... for eye strain?
OK, that didn't work quite as well as Snarky had hoped, nor is it nearly as pleasant as ice cream. Nevertheless, she is suffering from ever compounding eye strain as she moves from eight hours in front of the computer (under fluorescent lights in "The Cracker Cave") to a few poorly light hours throwing things around/together/into boxes at the apartment, to a couple more hours in the waning gloom of evening working up close and personal with various nooks and cranies and surfaces of their soon-to-be kalidescopic domicile.
The peepers are pooped, folks.
Add to that the nocturnal goings on at Flat du Snark (Snarky is an equal opportunity mangler of all languages) in the form of feline gymnastics (Seriously, what is the deal with cardboard and plastic bags and the licking? Does it really taste that good?) and there is just no rest for the wicked winkers in the forseeable future.
While some more painting is on the docket for tonight's Chez Snark visitation, Snarky thinks she'll try to truncate the errand and convince The Mister that a break is in order in the form of the one-two punch of eye candy (24 and Grey's Anatomy season finale) and gelato.
(Great, now Snarky is craving graham crackers and marshmellows and melty dark chocolate.)
Very quickly, as Snarky's back is starting to protest after a weekend of bent-over-the-coffee-table-exact-o-knifing, she's about 80% finished with the DeathRockFamily freezer paper stenciled t-shirts!
Step One: select toddler-appropriate imagery and use as template for freezer paper stencil.
Step Two: iron stencil onto targeted surface (in this case, American Apparel's toddler-sized raglan t-shirt) using another piece of freezer paper as back on other side of surface to add stability and prevent bleed-through.
Step Three: develop big head from success of first project, proceed to go insane and decide to stencil text onto next t-shirt. Because you are also slightly masochistic.
Step Four: covet your own work. (Note: the bear trap is just one application of black ink, but the toaster shirt has three coats because Snarky didn't have light colored paint intended for dark surfaces.)
Step Five: go even more bat-crap-crazy and decide to shoot for the moon on your next design. Halfway through, shake fist (while carefully aiming exact-o knife away from face) and ask WHYYYYYY?!?!?!
Step Six: Just walk away from the stencil. Take a breather. Come back tomorrow.
Snarky will post finished DeathRockMama shirt picks tomorrow (hopefully).
The first year Snarky learned to knit (the third time, when it stuck) she committed a common knewbie act of ginormous hubris: she decided to knit all of the Darkity's gifts to their family.
It wasn't as bad as it could have been - Snarky only knit for the "-in-law" side of the family, but she had an ambitious - and schizophrenic - to do list:
* a pair of convertible fingerless gloves (that turned into mittens)
* a Peruvian style fair isle hat (with the ear flaps and braided cords)
* a cardigan (Sitcom Chic from Bonne Marie, if you were curious)
* a therapy roll filled with flax seeds, chamomile, lavendar, etc.
* a felted bucket hat
* scarves
* beaded eyeglass chain (OK, that one wasn't knitted, but it was crafty!)
* cute little tags to amp up the DIY feel of all the gifts
By the time the Day of Giving and Oohing and Aahing finally arrived, Snarky was too delirious from sleep deprivation due to too many nights spent way past her bedtime squinting over poorly lit last minute knitting to really enjoy the season. There are pictures, at least.
But before Snarky could say "never again!" she decided the next year to make felted stockings for every single one of her Aunts and Uncles (and Grandma M) on her mother's side of the family. Because Snarky is some kind of craft martyr. That must be the reason.
Last year the crafting was focused with laser-like intensity on DarkityMa. She received one shawl, a cabled chemo cap, and a fuzzy rasta hat (chemo cap that got too big). She also still has a shawl marinating in the back of the hall closet, but she doesn't know about that one because Snarky is not able to look at it without having knitting-in-the-rain running-after-the-runaway-skein flashbacks.
This year, Snarky thinks she's dialing it back, but maybe she's too far into it to have perspective. She's working on a commissioned Where's Waldo hat, she has two pairs of Fuzzy Feet felted clogs to make for the Darkity'rents, she needs to continue her enviro/animal friendly/yet-still-soft yarn research for a hat for DarkityBro, and there's the matter of a long-delayed sculptural snake scarf that The Mister really, really wants (so far she's using Panache from KnitPicks - cashmere and alpaca and merino, oh my! - and Meunch's Touch Me, which is about the most sinful shiny chenillesque yarn EVAH) (Sometimes Snarky wonders if The Mister is very secretly some sort of drag queen.).
She is designing little logos to silk screen (using the freezer paper method) onto t-shirts for the troubled DeathRockFamily. If this experiment works, she will be making more t-shirts for just about everyone because how cool is that?
And finally tonight she and The Mister are going to some sort of Nerd Mecca to find geekish gifts for her geekish compatriots. There's nothing crafty about this last bit, Snarky's just excited about being able to get her geek on tonight.
Speaking of which: new Doctor Who and BSG tonight!
And now Snarky is officially sidetracked.
The point was: seasonal craftiness is absolutely fine. But much like holiday eatings, holiday craft-making must be done in moderation and with a sense of pacing... or else tragedy will ensue.
Snarky hopes everyone had a fabulous Turkey Day (she had pot roast instead after meeting up with the just-as-lovely-kind-and-generous-in-person Cordia and her Mister and Award Winning Cake). She is still trying to come to grips with the fact that Christmas is three weeks away!
Snarky would like to submit for the record that she is wearing a skirt to work today.
This is a rare occasion and had to be noted:
-knee high black Ecco boots (semi-sexy, mostly sensible)
-pink and white striped knee high socks
-gray flannel pin-striped long skirt (purchased from a punk store in downtown Asheville) that causes Snarky to walk like Morticia Addams
-black stretch button down Banana Republic shirt
-light pink railroad/ribbon yarn (inkdarkmoon: think Knitting Fever's Dazzle or somesuch) neck... thingy. It's a really skinny scarf that looks more like a deconstructed cravat
-fuschia shrinky dink skulls earrings from Sweet Action Lab
-red lip stain under sparkly lip gloss
-Bearded Lady
There.
Tonight she and The Mister are going on a double date with their real estate agent and his wife. He's a pretty interesting guy, though the wife is a bit of a cipher still. They are going to see Inland Empire again because Mr. RealEstateAgent is a huge, huge David Lynch fan... which is very disconcerting for the Snarks. Lynch is a hard artist to pin down, but whatever anyone might think of when picturing a Lynch afficionado, Mr. REA is the exact opposite (or possibly dead on. It's really hard to tell.).
Ah, Fall! What an evocative name for the season. Snarky thinks of dying trees and the inevitability of gravity, time, entropy, age. Such a beautiful time of the year. The French probably have a perfect word to describe this rather gothic appreciation of the last gasp of life.
Also the Cantonese. Snarky has been learning some rather ribald Chinese sayings from her parents used to describe the universal truths of life. Darned if she can remember any of them right now, though.
The Snarks are Big Fans of this time of year. This month they will be celebrating their sixth (!) anniversary, in fact. They got married in an autumnal blaze of glory. Fall of ought-ought turned out to be one of the best years for color in recent history for the Western North Carolina mountains.
And what else besides the crisp charge in the air heralds the arrival of this most beloved time of year? Why, produce, of course!
Honeycrisp apples at the Beaverton Farmer's Market
Brussel Tree! Sometimes the Snarks forget that these don't actually grow in little mesh plastic bags.
The Snarks are surrounded by artichoke farms (well, OK, just the one outside of Tillamook) but this was the first time since moving Out West that they partook. Cha cha cha!
Out with the pesto pizza, in with the roasted portabella pizza!
Perfect fall days start with a trip to Kruger's Farm Market on Sauvie Island.
The Snarks are preparing for an anniversary weekend in a treehouse, in which they will be working dilligently to build up their winter coats. The Mister is already researching recipes for their time in the woods. (A sure sign that the Snarks were meant for eachother if there ever was one.) There will be roasted root vegetables and cobblers and at some point a Butterfinger pie (sixth anniversary = gifts of candy or iron, and Snarky hasn't been near a welding torch in almost a decade). The nose might be directly linked up to the deepest parts of memory in the brain, but Snarky's heart is hard-wired to her stomach.
Snarky has Stevie Nicks by way of Lucy Lawless stuck in her head now... though sometimes the voice switches over to that Smashing Pumpkins guy.
Which is really, really annoying. She really missed the Smashing Pumpkins boat mostly because of Corgan. Sure his voice (grating, nasal, tremulous) was the angry yawp of her "generation", but Snarky hasn't been all that keen about her generation either.
The Snarks are going into this short work week completely unprepared for Turkey Day. They have a vague idea of a menu, but since the only attendants to The Feast will be themselves, they haven't really put a great deal of pressure on the timeliness of said meal.
They are still hosting family, though. The difference is that that particular meal is happening tonight (!!) and Snarky came up with the menu for tonight's meal while trying to get to sleep last night. DarkityMa (she of the "start cooking three days in advance" method) would be ashamed.
So tonight Snarky's father's older sister's middle son and his wife (ie her cousins) will be fed gingered catfish and mysteriously cooked spring pea tips & tendrils. "Mysteriously" because Snarky has only cooked these kinds of greens twice (boiled the first time, stir fried the second) with varying results. Tonight she'll probably par-boil then finish off in the wok after she's done with the catfish. The Snarks love to experiment on their guests. (insert hand rubbing and low, evil laugh here)
Shoot. Now Snarky's hungry.
PS More proof positive that The Mister is a perfect match for Snarky: she called to touch base over her lunch break about tonight, and he's gone and added about three more dishes to include with the meal (appetizer, additional side, and dessert).
Exciting, yes, but also New!
The Snarks are heading out to sea for the next week. Snarky hopes to catch y'all on the filp side. Her first week of new work was all sorts of exciting/boring/exciting again. She is really happy about her career change.
Glub glub!
The Snarks are what you could call DINKs (Double Income, No Kids - Snarky just learned of this acronym last week because she is culturally out of it). They aren't wealthy, nor are they well paid, but they are comfortable and able to indulge in small luxuries like restaurant dining when they want and the occasional pair of new (but sensible!) shoes.
They know they are lucky to have managed their previous investments well enough to be in their current house (which they love just a little more each day even with all the blemishes that every old house has). Though she hasn't been completely willy-nilly about their post-real estate orgy, Snarky has been feeling like the other shoe must drop from their recent "fixin'/preppin' the house for total habitation" purchases.
And that shoe got dropped yesterday over the phone with The Mister. He wants to give notice at his current job. He plans to have his last day be the Friday before the Labor Day weekend. He won't start looking for another job until about a month before his last day.
Snarky knows the contributing factors to this major decision are not flippant ones, but she can't help but feel a bit of panic, a bit like the rug was pulled out from underneath her feet.
He hasn't been happy in that job almost from the beginning. He has been dealing with depression and poor health exacerbated by the high and constant stress. At one point last night he turned to her and said "And if a year from now, if we are both in jobs we really love but that don't pay as much, is it that much of a loss if we can't keep this house?"
And Snarky was torn. She wants him to find his place in the world, she does. She would even like to find out exactly what she should be when she grows up. But this house... this house is already so special to her. She'd like to have her cake and eat it too.
Snarky has been taking pictures like a madwoman, but instead of downloading and formatting, her evenings have been taken up with weeding and painting. She hopes to give you updates soon on the continuing evolution of ChezSnark. There's been hardwood floor refinishing, tub resurfacing, Asian Tigering, and even more painting of retina-searing hues.
She just hopes she won't be covering all of this up with eggshell in a year's time.
Packaging reads: Disco, optional
So, after a brief brush with the concept of single-income-dom a few months ago (that was circumvented with a lateral career move), it looks like The Mister has finally reached the end of his rope with his current employer. He's meeting with his supervisor sometime today to announce his intention of resigning from his position effective the end of this month.
Snarky will surely panic later, but currently she is feeling oddly fine about things. It's not the end of the world... just the end of the world as she knows it. And when she looks around, she sees all sorts of things that can be trimmed away to make their impending financial strain less panic-inducing.
Snarky grew up not quite poor, but very, very frugally. She can re-create some of the methods her parents employed to ensure that the important things remain covered.
Normally, and this was proven in very recent history with The Mister's last "I've had it!" moment, Snarky does not handle the threat to her creature comforts well. But this morning when The Mister reached over to take her hand, it was shaking violently enough that she thought he was rapidly squeezing her hand for some unknown reason. She gave him one of his emergency panic attack pills, cooked him a quick breakfast, and went out into the rain. Now she's wondering if she should have stayed behind to provide moral support while he prepared for this life-changing day.
In slightly better-perhaps news, she pointed The Mister to the "Be an Actuary" site that antimony suggested a while back, and he was very intrigued. Turns out the actuarial field was one of his top picks based on some sort of career choice evaluation he did a while ago.
In the meantime, Snarky knows The Mister well enough that he will land on his feet. It will be rough going, but they will get there.
Spring is finally making footholds in the landscape. The sun lingers until well after dinnertime. That she is making a showing at all is a cause for verdant frolicking.
Snarky reached for Nefertiti this morning. To her logical mind this is because the imp happens by trick of alphabetical organization to fall smack in the middle-front of her ammo box.
But her superstitious hindbrain suspects that her hand was guided there to bring her delicate flowers and sweet-skin confidence in order to make it through this day of waiting.
She, in some small way, wanted to smell like spring. And Nefertiti is one of the few scents that approximates this effect. The rest of her collection speaks of winter's dead hibernations, autumn's angsty decay. But this? This is hope and joy and faith that life is returning.
The air is thick with love making. Sap rises, tender buds unfurl. She waits.
Snarky has been back for a week now, but she can't seem to get the floaty boat feeling out of her head. Add to that the continued "hit-the-ground-runningness" of her new job (which she is really starting to enjoy despite its ability to snatch the hours and days right from underneath her like a neat card room trick) and she just can't seem to find the time to re-establish her online persona.
She's also been feeling a bit Garbo lately too.
Still, she's going to make an effort to get back in to the swing of things.
And where words might be slow in trickling back into the well for her, Snarky always has more pictures!
First day out to sea.
The Hitler Bangs are Dead. Long live the Bangs of Indeterminate Length and/or Direction!
DarkityBro soaking up the sun (and being spied upon by his older sister).
The DarkityRents are also cute whilst evading the pesky paparazzi.
Many moons ago Snarky spent a semester studying ancient Mayan architecture. The Chichen Itza ruins include the main temple (El Castillo) which does a neat trick every Equinox. The Snarks where there a day early. Damn you Murphy, and your stupid Law! It was still an impressive site (and sight), even if the government no longer allows tourists to scramble at their own peril up the steep temple stairs.
Mostly besides the sights and sounds, there was The Food. Oh sweet honey in the rock, was there Food. Snarky will need to make a whole separate post just to discuss the heirarchy and humongousness of The Food.
But for now... she's slinking back into her cave to play with some sticks and string. It up and got all Autumnal before she even realized it. Perfect knitting weather!
Eat your heart out, Bellagio!
So the ancient running joke is that Snarky is in possession of two very black thumbs.
The Mister made a habit of gifting her with a potted orchid (of the Lowe's/Home Depot variety) every Valentine's Day, knowing that she would eventually find a way to kill it. One year he gave her a companion cactus thinking that it would outlive the orchid which seemed extremely logical at the time.
Snarky deflated it.
Back in May, some good friends of the Snarks came out to visit. The wife is a master gardener and the husband is the handiest of handymen. They both have done amazing things to their triple wide trailer (and 5 acres of property) nestled in the Appalachians.
The Snarks were able to give them a tour of their soon-to-be house for hints/tips/praise/approval. She did a careful evaluation of the landscaping (somewhat over-exotic for the Snark's taste, but really quite impressive) and even gifted them with a regional resource (which has since been packed and lost, but will be found again, by gum!).
If it weren't for their words of encouragement, Snarky might've considered a scorched earth approach to the existing landscaping. So... they're trying. Most of the bordering landscaping has been weeded (Snarky suspects she "accidentally" took out some "decorative" thistle, but it was annoying and leggy) except for the corner with the roses... which are choking and trying their darndest to continue despite her efforts to destroy them.
She harvested a fistful of lavendar blossoms which are being artfully displayed in one of their many "why did we register for all these?" vases.
They've got a miniature garden (mostly for sammich makin's - tomato and cuke) fighting it out with the clover.
They are doing their best not to destroy what was left to them. Besides the curly willow, which had to go. (Much to the shock of the neighborhood.)
Cross your spades and pointy weeder thingies (Snarky likes to call it "The Probe") for them... pictures of the carnage results soon!
Last week's surprise winter weather has given way to premature spring-like conditions.
And like a tender crocus bud, Snarky finds her own femininity peeking out from all the protective layers of winter accumulation. Last night she trimmed back the talons and attended to her toes. Tonight she hopes to complete the rest of her home mani/pedi progression (Snarky is slow and less flexible than she once was. It takes at least two days to finish these simple tasks.) and this weekend might be the Wacky Waxing Weekend if she can get her gumption up.
This seems to be the prevailing mood on Blog Island. A mood of rejuvenation and re-introduction to one's inner girlie-girl. Snarky has lost track of what this particular movement happens to be... is it post-post-modern feminism, or meta-feminism, or retro-something-or-other?
Ah well. Whatever it is, it makes typing on the keyboard much easier.
Edited to add: while ChezSnark is still slightly under the pall of the Monster Cold of Ought Six Slash Seven, Snarky has finally started to wear her BPAL again. Banner day!
Snarky's analytical brain knows that there is still ONE MORE DAY until the house is officially theirs. But her animal Veruca Salt side of her brain is stomping its little patent-leather Mary Janes-shod feet all over the sensible hardwood floors, scuffing up the works.
Snarky just had a minor retail freak out over at Penance's tart site just now and is not looking forward to the reaction of The Mister. She doubts that he was as troubled as she was by the "Old House Smell" that was wafting up from the recently vacated basement. This assumption is based mostly on the fact that she had to point it out to him.
But she could not resist scent combinations like hinoki wood & cypress, blackberry & sage, persimmons (The Mister's favorite dessert fruit) & water orchid, and the legendary Red Velvet Cake.
Because Chez Snark will not have Old House Smell. It musn't!
Snarky is contemplating some sneaky shadiness in the form of "Oh! Why, it must be a housewarming gift from some mysterious and tasteful benefactor!" Yeah. That's the ticket.
Scent-induced memories have always been important to Snarky. Her memory is uneven and mostly buried in her subconscious (she could tangent off into a rather lengthy recap of this morning's just-before-the-alarm dream that dredged up all manner of high school, college, and oddly enough, recent pop-culture bugaboos). Anything to help trigger a sense of continuity and a past is snapped up and put in the arsenal.
Snarky wants this house to be linked to anything other than the Old House Smell. She probably went a bit overboard, but she wanted to have all her ol factory bases covered.
There are so-called "young souls" and "old souls" and all the souls in between. Snarky has often surmised that she possesses a "middle aged soul" - old enough to know better (she entered her teenaged years with a deep breath and a "well, here goes nuthin'") but still young enough to make all the same stupid mistakes (oh, it went alright).
Her best friend has a teenaged soul. She is impulsive, headstrong, and unable to take the right path until she has exhausted all the wrong ones. Snarky used to refer to her as her "Drama Friend" (we all have at least one of those, even if we are typically the DF in our relationships), often with a bit of condescending affection/scorn (weird how some friendships are so close to antagonistic symbiosis).
Last night Snarky was on the phone with her friend for over two hours - most of it was spent with DF venting and unloading and Snarky listening.
Two years ago such a conversation would leave Snarky exhausted and resentful. It would make The Mister grouchy for stolen time. And worst of all: nothing would have changed for her friend.
But today, Snarky feels fine. Rested, even. It's not that Snarky has disconnected herself from her friend and doesn't care about what she is going through (in short, two words: "emotional incest" Snarky always learns new terms/concepts from her acquaintances that open her eyes and make her extremely grateful for her own dull and boring existance that does not require the aid of therapy speak in order to be defined) it is that Snarky finally had an a-HA moment a few crises ago and realized that in order to be a good friend, she didn't have to live through the experience with those friends. She could just listen and observe and support.
Small epiphany as far as epiphanies go (surely "brightly colored mushrooms are bad for the eatings" ranks higher) but an important one for Snarky, who used to be an empathetic walking open wound for everyone.
And The Mister was really quite OK with not having a wife for two hours. The Snarks are cultivating an appreciation for the concept of "alone time" and have experienced the added bonus of more enriched "together time" for it.
Best of all, Snarky's best friend has really broken through to some new, exciting territory. Of course right now it's scary and overwhelming, but she's calmer now and is finally, finally able to really work toward something better.
So, Snarky feels compelled to give a small for emotional maturity both for herself and for her friend. Snarky always knew she would finally begin to feel more comfortable in her skin (on the personal, bodily level as well as the larger socio-political sphere) in her thirties and is relieved to see that bit of middle-aged soul prognostication come true.
But she will try very hard not to pull a muscle patting herself on the back about it.
Please forgive Snarky for pointing you in the direction of this article (links to Salon dot com, you'll probably have to click through a day pass to get there).
But. Marble bag?! She had never heard it called that before. Now, "banana hammock" (which really is fun to say out loud) for sure, but "Marble Bag"?
Thus concludes this little bit of summertime fun.
Snarky knows y'all must be getting tired of her waxing all faux-philosophical and all and why can't she just get back to posting pics of the house, dag nabbit? Well, she does have a few pics, but of course she doesn't have them ready for you yet.
On a lark she just looked up a former classmate from her architorture school days and has found out that she is now the happy mother of two wonderful kids. Snarky shouldn't be surprised, as she was one of the bridesmaids at this friend's wedding which took place as soon as they possibly could manage it immediately following graduation.
The W's were an exclusive couple very early into the whole collegiate experience (from Snarky's held-over High School Sweetheart phase, through the embarrassing experimental Rugby moment, all the way to meeting The Mister online). It was almost a given that they were going to be married. They just complemented eachother so thoroughly and well.
Still Snarky can't help but feel a bit of shock. Someone who has been frozen in her mind for the last eight years just got suddenly ultra-fast forwarded to being a Mommy twice over.
The same happened a couple years ago when she got in touch with an old high school roommate who had also gone and had two kids. The shock was a bit lessened by the fact that Snarky knew about Child #1 (though #2 was a complete surprise as they had lost touch by then).
The Snarks are still very much on the fence about this whole child-having thing anyway, but somehow Snarky is feeling like she missed the boat somehow - that she's in a moment of suspended animation just spinning her wheels, not really doing anything.
If she decided not to have children, then surely she must be on some upwardly mobile corporate ladder or carving a bold new niche for some previously undiscovered marketable need. Right? Only... no. Snarky hasn't done that either. Snarky really hasn't done much at all on either the family or career fronts.
Is Snarky a Slacker? If not children and not career... then what will be her legacy?
(According to this week's issue of the local freebie paper, Portland is a city of slackers. Perhaps this is why Snarky feels so attuned to the place.)
She's like everybody else - she's completely unique.
There are minor variations that skew her off center from the norm, but it's a large, comfortable demographic with ample wiggle room.
The hated but apropos "slackerdom" is inherent (why else a "high-concept" blog crafted during the work day?) as is the vague uneasiness that often accompanies the under-utilized, over-educated, filled-with-potential-but-not-going-anywhere intelligence that wishes it could live long enough to become wisdom.
She has recently discovered concrete proof of her own mortality - first in the endodontist's chair, tears streaming back into her hair; and again in the surprisingly warm and comfortable imaging room during her first mammogram. Her world sharpened into finite days. Now anything done without mindfulness is shameful, offensive, a waste.
Which is horrifying as her entire life, save for a few accidental miracles, is one shameful, offensive waste after another.
She's waited so long - too long? - she needs to do something. The need is a physical ache in her palms, a perma-frown, unbearable restlesness.
She grabs her imp of Danse Macabre. The drydown will bring back old friends and that night spent saying timid goodbyes. Making eye contact for the first and last time. Her last dance with that great old group of freaks.
Green hope wafts from her drying wrists. She settles down to type, and to wait out her memories.
We can do it! After I finish this yummy sammich....
There is this thing that's like touching except you don't touch
Back in the day it just went without saying at all
All the world's history gradually dying of shock
There is thing that's like talking except you don't talk
You sing
You sing
Sing for the bartender sing for the janitor sing
Sing for the cameras sing for the animals sing
Sing for the children shooting the children sing
Sing for the teachers who told you that you couldn't sing
Just sing
There is thing keeping everyone's lungs and lips locked
It is called fear and it's seeing a great renaissance
After the show you can not sing wherever you want
But for now let's just pretend we're all gonna get bombed
So sing
Sing cause its obvious sing for the astronauts sing
Sing for the president sing for the terrorists sing
Sing for the soccer team sing for the janjaweed sing
Sing for the kid with the phone who refuses to sing
Just sing
Life is no cabaret
We don't care what you say
We're inviting you anyway
You mother[frakkers] you'll sing someday...
You mother[frakkers] you'll sing someday...
You mother[frakkers] you'll sing someday...
--"Sing" by the Dresden Dolls
Snarky had a bad day yesterday. The Mister did manage to go in to work for half the day, but the first half was spent in moments of panic and anxiety. He says a switch has gone off inside his head that has turned his soon-to-be-former work place into a place of near-terror for him. He apologizes to Snarky for being broken, and it's breaking her heart to see him like this.
But she's beginning to feel her fists harden into tiny little knots of grim determination. Her brow is furrowed and she's rolling up her sleeves figuratively (because it is friggin' COLD over here, making rolling up her literal sleeves a non-option) in preparation for the Work Ahead.
The Mister is broken, but he is healing. Snarky will do her best to support and ass-kick as needed. She's also keeping an eye on her own stress-levels to make sure they complement - rather than exacerbate - his.
Last night she worked on his special shirt. He requested a "got garlic?" shirt which has proven to be a bit more problematic than the other ones. If things turn out well (which they will... eventually) Snarky will post pics. She still owes finished bleeding heart and unicorn t-shirt pics too!
Tonight, Snarky is staying late because her work is having another employees-only open studio session (with potluck panini! ). She's very excited about this, though she has absolutely no idea what she's going to make. Wish her luck!
Snarky developed some psychosomatic quirks during her senior year back in Nerd School. She was falling into a mild depression, feeling the strain of separation from her first serious boyfriend (the relationship was a bit co-dependent), and she was at a complete loss as to where/what she wanted to go/do/be after graduation.
About once a month she would come down with symptoms of a particularly virulent stomach virus that didn't exist. Two days of debilitating gastro-intestinal distress then suddenly nothing, and back to her self-imposed hermit-like existance of skipping meals in the cafeteria in lieu of a pseudo-monastic supper of rye bread and onion soup (She's not sure why she settled on this particular combination, it was probably something she picked up from reading The Name of the Rose and/or the better option compared to flagellation.). Naturally her suitemates didn't take any of this seriously and did their best to harrass her into being more sociable.
The psychosomatic weirdness climaxed with a spectacular presentation of a raging case of hives during final exams. Every where her skin was constantly touched - her bra strap, necklines and waistlines, where her low pony tail rested against the nape of her neck, bloomed with red, itchy welts. She added two Benadryls to her rye bread and onion soup communion every night and had nightmares about physics exams and botany practicals.
Eventually her skin cleared and she graduated (probably in that order) and after that traumatic senior semester, nothing quite so extreme happened to her again.
But she remembers that it's possible. A crouching gremlin hiding in her meat and bones, waiting for the right triggers.
Last week The Mister took two days off of work because of stomach problems. Today, a full week later, he's still not quite back to normal. He comes from a family that doesn't always think to go to the doctor until the problem becomes much worse, so Snarky's attempts at getting him to Get Help have been treated as Chiken Little-style freakouts.
Finally, though, he is thinking about seeing his doctor. Even if this ends up being all in his head (his work is approaching a critical turning point this week) she hopes that seeing the doctor will help him somehow.
In the meantime, her own stomach has been a bit sour and sullen as well. Whether it is in sympathy (the closest to synced menses they'll ever get), or due to exposure to him (if it is an actual bug), or due to a whole new resurgence of her old sub-conscious mind/body craziness (always an underlying possiblity), she's unclear. Perhaps she'll never fully focus on the cause. She just hopes the effects for both The Mister and herself go away soon.
The Snarkys are addicted to HGTV. They watch famlies in their intimate spaces, delving up the tender secrets of their everyday lives to intruding strangers. They watch as these odd bedfellows work in sweaty, dusty, passionate union to create something better with their homes.
The Snarkys dream of doing it too. They are beginning to believe that this might become their backdrop. Cue bamp-chicka-bamp music:
Where all the magic happens...
But wait? What's behind this little hobbit door?
Secks-SAY!
At the risk of incurring the Wrath of the Gods, Snarky wants y'all to have a peek:
The Possibly Maybe Future Chez Snark
She's already scheming where the yarn, BPAL, and LUSH stashes will go. She's going to have her own bathroom, finally! No more comingling of her "lotions and potions" (The Mister's term) with his manly toilette.
Snarky hastens to add that she decided to wear Clio today. This is another surprise imp in her ammo case that is sorta-kinda spring like (in a deep dark pathouli-ish sort of way). Also, the lavendar is helping her to remain a little more calm and clear-headed given the circumstances.
The Mister has a bit of a hair fetish to complement his foot/naughty secretary thing. And Snarky really never knew about the extent of it until recently.
When he first met Snarky, she had a slightly angled bob that just curled beneath her chin. She had been maintaining the relatively chic 'do after a free makeover going in to her third year in college. Up until then she had rather a rather laissez faire approach to her hair except for the white streak (a la Rogue of X-Men fame or Pepe le Pieu's paramour, take your pick) she tried to maintain until she burned a bald patch on the side of her head.
She lapsed back into just growing it all out while in Europe for a semester, ending with a dramatic chop off "mas corta, por favor" in a "Super Tall" in Spain. (Who knew Super Cuts had gone international?)
Leading up to their wedding, Snarky finally returned to letting it all grow out in order to fulfill some deep-seated conviction that All Brides Must Have an Up 'Do. Her hair continued to grow until 2002 when, after a successful run doing impressions of "The Ring"'s Samara (and scaring the bejeezus out of all her co-workers), Snarky allowed her hairdresser to give her bangs.
This was the beginning of the end.
The bangs became Bettie Page bangs one hectic morning after Snarky's shaky attempts to even out the regrowth.
After that, it was only a matter of time before she succumbed to the inevitable and chopped it all off for charity.
Since that fateful November day (she kept the long hair one more Halloween in order to channel Cleopatra) Snarky has more or less kept the 'do at either page-boyish or rather Pat Benatarian levels.
The Snarks take their mini-golfing very seriously.
Growing out the highlights, and no, Snarky is not Flamenco-ing. She's modeling a knitting thingamabobber (Glampyre's One Skein Wonder, if you're curious)
A better look at The Benatar in all her glory.
After the unfortunate Hitler Bangs incident, Snarky finally agreed to let it all grow out again.
Lest we ever forget... re-posting proof of the Hitler Bangs.
This old photo most closely approximates the currently sideswept bangs (if you can make them out on her teeny tiny head). Is it just Snarky, or does it look like she's about to be plucked off the Earth by an Ent?
And for The Mister, there was much rejoicing. For while he has never once complained in all the years of Snarky's follicle fancies, he had been harboring a secret hope that she would return to the p0rn hair of yore. Every time she now wears her hair in the funky little pigtails - all she can currently manage - he gets a certain speculative gleam in his eye and breaks out into a boyish grin of delight.
It is this anticipation of his that is helping Snarky through some of the most difficult growing out phases she has ever encountered (and she's counting the skunky bald patch!). Right now she is currently at "vaguely choppy kinda-sorta rock mulletini-y" and would really just like to drop all the -y, -ie, -ishness and have a damn definitive 'do, already!
The things we do for love!
Edited to add: If she can find old pics of the old long hair, Snarky'll post 'em. She's also got a picture to be downloaded off the camera of the current oh-so-age-appropriate pigtails yet to post.
Just put on a happy face (dammit)!
Snarky has been in a three day Very Bad Mood that has been interrupted by bouts of happiness, contentment, and countless uncomfortably sweaty naps.
She's sure things will turn around soon, but just wanted everyone to know she's avoided updating her blog in order to minimize the bleed through of her psychic pollution.
On a slightly better note, she's really starting to fall in love with her (mangy, crispy, slug-infested) garden.
Carry on. (Snarky :heart:s Tim Gunn. Just so you know.)
Snarky's rule of thumb for writing is the good/bad/good sandwich rule she learned to apply to constructive criticism. Start with something good (ex: "Your lettering on this proposed architectural plan is immaculate and evocative of long past youthful, carefree summers.. "), slide in a critique of what you found lacking (ex: ".. unfortunately your design not only is not to code, but evidences a blantant disregard to ADA regulations and to the human body in all its forms and functions, plus it sucks... and is made of poo ... "), and always close with another positive comment to lessen the sting and leave a better taste in everyone's mouth (ex: "... again, those are really pretty 'g's!"). It's an old crutch of hers, but it's served her well and has allowed her to limp far in the world of BPAL oil reviews, friends' fashion choice advising, The Mister's culinary side-step evaluations, and also blog entries.
Unfortunately Snarky didn't make a good sandwich in her last entry, which was nothing but ageist, whiny pantied, somewhat gross yuckiness. For this, she apologizes.
Snarky knows that every person is allowed to feel like total and utter crap, that sometimes indulging in a Bad Mood can help to purge oneself of built up gunk. But laying it all bare and out there with no relief or sign of redemption was irresponsible of her.
That is what LiveJournal is for.
So here's Snarky's after-dinner-mint to ease any indigestion from the last bad-bad-not funny enough sandwich of the last post:
Always Look on the Bright Side of Life
-Lyrics by Eric Idle, from "Life of Brian"
Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best...
And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...
If life seems jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing.
And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...
For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.
So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath
Life's a piece of shit
When you look at it
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true.
You'll see it's all a show
Keep 'em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.
And always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the right side of life...
(Come on guys, cheer up!)
Always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the bright side of life...
(Worse things happen at sea, you know.)
Always look on the bright side of life...
(I mean - what have you got to lose?)
(You know, you come from nothing - you're going back to nothing.
What have you lost? Nothing!)
Always look on the right side of life...
(And yes, I know, I'm referencing two different Monty Python movies. The song fit the theme better, and I can't pass up a good "wafer thin" joke pretty much ever. So there you have it. It's worse than mixed metaphors!) (Of which I am unnaturally fond of as well.)
