The Blame Game

I belong in a sunshiny state, Reader. Because I'm just happier. My hair is frizzier, my face is sweatier, but my smile is happier. 

The first leg of the journey has been spent at Patrick Airforce Base, which is mi Papa's Casa. See how I went all international on you right there, Reader? Because I'm a showoff, that's why.  

And I'm also a Creepy Old Lady. And I would most definitely be Debra Winger's sluttier friend from An Officer and a Gentleman if I had grown up near an Airforce base. Because the clean-cut, hard-bodied boys? Make my pants wanna fall down.  I know, I know - wrong. My very own nephew is in the Airforce, so I am well aware of the creepiness level. It's at Code Orange.  Because I'm old and they're young and it's gross. 

But my pants don't know that, so don't blame me. 

Blame my pants.

It makes me feel less creepy to lay the blame elsewhere. 

We get all the Airforce privileges while on base, including protection from bad guys as well as eating at the cafeteria-style Riverside Dining hall. You can get your choice of meal for a few cheap bucks, and it's delicious. I would never ever cook if I had everyday access to that. 

The meal comes with a waterfront view. 

And great company.

So basically, perfect. 

Sunny Days Ahead

Hey, Reader. Hi. 

I am procrastinating. I don't know why I struggle against the act of packing as much as I do. But I do. And I like where I'm going, but still I hate the packing part. So much so, that I've got nothing but time on my hands, and here it sits at minutes to midnight, with a seven a.m. flight and I still don't have one things in my suitcase. I have things on the bed, in neat little stacks, but it's not whittled down yet. I need to cull the herd of shirts. It's too many. I have three sets of pajamas. I don't know what I plan on doing exactly to warrant the need for three pair of pajamas, but I'll be ready just in case. 

When I'm a millionaire I'm going to have a professional packer. 

And a hairdresser. 

And a chef. 

So basically a lot of good people to do things for me, because I have other things I'd rather be doing. 

Like typing words that mean nothing. 

Or watching t.v.

Or reading. 

Or kissing kitties. 

So yeah. I'll be gone for weeks and weeks. Don't try to rob me, Bad Guys. I've got people at the house, per usual, because eight cats. They demand live-in help. Because they're demanding that way. 

I'd like to say that I'm going on vacation, but it's not a vacation if you're not working, is it? Don't you go on vacation to get away from the stress of it all? I don't have the stress of it all at the moment, so it's just a trip. To warm and sunny weather, where I shall process the hell out of Vitamin D. 

I bought new lotion for myself on my trip and tried it out. I am silky soft and can't stop touching myself. On my arms, Reader. On my arms. Sheesh. 

Stay in touch, Reader. Maybe I'll bring ya back a crappy t-shirt. 

Better Left Unsaid

I just wrote a little snippet about what I've been doing during my new House-Unwife Lifestyle, and it was so fucking boring that I deleted the whole thing. 

You're welcome. 

The Perfect Blend

Okay, now you're really stretching it, Candle Namer. Because "Wild Bamboo"  - what are you going for here, exactly? 

How wild is this bamboo?  

Is it one-night stand wild, smelling like cheap motel sex, armpits, and shame?

Is it girls-gone-wild, and smells like tequila, titty-flashes, pee and bubblegum? 

Or is it frat boy wild, more boozy, beer, farts and mooning? 

Wild Bamboo's friends, Trailing Ivy and Fresh Bergamot had better be there to hold her hair when she's puking, or bail him out of jail. That's what good friends do. 

I didn't buy this, because my house already smells like farts and cheap motel sex. No need to pay extra for it, Reader. 

Morning Glory

Sometimes I have hare-brained ideas, Reader. I know you find that hard to believe, because I'm always so sane and rational. But it's true.

I was coffee-creamer shamed recently and forced to do the calorie count of just how much coffee creamer I was using per cup. We won't point fingers at who did the shaming, but it wouldn't be too hard of a guess for you. I knew my creamer had 35 calories per serving. I guess I was just a little out of touch with what a tablespoon of creamer actually looked like in my cup. 

Because once I measured it out, I was using almost 1/4 of a cup per cup, or 100 calories worth of creamer in each mug.   

So this does seem like a logical place to cut back, right? One little easy-peasy switch could save me 700 to 1400 calories per week, depending upon my coffee dependency that week. 

I used up the last of my deliciously flavored creamer and then made the very harsh and bitter switch to 2% milk.  

I did not enjoy, nor look forward to, my morning cuppa coffee any longer, Reader. It became just a necessity rather than a luxury.  

I had morning sadness. 

But I was doing it for the greater good, meaning just a little step towards a healthier lifestyle. I kept clinging to that thought, every time I sipped my coffee and was sad about it. 

Then my friendie Michele said, "Oh, I'm not doing that, sometimes coffee is all I have to look forward to during the day!" 

That kept replaying in my brain. What if that cuppa coffee is the best part of my day, and I've just shortchanged myself right from the start? 

I kept up the sad coffee for about two weeks. 

And then last night, while at the Walmart to buy a new wheel for my filing cabinet that somewhere lost a wheel, which is a whole other complaint, I said in my brain, "Fuck this, I'm bringing back joy to my morning coffee, in the form of Almond Joy creamer!" and put it right in my cart. 

Because I'm no skinnier for denying myself my coffee pleasure. I'm only sadder. 

I greeted this morning with a hot cuppa coffee and my Almond Joy creamer.  However, I did measure out one serving size, that's my concession I'm making with myself, and while it's not quite as milky and delicious as it was with a quarter cup of creamer in it, it was still a delight with the coconutty flavor I love. 

So there.  No more morning coffee frowny face for this girl.   

Life's too short for sad coffee. 

Heart Healthy

Yep, I'm showing you a picture of what I had for breakfast. 

Your day is now complete. 

But there's actually more to the story than my bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, counting 1:26 p.m. as breakfast time because it can be when you're unemployed. Time has new meaning, Reader, because there is no mandatory bedtime.  

But that's not the story.

The story is that every time I make oatmeal, I think about my grandmother Sophie always calling them "Mother's Oats."   As a kid, I could never understand what the hell a mother's oat was, and what sort of mother they came from.  This was before the Internets existed, way way way a long time ago, before you could ask Almighty Google what the fuck a Mother's Oat was and which part of the mother it came from. 

So my little kid brain put this scenario together:  They were squeezed from the nipples of goats. Goat's obviously made sense, because Goat ---> Oat - get it??  From Mother Goats only.  So the oats came out of there dry, and then other nipples would give you the goat milk. 

And ever since, every time I make oatmeal, I hear Sophie's voice talking about making "Mother's Oats" and I see mama goat nipples squeezing out my breakfast for me. 

There. Now you, too, get to enjoy more of the nonsense that rattles around in my brain. And I've just taught you something. I'm not sure what exactly.  But you probably have questions, and that's the role of every good teacher, to leave you asking questions. Your question may be, "Why?? Why did I just read this and waste thirty seconds of my life that I'll never get back?" Or your question may be, "Why didn't I know that oats came from goats? Wait, do they come from goats? I"m confused now, too." 

I'm not here to answer your questions, Reader. I'm only here to confuse you.  And NOW your day is complete. 

You're welcome. 

Just Shabby, No Chic

I've got a big project I'm undertaking this week, Reader.  It's about time I did a little something on my to-do list. I mean, I have done some really fun things on my unemployed-status to-do list, including the following:

1/ Met my childhood friendie for lunch. We haven't seen each other in, I'm not exaggerating, a million years. Literally,  a million years, Reader. That's a long time.  It was fun and a lot of words came out of mouths and I hope to do it again sooner rather than later.

2/ My auntie bought a new house and I was able to be there on a Friday morning for the key-getting ceremony. Well, I wasn't there right on the dot, but soon enough that I had time to chat with my aunty & two cousins, and ooooh and ahhhhh over the new digs. It's an exciting time for her.

3/ Met another prior (see how I avoided the use of the word "older" here, Reader? take note) work friend, also whom I haven't seen in a lot of years, for a Mexican lunch and a good chat about life. She also recently resigned from her job, so we have another thing in common. We've led sort of parallel lives, while being very different at the same time. 

4/ Had impromptu dinner at my house without being a stressed out nut job. 

5/ Some other stuff happened, I can't remember, because one Saturday bleeds into the next Saturday. 

So while I've been great at the lunching and friending parts of my list, the cleaning and tidying parts have taken a backseat.  I'm going to change that this week, despite what my practical debbie-downer friend has whispered into my ear, which is, "Don't spend money buying paint, you're unemployed and virtually unemployable at this stage of your life." Thanks for that. 

Instead of just killing off my old, virtually unemployable self, I'm buying paint. Because since we've moved into Chez Bang Bang, the office has been the official junk room, with door closed at all times because that's where the Shame lives.

It needs paint. It's the last major room in the house, other than the laundry room, that hasn't been painted. And I'm not painting it just because I don't like the color. I'm painting it because it's never been painted since the house was built  16 years ago, and the walls are scuffed and marred up and have plenty of holes from prior hangings. Of pictures, I hope. 

If I'm going to get any creativity accomplished, the room needs to not only be cleaned and put away, but painted a joyous and inspiring color. 

To which, I've been inspired by this blogger Christy, who's house I love! I could never carry off these colors in my house, it's just not who I am (I'm drab/bland), but I'm going to stray from the neutrals for the office and add Visual Happy to my space. 

Here are the before pics, also known as "Oh My Fuck, I've got a lot of work to do this week."

I'm choosing Sherwin Williams Tantalizing Teal for the space. It was between that, or Belize, but I liked the more greeny-blue color vs. the bluey-blue color.  I will use the bluey-blue color for the laundry room, so it doesn't go to waste.

It's an absolute shame to not be using this space as not only my creativity sparker, but to get my shit organized, because I can't find fuck around here when I need it. Well, I mean, papers. I can find fuck whenever I need it, and even when I don't. Especially when I don't. 

Here is the view from this room:

See? Pretty.  Despite the #$%^& snow, that I am totally over by now.  March, we are ready for the lambing, please.

Stay tuned for the makeover reveal later this week. Or I'll herniate my discs. Something will happen by Friday. 

#Winning!!

Well, I know you are waiting with bated breath, Readers! So I opted to NOT do a live video contest -winner-picking-thingamajig because sometimes my ambitions exceed my reality, and really, who needs to watch that video of me in the morning.  No one, Reader, that's who.  

But we did do an official name-writing-down-on-a-list AND I did use the Cabo Wabo hat because it should get some use since I drunk-paid probably twenty-five bucks for it. I may have paid a hundred, who really knows when the tequila takes hold. It seemed like a good deal at the time, but we had been drinking for about six hours by that point.  I wish that were an exaggeration. 

The contest had seven participants, thank you all for the GREAT tips. I'd like to say I've been adding them to my daily routine, but that would be a lie, because basically I've not been doing much except sitting around in my unemployment with a smile on my face.  But today's a new day, new month, and I'm going to look into a number of the great ideas! In particular, I'm going to check out the free videos Carla recommended, and double up my water, and say no to Oreos. 

I know Carla didn't want to be added to the contest, but in all fairness I threw her name in the hat anyway because she told me I'm pretty gave me some great tips. 

By the way, Reader, she's the ONLY one who told me I was pretty and nice. Ya'll got some work to do on your compliments. Ahem. 

Kenny was the official name picker, as a *very* disinterested neutral bystander. 

And now for the big reveal....pretend there's a drum roll......


JACKIE!! was the first name pulled from the Cabo Wabo hat!! 

And since I was late with the winner announcement and have a runner-up winner. 

JOY!! is the lucky winner of the 2nd Giveaway Bracelet!!

You are now both like Charlie Sheen, #Winning!, only you're not getting a stripper and blow sent to your doorstep. At least not by me, I don't know what you may do in your personal time. No judging here, Readers. 

You can email me your shipping info to: tracyeoh@yahoo.com. 
Please put CONTEST in the subject line so I don't miss it amongst all the emails I get to increase my penis size. 

Jackie, specify your color preference. Joy, your color will be a surprise. 

Below are the pics of the grey & purple, you can also check them out on the Simbi website.  They are handmade, keep that in mind, so they are perfectly imperfect and no two beads are alike. 

I wish I wasn't unemployed and could buy enough bracelets to send each commenter a little wrist beauty. Ah, well. Thanks again for stopping by, leaving a healthy tidbit, and playing the game.  

There's a good feeling in paying it forward, Reader. I hope to be able to do more of it, but the next giveaway might just have some random shit from my house or a cat because unemployed. I'm pretty sure that would still count as a good deed. Or maybe it's just a deed, without the good part. 

Contest Update: Winner Not Announced Yet

Trixie Bang Bang's First Official Giveaway : Update

Well, it should come with little surprise that I did not announce our winner today.  I don't know where the hell the day went.  First, I wanted to be sure I looked good just in case I decided to video the selection process. That never happened, and I kept waiting for it to happen.  I showered and everything, but still never managed to look very good today. I did have on my hobo shirt, with the hole in the elbow (that could be one of 9 different shirts).  Maybe because I was wearing my hobo shirt, it transferred to the rest of me and just refused to pretty up all day. 

Contest is closed, though, and a winner will be pulled first thing in the morning. In fact, because of the delay, we shall have TWO WINNERS - first person gets their choice of color (purple or grey) and the 2nd lucky runner up gets the other color, which is also lovely. 

Stay tuned.....and basically I suck at sticking to a schedule. I blame my new unfettered lifestyle, where every day is Saturday. And my hobo shirt.