Friday, January 24, 2014

I almost made my apartment collapse

Today I'm going to tell you a story of when I took a bath last week and almost made the apartment collapse.

It was Friday and I figured that the best way to decompress from the stress of the week was to take a bubble bath with candles, bubbles, a book, and some adult juice. And it was glorious. Because bubbles.

I'm trying to only wash my hair a few times a week so.... shower cap. Ben doesn't know about the shower cap. Ben might never know about the shower cap.

Anyway, I'm in the tub and the water is filled up as high as it can go and I'm enjoying my book and Enya is on Pandora and it's the most relaxing thing ever, but like every 5 minutes I notice the water level has gone down a few inches, making any appendages that weren't submerged feel a little chilly. So I kept having to refill, and I just figured I'd gotten a crappy tub stopper at Target. Whatever, right?

Refill and bask. Refill and bask. Refill and bask.

After I'd gotten out of the tub (because I ran out of hot water even though Ben fixed the water heater a couple of weeks ago) I was taking my sweet time with my skin care regime so I didn't hear the disaster that was occurring downstairs. Ignorance was such bliss.

I heard a dripping sound. But not like drip ... drip ... drip... no. It was dripdripdripdripdripdripdripdrip and I ran down the stairs (in a towel) to find out what it was. When I got downstairs I saw water dripdripdripdripping out of the light fixture in the living room. The light fixture that was directly beneath the bathtub. Obviously there was only one rational thought: THE APARTMENT WAS GOING TO COLLAPSE A LA SEASON ONE OF BREAKING BAD. (If you don't know what's falling out of the ceiling ... I'm not going to tell you. You don't want to know.)

There was a wet spot on the carpet that was at least 2 feet in circumference (diameter? I hate Geometry)(Is that even Geometry? I told you I hate it) and growing. AND GROWING. So I did the most logical thing: I cried. I mean, any relaxation I had achieved was now gone because our ceiling was about to cave in, obviously. But I pulled myself together, put a pot under the dripping to catch the water, and called my landlord.

Me: Hi, this is Juliette. Uh, sorry to call on a Friday night but I'm having a little problem... see, I was using the bathtub and now there's water leaking out of the light fixture in our living room. Like, a lot of water.
Landlord: Oh, was somebody using the bathtub?
Me: Yes. Like I told you, I was just using it.
Landlord: Oh. Well, how high did you fill up the tub?
Me: I don't know. (I did know.) Like close to the top.
Landlord: Well, did it go past the silver thing in between the faucet and the drain?
The silver thing in the middle is what he was talking about. The bottom half of the silver thing isn't totally sealed. DON'T ASK ME WHY I'VE BEEN WONDERING THAT FOR A WEEK.

Me: Yes. Yes it definitely went past that.
Landlord: Oh. Haha. Well, see the bottom part of that silver thing isn't sealed to the tub so if water gets above it, it will just drain out. At least it found somewhere to go so it's not just sitting in the pipes or something? I guess it would just sit in the pipes. I don't really know. Anyway, it's kind of funny because a lot of people have been having this problem lately. Ha ha. I guess baths are just getting really popular now. Ha ha.
Me: Oh yeah that's hilarious. (I was lying.) Um, well maybe I just forgot that you mentioned it but I really don't remember you telling us about this when we moved in. Anyway, what should I DO about this??
Landlord: Oh I didn't tell you about it. It didn't seem important. There's not really anything you can do. Just put a pot there to catch the water and don't turn the light on for the whole weekend. (That light fixture is the only light in our living room. So that was going to be fun.)
Landlord: Ok well call me next week and let me know how everything's going, bye!

We survived without the light, our ceiling didn't cave in, and I haven't enjoyed a bath since then. Thanks a lot landlord, for withholding information from me. I guess my next move is to call him again (or have Jacey call him ahem) and make that stupid silver thing seal all the way because I NEED MY BATHS DAMMIT.
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Wednesday, January 22, 2014

The word of the year is...

I have been staring at this white space for days now, trying to come up with something to put here. Well, I still haven't come up with anything, but I was browsing Pinterest as a distraction and I realized I have almost 1,000 pins on my "This made me laugh" board, and I felt like such a jerk not sharing all the funnies on the blog. So what you're getting today is like 10 or 11 funny pictures, because it's Wednesday and Wednesdays are a day for laughing. So LAUGH. And then go follow me on Pinterest.

For me, it would be "sandwiches," but that's neither here nor there.

Sneaky little asshole donuts!

Don't act like you've never crushed your food out of excitements.

Boyfriends eat ALL OF THE TIME.
Not that I would know.
I don't have a boyfriend.

I mean really. Selfie?

If you don't understand this pin then there is something seriously Ron with you.
And I'm Neville talking to you again.

It will be in the 80s all week in my town. And last week my town was the WARMEST PLACE IN THE UNITED STATES because it was 91 degrees. It's January. Even for California this is ridiculous.


This one never fails to make me laugh.

This might be my favorite pin. It's a sexy kangaroo saying bitches... COME ON.

Because Napoleon Dynamite.
Your mom goes to college.
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Thursday, January 16, 2014

So many things you didn't know

When I woke up I was convinced today was Friday and when I realized the truth, that it's only Thursday, I got really sad. And then I got sadder because I want a bagel but I don't have one. But then I remembered that I have a three day weekend (do you???) and that made life a little better. And then I realized that I had exhausted so much brain energy on remembering the days of the week that I didn't have enough juice in my brain to write more than random sentences. So that's what you're going to get. Random. Random stuff about me because duh.

//I loathe the dentist. Who doesn't? When I was younger I went to a dentist who didn't use gloves, and when he was torturing my teeth and gums I could feel his moist hands on my lips and I will never forget that feeling or forgive him for traumatizing me that way. Also they always yell at me for not flossing, even though I totally do floss (the morning of my appointment and sporadically throughout the year).

//I'm a little paranoid of sleeping through my alarm in the morning, so I set seven alarms at random intervals. 5:26, 5:30, 5:36, 5:53, 5:59, 6:10, 6:27. I usually end up waking up at 5 and turning off all the alarms but the 6:10 and 6:27 ones. Then I have to rush to get ready for work and I'm always on time if on time means between 3 and 7 minutes late. I'll never learn.

//I HATE PLAIN MILK. Growing up my parents used to make us drink a glass of milk with our dinner before we could have anything else and it was complete torture and I of course made a huge deal out of it and plugged my nose and acted like it was acid going down my throat. I was a lovely child.

//I'm painfully sarcastic and one time a girl told me, "If I didn't know you were joking I'd think you were the biggest b***h I'd ever met. So that's fun.

//I hate making left turns when I'm driving. I especially hate left turn arrows... they take forever and I feel like they're really bossy. JUST LET ME TURN LEFT WHEN I THINK IT'S SAFE TO TURN LEFT.

//I'm having this weird issue on my face. I don't know why but I have these red rashes under my eyes and they don't itch but they sting a little if my face wash/moisturizer/anything else touches them. I haven't started using any new products and it's not a sunburn. Faith told me I need to drink more water but can being dehydrated really give you rashes under your eyes?? I look like I've been punched. Help? I also have a rash on my wrist from my Target watch but that's not related to my face.

That's all for today and maybe the rest of this week, who knows?
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Tuesday, January 14, 2014


When I was little my Grandma refused to tell me how old she was. I'd guess and guess and guess but she'd just smile and laugh as she refused to tell me her age.

Well, Grandma, my dad is fifty-two so you have to be older than sixty, right?
Are you older than seventy?
Are you seventy-five?
Are you seventy-six?

I remember the day I found out how old she was. She had taken my younger sister and me shopping for new Easter dresses and the saleslady talked her into signing up for a store credit card. When asked what year she was born my Grandma looked at me and I knew I needed to walk away, so I yanked my sister toward some display while craning my neck and trying to eavesdrop and find out how old Grandma really was.

"What year were you born in?" The cashier asked.
Grandma leaned forward and whispered, "Nineteen sixteen. One-six."

I remember feeling like I had just uncovered the biggest secret of all time. When we got home I did the math on a piece of paper and figured out how old she was... I think at the time it was around 80. Eighty!! I couldn't believe it. I told my older sister I had found out how old Grandma was and I kept that secret for years and years.

And yesterday, Grandma turned 98. She combed her hair, put on some pearls, slipped into her high heels, and held tight to my dad's arm as he led her into the restaurant where we celebrated her life.

My Grandma and I have always been especially close. My Grandpa died when I was a baby and I don't remember him at all, but Grandma tells me about him all the time and I know I would have had a special relationship with him, too. I used to call Grandma every single day and tell her about what I learned that day or which friend I was going to play with that afternoon, and she was always interested in what I was doing. Growing up we would go to her house every single Sunday for lunch and "family time." Grandma often tells me about how I used to always want to sit on her lap while we ate and how my dad was against that, "because if you let her sit on your lap now, she'll always want to do it!" Jokes on you, Dad, I sit in my own chair now.

When the church service was over I would run up to her and ask if she had any gum for me. Grandma always had Bubbleicious bubble gum (which is the BEST kind) in the outside zippered pocket. Then I would ride to her house with her, asking to hear stories the whole way.

Tell me the story of when my dad had a fly in his mouth!
Tell me the story of when you stood on your clarinet case and broke your clarinet!
Tell me the story of when Aunt Janet got bitten by a horse!

And she would. She would tell me stories during the drive, and I never tired of hearing them. Especially the ones that involved my dad being less than a perfect angel. I used to sit in the passenger seat and tell Grandma, "One day when I'm old enough, I'll be driving you home from church and telling you stories!" When that day came it was completely surreal, and I'll admit I got a little choked up.

I remember one day, sitting in the dining room with her while everybody else was off doing their own thing, and we just talked and talked about everything. I don't remember how old I was, but I don't think I was older than 12 or 13. When we were finished talking I looked at Grandma and said, "We just had a real conversation!" I remember being enamored with what had just happened because instead of one of us telling the other some stories, we shared ideas and opinions and I felt like she really cared about what I was saying.

Sometimes, when my parents would go out of town, my siblings and I would spend the night at Grandma's house. She would always make me an egg salad sandwich (cut into triangles), and let me eat all the popsicles I wanted. Seriously. Like, one time I ate an entire box of 36 popsicles and Grandma didn't even care (my metabolism was incredible back then). Grandma had cable, so I could watch all the shows I couldn't at home, like Scooby-Doo, The Jetsons, Full House, and Murder, She Wrote. She would let me eat cheese and crackers and stay up as late as I wanted, and the next day when I finally crawled out of bed at the crack of noon, she would take me outside with her to refill her bird feeders, water the plants, and clean and refill the bird bath. Grandma loves her birds and her flowers. And elephant figurines, but only if the trunks are up (if they're down it's bad luck THE MORE YOU KNOW).

Grandma used to be a beautician in Beverly Hills, and she used to cut my hair and my younger sister's hair for us. She'd do it in her bathroom, and when I'd ask her to "just make it a liiiiittle shorter ... yeah a little shorter ... nope, shorter please," she'd remind me that it would be shorter once it was dry and I'd regret asking her to cut so much off.

She was right. But she pretended to believe me when I said I was glad it was so short.

As Grandma has gotten older she's become less and less capable of doing things for herself. About ten years ago my aunt decided to move back in with her so Grandma wouldn't have to be alone all day and all night. It had gotten to the point where it was hard for Grandma to take care of the house and make all of the meals herself, and she needed help. It was no longer safe for her to be alone or to drive, so she had to give up her independence. And that has been hard on her.

My office is about 5 minutes away from my Grandma's house, so on twice a week I go see her for lunch. It's always bittersweet, because the Grandma I visit now isn't the same Grandma I remember.  Instead of Grandma bustling about the kitchen making the perfect egg salad sandwich, she sits in her chair while her shaking hands slowly lift her coffee cup to her mouth. Instead of her having plate full of food in front of her, I try and convince her to let me boil her an egg or a hot dog. Instead of Grandma telling me the same stories over and over again because I've asked her to, Grandma tells me the same stories over and over again because she doesn't remember that she's already told them. And then Grandma will look at me and say, "Tell me a story, even if it's not true." And I'll try, but I'm usually just thinking about how our interactions are so much the opposite of what they used to be. And instead of Grandma taking me outside to feed the birds and water the plants, I put peanuts on the window railing so Grandma can see the birds from her chair without having to go outside ... because it's too much effort for her to go outside just to see the birds anymore.

Most things are too much effort for Grandma right now, and that's hard to watch. It's hard to watch the Grandma who used to be in charge of Thanksgiving dinner barely be able to stand long enough to mix the corn starch with the turkey drippings to make the gravy. It's hard to watch the Grandma who used to play the piano and clarinet with such nimble fingers barely be able to hold a pen to do the New York Times crossword puzzle. But most of all, it's hard to spend time with Grandma and wonder if this is the last memory I'll have with her.

Ever since Grandma turned 90 it's like we've been preparing for her death. At every holiday there has been an understanding that, this might be Grandma's last Christmas/birthday/Easter/etc so we have to make it extra special! But the only reason we've had that feeling is because Grandma is old. She doesn't have any health problems. She takes a pill to regulate her blood pressure, but she doesn't have any actual health concerns. She's just old, and frail, and forgetful sometimes. And I think that's really hard for her. She can't accept that she can't do the things she used to, and it frustrates her that she can't blame her lack of energy on anything but age. It frustrates her that she can't do the things she used to, and I know every time I refill her water glass for her or offer to fix her a sandwich I'm reminding her of everything she can't do for herself.

My Grandma has taught me a lot in the 25 years I've known her, like how to make the best frosting in the world, how to make the gravy at Thanksgiving, and the difference between a blue jay and a bluebird (Jays are bigger, FYI). But the last few years, she's taught me the importance of attitude and perspective in life. She has taught me that if you look at your life and only see the things you can't do and the things you don't have, you'll be miserable. It's easy to focus on the negatives, but it's also dangerous. Grandma and I talk a lot about dwelling on the negatives, and how much better it is to think about the positives. Imagine if everybody dwelled only on their inabilities rather than their abilities? What kind of world would we live in?

I don't want to spend every day wondering if it's the last day I'll see or talk to Grandma. So instead of dwelling on the what if? I will be thankful that I have had so much time with her. I will be grateful for the things she can do. I will cherish every moment, I will take pictures, I will ask her questions I've never asked before, and most of all, I will never miss an opportunity to tell her how much I love her.

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Friday, January 10, 2014

10 Reasons Why I Would Go On The Bachelor

A while ago I wrote about a few reasons why ABC would never let me be a contestant on The Bachelor. I still stand by that post, but with Juan-uary (typing that almost made me puke) finally upon us, I started wondering if there was anything that would make me want to be on the show. Not this season, of course, because I still don't understand the appeal of Juan Pablo (plus filming is over), but I haven't seen the first episode yet so maybe my feelings will change? Doubt it. Anyway, here are 10 reasons why I would go on The Bachelor.

1. Because if when I win, I get to ride on an elephant. I wonder how many times they had to yell, "Catherine!!! Keeps your knees together!!!"

2. Because I would hear so many awesome(ly horrible) one-liners that would give me wonderful blogging material.

3. Because so much free alcohol.

4. Because when we go to the cool destination I'd be able to find really cool apartment decorations like these shutters for the price of freesies.

5. Because when I make a funny face somebody will inevitably make a GIF of me and WHO DOESN'T WANT THEIR OWN GIF???

6. Because I would make lifelong friends and we would share everything together.

7. Because I'd get to go to some cool location like St. Lucia. RIP Jake and Vienna. You ho.

8. Because I'd learn so much about new ways to style my hair like this guy.

9. Because I'd learn cool new metaphors about love, like: "In love you have to take risks and do scary things ... like climb the Bay Bridge."

10. And finally, because if I lose, I get to have MY OWN TV SHOW.

It's been way too long since I've linked up with Whitney on a Friday soooo lezzdoit.

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Tuesday, January 7, 2014

I smashed my hand through a window because of a guy

I've mentioned a few times that I have a messed up pinkie finger, in fact I've even pointed out some pictures that show that pretty clearly. So today I decided to tell you the whooooooole story of what happened just so you can have some more insight into my life. Before we begin you should probably just know that this all happened because of a guy. MY PINKIE DOESN'T STRAIGHTEN BECAUSE OF A GUY. A GUY. A GUY RUINED MY HAND.

Growing up we lived in a house right next to the church my dad pastors. When I was in high school there was a guy, Sam (not his real name do we need to go over this again), who would come over and practice the piano almost every day, and my 15 year old brain was totally in love with him, so I'd find any excuse I could to go over to the church and walk past the room where he was practicing. Most of the time I just stared at him a little (I am the creepiest), but sometimes he'd be taking a break and he would wave or on my luckiest days he would speak to me and we would interact.

May 8th, 2004 was not one of my luckiest days.

I came home from work and Sam's car was in the parking lot, but for some reason I didn't really feel like stalking coming up with an excuse to talk to him, so I just went inside, where my younger sister was. She knew about my crush (the whole world knew, who do I think I'm kidding), and on that particular day she felt like teasing me about him.

Go over and talk to Sam!!!
Juuuueeeelllll .... Sam's at the church!
Oh there's Sam!! He's outside! Go say hi!!

Each of these things elicited nothing but a very mature eye roll from me, until she said, "OH MY GOSH THERE'S SOMETHING OUTSIDE THAT YOU HAVE TO COME AND SEE HURRY HURRY NOW NOW LOOK!!"

I totally fell for it. I ran outside and as soon as I crossed the threshold she started laughing and she ran inside. Her plan was to lock me out so I'd have to talk to him when he came out of the church. So I did the only reasonable thing: I tried to keep her from slamming the door by slamming my fist against the top half. The problem was that the top half of the door was glass, which didn't stand a chance against my fist. So I shattered the glass with my fist, almost to my elbow, and when I pulled my arm back out that's when the damage happened.

*This is going to get gruesome*

I saw blood. And I saw bone. And I saw shattered glass everywhere. And my thought process when something like this:

My parents are going to kill me.
I'm never going to play the piano again.
I'm pretty sure we don't have a bandaid big enough to take care of this.
How is my finger even still attached???
OMG how have I not gotten blood on my brand new white sweater??

It might be time to call 911.

I wonder if Sam heard all of that?

And then I held my arm out in front of me and screamed bloody murder all the way through the kitchen and into the dining room where I sat on the ground with my legs spread and let the blood pour out of my hand and onto the ground. And I kept screaming and my sister was screaming and finally my brother came out of his room and screamed at both of us to be quiet and then he realized I was screaming, "CALL 911!!! GET ME A NAPKIN!!! CALL 911!!! GET ME A NAPKIN!!  CALL 911!!!!" So he calmed down and told my sister to leave the situation and he called 911. I wrapped a paper towel around my hand and whimpered and heard sirens in the distance and when I realized, those are coming for me, I started crying. I thought I was going to lose my finger because I'm not dramatic.

The paramedics came and I refused to let them take the paper towel off to inspect my finger because, "If you take the paper towel off my finger will come off with it!!" Since my parents weren't home and my younger sister was on the verge of hyperventilating (you know, because this was so traumatic for her), it was just me and the paramedics and my tear stained face. My dad was officiating a wedding and he and my mom didn't have cell reception so they got a cool voicemail from my brother that said, "Hey ... um everything is fine but Juel is on her way to the hospital in an ambulance because she hurt her hand ... she's fine but you should probably just meet us at the hospital as soon as you can."

My poor parents.

The paramedics didn't even turn on the siren which was like SO disappointing, except not for my parents' bank account because do you know how expensive it is if the ambulance uses a siren??? Neither do I but I've heard it's pretty bad. So anyway, my aunt met the ambulance at the hospital and the very first thing she did was wipe off the mascara trails that were all over my face and I thanked her sincerely for that.

This is the longest story ever. That seems to be a trend of mine.

They took the paper towel off my hand and I was pleased to see that everything was still attached. A male nurse did something to my hand and when I asked him how old he was he said "21" and I sighed "good" and closed my eyes. They kept having to put new gauze on my hand because I was bleeding through everything ... and what else? Oh I have a picture but I'll put it at the end so you don't have to look if you don't want to.

My older sister cut her Santa Barbara shopping trip short to come to the hospital, my younger sister brought me a giant stuffed Eyore to comfort me (it didn't work), Jacey was there, and I demanded that somebody "BRING A CAMERA!" because my priorities are in place. Then some awful awful nurse shot Novocain into my open wounds and that is the absolute worst pain I have ever felt in my life. Worse than any of my piercings, even. But it numbed the pain so I was able to take a good look at my hand... but I'm pretty sure I was drugged so everything is foggy and I don't really remember what it looked like. But nobody thought it was as cool as I did.

Probably the most traumatic part of the event was when they had to cut my brand new white sweater off of my bloody body. I hadn't gotten any blood on the sweater but they couldn't get it off of my mangled hand so SNIP SNIP SNIP! THEY DIDN'T EVEN ASK. RIP white sweater.
I had to wait a few hours before I could go into surgery because I had eaten a gigantic delicious burger earlier in the day, so it was night before I could be put under. When I woke up from surgery I kept begging them for "something cold!" so they gave me stupid ice chips like I was having a baby or something. And I had to spend the night in the hospital all by myself and it was the longest night ever and I couldn't even pee by myself and I have the smallest bladder ever so I feel bad for whoever my nurse was.

I was able to go home the next day, but I had to have another operation on my hand on Tuesday. So until Tuesday I had a GIANT cast that went from the tips of my fingers to my elbow. And it was so heavy. The first surgery on Saturday night had basically been damage control where they tried to just close everything up and make sure there was no serious damage other than the fact that I was missing part of a tendon. The glass had cut the tendon in my pinkie in two places so I lost almost an inch of tendon. (When they told me that I was like, "what do you mean lost? Like is there an inch of tendon just floating around in my body?" They told me no but I'm not entirely sure I believe them.) So they reattached my tendon and put 40+ stitches in my hand and sent me on my merry way but don't worry I got this sweet brace cast thing to wear for the next solid month.
Fun fact, Sam is in this picture. OMG what is it with me and guys with straw hats???

And then I had to go to physical therapy FOR MY PINKIE where they tried to get the tendon to straighten but I sucked at physical therapy. It was AWFUL that it happened to my right hand because I'm RIGHT HANDED so I had to work really hard at doing my hair and makeup with my left hand and as you can see in the picture up there ^^^ I never got very good at it.

And that's the long long story about why I have a crooked pinkie and I can't give high 5's with my right hand I can only give high 4's. Or 4 1/2's. The end.

Also, here's the bloody picture. It's really not even that bad.

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Friday, January 3, 2014

Nail polish is the worst thing ever AND A NAKED GIVEAWAY

Even though I got to enjoy a few glasses of champagne at work yesterday (it was Thursday so it was justified) it was still so stressful. Why? I'll tell you. It has to do with my fingernails. I started the day with pretty plum colored nails but then they started chipping so after I got home from the bank where I had to get a roll of quarters (I would do anything to have a washer/dryer in my apartment) I decided to change the color. So I did this pretty purpleish taupe color that I can't describe with words and it was good. But then I had some drinks with some friends and I smudged a few of the nails. So when I got home at like 9pm I obviously had to switch the color so I did a pretty pale pink. And I didn't finish it until like 10pm. And then I went to bed and that was a mistake because now THIS is what I look like. I'm sure all you ladies know how I'm feeling right now.

Ew have you ever looked at a picture of you hand up close like this??? This is disgusting and you can REALLY see the finger that got ruined when I smashed it through a window ...another story for another time. Anyway, all that to say I really have nothing to write about today
there is something exciting!! One of my good friends Rachael just debuted a brand new blog design over the holidays and it's amazing!! To celebrate, she got some bloggers together to give one of YOU a Naked 3 palette. I've never had a Naked palette, but I love makeup and I've heard only good things about it so I'm jealous that one of you is going to win.
Lucky. Ugh.
And please go check out Rachael's design because seriously ... it's awesome.

a Rafflecopter giveaway
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