Dirt and Tulle

August 24th, still-dark-in-the-morning, the day I leave for Burning Man... Yep, this seems like the perfect time to recap July's challenge and talk to you about August's.

0.o

(That's my most favorite emoticon, by the way.  I challenge you to try to make that face in real life.)

What can I say?  The month got away from me.  Between work and friends and summer and strange (strange but attractive) people living in my house, I have been busier than a one-legged woman in an ass-kicking contest and between me, you and the fencepost, I have got to find better ways to manage my time.  Or I just need to learn to say "No!"  I cram my life, nearly every day, with 47 things to do.  I have lost the ability to just ... be; to have "Heather Time."  When I'm not at work, I MUST DO ALL THE THINGS AND SEE ALL THE PEOPLE!  Basically I cram my life so full of "busyness" that I leave no time for "stillness".  And let me tell you, folks, I am feeling the effects of that.  In my brain.  I feel like I'm losing myself in the shuffle of my life.  I am always going and rarely stopping to, I dunno, smell the fucking roses or something.  I can wax philosophical about this and get all self-analytical, which I would genuinely like to do in another post, but for now...

I'M GOING TO BURNING MAN IN MERE HOURS, PEOPLE!  Hours!  Today is the day!  I am packed, organized and I want to leave right now.  I've spent all week preparing for this most epic trip:

"What are you up to?"
"Oh, not much, just trying on weird shit for Burning Man."

This fedora?  Yeah, it is made of sequins, it lights up and flashes.  I want to wear it every day.  But only with the goggles on as well.  Obv.

A few days ago my living room looked like this:

Yes, that is a pile of tulle, why do you ask?

And now it looks like this:

Them motherfuckers is ZIPPED!

If you can't tell, I'm ridiculously excited about this trip. I honestly have no idea what to expect.  I'm a bit concerned about this whole "sudden dust storm" business, but I'm already picturing the worst environment imaginable, expecting the worst, and I'm still smiling like a goon.  I long for the experiences in life --whether they be good or bad -- and even if I'm dirty and gross and eating dirt every day, I'm going to be with a phenomenal group of people and I look forward to eating dirt with them.  At Burning Man.  'Cause that's where I'm going, Burning Man.  Burning. Man.  Man of Burning.

SQUEEE!

Ok, ok... challenges.  July was no swearing and work out every day.  I believe I made it three days without swearing at all, and those were not consecutive days.  It was much more difficult than I had anticipated.  I did exercise every day though, so yay me.  I succeeded with a challenge.

This month is "no caffeine", which I quickly edited to "no coffee, Red Bull, or soda, but I can still drink tea and chew Midol by the fistful."  It's going pretty well.  I've had a half a cup of coffee a few times, but once again, I accomplished what I wanted to when I started the challenge, which was to break the habit -- the *need* for a cup of coffee to start the day.

I was also going to do this whole thing about how I need to find ways to be more positive, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, but yeah ... I didn't have time for that shit.  Who has time to think about being positive?  Get a hobby, people.

I have so much more I want to write and I wish I would have found the time to do so over the course of the month, but alas ... I must go to BURNING MAN!

Maybe next month should be "Do Less Stuff" and then I could blog more about ... doing ... nothing.

Meh.  It'll never happen.

Corey Hart

I missed a basket.  The sunglasses basket.

I wear my sunglasses at night...
... after I take them out of their basket.

I couldn't let them go without giving them a proper send-off. 

*ting*

Ohh, you!

Tubular.

Look at my teeth.  LOOK AT THEM!

Obviously I will be keeping these forever.

And these.

Oh, and these.

But not these.

Am I fabulous enough for these?

I do not have a wide range of facial expressions.

There are multiple outfits in these pictures because I KEPT FINDING SUNGLASSES.  What the fuck is wrong with me? 

(I still love this challenge.)

(And, apparently, sunglasses.)

A Little Bit Country, A Guest Post

I used to have this ugly-ass birdhouse.  In my living room.  You know, for decoration.   Like you do.  I gave it to my folks to put in their backyard with the other birdhouses and I asked my dad to send me a picture of it in its new home so I could add it to the blog.  This is what he sent me....

  I don't think there's anything left to say here.

The Original Douchecanoe

I used to have this friend --we'll call him Kepa.  Because that's his name.  We were friends for nearly a decade, but as it turns out, he was a fucking lying piece of shit douchecanoe with dodgy morals and a propensity for lies and deceit.  I don't know what he's doing with his life now, but I hope it involves a lot of itchiness and discomfort.  He was always very anti-kids, so with any luck he is now the father of triplets.

Anywho, as this is the month of getting rid of useless crap, I got rid of some of the useless crap he's gifted me over the years.

The first thing he ever gave me was heartburn this picture.  I remember we were both still stationed in Germany, but I don't remember why he gave me this particular picture.  I have no special affinity for either Pepe le Pew or Penelope, but I had it hanging in my bathroom for years because I thought it was kind of sweet.  Kepa is undoubtedly a giant ass clown, but the picture will look cute in my niece, Penelope's, room.

RE-GIFT!

He also gave me a number of stuffed animals for reasons unknown.  I gave a couple of them to my nieces (who are the complete opposite of ass clowns).

(I feel a bit weird spewing vitriol and then being all, "Look how cute my nieces are!"  But, look how cute my nieces are!)

"Hi!  This is my dog.  I named it Heather!"

Yeah, I'm just going to sit right here with my pig.

I think he gave me the stuffed dog because I've always wanted a dog (the real kind, with the barking and whatnot, not that stuffed shit), but I'm not sure about the pig.  Maybe he thought I was I was fat?   He's a stupid twat.

Some of it just went in the damn trash.

I'll admit, this looks a little sad.
Anthropomorphizing?

The rest of it has been tossed over the last couple of years.  I am keeping a couple of books he bought me (books are cool), but thaaaaat's about it.  Because he's a tool.

No, really, he's a tool.  Towards the end of our friendship he created a startling web of lies -- a web so detailed that Charlotte herself would be proud.

That's some pig!

He had an entire life I knew nothing about it.  Why he chose to hide it from me will forever be a mystery (one I no longer care to solve).  It never occurred to me to question or doubt him, so when all the lies and whatnot came to light I felt like the Queen of Foolville.

I look good in a crown.

I'm being snarky and mean in this post, but really, I don't care so much these days.  "Time heals all wounds" and shit.  I mean, I do still hope he's itchy, but I also hope he's learned to, I dunno, not tell lies and is hopefully treating people with the respect they deserve.

...while still being very, very itchy.

Chaff

I love this challenge.  I love the shit out this challenge.  It's so cathartic and eye-opening and fun and other adjectives to go through drawers, closets, BASKETS, more drawers and closets, getting rid of the chaff.  Fuck you, chaff.

Chaff.

I had a 13" DVD/VHS TV collecting dust in my closet -- GONE.  I had 10's of VHS tapes sitting around in a box -- GONE.  I had an alarm clock that hadn't alerted anyone about anything in years -- GONE.  I had a stupid little Ikea lamp (I do not love lamp)  I couldn't find a regular-ass light bulb for -- GONE.  Gone baby, gone.

Farewell uncomfortable and/or ugly shoes.  You no longer have a place here.

Why you hurt my feet?

As luck would have it, getting rid of ugly/uncomfortable shoes provided extra storage space for important things like tutus and animal ears.

Burning Man, 2012!  It's on like Donkey Kong.
...
I've never really understood that expression. 
"A phrase to denote that it's time to throw down or compete at a high level; something is about to go down."
Thank you, Urban Dictionary (.com)

What else?  Military uniforms and combat boots galore.  Shipped off.  Not going to lie, those were toughies.  As we all have a tendency to look at the past through rose colored glasses, I have nothing but fond memories of my years in the Air Force.  I know there were some shitty times (there's a reason I got out, after all), but I don't remember what those shitty times entailed.  Still, it was time to let go.  Hanging on to a bunch of old clothes I'm never going to wear again is a bit silly.  I still have the memories, as well as plenty of other military-related paraphernalia hanging about.

My uncle, Johnny, is now the proud owner of the murder-death-kill cold weather parka and the rest went to the thrift store on Ft. Myer.

I did hang on to a couple of things...

I got something southerly you can watch.
(that's a terrible joke)

I had the pack made when I was in Saudi Arabia.  You gave them a BDU (that's "battle dress uniform", civilians) shirt and probably way too much money and they gave you an adorable pack in return.  That I've never used.  Ever.  Not even once.  But it sure does take up space nicely.  The desert boots still fit, are very comfortable and I can see them being useful in some sort of outdoor endeavor.  The green camo on the left (can you see it?) are Gortex pants, which I decided to pass off to the thrift store; someone will surely get more use out of them than I will.

Hooah, Air Force!

Progress, folks.  So much progress.

(Love this challenge!)

My Gods! The Baskets!

In addition to my two hat baskets, I also have...

Laundry card basket.
(I made this one.  No lie.)

Key basket.

Kitty littler liner basket.

Workout stuff basket.

Trash can ... basket.

Bills and random paperwork basket.

"It puts the lotion in the basket..."

Bookmark basket.

Empty basket

Goodbye, basket.

Too Sexy for This Hat (Basket)

I have a hat basket.

Durr.

In fact, I have two hat baskets.

I'm too sexy for this basket.

Sixteen days into this month's challenge and one thing is blindingly obvious:  I have too many things.  More importantly, I have too many of the same things -- too many varieties.  Yes, it's nice to have choices, but do I need 27 choices?  I think not.

Hat table.

I got rid of of six of these hats, and that's best I can do.  The rest are in rotation and I can honestly say, they all get worn.  I can also say, I never need to buy another hat.  Like, ever.

I can't bring myself to get rid of this beauty, bought in Peru.  An island on Lake Titicaca, to be exact.  (You can laugh at that island name if you want, there's no judgement here.)

I am made of memories, but also, ugly.

It's hideous and I will never wear it, but it's wrapped up in some wonderfully delicious memories.  That trip ... sigh ... it has a warm, fuzzy place in my heart.  Of all my travels throughout the years, it holds the #1 spot; it'll be tough to knock it from its perch.

I also have an excessive number of bags -- purses, backpacks, wallets, etc.  I'm not going to include a picture because it's embarrassing.  I am embarrassed to have spent so much money on shit I hang in a closet, or stuff in a drawer, never to see the light of day.  I took a bunch of them to my cousin, Amy's, yard sale over the weekend, made a few ducats and lightened the bag load.  Yay me?

I had no qualms about getting rid of any of this stuff.  Perhaps, in time, I'll get rid of even more.  Baby steps...

On second thought, I look pretty damn good in this hat.
Maybe I should start wearing it...

For the Sake of Pete

I'll be honest, I haven't gotten rid of a damn thing yet.  I am a lazy procrastinator (it's a terrible combination, folks).  I do have a pile of stuff earmarked, ready for a new home.  Ten things, as a matter of fact.  I'll add something else to the pile when I get home this evening.  Man, I really need to clean my apartment.

Oh, wait!  That's a lie (not the bit about cleaning my apartment; that shit's for real).  I have officially gotten rid of one thing and it hurt my heart.  Hurt. My. Heart.

Don't ... don't just leave me here.

How tragically sad this this picture?  It looks so lonely in the hallway all ... alone.  Is it only sad to me?  Because I've formed an attachment to it?  Yeah, I can see that.  I bought that little guy when I was in the Air Force, stationed at Ramstein AB in Germany.  It was 1997ish and I was about to move off base into a little basement apartment and needed furnishings.  My friend, Renee, and I went to the Airman's Attic, which is basically Good Will for military folks, and snatched that little guy up for a song.  $15?  $20?  Definitely not more than $20.

But here's the thing, it hasn't aged well.  It's all warped and stained on top.

Meh.

And some years ago the left legs shit the bed, so I had to be very careful not to move it or wiggle it in any way or the whole damn thing would come crashing down.  I tried fixing it once.

Guess I shouldn't quit my day job.

Obviously I didn't put too much effort into it (hammering nails is hard) and I don't know why I never removed the nail, but it's been there for at least five years and wherever that table is now, I bet the nail remains.

Regardless of its rather rough appearance, I found it surprisingly difficult to put it out in the hallway (where all residents put their unwanted belongings; they just ... disappear).

(The belongings, not the residents.)

(Or maybe the residents disappear too.  I really can't say.  The hallways are pretty empty.)

It's not that I wasn't using the little guy; his drawers were crammed with random shit and I had a nice little framed picture on top of him.  But, I live in a one-bedroom apartment and spent a good chunk of time last weekend trying to make space for a new futon so I won't have to share my bed with my sister my sister will have somewhere to sleep this summer, and I realized that I didn't really need that ugly-ass table.

I emptied its drawers (mostly into the trash) and put it by the front door.  Where it sat for three hours.  I'd pick it up, start to carry it outside, only to put it right back down and reconsider my decision.  It's only a table, for Pete's sake.  (I don't think Pete really cares about my table)  But I remember when I bought it.  I remember how exciting it was moving off base.  I remember how much fun Renee and I had in Germany.  I remember all the trips we went on, all the countries we visited.  How much Sauer Apfel we drank.  I don't need the table to hang on to those fantastically happy memories, but it's inextricably tied to that time of my life and sometimes it's just god-damn-shitting hard to let go.

But I did.  I let go.  It is only a table after all.

I threw you up a lot.
A lot.