I did find Sharon on Facebook, purely by accident, and I'm not really quite sure what I was looking at . . . her "wall" or something. I was trying to view Sarah J.'s Facebook, when suddenly, I was caught in a web of forms and permissions and what knots. Facebook is completely confusing to me. I don't get it. I guess its instant messaging, only not instant? Or maybe it is instant? A multi-faceted blog? Or a more private blog? I don't know. It frightened and confused me, and I left the computer cross-eyed from sitting in front of it too long. It asked me for permission to access my e-mail account so that it could send an invitation to be friends to all my friends and I declined and then tried to get out of there. Those e-mails that say, "Sew And Sew Wants to be your friend!" and I'm like - uhhh - aren't we already friends? Right?
I did see some funny stuff, though. Like, on Olivia's page it says: Dog spelled backwards is God, which I guess sums up her feelings about her dogs. So I guess I learned that she's a crazy dog lady now. Not unlike my mom's neighbor Maria, who is a crazy horse lady. She said she's letting her mini-horses come in the house for her Christmas party, "Why can't I? Its my house!" she said. We were crazy dog people, growing up. At one point we had five dogs. Two American Eskimos, one Rottweiler, a Black Lab and a chow/pit bull mutt. Two of the three dogs were my aunt and uncle's dogs, who eventually moved to Florida where my aunt and uncle live. But man - for awhile, we were totally the crazy dog people in the neighborhood. Unbeknownst to us, the dogs were real hell raisers. When the rottweiler accidentally drown in the canal, every neighbor within three miles came by to express their happiness and tell some rowdy story of what Bouncer had done to them, their pet or their property. I suppose that we never knew about it when she was alive because nobody could get near our house to tell us about it? Who knew.
We're now well on our way to becoming crazy cat people. And our cat is pregnant again, which isn't my fault, exactly. The wind blew our not completely shut door open and she got out for a few hours while we were at the park one day. Having a litter of kittens isn't so bad. Its a fun experience for the girls and there's always someone that needs a pet, right? Right people! I had a dream last night that she had 4 kittens, which is twice as many as last time, but not so many that we can't give them away. They'll make great pets because they've been completely manhandled by Francesca and Cecilia from birth. There's my cat advertisement.
So, anyway, on Facebook, I found this group titled, "Crocs - I Don't Care How Comfortable They Are, You Look Like a Dumbass." This is hilarious because, being nearly 35, I'm thinking that I'm past the age of uncomfortable shoes, so Crocs are totally right up my alley. I wore some uncomfortable red stiletto boots the other night when Andrew and I walked four blocks round-trip to Inari's and I hadn't gone 1/4 block when I was complaining about walking, because my feet already hurt. I'm having a bit of a hard time with letting go of all my uncomfortable shoes, because I keep thinking about a collage that hangs at this boutique in Boulder, where my friend Amy works. Its an ad from a magazine, with a picture of a pair of decidedly comfortable shoes. The ad says, "Comfort is . . . " and there is the shoes - then someone pasted "UGLY!" at the end of the sentence. I was all ready to buy a pair of those cute furry boot Crocs, until I saw the "Crocs - I don't care how comfortable they are, you look like a dumb*ss," group. But you know what? The beauty of being not in my 20's anymore is that I TOTALLY would rather be a comfortable, ugly dumb*ss than have hurty feet. Come to think of it, my feet are hurty right now from wearing Uggs, which are warm/comfortable, stylish, but have ZERO arch support. Time for some new ugly shoes to complete my dumb*ss wardrobe!
I am completing a serious purging of the closet right now, because I moved my clothes from a huge walk-in closet into a tiny closet and my wardrobe has some pretty ridiculous items. Such as about 50 bikinis. Who needs that many bikinis? I don't really feel appropriate in a bikini anymore unless I'm at a lake or somewhere remote and dirty. But when and where am I planning to wear all those 80's thrift store prom dresses? Walking to the post office in Palisade? Or that backless, black and white v-neck bell-bottom jump suit. 25 purses? I kept some for the girls to play with but the rest must go. I keep trying to get the 13 year old next door to come and look at my give away box before I take it to the Migrant Center, but she doesn't seem interested. She's more of a t-shirt and jeans kind of girl. It just seems like someone out there will love my clothes like I did. Maybe I'll go through it again and wrap up items for Christmas presents. That would be great. Who will get the 50's purple purse? Sarah and her mid-life hair crisis might like the red snake-print tights with holes in them? When I turned 31, I was pregnant and I received several pairs of sweat pants for my birthday, so 31 was the year of the sweat pants. 35 is feeling like the year of "Goodbye - Maybe I want to look cheap," and "Hello - Maybe I want to look comfortable."
But all this talk about what is in that box, and thinking about it, makes me want to dive right back in there and rescue it . . . do I still want to look cheap after all? A case of 'You can take the girl out of Trashy Town, but you can't take Trashy Town out of the girl.' That should be a Facebook group. I would totally join, if I could figure out how.
1 comment:
ur not doing a great job of bob barker's campaign to keep the pet population down by spading or neutering your pet.
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