I'll take the partially used one, thanks.

Every year on our birthdays, my brother and I each get a box in the mail from our grandmother (hence forth referred to as G$ or The Force, for reasons I will leave to a later post). The boxes have gotten better the older we get and it is always the highlight of the week. The arrival of said package is immediately followed by a phone call, first to the other sibling & then to our parents.

Me: "Dude - guess what's sitting on my front porch?"
Chris: "G$'s Box O'Birthday Wonders?"
Me: "You know it."
Some of the past years' winners include:
- a two pound can of baked beans
- beef stroganoff mix
- a giant can of off-brand chicken chunks (in water)
- a pair of ceramic garden bunnies (those were in Chris's box - HA)
- some weird plug-in tong thing that you put in your drink to heat it up (if anyone knows what the hell this thing is called, I'd appreciate you telling me)
- a cat toy (for my cat, not me)
- a crushed box of brownie mix with a piece of chewed gum stuck to the top of it

But the winner came this year & the ceramic bunnies slipped to second place. I may have cried and/or peed my pants a little when I opened it. It was a box of Carnation Instant Breakfast, from which 3 of the 10 packets were missing. And it expired in 2005. Sometimes she shops in her pantry.

I decided that it would be unfair to keep such a treasure all to myself, so I sent it to Miles. Hopefully he'll give it to one of his brothers (or back to me) on the next birthday.

We aren't friends so stop trying.

My brother has mice. Ok, I had mice but only a few & they're all dead now, thank you.

When I first found out they were in my home, I was disgusted. It was when I caught my cat watching one of the brazen little bastards toodle across my living room floor that I became pissed. But after a good deal of investigation, I learned that at least half of Richmond homes are infested with these Barbie & Friends fur coats to-be, at which point they became more tolerable and on some (sick) level, cute. The senitment was short lived.

And now, sitting in my brother's dining room slash library, it literally sounds like a reinactment of the annual halloween D.C. High Heels Drag Queen Race in the ceiling above me. Trust me - those bitches got skillz. And some loud-ass shoes.

Do-over

Ok, skipping the formalities. No, I haven't blogged in almost seven months and, yes (duh), I'm aware of this. A briefing on life since July:

1. Started my second year at the Brandcenter.
2. Christmas came.
3. (Standard brandcenter a-social existence between #1. and #2.)
4. Started my last semester at the Brandcenter.



And here we are.

Hiatus.

If being lazy is a crime then break out the ambrosia salad and Dave Coulier stand-up tapes because I OWN lazy.

My 2 month break from school has been lovely and amazing and completely advertising deficient. I feel partially like a schlub, partially like i'm on parole for good behavior.

Sadly, the sweet, sweet nectar of summer that has been dribbling down my proverbial chin is about to dry up and leave a sticky cesspool of despair in t-minus one month.

sigh. But instead of working myself into an anxiety-ridden Brandcenter tizzy, I think I'll wallow in thoughts of this summer by making one of much-loved lists.

Summer's Highlights
(or the little things that, were I in an internship, I wouldn't have been able to indulge in):
1. Miles
2. SGI, twice
3. Fishing
4. Traveling
5. Cooking
6. Decorating
7. Organizing
8. Cleaning

Simple pleasures.

Doggie-doors. (or, Ways to Entertain Myself)

I crawled through the doggie-door at my brother's house tonight.
Why?

Because, apparently, I could.

Full-body rebellion.

To say that my body is "unamused" with my recent lifestyle would be about as absurd as saying that, when asked about his stance on world peace, Ghandi rolled his eyes and passed a spliff.

Last night, por ejemplo, bedtime was at 4:15 a.m. I had attempted and earlier repose, but due to the months of only 4 hours of sleep a night, my body balked at such a pedantic effort (I yoose Big Gurl werds 'cause I'm in gradumate skool).

So an hour later, when kitty-foo decided to practice her deep-tissue massage (read: flogging) on my shoulder blades, I knew that Fate was a back-stabbing bitch that would dangle the possibility of sleep above me like dripping, ripe fruit. Or a diamond chandelier. Or those damn baby mobiles they put in cribs to amuse babies. Oh, I remember mine. Stupid animals kept smiling down at me. All I wanted to do was pet them, but they were miles away from my piggy little fingers. Objects closer than they appear, indeed.

Anyway, so 5 a.m. comes and kitty gets exiled to the floor (mind you, she's been sleeping on my favorite sweatshirt - on the floor - for a week and a half now, so she was perfectly happy with her banishment).
Awesome. Time to rock Sleep again. Except now Sleep is tainted with bizarro dreams involving toile curtains, mice and those sprinkles made for cakes and ice cream.

6 a.m., cold sweat. I wake up panicked as I try to claw my way out of the noose I have somehow fabricated, in my sleep, out of my comforter. And its all because, in the netherworld of Leslie Dreams, those stupid mice grew sprinkles in place of horns (don't your mice have horns?) and the toile-scenery peasants were trying to poach them for their... well, sprinkles. True dream story.

For the next hour I watch the sun rise over the greyhound bus parked in the church parking lot across the street from my window. Finally, pissed, I get up, shower, and eat a half a banana slathered in Jif (which made the kitty-torture-methods and freakish toile dreams ALMOST acceptable).

And here I am, having endured an entire day of non-productivity, now putting up a half-assed fight against that pompous bastard Sleep (who I swear just scoffed at my Tylenol PM as being merely "a flesh wound.")

Kitty McShreddington better choose her battles wisely tonight.

Christmas 2008. I'm on it.

I just emailed my mom.
Subject line: what i want for christmas.
Body:
"think you can arrange that?
get on it, woman.
xoxo,
moi"


















Thats right.
Conchita the Baby Monkey. I want her.