Snuggle Punky

I realized today I haven't Punk'd you for a while, so I thought I'd share what we've been doing.

This is Punk relaxing after having his toenails clipped last night.  He looks so calm, it's hard to believe he almost chewed my arm off trying to get free.  I'll try to add more pictures this week.  It seems like I've been constantly busy since the beginning of the year, though I can't think of anything I've done! 

Alright, gotta get back to working on picking a theme song for the next Being Bodacious post!

Being Bodacious: Chapter 1

Citizen Jane of Confessions of a Middle-Aged Suburban Diva has started a new weekly challenge in order to remind us all of how we are all full of awesome and win.  She calls it "Being Bodacious" (Isn't that an AWESOME title?  I haven't heard the word 'bodacious' used in forever.  I'd love to see it make a comeback).  What a great idea.  WHO, again I ask, WHO couldn't use a reminder that he or she is a wonderful, talented person?  Life is busy and sometimes you forget.  Maybe sometime you take a hit at your job.  Maybe a loved one dies.  Maybe you get sick.  Maybe you just have a shitty year and forget.  This is the challenge: to remember how awesome you are at Being Bodacious.  Each week Jane will post a new challenge.  

This week's challenge is to finish this sentence: “One thing I love about my body is…”

A few people have posted that they love their breasts.  I do too.  Just a year or so ago, I would have told you they were my favorite body parts.  They were the one source of confidence for me in high school.  They've done a lot of "heavy lifting" for me.  They've been touched, both consensually and without permission.  They've filled sweaters and cuddled babies.  They've held my iPod and they've nearly suffocated the cat.  They have MANY uses.  But as I get older, I realize breasts aren't the be-all, end-all of body parts.  They get in the way.  They knock stuff over.  They get tender for no apparent reason at all.  Breasts are great, but if I just define myself as just a great rack, I'll end up BEING a boob. (That's not to say that it's not a great thing to be proud of, just that when I focused solely on my boobs, I forgot about other things that were great about me.)

Some people mentioned their eyes.  I have great eyes--well, I have beautiful eyes--without contacts, I'm pretty blind.  I can't even wear glasses because the lenses aren't close enough to my eyes and it bothers me.  They are beautiful though.  A lot of people tell you that they have gray eyes when they're mad and green eyes when they're horny or whatever.  Not me.  Mine are blue.  Always blue.  The tint changes depending on how I feel, super pale when I'm sick, sometimes blue-green when I'm really excited, but always blue.  I like that.

Some people mentioned their hair.  I don't even know how to start talking about my hair.  Let's just say it isn't my favorite feature and move on.  

My hands can do many things and do them well, and for that they earn my respect but they aren't my favorite.  

My husband tells me I have cute feet, but they make me self-conscious in front of anyone but him.  I'm still trying to change that, but I don't think they'll be my favorite anytime soon.  

Out of my entire body, the thing I love the most, the thing that makes me feel the best, has to be my skin.  I have ridiculously soft skin.  I am addicted to body butter and lotion in ways I have found not many people understand, not even other girls.  I used to have really sensitive, dry, allergy-prone skin.  I once broke out from making natural paper in Art class bad enough that my hands and arms didn't heal for almost a month.  That year, I began (what I presume will be) a life-long love-affair with lotion. 

After each bath or shower, I put lotion everywhere.  Nothing makes me feel sexier than being fresh from the shower and then rubbing lotion all over.  I am like a sponge.  My college roommate used to make fun of me for my addiction until a guy friend pointed out that I had "the softest skin ever."

My husband has told me sometimes when he has a bad day, he just thinks about touching me.  That just the idea of my skin makes him feel better.  That makes me feel like I am pretty hot stuff.   I'll be the first to admit I am probably "over-moisturizing" (I say that in quotes cuz I'm not sure I actually believe that's even possible...) but even now, when I have a rash from my birth control on my arm, that "dry" skin is still softer and smoother than any (other person's) skin that I've ever touched. 

So there you have it.  I'm passionate about skin.  That was wordy and probably sounded boastful, but skin is *my thing*.  I've taken a lot of hits this year-- from my job, from my family, from life in general so I'm clinging to that, even if it sounds boastful.  My skin is my favorite thing about myself. 

**If you'd like to join Being Bodacious, head over to Jane's blog and add yourself to the Mr.Linky!**

JimmyJane Afterglow Candle

A few months ago, one of my favorite blogs, Toy With Me, ran a giveaway for a Jimmy Jane AFTERGLOW Massage Oil Candle.  In order to win, readers had to leave a comment with the strangest place they've ever had sex.  I won.  My situation wasn't so much a weird place as a weird twist.  Let's just say, sheep were involved.  But not the way you might think. 

Sheep aside, a few days after the contest ended, a package was delivered as I was on my way out.  So of course, I walked back inside and wasted no time ripping it open.

 Ok, maybe I wasted a little time.  It wouldn't be me if I didn't do something ridiculous/silly/stupid.  Annnnyway.... My first thought after opening the shipping box was how nice the product packing is. 

I love all the little details, especially the "Melt Me" inside the top of the lid.  Gorgeous.

 They really think of everything.  Inside there are instructions for proper, safe use of the candle, as well as a brush for application and matches.  Again, the packaging is superb.

The tiny details amaze me.

I picked the Black Currant scent, and even before unwrapping, it smelled heavenly through the plastic.  

                                 

I had intended to post a review of it right away, but life gets in the way sometimes.  In any case, I decided that maybe I should use it a few times before I posted my opinions.  So here it is months later and how do I feel?  I still love it.  

The candle is a simple but elegant design, a glass holder with JimmyJane printed on the front of the frosted glass.  The smell is still divine even after sitting on my bedside table for months, getting covered with the occasional dusting of cat hair (no really.  Punk likes to sit on the bedside table while I sleep--that is, if he isn't sleeping on my feet.  I dust off the top of the candle every time I light it.  I swear he picks the weirdest places to leave hair. The carpet is clean but every time I clean the bathroom I come back in to find fur all over.  But I digress....)  

JimmyJane recommends letting it melt all the way to the edges before using it so that it doesn't get a weird melting pattern. The oil did take much longer to melt than I expected and didn't look quite as nice afterward (when it solidified again), but our enjoyment definitely made up for that.  The oil has a low melting point so once it is melted, it stays liquid for quite a while.  The included brush is wonderful for applying the oil to skin.  Andy and I both really enjoyed being massaged with the oil.  I was concerned that when melted the smell would be overpowering or too feminine, but it was fragrant without overwhelming and Andy loves the smell. 

Since the oil has such a low melting point, you can also pour it on the skin (be aware that this will change how the candle looks) or dip your fingers in it without burning anyone.  I especially enjoyed the heat on my skin.  I was afraid it would be too greasy or leave stains on my sheets, but it rubbed in extremely well and the few drips we got on the sheets didn't even show. 

I have pretty sensitive skin but I used the candle with no ill effects.  Afterward, the brush washes clean with just warm water and some shampoo.  I stand it up to ensure the bristles dry ok, but I don't really worry much about it.  A few bristles might fall out the first time you wash it, but after that, it's a pretty durable tool. 

Overall, I was shocked by how much I do love the JimmyJane Afterglow candle.  I don't like overly strong smells and I'm not really fond of open flame, but the pure bliss of the JimmyJane Afterglow Candle has  totally won me over.  We are currently about 3/4 of the way through our JimmyJane candle and I will definitely order more after this one.  I would also put serious thought towards any of their luxurious massage series.  Overall, I would say tiny details, like the box of matches, as well as the beautiful simplicity of the Afterglow Candle make it a purchase that is well worth your time. 

How My Vagina Broke My Mind

If you follow me on Twitter, Plurk or maybe even Facebook (sorry, not linking to that... I don't even recognize some of the people I know, I don't think I could handle more friends.) you'll know that I haven't slept normally since we moved into our new apartment.  (Yeah, yeah, we've lived here 5 months, it's not really the "new" apartment.  Whatever. *This* apartment)

It started slowly, I just had trouble going to sleep with Andy snoring.  Once I got to sleep I was fine. Then I started going to bed later than Andy because I didn't have to worry about being up for work in the morning.  And I just lay awake anyway, so there was no point to going to bed early.  Week after week, I've gone to bed later and later. It got to the point where I went to bed as Andy went to work (6 or 8 am) and slept about 5 hours or so, depending.  There was 1 night where I stayed awake until 1pm the next day.  Lemme just say, there is a whole other level of weird when you've been up for a day and a half and *then* you clean the entire apartment.  There's a pretty high level of crazy to vacuuming your apartment at 8am.

I've complained and complained to Andy that he's driving me crazy.  We've tried the nose strips that are supposed to help you breathe better.  I've gotten so desperate that I tried drinking cough syrup to put me to sleep.  Nothing has worked. 

Back in the old apartment, I used to sleep perfectly.  I could get up in the morning with little or no problem.  I could go to work, come home, take a shower, take a nap and STILL go to bed with no problem.  Some days I could even take a nap in my office over lunch and still sleep.

Andy has asked over and over, what is so different now?  And until the other night, I couldn't tell him. It wasn't the temperature.  It wasn't too loud.  It was consistently quieter than the other apartment.   But it wasn't too quiet.   I had NO IDEA why I couldn't sleep at night. 

Then the other night, as I lay awake (we were going to my parents' house the next day, so I was trying to sleep but just laying awake as always--side note: you know the kid who is too excited to sleep before Christmas?  That is TOTALLY me the night before we go on a trip-- I was reflecting on what changes have occurred in the last year and I realized I started birth control the week we moved into this apartment. 

So of course, I consulted Dr. Google. 

Apparently, since birth control tricks the body into thinking it's pregnant, it can also cause the same sleep problems as pregnant women sometimes have--which is probably why half the time I wake up in the middle of the night thinking it is 8,000 degrees in the apartment.  And why I've eaten 12 pounds of chocolate even though I normally couldn't care less about it.  And the nesting... oh, the nesting.  (actually the nesting is kind of normal.  haha)

Are you kidding me?  My hoo-ha broke my circadian rhythm.   Re-fricking-diculous. 

So now what the hell am I gonna do?  I just got over the really bad side effects of the freaking pill.  I don't want to change now.   

If anyone has ANY suggestions, I'm open to them.  Or tell me your ridiculous vagina stories.  PLEASE. 

Things I Learned This Christmas

I learned some important things this year.  I feel I should share my new-found wisdom so that you, dear readers, can learn from my Christmas mistakes!

• Wax paper doesn't go in the oven.  That's what parchment paper is for; if you think it's no big deal to substitute wax paper for parchment paper so you don't have to run out to the store for more parchment paper two days before Christmas, your kitchen WILL SMELL LIKE A CANDLE ON FIRE. 
• Stained Glass Cookies are NOT worth the effort to make.  They are DEFINITELY not worth running out to the store 2 days before Christmas to get more parchment paper.  We threw away the dough.  Too sticky to use the cookie cutters on, not worth the frickin' effort. I consider it a Christmas gift to my sanity.
  
• If you FILL your freezer with cookies for everyone's Christmas gifts, YOU WILL GET SNOWED IN.  And you will be stuck with all those frickin' cookies in your freezer until you can make it to your hometown and give them away.  Cuz you REALLY don't want to eat them and have to re-make all those damn things.  
• If you wait to buy your mom a knock-off Snuggie, (because she refuses to see logic and just wear a robe backwards, cuz let's face it, same thing, except you can TIE a robe!!)  they'll sell out. 
• As soon as you hang your stocking on the wall, the cat will become ENTHRALLED with it, even if he's been sleeping on all of them for 3 weeks.  (You know, the 3 weeks between when you dug them out of the closet and found the Command hooks and put the hooks up on the wall and finally got around to putting the stockings up.) 
• If you give you husband (long and tall) pilsners for Christmas and you aren't sure they are dishwasher safe, buy a bottle brush BEFORE Christmas, so that you are SURE you have one when he tries them out.  Because those are a B*TCH to try to stuff your hand down in and clean out. 

So now you know how my last week has gone and why I have done pretty much nothing except bag up the trash since Christmas.  I took a day and a half off the sit around.  Now I should probably get back to work.  Blerg. 

The Week In Cookies... or something.

It's been a week since my last post. I'm busy enough during the day that I don't have words by the time I get around to the computer.

Yesterday, my dad bought my birthday present. Dude needs a calendar; my birthday is in September. Maybe that's what I should have gotten him for Christmas.

I am so tired. Getting ready for Christmas is exhausting. I'm making cookies and other baked goods for my friends. If God can't make me thin, I'll make my friends fat, and all that jazz.

I made Oreo Bonbons today.

Tomorrow (well, technically today, it's after midnight) I'm going to my office to turn in my keys. I will no longer be the service-learning coordinator. You have no idea how happy this makes me. I love the title, but I HATE the job.

Tomorrow, I have to have lunch with TheWeasel. I'm not looking forward to that.

Tomorrow, it is also my goal to clean out the rest of the stuff that's still in the van from when we moved. Then hopefully it'll get better gas mileage for the TRIP TO MY PARENTS' HOUSE!!!!! this week. And we'll have room to bring back the bar-stools from my parents' basement. I can't wait to have seats to eat at instead of the floor or the couch all the time.

Tuesday, Andy and I are making Stained Glass Cookies(I use the site she links back to, but it's not loading right now), Snickerdoodles for Jamie, Cake Pops a la Bakerella, and Nutella Turnovers. Hopefully all that stuff will work out. I added food coloring and thinned the almond bark on the Oreo Bonbons so they look kind of different than usual. They still taste great though. I hope everything works out and people like them.

OK, I should post this and wrap up and go to bed.

--Oh! And I made a stocking for Punk. And Andy's aunt made him 2 scarves and they should be in the mail! Punk likes scarves. He drags mine around the house. I'm excited.

Chad Ora Howard-- May 25, 1979-December 13, 1995

There are some things you never think you’ll have to say.  And then there are things you say so often you’re surprised when someone hasn’t heard them. 

When I was 9 years old, in fourth grade, I got the flu on a Sunday morning.  So I stayed home from church.  Monday I felt better but my parents kept me home to make sure I was ok.  Tuesday I relapsed and was sick all morning but better in the afternoon.  When my brother got home from school, (he was a high school junior) I had been cooped up in the house so long, I wanted to play.  He suggested Legos.  I refused.  I wanted Barbies.  We got in a fight and he told me that Mari, his girlfriend in Montana, played Legos, and that was why she was so smart.  That, of course, infuriated me, so I yelled that I hated him and went back to my room. 

After supper I was so bored and stir-crazy, I was willing to apologize, and even to play Legos.  So I went to my brother’s room downstairs.  The door was locked.  I told him I was sorry through the door and that, if he still wanted, I would play Legos.  No reply.  So I went upstairs and told my dad.  He told me to tell Chad that “he said” to open the door. 

No reply.

So I went back upstairs and told him that.  He told me to tell Chad that if he didn’t open the door, he would have to do dishes, the most dreaded chore in our house.   I went back down. 

No reply.

At that point, I had had enough.  I didn’t want to tell anyone, but I still wasn’t feeling 100% well and all the running up and down the stairs was making me feel sick again.  So I sat on the couch and read the comics from the Sunday newspaper.  If Chad didn’t want to play that badly, then he wouldn’t be any fun to play with anyway. 

The next morning, I still wasn’t feeling very well, but I had decided I WAS GOING to school.  I got up at my normal time, got dressed and wandered out to the kitchen to eat the breakfast my father had prepared for me ahead of time.  As I was eating my soggy Cocoa Pebbles, my father remarked that Chad hadn’t come up from his room yet.  Normally he beat me to the kitchen table.  He was always upstairs by 7:15 at the latest. 

So my dad went downstairs to make sure Chad was up.  His door was still locked.  He usually slept with the door closed, but not locked.  My dad yelled up at my mom to get the spare key to Chad’s room.  My mom got the key, I handed it to my dad when he came up and he told me I should go wash my hands, I don’t know why.  So I went to wash my hands and heard my dad yell up at my mom to call an ambulance. 

After washing my hands, I went to the stack of folded laundry in the living room, looking for a towel.  As  I was leaving the living room my mom was entering and I remember dancing around in a Chip and Dale style dance, arms straight out, half hugging, no touching except the hands on each others’ shoulders.  Then she sent me to my room and told me Ken and Dee, the neighbors down the road, were gonna come get me for a while. 

I sat in my room, waiting.  I didn’t know what was going on; I just sort of felt empty inside.  I sat on the floor next to my bed and tried to play paper dolls, but I didn’t have any interest in them. 

Ken and Dee arrived in what probably was record time, and I left before the ambulance came.  I spent the day at Ken and Dee’s doing various things, making paper crafts, playing with dolls, the usual.  No one told me anything until around 3pm. Ken came home, from the hospital, I presume, and told me that Chad had gone to heaven.  I didn’t really listen.  I thought he must have been confused or something.  I don’t know.   I just went on going what I was doing.  I stayed until supper time.  My parents’ actually got home and came to get my while I was having supper with Ken and Dee.  All the adults decided that Ken could just bring me home after I had eaten. 

When I got home, my mother was looking in the fridge.  I asked her how Chad was.  She said he was much better.  Not getting the answer I was looking for, I found my father in the dark, looking out the picture window in the living room.  I asked him how Chad was.  He looked down at me and asked hadn’t Ken said anything to me?  Chad died.  I didn’t know what to do.  Ken had to be wrong.  Where was my big brother?  I don’t remember anything else from that night except that there were more presents under the Christmas tree, without tags and I asked who they were for and my parents said me; who else could they be for?