tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141715132024-03-23T13:29:49.844-05:00Mei FlowerMeihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.comBlogger962125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-61809012839159292912011-04-28T23:15:00.000-05:002011-04-28T23:15:52.518-05:00Self-Improvement<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've written before about my weight loss. Here's a visual aid:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha6Vyb-AOO3j1atkssfVjqcTkH1zSjz1LSH0lKKDDKKKzu-Dsa9DXG91vY4MZ1SLZLvrRmjPNHdgJLr9zCie1qzKnnS3QaqTRRCUV2EUSGFJJULGVpN0z6Ep8cK4Mj0kgXxULg/s1600/1-2-2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha6Vyb-AOO3j1atkssfVjqcTkH1zSjz1LSH0lKKDDKKKzu-Dsa9DXG91vY4MZ1SLZLvrRmjPNHdgJLr9zCie1qzKnnS3QaqTRRCUV2EUSGFJJULGVpN0z6Ep8cK4Mj0kgXxULg/s320/1-2-2011.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><br />
Left: Italy, June 2009<br />
Right: Nashville, December 2010<br />
<br />
I didn't really start concentrating on losing weight until last March. In a little over a year, I've lost 65-70 pounds (it's fluctuating right now; the ice cream I ate for dinner doesn't help).<br />
<br />
I started exercising this month. I joined a gym and everything. <br />
<br />
... I KNOW.<br />
<br />
I'm having a hard time not being a Fat Girl. Like, I can look in a mirror and not recognize my own reflection. Obviously my body looks different, but my face! My face does not look familiar to me. <br />
<br />
Sometimes I open my picture folder and stare at the photos, searching for the image I have of myself. Sometimes I find it, and sometimes I don't. It's so WEIRD, acknowledging this shift between perception and reality. And there's a little bit of mourning, too, because I didn't realize that I was changing this much, and I didn't have a chance to adjust because it seemed to come out of nowhere.<br />
<br />
I feel like ... I feel like I'm in witness protection, almost. Like the past 7-8 years--the years I got fat and stayed that way--have been erased and I'm starting with nothing. I honestly don't know how to move forward.<br />
<br />
So. This was depressing. Here, have a cat.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvSvJ-Lz0Sakn48os1rc7F_wKcGilFtPyAMZZgK2BuGEnWcg82eGbnA3VMOqTOsphj9Kda-DaLLw4iYh9OdbexYDNJNMgkDlLWRCJUBXdJa3ghLidqmKgeB89Mbpg25-08aUyd/s1600/oct+10+066.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvSvJ-Lz0Sakn48os1rc7F_wKcGilFtPyAMZZgK2BuGEnWcg82eGbnA3VMOqTOsphj9Kda-DaLLw4iYh9OdbexYDNJNMgkDlLWRCJUBXdJa3ghLidqmKgeB89Mbpg25-08aUyd/s320/oct+10+066.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-86292741052788526542011-04-27T22:32:00.000-05:002011-04-27T22:32:28.771-05:00Home Improvement<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">One of the best things about OWNING as opposed to RENTING is that I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, to whatever I want. I cannot tell you what satisfaction it gives me to vaccuum at 1:30 in the morning, or to visit the paint counter with actual intent to buy.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">With that said, I have some more things to show off.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaJ-KVNqrWFtJavO67ylpZZ8RNCQFuM_929DSS_XgP731bxO944bqdKBFx0ZhLO1w4rCMcDNAD_L6KUWGwUTUimdKJ9TfDc8Ig60YELo4FB2ALmsJCHluBtO3yAysFTgkH3Tln/s320/100_0649-1.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">It came with all its drawers and hardware; I forgot to take a picture before I'd started improvements</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;">I bought this dresser from a Craigslist seller for $25. When my mom and I went to pick it up, she told me not to buy it. It wasn't in the best condition, I admit, but I had a plan.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_FpyXD4J3FWwPgzkqSRh5VwOUf-f2WghPP-18igvBpuKIE0TTM9-Zlh9p7KLezqTeASSSfkeSdvJ9bQe0r2MzVDSlh0uhsFU5CAbzDgYlpk_cgAW5xn1xd7eycAQ4aeCHZ6qI/s1600/100_1030-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_FpyXD4J3FWwPgzkqSRh5VwOUf-f2WghPP-18igvBpuKIE0TTM9-Zlh9p7KLezqTeASSSfkeSdvJ9bQe0r2MzVDSlh0uhsFU5CAbzDgYlpk_cgAW5xn1xd7eycAQ4aeCHZ6qI/s320/100_1030-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;">My $25 Craigslist dresser has become my totally unique dining room buffet. Some primer and a couple of coats of paint went a long way to making it more attractive. The insets are scrapbook pages cut to a template and glued to the drawers, and the formerly yellow brass handles are spray-painted with Oil-Rubbed Bronze (my go-to metallic).</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">NEXT!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDK3XV5bi-z9NJDuZEr9Cisjj_SbcyeJEYIdXs2I0arXqcEmdVvo0pfyGLkns9XoPWiddchObRSd7L_TgNewZOt5br2gsUWZKIn-29KI8fhiIvtSfeEVmP7D_VnWlRqgx4-mY/s1600/100_0651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDK3XV5bi-z9NJDuZEr9Cisjj_SbcyeJEYIdXs2I0arXqcEmdVvo0pfyGLkns9XoPWiddchObRSd7L_TgNewZOt5br2gsUWZKIn-29KI8fhiIvtSfeEVmP7D_VnWlRqgx4-mY/s320/100_0651.JPG" width="147" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><i>I had to sand that spray paint off. It was offensive.</i></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This lamp, with a shade (I used it on the other lamp), set me back a cool 15 bucks at a thrift store. You can see it has some of the same ugly green as my other lamp, but what you can't see is that, underneath that orange spray paint (that's my doing, by the way, because I started painting before I remembered to take a picture) is some kind of floral fantasy that was somebody else's bad idea.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When the orange spray paint didn't work out, I had to set this project aside for a while because I couldn't find the right color. I knew I wanted something in the orangey family, though.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsk2_U1NI016R1YeFUTDpO39SavUfa_cJCjBP9HHtxSAoh1WOo6IN8bhCJOmIrMJhtpgK9ii_zr2ggyjv3ft31ijJemruFkoFAbsOXPRY2IGC-Qt-iZLJCepWesPIEhjVuLBlM/s1600/100_1036-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsk2_U1NI016R1YeFUTDpO39SavUfa_cJCjBP9HHtxSAoh1WOo6IN8bhCJOmIrMJhtpgK9ii_zr2ggyjv3ft31ijJemruFkoFAbsOXPRY2IGC-Qt-iZLJCepWesPIEhjVuLBlM/s320/100_1036-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<div style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This is craft paint. CRAFT PAINT. I bought it for, like, $1.99 at Hobby Lobby. The metal parts are Oil-Rubbed Bronze (yes, again), and I picked up the shade at the same Brunswick thrift store for three whole dollars.</span></span></span></div><div style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
Oh, and this is another re-wiring job, and I totally did not electrocute myself.</span></span></span></div><br />
<br />
Here they are in my dining room.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3nm7kl5t5K4FehsG8jjZdaimhnCV_dMzw8wNs_9nOjMCIoDQu0xmGnd7ogNQrAv35cpGkcXhI-L_9pD84ZFqZ6VR2yhMwA_5WqZbqP8q8_-UVOLnaBwCesonbBAzeAH8GTWB/s1600/100_1039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3nm7kl5t5K4FehsG8jjZdaimhnCV_dMzw8wNs_9nOjMCIoDQu0xmGnd7ogNQrAv35cpGkcXhI-L_9pD84ZFqZ6VR2yhMwA_5WqZbqP8q8_-UVOLnaBwCesonbBAzeAH8GTWB/s320/100_1039.JPG" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Actually, the ONLY furniture currently in my dining room.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black;">NEXT!</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black;"><br />
</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black;">My backyard is fenced, but the yard kind of slopes downward, so I have a pretty good view into my neighbors' kitchen, and they can see into mine. This just will not do. </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwdkxBQWB9Vifk-pd2Awujq_s3IPSO1F9lY3Zvm3PUcGYO-wf3cwMbJ9QXLKihHPqWYRU8GB2mHO1Z0TsIINnsEjX6CuCLnLFPtDLsaxaGOf7Rvyt5aI0BkLqOfEuXll9AthYa/s1600/100_0654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwdkxBQWB9Vifk-pd2Awujq_s3IPSO1F9lY3Zvm3PUcGYO-wf3cwMbJ9QXLKihHPqWYRU8GB2mHO1Z0TsIINnsEjX6CuCLnLFPtDLsaxaGOf7Rvyt5aI0BkLqOfEuXll9AthYa/s320/100_0654.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
I bought some glazing spray paint, but I didn't want to just spray the door all willy-nilly; I thought that would be boring, and I didn't really want to worry about even coverage, because I knew that would probably be beyond my ability. So I taped a random, abstract-ish design onto the door, then went to town with that glaze. <br />
<br />
It stunk pretty badly, and I had to lock the cats in my bedroom. Fortunately, it was a nice day in February when I did this, so it dried quickly and the house got an airing to boot.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRDuA6PencT6lgyOa7HwkxV94HQ8-frWPuzkNXpd6jqpA7zBQ0xkACldjbUQiHchxELm4MXo7_aRf38894cQY7G_zG-HWwxMmEzaM0gwp_ul0LLgb8MhYr_hZHiyB-Vmkd0tTf/s1600/100_0663.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRDuA6PencT6lgyOa7HwkxV94HQ8-frWPuzkNXpd6jqpA7zBQ0xkACldjbUQiHchxELm4MXo7_aRf38894cQY7G_zG-HWwxMmEzaM0gwp_ul0LLgb8MhYr_hZHiyB-Vmkd0tTf/s320/100_0663.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
There is still some visibility, so sunlight can get through, and the stripes make just enough of a pattern to be interesting, but not distracting. I am so proud of myself for having had this idea.<br />
<br />
NEXT!<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>I HAVE A WHOLE ROOM JUST FOR BOOKS.</b></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwWn_1MjoXDE1lgfNGzPhlX-nDLjW0Md0Gdcl0GdZV_pUTAZS87SJ0_LUsa3_-zppg05AgotNh3DYxDAnxVYKnoA4Hkfhf-mPSQ4ob1n4nDkjJ_mV1Kj3Lz0ZAzsyb5zMO0iwu/s1600/100_0933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwWn_1MjoXDE1lgfNGzPhlX-nDLjW0Md0Gdcl0GdZV_pUTAZS87SJ0_LUsa3_-zppg05AgotNh3DYxDAnxVYKnoA4Hkfhf-mPSQ4ob1n4nDkjJ_mV1Kj3Lz0ZAzsyb5zMO0iwu/s400/100_0933.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>And it is CLASSY.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; font-style: normal;"> This is the only room in the house that has been painted. My mom did most of the painting, as I was having some shoulder issues at the time. I did pick the paint color, though.</span></div></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>The walls are lined with bookshelves, and each of them has a theme:<br />
<br />
1. Books I have not read yet<br />
2. Books for school (an entire bookshelf! I am disgusted!)<br />
3. Antique books/Anne books/Little House Books/Betsy-Tacy books<br />
4. General fiction<br />
5. Young adult<br />
6. Non-fiction<br />
7. Classics/empty shelves<br />
<br />
I was so disappointed about those empty shelves, until I remembered that I'd taken about 120 books to the used book store. Yeah, the credit I got there lasted all of three months. I'd also taken three large bags of books to the Goodwill bookstore, where I will probably forget I once owned them and buy them back eventually.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY1aLJHFMAuzmbt8-QQd74IBqHfw1ZaZ8SSVyIdbNCVU5ODjrTE-6hJLspntkoRc1DBOgRKsQQS2SSuDS95rZuBGHOSy-9O-D1FSKGmmV5v5KTd1kI6Ko9O68jHQaVsOEITbXU/s1600/100_0935.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY1aLJHFMAuzmbt8-QQd74IBqHfw1ZaZ8SSVyIdbNCVU5ODjrTE-6hJLspntkoRc1DBOgRKsQQS2SSuDS95rZuBGHOSy-9O-D1FSKGmmV5v5KTd1kI6Ko9O68jHQaVsOEITbXU/s400/100_0935.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Walter doesn't like being left out of anything.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>I knew exactly what I was looking for when it came to library seating, and it was difficult finding a chaise. Everything I'd seen in furniture stores was huge and clunky. I wanted a Victorian-style fainting couch, so I could practice being a damsel in distress if I wanted to. Fortunately, this beauty showed up on Craigslist. I had to drive all the way to Mississippi to get it, but it was totally worth it.<br />
<br />
More improvements to come--I may or may not have bought out Lowes' entire paint department.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-88272746993872417712011-03-23T22:34:00.000-05:002011-03-23T22:34:51.687-05:00I'm MagicLike many new homeowners, I spend most of my paycheck on the mortgage and other house-related bills, which means that the furnishings around here are pretty sparse on account of I'm so po' I can't even afford the other half of that word.<br />
<br />
Thrift stores have been a godsend, and I've haunted every single one in the local area, to the point that I recognize the workers and they recognize me. I am not even embarrassed about this.<br />
<br />
One thing that's really helped me as I've shopped in these stores is my ability to envision improvements. So when I see something on the shelf at Goodwill, it might be really ugly, or broken, or old-fashioned, but I try to figure out how to make it into something I can use and display in my home.<br />
<br />
Case in point:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxpG26DKpL9v9QUbdMQsG6MGwmhaWXqt8Ht9rYiZF2O8VASf8mvfFU61mrmSEtwJDxt7yLme3vAiXEAaqW4T5jOf-MM83xCwrDLzOL6dssXHoVUAFJX1cMzgjwri1RF_0j8jbZ/s1600/100_0637.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxpG26DKpL9v9QUbdMQsG6MGwmhaWXqt8Ht9rYiZF2O8VASf8mvfFU61mrmSEtwJDxt7yLme3vAiXEAaqW4T5jOf-MM83xCwrDLzOL6dssXHoVUAFJX1cMzgjwri1RF_0j8jbZ/s320/100_0637.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I bought this old lamp for $5.99 after only one look at it. It was super-ugly, and it was caked in dust, and it had an old-timey plug on it, the kind that doesn't have one metal thingy that's bigger than the other (try not to be intimidated by my technical language).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So I brought it home and looked at it for a while and tried to figure out what, exactly, I was going to do with it. Well, the first thing I did with it was take it all apart, because that is my MO, even if sometimes it ends with me having to take my car to a mechanic so he can put the inside of the driver's side door back on. Hypothetically speaking.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Moving on. I took the lamp apart and took all the pieces outside, where I spray-painted the metal parts and the glass part <strike>and the patio</strike>. I used Oil-rubbed Bronze on the metal and Blue Ocean Breeze on the glass. Then I thought, "Lemme see if I like how it looks if I sand a little of the blue off, so it looks all shabby and whatnot." It turns out that I don't like that look at all. AT. ALL. So I had to sand the glass part and remove all the paint, and then repaint it. Way to go, genius.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I bought a lamp kit at Home Depot and <strike>actually read the directions</strike> wired the whole lamp without electrocuting myself--though I did wear rubber-soled shoes, just to be safe. It totally works, AND I am still alive to boot! Miracles!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5uHF9fEBQgbGQ7gWn5VlbwuDJ6t_xHO96hyphenhyphenJ_pYx1PvtEeb8Wg7Ws0fLQnFRlhkk_Q9o3-gc6gdlIU_2Xhf5u9fmNJ9I_S3LerTAIVScs2lQNPd3rlAVvacqCgm4scECS6erD/s1600/100_0880.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5uHF9fEBQgbGQ7gWn5VlbwuDJ6t_xHO96hyphenhyphenJ_pYx1PvtEeb8Wg7Ws0fLQnFRlhkk_Q9o3-gc6gdlIU_2Xhf5u9fmNJ9I_S3LerTAIVScs2lQNPd3rlAVvacqCgm4scECS6erD/s320/100_0880.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Attention hog!</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The shade came from another lamp that I bought at a different thrift store. It was pretty yellowed with age, though, so I had to rehab it. And by "rehab it," I definitely mean "bleach the daylights out of it." That shade sat in my bathtub for a week, and the tub itself ran yellow with years of accumulated yuck. The trim around the bottom was originally gold; now it's silver. I don't play when I bleach stuff.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBdCQoPgZkMxAAC5eNx_Gg7rbGtM_LnMnq1VcBwDx-fKC0GBtsFSRHbYpaCAq0LEXv-uKoDoe_BYMUiPrDa2L4bWVg_vsAjTJ_VhoTPbsaIqep74Keg4RQQuBdoApvXKlqGYHI/s1600/100_0877.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBdCQoPgZkMxAAC5eNx_Gg7rbGtM_LnMnq1VcBwDx-fKC0GBtsFSRHbYpaCAq0LEXv-uKoDoe_BYMUiPrDa2L4bWVg_vsAjTJ_VhoTPbsaIqep74Keg4RQQuBdoApvXKlqGYHI/s320/100_0877.JPG" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My success with this lamp has turned me into a spray-painting fool! I spray-paint everything. EVERYTHING!! In fact, some weekend I'm not going to have anything to spray-paint, and my neighbors are going to think I've died; that's how much I do it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Little by little, I'm putting things in order. Thrift shop finds are all OVER this house, and I plan to post more of my DIY home improvements eventually.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When the spray-paint dries.</div>Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-6149438078830465792011-03-07T22:56:00.002-06:002011-03-07T22:56:56.982-06:00What I Have LearnedIf you adjust your tire pressure while wearing three inch heels, your thighs will hurt for days.Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-24713991255438718952011-03-03T00:46:00.000-06:002011-03-03T00:46:15.972-06:00Dress StressA friend of mine is getting married in July, and I get to be the maid of honor. I wanted to be the officiant, but apparently Presbyterian churches in Canada don't really like people who've been ordained on the internet to preside over weddings, or something. Fun-killers.<br />
<br />
My friend (D) said she doesn't really care what I wear. As a matter of fact, D doesn't really care about this wedding; her fiance is the one who's all gung-ho about it, and insisting on the big church wedding with all the fixin's, which is the opposite of what usually happens. Anyway, the fiance's daughters were freaked out that D hadn't picked her colors yet ("Blush and bashful," I told her. "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyerYQ6n3hA">BLUUUUUUSH. and BAAAAAASHFUL</a>."), so D made a quick decision which was that we should each wear a black dress, and she doesn't want to be involved further than that. <br />
<br />
You'd think that finding a black dress that one could wear in an afternoon wedding would be fairly simple. You would be wrong.<br />
<br />
I hate shopping, and right now, I'm not really sure what size I am, and I keep heading over the the plus-sized racks, even though I don't need to anymore. I was talking to D about this yesterday, about how I still see myself as the Fat Girl, and so I have a hard time finding something I like enough to try on; then, when I try something one, I'm super-critical about the fit and how it looks on me. D got kind of frustrated with me last Saturday, when I said (for the eighth time), that I didn't like where a sash was hitting on me because it made my waist look too bulky.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Body_dysmorphic_disorder">BDD</a>, I have it.<br />
<br />
Since we traipsed all over Metropolis Saturday and still didn't find a dress, I came home to do some internet shopping. First I bought <a href="http://www.etsy.com/transaction/44840122">this shirt</a>. IT WAS NECESSARY.<br />
<br />
Then I bought <a href="http://www.lightinthebox.com/A-line-Straps-Knee-length-Chiffon-Bridesmaid--Wedding-Party-Dress--HSX809-_p29293.html">this dress</a>. It's probably made in a sweatshop, but I was so tired I couldn't muster up more than a kernel of outrage. And you know how brides always say, "Oh, but you can wear it again!?" I don't. But I could see myself wearing this one on more than one occasion. <br />
<br />
Provided, of course, that it fits.Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-33672281227986036782011-03-01T22:36:00.000-06:002011-03-01T22:36:10.632-06:00Hey, look at thatSo I took a few months off; you may have noticed. I was busy, yes, but I also made a deliberate choice to have one less item on the to-do list for a little while. <br />
<br />
But now ... well. Consider this the first day of the rest of my blog.<br />
<br />
I will start with the highly important news that, at long last, I have applied to grad school. One of the many new additions to my to-do list (knocking my writing to the lowest priority) was studying for the GRE.<br />
<br />
It loomed like a monster. Not having taken a math class--or indeed, having done any math that did not include figuring the sale price of clothing--was bound to result in my first ever failing grade on a standardized test. And not just any standardized test, mind you, but a standardized test that cost $160.<br />
<br />
So I studied. Then I studied some more. I studied. Then I studied some more. <br />
<br />
It began to come back to me: trinomials and the FOIL method, the factoring equations, applying geometry theorems to polygons, or whatever. P.S. I do not like math.<br />
<br />
The day of the test was sunny and warm, exactly the opposite of what is expected in mid-February. The temperature was in the high 60s, a week after several snow days (oh, Tennessee, never change!).<br />
<br />
I used every single second on all parts of the exam, because I was going to pass it, and I was going to continue my lifelong pattern of being an awesome test-taker, or die trying.<br />
<br />
I'm still alive, so you know what that means.<br />
<br />
750 verbal, 570 quantitative (math).<br />
<br />
I don't know what my essay scores are yet, but I'm not really worried about it. In one essay, I referenced Galileo, Howard Carter, and ... somebody else, maybe a group, I don't remember. But it was completely random and right out of my world history curriculum, and I remember laughing to myself about how totally unconnected each of my examples was, but look at me, building bridges. In the second essay, I used skills I teach in my speech classes to tear apart an argument in a brutally satisfying masterpiece of critical reasoning. I feel pretty confident.<br />
<br />
Sure, my math score could have been better, but look: I had to relearn, like, six years of mid-to-higher level math in a matter of weeks. I think I did all right. Plus, my school only requires a 480, so I'm ahead, really, if you think about it.<br />
<br />
I am a little disappointed in my verbal score, though. I could have gotten an 800 if I'd studied. <br />
Stupid. <br />
*<em>kicks ground</em>*Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-15922744178298712772010-11-30T03:21:00.001-06:002010-11-30T03:22:16.692-06:00I ... I ... oh dearI tried very, very hard, but I couldn't get out of directing the spring musical. Poop.<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-6IwADmpA2c?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-6IwADmpA2c?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
Yeah. THAT'S gonna be in the musical.*<br />
<br />
That'll show 'em.<br />
<br />
<br />
*<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">No lie, I have watched this like 20 times. My face, you guys. My FACE.</span></em>Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-26479806592846386952010-11-16T20:51:00.001-06:002010-11-16T20:53:45.441-06:00Day 15*: Someone or Something You Couldn't Live Without(because you've tried living without it)<br />
<br />
1. Bacon.<br />
When I was a temporary vegetarian, nothing tested my resolve more than bacon. Mmmm. <a href="http://meiflower.blogspot.com/2009/01/follow-up.html">Bacon</a>.<br />
<br />
2. Caffeine<br />
I go off caffeine about six times a year, it seems like. I do really well for a good while, and then I don't get enough sleep, or I have a play to get ready for, or I forget my water bottle at home, and I <strike>fall</strike> fling myself off the wagon. I do love Diet Coke, though. I don't care if it eats my insides like it eats the paint off a car.<br />
<br />
3. Dairy products<br />
HAHAHAHAHAHA just kidding. If I ever make an announcement that I'm giving up milk, what that means is I am also giving up breathing. I love milk more than I love Diet Coke. I could drink a gallon in a day. This explains why, in 35 years of being a Clumsy Poop, I've only had one actual broken bone. And that was when I was five and hadn't had the time to build up my Terminator-like skeletal structure.<br />
<br />
4. Teaching<br />
This is true. As much as I complain about my job, I don't know how I could leave it. Even my dream job--high school librarian**--still deals with education. <br />
<br />
When I first started teaching, I wasn't prepared for the reality of the constant paperwork, testing, and student apathy. It killed my drive, so I quit and moved someplace else and got another job. It was a good job, and I liked it, but it wasn't teaching. <br />
<br />
I couldn't believe how much I missed the classroom. Part of that, yes, was my desire to be in charge of ALL things at ALL times; I like that a lot. But the thing I missed most was sharing knowledge,and even learning things myself. I like KNOWING things, and I like telling what I know to, well, everybody.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>* I skipped another one: Write a letter to a hero who's let you down. My heroes are fine, thanks. Well. Dead, mostly, but fine.</em></span><br />
<br />
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">** nerd</span></em>Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-51481215971650435422010-11-15T01:17:00.000-06:002010-11-15T01:17:27.521-06:00DetoxedI haven't had a working television since January. I cut off the DirecTV to save money, but my ancient television is analog, not digital. Even though I bought one of those fancy converter boxes, I live far enough out in the country that a signal doesn't get through, so I had to give up television against my will.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, almost everything I want to watch (and sooo many things I don't) is available online. I'm very, very wary of all those torrent sites--I'm terrified that I'll download something and then get a visit from the FBI--so I've been making good use of Hulu and Netflix, and when Mad Men was on, I bought the season on iTunes. All legal!<br />
<br />
I've decided that I'm not even taking my television to the new house. I'll donate it to Goodwill or something, since it will probably work just fine for someone else. <br />
<br />
I'm glad that television is not a priority for me anymore. I don't have to rush home to watch something, and I don't stare like a zombie at the screen for ten hours a day. So in that way, it's liberating. <br />
<br />
On the other hand, I do spend a lot more time on the internet now ... one addiction for another?Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-35845622562000049432010-11-11T21:54:00.000-06:002010-11-11T21:54:47.426-06:00Day 11: Something People Seem to Compliment You the Most OnLately, people have been noticing my weight loss. I get a new compliment every day.<br />
<br />
One of my students said, "Ms. Flower, wanna hear something awesome? You've lost weight."<br />
<br />
I said, "You're right, and it is!"<br />
<br />
One of the teachers told me I was going to blow away in the wind. Oh, it would be nice, some days.<br />
<br />
My favorite, though, was this girl that I taught for three years. I don't have her this year, her senior year, but she saw me in another teacher's classroom and said, "Ms. Flower, have you lost weight?"<br />
<br />
"Yes," I said.<br />
<br />
As I walked out the door (the bell was ringing), I heard her say, "Wow." <br />
<br />
That was the best.Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-33444690949712499342010-11-11T21:50:00.000-06:002010-11-11T21:50:43.361-06:00I'm Interrupting the 30 Days*... to tell you that I am in the midst of buying a house. I signed a contract and everything.<br />
<br />
Inspection's tomorrow; barring structural damage, termites, or a previously undiscovered Indian burial ground, I should be moved in by Christmas. <br />
<br />
I think I am most looking forward to not having to defrost my windows on cold mornings.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>*I don't like Day 10, anyway, so it's just as well.</em></span>Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-67057910942561820672010-11-09T18:43:00.000-06:002010-11-09T18:43:55.270-06:00Day Nine: Someone You Didn't Want to Let Go, but Just DriftedI don't even know what this means. I guess ... someone I've lost touch with?<br />
<br />
Thanks to Facebook, I've reconnected with most of the people I've missed from high school or college. And even some people I didn't miss, but friended out of politeness and a morbid desire to see if I turned out better than they did.Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-47049074541228731682010-11-09T18:40:00.001-06:002010-11-09T18:40:43.678-06:00Day Eight: Someone Who Made Your Life Hell<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">I don't think it's been THAT bad actually.</span></em><br />
<br />
SomeTHING that has made my life HARDER is unrealistic education policy.<br />
<br />
I do not believe that anyone who was involved with the creation of No Child Left Behind was<br />
<br />
1. a teacher, of any kind, even a substitute Vacation Bible School teacher.<br />
2. capable of any predictive thought.<br />
3. scoring above 70 on an IQ test.<br />
<br />
In fact, I hate this law so much that, if I ever met a person who was even in the building when it was being written down, I would punch him in the junk. Twice. <br />
<br />
Jerk.Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-66388504498499700402010-11-07T20:30:00.000-06:002010-11-07T20:32:12.779-06:00Day Seven: Someone Who Has Made Your Life Worth Living ForI'm not sure I like this one. It implies that I would have ended my life if not for some person. I don't think about suicide (but I do think about dying, in a "They'll all be sorry when I'm DEAD" way).<br />
<br />
So I will change this to "Someone who makes me want to be a better person."<br />
<br />
Easy. I have two students who make me want to be a better person. Their names are A and B.<br />
<br />
I've talked about A<a href="http://meiflower.blogspot.com/2010/10/what-is-making-me-mad-today-part-four.html"> before</a>. He's in a good home now, as far as I know, but he's transferred to another school in the county. He hates it there, like I knew he would. This school is nicknamed ACT High, because they focus on test scores almost exclusively. A wants to do creative work; specifically, he wants to be an actor, and he probably could. So ACT High is killing his spirit, like I knew it would. <br />
<br />
I hate that his life has been sucked into a pit this year.<br />
<br />
I want to be a positive role model for him--and I think I am--but I also need to show more visible signs of affection. He knows I am protective of him, and that I liked having him in my classes, but I should have been more compassionate, probably, or shown more compassion. <br />
<br />
B is almost like a role model to ME. She works hard to maintain a positive outlook, and she is friendly to everyone. She is the only person I know who is genuinely excited about EVERYTHING. Not in an annoying way, but sincerely, actually overjoyed to grade papers, or read a play, or hang things up in the hallway.<br />
<br />
I want to be like that. It's difficult to throw off this cynical tone I have, and people don't believe me when I tell them I'm happy about something; I always have to qualify my statements and say, "No, I'm being honest." Sad.<br />
<br />
I want these two to be able to look at me without derision or judgment, and to think of me as not just one of their favorite teachers, but as one of their favorite PEOPLE. Because they are, hands down, two of my Favorites, General Category, not just Favorite Students.Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-86322412056845474922010-11-07T20:13:00.001-06:002010-11-07T20:31:47.837-06:00Day Six: Something You Hope You Never Have to DoI hope I am never in a situation that puts a loved one's life in my hands.<br />
<br />
If I ever had to make the decision to "pull the plug," it would drive me crazy. I'm not even using that word as hyperbole; I mean it would literally make me insane. First, because I would agonize over it prior to its happening, and second, because I would lie awake at night and wonder if I'd done the right thing. I would never sleep again.<br />
<br />
Also, I hope I never have to change an adult diaper, MOM AND DAD.Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-25277564013884462852010-11-05T21:14:00.001-05:002010-11-07T20:32:12.779-06:00Davy Five: Something You Hope to Do in Your Life<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>^ HAHA, Davy. I'm keepin' it.</em></span><br />
<br />
My imagination's on the fritz, so I'm having a hard time answering this one.<br />
<br />
I guess maybe I'm drawing a blank because I see no reason why I shouldn't be able to complete my Bucket List. That could just be a commentary on the <strike>lameness</strike> practicality of my B.L., though, because I don't have any dreams of making out with a celebrity or visiting the moon, or whatever.<br />
<br />
Oh! I've got it: I'd like to be in a musical. There.<br />
<br />
I'm lucky in that I've been able to perform in some great plays in the past few years--leads in all of them, I might add--but I love musicals, and I could probably be in one ... provided there was minimal dancing involved. Like if I were in a musical about an invalid, that would work pretty well. <br />
<br />
Probably wouldn't be much fun to watch though.Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-85454075855548873822010-11-04T21:48:00.000-05:002010-11-07T20:32:12.779-06:00Day Four: Something You Have to Forgive Someone ForImportant: I SHOULD FORGIVE THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT FOR EFFING UP PUBLIC EDUCATION.<br />
<br />
BUT I NEVER EVER WILL, AND THEY CAN SUCK IT.<br />
<br />
Related: I SHOULD FORGIVE THE STATE OF TENNESSEE FOR NOT ONLY ALLOWING THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT TO BUTT-RAPE OUR PUBLIC EDUCATION SYSTEM (in the form of Race to the Top), BUT ALSO SENDING ENGRAVED INVITATIONS TO THE EVENT.<br />
<br />
BUT I NEVER EVER WILL, AND THEY CAN SUCK IT.<br />
<br />
THE END.Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-31088551897112277112010-11-04T00:30:00.003-05:002010-11-04T00:44:22.359-05:00Day Three: Something You Have to Forgive Yourself For<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>zoinks</em></span><br />
<br />
Every single day, I mentally beat myself up because I haven't lived up to my own ridiculous standards. And look, you guys, I am bad at a lot of stuff. A LOT. OF STUFF. <br />
<br />
But those are things I don't care about, like math, or not getting lost, or keeping a pristine house. When it comes to things I DO care about, it's a completely different story.<br />
<br />
I have a compulsive need to be the best at those things: the most creative, the most intelligent, the most amusing, the most the most the most, the best the best the best. <br />
<br />
Imagine what it feels like to live under that self-imposed pressure. It sucks, is what it feels like. To measure myself against my own expectations and to come up short EVERY SINGLE TIME, to disappoint myself on a daily basis ... those are things that drive people into CrazyTown.<br />
<br />
I'm constantly beating myself up for not being BETTER, even though I know, empirically, that it's measurement that can't be classified, and the line between MEDIOCRE and BETTER is always moving in whatever direction is furthest away from me, which means I can never ever get there. This is what the rational part of my head tells me. <br />
<br />
Only thing is, the non-rational part of my head doesn't really care about the practicality of attainability. The non-rational part of my head thinks I'm a dumbass who doesn't try hard enough. The non-rational part of my head thinks I should want it more. The non-rational part of my head picks apart every movement, every decision, and explains to me exactly where I went wrong, and what I should have done, and how things could have turned out differently if only I weren't so stupid or selfish or blind.<br />
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It would be one thing if I compared myself to other people and came up short.* It is an entirely different thing to compare myself to a statistically impossible Mei Flower, to look at the gulf that divides us and know that it will never shrink, ever. <br />
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I think it's worse, too, because these expectations are solely mine. Nobody's pressuring me, or putting demands on me, or judging me. EVERYBODY ACCEPTS MY IMPERFECTION BUT ME.<br />
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This explains why I'm so angry all the time.<br />
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*<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">This never happens.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">I've just realized that this seems like it would cancel out my previous post. But, for some weird reason, it doesn't ... to me. Both of these people exist: Amazing Awesome Mei Flower is just as alive as Emo Imperfect Mei Flower. I don't know how that works, exactly, but it does ... for me. I am <strike>weird</strike> psychologically unquantifiable.</span></em>Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-42944691528973606512010-11-02T22:37:00.005-05:002010-11-02T23:08:59.354-05:00Day Two: Something You Love about YourselfOh, there are so many things! <br />
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">I want to state immediately that I am more conceited than I need to be, and that I habitually remind people of how awesome I am. I'm not joking when I do this.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Some people think egotism is a cover for insecurity, and maybe it is ... for some people. Not me, though. I'm honest with myself about my own deficiencies and, as it happens, I often broadcast these as well. But no cats in this house are going to tell me on a daily basis that I'm wonderful, so I just have to tell myself.</span></em><br />
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ONE thing I love about myself is my ability to find humor in <a href="http://meiflower.blogspot.com/2006/11/travelogue-part-four.html">stupid situations</a>. In this case, the word <em>stupid</em> is standing in for many adjectives, including <em><a href="http://meiflower.blogspot.com/2008/07/its-coming-from-inside-house.html">stressful</a></em>, <em><a href="http://www.blogger.com/posts.g?blogID=14171513&searchType=ALL&page=2">angry</a></em>, <em><a href="http://meiflower.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-visited-roman-cemetery.html">humiliating</a></em>, and more in the <a href="http://meiflower.blogspot.com/2008/02/so-i-have-this-friend.html">same vein</a>. <br />
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When I am 100% in the midst of any of these <a href="http://meiflower.blogspot.com/2007/08/dont-leave-your-knitting-on-floor.html">crises</a>, I do not think ANYTHING is funny. <br />
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But sometimes--and always at the worst possible moment; typical--the evil part of my brain starts to <a href="http://meiflower.blogspot.com/2009/01/fall-down-go-boom.html">narrate current events</a>, and it starts plotting a rough draft for how I'm going to tell people about it later. And then, even though <a href="http://www.blogger.com/posts.g?blogID=14171513&searchType=ALL&page=2">THIS IS NO TIME FOR LAUGHTER</a>, I start to get the Church Giggles, and then I have to look at the floor.<br />
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If I didn't have this ability, I would not ... well, I guess I just wouldn't be living, is what. Because I've had a pretty charmed life, it's true, but I've also had to walk through some poo-storms every once in a while.<br />
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Just this past week, I had to snake the toilet at 2:00am because I'd tried to flush too much cat poop at one time. Believe me when I tell you that toilet clogs are not funny business, and that toilet clogs when one has to pee really badly are even less humorous. But as I was fighting with the plumbing, fending off cat turds and trying not to splash poo water in my face, my evil twin composed the most beautifully foul-mouthed comedic diatribe that I had to take a break so I could write it all down.* And when I finally gave up and went to bed, I was able to sleep, because I'd had my mad, and then I had my laugh and I let it go.<br />
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I FOR SURE could not be a teacher if I couldn't laugh at myself every single day. Can you imagine? <br />
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I would literally not be able to teach: almost half my lesson plans for my speech and theater classes revolve around something stupid that has happened to me.<br />
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Not to mention that stupid stuff CONTINUES to happen, at a fairly high rate, mind you, when I'm in the classroom. If I couldn't find the ridiculous side of student attitudes or state testing or educational bureacracy (which, let's face it, is just a fancypants synonymous term for ridiculous, or mocking required), I'd have torn the school down with my bare hands YEARS ago.<br />
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This blog would consist of nothing but posts titled "What Is Making Me Mad Today?" Because EVERYTHING makes me mad. It's just that, by the time it gets to you, I've turned it from something stupid into something slightly less stupid.<br />
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And in doing so, I can turn MYSELF from something awesome into something slightly MORE awesome.<br />
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">*I will not post it here, in deference to my mother's delicate eyes.</span></em>Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-48034295442055507632010-11-01T22:24:00.001-05:002010-11-02T23:09:59.281-05:00Day One: Something You Hate about YourselfHere is what I hate about myself: I'm lazy.<br />
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No, really. My dream job would involve me sitting somewhere, getting fat, for money.<br />
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I hate that I'm not independently wealthy, and that I don't have a hummingbird's metabolism, and that Mary Poppins isn't cleaning my house. <br />
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I want an army of servants with very specific job titles, like "Bug Crusher" and "Toilet Unclogger." There should also be "Doritos Wrangler" and "Oreo Untwister."<br />
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My laziness keeps me from experiencing my life to the fullest. Henry David Thoreau--who was, by the way, SOOO lazy, but at least he made a living of it, even if his living consisted of rationalizing his laziness, that bastard--would judge me so hard.<br />
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It's not laziness alone that is so crippling (IT'S A DISEASE, OKAY), but the laziness coupled with my world class procrastination skills. Seriously, I am like the Michael Phelps of procrastination. I would totally win gold medals, if I ever got up off this couch. Or wanted to.<br />
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Anyway, laziness plus procrastination equals me being late for everything, all the time, and I can't stand tardiness in anyone, even myself. <br />
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It's an avalanche, is what it is. Or the butterfly effect, if the butterfly never fluttered its wings at all and decided to take a nap instead.Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-65528639468551300632010-10-31T22:13:00.001-05:002010-10-31T22:14:19.909-05:00Hey, NerdsI love this picture even though it's clearly a non-ironic MySpace pose.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">My half-assed Halloween costume, oh, thanks.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Also, I would like to remind everybody that I am 35 years old, </span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">so that you can all feel bad about your liver spots.</span></em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
I know it's super-uncool to take arms-length pictures of oneself, but I am a single lady with disagreeable, selfish cats who can't--or WON'T--learn to operate my camera. <br />
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I tried the timer, but then I wound up with this:<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_E2ndHJ9vzaqECLKOgUGXOV7Hp5yiVtAKFkDXPeXjX-B74IeKQepPPi0x2BEek086StwnvGDGkmyuETRbiJwfHsNJA5GmpENIh1v_ogSdGV0WX5Sv19u2fdPUniGHcTAFNHUC/s1600/100_0054-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_E2ndHJ9vzaqECLKOgUGXOV7Hp5yiVtAKFkDXPeXjX-B74IeKQepPPi0x2BEek086StwnvGDGkmyuETRbiJwfHsNJA5GmpENIh1v_ogSdGV0WX5Sv19u2fdPUniGHcTAFNHUC/s320/100_0054-2.JPG" width="287" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">white on white on white</span></em></td></tr>
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I wore this shirt to school Friday and was treated to several interruptions during my lessons, which started and ended like this: "Ohhhhh, now I get it!" Some people are sooo SMRT.<br />
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I'll be updating every day this month, because I'm doing <a href="http://www.avitable.com/2010/09/22/30-days-of-truth-day-1/">this</a>. <br />
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I do enjoy telling the truth, like the time I told this one person that if she directed a play nobody would audition for it, and the time I told somebody that nobody cared what he thought so why didn't he just keep it to himself for once.<br />
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Lest you think I'm celebrating Halloween with an extra dose of witchiness, kindly recall that I am just as mean about my own self, and I certainly don't see that changing any time soon. <br />
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I look forward to spilling my guts this month. I hope the toxicity isn't contagious.Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-20919968954262280792010-10-18T23:30:00.002-05:002010-10-18T23:32:03.154-05:00Hey, Guess WhatI've lost 50 pounds since March.<br />
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It's hard to show you, because I don't really take pictures of myself being fat.<br />
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Before:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic8EwuTfiauCeviDO6wApyDjwNuvCWfhKTZiy8guO4hdCU0aoCGCsQIgGcEKgIDmA04cFGTWTPH4UslM3bI3C02ryZXhbD8HRhyJt231MAVv2xAjneXs4G6p4dDCYaSPj1XS9H/s1600/oct+10+040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic8EwuTfiauCeviDO6wApyDjwNuvCWfhKTZiy8guO4hdCU0aoCGCsQIgGcEKgIDmA04cFGTWTPH4UslM3bI3C02ryZXhbD8HRhyJt231MAVv2xAjneXs4G6p4dDCYaSPj1XS9H/s320/oct+10+040.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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After:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoz_x-m0PHgUwhZx7wx2s6OEa8kvpGwKb93IMZ3qILM_ZGRuCbQTfssz88ZB-4ULm8L7cqGdyc6SN5g7cS7QzJcsZuol58w6kHsuJT6fdvTGbOddTGu78JX6f-8AgDCq9G_dAW/s1600/snapshot-57.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoz_x-m0PHgUwhZx7wx2s6OEa8kvpGwKb93IMZ3qILM_ZGRuCbQTfssz88ZB-4ULm8L7cqGdyc6SN5g7cS7QzJcsZuol58w6kHsuJT6fdvTGbOddTGu78JX6f-8AgDCq9G_dAW/s1600/snapshot-57.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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Hmm, I thought the difference would be more noticeable. Stupid puffy cheeks.<br />
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Also, I like my fat hair better. Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-41116300645732680612010-10-12T18:22:00.000-05:002010-10-12T18:22:31.205-05:00Oh, hi, I'm going to see a Living Legend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX2OpONvnlHDBbc9SYWVJZY0d8tTkiZR6DQOsA55GxpG2xhE4AkhVyDciOah5bOqNL5M963PKfC7ENE4TOKjBBi6OXR_5Qz5RxyRj-rcreZzDBR0M6jfJTpppx6BunT924iqcU/s1600/101012-180431-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX2OpONvnlHDBbc9SYWVJZY0d8tTkiZR6DQOsA55GxpG2xhE4AkhVyDciOah5bOqNL5M963PKfC7ENE4TOKjBBi6OXR_5Qz5RxyRj-rcreZzDBR0M6jfJTpppx6BunT924iqcU/s400/101012-180431-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
That is all.Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-12167338904741333362010-10-04T00:37:00.000-05:002010-10-04T00:37:50.133-05:00What Is Making Me Mad Today? (Part four in a series)Today I am mad because--<br />
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Wait. This story has history.<br />
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So this summer, I got a horrifying text that said, paraphrased, that a student's mother had died.<br />
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A parent's death is awful, no doubt. But I knew this mother, and I knew my student's awesome relationship with his mother, so that just compounded the awfulness. <br />
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It got worse.<br />
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She'd been beaten to death in the woods behind their house. <br />
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A person has been arrested, and it is alleged that he murdered her over a matter of fifty dollars. <br />
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I don't even know. People suck.<br />
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I should say here that the student in question is one of my favorites. Smart, funny, mostly well-behaved, a dedicated theater nerd, and just plain great. I'm not saying that I wouldn't have felt bad if this had happened to another student; I'm just saying that my heart broke twice as hard because it happened to him.<br />
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So that is the history.<br />
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My student (hereafter referred to as X, because that is not his name) texted me today to say he wouldn't be in class tomorrow. He said, "Don't ask. Well, ask [his cousin]."<br />
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Oh, yeah. I forgot to say that I'd taught his cousin before him, and all the things I said above would also apply to the cousin (I will call him Y). Y has graduated, and we keep in touch through Facebook and various school events that he attends when he can.<br />
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So I did ask Y what had happened, and if X was okay, and no, it turns out that is not exactly the case.<br />
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See, X lived with his mom and stepdad, and after his mother's murder, he and his brother and sister went to live with his dad, who is a grade A, number 1 jerkface, and I am only using that word because my mother will read this. <br />
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Today, Y told me, X's dad beat him up. <br />
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I don't even know. People suck.<br />
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So X's dad has been in jail all day, but got out at midnight, I guess. I don't know what kind of effed up laws make it possible for a man to serve a few hours behind bars for whaling on his fifteen-year-old child, but I do know that X's dad had better HOPE I never lay eyes on him, because I will not be able to control myself if I see his stupid jerkface: I will DESTROY him.<br />
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On a more positive note, X and his siblings are meeting tomorrow with someone about removing themselves from their dad's custody; they are staying with family members who are not afraid of their dad and who, in addition, are good friends with the local sheriff. <br />
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I don't know why I am always shocked at other people's behavior. You'd think, by now, that I would now that everybody doesn't have the life I do, or the family I do, or the advantages I do. <br />
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But it is. It's a constant surprise to discover that my students don't have the Brady-style happy home life that I did. <br />
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And every time I ask myself why that is, I come up with the same answer: I don't even know. People suck.Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14171513.post-8725113798037410742010-09-20T19:32:00.003-05:002010-09-20T19:36:46.461-05:00Poker Face<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The play opened Friday, and Hollywood will be calling any day now, probably.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The Friday crowd was lukewarm, but the Saturday and Sunday audiences were great--really responsive and totally into it. Even though the actors work hard, an audience can really affect performances positively or negatively. I'm glad that, so far, the effect has been pretty good.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Saturday after the show, this guy came up to me and asked, "Can I tell you something about your performance?" </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I answered, with dread, "Um ... okay."</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And he said, "I've acted in ______, and I've directed a bunch of shows with ______, but I've never seen someone with such amazing facial expression onstage."</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I thanked him, but I'll admit that I mostly don't know what he's talking about. I never use my face to show emotion.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheaeY-H5wFEdNN9CA-1uJ2AV6euwK7rn4U65_KNmWRP7_pRwP_jSsobgUuIEWgSLAnvJT2FSqLJOaJU2IaW46nBTZcdKnZlIel9nRDl6gInX-e5kLac96IhLIPLgmkIzzE58Jm/s1600/80s+056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheaeY-H5wFEdNN9CA-1uJ2AV6euwK7rn4U65_KNmWRP7_pRwP_jSsobgUuIEWgSLAnvJT2FSqLJOaJU2IaW46nBTZcdKnZlIel9nRDl6gInX-e5kLac96IhLIPLgmkIzzE58Jm/s320/80s+056.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">My face is always perfectly blank, in fact.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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It's really one of my worst traits, this complete lack of emotion.<br />
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So I don't know where he got that idea.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLUkCq7stE3WoXx7peU8GUmDkOZWrhVuz9eW-SXwoAcrnQADoxGxlThbNxqxaANdmbhyv32OnDdS4opm0oSx5afzJO8-blT1cCgRHx9ITKTyH6buqumtYF6uDmPyemEXqbzVvH/s1600/80s+585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLUkCq7stE3WoXx7peU8GUmDkOZWrhVuz9eW-SXwoAcrnQADoxGxlThbNxqxaANdmbhyv32OnDdS4opm0oSx5afzJO8-blT1cCgRHx9ITKTyH6buqumtYF6uDmPyemEXqbzVvH/s320/80s+585.JPG" /></a></div><br />
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Totally blank. No way to tell what I'm thinking.*<br />
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In other news, here's me not showing emotion during the actual play.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHbhqOBa_93RCqxF3qHKUG8uPtzgskLatPohi6Erz0HpNSEE1jYLtnp0HfWWsonixcykYKJgVzOtZ24KBVfDalhdMB4ma470mOs6akStt5gW1mibuWnLR4aMNqH7ruTXUVfF4/s1600/you+cant-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" qx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHbhqOBa_93RCqxF3qHKUG8uPtzgskLatPohi6Erz0HpNSEE1jYLtnp0HfWWsonixcykYKJgVzOtZ24KBVfDalhdMB4ma470mOs6akStt5gW1mibuWnLR4aMNqH7ruTXUVfF4/s400/you+cant-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">I admit I added this one in hopes of making my mom faint.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">*As I write this, I can feel my face pulling itself into various expressions. My stupid face is always making a liar out of me.</span></em></div>Meihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08204888054625065885noreply@blogger.com2