Geez. Nearly 2 months since I've last updated?
I wish I could say I was transported to the deep rainforests to rescue the rare tigers or something important of that nature. Saving babies or animals. OR BABY ANIMALS.
Truth is, I've been sick and/or spending time with family and friends.
Spending time with friends and family that give me the reciprocated effort and love that I give to them. I believe that shall be my New Years' Resolution.
Err, enforced I suppose.
I hate making New Year's Resolutions. I believe that if you really want to make a change in your life--you'll do it without waiting til the first of the year.
But I had decided that I wasn't going to put forth any more unnecessary effort into an relationship that the other partner wouldn't put in.
And the results, so far, has been fantastic and stress-free.
With that, I shall abide you all a good night. I'm going to take more Nyquil and sleep for another day. I promise a blog post about the wedding & vacation/honeymoon will come.
Good night and may 2012 bring awesome shit.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Coffee and Memories
So, the other day I bought a coffee pot.
Not a big deal, unless you know that I despise coffee.
When I was a child, I was always commanded by (mostly) my mom and (sometimes) my stepdad to make a pot of coffee. And then, to make them a cup. Over the years, I became a pro.
I didn't need to measure. I didn't need the silly little cup they provided.
I knew who liked their coffee dark, how much milk or how much powder cream (it makes a difference) and how much sugar. Course, I had to learn the hard way that powder cream won't mix with cold coffee.
Despite being so awesome *coughcough* at making coffee, I hated it.
And I've stated several--many, many, MANY--times that I would NEVER purchase a coffee maker.
The next thing I know is I'm at home, reading the instruction manual for a coffee maker that I've willingly purchased, wondering, "WTF?" I still hate making coffee. Pots and cups.
*sips from my mug o'pumpkin flavored coffee* Well. I really don't know what sparked me to buy a cheap, on-sale coffee maker. I left my electric kettle for tea at work, but I'm not so lazy to purchase a coffee maker over putting a pot of water on the stove.
As I clean my new, very-impulsive purchase, I'm still fighting with myself over this.
Then I run the water test brew to clean the insides. This is a lot of work for coffee. That I hate.
Then after that was completed, I started to make my first pot of coffee in over well over 10 years. Possibly 15 years even.
I dumped the hot water out. I filled water for only 4 cups of coffee then poured it into the back canister of the coffee maker. I then grabbed a coffee filter (and noticed it was only for 4-6 cups of coffee) and placed it on the inside. I carefully measured 3 tablespoons of french vanilla coffee grounds (also on sale!) and poured it into the filter. Double checked everything.
Water? Check.
Coffee filter? Check.
Coffee? Check.
Everything closed? Placed where they should be? Check.
Plugged in? Check.
Turn on.
Wait nearly 30 minutes before realizing I didn't quite turn it on but on the timer mode.
Actually turn on.
In just a few short minutes, I could hear the growl and dripping sounds of the coffee maker as it brewed the coffee. I could smell the aroma of coffee with a tint of french vanilla.
And then the memories came back.
I remembered playing, being completely ignorant of most of the world's problems, while my mother sat at the kitchen table. I drew. I watched TV. My mother smoked her cigarettes at the table. She bounced her leg. Casually and carefully hit her cigarette against the ash tray to knock off the excess ashes.
Nothing was said, but you could hear the roar of the coffee maker. The aroma of coffee wafted through the air. Along with the stench of cigarettes.
I was absorbed into the Encyclopedias. Reading whatever captured my attention. My mom sat at the table, never saying a word. Not reading a book. Or solving a cross word puzzle. Or talking on the phone. I looked up at her, wondering what she did as she sat at the kitchen table. Doing nothing. But smoking. And waiting for her coffee.
I always wondered what she thought about. Did she have regrets? Did she fantasize about the future? Was she remembering fondly over the past? Did something happen at work? Was she worried about bills? Did the landlord say something to get her upset again? Did my stepdad say or do something again? Did she want to go out? Or perhaps she didn't want to work tonight? Did she want me to get her more flowers? (I often gave my mother dandelions--which she always accepted, gladly and lovingly; even though she was really allergic to them, but I never knew this until I was much older...) Was she worried about the dogs? Or cats? Or rabbits, chickens, the goose, pigeons, fish, snails and whatever else animals we had?
I never asked her. Not once. I never asked her what she was thinking. I asked if she was OK occasionally, and she would always respond with, "I'm fine. Just tired."
Before the pot was finished, I quickly poured some coffee into her cup and had the canister back on the hot plate before any of the coffee hit it. If we had any milk, I'd always use it. I poured a bit of milk into the cup, then a spoonful of sugar. I stirred it all together and gave it to her, "Here Mom!" I ran off as she thanked me.
I sat there in my Chicago apartment. So far away from the home where I used to live with Mom and my family. Mom worked a lot. And when she came home, it was often late and she was always tired. Sometimes she'd drink. She always smoked. I didn't get to spend a lot of time with my mother. I was the middle child of 5 children. I was once the youngest and thus, received most of the attention. But the title was passed to my little sister, then to my littlest brother. I wasn't bitter about it, but I did wish I spent more time with my mother. Especially after since she passed away.
But I was able to interact with her, and oddly, spend time with my mother through coffee. By making a pot and/or a cup of coffee, I was able to see how she was. Sometimes she would laugh. Sometimes she would cry. Either by herself or on the phone with someone I didn't know who. Or on the rare occasions we would have guests over. I'd eavesdrop on conversations and hear about things that happened with the family or at work. And about how she felt. And I'd hear her trademark laugh.
And though I hate coffee, I made a pot of coffee and I fondly remember the good memories. If she was here, what would it be like? Would we laugh and joke like we used to? Would she poke fun at my flavored coffee; IE, french vanilla? Or about how expansive my Piccolo shrine has gotten? Would she visit me in Chicago? Would she beg me for grandchildren or would she laugh and be content with my cats?
And would she like the pots of coffee I'd make her now? With my cubes of sugar and flavored cream? And flavored coffee? I'm sure she would.
Not a big deal, unless you know that I despise coffee.
When I was a child, I was always commanded by (mostly) my mom and (sometimes) my stepdad to make a pot of coffee. And then, to make them a cup. Over the years, I became a pro.
I didn't need to measure. I didn't need the silly little cup they provided.
I knew who liked their coffee dark, how much milk or how much powder cream (it makes a difference) and how much sugar. Course, I had to learn the hard way that powder cream won't mix with cold coffee.
Despite being so awesome *coughcough* at making coffee, I hated it.
And I've stated several--many, many, MANY--times that I would NEVER purchase a coffee maker.
The next thing I know is I'm at home, reading the instruction manual for a coffee maker that I've willingly purchased, wondering, "WTF?" I still hate making coffee. Pots and cups.
*sips from my mug o'pumpkin flavored coffee* Well. I really don't know what sparked me to buy a cheap, on-sale coffee maker. I left my electric kettle for tea at work, but I'm not so lazy to purchase a coffee maker over putting a pot of water on the stove.
As I clean my new, very-impulsive purchase, I'm still fighting with myself over this.
Then I run the water test brew to clean the insides. This is a lot of work for coffee. That I hate.
Then after that was completed, I started to make my first pot of coffee in over well over 10 years. Possibly 15 years even.
I dumped the hot water out. I filled water for only 4 cups of coffee then poured it into the back canister of the coffee maker. I then grabbed a coffee filter (and noticed it was only for 4-6 cups of coffee) and placed it on the inside. I carefully measured 3 tablespoons of french vanilla coffee grounds (also on sale!) and poured it into the filter. Double checked everything.
Water? Check.
Coffee filter? Check.
Coffee? Check.
Everything closed? Placed where they should be? Check.
Plugged in? Check.
Turn on.
Wait nearly 30 minutes before realizing I didn't quite turn it on but on the timer mode.
Actually turn on.
In just a few short minutes, I could hear the growl and dripping sounds of the coffee maker as it brewed the coffee. I could smell the aroma of coffee with a tint of french vanilla.
And then the memories came back.
I remembered playing, being completely ignorant of most of the world's problems, while my mother sat at the kitchen table. I drew. I watched TV. My mother smoked her cigarettes at the table. She bounced her leg. Casually and carefully hit her cigarette against the ash tray to knock off the excess ashes.
Nothing was said, but you could hear the roar of the coffee maker. The aroma of coffee wafted through the air. Along with the stench of cigarettes.
I was absorbed into the Encyclopedias. Reading whatever captured my attention. My mom sat at the table, never saying a word. Not reading a book. Or solving a cross word puzzle. Or talking on the phone. I looked up at her, wondering what she did as she sat at the kitchen table. Doing nothing. But smoking. And waiting for her coffee.
I always wondered what she thought about. Did she have regrets? Did she fantasize about the future? Was she remembering fondly over the past? Did something happen at work? Was she worried about bills? Did the landlord say something to get her upset again? Did my stepdad say or do something again? Did she want to go out? Or perhaps she didn't want to work tonight? Did she want me to get her more flowers? (I often gave my mother dandelions--which she always accepted, gladly and lovingly; even though she was really allergic to them, but I never knew this until I was much older...) Was she worried about the dogs? Or cats? Or rabbits, chickens, the goose, pigeons, fish, snails and whatever else animals we had?
I never asked her. Not once. I never asked her what she was thinking. I asked if she was OK occasionally, and she would always respond with, "I'm fine. Just tired."
Before the pot was finished, I quickly poured some coffee into her cup and had the canister back on the hot plate before any of the coffee hit it. If we had any milk, I'd always use it. I poured a bit of milk into the cup, then a spoonful of sugar. I stirred it all together and gave it to her, "Here Mom!" I ran off as she thanked me.
I sat there in my Chicago apartment. So far away from the home where I used to live with Mom and my family. Mom worked a lot. And when she came home, it was often late and she was always tired. Sometimes she'd drink. She always smoked. I didn't get to spend a lot of time with my mother. I was the middle child of 5 children. I was once the youngest and thus, received most of the attention. But the title was passed to my little sister, then to my littlest brother. I wasn't bitter about it, but I did wish I spent more time with my mother. Especially after since she passed away.
But I was able to interact with her, and oddly, spend time with my mother through coffee. By making a pot and/or a cup of coffee, I was able to see how she was. Sometimes she would laugh. Sometimes she would cry. Either by herself or on the phone with someone I didn't know who. Or on the rare occasions we would have guests over. I'd eavesdrop on conversations and hear about things that happened with the family or at work. And about how she felt. And I'd hear her trademark laugh.
And though I hate coffee, I made a pot of coffee and I fondly remember the good memories. If she was here, what would it be like? Would we laugh and joke like we used to? Would she poke fun at my flavored coffee; IE, french vanilla? Or about how expansive my Piccolo shrine has gotten? Would she visit me in Chicago? Would she beg me for grandchildren or would she laugh and be content with my cats?
And would she like the pots of coffee I'd make her now? With my cubes of sugar and flavored cream? And flavored coffee? I'm sure she would.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Almost Done
We are almost done with the "thank you" cards and such. You see, I planned on giving out burned CDs or printed pictures of the wedding reception and honeymoon/vacation.
It's kind of a lot of work. Right now, I've got a whopping $10 or so to make it til payday, so any prints will just have to wait. And mailing. ...oh joy.
Update on bed bugs: The exterminator came back to spray and only found 1 live bed bug (which he/she so kindly left on the TV). He/she sprayed the entire apartment too. I could still see the spray marks on the walls and lots of white stuff on the floor.
Sadly, we've gotten bitten a lot more so we are hoping this last spray would really kill all if not most of them.
Sadly-er, we are broke and cannot do laundry. EEP. And we are too scared to bring our linen to a friend's house for fear of them getting bed bugs.
Our cats had to hang out all day in our friend's bathroom. When I had to pick them up, they were not happy. But they were really happy to go back home.
Once the thank you cards are completed, I plan on overhauling my website, doodleheart.com. Updating it, revising it (cleaning up the code), and --if I feel like it--redesigning it. I plan on making a logo for me (that I like and will keep, instead of deciding that I hate it and toss it out the window and sketch out 50 more thumbnails of possible logos for me).
See you later, space cowboy.
It's kind of a lot of work. Right now, I've got a whopping $10 or so to make it til payday, so any prints will just have to wait. And mailing. ...oh joy.
Update on bed bugs: The exterminator came back to spray and only found 1 live bed bug (which he/she so kindly left on the TV). He/she sprayed the entire apartment too. I could still see the spray marks on the walls and lots of white stuff on the floor.
Sadly, we've gotten bitten a lot more so we are hoping this last spray would really kill all if not most of them.
Sadly-er, we are broke and cannot do laundry. EEP. And we are too scared to bring our linen to a friend's house for fear of them getting bed bugs.
Our cats had to hang out all day in our friend's bathroom. When I had to pick them up, they were not happy. But they were really happy to go back home.
Once the thank you cards are completed, I plan on overhauling my website, doodleheart.com. Updating it, revising it (cleaning up the code), and --if I feel like it--redesigning it. I plan on making a logo for me (that I like and will keep, instead of deciding that I hate it and toss it out the window and sketch out 50 more thumbnails of possible logos for me).
See you later, space cowboy.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Eww. Bed Bugs.
I've decided to sort-of document our recent nightmare as of late.
Bed bugs.
It all started about a week or two before our legal portion of our wedding--I woke up and saw an odd blister-like bump on my ring finger. "Great," I thought, "the ring pictures will look greeeat with this on my finger!"
Over the course of the next few days, we would wake up and find a couple of more blister-like bumps. Or mosquito-looking bites. Sometimes they were different. Sometimes they would appear at work or at school.
We scoured the bed. The room. The cats. Everything we thought to look at, we could. Nothing.
Bed bugs? Aside from the bites, we had no other proof.
Spiders? We've killed a few, but these did not look like spider bites.
Dust mites? They don't bite and cause more of an allergic reaction that what we are experiencing.
We slept in the living room once. No bites.
When we vacationed in Florida on our honeymoon, no bites.
We called the apartment and they checked--nothing.
They attempted to spray our apartment (if they had properly communicated with us before, we could have removed our cats so they could have sprayed.)
These bites was making me go crazy.
After nearly a month or so later, I frantically searched the mattress. I was ready to cut open the mattress and toss it out. And then: I found it. I found a small bed bug.
So we called the apartment. The next day, we vacuumed, alcoholed the mattress, walls, baseboard, chairs, couch, vents and whatever else we could. We washed all blankets, sheets, curtains, drapes, couch covers, dirty clothes, pillow cases, shower curtains, mats, rugs and anything else that could fit inside a washing machine. We bleached walls. Mopped the floors with pine sol.
I also purchased a mattress, box spring and 2 pillow cases covers---guaranteed to seal in bed bugs.
The exterminator has sprayed once now and this next week will spray again. We've gone to bed wearing long sleeves, long pants, socks, --trying not to expose any skin. Before we go to bed, we will spray the bed, pillows, blankets, sheets and each other down with alcohol.
Bed bugs themselves aren't quite so bad. They don't bother your pets. They don't transmit diseases. Their saliva numbs your skin and then they bite you. They hang out in your mattress and come out at night.
The worst part of it is the mental damage they do. You feel like a stranger in your own home. Your home no longer becomes a sanctuary. Going to sleep is a nightmare. You feel violated. You become paranoid. You check the walls. Constantly. Every speck you take a double look at. You can technically see the eggs and baby bed bugs; but they are so tiny it's hard to. You start itching for no reason. You feel like there's thousands of these bastards on you.
We actually haven't gotten bit since the deep cleaning and spraying. We've seen 2 more since then so we aren't giving up. This makes you want to burn everything you own and take the cats and run.
These bastards have ruined Halloween for me. MY FAVORITE HOLIDAY OF THE YEAR. I'll make sure they all die.
Bed bugs.
It all started about a week or two before our legal portion of our wedding--I woke up and saw an odd blister-like bump on my ring finger. "Great," I thought, "the ring pictures will look greeeat with this on my finger!"
Over the course of the next few days, we would wake up and find a couple of more blister-like bumps. Or mosquito-looking bites. Sometimes they were different. Sometimes they would appear at work or at school.
We scoured the bed. The room. The cats. Everything we thought to look at, we could. Nothing.
Bed bugs? Aside from the bites, we had no other proof.
Spiders? We've killed a few, but these did not look like spider bites.
Dust mites? They don't bite and cause more of an allergic reaction that what we are experiencing.
We slept in the living room once. No bites.
When we vacationed in Florida on our honeymoon, no bites.
We called the apartment and they checked--nothing.
They attempted to spray our apartment (if they had properly communicated with us before, we could have removed our cats so they could have sprayed.)
These bites was making me go crazy.
After nearly a month or so later, I frantically searched the mattress. I was ready to cut open the mattress and toss it out. And then: I found it. I found a small bed bug.
So we called the apartment. The next day, we vacuumed, alcoholed the mattress, walls, baseboard, chairs, couch, vents and whatever else we could. We washed all blankets, sheets, curtains, drapes, couch covers, dirty clothes, pillow cases, shower curtains, mats, rugs and anything else that could fit inside a washing machine. We bleached walls. Mopped the floors with pine sol.
I also purchased a mattress, box spring and 2 pillow cases covers---guaranteed to seal in bed bugs.
The exterminator has sprayed once now and this next week will spray again. We've gone to bed wearing long sleeves, long pants, socks, --trying not to expose any skin. Before we go to bed, we will spray the bed, pillows, blankets, sheets and each other down with alcohol.
Bed bugs themselves aren't quite so bad. They don't bother your pets. They don't transmit diseases. Their saliva numbs your skin and then they bite you. They hang out in your mattress and come out at night.
The worst part of it is the mental damage they do. You feel like a stranger in your own home. Your home no longer becomes a sanctuary. Going to sleep is a nightmare. You feel violated. You become paranoid. You check the walls. Constantly. Every speck you take a double look at. You can technically see the eggs and baby bed bugs; but they are so tiny it's hard to. You start itching for no reason. You feel like there's thousands of these bastards on you.
We actually haven't gotten bit since the deep cleaning and spraying. We've seen 2 more since then so we aren't giving up. This makes you want to burn everything you own and take the cats and run.
These bastards have ruined Halloween for me. MY FAVORITE HOLIDAY OF THE YEAR. I'll make sure they all die.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Attempt
www.doodleheart.com
My website has been horribly neglected for so long. I am in the middle of updating the contents and once that is completed, I will reconstruct the coding. Hahahaha. Wish me luck.
I also plan on creating a special CSS for this blog, but priorities first.
I thought that once I graduated college, I would suddenly have all the time in the world to do what I wanted. Well, moving to Chicago, looking for a new job and planning a wedding, on top of having a full-time job...well, that kinda sucks up my time. Argh.
My website has been horribly neglected for so long. I am in the middle of updating the contents and once that is completed, I will reconstruct the coding. Hahahaha. Wish me luck.
I also plan on creating a special CSS for this blog, but priorities first.
I thought that once I graduated college, I would suddenly have all the time in the world to do what I wanted. Well, moving to Chicago, looking for a new job and planning a wedding, on top of having a full-time job...well, that kinda sucks up my time. Argh.
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