Yesterday, Eric and I welcomed Maggie into our hearts. She's an 8 month old, 50 lb Border Collie/Pyrenees/Australian Shepherd mix.
She's so, so sweet and while she still has a lot to learn, she's very smart. She already knows all of her basic commands and managed to impress everyone in the dog park with her good behavior. Now, if only we could work on her need to destroy her toys.
About a month ago, I spent a VERY long time in the beauty products section of TJ Maxx staring at shampoo and conditioner bottles. I knew I needed a clarifying shampoo and wanted to find a conditioner that wouldn't make my hair too oily. After probably 20 minutes of reading labels, smelling shampoo and comparing products, I came home with the 2 bottles on the left.
It was only after about 3 washes that I realized my "conditioner" generated a really nice lather. On further inspection of the bottle post-shower, I realized that I was in fact shampooing my hair twice: first with a clarifying shampoo, then with a creamy shampoo with a conditioner-like consistency.
Yup, I bought myself two jumbo sized bottles of extra concentrated shampoo. Unfortunately, this is not the first time I've made this kind of obvious mistake.
When I lived in Israel, I bought a small bottle of what I thought was super condensed laundry detergent. I used it for various washes and only came to realize that it was actually fabric softener when I learned the Hebrew word for "conditioner" and determined that my "detergent" had a similar word on the label because it made things soft. Oops. The worst part is, I made the exact same mistake when I was back in the states. That time though, I couldn't use the language excuse. Oops
Please, share your "ditziest" Sunday Confessional so I'll know I'm in good company...
I was searching for a photo in my blog archives for a post I wrote for Yahoo! when I decided to look at the first ever G3B post. After reading it, giggling to myself and feeling nostalgic, I decided to go through the archives.
It's almost midnight and I've only gotten through October, but in the process, I realized something: though my old blog posts don't have the prettiest pictures, sponsored reviews or even a fashion focus, man, I was funny!
Now that I've been blogging for over 3 years, I've gotten more professional, but somehow less honest. I miss the Alana who had a song written about her short stature, the Alana who wrote a post about her roommate's plant committing suicide and the Alana who shared her strange Sarah Pailin Dream.
It's funny, I think some of the things that helped me succeed as a blogger also hurt me, for example:
Has anyone else gone throuh something similar with their blog?
Admit it, you're afraid of at least one kitchen appliance and you know it! I think my phobia of the garbage disposal stems from having a small sliver of my finger sliced off in a snowball machine (it looked a little like this). I still remember the pain, the dizziness and watching my dog lick my blood off the floor. (Gross, sorry, I know.) The emergency room wasn't too fun either, as a sliced finger isn't nearly as important in the triage hierarchy. You wouldn't notice it if I didn't point it out to you, but the tip of my left index finger is crooked due to the "accident" and will never be the same.
Ever since then (and probably before, now that I think of that), I've been terrified of most sharp, spinning blades. In terms of the garbage disposal, I can't put my fingers in it, even if it's off, as I'm afraid someone might accidentally turn it on. Seriously, the fact that it's powered by an ordinary looking light switch makes it even scarier- it should be bright blue, or honestly, bright red, to scare you from turning it on.
I don't even like it when other people put their hands in the disposal.
When I mentioned my fear to Eric, he wasn't shocked at all. Apparently, at least according to him, all girls are afraid of garbage disposals. And I thought I was special, hmmm...
Ok, your turn: what kitchen appliance are you afraid of?
Photo via Amazon.
Hello poisoned squirrels! Lame joke, I know, but one of my teachers used to say it instead of "boys and girls" and it just seemed fitting. Also, I don't like squirrels. Strangely enough though, I am currently wearing a squirrel and acorn charm necklace. It's a long story.
It's been a while since my last confession-- around 2 months-- and the fans (i.e. my stepmom) are getting restless. So, without further ado, today's Sunday Confessional:
I'm afraid of getting impaled by an icicle. Now, before you laugh, it's a very legitimate fear. While I've never actually seen anyone get hit by a falling icicle, it's come pretty close. Since we had our first "real" snowstorm yesterday, this is probably a fear that will be on my mind until April. For now, I'll just have to walk a few feet away from buildings and hope that the wind won't redirect a falling icicle through my skull via my ear.
Oy.
Stay tuned for next week, where I may just tell you about my Wheel of Fortune/Jeopardy watching habits.
Go ahead, share your Sunday Confessional in the comments!
Picture via my Dad.
Before I get into the story of Friday afternoon's disaster, can we please pause to discuss this ridiculousness: why is their no universal title for the place you get your driver's license? Most people know it as the DMV, I grew up with the MVA and in Massachusetts, it's the RMV.
Ridiculous, right? Also, it's totally confusing.
Anyway, back to my story. I headed over to the RMV on Friday afternoon hoping to get a Massachusetts license. I've been wanting to do it for a while (mainly so I can finally get a library card), but haven't had the chance because it's only open during work hours. Thanks to short summer Fridays, I was able to go in a few days ago to get everything settled.
When I walked up to the "greeter" (the RMV is MUCH bigger than the MVA and has multiple floors and a greeter), I asked if they were doing licenses that day.
"Of course we are. Why wouldn't we be doing licenses?"
"Because last time I was here I asked if you were doing out of state conversions and you said to come back tomorrow."
"Why would I say that? You must have asked if we were doing driving tests."
Clearly I had not asked that, but fine.
After waiting for close to an hour, my number finally got called. The lady took my picture and though it looked horrific, I didn't feel like waiting around for a better one. When the lady asked to see my proof of residency, I showed her my lease. Apparently, my horrible landlady hadn't signed it in the right place, so the RMV wouldn't accept it.
Disgruntled, I headed back home to get a pay stub, only to find out that the woman at the RMV was about to go on her break and I'd have to wait again. When the lady finally returned from her break, she turned me down AGAIN because the pay stub was too old.
So now, I don't have a new license, I'm even more angry at my old landlady, and I think I ruined my trusty Yosi Samra flats trying to navigate through flooded streets to walk the two blocks home.
Oh right, I forgot to mention the torrential downpour/hailstorm/flood that occurred while I was waiting for the lady to come back from her break.
Grrr!
Does anything good ever happen at these places, because I'm pretty sure most of my experiences have ended in tears. (Ask my mom...)
Hi everyone,
I first wanted to say that I did choose a winner of the Tipsy Skipper giveaway and she has been notified by email and has accepted her prize. Thanks again to everyone who participated.
The reason I didn't get a chance to post the winner? I received a message on Friday from the management company of my new building asking me to call them immediately. Apparently, the man living in my new apartment is refusing to move out. This is a problem because my future roommate and I have already signed a lease and were expecting to move into our place...tomorrow!
Fortunately, we negotiated with the management company, who just found out about the man's plans on Friday, and they have graciously agreed to put us up in separate apartments (a 1 bedroom and a studio) until they can evict him. Both temporary apartments are in different buildings, so we'll both have to do full moves again when our actual place is ready.
Though I'm extremely grateful that there is a solution, albeit temporary, this is totally throwing a wrench into my plans. As of now, we don't know how long it will take to get the guy out of the apartment- Eric and I did some research and it looks like it could take up to a month.
So now I have tons of questions. Do I unpack? How much stuff do I need to be using every day? Does it make sense to have Internet set up if it may only be two weeks? What the heck am I going to pack for BlogHer if most of my stuff is still in boxes?
Oy! Special thanks to Eric for being so helpful with my move. It was stressful to begin with, and it's only gotten more confusing. I'm so glad that the management company is paying for my "second" move, and that Eric and I won't need to pack a Uhaul ourselves again.
Any words of encouragement or advice would be much appreciated!
PS- I need to take some more still life pictures so I can have them for posts like this. Not sure the delicious brunch really fits, but you know, it looks happy and yummy.
I'm going to be honest, I usually wear this dress over a tank top. Maybe it's because I went to Jewish school for my entire pre-college career. Maybe it's because all my friends always wore tank tops under everything. Who knows?
My work environment is veyr casual- some people wear jeans, others wear cute J. Crew ensembles, practically everything goes. I really wanted to wear the dress, but hate how it looks over a tank. When I put it on Friday morning, I asked Eric if he thought it was ok to wear for work sans- tank top. Of course, he said it would be fine. So, I added a sweater and hoped he was right. Little did I know that the dress would slowly slip lower and lower throughout the day. Thank goodness I had a sweater to wrap myself in.
Lesson learned: this dress is for summer days on the beach or for picnics in the park. It should probably be worn with a tank top and should not be worn to work without it.
We're all afraid of something, whether it's heights, spiders, or even drains (strangely, my cousin has that last phobia). I personally don't like elevators and have a fear of getting my eyes poked out in my sleep, but today, I had to deal with a different fear that plagues many of us: needles.
Let me backtrack. After dealing with an untraceable pain in my mouth for the past 3 days which I originally attributed to TMJ, I finally realized where the pain was coming from: my top left molar. Unfortunately, it's hard to see an actual dentist on the weekend, especially when it's 12AM Sunday morning, so after a restless night of research and utter pain, I decided the only option was to go to the emergency room.
There I sat in the waiting room, unsure of what they'd be able to do. When it was finally my turn what seemed like hours later, they took me back to a room, poked around my mouth and told me it was probably an infected cavity, and that all they could do on a Sunday was help with the pain.
When the doctor suggested an injection, I freaked out a little (ok, a lot) inside, but told him to do whatever it took to ease the pain. When he came back in with the large, silver colored needle, I couldn't help but tear up.
Ever since I was a little kid, I've had a phobia of needles. I don't really remember doing it, but my mom claims I used to run around the exam room trying to get away from the doctor. Even as a young adult, I'd rarely go to the doctor alone. Though my mom held my hand through most of the worst needles of my childhood, I once dragged my college roommate with me to the student health center- how embarrassing!
But today, 23-years-old and an "adult," I was alone. To be quite honest, it wasn't that bad. With no one's hand to squeeze, I simply focused on the fact that no injection could feel worse than the pain I'd endured the night before. They sent me home with a prescription for penicillin and some heavy pain killers, and instructed me to go to the emergency dental clinic tomorrow to have the cavity filled.
Of course I'm scared, they'll be working on an already infected tooth and I know that's not going to be fun, but I made it past the first hurdle all by myself. Sure, I'm still in pain, but I'm proud of myself, as silly as that sounds. I took care of business and am on the road to recovery.
Wish me luck tomorrow, I'm sure there are more Novocain injections in my future.
So tell me- what's your biggest fear, and how have you overcome it?
PS- if anyone can recommend a good Boston dentist, let me know, as I still don't have one yet.
Did anyone watch Glee two weeks ago? I haven't been able to get Sam's version of Justin Bieber's "Baby" out of my head.
I know, I know- 23 year old girls should not listen to Justin Bieber songs, even if they are sung by adorable members of a fictional Glee club.
Sigh, I think I'm going to listen to it again.
Oh, and in case you were worried, Eric totally knows about my crush. I made him listen to the song twice this morning.
What's your embarrassing Sunday Confession this week?
