It’s a rough start to the day when you realize at 9:45 in the morning that you’ve put your underwear on inside out. And don’t even bother to correct it.


Have finished 60 of my invitations. About half. In choosing to make my own invitations with skeletal leaves attached and corners hand-eyeletted, I had no idea how time-consuming it would be. I’ve been through a number of movies in the process:
Pride and Prejudice (the A&E version, all five hours)
Sense & Sensibility (I love the scene were Colonel Brandon says, “No, for I must away”—the man is so rich, he can give up verbs)
Mansfield Park (you notice a trend, I hope)
Get Over It (don’t knock it ‘til you’ve watched it)
half of Tom Jones (ehh)
and the Best of Will Ferrell (“I’ve got a fever…and the only prescription is more cowbell!”)

I actually got to the point last night where I said, "I am SO SICK of videos!" If you know me and my love for movies, this statement is shocking to you. Shocking.

I read a very disturbing article in Cosmo last night waiting to get my oil changed (for TWO HOURS) at Wal-mart. The two hours was probably God punishing me for reading Cosmo.

The article was a tell-all from a veteran flight attendant. Intrigues with the pilots and flight attendants. Horrible passengers. Motion sickness. And the sexual capers…oh, the sexual capers. She kept reiterating, “Do NOT use those complimentary blankets! Don’t even touch them!” And I won’t. It sickens me now to think how many of those blankets I’ve cuddled up in.


Driving to work this morning, I saw a woman screaming into her cell phone. She was visibly furious and had actually pulled the phone away from her head to yell louder. To me, there aren’t a lot of reasons to be screaming that early in the morning, but apparently, she’s discovered one of them.

That, or she’s just an angry person in general.


Random childhood memory: My dad was an eye doctor, and he used to save up the tops of medicine vials to give to my older sister and me to play tiddly-winks with.

Frustration, thy name is "making one's own wedding invitations".


oh, the horror. getting the margins right, finding the right paper, deciding on a design, making them look somewhat professional.

one of my previous roommate's once did this as a wedding gift for the bride. albeit, she is a graphic designer. and even she said that she wouldn't do it again.

what made me think i can do this?

Whatever gene it is that allows a person to envision, design, and create something in their mind and then execute it in the 3-dimensional world, I was not given. It hit my sister (www.sugarintheraw.blogspot.com). It even hit my mom, although she does not bother to utilize this skill very often.

I’ve written novels. I’ve designed fabulous scrapbook pages. I’ve made cutsey crafts for gifts that my friends “oooh” and “ahh” over as they sip the all-natural hand-juiced delicious smoothies that I’ve made for them. Again, all this in my head.

What do I have in real life? A shoebox full of scraps of napkins and index cards on which I’ve jotted ideas for my novel. A huge plastic tub of scrapbook supplies, pictures, idea magazines, and 2 mediocre scrapbooks. Disappointed looks from my friends as they open up their gifts: “Oh. You made it.” While drinking water (the only thing in my fridge besides some moldy cheese, grapefruit gone bad, and stale bagels).

I do not want to sound as though I’m complaining about the talents that I do have: I am a wonderful listener. I encourage others in their creative pursuits (for instance, Ellen was a mere scoffer of scrapbooks until I talked her into scrapbooking her wedding pics at which time she quickly and easily produced a lovely, simple, yet compliment-inducing book. While I watched.) I have the ability to make small children laugh. I can knit scarves and small baby blankets. I can diffuse tense situations. I can organize a charity tennis tournament (found this one out just this year). I rock at computer pinball games. I can fletch an arrow. I do not get grossed-out at the sight of blood. I can cram more dishes in a dishwasher than anyone else I know. I can tell you the plot line of any Star Trek: TNG episode within five minutes of the opening. I have the periodic table of the elements memorized to Argon.

So why do I focus on what is left undone?

Perhaps it’s because I truly do find joy in coming up with new ideas, sketching them out, planning in my mind how I will execute them. Unfortunately, following those ideas through to their quality conclusion is not my forte.


Little joy of the day: walking to the post office down the street and stopping in front of the drugstore that always pipes ‘80s New Wave rock through their outdoor speakers to sing along for a few minutes.

It’s so interesting how quickly the exciting, extraordinary, and amazing becomes the “usual”.

I say this looking down at my oh-so-dirty diamond ring. I love my ring. It is beautiful, sparkly (when clean), and more than I ever could have wanted. For the first 2 weeks of our engagement, I looked at it constantly, I cleaned it every 3 days. It felt like a lovely little alien had landed on my finger (I’ve never been a ring-wearer before). I used my left hand to do EVERYTHING. “Here! Let me get that for you! OH! You didn’t know I was engaged? Let me tell you about how he proposed…”

And now, it’s dirty. And that makes me sad.

I had a friend in grad school (I use the word “friend” loosely as she was emotionally abusive, needy, and completely self-absorbed) who had been married for over 4 years and was still engrossed in her ring. I had more conversations with her about that ring than I can count (which is especially unnerving as it was one of those gaudy, elaborately ornate rings like Galadriel’s, but was also always grimy for that very reason…one can only keep dirt out of so many crevices). I wish I could go back to the past and take back that time, put it to some constructive use…like cleaning my ring.

The nice thing about waiting so long in between ring-cleanings is that it’s like I get a whole new ring each time I clean it. I forget how sparkly it can be, and when it’s all pretty and shiny again, I get to say, “ooooooh,” like I’m seeing it for the first time.

i'm such a computer illiterate. i've been trying to add my post under the wrong tab, and when i finally gave up and just erased it, BAM, i figured it out.

this is a very confusing and frustrating time for me right now. i had a ct scan on monday of my sinuses to see if i'll be a good surgery candidate, and i'm not sure what to hope for. if "yes", then (a) i have to make the decision of whether or not to have surgery and (b) i have to decide when to do it. if "no", then i have to accept that i may just be a person with chronic pain. both are yucky options. plus, i had my allergy shot this morning that always puts me in a poopy mood because my arm is sore all day.

i work for a non-profit organization, and one of my duties is fundraising. in some ways, it's easy because i have a good board, and adoption pretty much sells itself. everybody loves babies. in other ways, it's so difficult to put myself out there again and again asking for money, for diapers, for office products, for gift baskets. i feel like oliver, "please, sir, may i have some more?"

the fact is that no one LIKES giving money away. people enjoy seeing the results of giving their money away, but the physical act of writing out the check is painful.

and then, i run into some random acts of generosity that blow me away. the director of another non-profit agency (not in competition with us, but they could certainly have used the funds for their own office) handed me a check for $500 a month ago for an event i was planning and said, "i want you to have this success. it'll help you meet your goal." and it did. and i started crying when she gave it to me because i realized how selfish i am feeling uncomfortable asking people for money when it's all for the babies.

i've changed the name of my blog back to "desperately seeking sudafed" from "the airing of the grievances". the reason for this is 2-fold:

1) fear of malicious seinfeld copyright infringement lawsuits
2) the fact that i was up last night until 5 a.m. with a splitting migraine-inducing sinus headache and truly do spend 90% of my life popping decongestants

it was a fun, fun weekend. i housesat for my fiance while he was in california for a friend's wedding, and my best friend came into town friday night. we watched orange county and pooty tang, ate egregious amounts of chocolate chip cookie dough and pizza and talked until 3 in the morning. then, on saturday, my sister came over and we also stayed up late talking (2 a.m.) this was all fine and lovely except that i am an adoption worker and on sunday morning, i got called out of town for a birth. so on top of being exhausted, anxious, and disappointed at having to miss my wedding dress fitting sunday afternoon, i also felt guilt for feeling tired and nauseous and whiny while a 16 year-old girl was facing the hardest thing she's ever had to (or probably will ever have to) do--saying goodbye to her beautiful child.

My office is situated in the downstairs portion of a 2-story office building. The upstairs portion is inhabited by personable legal types (see previous post). I like the quietness, but I have one small gripe--the bathroom situation.

I have a fabulous bathroom downstairs. It’s spacious, private, and has a loud fan. Everything I could want in an office bathroom. Now, upstairs is a different story. There are 2 tiny bathrooms with no privacy and dubious locks. The result: everyone comes downstairs to poop. It’s like a poopery. And the one bad thing about the bathroom is that the toilet has a finnicky flush. If you don’t give the handle a little extra push after you've washed your hands (DON'T get me started on that), it runs and runs and makes a horrible “whooshy whooshy” noise.

And I realize there are serious problems in the world…and this isn’t one of them.

I'm back! Probably not permanently as I rarely stick to anything permanently. Key exceptions: school (stuck with that thick and thin and am finally done) and soon-to-be husband (at whose computer I am typing and whose house I am preparing to vacuum in a few minutes).

Reading my sister's blog is one of the highlights of my day. Evil chihuahuas, insane coworkers, opinionated movie reviews...you can't make this stuff up. My life and workplace are not quite as exciting. I am the only person in the office, although I do share building space with a law office. I've never been around lawyers before this, but I don't think that these lawyers are very representative of the field. For starters, all the employees tend to bring their small children to work with them. It's great fun. It can be boring in the office by myself during the day, but sometimes, small children will wander downstairs into my office. I give them candy and they have short conversations with me. One little 3 year-old that I particularly like (Jake) wandered out of his mother's office to talk to me while she was breastfeeding her baby. He was wearing a little cowboy get-up, and we were having a lovely little conversation until I asked him if he had a horse, and he said, "No. My mommy says I can't get one" and sulkily wandered off. It's a sinking feeling bringing up painful topics with 3 year-olds.

I've started wearing a pedometer everyday. I've read numerous articles that say that the average human should walk 10,000 steps/day. It's 2:00 in the afternoon. I've walked 1,651. I was very proud of myself yesterday--I took 7,003 steps. And the little walking instructional book (boggles my mind. lift foot, place heel down, roll remainder of foot against ground, repeat with other foot?) said to have a weekly goal of 70,000 steps rather than looking at failures throughout the week. So I just need to take approximately 32,000 steps today.