Cusp of Normal

Pinterest & Josh Ritter

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Fri, 05 Aug 2011 19:21:00 +0000

There is a Josh Ritter lyric that I absolutely adore. Okay, let's be honest. There are many Josh Ritter lyrics that make me melt into a puddle. That man can write a song like no one else in this decade. I wanted to post this one in particular on my pinterest site (because I've become mildly obsessed)--but to my dismay, there's not a single "image" on the web with the lyrics I was after. So, I called upon my awesome friend Dwight Chambers to make something with an image I grabbed from the creative commons section of Flickr. What do you think?

Swoon.

P.S. Josh is the smiliest mofo around. I have had the good fortune of seeing him perform live many times, and he always looks like he is having the time of his life. The smile is contagious. Amiright?

Quick Vlog

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 23:12:00 +0000

Are the cool kids still vlogging these days? Just wanted to try out my new webcam-thingy and show you my new haircut. It's been a long time since I posted a photo or video, so I didn't want you to start wondering if I was actually a 46-year-old guy from Michigan or something.

xoxo

It's 'bout time from Mermanda Mermanda on Vimeo.

And they said it couldn't be done... (no they didn't)

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Fri, 08 Jul 2011 01:12:00 +0000

After posting about not being allowed to watch "The Bodyguard" as a kid, people started telling me that they wanted to know what I thought after building suspense for two decades. So, I did what anyone in my position would do.

I live tweeted it.

Yes, I live tweeted my watching of a nearly 20-year-old movie. And guess what? I didn't lose a single follower, miraculously. Some even claimed to enjoy it.

My initial thoughts are:

Wow, how did they get her in that metal bodysuit?

No nudity? No awkward sex scenes? Why was I not allowed to watch this as a kid? I heard worse language from my parents' mouths when someone lost their favorite pen... (sorry, Dad.)

I don't want to include any spoilers for anyone who is waiting 30 years to watch it for the first time, so I'll just say, "OMG! I can't believe her (noun) (verb, past tense) a (noun)!!! I didn't see that coming!

If you want to know more about what I thought of the movie, check out my tweetacular commentary.

So, what's next? Maybe "The Sound of Music"? "My Cousin Vinny"? (Shout out, Lauren! I never saw it.) Only time (and Twitter) will tell.

My 9-year-old self would be ashamed

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Wed, 06 Jul 2011 02:22:00 +0000

My parents were pretty protective of me growing up.

I was only allowed to ride my bike on the cul-de-sac behind our house and, of course, I always had to wear a helmet. (Once, my mom even made me and my sister wear helmets INSIDE. Tornado warning. The stress of being crammed into the basement powder room with our bike helmets must have really affected my sister. She totally tossed her cookies.)

Every morning before school, my mom walked me to the bus stop (2 houses down the street) until I was old enough to realize that this was SO EMBARRASSING that I begged her to stop. So as a compromise, I walked to the bus stop like a big kid, alone, and my mom stuck her head out the door--watching to be sure that I got on the bus safely. Much better.

Well into my teens, I still wasn't allowed to go to the mall without parental supervision.

And R-rated movies? Uh uh.

I don't remember ever being as upset about not being allowed to see an R-rated as I was about my parents sending me to bed while they watched "The Bodyguard" on HBO.

Excuuuuuuse me. I might have only been nine-years-old, but I knew Whitney was a goddess. (Emphasis on was. Sorry, Whitney. I saw your reality show. Eek!) I had The Bodyguard soundtrack on cassette, which I blasted in my walkman that was bedecked in stick-on gem earrings.

I pitched a fit. I cried. I stomped. It was SO! UNFAIR! I threw myself on my bed and cried the whole time my parents watched the movie in the other room. Or maybe I just cried until I thought they weren't listening to me cry anymore. At that point, I likely retreated to the Barbie Dream House (the one with the elevator) and took out my rage on Western Fun Barbie.

Ugh, what an insufferable b*tch.
I want you and your damn horse out of my FACE!

Anyhow. It just came to my attention that here I am, approaching my 28th birthday, and I STILL haven't seen the movie! Methinks it's about time that I serve my nine-year-old self some justice, Netflix-style. (It's streaming. My nine-year-old self is astounded with how far technology has come. Be kind, rewind.)

Gratuitous Dog Post

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 02:26:00 +0000

I've been at the new job for more than a month and still can't believe this is my life. I have sipped champagne on the wrap-around patio at our office TWICE since I started, and holy moly. Is this real life? I have to say things are going swimmingly.

Speaking of swimming... I bought a baby pool for our greyhound baby today. I have decided the vinyl bottom might be too delicate for his mighty talons, so I'm going to return it in favor of something more hardy. I am excited for our first dip. (Possibly relevant side note: I don't know if Luke especially enjoys water--bath time is never a fun experience for anyone...)

Anywhoodle... why is it almost July? Can anyone tell me why the winter seems to go by at the pace of a mildly injured snail, while the summer is moving at the rate of a wild mustang on speed? This is highly unfair and I would really like to file a complaint with the appropriate person.

Oh, hey. Speaking of complaining! Let me vent for one hot second. My old job was extremely late with filing my resignation paperwork and because of their incompetence, I was overpaid on my final paycheck. Do you know what this means? First, let me tell you what this doesn't mean. This doesn't mean I can go on an Etsy bender... or McScrooge my way through a pool of gold coins. No. This means I have to write a check to my former employer in excess of $1,100. Can I tell you how painful that is? I don't care if the money was never mine in the first place. I am extremely annoyed by the whole situation.

Finally, I leave you with some recent photos of the soon-to-be Olympian swimming champion. I submitted these photos and others to our local greyhound rescue (Going Home Greyhounds) to be included in their 2012 calendar. I hope Luke makes it in at least once! Cross your paws.

Hearts.

Have you ever seen such bliss?

And so the impromptu rhododendron photo shoot begins...

His collar has tiny cassette tapes on it.
He's so analog.

Okay. So this isn't exactly "recent"... but LOOK AT THAT TOOTH!

Decompressing

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Tue, 10 May 2011 16:45:00 +0000

Friday was my last day at my job. During my week off before I start my new job, I am supposed to "decompress."

So far, my week consists of rearranging furniture, cleaning out closets and junk drawers, sewing buttons on clothing that has been awaiting mending for almost a year, helping the husband with yard work, working on freelance writing, and driving all over the region in search of some antique furniture that won't break the bank. Does that sound like "decompressing" to anyone? Yeah, I didn't think so.

I'm not a total failure, however. I did get an intense massage on Saturday. (It left me feeling like someone beat me up, but I felt quite good the next day.) I also celebrated my sister's 22nd birthday with a visit to Red Fin Blues, where the entire family ordered the "all you can eat" crab legs. Mmmmmmmm.

Tonight, Andrew and I are beginning our hunt for a love seat. Something nice, but not too nice. After all, as Andrew put it yesterday, we are basically buying it for a dog to lay on all day. (Luke thinks every surface in our house is "his bed." It's cute, except for when he's kicking you in the ribs at 3 a.m. (Okay, even then, it's still a little cute.)

I mean, just look at him.

Goats! Woo!

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Tue, 03 May 2011 20:48:00 +0000

I am struggling with the green-eyed monster today. Michelle Woo just moved to some magical land where they bring goats to feast on the land surrounding her home. How nice is that? Seriously. Just having goats walking around, eating your grass.

Honey, we are so getting goats... (I know he won't object. We had the goat conversation before marriage. All savvy couples do.)

Photo by Michelle Woo

Thanks for stopping by...

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 18:56:00 +0000

...but I am actually at Erin's place today. Come see me!

New Job, Same Blog

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 14:27:00 +0000

I have some good news to report. After starting to look for a new job last summer, I finally found a great opportunity with an institution that is excited to have me on their team.

After five years, I am leaving my first "big girl" job next Friday. Most of my coworkers are genuinely happy for me to take this next step in my career, but there are a few sour grapes around the office, unfortunately.

My new position is relatively similar to what I do now--public relations for a higher education institution in Pittsburgh. However, this new opportunity will offer me a chance to learn the ropes of event planning and some advertising. As someone who enjoyed fawning over which napkin color to use at my wedding, I think event planning will suit me well. I am most excited about the fact that I will also be the managing editor of the university's alumni magazine. My area of concentration in journalism school was magazine journalism--so I'm thrilled to get back to that interest.

While there are a few butterflies about making this transition, I am happy to join a team that seems to recognize potential that has gone untapped at my current job (through no fault of my own...)

Oh, and did I mention that my office will be in an old mansion? Do you think they will let me ride in the dumbwaiter?

One last thing, (thanks to my new job) I've decided to stay put on Cusp of Normal. If bullies want to keep reading, be my guest. Oh, and maybe try some sugar on those sour grapes, eh? :P

I miss you too

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 04:03:00 +0000

A handful of tweeps recently mentioned my sudden disappearance from the blogging world. I have to say that it was really nice to see that my rambling nonsense on this blog was something that people honestly enjoyed reading.

I want to clear out some of the cobwebs on Cusp of Normal to admit that I have been missing blogging and am hoping to get back into the swing of things. But I might need to find a new space... this blog no longer feels like my own. I no longer consider it to be the sanctuary that it was for so many years. I'm sad to think about leaving behind the posts that I've accumulated since I started this blog in 2007. (It's hard to believe it's been four years!) But a new blog might be the breath of fresh air that I need to get back into the hobby that I so adored.

I'm currently brainstorming new names/concepts for a new blog. I should just pick something and get on with it--but I kind of love coming up with names for things (especially nonexistent children and rock bands) and want a name that truly feels like me.

In the meantime, know that I miss you. I hope some of you will follow me to the new space. But I won't be posting the new address here--so you will have to do some sleuthing or direct message me on Twitter once I announce that it is up and running. Oh, and I'll probably eventually need a new Twitter handle too. Blarg.

This new blog will be my own personal fight club--or something. And you know what they say about talking about fight club...

My Resolutions for 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Tue, 04 Jan 2011 23:35:00 +0000

I'm keeping it simple this year:

Resolution #1: Be happy.
Resolution #2: Be active (mentally and physically).

I have been pretty down lately. Not sure if it's just the winter blues or something more. I've been trying to make some changes that will help me through to the spring. The first step is to get my blood pumping so I'm not so fatigued all the damn time. (I still am without a diagnosis to explain this constant symptom.) My in-laws gave me some Zumba workout DVDs for Christmas and I think doing a few workouts a week will help me feel a little more energetic this winter. I'm also starting back up with a very basic lifting routine to hopefully prevent any future incidence of oesteoparosis. (Something wee ones like myself must think about long before old age.)

I've also been involved in several freelance projects that are keeping my mind busy this winter. (Bonus: The extra money from these projects will help us make some much needed updates to the house this spring.)

So, that's that. What are you hoping to achieve this year?

Taking my business elsewhere

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Tue, 14 Dec 2010 18:55:00 +0000

My sister made an odd request for her Christmas gift this year: a fuzzy steering wheel cover. "The fuzzier, the better," she instructed me.

Amazon.com had a disappointing selection, so after consulting my pal Google, I landed on a website called prankplace.com. The website refers to itself as "the fun and outrageous place to shop!" Well, they definitely have the outrageous covered. And not in the fun "Jem" kind of way. More on that in a second.

I was quite pleased with the level of fuzz provided by their Shag Steering Wheel Cover. I was deliberating between which color to order when the "Funny Bumper Stickers" category caught my eye on the sidebar. My sister has a silly sense of humor, so I thought I'd look for a bumper sticker to slip in her automotive-themed gift. After clicking through a few pages, I was bored. Oh, but what is this? "Embarrassing Fake Bumper Stickers" on the sidebar. What could a "fake" bumper sticker be, I wondered.

Holy. Hell.

Apparently this website considers gay pride to be "embarrassing" and "fake." This alone is a disgusting display of homophobic hatred and prejudice. But to add insult to injury, these gay pride stickers are displayed alongside these class acts:

Needless to say, this company has lost my business. Fuzzy steering wheel cover be damned!

I encourage you to join me in boycotting this company. I sent the company a message earlier today informing them that they disgust me. Won't you join me? Contact them here.

Living in fear of the synth

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Mon, 22 Nov 2010 14:43:00 +0000

Confession: I really like the synth. For me, it doesn't get much better than the 2:05 mark on Tina Turner's "What's Love Got To Do With It?"

However, there is one time of year when I live in fear of the synth. And that time is nigh, my friends. Radio stations in Pittsburgh have already started incorporating Christmas music into their rotations (some exclusively, God help us all). This means one thing: at any given moment, my ears could be assaulted with the sound of my synth nightmare... "Wonderful Christmas Time" by Paul McCartney... aka Sir Paul McHatesMe.

Click at your own risk.

This song. THIS SONG. I can't come up with the words that would accurately convey to you the way the first few notes of that song make my insides recoil in disgust. I am sure there was a time when this song did not cause such a visceral reaction--but that was a very long time ago. That was before I spent three holiday seasons working retail at Toys "R" Us, where they assault their employees and customers with the same dozen "upbeat" Christmas tunes nonstop. I believe I speak for everyone, frazzled employees and disgruntled customers alike, when I say:

Go to hell, Geoffrey.

After hearing "Wonderful Christmas Time" approximately 1.47 million times throughout my collective three months at Toys "R" Us, I could frankly stab a unicorn if I have to hear that song one more time. This is why those opening synth notes are a signal to my brain to SWITCH THE STATION! TURN OFF THE RADIO! RAM THE CAR INTO THE ONCOMING SEMI! ANYTHING TO MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE, PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!

And don't worry, if I happen to be unlucky enough to hear this song while doing holiday gift shopping at the mall, I have an emergency plan in tact. It involves carrying a fog horn and very discrete cymbals...

... not unlike this little fella's...

The catch is, of course, you have to be willing to be escorted from the mall by a very huffy security guard, who has already had to stop eight goth teenagers from trying to cram HotTopic's body jewelry and Twilight paraphernalia down their skinny jeans... and that was only 45 minutes into the poor guy's shift.

I think we all have Christmas songs that rub us the wrong way. For example, my mother-in-law loves Christmas music more than any other person on this planet. I'm not sure how she feels about "Wonderful Christmas Time." However, I am VERY SURE that she hates "Christmas Shoes" with the intensity of a thousand suns. But really, who doesn't? And why is that boy so dirty? ("... his clothes were worn and old, he was dirty from head to toe...") It just doesn't add up. (Side note: Andrew, being the sweet son that he is, suggested that he and his mother dance to "Christmas Shoes" as their mother-son dance at our wedding. Not sure why she didn't go for it...)

So tell me, which songs make you want to risk being banned for life from The Gap?

Well-Fed, Well-Loved

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Wed, 03 Nov 2010 19:07:00 +0000

Our little Tommy seems to be enjoying his new home. Visit Michelle's blog to see him chowing down on a tasty treat. (She's a creep... but it's totally awesome.)

Pumpkins

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Mon, 01 Nov 2010 00:18:00 +0000

Happy Halloween! What is up with all the kids who came to my door saying "Happy Hanukkah" and "Merry Christmas"? Seriously, at least ten kids said some variation of this to me tonight. GET OFF MY LAWN!

Anyhow, check out these sweet pumpkins Andrew carved up last night.

Greyhound

Steelers Pride

Q&A on Yinzpiration

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Wed, 27 Oct 2010 14:12:00 +0000

I'm honored to be the first Q&A on the lovely Kate Showalter Stoltzfus' new blog, Yinzpiration. (Burghers, how adorable is that blog name?) You can check out the post here.

Oh, and be sure yinz guys add the blog to your readers!

Have you cried over a bad haircut?

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Wed, 13 Oct 2010 14:10:00 +0000

I hadn't shed a tear over my hair since an unfortunate situation with my bangs in high school. My streak of good haircuts came to a crashing end on Saturday when, desperate for a haircut, I tried a new salon because my usual stylist was traveling abroad.

I brought a picture of a sleek shoulder-length bob with long swoopy side bangs. That was the haircut I wanted. The haircut I received was a choppy mess of extremely short layers and blunt bangs. Holy hell. Not at all what I wanted. An entire chunk of my hair was just sitting lifeless on top of my head--not at all blended into the rest of my hair. The hair stylist knew he messed me up big time. However, he did try to blame the awful bangs on a previous haircut. "Are you sure the last person who cut your hair didn't mess them up?" Um. Dude. My "bangs" were at my chin when I came to you this morning. I was very vocal about how unhappy I was, and he didn't let me pay for the monstrosity. (He honestly looked like he was going to cry as I left the salon.) As soon as I got into the car, I called Andrew in hysterics. I was crying so much that he thought I had been in a car accident.

I'm not going to dwell on the bad haircut. Instead, I am going to thank the powers that be for my stylist returning to the states and taking pity upon me last night. She heard about my unfortunate situation and told me to come in so she could fix it. The result is a fabulous haircut, though I'll admit it is MUCH shorter than I had hoped for.

It's funny... I initially was considering going for a short cut so I could finally donate my hair to locks of love. I ultimately decided I didn't want to lose that much hair and set my sights on a shoulder length cut--about five inches shorter than the style I had at the time. In the end, I definitely lost enough hair to donate to the organization. Oh, well.

My new 'do, after my saint of a hair stylist fixed me up

You should not have to know a guy to get home at 10 p.m. on a Saturday night...

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Fri, 17 Sep 2010 13:13:00 +0000

This weekend, I was stranded in the Penn Ave. Subway (irony, foreshadowing) in Wilkinsburg. My husband and I had planned on catching a ride home with our designated driver (my mother-in-law) after the Big Pour on Saturday. Last minute, we decided to walk to a nearby party with some friends, thinking we could just catch a ride home with friends, or worst case scenario, catch the 69 (there is no irony here) to Forest Hills, where we call home. (MISTAKE #1)

During our walk to the party, the skies opened and we were drenched in no time. I have a fondness for NOT sitting around in wet clothes. So upon arriving at said party, we quickly decided to catch a bus home instead. I called up the Port Authority website on my iphone, and saw a bus was coming to a stop about a mile away in 20 minutes. The party had not yet begun, so the host graciously drove us to the bus stop, saving us from trudging through the rain again. (MISTAKE #2)

We are now at the bus stop. Huddled under trees for shelter. Waiting. WAITING. WAAIITTTING. Our Big Pour buzzes are now completely gone. I am cold. My husband is hungry. And we are both going to have to pee again. I check the bus schedule again, all like, "WTF. Where is this freaking bus!?" Guess what? I was reading a WEEKDAY schedule. You apparently are not allowed to ride public transit on weekends.

Desperate for a way home, I call a friend who lives nearby. They were out for the evening.

Not sure what else to do, we look up taxi services on our phones and begin calling each one. Between the four cab companies, they all either had busy signals, no answer, or said they were out of cabs. This is where I notice a 67A approaching the bus stop. Thinking only of getting out of the rain, we board without hesitation. This bus does not go through Forest Hills, so we planned to ride until Wilkinsburg.

On the way to Wilkinsburg, I called the host of the party were supposed to go to earlier that night. I was hoping my friend would come rescue us. Unfortunately, by that time, he had already started drinking pretty heavily and was in no condition to drive.

We got off the bus at Penn and Braddock and attempted to seek shelter in Wendy's. It was closed. Not sure what else to do, we make our way towards Subway, which appeared to be open. I think I heard angels singing when we saw it was open until midnight.

I walk inside, so relieved to be out of the rain, but still unsure of how I would get home. I am not proud of this, my dear readers. I began to weep in Subway. The kindly sandwich artisan (or whatever the hell they call those people) took pity upon me and my husband and said we could hang out in there until we could figure out a way home. I explained our situation and said we couldn't even get a cab. The kindly sandwich people then told us, "You can't wait for a cab! You'll be here for hours! You gotta call a jitney! I know a guy. He'll definitely be able to get you to Forest Hills."

I may be a lil' white girl, but I was ready to call that jitney. I have to pause and reflect on this for a moment, though. Why do I need to KNOW A GUY to get home at 10 p.m. on a Saturday? Is this Mayberry? What is going on with this city and the transit situation?

Back to our story, my husband decided to call his mom and tell her what was going down. She much preferred to drive out to get us than have us call a jitney, so we waited the 45 minutes for her to drive in from the North Hills, (all the while eating BMTs and relieving our tired bladders at Subway).

We finally got home around 11:30 p.m. soaked, forlorn, and sure as hell we will never make the mistake of counting on bus or taxi service on a weekend EVER AGAIN. Pittsburgh, is a great city, that is for sure. But "gettin' around" is the Burgh's biggest blemish, in my opinion.

Tommy has a new mommy...

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 14:42:00 +0000

Michelle of Burgh Baby took pity upon Tommy and snagged him right before the auction ended for a whooping 99 cents!

(Michelle, please tell me that Tommy won't end up in a "Toys for Tots" collection box this winter! That would be traumatic for everyone involved.)

Tommy Needs A New Home

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Tue, 31 Aug 2010 03:41:00 +0000

I found a terrifying artifact from my childhood this weekend.

Brace yourselves.

Yeah. I keep putting it in the trash, ~~but it keeps crawling back out~~ but I keep pulling it out to show him off to friends and family. What can I say? He's a looker.

And today is your lucky day. Tommy is looking for a new home on Ebay. All profits benefit Burgh Baby's Christmas Crazy, which helps provide toys to children in need during the holidays. Read about the success she had last year here.

Happy bidding.

A moment of self-pity

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 16:21:00 +0000

If you have been a long-time reader, you know that I am constantly fighting a battle against unexplained fatigue. No matter how much sleep I get each night, I wake up feeling unrefreshed and unprepared to tackle the day.

Doctors have misdiagnosed me with narcolepsy. I've seen neurologists who have suspected M.S. My primary care doctor has screened me for anemia, Lyme disease, thyroid disease, and treated me for a B12 deficiency. No luck.

After feeling like I've been given up on, I took matters into my own hands and scheduled an appointment with an endocrinologist. (Why my doctor never suggested this to me years ago, I have no idea.)

Last week, after waiting three months for an appointment, I finally saw the endocrinologist. She studied my previous blood work and medical history. She told me she suspected I had one of two things. One thing--Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia-- would explain the fatigue. The other--Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome--would not.

She ordered the appropriate blood work that was needed for a diagnosis. I crossed my fingers that this was it. This would finally give me an answer I've been waiting for for ten years.

The blood test results are in. I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, or PCOS. I am really disappointed that my fatigue remains a medical mystery. Actually, "devastated" is the word I would like to use--but I'm afraid it's a little too dramatic for some people. I know people are going through much worse. But I can't help but shed a few tears today in frustration for what I guess could be a lifetime of unexplained exhaustion.

I guess there is still a chance that the PCOS is causing the fatigue... but my endocrinologist does not think so. She was pretty quick to rush me off the phone when she called with my results. I need to see her "in three months if I wish to discuss in detail." Great. I seem to be the only one in a hurry to get this all figured out. It is INCREDIBLY frustrating.

The icing on the cake is that PCOS is linked to infertility issues. As someone who wants to be a mother one day, that's something I cannot even wrap my head around just yet.

To treat PCOS, my endocrinologist suggested that I go back on birth control pills. I stopped them four months ago to see if my fatigue lessened at all off Yasmin (actually the generic: Ocella), a pill which I've heard terrible things about. Not sure which pill I will try next. Waiting to consult my gynecologist before I start taking the one my endocrinologist recommended.

Stay tuned.

Related Posts:
Finally!
That Explains Everything.
It's not all flowers, squirrels, and gingerbread...
Dear Doctor, Fix Me

My dog is kind of an a**hole

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 20:14:00 +0000

You know how Romeo felt about Juliet? Well, that's pretty much how Luke feels about the trash. There is nothing stopping him from being with (read: eating) the trash. We tried everything. Not even a trash can with a locking mechanism could get between this canine and his love for eating grotesque leftovers and other putrid artifacts.

We thought we had foiled Luke's lust for trash eating when we installed an under-cabinet trash mount system this winter. On Saturday, we discovered that after more than six months of basking in the bliss of not cleaning trash off the floor every other day, Luke had taught himself how to OPEN THE KITCHEN CABINETS. If you have a dog, you might realize that this is the equivalent of Armageddon.

After we made this discovery, we did what any sane people would do. We barricaded the trashcan with a heavy chair and went to the home improvement store--making a beeline to the childproofing aisle. We considered all of our options and realized that the layout of our cabinets seriously limited what would work for us. We ended up leaving with a carabiner bungee cord. Upon returning home, Andrew worked his magic, looping the bungee into a configuration that would surely keep Luke from feasting upon our trash for--oh--the bazillionth time.

Yeah. Right.

As you can see in the above photo, Luke is a bona fide a**hole. Not sure what is next for us. I know installing a garbage disposal is a step in the right direction, and we can hopefully do that within the next year. Temporary solution recommendations are welcome, nay, encouraged.

P.S. I know I fell off the blogging truck for a while, but I am ready to make my comeback. I feel a reinvigorated desire to post here again regularly. I have missed you. *hugs*

What do you say? Will you take me back?

Unsteady footing

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 19:08:00 +0000

Just when you think you have it all figured out, a little voice inside gradually grows louder until you find it hard to hear much else.

Today, after a month of deliberation, I withdrew from my graduate program. I can explain my reasoning. But I need some time first.

In other news, why is it almost Labor Day? I feel like this summer went by so incredibly fast. I have not made it to the pool once this summer. And my yard. Oh, my yard! There were so many big ideas for this summer. A fire pit. A garden. A Japanese maple. Planting grass in the giant hole, where there once stood a gigantic ugly tree stump. Pressure washing the stone facade. Installing house numbers. None of these things happened. I am waist-high in weeds--trying to let go of my inner perfectionist as I learn to be content with the chaos that surrounds me. Wish me luck.

Hubby Birthday To You!

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Thu, 05 Aug 2010 23:20:00 +0000

Happy 29th birthday to my sweet husband Andrew. You make me laugh with your childlike vigor for life. You fill my belly with delicious and nutritious noms with minimal bloodshed in the kitchen. And you are always up for an adventure. (The horribly frightening warehouse in Homewood full of overturned/damaged furniture comes to mind...)

I am so happy to have you by my side for the rest of my life, as I continue to gamble away all of our stimulus money on the "Deal or No Deal" penny slot machine. (When are we going to the casino? Does tonight work for you?)

You rock. (Literally.) Speaking of rocks, you are also a very worthy rock, scissors, paper opponent. Actually, you should probably try to let me win from time to time to keep my interest. Getting my scissors constantly crushed to bits by your massive boulder is only fun for so long.

Anyhow, love you!

Promotions and "Underage" Drinking

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 00:18:00 +0000

Well, folks. It's official. You may have already heard this if we're friends on Facebook or Twitter but in case you missed it... my suspicions are confirmed. I look 12. I just got back from a family vacation cruise and, boy, am I steamed. It was all fun and games until the last day of the trip. I had been working up quite a thirst, relaxing on the deck, when I decided it was strawberry daiquiri o'clock. I marched up to the pool bar and placed my order. Instead of my drink, I received scorn. Lucio the bartender was very skeptical of my age, despite the fact that I presented my seapass to pay. (The seapass is the official form of ID on the cruise, and minors get holes punched through theirs so they can't drink.)

Lucio looked me in the eye and said, "You have some ID?"

Confused because I just gave him my seapass, I said, "Um. I have my drivers license but it's all the way up in my room."

"I can't give you rum without an ID." SINCE WHEN, LUCIO? SINCE WHEN? I had been drinking all week on the damned boat. Oh, and here's the kicker. The drinking age in international waters is 18. Eighteen! I am nearly 27. There is a time when looking young is flattering and then there is a time when it keeps me from fruity rum drinks. And that, my friends, is a problem.

"HE WON'T SERVE ME ALCOHOL!" I cried as I sulked back to my beach chair. "I should have showed him my wedding ring!"

Woulda coulda shoulda. Lucio, you are dead to me.

Don't worry, the story has a happy ending. Approximately ten seconds after returning drinkless to my seat, a waiter came by asking if anyone needed a drink. Ding! Ding!

"She's 40," offered my father-in-law.

"I swear I am not 12!" I promised the kind soul.

He brought me a drink. And I cowered, sipping it in secret, afraid Lucio would spy my fruity beverage and assume I was trying to get away with something.

Anyhow, my loves. I received a promotion at work a few weeks ago and I am quite pleased. However, the fact that the word "senior" is in my new title does not mesh well with my girlish appearance. I need help looking my age. Now, pay no attention to the fact that I don't think I've ever looked my age. People always assumed I was many years younger than reality.

I remember one especially painful instance when I was home from college for the summer running errands. I believe I was 21. I walked in to the bank and the teller squealed, "SOMEONE'S GOING TO BE DRIVING SOON!"

I gave her the dirtiest look I could muster and sheepishly admitted that I had been driving for years and that I was in fact, in my 20s.

Okay. So, your mission, if you choose to accept it:

Send me suggestions for how I can look more polished and professional. I'm 26. Maybe with some help I can at least pass for an 18-year-old on some godforsaken ship where you are deprived of rum.

I made a friend

Formal night

Sassy senior pic pose

I know I could use a new haircut, so send me some inspiration. Makeup tricks. Links to hot business suits. Please. Anything. I'm begging you.

(Someone already suggested that I start smoking meth. This is an example of bad advice. Please and thank you.)