To all my fellow Americans: Happy 4th of July! Try not to get blown up or, more likely, arrested for being in possession of the “good” fireworks!

And to all my international readers: Happy Friday!

My day will be spent at Fourth of July Headquarters also known as my mother-in-law’s house.  Twenty-something years of military service in addition to her husband’s twenty-something years of service tends to make one a patriot and her house is chock full of countryesque Americana: deep reds, off-whites, navy blues with stars and stripes everywhere. Uncle Sam greets you at the door with the American flag held proudly:

(Y’all thought I was kidding.)

There will be food and booze aplenty, along with the free fireworks show provided by the neighbors who feel it’s their patriotic duty to spend my annual income in explosives, entertaining us well into the evening.  Friends and family will be dropping by throughout the day and it’s guaranteed to be a proper hootenanny!

But really, we’re mostly celebrating the fact that it’s a paid holiday.  God bless America!

So last Friday, I received a lovely over-sized flat envelope from my college; after about a month’s wait, my diploma had arrived and I was officially graduated. After all the blood, sweat and tears (and money) that I put into that degree, I naturally wanted to get a nice frame for it so I began looking online.

Holy shit. You want how much for a diploma frame??

I mean, I would think after paying ever-increasing tuition year after year, I would be entitled to at least one reasonably priced academic purchase but no, they’re out to screw you until the very end. Of course, it probably doesn’t help that my high maintenance side wants a frame with my university’s official seal embossed on the matting. I briefly contemplated one with a tassel box but then I remembered that I didn’t participate in commencement and am too cheap to pay $20 for a tassel. (But I want a top-notch frame. The logic, it is fuzzy.)

On the plus side, there’s an off-campus bookstore that’s selling the frame I want for about $30 cheaper than the official bookstore; on top of that, I just joined the alumni association, which, upon receipt of my membership card, will grant a 15% discount.

(However, the website indicates the frames are a custom order, which tacks on $15.95 in shipping. I think a visit to the store is required because, hello? Did you see the part about “am too cheap”?)

You can bet that once I have my 15% discount, I’m going to pillage the bookstores for university logo gear! $45 for a polo shirt? HA! It will only be $40 with my discount! EAT THAT.

Really, I’m just gloating in the fact that I am an alumna. You do not own me anymore, University! I shake my fist at you!

(Seven years of frustration and budget cuts will do that to you.)

It’s Wednesday, day three of a four-day work week, and I’m hiding under my blankets, frantically waving a white flag.

I give. You win, World.

So, you remember that whole electrical fiasco we had last week? And how I was all, “The only thing that got fried was the power supply to our router! YAYYY!”? Yeah, well, the power supply to my somewhat expensive Logitech speakers is no longer working, which may in fact mean that the subwoofer itself is blown since the power supply doesn’t exactly disconnect from the subwoofer. Which means I either track down just the subwoofer or I shell out another $100+ to replace my speakers or I spend the money on new speakers.

Which wouldn’t really be a problem except!

Guess what?

(Surely you didn’t think that was all.)

Last week, right after getting the master window switch replaced on my Golf, I parked it at my husband’s place of employment and we left it there while he drove us to work; his parking lot is secure and videotaped. But I got in my car last night to drive it home and I smelled this funky odor. I didn’t think much of it — after all, the car has been stagnant for a week and it’s been raining virtually non-stop — but when I rolled to a stop at a redlight, I was looking around my car, trying to pinpoint the smell… and noticed the entire rear floorboard on the driver’s side is wet.

Not just damp. Not just mildly soaked. Wet. As in, waves were rolling forward, under my seat, and touching the hem of my pants. The driver’s side floorboard was, naturally, soaked through and through. I think I have a leak somewhere along my door that’s letting the water in and it’s trickling down the door. Nothing else in my car is wet so I’m kind of at a loss.

After a delicious meal of bigos (kielbasa and cabbage stew) I got back into my swimming pool and drove home to bail it out. (Yes, I sat there with a cup, scooping water out of my car.)

Just as I finished that up, it began to rain.

So my floor mats and the towels I used to try to mop up some water are laid out in our garage which is hopefully hot and arid enough to dry everything out. And if not: sorry about the smell, roommates!

The next couple of weeks are going to be spent working on figuring out where to go from here.

The moral of the story is: fuck you, Volkswagen.

It’s truly amazing that my desk at work is incredibly organized and neat but my home life is an utter disaster. My desk at home is overstuffed with things that need someplace to go as well as random stuff that winds up getting piled on. A total lack of storage and organization has left me scattered and sloppy; my husband has a shelf that he’s in the process of putting up — a year in the making — but I don’t know if even that will help. I foresee it becoming another ledge for my Random Pile O’ Crap. (Trademarked!)

At work, I have a phone stand that stores my stapler, tape dispenser and hole punch underneath. I just bought a Rubbermaid organizer that has four pen cups, little compartments up top and a little slide-out drawer that allows me to store a couple pads of Post-Its. (You can see the awesomeness here because I really am that boring.) I have two drawers and two filing drawers, as well as a set of stacked shelves for incoming and outgoing paperwork. My giant bulletin board is chock full of notes and schedules and important information. My desktop calendar has notes scribbled all over it that are actually relevant.

I am on top of things.

My desk at home, sadly, lacks much of this:

My computer monitor and speakers take up the corner position. The rest is presently buried under a ton of papers and books.

So help me, dear readers, get organized! I have two small external hard drives that are currently sitting on the leftmost surface and my PC obviously resides in the elongated glass door. What desktop products do you recommend for my current setup? How do you envision my clutter-free desk? Send me links to products, a description of your vision, or really just anything you have to offer. I’m a mess and I need you to give me new perspective on this!

(Note: if you include a couple links in your comment, it’ll probably get held up for moderation; don’t worry, I get e-mails as soon as they come on so I will look at it and, upon verifying that you are not some evil spammer promoting the latest vascular miracle for men, I’ll approve your comment so the whole world can marvel at your organizational genius.)

(Seriously… I need help.)

It’s no secret to anyone that knows me that I’m a total MAC Cosmetics junkie; my husband rolls his eyes anytime “MAC” or “Cosmetics” comes out of my mouth. (The same could be said for him and G.I. Joes or Transformers.) In the past eight months since discovering the brand, I’ve spent a lot of time and money at the store near us, as well as the outlet store; one of the managers/makeup artists at our nearby Pro store knows us by sight!

MAC isn’t as expensive as one might think. When I first saw them years ago, I nearly had a heart attack. Spending $5 on a single eyeshadow was ridiculous to me, let alone $14. Really, though, you get what you pay for. The make-up has great color payoff, which means it shows up exactly as promised, and it’s all pretty easy to use. The color range is huge and you can pretty find any shade of lipstick or eyeshadow you could want.

So here’s a quick run-down of some of my favorite products:

• Fluidline ($15): This is a little pot of gel eyeliner that is one of my cosmetic staples. I’m a total idiot when it comes to liquid liner so this is a nice in-between. You use it with a brush of your choice — some like a pencil-type brush, others prefer angled, some square-tip — and it goes on smoothly; the staying power is pretty awesome too and you can also blend it for a softer look. While I have a few colored Fluidlines, Blacktrack gets the most use!
• Prep + Prime Face ($26.50): This primer does absolutely everything it promises: the oil-absorbing powder blended into it helps control my oily skin and the SPF 50 helps protect my skin from the sun. Unlike other primers, it’s not greasy feeling and I haven’t had any blemishes crop up because of the product. I use it instead of a moisturizer after I wash my face to keep things simple.
• Blot Powder ($20): Now that summer is here, my blot powder will get more use because, no matter what I put on my face, I’m going to be a little shiny after a couple of hours. The pressed blot powder goes with me everywhere. A quick little pat here and there and I’m good to go. It’s super light and resets your makeup.
• Eyeshadows ($14.50): My main reason for going into MAC! Not only is there a wide array of colors but, as I mentioned, what you see in the pot is what goes onto your eyelids. With some drugstore brands, I’ll have to layer on the eyeshadow before I even get a hint of the color but MAC’s eyeshadows are highly pigmented and super smooth. Since there’s a Pro store near me, I opt for buying an empty palette and filling them with eyeshadow pans; the palette is $12 and the eyeshadow pans are $10 each so it’s a moneysaver too! Plus, it’s so much easier than having to dig through the pots of eyeshadow to find the one you want.
• Pigment ($19.50): Pigments are a powdered type of eyeshadow, although just a little bit of these will go a long way. They come in jars and tend to be a bit more shimmery, although they have matte colors too. They’re soft and blendable; to get the most out of them, though, I’ve started using MAC’s water-based mixing medium (available at Pro stores only). I add a drop or two of the mixing medium to my brush then dab it into the pigment, only picking up a little bit. It helps the color pop and keeps it on all day. Most people sell samples of their pigments simply because a whole jar will last you forever.

MAC is really one of those stores where you walk in and kind of play with stuff. Some stores have incredibly snotty makeup artists, some have really great makeup artists who are willing to help you find the right colors and products. I’m not in love with all of MAC’s products — I use Cover Girl LashBlast mascara — but it’s really just a matter of trying things you’re interested in and seeing what works for you. Plus: you can usually ask for free samples of things!

Free!

Also, if you have any outlets near you, you can find MAC products at the Cosmetic Company Store since MAC is an Estee Lauder brand. Each store’s stock varies; sometimes you’ll find rare items, items from recent collections, or permanent items that just became overstock. I haven’t quite figured out the rhyme or reason of it all but I don’t really care when it’s cheaper than retail.

(Because I’m still a cheap old miser at heart.)

In a totally unoriginal and uninspired twist of events, I think today I’d like to leave this post open to you, the wonderful people who visit my site and worship me from afar.

I know, I know, the whole point of my website is to write about me but really, would it be so bad to turn the tables?

Feel free to rant, to gloat, to spread some joy, get something off your chest, or just say HI.  Tell me a story or a fact about you.  Share a favorite recipe or talk about the mood you’re in.  Promote your website.  It’s a no-holds-barred post today; I’m your blank page so write on me!  (Just not in Sharpie because it’s a bitch to remove.  I know this for a fact.)

Aaaaaand… GO!

Most people are surprised to learn that I smoke cigars.

I mean, I don’t smoke them on a regular basis; I’ll maybe have two or three in an entire year’s span and I’m certainly no expert but I’m able to enjoy a good Romeo y Julieta or Monte Cristo.  I really only have a cigar when we’re hanging out with my dad or for special occasions, like our friend’s wedding.  I stick to shorter, smaller cigars, sometimes a cigarillo or two; I’m not exactly hardcore.

The cigars are a fairly recent thing too.  I think I had my first cigar two years ago, three at the most.  Before then, I never smoked.  Ever.  Not even to try a cigarette.  I was a pretty straight-laced kid and never hung around people who smoked.  My high school boyfriend was a neurotic chain-smoker but that, if anything, turned me off from smoking even more; I even told him (in jest) that my next boyfriend wouldn’t be a smoker.  (And he wasn’t.)

Throughout my childhood, we went to my grandparents’ house for Thanksgiving and Christmas.  They lived in a tiny little house that they’d owned for something like twenty or thirty years.  They were heavy smokers who smoked indoors and decades’ worth of poor air quality wreaked its havoc on them and the interior of the house.  We’d stay for a couple hours, talking and laughing and watching TV but, by the end of the night, my eyes were watery and my throat was sore.  It was horrible.

(Funny how I almost miss that little shithole of a house now.  I would’ve put up with a couple more years if it meant getting to know my grandfather better.)

Anyway, I never experimented with cigarettes or smoking weed or anything that even resembled smoking.  I don’t even remember why I ever decided to try a cigar but I had to have my husband show me how to smoke one. (And yes, lewd comments were made while he demonstrated.)

And I truly enjoy it.  This past weekend, after going out for dinner and billiards and drinks, we took the party back to our house and spent most of the night on our back porch with our friends, drinking beer, smoking cigars — and cigarettes in some cases — and just enjoying the company.  When we visited my dad for Father’s Day, we sat on his back porch (far more expansive and nicer than our own rinky-dink slab of concrete) and pulled beer from his Kegerator and talking about politics, life and the universe.

Sometimes it’s good just to stop and relax and enjoy the company of friends and family.

After work last night, we headed over to California Pizza Kitchen for their jambalaya — the best I’ve had except when I was in New Orleans — and opened our gifts and were all romantic and mushy.  We had originally planned to go see “The Forbidden Kingdom” while it’s still showing at a nearby movie theater but, after the meal, we weren’t really feeling up to it so we hit up a few shops in the plaza and headed home.

Our evening was rather uneventful, save for the fact that, as soon as we stepped through the front door, we found our roommates bitterly laughing with each other.  Apparently, half the house inexplicably didn’t have power and there were issues with the breaker switches.  Cue internal freak out because our rental agent has already left for the day.  (Our house has a few other build quality issues, including an outlet that is so shoddily done, it’s almost unusable.)

Fortunately, my dad is an electrical contractor and was able to fix our problem over the phone.  It wasn’t terribly difficult but everyone was afraid of the fuse box because it would make noises when you flipped a switch that sounded scarily like an electrical jolt was about to fry your skin off.  Based on his prognosis, the power company was at fault and forgot to do something while they were messing with something else.  Yes, I have apparently learned a lot from the twenty-plus years my dad has been in the business.

Also, the only thing that got fried was the power supply to our router.  Lobsterclaw totally saved the day by finding the router she had stowed away and letting us use that power supply cord thingie.

The rest of the evening was spent playing LEGO Indiana Jones, which my husband totally bought me for our anniversary.  Yes, he’s that awesome.  He also bought me a pink brush set from Sephora and a Celtic knot-type necklace from Tiffany’s.  (Did I mention he’s awesome?)

Speaking of my husband… his birthday is today!  Happy Birthday, Mr. Steenshoes! You’re now officially old and stuff but I still love you.  I proudly bear the title of being a geriphile!  (If you have to ask… check urbandictionary.com)

A year ago today, it was a beautiful Saturday on the Gulf Coast of Florida. A thin layer of clouds created a veil over the summer sun and a breeze moved through the air, carrying the smell of salt and suntan lotion. The water glittered and gently moved in and out, breathing quietly over the sand. Beachgoers littered the white sand, building sandcastles and working on The Perfect Tan.

As the sun set, a new life began. We stood barefoot in the sand, exchanging vows and sharing the most important day of our lives with our loved ones. We promised to honor and keep each other, through sickness and in health, till death to us part.

And it was perfect.

(Well, except the whole being hungover thing. Just a bump in the road.)

(At least, that’s what I tell myself so I don’t kill him when I reflect upon the Happiest Day of My Life.)

(Also: my dad still maintains his innocence but less convincingly. I will break him eventually.)

The rest of the night was a whirlwind but I wish it could’ve lasted much, much longer. Everyone was laughing and on the dance floor — even if I had to pull the Bride card and drag their asses out there — and it was the two of us at our finest, at our happiest, having a good time with our friends and family.

Despite all the planning headaches, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. More importantly, I would marry him all over again in a heartbeat.

A year is only a drop in the bucket but I’m looking forward to many, many more. Happy anniversary, Mr. Steenshoes! Thank you for being, like, totally awesome. And stuff. Even if you do have an evil laugh.

(”MWAHAHAHAHAHA!”)

We’ve recently started going to the gym again and I’m always surprised at how unchanged everything is.

I used to go to the campus gym of my university because it was free to all students but I really only ever used the treadmills; they had a huge cardio area, including a track and there was always a surplus of empty machines.  Plus, they clearly spent a lot more money on the cardio equipment; you could find stationary bikes and treadmills with personal TVs and holders so you could read a magazine while working out.  (I never did understand that.)  This area was usually populated by girls, more often than not decked out in make-up and really only there to be seen.

The lower floor was dedicated to weights and machines but good luck.  Beefy sports players would be lounging around the machines, talking and flexing and trying to be noticed by the cardio girls on the upper floor.  You’d usually wind up sharing a machine with no less than three people, which meant a longer-than-necessary wait in between sets.

In short, it was a giant clusterfuck laden with egos and attention-whoring.

The gym we go to now is smaller but equipped with everything a true gym rat needs — and a giant StepMill that is amusing more than anything.  The people who go there are down-to-earth, true fitness buffs who put a lot of value into their time at the gym, whether for health reasons or pure vanity.

There are a few types of people you see day in, day out.  They have different faces but they are essentially the same:

The hard-bitten grandfather: Sometimes sporting a handlebar mustache, sometimes a long ponytail, sometimes both.  He’s easily in his 50s but he has huge shoulders and arms.  You don’t see him do anything but upper body and he takes great pride in choosing his weights from the heavier end of the spectrum.  He seems like a total grinch at first but he’s quick to laugh with his fellow regulars, strutting his weight belt and fingerless gloves.

The middle-aged woman: You can tell that her day-to-day look is somewhere between glamorous and polished, although she may not necessarily bathe in designer labels.  She is toned and tanned, somehow keeping her manicure in tact as she moves about the gym; surprisingly, she’s hardcore and strong and you can imagine her going home after the gym to float in her pool, sipping on a cocktail in huge sunglasses and a floppy hat.  She doesn’t talk much, her face always showing a calm concentration.

The young fitness model wannabe: Loud, talkative, caked in makeup and a skimpy outfit that is 99% Lycra.  Her hair is long and bleached with dark skunky streaks and you question whether or not the contents of her sports bra are injected or au natural.  She flirts heavily with all the males, even the grandfather, but the only real workout she does consists of fifteen minutes on the StepMill.  She reminds you of all the reasons you don’t go to more popular gyms.

The twentysomething thug: He’s not really a thug but he tries to look harder than he is, which is why he’s mostly working out his upper body; he will be the hard-bitten grandfather in another thirty years.  For now, he cruises around the gym in regular clothing, down to his non-athletic shoes.  You imagine he listens to rap and hangs out with his homies.  He’s not a bad kid though and is usually hanging out with the older, more experienced guys.

All in all, I enjoy sharing a gym with these folks.  They’re courteous when it comes to the equipment and we’re all there for the same basic reason: to work out.