Thanksgiving...indeed.

Last week before we left for Boise was a rough day. I went back to work one more day at the temp job after an appointment with DHS for food stamps. That was a sentence I never thought I would type. But there I was, sitting for over two hours eavesdropping on conversations about friends that appeared on the Jerry Springer show, proudly refusing free day old Starbucks muffins in a room that seemed to suck the sunshine out of my life with every passing minute. Finally my name was called by a grandma type who seemed more disciplinarian than friendly. One half of her cubicle was covered in poodle pictures cut out of calendars; the other half was all Nascar. I was left alone while she was making copies, and I spent most of my time picturing Glenda (yes, that was her name) at home surrounded by poodles, a nascar race while crocheting an afghan. After she came back, she tapped her acrylic nails and wanted to confirm that my husband was an immigrant. I responded that he was in fact a citizen, but we do have a savings account with Emmigrant. My good grammar must have swayed her because I left with a card in my hand. Which I guess is a good thing. I'm having a hard time getting used to government aid.

Anyway, I went back to work in the reject cubicle (the girl I was subbing for came back...I tried to ignore her co-workers' exclamations of joy) and finished my day by laminating hundreds of tiny things. I was about to leave when I looked down at my wool sweater dress and realized I had brushed against a newly retouched wall. I saw the sage green streak and loudly yelled a choice word ("shiz"--it was my last day, after all). Serendipitously I had an extra dress in my backseat, changed in the parking lot, and took my dress to an eco-friendly dry cleaner, where I was given a 50% survival rate for my dress.

Adding to that the fact that I found out I only took home 60% of my actual temp wage, Thanksgiving could not have come at a better time. Early Christmas, pumpkin pie, thrifting, and little Reese put that day far in the past.

4 more days of purple cubicles

I add things to my Christmas list a lot.

So for the past week or so I've been fulfilling a 2 week temp job at a real estate office. Full time. Those words put dread into my heart. So did the 8 a.m. start time. I do boring office stuff like stuff billions of envelopes, copy billions of copies, and answer the phone in a very gravelly voice (lost my normal voice when I got a cold). However, the people are very nice and they don't make fun of the "temp." (In their place, I totally would.) I have an hour for lunch, and since the office is downtown I get time to explore the very NW corner of our wonderful city. Even though I am in the industrial section, a small walk leads me to small independent stores carrying vintage and handmade things, as well as a store with beautiful wallpaper and seemingly everything I covet that I see in blogs. (Tiny ceramics made to look like disposable things! I die!) After about 2600 steps, I am back in my cubicle, surrounded by garish orange and purple furnishings and copy projects. The designer of this place really took "It's a Chico's kind of day..." to a whole new literal level.

By the way, what do you do when you are in a store alone? Almost always I am the only customer, and I know I have no intention of buying. I say hello to whoever is working there, and proceed to browse while pretending no one is looking at me. I always feel a little awkward. And once a dachshund tried to attack me.

I swear I don't just do birthdays.

But my parents are 50! Yes, they have the same birthday.

Happy birthday, I love you both so much! Listing your wonderful qualities would make this too long of a post, so just know that my parents are amazing people.

However, buying a vacuum for your birthday isn't too worthy for turning a half century. You may take a cue from Jon and me and buy an accordion, or you could get something equally ridiculous and/or frivolous.

Sorry Meredith.

This picture was much more appropriate for your birthday. Courtesy of Great Faces Photography.

She's got lots of friends for good reason

May the power of the gems bring you the greatest of birthday celebrations.

Happy birthday Mere. Even a night early, I'm probably not the first to say it, but what about the first in Oregon?

???

What are you supposed to think when your husband leaves this in a browser tab, all alone, no words or reasons attached?


I mean, should I be worried?

no eye smiles

Jon is much better at this than me. Look at those eyes! He is selling that sweater! Or he is staring deeply into your soul.


I don't mind admitting that I like reality shows. Modeling/fashion based reality shows. But for all the shows I've watched--ANTM, Petra's "Model Life," Project Runway, The Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency, 10th and Ocean (Don't you judge!)--models are constantly whining about how "hard" their job is. And yeah, if Tyra's making you hold a tarantula between your teeth while being dangled above a pit of stilettos WHILE frozen in a block of ice, that might be difficult. But real modeling is usually a simple recipe of a cat-like pouty face, an eastern European pedigree and a diet of red bull and cigarette butts. Easy. At least that's what I thought. I met Jon for lunch a few days ago, and also decided to take some pictures of a bunch of sweaters I'm posting on the etsy shop. It had to be done, and how hard could it be? I don't have a Slovakian cat-like face, so I had Jon cut my head out of the pictures. 15 minutes later I felt embarrassed, frumpy, and very JC Penney catalog-esque. There was no face involved, and yet I struggled. I just felt so dumb, standing on a sidewalk getting my pictures taken between joggers on the sidewalk. It was a tortorous, humbling experience. I hate it when Tyra is right.

Whew for me, arg for you?

I wasn't going to go political, but how could I let such a historical night go by without comment? I live for election night. It's a night I forget my jaded feelings about politics and am amazed at the democratic system in our country. I love the fact that people can have such different political ideas. I love that my dad has not disowned me.

And I'm kinda relieved it's finally over. If only to stop the Smith/Merkley ads.

boo.