I kind of want to see this entire coloring book.  What other bizarre theology would it be teaching?  And where, oh where, would I find crayons such as these?  Omnipotent yellow?  I have no words.

Currently…I hate my dog.  He has been a royal pain in my arse for the last couple weeks.  At first I blamed myself, as I’ve heard dogs pick up on all sorts of things in their owners.  I figured with my heightened sense of fear regarding the rapist at large, he might be reacting to my anxiety somehow.  He has been nothing short of neurotic.  Now, I know most of you who know the pup would argue he’s BEEN neurotic for quite some time.  Whatever.  To that I say, if he’s BEEN neurotic, then we need a new word for what he is NOW.  For crying out loud, he’s out of control.

I’ll spare you the details of the poop I found in my basement a week or so ago…or his inability to sit still at night, choosing instead to pace and whine and pant for hours.  I’ll jump, instead, to what I came home to on the last couple days.

Monday:  he tried to get into one of the lazy susan’s in my kitchen, failing (thankfully) due to the child proof lock.  He then knocked a basket off my countertop, spilling its contents all over the kitchen floor.  I walked back towards my bedroom and noticed he’d found his way into the main bathroom.  Here, he managed to uproot my new floor vent register cover from its proper home and – while he was IN THE BATHTUB – knock all of the shampoo bottles off the bar upon which they rested.  There were also two piles of fresh vomit on my new dining room rug.  Awesome.

But not as awesome as Tuesday.

Tuesday: he successfully got into the lazy susan, breaking the childproof lock.  The basket was once again knocked off the counter…this time torn to shreds and thrown about the dining room.  The knife block that is tucked into the back corner of my countertops was on its side and half the knives were no longer housed in it.  Two of the magnetic spice containers on the side of my fridge were on the countertop….containers, mind you, that were stuck to the top of the fridge.  ALL of the magnets and photos and concert tickets and 5-year-plans I post on the front of my fridge?  On the floor.  Oh…and all of the floor vent registers were out.  And…he had been in the shower again.  And….the pillows were no longer on the couches in my living room.  MY NEW COUCHES.

So Wednesday?  I decided we should take a break.  Between the weather and the rapist, he honestly just hasn’t been outside enough.  But I knew with my social schedule these last couple nights and the way things were escalating, my house was likely to be destroyed – literally – if he was left on his own any more.  So, I took him to Pete and Macs.  I’m not sure yet when I’m picking him up.  I’ve instructed the people watching him to run him into the ground, exhausting him physically to the point he will beg for my mercy upon his return to the palace he lives in here.  I also want it to be spring ASAP so I can have sunshine and above freezing temperatures so I can continue to walk the snot out of him, leaving him so spent physically he won’t have the energy to tear up my house.  I might also need to call the Dog Whisperer.  Anyone have his number?  And…I might need a good number for a vet who will get me doggie prozac.  When is a puppy supposed to start acting like an adult dog?  He’s seven-years-old, for crying out loud.

I tell you what.  My sisters were born to be mothers.  Seeing them with kids just makes sense.  I sat in a chair in Janel’s hospital room last week watching her care for this incredibly fragile human being and couldn’t help but feel like I was living one of those perfect moments, the ones that feel like “the world’s all as it should be.”  I’m excited to see Jonathan become a big brother to him, and I can’t wait to find out what Jeffrey’s little personality is going to be like.

(Seriously…look at how long those fingers are.  They look like they’re made to hold a basketball.  I’m just sayin’.)

Oh…who am I kidding?  Like I can only post one pic.  Here he is the one time I saw his eyes open.

He’s got my sister’s mouth…which means he’s going to have one super fantastic smile.  See?  Just look at where he gets it…

I guess it’s a bit about nurture, and probably also a bit about nature.  I’m a first born, and a meticulous overachiever to boot.  I’m wired to be the Jason Bourne of personal growth.  I’m kind of a machine.  So it comes as little surprise to me I have a five year plan on my fridge, serving as a daily reminder of how I want to evolve and change into a better version of myself over time.  Sure, some of these goals might not be seen as such by others, but I say seeing Bon Jovi in concert has vastly improved my life as I know it.  I’m in the process of creating a new five year plan, as my last one “expired” in October 2009.  I’m open for suggestions should any of you have ideas.

For now, I’ve decided 2010 is going to be yet another example of forward mobility.  I’ve set in motion a three-part system for this:

1) Live as a vegetarian for 365 days (it’s true…one month down, 11 to go)

2) Read a book a month

3) Watch BBC news at least once a week (hasn’t really happened yet, but a girl can dream)

Now, these may seem like obscure choices for me as I set out to become a better woman.  They all make sense to me, however, and that, friends, is what matters.  I will share more later about points 1 and 3.  For now, allow me to expand on point #2.

I’ve never been much of a reader.  Mostly, I think, because I’m ADD and no one ever told me.  My brain just starts wandering when my eyes hit a page, and before too long, I’m creating a grocery list in my head or wondering where I should vacation next.  Unfortunately, for as much as I don’t naturally choose to be a reader, I feel like the older I get, the more I get rhythmic in daily routine.  Being stuck in routine makes me feel like I’m not growing.  And not growing makes me feel stupid.  So I, therefore, have decided to become a reader.

As with most decisions in my life, I become a bit OCD.  In the month of January, for example, I read three books.  THREE.  (Anyone hear a pattern here?  Yeah.  I know.  First with quilts, now with books.)  Two of them really shouldn’t count, though.  One of them was by Nicholas Sparks.  Another was a Christian thriller/romance book passed on to me by my baby sis.  I will tell you, coincidentally, that reading the Christian thriller/romance book coinciding with the recent attacks in my neighborhood proved not be the best timing.

I wanted to get some practice under my literary belt so that I would be ready for February because my friend Jen and I decided to start a bookclub.  I didn’t want to show up at our first meeting – the one we had assembled and called to order – and not be able to answer the “what’s the last book you read?” question with a more timely response.  I mean, c’mon.  Who do you take me for?  So I read.  And I read.  And I read.  “The Kite Runner,” by the way, was the only legitimate read from January.  A huge step in the right direction after last summer’s Twilight obsession.  Made me feel like a real grown up tween picking up something that an adult could carry around in public without shame.

Our first book for bookclub is “The Happiness Project” by Gretchen Rubin.  Jen and I are excited about it. I will admit I was drawn to the book mostly because the cover reminded me of “Flight of the Concords.”  In the end, however, it was the favored choice from the dozen options Jen and I mulled over last night at the local Barnes and Noble.  In the gloomy month of February, I can use a bit of sunshine – even if it’s just sunshine in the form of bright, yellow font.  I’m that desperate.

Tonight, a fantastic group of women joined together in my new living room to launch said bookclub.  I think it’s going to be a grand way to spend a couple Tuesdays a month.  I mean, other than the unfortunate, unintentional double-booking with the LOST premier tonight, I can’t really think of a better way to spend a gloomy, cold, February Tuesday.  Especially if it makes my house a less likely target for the Waldo rapist with a half-dozen cars in my driveway.

I will say, however, that buying new hardback books is definitely proving to be an unwelcome addition to a very tight budget here these days, as my unexpected master bathroom project has literally proven to be twice as expensive as originally estimated.  I am planning on becoming a regular visitor of my local public library in hopes these books will be available.  I might have to take the city bus to get there, since I won’t be able to afford gas.  And I’m probably headed towards an entire year of eating tuna and mac-and-cheese.  The important thing, though?  I’m not going to be stupid.  My reading muscle will be well exercised and my commitment to self-improvement will be nurtured.

I haven’t been sleeping very well, waking up to every sound my house makes as the wind blows against my old windows.  Even when I am able to drown out the creepy sounds, I have been dreaming about it all.  Just two nights ago I woke up from the deepest part of sleep with my heart in my throat when I, in my dreamlife, had been getting ready in my main bathroom (since my master bath is under renovation…entry to follow soon).  I was putting something away in the medicine cabinet and closed it shut, only to (as the door was closing) see his reflection appear in the mirror.  It was like a scene out of a thriller movie.  There he was, propped casually against the door jam, smirking smugly knowing I was trapped.  CREEPY DREAM!!  I shot straight up in bed, looked at the alarm (it was 4:17 a.m.), and wondered if this was somehow God’s way of warning me the rapist was in my house.  Kodak, meanwhile, was peacefully asleep – not that he would hear anything anyway, regarding a possible break-in, since I can only fall asleep to the sound of white noise, so the loud hum of a space heater lulls both of us to sleep each night.  Kodak wouldn’t notice anyone was actually inside my house until he was opening my bedroom door.  Now, he might rip the guy to shreds once he opened said door, but this theory has never been tested before.  It’s a little disconcerting knowing he would probably only raise his lazy head off his dog pillow and sigh, annoyed he’d been interrupted from his sleep, and then roll back over so he would rest more.

My father talked to me tonight on my cell phone as I entered my home after an run to the Plaza with a friend, listening to me as I checked every room, closet, shower, and storage area for creepers.  The coast was clear.  He did it last night as well.  I’m not sure why this makes me feel safe, or why I would choose to subject my father to hearing me freak out at the realization that I wasn’t alone.  I am a cruel, cruel daughter now that I think through how traumatic that would be for him.  I guess I just think that he would be able to call the cops knowing I was in distress.  Anyway…regardless…having him talk me through the rooms of my house every night makes me feel safe – or not alone, which is half of not feeling safe.  Weird logic, but perfect sense when we’re discussing a serial rapist targeting single women who live alone.

In all seriousness, I’m a little on edge around here, not sure if I’m really needing to feel fear at this level.  I keep almost all the house lights on at night so I don’t have to wonder what lies in the shadows.  I’m also thankful for studio props that I can steal for a couple weeks – it’s great having access to vintage wooden baseball bats I can slide under my bed.  My dad thinks a gun is a bad idea.  We’ll see.  I mean, seriously – you get in my house, I will take you down.  That is if I wake up in time.  This Ambien makes me sleeply.

For those of you who don’t know, I named this blog after a long standing frustration with the word “tornadic”.  Let me explain the root of my frustration.  It’s – Not – A – Real – Word.  Well, I guess it is now (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/TORNADIC), but it shouldn’t be.  To say “there’s tornadic activity” seems weird to me.  Especially when you’re Katie Horner and you say it 8,000 times in the course of an hour when a storm moves through Kansas City.  There’s either a tornado or there isn’t.  There might be cloud formations.  There might be wind.  But unless there’s a tornado, there isn’t a tornado.  I rebuttal with the claim you should also then say “there’s hurricanic activity”.  But people argue there’s either a hurricane or there’s not.  It’s just bad logic.

I had a ridonkulous conversation with Jared over this very thing one night.  “The weather’s awfully lightastic out there!”  “I’ve never seen weather be quite so thunderific!”  All things that follow suit in my brain when people start using words like “tornadic” and they catch on and meteorologists across the nation adopt it as a legitimate descriptor.  Jared thought I was being, well, ridonkulous.  I knew, however, it was a slippery slope.  “Tornadic” was but the gateway drug into a future mayhem of vocabulary debacle.  Imagine my shock and awe when watching the weather forecast a couple weeks back when Joel Nichols threw out the word “frizzle”…not only in verbal form, but in text on the graphics screen as he showed the cold front moving into our city.  What?!?  FRIZZLE?!?  Are you serious?  People, he was referring to FROZEN DRIZZLE.  Oh…frizzle.  Right.  A clear alternative to simply saying frozen drizzle, because saying frozen drizzle is just too many syllables, I guess.  Or, well, maybe he’s a big fan of Snoop Dogg and his music has started to take effect as he speaks to the general public about weather.

I’ve been trying to think of stupid words I could make up to write a blog entry out of words that don’t exist, but it’s taking too much time and effort for a joke I’m sure only I will enjoy.  Sorry, kids.  And while I’m on it, let me just say I feel like my life somehow has become substantially less entertaining since I’ve stopped dating.  All I have to talk about is home remodeling and the weather.  Man, I’m lame.  I’ll try to start living a life full of adventure and craziness again so you have something to read about.  Maybe I’ll start taking fencing classes or dressing Kodak up in outfits each Monday and pulling a play on William Wegman or something just so you aren’t subjected to entries like this.  Yeah.  Maybe I will.

It’s been way too long since I updated things here at hurricanic.com.  My apologies.  As I last shared, I had quite the task ahead of me trying to complete three quilts before Christmas.  I’m proud to share, however, that they all were finished, wrapped, and given a few weeks back – and as far as I know, they’re keeping my family awfully warm during this tragically cold and bitter winter we’re having.

I’ve also been busy completing my new living room.  I had mentioned something in early November about hoping to continue making my home a place I love dwelling solo.  Mission accomplished, I will say.  And as I attempt in 2010 to become a more proficient reader, this living room of mine is providing many new places to rest my hind parts as I drift off into worlds and times not my own.  Ahhhh…

More than one person has realized I have a trend in my life going.  Apparently when a serious relationship in my life ends, I buy furniture.  Some people eat ice cream.  Others drown their sorrow in alcohol.  Me?  I redecorate a room.  I told several people that there’s reason to this madness.  The way I figure, if I can’t change the status of my love life, I can at least change the color of my walls.

To justify this, I will share that I 1) have been saving for this, and 2) had my last furniture for 10 years.  It was time for a change.  Conveniently, that time corresponded with a break-up.  Whatev.

So, without further adieu…a reminder of my old living room…

And now…my fantastic new dwelling spot…

Having more seating room?  Awesome.

I’m pretty sure my favorite thing in the room is the green lamp.

The shelving unit?  I put it together by myself.  That’s right.  I’m a real man.

And purple shag carpet?  Yeah.  I know.  It’s…amazing.

I also sewed the curtains.  But don’t go getting too impressed.  I haven’t hemmed them yet.  And…the lining isn’t sewn on entirely straight.  But they work for me.

Conveniently, my sister Janel finished working on a quilt she had been making me, so I have a new look to my bedroom, too.  Thankfully I already had the furniture, so all I needed for this were new curtains and pillows.

This project actually started last summer when Janel told me she wanted to make me a quilt.  She’s hoping over the course of her life to make one of her masterpieces for each of her family members.  I, luckily, got to be first in line.  We chose a pattern together, as well as all the fabrics, which was a ton of fun.  She’s got such an eye.

I think at last count she and her husband figured out she’d logged at least 200 hours in this.  Yeah.  I know.  (My quilts??  No where close.)

Kodak’s pouting because there’s NO way he’s ever allowed on my bed again.  (Or the living room furniture.)  It’s been a rough transition, but we’re getting there.

And yeah…could that new painting be any more fantastic?  I acquired it at a recent art benefit for an almost criminal deal.  It’s by my best friend from high school, Jeremy Collins.  He’s brilliant.  I love waking up to look at this piece everyday.  It’s entitled “Seeking Balance”.  A good message for me.

So, well, there’s the decorating update.  More to follow, regarding things less aesthetic.  I hope your 2010 is off to a great start.  Mine ain’t been too shabby.

]]> http://www.hurricanic.com/archives/587/feed 2 http://www.hurricanic.com/archives/575 http://www.hurricanic.com/archives/575#comments Thu, 19 Nov 2009 07:57:33 +0000 hurricanic http://www.hurricanic.com/?p=575 I admitted not that long ago that love can sometimes lead me to do crazy things…like sew.  I mean, wasn’t it just in August I was disassembling and stitching together beanie babies?  Yes.  Yes, it was.

What I haven’t admitted to was that I had invested in yet another project that Aaron sadly will not receive this holiday season.  Why?  Oh, let’s first set the scene, shall we?

Aaron and I had traveled to Central Missouri one fall afternoon to spend the day with his family.  As his family tradition goes, they tour local church feeds – the kind where you pay like $8 and get to eat ungodly portions of sausage, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans amply garnished with bacon, and cobbler.  Just the thought of it makes my stomach turn.  I poked politely at my plate seeing as I 1) don’t eat red meat, 2) hate fried chicken, and 3) wonder why even eat vegetables if you’re going to douse them with pork.   To “walk off” the cattle call feed, we headed upstairs to the United Methodist Women’s craft fair.  Granted, most of it was more of a bake sale (as if anyone could really imagine eating zucchini bread or rice krispie treats after all of what tragically unfolded in the Fellowship Hall)…but it was the route to the parking lot.  As we politely meandered through the booths, Aaron spied a Mizzou blanket…the kind that’s made out of two pieces of fleece and then notched and knotted together on the sides.  This one?  Side A: tiger stripes.  Side B: Mizzou helmets.  He immediately fell in love.  I, simulateously, threw up a little bit in my mouth.  At this point in our relationship, he had started talking to me about his hope of getting married next fall…so as I saw him emotionally bond to this incredibly tacky blanket, all I could think about was having to battle it’s appropriate use over the course of my life (tailgating vs. living room throw).

I creatively averted him away from purchasing said fleece and instead lead him towards the kettle corn.  It was then I knew if things were to continue forward, possibly toward an altar at one point, I would have to figure out ways to accommodate his obsession with Mizzou a bit more tastefully.  A week later I found myself at a quilt store with my mom staring at a wall full of flannels thinking, “What have I gotten myself into?”  Now, you should know my mom, sister, and aunt are all die-hard quilters.  They love it.  It courses through their blood, ironically much like Mizzou does in Aaron.  They’ve always invited me into their little twisted world of cutting and binding and batting.  I’m frankly all together too ADD, too impatient, and too “Jackson” to be a good quilter.  Quilters need to be Swedish and full of precision.  But this was the perfect opportunity to join them as I sought to bless the man I was dating.  I was decided: I would embark on a black and gold rag quilt.

Forty-five minutes and $95 later I was walking out of said quilt store with 10 yards of fabric and a huge, first-time quilt project ahead of me.  I had my mom, sister, and aunt elated at my step into QuiltLand.  I was a bit less enthusiastic, as I literally said as I walked out of the store, “We better not break up.”

We broke up.

So very quickly after saying my goodbyes to Aaron, I realized I was $95 poorer and the owner of 10 yards of fabric I had no desire to use.   Why?  I’m a Jayhawk, for crying out loud.  A week or so later, I made my way back to the quilt store.  I plopped my bag of flannel on their counter and declared, “We broke up.”  They looked at me in terror, thinking as a first time quilter I was trying to return my fabric.  Well…I’m no idiot.  I know you can’t return cut fabric.  What I did hope was that they could help me either 1) figure out where to sell it and hopefully recoup my costs or 2) find fabrics to blend in with the stupid Mizzou inspired prints to make it less “this was supposed to be for an ex-boyfriend” when all was said and done.  Well…an hour and $130 later, I walked out with enough orange, green, and brown fabric to add to what I already add to make (wait for it…) three quilts.

Let me say that again: THREE QUILTS.

May I remind you I’ve never quilted before?

And so tomorrow, I am going to meet my mom and my sister for a day of sewing as I attempt to stitch up ridiculous amounts of flannel into Christmas gifts.  I’m sure there’s some sort of metaphore in there about quilting and salvaging and whatnot in regards to moving on after a break-up, but I just don’t even want to hear it.  I just want this damn flannel out of my house.

I talked all about budget and financial responsibility.

I reasoned that it hadn’t been that long ago and that I could wait.

But then I saw a commercial…

Something within me drew me to my credit card.

And I smiled with joy as I clicked the button.

That’s right, everyone…

Me and Jon are reuniting (and it feels so good).

March 15, Sprint Center, Section 118, Row 2.

It’s going to be epic.

I even scored an extra seat for a lucky soul to join me.

Now….who should I choose?!?

I’m going to be 100% honest here.  It makes me crabby that we hop straight from Halloween to Christmas.  It’s like November 1st we fix our eyes on all things red and green and forget to relish in the last part of fall.  I spent the better part of last night shopping for a lamp, and the more and more stores I visited, the more frustrated I got for the poor ol’ turkey.  I’m not forgetting about you, Thanksgiving.  You’ve always been my favorite.  You’re like Christmas, only without the pressure and greed.  I will not contribute to your being America’s red-headed stepchild holiday.  No.  I won’t.  It just ain’t right.