Build-a-Bear Messengers!

Avery is having her birthday party at Build-a-Bear this year, and she asked me to do her invitations again!

I thought it would be cute if a smaller bear "delivered" the invitation to her friends (this wasn't going to be too bad since this year was a smaller group of girls).

I made the buttons and the bear-sized invites, then attached them to the little guys. Oh, and I gave each of them a nice pink scarf.

I had no idea what they were going to look like when I first got the idea in my head, but I'm really happy with them. And most importantly, Avery LOVES them!



And here they are again, all packed and ready to be delivered to Avery's friends!

My best friend's baby.

So, for the past few months, I have been on Craft Overload. I apparently had a giant bubble full of creative juices, and it burst - sending me into imagination overdrive. It has been a freakin' blast. I have learned to knit, sew, crochet, needle felt... and I've also rekindled my love for glue sticks and glitter.

I'll post some updates of my other recent crafties, but my latest focus of creation is on my bestest friend, Havala. She is having a baby! So, naturally I am helping to host a shower for her in the coming months. My first duty as hostess was to send out the save the dates. It went through SEVERAL different drafts, but finally I put some good ideas together.

This is the final piece! Sent it out as a postcard with the save-the-date info on the other side.

What? I have a blog?

Oops. I have taken quite a long sabbatical from my quite short life as a blogger. However, I want to give it another go (I think). We'll see what happens.

Yay.

A fictional story about a nonfictional friend.

About six years ago, a dear friend of mine named Meagan took a trip overseas with a buddy for a two month backpacking adventure... and never returned.

Meagan always had the heart of a free bird and many of her friends, myself included, were not all that surprised to hear the news of her flight from the states.

She sends me surprisingly consistent bimonthly postcards. She first traveled to a small African country and after over a year as an outsider, became accepted by the local tribe. She soon led them as their queen and started a cultural movement of wacky facial expressions and extravagant use of their word for vagina. Although happy enough, she eventually grew weary of her iconic status and left the tribe to continue her travels.

Since then, she has traveled to over 50 countries, giving poetry readings in over 14 languages. She often writes about coming home one day, but I don't think she ever will.

And a Good Morning to You, Crazy Lady

This is one of my many unfinished blogs that I started ages ago... However, it was almost complete, so I wrapped it up at the bottom... however, the story occurred about two months ago.

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When I woke up this morning (at My Man's place), I had to run out to my car to get my clothes before I showered. I had borrowed MM's pajama bottoms to sleep in, and I had just thrown on one of his sweatshirts for the brief walk.

After I had grabbed my real real cool cassette player bag (compliments of perpetualkid.com), I locked my car door and started walking back to his aye-pee-tee. Out of nowhere, I hear this old, high pitched "you-woo, good morning." It's apparent this odd greeting was meant for me, so I begin to search for the owner of the voice. An old lady was leaning up against the back porch rail of her first floor apartment. I give a friendly wave and tell her good morning as well.

Then she motions for me to come over. I'm a morning person, so early a.m. encounters with strangers are nothing new. Honestly, I just figured she was a lonely old lady who wanted to discuss the beautiful weather. Far from it.

I'm not sure the best way to relay the conversation that took place between the two of us... but I'm going to try just plain dialog. I never got her name, but I've since dubbed her Gertie (short for Gertrude).

Me: Good morning to you!
Gertie: I can tell by the clothes you are wearing that you are the one who took my clothes out of the dryer.
Me: Uhhh, excuse me ma'am?
Gertie: You removed my clothes from the dryer in the laundry room. I only had four items of clothing in there. I saw your clothes. I know it was you.
Me: I'm sorry ma'am, but it wasn't me. [Gertie looks at me sceptically] In fact, these aren't even my clothes, they belong to my boyfriend. I'm sorry if he removed your clothes, I'll be sure to let him know you were upset by his actions.
Gertie: No, it was you. I recognize those pants and that sweater.
Me: Well I'm sorry, but I have actually never even done laundry here. My boyfriend must have accidentally taken yours out, although that doesn't seem like something he would do.
Gertie: Well then I hate to tell you this, but your boyfriend must be gay. There were all these silky, lacy items in with those clothes.
Me: Uhhhhhhhhh.... [This is the point where I begin to doubt this ladies sanity]
Gertie: In fact, you better tell him it's a good thing I don't believe in stealing, or I would have taken all of his things. I was a little more than pissed off.
Me: Ma'am, I really do believe you are mistaken. He doesn't own any material even remotely similar to silk. Honestly, pajama pants and sweatshirts are pretty common laundry items. And when did this happen?
Gertie: Yesterday.

Fantastic. At this point I knew that My Man had nothing to do with this alleged clothing heist. He had done laundry about a week and a half ago (I actually had helped fold the pants I was wearing - and last night was the first night they had been worn since). Glad to be able to prove that point, I explained to her the blatant facts at hand. She responded by saying, "hm, well tell him that when he dries things like jeans and that there sweater [it's an effing sweatSHIRT lady!], he needs to turn them inside out." Then she went on to talk about his jeans being frayed at the end. ARG!

For those of you who have known me for a significant amount of time, you are aware that one of my biggest buttons is being accused of something when there is absolutely no way the accusation is even slightly feasible. So, as you can imagine, I was getting pretty hot at the fact she kept referencing us as the criminals of this dumb, dumb, really effing dumb issue.

This exchange had probably gone on for five or ten minutes. I was beyond frustrated, and really wanted to kick this lady in the shins.

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Well, that was the end of the blog as I found it today. Nothing else significant happened. I finally just said, "Well, it wasn't us and I have to go get ready for work, so goodbye" and then walked away. She wasn't there when I left again to head to the workforce. In fact, I haven't seen her since... did I imagine the entire thing???

Selective OCD

I am peculiar. There's no doubt about that. It never really bothers me, but occasionally I'll stop and consider the oddities that make up Me. For example, I like to do cartwheels down the office corridor on Fridays when everyone else has left. Sometimes I even do it when I know there are still people there...it's kind of a rush.

However, sometimes I wonder if I can diagnose individual parts of my mind as OCD. This occurs to me every time I work at Fox and Hound. We have drink racks in the back (see photo for example). Well, I cannot bring myself to place a glass in the rack unless it makes the design (if you will) symmetric. I will even remove glasses and re-rack them to create said design. Now, if we are slow, it gets even worse. I will make smiley faces, anchors, chess boards, etc. You have to admit this is sounding a bit lame...ish.

I realized the seriousness of the situation last night when I was behind one of our new girls in the dish room. I had a handful of glasses my last trip back and had managed to start a nice looking setup. Clearly, the best option to place her one glass was in the top right. Nope, she didn't even notice the obvious pattern, and shoved it awkwardly in whatever spot was convenient. I actually said (to my later horror), "Gah, I mean, not there" then reached and grabbed it and put it in its rightful place. Now, I said it in a laughing tone, and explained to her why, which amused her thoroughly. However, I can't help but wonder what was going on in her head... especially since the only words I had previously spoken to her were, "Hi, my name is Kelly!" See, now don't you believe me when I say I'm peculiar?

After my shift last night, I had an interesting talk about this odd habit with My Man. I don't think he knew what drink racks were, so he couldn't actually picture what I was doing in his head. However, he brought up an excellent point that sheds some light on why I am the way I am. To keep myself from butchering his eloquence by trying to quote him, I'll paraphrase! Basically, he said that we pick up little habits to keep from leading such a boring and ho-hum life. So instead of complaining about how blah my life is, I make up these little internal games to maintain the equilibrium that is my sanity.

Commercials Make Me Cry

I don't consider myself to be a sap by any means, but there are some heartfelt commercials out there that bring me to tears every time. Former roommates (i.e. Havala, Megatron, etc.) have witnessed the single tear falling down my cheek during a meaningful 60 second advertisement... and have lived to tell the tale and ridicule me in front of others.

One of the biggest tear-jerkers for me is Liberty Mutual. When people are helping the other people and it just turns into a circle of happiness and love... guah, gives me the chill bumps every time.

However, nothing comes close to topping the following Cheerios commercial. I think I may have continued to cry for at least two commercials afterwards. I've only seen it on TV twice, but I was able to dig it up on youtube for your viewing pleasure. Grab a Kleenex and enjoy.



Now, if that didn't elicit some deep emotion, you are a (excuse me Paula Abdul) cold-hearted snake. When I watched it before posting this blog, I teared up before it even started.

Again, I don't cry in typical everyday situations... and I'm not sure why I get so emotionally attached to commercials that are ultimately trying to sell me something.

As an end note, I have never purchased or sought information from Liberty Mutual, and I still by the cheap off-brand Cheerios.