key lesson in How To Be a Cool Grownup. I mostly got over it, but I still get pangs of house anxiety when I stumble across stuff like this because just when I've decided that the people in Domino Magazine are all models and their quirky apartments are actually sets, I'm proven wrong. PEOPLE REALLY DO LIVE LIKE THIS. It's daunting. Though in abchao's case, I think she did it the real way (vintage/thrift stores, a good eye) , rather than the rich people way (expensive new stuff that looks like it came from vintage/thrift stores and a good decorator) which makes it that much more impressive, thus making me feel that much lamer.

I page through Domino and wonder, where are the cat vomit stains? Where is their junk mail pile? Do they have a Pod out back full of all the junk they don't know what to do with? Because I have a lot of junk I don't know what to do with. Also, I have no time to decided what to do about the junk I don't know what to do with. How did I get all this stuff? Why do I save so much shit? Why is my husband incapable of throwing away the box for anything? I read Domino and I want to cry, so I let my subscription go. Then someone gave me a big stack of them and it started all over again.

Oh, and don't EVEN get me started on Dwell. Dwell has got to be the most incredibly pretentious magazine ever in the whole magazine world. Dwell is Domino with an eco-attitude. Dwell is all about smug rich people who seem to enjoy how clever they are to manage to live in 500 square feet of concrete space in some urban ex-meatpacking plant or something. All the furniture is made from bamboo and cardboard! They have skylights instead of electricity! Their $10,000 dishwasher is powered by pet hamsters! It's all so smug that I want to throw it in the trash, NOT IN THE RECYCLE BIN.

I think the saddest thing I ever saw in Dwell was a playground designed by an architect who decided that regular playground equipment was far too garish. The entire thing consisted of some sad wooden ramp...thing in a park. Oh, damn, people.

Anyway, I need to clear out a WHOLE BUNCH of crap and get back to chipping paint off the wall in my bathroom and maybe I'll feel better or something. I also need to get rid of the world's biggest space-sucking piano. Want it? Free piano anyone? Please take it away? Please.

Coming up tomorrow: Craft show report! Mailroom guy predicts my doom! Crazy guy in the next booth! Most awkward craft show moment ever!

Big Glowing Box of Plenty

The best thing about fall, the very best thing, is all the new television. It's like Christmas (at least until all my new favorites get cancelled) in big glowing box form. Shiny fun new shows! Something new to watch every night! It's all very exciting. This week we've watched:

Chuck. Oh, man, I really love a nerd/spy combo and this one is great because it's got all the nerdy spy-y goodness without taking itself too seriously. It's sweetly funny and clever and what show could suck that has a character called Captain Awesome? It's not just because he says "awesome" a lot but because he is awesome. Group hug? Awesome.

Heroes. It seemed good. We haven't actually seen the first season yet so I wasn't really sure exactly what was going on but then Sark/Krychek (pretty much the same character, lets be honest. Please see above comment about nerd/spy joy) showed up and I was in. IN.

Bones. Eh. This is a show that I like but don't care if I miss an episode. Basically a vehicle for Boreanaz goodness. Yeah, shut up.

Reaper. I liked this! It has a good "Dead Like Me" premise and is really fun to watch. Not quite as sharp as Chuck but it's sort of unfair to compare the two.

Tonight is the premiere of The Bionic Woman which I'm watching mainly because Battlestar's Katee Sackhoff is in it. Also, why not? It sure beats doing the dishes. Tomorrow night is My Name is Earl and The Office which makes me want to wet myself with excitement, sincerely.

I really do love my television even if it tends to break my heart. Every year a new favorite is cancelled and I swear I'll never fall for it again but I always do. I still hold a flame for Keen Eddie because that one hurt the worst. (Wow, that was how long ago? Four years? I am a champion grudge-holder apparently.)

Tomorrow: Cancelled Due to Lack of Interest.

I'm starting to wind down from the crazy, I think. Last week was the first time I actually thought I might need some kind of pharmaceuticals to help me be sane or at least tame my anxiety. It was awful - I couldn't turn off my brain at all and I kept obsessing over everything that was bothering me, filling in the vague with details of my own design which is not good. It was Kenny that pointed that part out - that I don't handle vagueness well at all and have a tendency to replace the unknown with my own projections. This is a bad solution, kids, I really don't recommend it. Anyway, I'm feeling a bit better and more level and had a decent weekend, mostly. I did a little shopping, some cooking and some mountain biking. I had my younger sister and her boyfriend over for dinner, which was fun. That's about it for the weekend.

One other thing I want to mention before I go. My name. It's Adrien. Note the "en" at the end. My name is not: Adrian, Adrienne, Adriene, Adrianne, or Adriane. It's ADRIEN. I've had it misspelled at least once a week for my entire freaking life and I'm tired of it. In the past week it's been spelled "Adrian" on three different occasions, all by people I know.

It's such a small thing to learn, I think. Lets all work on it.

Papa. Mike. Sierra.

It happened again: Last night I went to bed with every intention of closing my eyes and thinking about how great it would be to have my own pony until I felt asleep, a process that usually takes about 20 seconds. Instead, my brain was at THREAT LEVEL ORANGE in which every imagined slight was blown completely out of proportion, every sideways glance, backhanded compliment or un-returned phone call from the past month was reviewed and fitted into every possible negative scenario until I found myself weeping and snotty at midnight because nobody loved me anymore.

When I finally sat up because couldn't breath through my nose anymore, I felt a very dim bulb turn on somewhere in the tiny portion of my brain that was still functioning at a rational level. Huh. I got up and went into the bathroom to look at my pill pack. Guess what starts next week? DUH and DUH and DUH some more. I really ought to change my prescription to something that doesn't dispense a lovely dosage of despair every month.

To try and balance things out today I made an Etsy Treasury featuring creepy things. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's basically a list of cool things found on Etsy, usually with a theme. It's my first treasury, so please take a look.

Maybe I should check in my purse.

Yesterday was so incredibly stupid. The stupid began when I was driving to work and looked down to see that my brake light was on. You know, it's never a good feeling when you're speeding down the road and your car suddenly mentions, "hey, I think the brakes might be busted. Just a possibility!"

At first I thought I'd left the parking brake on but after pulling the release lever eight or twenty times and discovering that didn't make the stupid light go off, I gave up and decided that my brakes were busted. Oh, shit. Except they weren't of course. The light eventually went out and then came back on a few times like it was jumping out to say boo or something.

After arriving at work safely I immediately got on the Internets (the absolutely best way to get completely accurate information) and discovered that I probably just needed brake fluid. Or, my brake pads were about to completely fall off. You know, one or the other. No biggie.

Brake fluid fixed it, though, so fingers crossed that my brake pads aren't also worn down to nubs. The stupid continued later when I had to go BACK to work last night to attend a really not necessary meeting/packet pickup for the upcoming on-campus craft show. Now, I've done shows. I know how it works and I know what I need to know. Mostly, they send you a piece of paper or three that has all the helpful information right there in writing.

Oh, but not this show! For this one I had to sit (or duck and cover in case frienemy showed up) and be told that a) I could not bring my dog, and b) if I chose an outside space I'd be setting up, wait for it, outside, and c) here was my name tag and if I thought I couldn't manage to hold onto it for the two weeks until the show they'd be happy to do that for me. I should mention that all this information was in the packet they handed me with my name spelled wrong all over it. I WORK HERE and they didn't get it right. The only thing not in the packet was the show hotline number which they mentioned a few times but didn't actually give us. le sigh.

Everyone Has a Big But...

Sorry, it's been a busy week, and really, who wants to hear me bitch more about how my keys are still missing? BUT, because I care, I offer the following options in lieu of a real entry.

Option #1: go read the new entry on my bike blog.

Option #2: A new skull pen video is below for your viewing pleasure:

Worst Day Ever.

What did I do? Why am I being punished? This has been a super-cruddy day and it's not even over yet. I feel like I should hide under my desk until it's time to go home.

It started with a trip to the doctor for my yearly Pap Smear Hour-o-Fun lunchtime appointment, in which I read horrible magazines (Dwell is ridiculous, by the way. Ri-dick-u-lus. OMG! I could write a whole entry about it, but I'll save it for later) while sitting on an uncomfortable table dressed in a front-tie muu muu. All this stunk a lot.

But wait! There's more. I was jauntily leaving when I realized I couldn't find my keys. I checked my purse thoroughly but it's a big wodge of keys and hard to miss. Not in my purse. Not in the examination room. Not in the bathroom. Not in the waiting room. Not in the nook where i got my blood pressure checked. I tore that place apart and I think all the nurses kind of hate me now. They seemed to be waiting for me to leave but WHERE CAN I GO? They also kept asking me if I'd checked in my purse. WOW, GRAND IDEA. I NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT.

I left my contact information in the office and remembered that I had an emergency plastic key card thingy for my car. Hey! At least I could leave and go home for my spare keys. Oh, ho ho! Planning for emergency will get you nowhere. That plastic key didn't do jack shit. It's a lie, people. If you have one of those in your wallet toss it, because it's a lie.

I had to call my boss to come get me. Can you hear the quaver in my voice? It's there. She asked me if I'd checked my purse and then suggested I got back to the office one more time. I did, and a woman in the waiting room asked if I checked in my purse. I then went across the way to the valet parking station (I didn't use the valet service) to see if anyone had found my keys. They hadn't, but she did ask if I'd checked in my purse. I pretty much want to punch the next person who asks me that. I then called security and they didn't have them.

Finally, I called my boss back and she came to get me, which was so nice of her. While I waited I bawled on the phone to my husband who has to go home and dig up my spares, pick me up at work and go back to get my car.

Honestly, I don't get it. How did I lose them? I really think I put them down somewhere in the doctor's office and some jerk picked them up. That jerk is probably stealing my car right now.

FUCK.