What I'm NOT Buying This Weekend

It seems to be that part of the usually temporary obsession where I start to lose interest. My enthusastic daily post have dwindled into brief sometimes-maybe post. In spite of this I still must not shop!

I saw this dress while on my way to have my hair amputated.

 It is a Rebecca Taylor for the surprisingly reasonable price of $240.00 at Tula Blue in Myrtle Beach

Of course there was an adorable boutique across from where we were going to kill my hair... why would my money enjoy it's cozy home in my wallet?

Now, for tradition's sake, I must find a (imaginary) place to wear this dress. I'd be Nancy drew, magnifying glass at hand with tin of lip balm (for some reason tin, not can, it seems more old fashioned-ey, or British, but ether work) that I'd find some strange sleuth-ey use for like Nancy always does with random objects. The typewriter still would work here, I'd be more hunched over it- more stressed with what ever current case was at hand.

I after fantasizing about seeing myself in this lovely dress I proceded to get my hair done:

He did not even warn me: one second he was innocently tying them in cute pony tails and the next medusa's snakes were in his hands. My mom when documenting the event, even managed to get my surprised expression in the mirror.

This week I saved $240.00 and lost two snakes of knotted blond.

Wordless Wendsday: Growl

Can You Resist?

I, being a almost strict-ish vegetarian who still likes the taste of meat, hate fast food commercials just as every woman has since the dawn of time. They usually feature a thin woman enjoying her Micky-dees. I'm sure, among the male population, this advertising is wildly effective. The business model is that you should tempt the heck out of your audience. When I glanced over at discarded box of Mcnuggets that was tossed on the side of the road I was faced with temptation worthy of the devil. In the McDonalds yellow they pass for gold "can you resist?" was making it's evil way from the cardboard to my hungry eyes. I'm now going to steal something that Heather Cherry does often on her blog and write an open letter.

Mcnuggets Have a website, complete with a pledge to eat them. A pledge?

Dear Chicken Mcnuggets,

Yes, I can resist. Do I want to? No.

Who named you a.nyway... Mcnugget? Nugget was an unattractive word by itself but then someone had to add the infamous "mc" to it to make it even more unattractive, but almost appetizing.

I don't get why you ask me if I can resist. If someone already bought the darn thing and that would be the only reason for having to look at the box why would you advertise it to them? They can't resist- that's why they bought it.

Why do you have to tempt people to steal their friend's already purchased Mcnuggets? What do you gain from it? Do you target innocent vegetarians like me who are still learning to resist? Do you plan on irresponsible people tossing their discarded boxes on the side of the road... is that your business model?

Mcnugget, my only explanation is you find gratification in my pain.

Mcnugget, you just keep on lovein' it" while you can!

Your mortal enemy,

P.S.

PS, I'm certainly not "lovein' it"!

What I'm NOT Buying This Weekend

Jacqueline Dress- Anthropologie- $98.00

Old & New Necklace- Anthropologie- $218.00

Full Bouquet Clip- Anthropologie- $18.00

Sigh. Oops, did I accidentally forget to dress for the 21st centry, oh well...

Last week I was sitting pretentiously reading in a used books store, this week I may be sitting at my typewriter clicking away to the sound of the static and muffled words of the radio that was sitting dustily in the corner. But, if I have a typewriter in my little old-time-ey fantacy, don't I need:

The Clickity Typewriter Of My Dreams- eBay- starting bid $24.00 mere dollars

I can imagine myself pounding at the keys, in that dress, and that clip, and those pearls, but my image is spoiled by the buzzing of the computer moniter in the backround, the sound of Muse's (the best band to ever live- sorry adults but don't I have to have a little teenager in me?) Matt Belamy's piano solo in Butterflies and Hurricanes dancing it's genius way to my ears, and the modern air that unfortunatly always seems to hang annoyingly in the air.

I was born in the wrong time- but that doesn't mean I can't dress for the time I should have been born in...

The Things I Won't Miss About My Hair

I'm about to chop off about 10 inches. I've developed a very personal relationship with my hair. The tips have been to Paris; they still smell like tobacco smoke and chocolate. The Middle has been to Hawaii; a little blonder than the rest from the hours I wasted attempting to get a tan. I've been "about to cut it" for about a year now. I never thought it was particularly long until I found myself avoiding shaking my hair so often- it was starting to hurt. Moving my hair was becoming a big production that requires much effort and neck muscles.

My hair is ridiculously thick like my moms. At birthday parties when we are doing makeovers I have always secretly found pleasure in watching girls' faces fall as they twine their fingers around my ponytail and notice it's healthy circumference. I've always wanted it long, just because mom did not advise it. It is unbelievably hard to manage, how I envy those who can flip their hair without worrying about pulling a muscle or getting slapped in the face by deep-fried-blond (I straighten my hair a tad too much).

When it's off I won't have to worry about:

Having to screw my head back in the right position,

Having to navigate my way out of my own hair,

Or being mistaken for a blond troll doll.
(Photos by Margo)
I will miss you hair *sniff*... fare-de-well

Thank You Camera!

I love to take pictures of flowers for reasons unknown. Now, with a blog I have somewhere to put them. I was focusing on my daisys and then Lily just trots into the frame and smells one, with her tiny nose twitching like she does when we're holding a treat, probably to see if it is edible, but cute all the same. Usually when she does something of this cuteness I don't have my camera, but here she was cute and here my mom's camera was, charged.

The picture does have it's flaws, you can't see Lily's eyes or nose, so she sort of just looks like a mass of billowing fur. Flaw number two, one of my daisies has brown spots. I think he's sunburned, can that happen to flowers?

I then proceeded to move to the back yard to see if I could get any good pictures of Lily there and, for some unkown reason, I got lucky enough to get:

I know she has pollen on her mouth, I think it's sort of cute. I also got a good picutre of her shaking.

Now, this post is a thank you to my mom's camera and the wonderful pictures that come with it.

The Spade That Glistened Like a New Knife

Mother and I dazedly browsed the isles of flowers at Lowe's. I was immediately won over by everything that was pretty; ignoring the practical, typical inpatients. Others sifted through the isles with an authority most likely emitting from the list of flowers they've already planned in their hands. I hand no plan I was just going to get some grass seeds for a science project, but I am an adept impulse shopper. I got to chose the flowers, me, without more than a hint of discretion from mom! We left with plastic pots full of colorful impracticality.

I needed to plant them all now while I was inspired. If I hesitated for a mere second I would lose all interest and they would wither in their plastic pots.

I scavenged all of the equipment I could find which only consisted of a child-size shovel, gloves and my shoes. The spade (of which I pride myself of knowing the name of) was probably rusting somewhere in our yard, a result of us assuming that "I can always get it later".

Lily was helping me; she trailed along behind me as I dragged the package of potting soil to the front door where the pots I was going to plant were. I got my shovel and removed the old, dry soil from the pots, from which a tree that we planted last (or the one before that...?) Christmas's offspring was sprouting. It was feeble and not nearly as lush as it's parent; it was a Charlie Brown tree. I looked across the street where a van with "(insert name here)'s gardening services" was printed in green. Behind that van, in front of our other neighbors was "(someone)'s landscaping" . I saw the workers come out with tools far superior to mine. Their spade shone like a new knife, their rake had no broken bristles, and they most definitely weren't using a child's size shovel.

I planted the plants before I got discouraged. I spent another forty minutes taking pictures of them. I didn't even bother to put the potting mix back, I can always get it later.

Wordless Wendsday: My Backyard at its Finest

(I know I'm breaking the whole "wordless thing here but I'm hoping putting it in parenthesis will not count as words but in the last picture notice the squirrel on the tree its expression is priceless)

Heyyyyyyyy Wattttt izzzzz uppppp????

I, in my (failing) quest to be modern, use AIM to talk to my friends. I am not nearly adept in chat etiquette. I thought I knew enough at "lol", "btw", and "ttyl" but upon "chating" with people I have found that everything has changed, again.

The first sign was when I was greeted with a "heyyyy" instead of "hey". Why the extra "y"s? Apparently subtracting vowels is also popular. "whts hpping?". OMG is now oh-em-gee. For some reason "cool" has been replaced by "kewl"; does it not take more effort to change letters then to repeat them? I'm told the reason for the new language is to be faster, but I think it is just to have an excuse to make up a new language

I understand the concept of "lol"- its what you say when something is funny, but now it is just what you say when you don't know how to respond. Lol may be the hardest thing to respond to, but apparently I'm supposed to respond with another lol or haha. I've seen conversations of just hahas and lols; I'm wondering what is so funny! What is the point of chatting when no information is communicated?

Imagine what a verbal IM conversation would sound like:

PERSON ONE: Heyyyy (pronounced haaaaayyy)

PERSON TWO: Heyyyyy

PERSON ONE: Watz up?????? (pronounced like spelled- all question marks are said aloud)

PERSON TWO: nm u? (pronounce nim u)

PERSON ONE: nm

PERSON TWO laughs

PERSON ONE laughs

and on and on...

another thing iv notticed iz dat ppl are giving their similes multiple smiles. is dis a statement about multiple chined ppl? :)))))))). y r our smileys obeast????

ppl also think is is just FINE to florget caps and punctuation unless they add empasis!!! i dont get it

Still don't get it...

P.S. For some reason my post did not get published with the correct spaceing sorry.

What I'm NOT Buying This Weekend

I was accompanying my mother on her shopping trip. This was no ordinary shopping trip; we purposely fell in love with objects that we would/could never buy. The place was Studio 77, the most painful, yet somehow insanely gratifying, place to not shop. I followed along on my mother's heels, like a loyal puppy, digital camera at hand; just her daughter with the less popular blog.

I first looked at some pendants, they were like stamps someone would find on some one's Hogwarts invitation. They each had a letter, the stamped silver was even asymmetrical, as if they were stamped without unrealistic perfection. Now, it is commonly known about me that I think I was born in the wrong time. I wish I got to wear those billowing hoop skirts, now only found in films and historical reenactments. I could imagined it dangling from my neck like I was about to be mailed off to the 1600s, I took a picture, and in my mind, I'm wearing it, in spite the fact that my name does not start with a "K".

My second item to not buy were these lovely glasses. I, much to my disappointment, am no longer visually impaired. I would absolutely love to wear glasses, but while I had the chance, I was too eager to move on to contacts, and for some reason my vision improved. I can imagine myself reading, in a used bookstore, with coffee wearing these glasses, others would glance over at me, noting my sophisticated, pretentious, ways.

But wait, if I am pretentiously sitting in a used book store, don't I need a pen to mark my book with to make me look/be even more sophisticated looking? One mother's day we bought mom one of these beautiful pens to match her new office (the good ol' days where people had money) I have been caughtt staring at it; somehow believing that if I wrote with it I would instantly become a better writer. These are not just mere tubes with ink, they are sculptors filled with ink promising passing genius ideas onto paper.

Now, because this was not just an ordinary shopping spree, I went kinda overboard on the accessories:

Meaningless Deatiles: I actually have no idea how much I saved my estimate is around $800 though.

Just Not My Day

I was walking Lily, trying to get her to poop in our yard instead of the neighbors before going around the block, when I tripped. I was just walking down the street and I tripped, without a witness, I just fell. One of those "Glad no one saw that" moments. Of course, everyone only has so many of these moments, and all of mine are spent on other random spastic moments of uncoordination, so while I was laying on the border of my and my neighbors yard, a truck, redneck included, drove by, of course, because of some reason beyond me, Lily had to poop, right there, right on the obviously distinguishable property line just enough on the neighbor's side to be considered their yard. Of course I forgot a pickup bag. Today wasn't exactly my day.

Imagine what it would look like to redneck. I was just driving by on my way to (insert redneck-like destination here) when I saw this girl about your (he says gesturing to Mary Loo aged about 12) age sniffn' the grass. She was laying out like roadkill on somebody's lawn. I can imagine the story at many family gatherings to come...*shutter*

Redneck stopped and asked if I was ok, making a theatrical effort to muffle his laugh. I managed to stutter out a "yeah, I'm fine". Of course Lily was still making quite a show still pooping, right in the neighbor's yard

I thought only characters in books and movies randomly fell without any reason. I've never seen a person just fall. Due to my knees which are apparently plotting against me, I could not get up. To any witness that may show up in the next few seconds of immobility it would seem like I was deliberately on the freshly dewed and damped grass face down. Of course, my knees waited untill several unconcered minivanners drove by to finaly relive me of my embaresment.

Today's just not my day.

BBQ Anyone?

Whenever I see some form of logo for pork, ham, bacon, ect. it usually includes a pig. Creepy logo makers even venture to sometimes have the pig appear in a apron to make sure that his belly does not get the pork he's frying on it. Yes, this is perfectly normal and accepted. You see this all the time, grocery stores, billboards on the interstate where they only cost about 25 cents, even on invitations to neighborhood BBQs.

In most of these illustrations the pig is smiling. Is he happy about the death of his fellow pig? Did he kill him himself? Is he happy that he is about to eat his friend? His expression, at first glance, does not seem very menacing, but sometimes the eyebrows are just arched enough to give our little porker an evil glare.

When I was younger I imagined people making him smile, threatening to have him fried by his friend too (at this age for some reason I thought that cartoons were just like actors).

This pig was cooking his friend and, somehow, making people want pork. First of all, who thought of the idea? More importantly, why did people adopt it? Is cannibalism humorous?

Does anyone even look closely at this type of thing? Maybe we've grown so accustomed to it no one cares.

Another similar logo is the famous cow wearing leather, or even more manly, bull wearing leather, but that post is for another day...

Cheese Please!

I haven't had cheese pizza after waiting in a line full of my own age group since I turned old enough to say "no, you can go right ahead". I hopefully wait in the back of the line with other vegetarians and some Jewish people on kosher diets. We chat, conspiring against the mass of cheese pizza hogging 7th graders, but, because we are the type of people who end up in the back of the line, no action ever comes of it. Our stomachs growl in unison, trying to provoke us into cutting. We all stand in a horizontal line in the back, no one in front or behind the other; an assembled mass of vegetarianism and mutted cries for cheese.

When we finally come to the front we hopefully peer into the buffet and then, finding no cheese, we move quitely along. We weren't even in line. Don't mind us.

Somehow we collect enough courage to confront the lunch lady who's expression was screaming "Don't make my job difficult!"

Us: "is there any cheese left?"

Lunch Lady: No.

Us: Will you be making anymore today?

Lunch Lady: No

Us: is there anything vegetarian?

Lunch Lady: You can pick off the sausage.

We all leave. We know that it leaves a taste and defeats the purpose. So we graze on the chips they sell.

I don't understand why the cafeteria even makes any sausage; everyone hates it. The pizza line concept makes no sense. The type of people who are vegetarians are usually the type that will let a hungry meat-eaters in front to take the coveted cheese pizza.

"No it's okay you can go right ahead"... ugh, curse my lack of assertiveness!

Anti-controversy-post-posting-note:

I have nothing against meat eaters, I apologize if I offended anyone. I'm a vegetarian for good reasons that I know thoroughly but I do not think meat-eaters are any worse than vegetarians. My vegetarianism was a personal decision so please do not judge me for it.

A Laugh With A Job

Part of my morning get-the-heck-out-of-bed routine involves the daily hunt for the comics. It is sometimes interesting to see what random place they've put them today. Some mornings it's nestled in between the depressing international news and the less depressing but still depressing local news, others it's wedged in between sports and entertainment.

This morning they were finally found in the classified section.They weren't just next to the classifieds, they were in the middle.Who decided to put them there? They must have a wild sense of humor. What is this person saying? If you have enough time to read the comics in this economy you should stop being lazy and get off you're butt and find a job.

Thank goodness for child labor laws. I have an excuse to read the comics, the rest is depressing and I'm only a kid.

I wonder if the organizer for our ever-thinning local paper enjoys his job. Maybe he reads the comics every morning and wants to find them where he could find a new job that does not require getting up early just so Bob can have his sports pages in order when he gets up.

Maybe the organizer guy/girl has an unemployed spouse or roomie and wanted to organize a message just for them.

I'm still not liking this guy.

Comics are so pure and innocent; an escape from the bad news that is printed on every other page. Why would someone spoil them with reality?

Maybe the paper organizer meant well, to give unemployed job-seeking people a break- to relax and read the funnies for a bit, but that is forcing the loyal comics reader to fish through pages where job opportunities usually are.

Yet another morning, the glass of O.J. is half empty.

Jersey Girl

My parents lived in Europe. Not just an overnight stay they lived there. While living there they had my older sister; who got to be born there. After having the exotic first born in Holland they moved back to the U.S. just to have me, the lesser second child.

They knew that I wasn't going to be as good of a child so they had to flee to New Jersey to have me so that I can be eternally punished for being born after my sister. Only cool babies are born abroad. That's right,I was born in New Jersey the famous "Garden State" that every one hears so much about. I have nothing personal against New Jersey I'm sure it is a fine state, but what type of parents let such a thing happen?

My sister's name is Holland, just to make it better. My mother claims it is a family name and that is the only reason for the name but I doubt it. I'm constantly reminded "Your sister was born in Holland" from every name tag she wears. I can be thankful that they didn't name me Jersey but it doesn't console the annoyance.

On her passport "The Netherlands" is printed under "Place of birth". She gets to say she was born in Holland. Who would not resent my birthplace in my situation?

As stated in my mother's blog on the same subject, I do believe they did it on purpose. I was not worthy of a foreign country; I was the second born.

The Perfect Tree

Its branches were firm and only the light leaves moved in the gentle breeze. With each swell of air the call became louder "Princessparkle, come and climb on my perfectly climbable branches". Unfortunately, I was hearing the call from the other side of the blinded windows in church on this Easter morning. I sat there, anchored to my spot on the red velvet cushion on the pew. I could barley see the choir anyway- the backs of children's tiny Easter bonnets and their mother's fancy up-dos were blocking my view. So I continued to stare longingly out the window. I had to squint to see through the layer of dead mosquito and pollen to see that beautiful tree.

I was planning the route: fist I'd jump to the lowest branch which could be a trunk by itself then I'd extend my right hand to the branch above and to the right simultaneously moving my leg up. It must be some weird childish instinct to want to climb things. Maybe the only reason I wanted to climb it so badly was I couldn't in my mostly white Easter outfit (which, by the way, is perfect for frolicking through flowery meadows or, for say, climbing a tree but I wasn’t allowed wearing it).

The tree just sat there squandering perfectly good hand and foot holds to just look good on the church lawn. I imagined myself in it, the wind brushing against my skirt as I sit triumphantly at the top. I would not be climbing on it; I’d be climbing in it- it was that big.

Who plants such a tempting tree just so it can bother children like me? I imagine they thought they were doing a good deed; planting a tree for a church, but who knew that it would grow to be the most beautiful, climbable tree to grace this good city? Maybe they even planned it; "Now children, this, this tree right here, you will never get the opportunity to climb.". The loud Alleluia chorus was muffed by the taunting calls the tree, amplified by the wind. A child cried over the chorus and I didn't even look to see how adorable it was; I was hypnotized.

I bet that magnolia is standing in that spot right now, lonely, and climberless. I can almost here it begging for a climber…

SAT

SAT. Must I say more? I must, because if I didn’t the hypothetical question would be weird and I would be slandering my reputation. Just saying it makes me feel so college-ish “SAT SAT SAT” ps (princess sparkle) mutters to herself with a smile. I should be sitting in some poetry reading and snapping softly in one hand while casually sipping on cheap coffee.

But unfortunately my hopes of Starbucks and poetry did not come true. Instead, I was embraced with purse-whacking, “My kid is a genius” bumper sticker-sticking, class schedule changing mothers and their children who cower in fear at such a large collection of moms like theirs.My father and I were baffled by the swarming crowd of honors students. We scuttle away to my testing room where a class full of horrified children sat, number two pencils in their shaking hands. My father leaves, might as well be leaving me with a pride of lions. I extend my quivering hand to the test monitor holding my photo id- my passport. The smiling about to go to France me stares up at the man. If I had known at that time what evil process I would have to endure with it I would have cried for that picture.

The children filed in in the same terrified fashion I did; mothers asking questions that aggravated the testing easily aggravated guy. The test guy who never offered us his name was shorter than my proud 5’3’’. His eyebrow(s?) covered most of his eyes which were magnified by his glasses that were those that any archetypal nerd or 80s dweller would be proud to wear, making him look like he has two large brown but graying parasites for eyes.I slid in to the nearest desk so I would have an escape route. Mr. Parasite was naming off names alphabetically and pointing to desks for each name. When my name came along he pointed to the cobwebbiest corner to ever befoul itself upon mankind. I felt like I was Scrooge watching the ghost of Christmas future point to his grave when I looked at his pudgy hand sticking out of his formal blue collard long sleeved shirt. Eventually the whole room was filled“If anybody is left-handed will you like to sit in the left hand desk?” boomed Mr. Parasite in a surprisingly masculine voice. I was surprised he would be so considerate but then I glanced at “the” left hand desk which was in the evil unkept corner adjacent to my evil unkept corner.

He droned on the SAT tester script and informed us the usual “How to correctly fill in an answer choice” drill that we will learn and have learned ever school day of our lives. They don’t even allow us to call them bubbles: that would be letting us have way too much fun.

We filled our names and other information that I wonder what use they will ever have for.We started the test and the clock ticked louder that any other. The blank white walls suddenly became interesting and the paper on my desk was like a speck of dust. I looked around at all the other children who were hunched over their test in deep concentration. I noticed Mr. Parasite was writing on something using his left hand periodically looking at his stopwatch he set to decimate in 25 minutes. My comfy sweat shirt that doubled as a blanket made me scorching though it was room temperature just moments ago.

I was panicking.

Between each section we had 10 minute breaks where we went out into the hall and ate Cheese Nips. These were awkward occasions where we were monitored by another test monitor person because we were not aloud to talk. I was the only girl who did not bring a Vera Bradley lunchbox to cradle her delicate cheese nips. This did not bother me I was proud of my bag but the uniform-ness just annoyed me.

Now, that it is over all I have to say for the acronym is:

SAT…bleh.

What I'm not Buying This Weekend:

Life in the Short Lane’s Margo (also my mother) thought of a brilliant idea to frugally buy stuff without money! In reality, we’re not actually “buying” anything, but it’s just as fun! Well I had to adopt my mother’s idea- how could I ever lose the opportunity to imagine myself adorned with all of the clothes I may never need but want insanely?

My first item is a beautiful dress. It’s price for people who don’t have blogs is $608.00.

Now I need something for my blog to wear with the dress so ($278.00):

To finish it off I need a bag ($68.00) to carry all of the babysitting money that I did not spend so:

Now I can say I've saved $954.00 this weekend. It feels great to help out with the economy!