Imagination

I've been thinking a lot about the things I imagined as a little kid. First off, look how cute I was.

This is a photo OF a photo that my mother refuses to part with long enough for me to scan it.

I loved that kitty. Her name was Inky, and took her everywhere with me. She was super sweet, and never scratched me, even though I often carried her around the house cradled inside of my gold sequined Cindy Lauper shirt. I would have scratched me, even if I was awesome.

It seems like most of my favorite memories are of being on the road with my mom. I adored being in the car together, listening to the Beatles. We were together, and her big oaf of a boyfriend wasn't there. It was perfect. We'd go spend the day on the beach, or just ride around together, singing.

When we weren't singing "Happiness Is a Warm Gun" at the top of our lungs, I would keep myself busy by pretending I had a nature man that had to run alongside of our car. He couldn't touch anything man made, or he would die. He was kind of like a gnome, I guess. He was small, dressed in all brown and green and had a bushy white beard. Thankfully, he could jump incredibly far, because there wasn't a lot of green in some places on I-65 in Kentucky and Indiana, and we did a lot of driving there.

When it rained, I imagined that the little water droplets on the windows were alive. My passenger side window was like a giant petri dish swimming with life. I made up little voices in my head for some of the squiggly drops, and they were very interesting.

I loved to play library in my room, too, which was pretty normal, I guess. I'd pretend my stuffed animals were customers, my piggy bank was for late fees, and I had a little pink piggy-faced stamp that I would stamp the inside of all my books with, like I was checking them in and out. Oh, and I'd eat smarties and pretend I had a headache from working.

Anyhow, I was just thinking about the strange little things I'd make up as a kid. I have a big sister. She's nine years older than me, though, so she was only interested in my extermination at the time. I guess I was sort of like an only child in a lot of ways, so I was pretty used to keeping myself entertained. 

What weird little things did you pretend when you were a munchkin?

That'll Do, Blog. That'll Do.

Alright, bloggers. I can now sleep peacefully.

I'd say I'm pretty content with the ol' layout.

Well, minus the fact that:

- My videos STILL get chopped off.

- I have a visually unhappy follower. Jay, I'm sorry. I just can't make it white with black text. It's against everything I stand for. I tried, though. Really.

- I lost the photo's of my husband person and critters I'd uploaded waaaaaaay back when.

I'm just sucking it up, and calling it a done deal. I've tried other layouts, but they're just not neat and tidy like this one. I'm a creature of habit. What can I say?

Mimsy is back in business.

27

(The wonders of a little free time at work...and hilighters.)

My birthday is on the twenty-seventh. Of June. I'll be twenty-seven on the twenty-seventh of June this year and, though I feel that this is some sort of doom's day event, I'm feeling pretty good about being a year older. Well, pretty good about my life. Not necessarily being older.

It may sound awful to some of you happy shiny people out there, but every year that goes by I find that I'm comparing myself to my mother.

When she was 16 she had run away from home, dropped out of school, gotten married and had my sister.

I was painting in my room, rocking out to The Beatles, The Doors, The Wallflowers, Metallica and thinking about my future.

At 25 she'd been divorced, remarried to my father for eight years, and welcomed me into the world...on June 27th, 1982.

I was finished with college, married about 4 years, adopting every stray animal that crossed my path, painting, rocking out to The Beatles, The Doors, The Avett Brothers, Andrew Bird and thinking about my future.

I don't know what it is exactly that makes me want to compare my life to hers, or why I feel good about my life in contrast to hers. Don't get me wrong, my Mom has made some seriously detrimental decisions, but she also rocks. She's 4 foot 11.5 inches and all Trouble. Take notice of the capitalization, or else.

She's been through a lot. Married for almost a decade to a raging alcoholic. Put up with an abusive boyfriend for the next thirteen years. Raised two daughters. And then went back to school when I was nine, and got her nursing degree.

Now she has a good job, a house that's paid for, and a very mild mannered fiance. So, I certainly don't wish she'd changed too much, or else my sister and I wouldn't have the luxury of griping about her now and again. ^_^

Still, I find myself unintentionally comparing our lives. I suppose it's because for years she was the only person I really felt like I knew. We moved so often. I'd make friends. We'd move. I'd make friends. We'd move. My Dad wasn't around. My Mom was all I had. So, I guess it makes sense.

Anyhow, my birthday is Saturday. Yay! ^_^

Oh, and Ben. We had a failure to communicate. Probably my fault, as most all miscommunications are. The newf shares a birthday with my best friend's little sister. MY birthday, and Helen Keller's, is June 27th. Sorry to revoke his "newf"ound birthday prestige.

Her Majesty's A Pretty Nice Girl

I think it's fairly obvious to everyone that I have a fairly mild, yet terminal, case of the scatterbrain. Apparently, last month I decided to grace 20SB with my presence, and sign up for a blog swap! Yeah. Totally forgot about it! Thankfully, my partner decided to shoot me an email. Bless him.

His name is Kendall, and from what I can tell, he's quite the character. I've visited his blog a few times now, and think he's definitely worth the click. If you're anything like me, though, you might want to avoid Thursdays. They're definitely TMI. ^_^

Okay. So, we may be drastically different, but since I'm the self proclaimed Queen of Comparisons, I thought I'd give Sir Kendall a small introduction via a List of Similarities.

I know no uncreepy way to do this. So, here goes:

1. We wield the ability to strike up a conversation with a brick wall.
2. We have a possibly unhealthy admiration for apple juice.
3. Our general attire consists of jeans and a hoodie.
4. We share an obviously founded loathe of noodly handshakes.
5. Our childhood inability to write neatly resulted in ocd penmanship.
6. We don't smoke, but love the aroma of a pipe.
7. We do NOT understand the strange attraction most gals have to Edward Cullen, but totally have the hots for House. Okay-he may not totally agree with that last part, but he did say he had a pimped out cane.
8. We ♥ Apple products.
9. Deep healing breaths are part of an elevator ride.
10. We ♥ Princess Bride. Sigh.
11. Our ocd spans out from penmanship to encompass the potty and the kitchen...I wonder if he calls oven mitts Po-Po's? It's only natural. They are there to "serve and protect".
12. You'll find us barefoot more often than not.
13. The day we discovered Stuff White People Like was a good day.
14.We share the belief that everyone should know how to drive a stick.
15.We both have the tendency to wander off during guided tours.

So, he's like my twin...only not short and white! So, tune in tomorrow for his highly anticipated post.

Oh, and I'll be posting over at his place. So, come comment. I need moral support, folks. ^_^

*I know. I'm like the scary internet girl that shows up on your doorstep jabbering on about how "we just have so much in common!". Right?

I Stress Over These Things

For your viewing pleasure...two very fun hand painted fleece scarves!

Side note: Fleece is evil, and rotary tools are the devil.

Christmas is creeping closer, and my crafting is almost complete! I can't wait until that bright and shining moment when everything is finished. I will mark the last name off my list and weep. Weep for joy, you hear?!

In an attempt to spare you from yet another "I'm overloaded and it's my own fault" post, I will be taking advantage of the fact that I've been tagged!

Ari tagged me to list seven random/quirky things about myself. So, with no further adieu.

1) My name is written on page 77 of every book I own-except my bible.
2) I have a tattoo of one of my drawings-a snail.
3) I used to play with the feathers in Stevie Ray Vaughan's hat when I was a baby. He and Lonnie Mack were friends of my Grandpa Jerry's.
4) Helena Bonham Carter is my girl crush.
5) Bunnies and otters make me cry.
6) I'm a non-alcoholic lush.
7) I had my nose broken with a baseball bat when I was little, and now I can pop it.

Alright folks. You're it: Ashley, Matt, Becca, Lauren or guest blogger(which I'm now counting as two), Andy, and The Dutchess!

* Link to your original tagger(s).
* Share seven facts about yourself in the post-some random, some weird.
* Tag seven people at the end of your post by leaving their names and the links to their blogs.
* Let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment on their blogs/twitter.
* List these rules.

Bunnies & Icicles

I love relationships. I know I probably sound like a ditz, but I am simply amazed by communication. The fact that you can tell a story and another person keeps pieces of it, and adds them to that box of you that they keep in their head astounds me. I just love it.

Maybe that's why I like blogging. I love to learn things about people. Just little things.

The only thing I love more than knowing someone well is knowing that they know me.

Now, if you leave this post today with one thing, I want it to be that I'm usually a pretty tough cookie. Emotionally I mean. I don't cry over a lot, and I certainly don't like to cry. You will never catch me watching a chick flick/tear jerker and sobbing with joy. No sir. I am an escapist, remember?

That being said. I cried over a pair of bunny socks this morning. No, Matt. Not a bunny in socks. Toe socks with bunnies on them.

I realize how lame that sounds, but it just happened. My supervisor gave me my Christmas gift today. An icicle ornament and bunny socks.

A while back she and I were discussing childhoods.

She told me a funny story that inspired my Christmas gift to her, and I told her about how I used to get in trouble for strange things as a child.

In the winter it was eating icicles off the car. Hey, I was five. I liked popsicles. The rest of the time it was something to do with my bunny eating something he shouldn't be. Like the Christmas lights!

So, I almost lost it over the icicle ornament, but managed to hold it together. Then I opened the bunny socks and that was it. I was done for. Fanning the tears trying to escape my eyes, I thanked her.

She beamed. Perfectly content with the fact that she'd brought me to tears with socks and a plastic ornament.

TAX MAN!!!

Who here has seen Stranger Than Fiction? For those of you who haven't, make a point to see it, for me? Please. I love that movie! Not only is it an amazing piece of literature/cinematography, but it also paints a pretty accurate picture of a tax man.

Up until today I believed that only in this movie could a tax man become something other than an awkward, uptight wad of idiosyncrasies.

Today I met our new tax man. He's normal?! Wha?! Polite and personable?! No way! This guy was not in the least bit strange. On the surface he seems to be kosher, but we'll see. I'm still doubtful.

Last year I had to endure listening to a bagpipe version of Beach Boys Christmas songs while the odd little man sifted through mounds of paperwork. No. I'm not kidding. For THREE WHOLE DAYS I had to try not to laugh, and ultimately kill that greasy, shifty eyed tax man. I would run up to his lap top and turn down the music anytime he was away from it. Then he'd come back and mumble how strange it was that it kept turning itself down, and he'd turn it up even louder.

Here's to the slightest bit of normalcy in all auditors.

Quirkilicious

Slacking in the post department makes me sad, but I've been psychotically busy as of late. For those of you who've subjected yourselves to my incessant blathering before, you know this is self inflicted. Apparently I need to be so busy I can't see straight. Perhaps it's some sort of post traumatic art school disorder? Yes. Yes, I think that must be it.

So, I found inspiration over at Mega.Done.Discuss today. I thought it'd be a good idea to get this ball(or a variation of that ball) rolling. Here are some of my habits/quirks, strange though they may be.

1. I straighten things at grocery/department stores.
2. Since childhood I've had strange nightmares about Big Bird.
3. I'm a non-alcoholic lush.
4. I say "glorious" way too much.
5. I hate folding underwear!!!
6. Every book I own has my name written on page 77.
7. I enjoy waving and smiling at obviously angry drivers(because I know it really burns them up).
8. Whenever I see a baked potato I think of that Secret Agent Man song.
9. I hate the words: valley, package and moist.
10. Overwhelming guilt overtakes me when I think about having a kitty in the house, when my doggies live outside. :(

Now, if you've got something better to blog about go right ahead. If you don't? Get with it! Advertise those abnormalities.

Off Kilter

Just out of an obsessive compulsive need to post something I must blather. Today has been pretty much like the rest of this week. Insanely busy and a little numbing. I feel a little off kilter.

I hate funerals with a passion, but the one I went to yesterday wasn't as horrible as some. It was more comforting than most. I have a very strange way of dealing with loss. Not strange for me, but others usually find it a bit odd.

My Grandmother passed away a few years ago and I didn't tell a soul for over six months. Some people were a little angry with me, but that's how I roll. I go numb for a while. I don't choose to do it that way. My brain just tries to deny things for a while. I guess to keep me sane.

I blocked a lot of things out from childhood too. I was abused sexually for years, but had no clue. One day, when I was fourteen years old, I just remembered. It was like a nightmare, and then I realized it was a memory. Really weird.

The mind is an amazing thing. I think it's God's way of protecting us until we can deal with things. Hind sight or whatever.

Okay, that turned out gloomy.

Crafty Distractions

It's not possible for me to not procrastinate. I've been overwhelmed with tasks lately. You've seen my list. Yet, I find myself ignoring the large projects to do little time consuming things, like making little clay vampire incense burners and finishing upcoming swaps.

This little bit of vampiry goodness is for Ari. I made him out of sculpey. Consequently, it's interesting that this clay is for sculpting, yet there's no T in it's spelling. Hmm. Anyhow, with Halloween coming up and our shared obsession for a certain southern gentleman, I thought it appropriate.


My latest swap assignment was to make a fish themed hand made post card. I'm mailing it off today. It's going to Brazil! Hope it makes it without getting rained on. I water colored it.


So, I have absolutely nothing to post about really. Nothing I want to think about anyhow. In case you hadn't figured it out yet. The crafty eye candy is just to hold you over until I actually have something to say.

I have to go to a visitation tonight and a funeral tomorrow. I hate it and I don't want to go. Assembling with a bunch of upset people to cry together about something we have absolutely no control over really isn't my thing. It doesn't really jive with my whole escapist thing.(I didn't make it up Matt. I didn't.^__^) Ugh.

Ok. Off to work.

An Escapist: To Be or Not To Be

I'm more often than not a happy-go-lucky gal. Woman would most likely be the best term to use there, but I refuse to admit I'm actually twenty-six!! Okay. So, in an attempt to maintain my preferred relaxed demeanor, I often suppress things. Much like my age. See? I just did it again! Geesh!

I believe it's a form of escapism. Due to dealing with excessive amounts of "crap" in my life, I've developed this way of dealing/not dealing with things. Seems to work out alright until I get that snowball effect going.

Life at work has become quite a snowball. In case I haven't mentioned it before, I'm the director of an outreach program for youth, and the clerical assistant, here at our lowly nonprofit. I love what we do, but my works been a bit questionable for me lately. I've been seriously thinking about severing my own head with a sharpie, in attempt to relieve some stress. Not just in that last long hour either.

I've been extremely stressed about all the stuff I have to do and the fact that there's not enough time to do it. I have two full-time positions as one. And I'm salary. We're a nonprofit. I understand, but it's been getting to me.

So, I became completely discouraged, didn't want to do any of it and started looking for another job. See? COMPLETE AND TOTAL ESCAPISM!!!

Yesterday, I finally spilled my guts to my boss. I didn't cry at first. I worked up to that. She reacted remarkably well. I was certain I'd be looking for another job, or at least be bumped to part time, which I can't afford.

We discussed the root of the problem, and she offered a solution that I didn't know was an option. Things are looking up! Perhaps escapism is not the best way to deal (or not to deal) with things after all. I'm amazed!

Side Note: My boss is pretty awesome.

Multipurposing Moron

I have come to the conclusion that I have the attention span of a Jack Russel on crack. I get all interested in something and am obsessed for about a month or two. Then it magically disappears. I'm bouncing off the walls here folks.

Finishing things isn't my problem. I've finished a few billion owlies, a few scarves, lots of little clay thingies, a gazillion paintings(which aren't really my problem-that's the one thing I never fizzle out on),and lots of other stuff I've become excited about. It's just that my obsession comes in waves.

Last year, my husband dubbed me a closet knitter. He'd find me sneak-knitting at work, in my Jeep in the driveway, in the bathroom...Seriously. I did it anywhere and everywhere. The urge would hit and off I'd go. Knitting like a mad woman. I've just picked that one up again.

A few months ago it was little polymer clay incense burners. I went nuts. I think everyone I know has at least two somewhere. Themed accordingly. You like robots? A'ight. Robot incense burner it is! Octopi? Sure!

Now, it's a bookmark here and there. I think I feel a little clay jack-o-lantern obsession coming on. I'm also knitting again, too. I already mentioned that, huh?

My problem with this is that I feel like I'm flighty. I come back to the stuff eventually. It just takes time. Maybe I just need lots to keep me entertained? I do learn new stuff during my hiatuses. I do too much to do it all-all the time.

So, maybe it's okay.

LAMEnting

Friday has finally arrived and what am I doing? Messing around on Myspace and blogging. Mind you, I'm not doing these things from home. I'm still cooped up at my office!

Why pray tell hasn't a freedom-seeking gal such as myself escaped the workplace yet you ask? Because I'm LAME. I wish it weren't so, but it is. I am currently undergoing some sort of strange coping behavior. Coping with the untimely death of my bunny, that is.

All of a sudden I can't be home without my husband, and since he works later than I do-here I sit. It's ridiculous! We cherish our personal time. It's when we, two completely opposite individuals, get to enjoy doing our own thing. I get to work on my paintings, drawings and such, and he works on his truck or fiddles with the lawn mower.

I hope this avoidance passes soon, and painlessly. I've cried enough.

Things I Do Entirely Too Much

I have recently taken inventory of a few things I seem to be obsessed with. A seemingly healthy idea, unless you start getting neurotic over that too. ^__^

A.) WASHING HANDS

I wash my hands WHENEVER there is a sink available, and I'm not talking a quick rendezvous with the soap-wham bam thank you ma'am. I mean-surgical scrub! Seriously. Example: Waiting in the doctor/dentist's office, I silently excuse myself to the restroom, ONLY TO WASH MY HANDS! No powdering!!! ONLY WASHING!!! Now, I don't do this repeatedly mind you. If it is o.c.d., it's a mild case...right?

B.) DISINFECTING

Every time I visit the little girls' room at my office, I Lysol the joint. I don't mean just the necessary germ-killing deeds. I have to spray the door knob, toilet paper dispenser, light switch, sink and garbage can. E-V-E-R-Y-T-I-M-E!! Is that "normal" ???

I think that's all the dysfunction I shall share today. Toodle-pip!