H-a-ll-ooo-w-e-e-nnn

Happy Halloween! Brandon and I didn't have time/energy to carve a jack-o-latern this year, so I present to you last year's pumpkin, Stewie Griffin. I've been getting a good bit of hits for this image, so I figured it's good enough to make up for our laziness pumpkin-wise.


We didn't really buy any Halloween candy this year because we live on campus, and hopefully little kids realize that college students are poor enough as it is, and if they can afford candy they sure as heck aren't giving it up to little kids whose parents can spend over $50 on their princess/lion costume. That candy is their nutrition, or sad attempt at nutrition.

You know, I wonder who the first person was to start poisoning Halloween candy. Do they feel proud that they're the reason for years of paranoia for parents? And who put razors in apples? Wouldn't it be obvious that they were in there, as apples turn brown when they've been pierced? Why would anyone take the extra effort to poison candy, anyway? I'm happy when I actually remembered to buy candy, so it's highly unlikely, at my most disgruntled, that I'd take the energy to tamper with it.

Anyway, have a great Halloween!

On Roadside Signs

Brandon: (Reading a sign by the highway) Go slow, arrive alive.
Wendy: Isn't that a little redundant? Because you'd have to be alive to arrive.
Brandon: Go slow, arrive late. That's what the sign should say.
Wendy: But you could arrive somewhere, even on time, and not be alive. Like if you were going down to the morgue. Then they'd be like, hey she's here on time! She's dead, though. Dead, but punctual!

Give Me Some Advice

So, we have these two vents in our apartment, one in the bedroom and one in the living room. They have these knobs on them that don't seem to do anything, and for some reason they spit out hot air at random times. Is this something common in housing from the 60s? Are we paying for this hot air? And if so, why don't we have control of it? And why did they plant the vent on the only wall that's suitable for our bed, and the only wall suitable for our couch? Why?

I don't think I've ever lived in an apartment that was designed by someone who thought twice about what it'd be like to live there. Our third apartment had a light switch to the bathroom outside of the bathroom. Which totally invited mean pranks like turning off the light while someone is in the shower. And I mean, that's funny and all, but still, it's not a smart idea. That very same apartment had a thermostat planted right in the middle of a wall that would otherwise be perfect for a bookshelf. Oh! And they put the medicine cabinet in the bathroom on the far right, right next to the sink. So that you bump your elbow when you're brushing your teeth. And my gosh, why is it that no apartment over 20 years old has ANY ventilation in the bathrooms? Did poop not stink back then? Was there no such thing as steam, or did everyone take cold showers because those go-go boots and mini-skirts were just too much? And y'know what happens when the bathroom is left with steam in it that can't be dried quickly? MOLD. Yucky, lung-infecting mold.

But hopefully poorly planned-out apartments will be a thing of the past for us soon. Nothing's concrete yet, or even nearly concrete, but we're considering buying a condo when our lease runs out in late Spring. This all depends on how things go between now and then, but it'd be really nice to not throw our money away on a monthly basis. So if you have any advice for first time buyers, I'd be much obliged. Is there anything we can do ahead of time to make things easier? What do you wish you'd have known before your first venture?

Boo, I Say

I got a flu shot for the first time. I'd always resisted because I didn't think it was cool to pay $25 for someone to poke me with a needle and, y'know, pump in a virus. But this year my work offered them for free! That's a real bargain. Probably a bargain for my work too, because that way there won't be a bunch of sick workers passing the flu around like a peace pipe. And plus, I got this awesome bandaid:


Take that, flu!

Getting Outdoorsy, Part 2

Brandon and I drove to Helen, GA on Saturday, because we'd been told that it's beautiful there in the Fall. So we sat in a whole bunch of traffic. And we drove through the town, which was in the throes of Oktoberfest. We didn't join the festivities because there were lots and lots of people out there, and crowds like that give me Ikea syndrome. So we went to the park and took some pictures.


Did I mention how much I adore Fall?


Helen was sort of like Big Bear combined with Solvang, CA. I didn't really notice any amazing trees there, but there were quite a few on the drive there. The gold, red, orange, and purple leaves are just so pretty, especially when contrasted by a bright blue sky. The changing of seasons was one of the main selling points on moving to Atlanta for me, so I'm all about getting outdoorsy during this time of the year. Here I am posing in front of the lake.


And here's my sweet husband also getting his pose on. His poor goattee is in the process of growing back, because he shaved it to remind himself of what he looked like without one. As soon as he did, I announced that he would be growing it back immediately. Wives probably know how I feel. It's weird when your husband makes a drastic facial hair change. Plus, the stubble, it's painful. Good for exfoliating, but I have a loofah for that.

Matters of Greekitude

My site is the top search result for "how to pronounce pi." Do you know how happy that makes me to know that people like my husband (who actually know their stuff) are being passed up on matters of greekitude for MY site? And that they are met by such a scholarly explanation as "pi is pronounced pie, because pie is tasty"?

This warrants much cackling. Take that, classics majors.

And What's Inside the Refrigerator?

At our church, the community groups take turns covering childcare. Last night was our group's night, and even though Brandon and I don't have any children, we helped out. I stayed with the younger group (2-4) while Brandon braved the older group (5+). There were about four adults with each group, including ourselves.

Brandon escaped the younger group at nearly the same moment I realized that I could keep the kids completely mesmerized by bubbles. Miracle bubbles! And they're non-toxic, which means they're good for eating. And as soon as I'd stop, one of the cutest little cherubs with big brown eyes would look at me and say, "bubbahs?" And I'd be like, oh my gosh, if that makes you happy I will blow bubbles until I pass out from lack of oxygen. If I act this way for little kids I've known for 15 minutes, do you have any idea how spoiled my own kids will be? Maybe my heart isn't completely composed of tar.

When a small boy with blond hair toddled up to me looking all cute and handed me a pop-up book to read to him, I couldn't resist. Other little kids observed for a bit to see if this was going to be worth giving up their game of bumper-tractors. They were too young to have attention spans big enough for the actual text, so I improvised. Here is proof that I have no experience whatsoever with children. I actually said, "And that's a hippo. Did you know that hippos kill more humans in a year than crocodiles? Well they do!" Thankfully I was with the younger group, and was met with the same blank stares accompanied by more pawing and tearing at the raised animals.

And then my cute little friend who loved bubbahs went and soiled herself. I was getting a poopy vibe from her, so I asked a more seasoned veteran what to do. Check the diaper. Right, um, and she'll be cool with that? Just pull it back and look inside. Um, I can't tell. It's dark in there. Here, I'll - oh wow, definitely poopy. So since I'm practically retarded when it comes to things of children, I got a real adult to help me with the poopy diaper removal project.

I overheard one of the other adults reading to a little boy, and as he pulled out tabs he asked what was behind the door, behind the tree, behind the window.
"And what's in the refrigerator?"
The kid exclaimed, "BEER!"

I like being presbyterian.

I'm Such a Girl

On Saturday I made the 2 1/2 hour drive to Birmingham to go shopping with a friend. I know, that sounds like quite a drive just to go shopping. But it's been a long time since I've been able to go shopping with a friend. And a girl one at that! Normally I go all by myself or with Brandon, because believe it or not, it's hard to find shopping buddies when you move away. You know, people who have the patience to tell you once again that no, you don't look fat in that jacket and yes, that color is totally you.

We went to see the movie The Science of Sleep. We both liked Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, so when she told me that Science was playing at a nearby theatre, I was like, I am so there. Because I talk like a mid-nineties Californian now. Anyway, I really liked it. I think you have to go into it not expecting it to make a bit of sense, and if you do, it's this surreal experience you walk away from with a pleasant feeling. You don't really know what happens in the end, but you're okay with that. Weird, no?

I'm glad I drove there. I'm glad I got to spend the day with a friend. It's so important to do stuff like that. When I was living in California, I (we) always tried to make a point to enjoy California and experience it, because we knew we'd probably end up moving away sooner or later. So we went to museums, went to the beach, drove to the mountains and to nearby (and y'know, not so nearby) cities. We spent time with Brandon's family, trying to make it to most gatherings. And I'm so glad we made the effort to do those things, because we can't now. For more reasons than location. I remember how for months, we'd visit Brandon's dad on Sundays after church. I'm so glad we had that time.

So now, I'm trying to continue in that "enjoy it while you can" attitude. You never know when we might move again, or our lives might change drastically.

You can forgive me for one overly emotional blog, right? Now go call someone you love.

What Kind of Shopper Are You?

There are two different types of shoppers. The elite and the bargain-hunters. The elite feel good about their purchases because the things they buy let others know that they are richer than them (or that they have more debt). Retailers cater to them by plastering the brand name all over the object and never placing the item on sale. This way the poor people can only get knock-off versions. The bargain-hunters feel smart for saving money. Retailers cater to them by marking up prices and then placing items on sale, so that the bargain hunters can say "Hey, this sweater was $89 but it's 50% off! I'm so smart for buying during the holiday season!"

What kind of shopper am I? A bargain shopper, and an incredibly cheap one at that. Here are my clothing requirements. I have to like them, which I'm sure is a total duh sort of a thing, but you see, I'm at that awkward in-between age. I feel stupid shopping in the junior department because I'm nearing my mid-twenties, plus it's hard to find non-hootchie clothes that fit me in the junior dept. I'm not old enough to be shopping in the women's department, because really, when you're shopping next to a 70-year-old, it's not hot. Not at all. Once I do find something I like, it has to be the right color, versatile, and the right price. And also, it has to be good enough that I can't talk myself out of buying it, and believe me, I can talk myself out of buying most anything. The trick I use to actually buy something is telling myself that I can always take it back. And then I rip off the tags before I'm tempted to actually do so.

I always complain that I can't find anything when I go shopping, and people tell me that it's because I'm so cheap. But I play this little game when I go, where I pretend that I'm not cheap and have money to blow that I'm willing to blow, and I look at expensive things and guess what? I don't like them anyway. Here's a conversation I had with my sister recently:

Me: I can't find a purse. I want to find one, I really want to pay money for something I love, but I just can't find anything I like or that I can live with. I don't even like expensive purses.
Her: Well, I usually get purses as gifts, but I really do like the Coach purses.
Me: Not me. I mean, it's covered in C's. Hoopty-doo. Oh! But sometimes, the C's, they're different colors. Totally worth over $300.

Warming the Pew

I never expected to be sitting on a pew during my lunch break today. Brandon text messaged me about thirty minutes before my lunch break saying that I needed to go with him to the DMV so that we could register our Nissan. The need to register became clear when we were sitting at one of Atlanta's 20 minute redlights and a policeman pulled up next to us and made that "roll the window down" motion. I was on the passenger side, so, while trying to mask my horror, I fumbled for the button to roll it down. "You living here in Georgia?" He asked. "Yes, officer," Brandon replied. "Then why do you have an expired California license plate? There's a $125 ticket for that." Brandon apologized and promised to get our car registered first thing Monday, while I tried to mask my horror and wished the light would turn green, I mean seriously, it had been red for at least half an hour now.

I have this fear of policemen. Believe it started at a young age. See, whenever my parents would get pulled over when I was little, everyone in the car would convince me that my mom or dad would have to go to jail if they got a ticket. As far as my Disney knowledge of jail went, jail was a place where you only got bread and water and you pretty much were stuck there the rest of your life. So I cried. I didn't just cry, I bawled so that when the policemen approached the car, I was a red-faced, hyperventilating puddle of abject despair, all because he didn't like my parents going 10 mph over the speed limit. Generally the policeman would try to cheer me up, saying that it was going to be okay, then give my mom or dad a warning and walk away.

So anyway, we drove to the closest DMV to my work. Instead of chairs, there were lines of pews on which to sit and wait. I was disappointed that the backs of the pews didn't hold hymn books. Thankfully the wait wasn't too long and we now have our brand new Georgia plates. We're Georgians now. So weird.

I'm just happy Brandon won't have to go to jail now with the bread and the water and the buzzards as guards.

Birthday Fun

My sweet husband built me a cake for my birthday. The candle is fabulous, especially considering the fact that one has difficulty counting to twenty-four since the fingers and toes only reach to twenty.

My main birthday gift was money for clothes, but he also got me the 2007 Stuff on My Cat Calendar. Normally we've gotten calendars at the dollar store with such themes as teddy bears and mountain lions, and then written captions or drawn on them to make them funny. But this calendar is already funny, because really, is there anything funnier than angry kitties? Do I even need to ask?

Raise a Glass of Metamucil

A black cat crossing your path. An open umbrella, indoors. A broken mirror. Friday the thirteenth. Happy birthday to me!

So far today has been good. Granted, it's not even 9 am, but still. So far so good. It's cool this morning, and considering how much my mood is affected by the weather, it should be a good day. Cool day = good/great. Warm day = okay. Hot day = bad. Hot day + humidity = there is no way I will be chipper, not even with arctic air conditioning and an Office marathon.

I'm 24. It's weird to be nearing my mid-twenties. Thankfully, Brandon is 2 years older than me, so I experience birthdays vicariously through him. So 24 doesn't seem so old, not that it would be anyway. So you 40+ people who get all annoyed when whippersnappers say that we're old, calm down and drink some metamucil. It's all good.

Job Listing / Personals

While perusing advertisements for jobs in the Atlanta area, I came upon this gem:

Progressive Company with good benefits looking for that "Special Someone" who is local hard working, multi-tasker for a fast paced Customer Service/Dispatching position.

Company enjoys long walks on the beach, romantic dinners, and horseback riding.

Anyone who takes this job should seriously not be surprised by any harrassment they might encounter.

Hot Potato

I can tell when Brandon has bought me a gift, because the moment he does, it becomes like a hot potato. He can't stand to hold on to it, so long as I'm within 20 feet. So, last night when I got home, before I even had a chance to take off my shoes, he presented me with my first birthday gift. I was actually happy that he'd waited until two days before my birthday (all because of a shipping mishap, but still) and so I accepted the gift even though I generally like to wait. It's the new Killers CD. I haven't listened to it completely yet, but so far I like it.

Brandon was talking the other day about the difficulty he's had trying to come up with a birthday gift for me. He mentioned that he'd considered getting concert tickets, but the show he was considering takes place in Atlanta the day that he's flying to Washington DC for the SBL conference. Death Cab for Cutie, I guessed. I'd looked up their tour dates, too. He smiled. So that would have been a good gift. Still, it was sweet of him to think of it.

Careful Not to Make Eye Contact

We are in the car, stopped at a redlight. He notices a crazy guy, and casually locks the doors. I say aloud that this is a bad neighborhood. He says that maybe people think the area around Emory is ghetto because they get off the interstate here and are afraid to go any further. I watch a girl puke off the side of her porch. And I say that I agree.

And the Santa Mar-i-a

Happy Columbus day. Work has been really crazy-busy today for some reason. You'd think that it'd be the opposite, what with a good percent of the population being off work. I don't mind working, though. The day has gone by quickly.

We were more social than usual this weekend. Friday night we attended a visitor's dessert at our church. Saturday afternoon my mom's family had a reunion, and that night we went to my aunt's birthday party. All in all, I think I've repeated the phrase "I'm getting used to Atlanta. The traffic's horrid," about 200 times. You like to think that as humans, we're all different. We're creative and unique in our personalities and conversations. But when there is an excess of small talk, it's obvious that we're far more alike than we'd like to admit.

Clumsy

Wow, the week's almost over. Been a little busier at work, which is a good sign when you're working temp. So I'm doing the Friday Fiver, because I can't really think of anything to blog about. Plus, the lack of free time and whatnot. Here you go:

1. What's the last thing you broke?
Wow, I have no idea. I've spilled a lot of things (like a nearly full veggie tray, a bottle of wine in the fridge [you can rest assured that what little was missing was consumed in moderation], and water all over myself) but I can't recall breaking anything completely. A lot of stuff did get pretty banged up while being transported from California, though.

2. What's the most expensive thing you've broken?
It's weird, but the only thing I can come up with is this jar of pickles that shattered all over my kitchen floor. So that's maybe $2.

3. Do you consider yourself clumsy or graceful?
Clumsy. Not severely clumsy, because I believe you must be tall and lanky to be that, but I'm certainly not graceful. I have no rhythm either, what with my whiteness and all. Once I took an aerobics class, and the teacher asked me (and a friend) to go to the back of the room because we were throwing other people off.

4. How much money do you have in your wallet right now?
Two dollars. I never carry cash. I know, I should carry cash for emergencies. But I seldom do.

5. Someone asks for change while you're walking down the street -- what do you do?
Awkwardly and apologetically tell them that I don't have any cash on me, which, as you saw in question 4, is generally true. But even if I did have cash on me, I probably wouldn't give it to them. Because in the few seconds between the time they ask and I respond, I think of all the reasons not to give them anything. They'd waste it on booze. I'd be enabling them in their beggar lifestyle. They might rob me if I take out my wallet. And then I vow to do something good, like give money to charity or do other acts of kindness for my fellow man.

The Sweet Glow of the Cathode Ray

I love TV. And I'm not ashamed to say it. I know if I want to really fit in with the well-educated, intelligent, and charmingly snarky crowd, I should say that I don't watch TV. But I do.

I don't watch a lot of TV. Granted, I watch more than I used to, but that's because I have a very good cable package now and I have time to breathe, as opposed to the last two years where I was constantly at school, at work, or asleep dreaming about being at either of the two.

I haven't stooped to being addicted to reality shows. Though I will admit to being unable to turn the channel when Flavor of Love 2 is on, because oh my gosh, have you seen how those girls fight? It's craziness!

Mostly Brandon and I watch the Discovery Channel (he can't resist Mythbusters), the History Channel, and Comedy Central. I'm so glad to have Comedy Central again, oh how I missed it. I still watch reruns of Friends on TBS. And I still love Forensic Files type shows.

I find that whenever I'm talking to one of my friends that doesn't watch TV, I always talk about TV more than usual.
"Did you see that commercial where Little Richie is like - oh, right, sorry."
"Omigosh, that new Evanescence video is totally Scarlett O'Hara meets Moulin Rouge meets vampires. Oh, right, you're not into the TV thing."
"Do you actually know anyone who's tried that Nutrisystem diet? That girl is down to a size 2... You still don't watch TV?"

I can't imagine what people did before TV was around. I remember thinking how horrible it would be when I was reading The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe. When that Usher guy was all upset because he felt like his sister wasn't dead, all the narrator could do was read to him to distract him. That totally wouldn't work. I mean, how can you involve your imagination and entertain the idea of the story when you're mentally exhausted like that?

My friend and I were talking about this last night, and I said that I didn't think TV harms a person's ability to be creative and make use of their imagination, because I know plenty of people who watch a lot of TV but are still quite creative. She said that's because their ideas are stolen from TV. But I said that people who don't watch TV probably got their ideas from books or their friends. Because these days, is anything really completely original?

So watch TV. Don't be a hater.

All the Answers

Here are the answers to my Fizzy Blue trivia, since I realized that the quiz doesn't tell you the correct answers to the ones you missed. So, just in case you are curious, here are the answers, along with commentary.

1) What am I afraid of?
Planets. It's silly, I know. And it's not like I think Jupiter is going to come after me in the night. It's just that I get freaked out when I see pictures of them, because planets like Jupiter are humongous, full of poisonous gasses that would kill me upon impact, and Lord knows what it's like beneath the clouds and red spotted storms. *Shudder*

2) What was my original nickname on AIM?
Wnd100. The wnd part was an attempt to sound out my name through letters, and the 100 was chosen because of the band, Velour 100. I believe Mr. Danesburg mocked my name by saying "what, do you break wind at 100 mph?"
For some reason I changed my nickname not too long after.

3) To what did I compare the windows in the crown of the statue of liberty?
The windows of a cadillac. I threw you guys off with the plastic bus stop glass, because many got that impression upon seeing them. The statue of liberty blog was my first on FizzyBlueSoda.

4) What was the name of the man who "got mean drunk" and beat his wife, only to get cut by a turkey carver later?
Haywire. However, Stumpy would make sense if the turkey carver was applied to any extremity, One-eyed Cleadis would work if the carver reached an eye, and Bubba would work simply because fellows named Bubba are probably more likely to get mean drunk and beat their wives. I'm just saying is all.

5) What movie had I watched the night the killer deer attacked my car?
Ocean's 11. Rich probably should have known that, because I watched the movie at his house. The Dane might have known that because he did a parody of the killer deer blog, replacing the deer with a bicycler. Which made the last statement, "Now I think it's perfectly fine to kill that particular animal any time," even more funny.

6) What was the name of our first hamster?
Lord Byron, so christened by Blake.

7) What did we nickname our elderly neighbor when we lived in our first apartment?
Grandma Death, a name borrowed from the movie Donnie Darko. Most of you picked Methuselah, which would be a likely name. Disappointingly, only one person picked Old Man McGeezer. Come on, that was a funny one!

8) Where did Brandon and I go for our honeymoon?
San Diego. Though the fact that Brandon and I made frequent trips to San Francisco threw a few off.

9) Who do I NOT credit with playing a part in mine and Brandon's meeting?
Ryan Hodges. Though he was probably the most supportive about our relationship, I must admit. Erick Kent put together my computer and administered DYL at the time, Rich got me into blogging, and Scott wrote the blasphemous blog that was the subject of our first conversation.

10) What color was my computer in college?
Purple. Blue, my favorite color, was not available. The purple computer is still alive, now used only for music and pictures.

So there you have it. Answers to my old school quiz.

Is It Any Wonder I'm Tired?

Atlanta named worst city for sleeping.

The best cities for sleep were in California — Anaheim and Los Angeles were No. 1 and No. 2.

Why did we move again?