Revealed: The Thing That Lives In My Lamp

Well, sort of.

I know have a photograph of The Thing That Lives In My Lamp, but I'm still not really sure what it is.

The Thing that Lives in my Lamp

Today's blog is brought to you by:  The thing that lives in the hanging lamp in the front entryway of our rental house.

We moved into this house last fall, and I am ashamed to admit that I have known about the thing in the lamp since shortly after we moved in.  I was just too lazy to do anything about it, you see.

Which reminds me of the Easter card I bought for Chris at the grocery store tonight, that I only just now realized I left on top of the self-checkout machine.  Crap.


I should explain that the card had a picture of a lady sitting in front of a Christmas tree.  The tree had a bit of what I would call an excessive amount of tinsel, but that's besides the point.  When you opened the card, it read, "Mary Lou realized it was Easter, and you know what that means.. time to take down the Christmas tree."


I thought this was hilarious, because one April in 2007 I was that person. 

But enough about my intermittent tendency towards procrastination.  We were discussing the thing in the lamp.  I took some pictures for you.  They are not very good pictures, but you'll get the idea.

 

It looks like some bit of mutant fern.  Or a really, really, really large centipede.  

Here's what I know:

1) It's not alive, because it hasn't moved or changed since the first time I noticed it.

2) I can't reach it without a ladder.  Which we don't have.

3) I am not even about to attempt standing on a chair and trying to fish it out with my hand without being able to see what it is first.

Which leaves us with what I don't know:

1) Whatever the hell it is.

And what do YOU think it is?

I'd like to file a complaint...

Things have been a little quiet around here lately, I'll be the first to admit it.  Work has been absolutely insane, 12 hour work days six days a week.  There are days when the weather is beautiful and I've accomplished so much and I love my job, and then there are days when I have to go home and cry for an hour on my lunch break.  You know, the usual highs and lows.

And not that there isn't a lot to talk about.  But it's all work.  In fact, a co-worker and I were just commenting on how we could write a book about all the crazy stuff that happens in our jobs.

But I don't talk about work on here, namely because there are a lot of very sensitive issues that we deal with that involve lawyers and the government and blah blah blah.

In other words, you know your job might be a bit high profile if a bomb scare means that Homeland Security comes out to pay you a visit.  In fact, your job might be high profile if it gets a bomb scare.  (Don't worry, it wasn't a bomb.)

But this one thing is almost too funny to be real.  And since I don't have much else to talk about...

In the course of what we do, we sometimes have to employ road flaggers to divert traffic around our operations.  This can cause some delays to the normal traffic flow, which of course we minimize as much as possible, but still it results in some unavoidable traffic stops.  We occasionally get complaints from members of the public who are affected by our work.  

This is an actual complaint.

A gentlemen called to tell us that he had eaten at one of the local restaurants that day.  Unfortunately, his meal didn't sit too well with him.  He was driving back to his house, but it took him longer than usual because of the traffic delays from our flaggers.  And, well, he didn't make it home in time.  And he had an accident.... in his pants.

Oh  yes, you read that right.  He called to complain that we made him crap his pants.

Where the Buffalo Roam...

This is an article that was published in our campus newspaper when I was attending college there.  It was so hilarious, I laminated it and posted it to the wall of my dorm room, along with pictures of my family, a $1 tax refund check from the State of Michigan, and my class schedule.

Because, you know, you *might* see a 500 pound bison roaming the campus.  But don't worry, eventually campus officials will outsmart the very large, slow-moving animal.  Darn those bison and their excellent hiding skills.

Things That Drive Me Crazy

Everybody has their pet peeves.  For some people, it's important things, like "people who don't tip" or "people who chew loudly" or "people who don't use their turn signals when they specifically know you're trying to follow them to an unknown destination."  Oh, wait, that last one's definitely one of mine.

But I also have one really weird pet peeve.  It's the stupidest thing ever, and yet it bothers me.  A lot.

I hate it when people use the microwave, stop it before the timer is done, and then they DON'T HIT THE BUTTON TO CLEAR THE DISPLAY.

What if I want to know what time it is?  I look at the microwave display, and instead of giving me useful information it's blinking 00:23.  Or, what if I want to cook something?  I have to clear it out myself first.

This is not a new thing.  This has been on my list of top pet peeves for many years.  I once didn't speak to my roommate for two days because she had repeatedly left the microwave timer un-cleared.  Only, it was such a dumb reason to be angry that I never told her why I was so upset and in fact, I'm not all that sure she even noticed I wasn't speaking to her.

But what makes it worse is the microwave in our new rental house.  It has some sort of fancy vent that pops open whenever the microwave is in use.  Or, in other words, any time the microwave timer is on, this vent bit thingie is sticking out.  Which means that if you don't clear the timer after your food is done, the vent bit thingie will continue to stick out indefinitely.

So now I don't know what time it is AND the vent is open for no useful reason.  *sigh*

The Great Banana Mystery

It first happened in 2003.  I had just graduated college, picked up stakes and moved to Los Angeles to "live the dream."  (I never did make it as a Hollywood actress, but I guess you actually have to go to auditions to make that happen).

Anyway, on my fairly limited budget (did I mention that I did not have a job lined up when I moved?) I bought some groceries, including a small bunch of bananas.

After putting away the groceries and making myself a light dinner, I went to bed.

The next morning, I woke up and decided that a banana would make an excellent breakfast food.  But when I looked at the bananas, sitting innocently on the counter where I had left them, they had developed what appeared to be dozens of little brown spots all over.  In a word - Eww.

This was very mysterious.  I wondered if perhaps Los Angeles had some aggressive breed of nocturnal fruit fly?  I threw away the bananas and went to the store to buy a can of Raid.

It took me four months and two apartments before I finally discovered the real cause of the mysterious overnight banana disease.

It was my cat.

(I know, I bet you thought it really was the enormous night-feeding fruit flies).

Seriously, though, bananas are to my cat what cocaine is to a drug-sniffing dog.  She has some sort of impressive "banana-radar".  She is drawn to the scent of an unopened banana the way that most cats are drawn to catnip.

Of course, she doesn't actually want to actually eat the banana. Just munch on the outside for a bit.  And it is quite specific to bananas, not any other kind of fruit.

My bananas have to go straight from my car to the microwave or the pantry. If I try hiding the bananas (for example, on top of the fridge behind the stacks of recipe books where I have never seen her go) she finds them. If I even walk in to the kitchen with a dozen grocery bags and set them down for a second, she will hone in unerringly on the one bag that has the bananas.

The strange part isn't that she won't eat the bananas. That's actually pretty normal for a cat. Fruit is, after all, basically sugars. Cats have a genetic deficiency that prevents their brains from liking sugar (and before you go thinking I'm all smart, I looked it up on the internets). The strange part is that her banana fetish serves absolutely no purpose.

Then again, neither does chewing on flip-flops, pawing at glass cabinet doors, rolling in dirty socks, or licking vertical blind slats. I guess I will never understand.

Weirder than leaving my keys in the fridge

I do sometimes make fun of my husband in this blog.  But I try to keep it a little bit balanced, like when I told about how I leave my keys in the fridge.... intentionally.  Since I figure I am a bit overdue for some self-ridicule, I thought to share this story.

The other day, I stopped by the house on my lunch break.  Since I work about 5 minutes from where I live, this is easily accomplished within my allotted lunch break. I made myself a sandwich, then sat down on the couch to enjoy my lunch.  I had my phone nearby so that I could be available for any important work phone calls or emails.  After some time, I had finished my lunch and went to gather up my things and leave.

I couldn't find my phone.

The logical conclusion was that it had fallen between the couch cushions.  I tore the couch apart (twice), searched the entire house, tried retracing my steps - all to no avail.  Since I had no spare phone with which I could call myself, I finally gave up with the thought that I would look for it later that evening when I was off work.

I got off work, and went in to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water.  After I was done drinking, I walked over to the dishwasher to put load the dirty glass.

I opened the dishwasher.  And there was my phone.

Yes, it's true.  In a moment of absentmindedness, apparently, I put my phone away in the dishwasher.  My. phone. was. in. the. dishwasher.

*EDIT*
As I sit here writing this post, my husband is looking over my shoulder.  "What is that you're typing?" he asks.  "All that < ahref > stuff?  What's with all the a's?"

"It's just html code.  For inserting links and stuff."

"Ohhhhh.... YOU'RE A NERD!"

"You take that back!  I was going to write a nice blog post where I didn't make fun of you but now you ruined it!"

"I don't care," he said, "you make fun of me anyway."

"Well," I exclaimed, "it's just basic computer stuff!"

"NERDY NERDY NERDY!" and then, mimicking me in an unflattering manner, "It's just basic html code... It's just basic NERDINESS."

So, just for that, I am going to make fun of him in the very next post.  And that's a promise.

I'm a Space Alien and you need to let me in the cockpit

So imagine that you're flying back to California after a nice visit with your family in Helena.  You're headed back with another friend of yours, nickname "Slappy" (and for once, I did NOT make this nickname up).  The flight takes off and you close your eyes for a little nappy-nappy time.

The next thing you know, you wake up and the airplane has made an emergency landing in Idaho Falls and your friend is in handcuffs for trying to gain access to the cockpit by claiming he is a space alien.

Yes, I said space alien.

Don't believe me?  Google "Space alien aircraft" and see what pops up.

I was actually going to write this post yesterday, but it hadn't filtered into the news outlets yet.  It's much more fun when I can link to the news article and then tell you the caveat to this whole story:

I know this guy.  And his friend.  This is why I can tell you that his nickname is Slappy and he's always been a little crazy but never in a million years did we think he would try and take over an aircraft by claiming to be an alien from outer space.'

Guess it shows what we knew, huh?

Crazy Cat Lady

I used to tell people that if I never met The One, I would grow up to be the “crazy cat lady.” You know, the weird sweet little old lady who lives down the block in a 2-bedroom craftsman-style house with her 5 million cats.

AND/OR: I’d be like the lady I encountered on an LA freeway last week, putzing along with multiple bumper stickers proclaiming her love for all things feline:


Thankfully for all involved, I did meet The One, and he has a strict “2-cat maximum” policy.

But I still love my cat.  A LOT.  I mean, if my cat were a baby, I’d be like the person who has to upgrade their online photo account because the entire free allotment is already filled with pictures of the baby's face. If my cat were a tiny dog, I would be the person who has to dress it in pink sweaters with little matching booties. You know, the borderline obsessive, totally-believe-everyone-else-cares-when-they-don't kind of love.

This is why even though I may take a lot of photos of my cat, I do not post many on the blog.

But sometimes I can’t help myself. Like when she is sleeping on top of the couch, upside-down with her paws in the air and her chubby white belly on display:



I had to share. I just couldn’t help it.  Call me crazy.

Birds of a feather

This is a picture of our new backyard, taken last weekend.

Choose your favorite caption from the selection below, or create your own and leave it in the comments section:

“OMG, the pigeons are mutating! Look at the size of those things!”

“Thanksgiving’s come early this year… Cletus, get yer shotgun!”






Actually... the birds in question are actually neither pigeons or turkeys -- they are peafowl.



Yes, I meant peafowl:

As you may recall, we recently bought a house. Our new neighbors have about a dozen peacocks/peahens that they let roam around the neighborhood.

Which seemed really cool, at first.

Until we found out they could hop the fence into our backyard. And that they poop. A lot. And that they have very LARGE poops.

Apparently we are going to have to introduce ourselves. As in, “Hi new neighbors. Here are some cookies. By the way, your peacocks are really cool but we have a dog and, well, we can’t be held responsible if your peacocks get in to our yard and our dog attempts to eat them. Also please send someone over to clean up their poo. Thanks. Enjoy the cookies.”

A Normal Kind of Conversation

CHRIS:  We need a new vacuum.  This one sucks.  I mean, doesn't suck, technically.

ME: Can we get a purple one?

CHRIS:  Can we get a purple one what?

ME:  Vacuum.

CHRIS:  Can we get a purple vacuum? 

ME:  Yes, we were still talking about vacuums.

CHRIS:  Why do you want a purple vacuum?

ME:  Because purple is a pretty color.

(Duh.)

And this is when Chris rolls his eyes and says, "you are ridiculous" as if that answers my question on whether we can purchase a new vacuum in shade of purple, or not.

TMI Thursday, the first

Courtesy of the talented LiLu at Livit, Luvit it’s time for my very first TMI Thursday.

The rules of the game are rather simple: tell a ”completely tasteless” and “wholly unclassy” story about your life.
I'll start by sharing that one of my good friends recently posted on her Facebook status that she had “a small uterus.” This is, apparently, something her doctor had told her. To me it seems like an odd bit of information for your doctor to volunteer. But it got me thinking. What information can I tell 500 of my closest internet friends for this lovely TMI Thursday?

As far as I know, I do not have a small uterus, so I will have to think of something else.

Let's go with the old standby, things-I-did-in-college-that-I-would-never-do-now-because-I'm-sooo-much-older-and-wiser.  Heh.  Anyway, during my college days, I paid for my expenses by waiting tables at a local restaurant. We served a number of different types of pastas, and every pasta plate came with a small side of garlic toast. Make that *delicious* garlic toast, all buttery and warm on slightly toasted foccacia bread.

I will confess to you, here and now and just this once, that sometimes, near the end of my shift, I got really hungry. And sometimes, people ordered the pasta. And sometimes these were respectable-looking people who didn’t appear to have any communicable diseases. And sometimes these people wouldn’t eat the yummy garlic toast on the side of their plate. And sometimes, as I was taking their plates back to the kitchen at the end of their meal, I looked at that untouched garlic toast and thought, boy, I sure am hungry and that garlic toast sure does look delicious.

And. Yes. I did it.  I ate the garlic toast. I picked it up off the plate and took a big bite out of a stranger’s leftover food.  Nom nom nom.

Want more TMI Thursday? Visit Kate at Growth Spurt or click on the TMI Thursday badge at the top of my post for many, many more wonderful stories of things you probably never needed to know.  Read at your own risk.  You have been warned.

Doesn't Everyone?

I was sitting in the office today when one of my co-workers came out of the break room.

"Krista," she asked, "are those your keys in the refrigerator?"

"Yes."

There was a momentary silence while everyone in the office paused to find out exactly why my keys were in the fridge.  My coworker didn't suspect that I had intentionally put my keys in there, so my affirmative answer confused her.  "Do they work better when they're cold?" someone asked.  I really hadn't been planning on elaborating, but they all seemed to expect an answer.

I shrugged.  "I have half a sandwich in the fridge left over from my lunch.  If I put my keys in there, I won't forget to take my sandwich when I leave work today."

Everybody thought this was funny.  Personally, I thought it was just logical.  I can't leave without my keys, can I?  And if my keys are setting next to my sandwich, then logically I will remember to take my sandwich.

"You see?  You see?!"  Chris exclaims.  "This is what I have to live with every day."  Pause.  "And for the record, that is not logic."

How to freak out your dental assistant

I had a dentist appointment today, and while I won't go so far as to say that I like going to the dentist, I will say that I don't mind it so much.  This is largely due to the fact that I have never had a cavity and therefore never been subject to the painful and tedious side of dentistry.

Everything looked good on my checkup, but I did need some work done to the sealants on my back molars.  The original plan was to sand down the sealants and apply new sealant without anesthetic.  This plan did not last very long.

So they gave me a shot to numb my upper and lower jaw and some topical stuff that they stuck into my mouth on Q-tip looking things.  And then we waited.

Since I've never had Novocaine before, I asked the dental assistant lady how long it was supposed to take.

"Your mouth will feel a little tingly, and when that subsides, then it should be numb."

"And what was that other stuff, the goo on Q-tips?  That was a topical anaesthetic?"

"Yes, that's a topical anaesthetic."

"It tastes kind of like air freshener."

She looks at me funny.  "You've eaten air freshener before?"

"Well, no, I mean... it tastes kind of coconut-y, but nasty, you know, like you would imagine air freshener would taste."

She is still looking at me kind of funny.

"You know, like those air fresheners that you hang in your car... at least it smells like that..."  This is not helping my case any.

"Pina Colada."  She takes pity on me and stops my rambling.

"Yeah, that's it."

There were a few moments of silence.

"Is it feeling tingly now?" she asks.

"Well, yeah, my jaw and chin on this side feel kind of tingly, but not completely numb.  Kind of like after you get punched in the mouth..."

She gives me another one of those funny looks and I hastily amend, "NOT that I've ever been punched in the mouth.  Or anything."

"I'm beginning to wonder about you," she says, and although her face was still smiling she scooted her rolly-chair a little farther away.

I decided it was best not to use any more metaphors to describe the level of effectiveness of my anesthetic, and kept quiet until the dentist returned to complete my dental work.

The Sniff Test

Chris and I have differing opinions on when food in the refrigerator is still edible.

For the most part, as long as the food item still passes the "sniff test," I figure it is still edible.  The only foods which don't get the sniff test: bread, and meat.  Bread does not get the sniff test because you can usually tell if it's bad long before you need to smell it.  It's either hard as a rock, moldy, or (if it's been long enough) hard and moldy.  Meat does not get the sniff test because the thought of eating rotten meat really, really, really, grosses me out.  Sometimes I throw away meat before the expiration date, if it's been open in my fridge long enough.

Chris openly mocks my "sniff test" but, hey, I made it through college without once getting food poisoning.  Although I hear that all it takes is one really good bout of food poisoning to change a person's mind about how soon is too soon to throw food away.

Chris, on the other hand, is a tosser.  If the food item is even slightly questionable -- in the trash it goes.  "Honey," he says, "we can afford to go to the store and buy more cheese.  You don't have to cut the moldy spot off and keep eating it."  And he then proceeds to throw away the moldy cheese, the bendable carrots, and the lettuce that was only slightly slimy on some of the leaves while I follow him to the trashcan wailing, "nooooo...I was going to eat those carrots, I swear!"

Okay, maybe it doesn't go down quite that dramatically.  But you get the picture.  So given our history, you would think Chris would've worked on his approach a little bit.  You know, try and let me down gently to expect that certain items in the refrigerator would be missing.  Nope, not my husband.  I walk into the kitchen tonight and am immediately bombarded with, "Honey, I cleaned out the fridge and I threw away EVERYTHING!"

Now, had he started with, "Honey, the fridge was getting a little crowded so I had to toss some things that were spoiled." I might have been a little more receptive.  But I was immediately on the defensive after hearing that he had tossed, as he put it, EVERYTHING!

"Like what did you throw away?"

"EVERYTHING!"

"Um, okay..." since he won't give me specifics, I open the fridge and start digging frantically through the vegetable drawers.

"Where is my spinach?"

"It was slimy."

"No it was NOT.  I just bought it a few days ago!  I just ATE some YESTERDAY!"

"It was slimy.  Even our roommates saw that it was slimy."

"Whatever, so it magically got slimy overnight?  Hmph."

Chris holds up a tupperware container.  "How about this?  Can I throw this out?  It's been in the fridge forever."

I glanced at it.  "That's not mine.  I don't care if you toss it."

"Are you sure it isn't yours?  It looks like something you would eat."

It finally clicked, and I realized that was the Thai Stir-Fry Chicken that I cooked last month.  "Oh, yeah, maybe it was mine.  But you can toss it."

Chris laughed. "See, it's been so long that you don't even REMEMBER it."

I just rolled my eyes (because that last part was kind of true) and walked out of the kitchen, leaving him to his fun.  However now that I think about it, I don't recall seeing that half a red onion that was only barely dried out at the cut part and still good for dicing...

Put Away Your Tinfoil!

People are silly.

Hollywood makes a movie and suddenly, everyone believes that the world is going to end in 2012?  I mean, it's all fine and good if you follow some sort of conspiracy theory based on Nostradamus' predictions or Mayan calendars or even actual scientific fact... but don't start jumping on the bandwagon because Hollywood tells you so!  I mean, c'mon, if everything Hollywood says is true, giant alien robots are secretly living amongst us, vampires are mostly-harmless tortured souls struggling against their evil nature while falling madly in love with teenage girls, and every bachelor party in Vegas ends up at the hotel room with a baby in the closet and a tiger in the bathroom.

I mean, I KNOW people who had their bachelor parties in Vegas, and I'm pretty sure there weren't any tigers involved.  Mostly sure, anyway.  I wasn't there, after all.

But here's the thing.  NASA comes out with a statement that basically says, "The world is not going to end in 2012 so please stop calling us."

Okay, my first question is, how do you find out the phone number for NASA?  Which is closely followed by my second question, why do you want to contact NASA anyway?  Even if they DID have the answers, and there WAS some sort of conspiracy theory, do you really think that after dozens of years of keeping this big fat secret, they would answer some random person's phone call with, "Oh, yeah, that.  Sure it's true.  Don't tell your friends."

No, I don't believe the world is going to end in 2012.  And you shouldn't either.  At least, not just because Hollywood says so.  Find some science, people, before you put on your tinfoil hats.

It's Like Riding a Bicycle

A new study was published that shows there may be a genetic reason that some people are bad drivers.  This does not bode well for me.  (Love you mom).

"Chris, there's a new study out that says bad driving may be genetic."

"Oh, so there may be a reason you're such a bad driver?"

"Don't be rude.  You just don't understand my driving style."

"I understand your style all right.  Your style is 'crappy.'"

Personally, I don't think I'm a bad driver.  But then again, who really thinks they are a bad driver?  It's supposed to be one of those inherent skills, like breathing or walking.  Nobody says, "Yeah, me, I'm bad at walking.  Can't seem to get the hang of that one-foot-in-front-of-the-other concept."  No, apparently you have to find this out from the passengers in your car, as they are screaming and grabbing on to anything with a handle while stomping on an imaginary brake pedal.  That's the first clue you might want to take a closer look at your skills.

The local Valley Fair

This past weekend, Chris and I went to the fair. Fairs are good for a lot of things, namely:

Fair Food, Spending lots of money to win large, chintzy stuffed animals, Fair Food, People watching (e.g. the lady with the pink hair that quite honestly could’ve been mistaken for cotton candy), Barnyard animals, Brightly-colored spinny rides, and (did I mention?) Fair food.

Chris and I also played three rounds of bingo for lucrative $10 prizes (we didn’t win), and contemplated the skee-ball game, except it took tickets instead of cash. Which sounded like too much work, walking all the way over to the ticket booth. And then, I forced Chris to dress in a long, black, woolen coat in 105 degree heat so that we could take one of those “old-timey” photos in which I was a card-carrying saloon girl who loves the Jack Daniels and Chris was a cowboy just in from the “range” with his hat and coat and plastic rifle.

Really, though, the best part of the fair is the one part we didn’t really indulge in. The food. We just weren’t very hungry. But I do have something to say about the fair food.
I am all for variety. And I am all for experimenting and developing new sorts of fair foods (hello, deep fried Twinkies). But some things are just not fair food.

Examples of good, wholesome fair food:
*Cotton Candy
*Funnel Cakes
*Corn Dogs
*BBQ meat of mysterious origin
*Deep Fried Twinkies, and their cousin, the Deep Fried Snickers Bar
*Fresh Squeezed Lemonade
*Popcorn, Kettle Korn, Corn on the Cob

Stuff that is NOT fair food:
*Tacos
*Thai Iced Teas
*Falafel

That is not to say that I don’t find food such as tacos and falafel very tasty. And most days, I would pay good money for a Thai Iced Tea. (Mmm, tasty orange-colored tea and cream deliciousness…it’s fifth on my list of favorite foods, right after pizza, guacamole, hummus, and chocolate chip cookies.)

But that doesn’t mean they belong at the fair.

Oh, and also I held a baby chick and it fell asleep in my hands and it was the cutest thing ever and then on my way out I told the prize-winning turkey that he should enjoy it while he could because he was probably going to have some bad luck in November.

Not really the end of the world

Whenever I hear Chris say, "Honey, you are a very smart, intelligent woman... but every once in a while..." I know I probably should have thought through whatever I just said before I said it aloud.

Like tonight. We were flipping through the television channels and came across that new Discovery show The Colony.

"What's it about?" our roommate asked.

"It's a bunch of people who have to rebuild civilization after the end of the world and stuff."

We discuss the show for a few minutes more, while the lady onscreen spends a LOT of time making a punching bag out of some chains, dirt, and a vinyl sack (really? a punching bag? because that's the first thing I would try to make right after I survived Armageddon).

A pause, and then I ask, "Do they know they're participating in a reality show, or do they actually believe it's the end of the world?"

Both the roommate and my husband give me THE LOOK. THE LOOK means, "did she really just ask that question?"

"Aw, honey," says my husband, laughing, "You are a very smart, intelligent woman... but sometimes..." He continues, "Yes, honey the Discovery Channel convinced them all it was the end of the world. "

"They're just waiting for Kevin Costner to deliver the mail," the roommate chimes in.

Chris continues, "Discovery Channel told the people, don't mind all these cameras. And, oh by the way here's a big sign that says THE COLONY maybe that's what you should call your new civilization."

Note to self: you don't always have to voice your thoughts right away. Sometimes it's best to let them settle first. Weed out the dumb ones and all before you share them with the world. Or, at least, your husband.

Spring Cleaning

This May, Chris and I decided the house needed a major makeover. Especially since we had some potential tenants to rent our spare rooms. The list of "home makeover" items included cleaning/organizing the house (finally putting away our boxes of wedding gifts!) and landscaping the backyard. More on the backyard later.

My first spring cleaning project: cleaning out unnecessary stuff from the garage. When I moved in to the house from my apartment, there was a lot of my stuff that landed in the garage, in boxes, and the boxes have been collecting dust ever since. Chris had cleaned out his miscelleneous junk the weekend before, so now it was my turn.

I should preface this by saying I am *somewhat* of a pack rat. Not completely - I've moved too often to accumulate very much junk - but I occasionaly have a hard time letting go of silly mementos that have no apparent function other than I just can't bring myself to throw it away.

I'm sure I'm not the only one. I mean, c'mon, don't you keep your expired driver's licenses and old college ID cards? A collection of movie ticket stubs from every movie you've ever seen since the fifth grade? Christmas cards from five years ago that you got too lazy to mail?

Well, anyway, enough about that. Let's focus on the things I did throw away. And I promise, I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP.

• 32 cent stamps (I supposed I could have used them to mail a postcard)
• A promotional poster of The Sixth Sense...IN FRENCH
• The address of my best friend in 4th grade
• Instruction manuals for cameras/phones/printers I DON'T OWN ANYMORE
• Vehicle registration receipts for the car I sold 2 years ago
• A game of M.A.S.H. I played with my high school friends on a bus trip in 1992
• A fake $3 bill with Bill Clinton's face
• Letters from pen pals I don't recall ever knowing, it's been so long
• A Ruby Tuesday receipt for some random lunch with friends - dated January 1, 2001
• More than $7 worth of coupons to I Can't Believe It's Yogurt which expired 6/30/1996

And Chris thinks that I keep a lot of needless junk. Yeah, riiight. I have no idea what would make him think that.