i suck at minimalism. and packing. and cleaning. and a lot of other things.

We are moving within the next week and I have officially entered panic mode. It doesn’t take much for me to reach panic mode level, so this is no surprise to myself, or anyone that has known me longer than eight minutes. It’s just that… there’s so much shit to do. All the packing and all the cleaning and all the moving and all the changing the utilities and internet over and forwarding mail and changing my Cosmo and Maxim subscriptions over to the new address, and yes I subscribe to Maxim. It’s excellent.

The thing about me reaching panic mode is that it triggers my procrastination genes, which just makes things even worse. For example, this blog post. I left work early today to get things done. So far I’ve cleaned two windows and the front of the oven.  Then I started this post.

I think I’m more frustrated at myself than anything. I’ve been so proud of myself for getting rid of so many things the past couple months. At least five bags of clothes, shoes, books, random odds and ends, and the more I pack, the more I find. Brian is planning to just throw his shit in his car and move it to the new place. I asked Ke’ri, our new roommate, how many boxes she needed for the move. About 5, she said. 5 boxes. Five. Boxes.

I have 17 boxes packed now. And I’m nowhere near done. How in the hell is this happening?

I mean, yeah, 7.5 of the boxes are art/craft/sewing supplies. But still. And, still. A sane person doesn’t have over seven boxes of art supplies, not to mention an overflowing under-the-bed storage bin.

Update. I have now packed up a Space Bag and vacuumed that mother down. Also, I highly recommend Space Bags. If you have a lot of linens or, you know, six years of Halloween costumes, they come in super handy. I have also parted with a small bookshelf and a bag of garbage. End Update.

I’m telling myself that I don’t have the boxes fully packed, or that the things that I own are large and take up a lot of space in the boxes, but deep down, I know better. Compared to my roommates, I’m a mega-hoarder.

But… but… I got rid of so much. And I can’t even tell. And now I’m a bit depressed.

And panicked.

And a little hungry.

- Crystal

ps. Do you have any packing/cleaning/moving/how-not-to-be-a-hoarder tips or tricks? Throw ‘em at me. Please. I’m begging you.

error messages, epic shit, and why is my cell phone determined to keep me and jason segel apart?

I have been without my cell phone for seven hours now and I’m starting to develop a nervous twitch.

Last night, my shitty Blackberry Curve cell phone that I’ve been trying to get rid of without spending $500 on the phone I really want, had an error pop up on its screen. It was a new message, it turned the screen white and then it restarted. Whatever. No big deal. My phone is always doing weird shit. Fast-forward to this morning when it got to the point that the phone was restarting every time it restarted.

It was restarting every time it restarted. Like a worm swallowing its own tail. My phone was stuck in an eternal loop of restarting. I finally gave up and took the battery out. And now I don’t have a cell phone and feel like I’m missing out on a massive party somewhere.

Some people (and, by “some people”, I mean “my grandpa”) say that we need to distance ourselves from this new-fangled technology and get back to talking face to face and realize what’s important in our lives, and not rely so heavily on a little box we keep in our purse or pocket. That’s what’s wrong with the world, we hide behind technology and form relationships with Facebook accounts and think we understand people based on their tweets. We don’t know how to read emotions anymore. We have forgotten that we do not need to depend on technology to get through our day.

Which, you know, is all well and good to say. But the people who say these things have either  a.) never had an unlimited data plan, or b) stole that whole spiel from an email forward.

I honestly don’t know how to behave without my phone. I keep thinking that I’m probably getting calls and texts and invited to all kinds of legendary shit right now, but, uh-oh, my phone is eating its own tail and I can’t access any of it. Which is ridiculous. My phone will ring three times a day, max. And those calls are usually from my mom. If I had my phone right here, right now, it would be sitting silently on the coffee table. But now that it’s out of commission? Jason Segel is calling it and getting frustrated that I’m not answering and now he’s never going to propose to me.

What if he's texting me this right now? And I'm missing out on it?

God. I hate my cell phone and my overactive imagination.

- Crystal

Man Period

I guess it’s getting to be about that time again…you know…that time.  It happens to females about once a month assuming that a little pill and a frat party weren’t a part of last week’s extracurriculars.  Recently I have come to the conclusion that this happens to everyone, not just females.  The PMS, not the drunken pregnancy scare that is.  I don’t know, it just seems like roughly once a month (although sometimes I am late)  I start PMSing, without that weird bleeding from the genitals fiasco.  I guess it’s mostly just a mood thing, and as far I know it could just be a side effect of being “man pretty.”  Even so, it’s hard to deny that this phenomenon does exist, and I have a hard time believing that I am the only one who suffers from this seemingly implausible occurrence.   Any thoughts?

that time i booked a trip to orlando because i had to go to the dentist.

I have to go to the dentist tomorrow.

Now, generally, I’ve had good experiences with dentists. Okay, not great. But not horrible. Except for that time that one dentist bastard pulled out my front tooth (which wasn’t loose at all) without any sort of numbing medicine. Aside from that, all my dentists trips have been normal. An occasional cavity, and the constant reminder to floss more because “your gums won’t bleed if you floss”. No, my gums won’t bleed if you don’t stab them with that little metal poker thing.

I will admit that I’m well past my 6-month check-up. Only because I like my dentist back home and didn’t want to switch. But since I woke up from chomping down really hard last week (I must have been eating something delicious in my dream), I’ve had an issue with a tooth. And, like a dumbass, I Googled it.

Never ever Google any thing health related. I know this. And I know you know this. But every now and then, you forgot and WebMD that weird bite on your leg or a spot on your gum and, oh, look at that, it means that you are going to die by the end of the week.

So, yeah, after reading that this spot on my gum as a result of my tooth going all wonky is a sign that I am dying of death, I made an appointment with a dentist here in town.

Naturally, I was feeling a little down after that. But all was not lost. My friend Jessica posted this kgbdeals thing (which is kind of like Groupon or LivingSocial, but with a slightly sketch feel to it) on Facebook earlier today: roundtrip airfare and 2-night hotel for 2 to Orlando or Vegas for $99.

It should be stated that, anytime I see the word “Orlando”, the first thing that comes to mind is HARRY POTTER LAND!!!!!!! because I’m a twelve-year-old. And, as a twelve-year-old, I thought that I was putting myself through enough trauma, what with the dentist appointment and all, that I deserved something special. I immediately stopped what I was doing (which was my job; I’m calling the 15 minutes I spent booking the trip my break for the day), talked to Jessica, and booked the trip for us.

Then I galloped around the office with my freshly printed voucher,  yelling “Look where I’m going for $99, bitches!”. Only I didn’t say bitches since I work with really nice people who are not bitches at all, and would not appreciate being called such.

So, yes, I booked a trip to Orlando because I have to go the dentist.

I would like to say that the trips to the dentist and to Orlando are the only trips I booked today, but that would be a lie. Because, while Brian was in a drugged-up loopy state from his surgery (it was a minor, outpatient thing; no need to worry, folks; he may even tell you all about someday), I got him to agree to go to Vegas with me.

He can back out of it, of course. I know my mom would totally jump at the chance to go, and we’d have a blasty-blast together. But I think once the drugs fully wear off, he’ll be down for it.

Hell, at $50 a person, how can you pass a deal like that up? With or without a dentist appointment egging you on?

- Crystal

superfreak? no, more like supergeek.

I began and finished reading The Hunger Games series this weekend. Never before have I been so happy to have so little of a life. I shit you not, I read the second and third books within 24 hours. It was like the Harry Potter series all over again. And, just between you and me, I love it just as much. I didn’t think I would because, seriously, have you heard the synopsis of the first book? The government sends 24 kids into a booby-trapped pit to fight to the death.

How does that make good reading material, right?

But oh my God is it wonderful.

I may or may not be planning on getting a mockingjay tattoo because of the series.

Hint: I emailed a tattoo artist about it today. Well, that and a Harry Potter tattoo.

Mom, if you’re reading, they’re small tattoos and sort-of-mostly out of sight.

It’s just that… the books are so good. And have totally got me over my writer’s block. I’m going back into said writer’s block quickly though, seeing as how I can’t find a notebook I like for under seven bucks. I don’t know why I have to be so picky, but I love writing in notebooks with a top spiral bound. I’m not left-handed or anything (except for when I bowl), but there’s just something about those notebooks.

This post took two days to write. And it’s pretty pitiful. I should probably not quit my day job.

- Crystal

Cold as…balls?

Fuck Winter!  Pardon my English.  I realize that as far as winters have gone this one has been fairly mild, but I don’t care.  I hate it.  There is just something about this desolate suppressing air that screams down with humanity. Okay, perhaps I am exaggerating a little…but not much.  Seriously, everything about winter goes against the very essence of life.  It is dark, depressing, and outright  cold.  I think the bears had the right idea by saying “Fuck you guys, I’m going to sleep.  See you when this stupid shit is over.”  I mean, if you think about it, winter is pretty much the premenstrual months of the seasons.  Now that I have that rant out, I will return to my blankets and listen to “Ain’t No Sunshine.”  Life.

 

-Brian

dairy, doctor who, and the end of the world as we know it.

It’s 2012, y’all. It’s a time to reflect on the past year, a time to renew yourself, a time to get in your last parting shots before the Mayans come down from their spaceships and bludgeon us to death with their calendars, or whatever that whole thing about the calendar is.

I tend to spend the better part of January working out my resolutions for the new year. I like to give myself a month of testing the waters to know whether or not I can commit to something for a year. As I write this post, my resolutions are as follows:

1 – To cut back my dairy consumption.

I was going to try to cut out dairy completely but I’m too damn lazy to fight that battle. And some things just don’t taste right without cheese. January 10 marks my first year as a vegetarian and I had big plans (for like 2.5 seconds) to go vegan. But I’m lazy, like cheese, and still eat eggs. So I will just cut back on the cheese and milk. Thankfully they make almond milk, which is pretty much the best shit ever, so I can enjoy my weekend breakfasts of overpriced Kashi cereal without feeling bad about myself. Well, not as bad about myself. We all know that I’m a self-deprecating bitch. It’s one of my best qualities.

2 – To watch Doctor Who.

From what I can tell on Pinterest, Doctor Who is kind of a big deal. I just wrapped up the third episode. I like it, but I don’t quite see why people love it as much as they do. But who am I to judge? I used to have my bedroom walls covered with pictures of Hanson when I was a kid. No one but other Hanson fans (fansons, we were called back in the day) would understand that shit.

3 – To finish/hopefully publish the sequel to my first published book, Always the Last to Know.

I was going through my folders of scraps of paper that I have bits of stories and notes that I’ve written over the years. I’ve been working on this story (as well as my paranormal series) since 2008. I have 36 pages worth of tidbits and dialogue just sitting in a Word document on my computer, not to mention probably 50 handwritten pages worth of things in my folders. I don’t know why I am having so much trouble with this story. I like the characters. Not as much as I love the characters in my paranormal series though. Those characters kick ass, quite literally. But the characters in the sequel, which is called Always on the Run, if anyone is wondering, are enjoyable too. And even a little complex. Which is a real feat for me. The plan is to have it published by January of 2013. You know, provided we survive the end of the world and all of that. But what am I saying? I’ve been working on this blog post for the past two hours and haven’t even reached 500 words.

4 – To get healthy/less fat.

I would like to drop between 30 and 4o pounds. Or at least get my ass in a single digit pair of jeans. I think a few of us at work are going to start up a weight loss challenge near the end of this month and run it through the end of the semester. That’ll be a good start. I like the idea of saying that, by the end of this year, I want to be able to run a half marathon, but I’m definitely not reaching for stars quite that far away. I know better. But I do enjoy running. But on my terms. I don’t like feeling like I need to keep up with people or that I’m being watched or judged for how often I fall back into a walk or, at best, a weak jog. I went running on New Year’s Day, and even though it was only for 20 minutes or so, I felt alive. Then, after a few inhales of moderately cold January air, I felt like I was going to die. But those few moments of non-dying were pretty damn nice.

So, that’s it for January. To not eat so much cheese, to watch television, write, and get less fat. I feel like all these things cancel out the others.

But enough about me. What are your New Year’s resolutions? And any tips on how I can keep up on mine?

- Crystal

No Excuses…Play Like a Champion

I realize that it has been a very long time since I have actually added anything insightful, okay…maybe just anything at all, to this blog.  I could go on and on about work, my computer breaking down, being sick, etc. etc.  You get the point.  The fact of the matter is, they would just be excuses.  Excuses seem to be something I am becoming all too familiar with these days.  Everybody keeps making them, including myself.  I am coming to find that they are perhaps the most useless waste of energy that anyone could possibly muster up.  I am currently trying to work out why we keep making these excuses, and the only thing I can come up with is, we do it out of fear.  Often times we are afraid of what people might think if we tell them the truth, so instead we feed them bullshit.  *On a side note, nobody is ever really fooled by bullshit.  It’s just that some people will play along better than others.*  Other times, and this is the one I am most guilty of, we are afraid of failure.  So afraid, in fact, that we will lie to ourselves so that we don’t have to feel so bad about selling ourselves short.  It can be a little tough knowing that you are capable of doing great things, but for some reason you aren’t doing anything to get there.  Making an excuse appears to be the most introversly (I think I just made that word up) economical thing to do…but do you see how that is working out for Congress right now?  Fuck it.  No more excuses.  2012…prepare to be my bitch!

on privacy and penises.

People share too much on the internet.  I did not need to find out via Twitter that my little cousin was doing “cock push ups” last night.  That’s something that I don’t want to find out about any member of my family doing. Ever. In fact, in my mind, I just assume that all of my family is built like Ken and Barbie dolls. It makes life way easier and, that way, I don’t have to Google the phrase “penis push-ups” to find out just what in the hell is going on.

Apparently some dude can lift 55 pounds with just his penis. Color me impressed. And concerned. And seriously wondering how he discovered this fact about himself.

So, back to the first sentence of this post.  People share too much on the internet.  I just want to let you know that, on this blog, I will probably share a lot of things with you – emotions, drunken nights, silly pictures – but I promise that I will never tell you guys when I do weird stuff with my junk.

- Crystal

 

this post is anything but legendary.

I’m on a How I Met Your Mother high right now so this post, which has been started and deleted like four times, might not be as depressing as the previous drafts.*

Funny what kind of effect a TV show can have you.

Now that I think about it, TV shows have completely shaped the way I thought/think my life should go.  First with Friends and now How I Met Your Mother.  I know not to believe everything I see on TV (I mean, Brian seemed to get a sick thrill of pointing out how scripted American Pickers is while I was watching it in marathon mode over the weekend on Netflix, but whatever. I love that show and may have an inappropriately aged crush on Mike Wolfe), but I’ve always thought that life, once or twice, would be like a TV show.

Like, How I Met Your Mother. In my mind, it’s much more genuine than Friends, but it’s still completely inconceivable. Yet I want that.  I want the close group of friends and the bar in the basement of the building I live in. I want to be a Slap Bet Commissioner. I want someone to steal a blue French horn for me.

Ted so gets me.

Hell, sometimes, I even want to lick the Liberty Bell a little bit.

I felt like this post was going somewhere. But let’s just say that life is nothing like TV. High-fives are a little dorky, no one suits up to go to a bar in this town, unless they’re douchey frat guys, and the cockamouse is just a rat.

And I have to walk six blocks through the ghetto to get to the nearest bar.

* Oops. This post turned out to be a bummer. My bad.

- Crystal