Monday, February 27, 2006


For the last 10 days or so I've been painting the spare bedroom. This was a job that I naively thought would take only 4 nights to complete (one night for the ceiling, one night for the walls, one night for the trim and then one night for touch-ups). Note that of those 10 nights, I only actually did stuff about 7 nights. As of last night (Sunday) it's finished! It doesn't quite look the way I thought it would, but it's not bad. I finished painting Sunday afternoon, then cleaned the carpets and moved everything back that evening.

So the feel for the room is what I would call, "Santa Fe". Does that help you picture it? A deep, warm orange on the walls, a darker red on the trim, then a brighter, but still deep yellow on the ceiling. It's different than the rest of the house and I can't help but look in there multiple times a day.

It somewhat makes me want to paint more of the house. It's sort of the same feeling I have about moving; I love the idea of moving to a new place, but don't like the physical act of moving.
I do like for there to be some color in the house, but I have a hard time thinking abstractly enough to feel comfortable picking colors. You have no idea how long it took me to be ok with the color choices! Ben helped me in that area, but we basically picked one color we liked, then the program we were usuing allowed you to pick analogous, monochromatic, or complementary colors to go with it if you weren't daring enough to pick your own. I went with the analogous option.

Speaking of the abstract thinking thing; it effects me most often when I'm shopping for clothes, which is maybe why I don't do that kind of shopping very often (last month I updated my work wardrobe for first time in 3 years!). The only way for me to find whole outfits to wear is to buy what they put on the manquins. I don't really like to do the trying on things all the time, so if I can see it put together without having to undress, then that's all the better. If not, I end up with one article of clothing that I like, say a pair of pants. Then I end up walking all around the store putting the pants up to a variety of different shirts, getting more and more frusterated with my inability to decide what looks right together! It's so incredibly irritating that I can feel my anxiety building just typing those last sentences. I'm gonna have to stop now.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006


I love to watch VH1. There are a few shows that I absolutely will NOT watch (Flavor of Love, Celebrity Fit Club), but I enjoy a majority of their programming. VH1 seems to have the same effect on me as Taco Bell. All someone has to do it mention it, or turn it on (in this case) and I'm IN! Just last night I was walking from the kitchen to the laundry room by way of the living room where some show about some celebrity spending or something was on and I literally stood there and watched, almost in a trance-like state, for a good ten minutes. It's crazy and that happens a lot! When we got cable back this winter, that was the first channel I flipped to. Can you say I Love the 80's? Nothing got done around the house during the first week that aired! I was hooked/glued/glazed to the tube for hours and it still has that same effect on me now; even though I've already seen every episode. Is it possible that they put MSG in it somehow?

I enjoy the commentary on the shows, but I have to wonder why I couldn't do that. I'm just as, if not more so, funny as those guys and it's not like the average Joe would know those B-list people anymore than he would know me. I think that would be one of the best jobs around. Best Week Ever is high on the list of my favorite shows.

Here's another random thought that maybe you can help me understand. Why do manufacterer's (car, clothing, jewelry, etc) GIVE musicians/actors/athletes their products for free? That group of people could easily afford all the high-end, pimped-out versions of the products and yet, the makers hand them out to them. It doesn't make any sense to me. What are they going for?

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Little G

I've recently discovered that nothing makes me feel older than my sister, Stacie's birthday. With said day just around the corner (Feb. 5th), I thought I'd share my thoughts on her upcoming 20st birthday.

Feburary 5th, 1986; ahh yes, I remember it well. I was in second grade and my teacher got a message that my aunt was on her way to get me to take me to the hospital because my little sister had just been born. I remember the first time I held her there in the hospital, with my dad's help of course. There was a bunch of family and family friends all about and everyone was excited. The new baby excitement wore off quickly for me, since I had been the center of attention for 7 whole years and now I had to share. I remember specifically wanting to send her back because I didn't like how hardly anyone was paying attention to me. But those feelings went away, mostly because I realized that there was no option for sending her away.

As the years went by, I got more and more used to her being around. In fact, with the birth of my sister, there was a boom of other babies in our family. Within the next three years, there were 5 kids added to our family. Let me take a minute to point out that I do not mean my immediate family, when I say family. My immediate family consists of my mom, dad, sister and I and the occasional dog and random other family pet. Anyway....

More and more years went by and I decided that I was excited to watch her grow up and see what she would be like. So I watched her grow and go through a variety of character and hairstyle changes. (FYI- our mother was a bit cruel when it came to haircut styles for us; think afro and chili-bowl).

When she was about 5 or 6, she really liked to watch the movie The Princess Bride, to which we started to call her Buttercup. A few years later I got into a phase where I listened to a lot of rap music (most people I know went through this as well) and at some point I decided to call her Little G and she called me Big G. So it sort of stuck and my parents called her that for awhile too. Things progressed, we grew up and she got a job in a restaurant where she somehow wound up with the nickname Cornbread. At this time, I was living in Indy so I really can't say the circumstances around the nickname. She went through a period when she wanted to be called Sam (her initials), and there were a few other nicknames, I've just forgotten them.

Anyway, she graduated high school (despite what my parents thought at times) and has gone on to Ball State University where she's a sophmore studying nursing (at least that's the plan today). It was sort of surreal to do a shot of Goldschlager with her at this past Hallobean. She's grown up to be the prettier sister (see vivblog) with much better taste in clothing, hair and makeup than me. All in all, I'm proud of her and love her no matter what.