I just put in new wallpaper...on the inside

Good evening, children.

I didn't mean for that to come off as creepy as I think it did. I promise I'm not in a windowless van with shag carpeting and candy (or am I?*).

I have a confession to make: I've been cheating on Second to a Sitcom. Yes, it may be shocking. But there comes a time when a girl and her blog just fall out of love. I still love STAS, but I'm just not in love with it anymore. That's the bad news.

The good news is I think I discovered why. STAS has become an obligation. It started out fun and fancy free and now I feel like it's become rather forced. I come home from a long day at work and it's "nag, nag," this and "the kids are hungry" that. I'll write something, come back and read it later and think, "Jee-eeeez, I'm retarded."

This is where the cheating comes in. I've been writing elsewhere instead of here. I actually get nervous to come here. I get cold sweats and my stomach starts somersaulting more than a five-year-old all hyped up on Fun Dip. I feel like STAS is judging me. "I know you've been writing all over town you harlot," I imagine it thinking. It's true though, I'm writing everywhere else except STAS. I'm like an addict; don't care where I get my writing fix as long as I get it. I'll write right here in this dirty alley on a dumpster instead of my nice, sweet, welcoming STAS.

For this I am sorry. To the readers, yes. But mostly to STAS. I'm sorry I done you wrong, baby. But if you take me back, I'll never do you wrong again.

Thus, I am going to do a bit of re-imaging of STAS. Yes, I'll still talk about nonsense. A girl can't be expected to be serious all the time. But I'm also going to talk about whatever comes to my mind and I feel like I need to write down. I like writing to an audience; maybe it's my middle-kid syndrome acting up. Or maybe it's because sometimes late at night when my ego had been inflated to maximum capacity, I think I can write. I don't know. Jury's deadlocked on that one.

STAS will go forward, but not as planned. I only have the half-assed, semi-thought out, above mentioned plan. And plans and me don't necessarily go hand in hand. I'm winging it, is what it comes down to.

So for now, STAS and I are staying together. You know, for the kids.

*I am!

If Being Old Is Wrong, I Don't Want To Be Right. Now Get Off My Lawn.

Yesterday I met up with my friend Thurber who I've known since high school. Remember high school? More specifically, remember the end of senior year in high school? Everyone was crying and swearing up and down that everyone would always be friends with everyone else? You wrote things like "Luv u man!" and "Have a rad summer*" or "Do you like me, check yes or no" in each others year books. And no matter what, everything you wrote in your friends' yearbook ended with three to five exclamation points.

Well, Thurber was one of those friends who I promised to know forever. I believe we even exchanged letters before graduation explaining how awesome we though each other was and how we'll always be friends. Fortunately for us, that proved true. I don't see Thurber much anymore because she lives in Flagstaff and I live in Tucson, but when I do see her we pick up right where we left off. She is, hands down, the most fascinating person I know. I can never get enough of her stories.

Yesterday, for example, when we were talking about her adventures abroad, she said, "When I was in Luxembourg, three people assumed I was a prostitute." Classic Thurber.

Aside from being one cool chick, Thurber knows how to give a good present. One year for Christmas, she gave me a broomstick with the word "Thunderbolt 3000" painted on it and a stick she labeled as a wand. That was when I was going through my Harry Potter phase and I appreciated someone who could empathize with my geekiness.

This year, Thurber rocked the house again and got me something I didn't realize I needed, but now I don't see how I could possibly live without. Ladies and gentleman, I present Gerta LaReaux:



Gerta is a vintage, working condition typewriter. She's beautiful and I am in love with her. It was pointed out to me that Gerta only adds fuel to the old lady fire. So let me take this opportunity to set the record straight. Yes, I knit. Yeah, I make myself a cup of tea before I go to bed. Okay, sometimes I go to sleep at 9:30 because I'm sleepy. And hell yeah, I blew off going to the DMV yesterday so I could come home and get down to business with Gerta. If all that makes me an old lady, then so be it. I'll start subscribing to the AARP magazine and eating dinner at 4 p.m. if that means Gerta and I can live a life of joy and never ending ink ribbons.

Thanks to Thurber for giving an amazing gift to a sweet, old lady like me. Much obliged.


*Someone actually wrote this in my yearbook. And once in middle school, someone wrote "Always use CONDOM sense, ha ha ha". Middle schoolers have such sophisticated humor.

Let's talk about me!

Sorry for not writing in a few days. I've been busy and in all honesty, not really in a blogging mood. I haven't really been in a "I'm going to accomplish something today!" mood in a while. I blame the holidays. Christmas rolls around and it's just an excuse to check out early.

"Hey Karina, did you get that file I asked you for?"
"No. I've been busy preparing for the holidays. I completely forgot."
"I hear ya. Christmas is coming up quick this year!"

It's those seven magical words: I've been busy preparing for the holidays. It's like civilized code for "Hell naw, I ain't done shit since December 1st!" I know this cause I haven't. I've got an incurable case of the lazies. Sure, my body has gone to work, school, out with friends, hill climbing and treadmill running, but my mind is where it always is: wondering when I'm going to be able to lay around in bed all day and watch movies. Because that's mostly how I want to spend every minute of every day for the rest of my life. Is it possible to have a job where one just lays around and watches movies all day? Like my own personal Mystery Science Theater 3000 except (sadly) with less robots.

However, I will settle for being a professional Channel watcher. Someone could pay me six figures to sit around (with or without pants) and watch The National Geographic Channel, The History Channel, The Discovery Channel and The Discovery Health Channel. Hell, I'd even throw in the TLC channel for no additional charge. Really, you're the one getting the deal. I'm just the lady who's been wearing the same tank top for three days watching TV on your couch. Just sayin'.

Anyhoosie, I'll try and get around to writing more this week. Maybe about something meaningful, but no promises. I've got to prepare for the holidays, you know.

P.S. There's a new blog on the blogroll over on the right. A friend of a friend, who has requested to remain anonymous, has started a little blog about the life of a worker bee. Inside the Hive is just getting started but it's looking to be a good one. Check it out!

It's not Christmas until it sparkles

Today at work, this happened:

Co-worker: Hey, how was your weekend? Have you done any Christmas decorating?
Me: Not really. I've been kinda busy, which is too bad for Christmas because the way I decorate would make Santa cry and elves sing.
Co-worker: Really? Why don't you put up the Christmas decorations for the office? The decorations are in the box in the basement.
Me: Uh, well I'm kinda busy and I don't have the basement key right now and--
Co-worker: I'LL GO GET THE BOX!!

Crap. Did I say I could decorate? I meant to say that I can watch others while they decorate and provide helpful comments ("That balloon is a little lopsided", "The table cloth is wrinkled", "I'm hungry"). Decorating freaks me out because there are just too many options to commit to. Should I put the Christmas tree in the center of the room or off to the side? Should I wrap garland around it? What if I moved the coffee table over to make room? Should I move the rest of the furniture around? There are literally limitless options when it comes to decorating. It's like the old choose-your-own ending books. I don't want to chose my own ending. You're the one who wrote the book!

But, I didn't want my co-worker to think I was a dirty liar, so I bit the bullet and decorated. And let me tell you, I decorated the crap out of the front office. I used the only fool-proof technique that I know for Christmas decorating: wrap things in sparkly garland.



That snowman was boring and kind of off-putting before the sparkly garland. And the pine cones? Puh-lease, forget about it. I fell asleep twice trying to wrap garland around those bad boys because they were so dull. And now? Well, let's just say that once you lay down in a bed of sweet, itchy garland, you never go back.

EnV2, will you marry me and commit to a lifetime of good reception?

I forgot my phone at home today. I feel cut off from the world. Everytime I forget my phone (which believe me, isn't often), I get really stressed out and anxious. What if someone really imporant is trying to call me? What if I'm missing out on some hilarious text from a friend? What if I've won something and they're calling to let me know but I'M NOT THERE TO ANSWER?!

My skin gets all goosebumpy and my voice gets really high pitched. I've been trying to mentally teleport my phone to my office building all morning. So far, no go. Damn it, this is why I need to be enrolled in Hogwarts instead of lame, no magic college. I could apparate anything in a matter of seconds. But no, I'm enrolled in learning-through-boring-textbooks-and-lectures-instead-of-flying-around-on-a-broomstick-and-hanging-out-with-Dumbledore college. Effing muggles, man.

Aside from missing my one true love (I'm looking at you, Verizon EnV 2), I'm feeling better. The weekend did me well. It was a weekend long birthday celebration of the awesome blossom that is Marcos, my older, cooler brother. Drinks were served, vomit was plentiful, burgers were grilled and fun was had. I just found my camera today and let me tell you, that bad boy went on an adventure this weekend. So now there's photo documentation of all the drunken, obnoxious antics. Great. Perhaps I'll get around to posting them later. If I remember. Maybe.*

*Maybe not. My ego is still pretty bruised on account of me embarassing myself. I was all up on that shorty like, "Wassup yo?" and she was all, "You don't know 20 different ways to make me call you Big Poppa," cause I don't, yo.**

**What?