Sofa v. Couch

I recently entered the lively and acrimonious comment section at Decorno to participate in a discussion on pretentious language. You know, like telling your friends your kids are with the nanny when it's the 14 year old niece of your daughter's piano teacher. My personal pet peeve is the inappropriate use of regional language. I have one friend who for years now talks of "going on holiday" or buying various items for her new "flat." She's not British. In fact, she grew up in a small, southern California desert town with one main street, her dad is 3rd generation Mexican-American and that "flat" is a condo in Chino Hills. Like I said, annoying.

So I'm reading through all the blog comments and notice one person who laments the use of the word "couch" when it should be "sofa." Um, what? I had no idea there was a difference. I figured west coast people say couch, easterners say sofa and southerners probably say something like davenport. Until that moment, I had chalked up the disparity as the furniture equivalent of the age old soda v. pop war. I had to learn more, so I requested that someone clarify the distinction for me, an admitted design dunce. Brave? Not really. Even though the crowd in the comment section likes to flex their snark, I knew I wasn't going to get beat up too badly because, for the most part, I have always been treated very nicely. I think my willingness to admit I know nothing of design helps. I also think, rapier wits aside, it's just an intelligent group of people having a little fun saying aloud what everyone usually just thinks. Here is the very kind reply I received from someone named Reggie:

OK, here we go with the requested distinctions: Sofa = preferred term to describe the multi-seated upholstered seating piece typically found in most people's living rooms. Couch = technical description of "grecian" style seating piece, usually with one arm (think recamier) only; considered to be a "common" term and not to be used when referring to a sofa by finnicky sticklers for verbal accuracy.

So there you go. That couch you're sitting on is actually a sofa. You may have known that, but I didn't. No one else admitted to calling a couch a sofa, and Ms. Decorno herself called Reggie her "Teacher's Pet" for being such a pleasant decor erudite. I suppose I learned something new that day, and in an unlikely place to boot. Since then, I take great care to refer to the couch as a sofa, lest I be considered common. A week later, as I sat down to write my latest Craigslist ad, I carefully crafted copy describing my Stunning! Like New! Pottery Barn Inspired! SOFA! I priced it at a very reasonable $600 and waited for the emails to come pouring in.

I didn't receive a single email. Not one in an entire week. Now, if you know anything about the crackpots trolling Craigslist, it's they are gluttonous in their need for additional pictures. So for me not to get a single request for more pictures was highly unusual. I had to conclude that I overpriced my Stunning! Like New! Pottery Barn Inspired! SOFA! I dropped the price to $360, all the while cursing the imminent cheap bastard who was going to walk away with a very good sofa.

Nothing happened. Again, not one single email in a week. I checked my listing from various computers to make sure it posted accurately. I spell-checked it three times and made sure I had uploaded the right picture. I searched Craigslist myself and found my sofa every time. I couldn't figure out why no one was interested in my Stunning! Like New! Pottery Barn Inspired! SOFA!

Just before midnight, in the middle of the third week, it hit me.

I ran outside to my computer. Pulled up the listing. Clicked on "Edit" and reworded my title.

Stunning! Like New! Pottery Barn Inspired! COUCH!

And the next morning I sold that multi-seated upholstered seating piece typically found in most people's living rooms that is not to be confused with a Recamier "grecian" style seating piece, usually with one arm thank you very much.

It's Business Time

Yesterday I made the sad decision to indefinitely postpone the opening of my shop, Paper Soufflé. Unfortunately, I can't draw worth a damn and can't afford the computer software to design the ideas in my head. This means I had to contract with various freelance graphic designers and illustrators for the products I had envisioned, leaving me in the frustrating role of graphic manager. When I learned over the weekend there would be another delay of at least 9 months, I lost my marbles. As it is, I'm 10 months behind schedule. Ten months! My original plan was to open August 2007, and to put it off (for the third time) because of someone else's issues pissed me off, frankly. I've already witnessed this past year a few of my "never before seen" ideas done by other designers. There are very few original ideas, so when you have a good one it's in your best interest to bring it to market as soon as possible. These delays have made a few of my original ideas look like imitations, and I find that intolerable.

The time has come to regroup, rethink, and make lemonade out of all these lemons.

I have a new game plan. I'm going to start by marketing The Poem Company, something I haven't done over the last eight years of word-of-mouth business. I'm getting a new logo, web design, and promotional materials. For the next few weeks the website is going to be a bit of a mess while I fiddle with the look and copy. I'll try not to let the disorder bug me too much, and I hope you can do the same! :)

I'm also changing how I do business. In the past, I never offered printing or design. I wrote the copy while the client or stationery designer handled the design and printing. I am now going to offer a complete package of wording, design, and printing. I have one designer on board and excited to work, but I'm also open to the idea of several designers, each with a different style. I'm also toying with the idea of having one designer and, in addition, offering a reference page of preferred custom designers. These recommended designers would then handle the print and delivery of the final product via their shop. There are pros and cons to each business model, so I'm still deciding which way to go. In the meantime, if you are an invitation/announcement designer and are interested in doing something like this, please send me an email at jules[at]pancakesandfrenchfries[dot]com.

Finally, I'm going to broaden the scope of what's offered. The few completed items I had earmarked for Paper Soufflé will soon be available at The Poem Company. I can't wait to show you some of them! They are really sweet and I think (hope!) will be well received. I will also offer general writing services. It bothers me that this product is a bit of an outlier when you consider everything else offered, but I just don't have the money or wherewithal to handle another site design. I need to first recoup my losses from Paper Soufflé.

So that's it. Probably more of an update than you ever wanted to know, but I felt it only fair to disclose some of the issues that have kept my focus over the last couple of weeks. I am sad and feel like a bit of a failure, but also feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I have received so many kind and eager requests for more information regarding Paper Soufflé that it feels good to be able to finally say something definite, even if the message is one I never imagined or intended. I may open the shop up one day, but just not now.

Oh, and my post title? You can thank Susannah for that. I know most of you read her blog as well, but in case you missed her funny post on Flight of the Conchords, here is a video of a song whose chorus you will not be able to get out of your head.

Favorite Moment

Selling on Craigslist is similar to dating, except instead of selling yourself you're selling furniture. You initially put on a big show in your ad, convinced you're the best damn sofa out there. Really, it's akin to putting up a personal on Match.com.

"Stunning, (I'm hott! And thin! And smart!), Mint condition (With no issues!), and practically brand new (I'm 35 28 19 26 years old!) sofa up for sale. (single female!)"

And because you're the best damn sofa out there, you decide you're worth every last penny and price yourself accordingly. I mean, seriously. People have to realize you're Pottery Barn. OK, Pottery Barn inspired, but that's just like Pottery Barn but without the label, you know.

"$600 - Price Firm (Must drive luxury car, own home, and make six figures/year).

Then you get a couple of emails and people ask for pictures. No problem! As you download them onto the computer you realize something. You're used furniture. And is that a stain? When did that happen? Holy crap those cushions look saggy and wrinkled, and can they tell that's dog hair or does it look like just a shadow? Filled with self doubt you send off way too many pictures from way too many angles and even go so far as to point out your blemishes and imperfections, daring them to judge you. You sign off with a confident, "Let me know if you are interested."

You never hear from them again. What is up with that, Craig? You can't email someone back? How hard is it to say, "I love that you're leather but your measurements are too big. You won't fit in my living room." You don't need to hear they love you, but it would be nice to know if they don't like you.

BE HONEST!, you want to scream into the email, because the longer they take to respond the harder it is to keep from sending an email that says, "Hey! What's up? Where did you go? We were chatting back and forth and in your last email you asked for a close up of my seat cushion and I sent it and you haven't responded and I don't think you realize you just saw the best seat cushion anyone is ever going to offer you at this price and, really, your ass shouldn't be this picky."

So you start to panic and think about lowering your standards price. Another weekend goes by and you do it. You change the add.

"$360 - OBO." (I'm desperate. Breathing is good.)

Damn. Now you really are used furniture--and priced accordingly. And because you're feeling cheap, used, and vulnerable you are excited to receive an email from someone who appears normal, despite your reduced price. You quickly accommodate their request for more pictures and wait patiently by the computer, confident someone like them would be more than happy to snatch up a drastically reduced gem like you.

Ping! Yep, just as you expected: a quick reply. After all, you're Pottery Barn (inspired). You saunter over to the computer and languidly open your mail program while you mentally determine the best time for pick up. Instead, you are stunned to read this:

"What is the least you would accept, I am looking for a dark chocolate color to go with my love sacs. Thank you"

Now you're furious, and for three reasons.

• Number 1, there is no question mark, it's a run on sentence, and the closing is missing a period. Solicitations should be reviewed for errors in grammar and punctuation. That's what you always do! First impressions count, and you deserve at least a spell check.
  
• Number 2, Love Sacs? Really? You never saw yourself as an accessory for love sacs. You're just becoming adjusted to the idea you're used furniture and now someone is trying to tell you you're just what they need to brighten up their king-kong sized bean bags.
  
• Number 3, you're actually determining your lowest price.
  

You're unappreciated, unsalable and considering offers from the wrong side of the mall. As you sit there, waiting for another email from the love sac, you can't help but wonder when you went from fresh and new to used and shabby. Have you already reached the age where you can't compete, or worse yet, not asked to? Are you at the end of the ten year cycle in fashionable home furnishings? Your arms are rolled, your back cushions loose, and from your gently-wrinkled leather wafts the unmistakable scent of motherhood and suburbia. It's official. Your passe, like zebra skin rugs on the diagonal. You've decided to accept any price the love sac offers when you hear the Ping! of a new email hitting your account.

"Hey. On my way home now. Thanks for doing all you do--especially all the Craigslist stuff. I love you, The Mister."

Margaret Wolfe Hungerford is the one who said beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Lucky for me, I think she was right.

Delaying the Moment

I'm going to be a bit late on the favorite moment this week. We went out with friends tonight, are going out with the Mister's new boss tomorrow, and I have a couple of writing deadlines I need to work on Sunday.

I just wanted to stop by and wish everyone a fantastic weekend! :)

p.s. Still going strong with the green smoothies! Can you believe it?!

Can you Feel the Beat within my Heart?

Carey over at The Ink Spot tagged me yesterday to participate in what has to be the best game of tag ever. I have to share 5 songs I am embarrassed to admit I like. Only five?! If the last twenty-four hours of my life attest to anything, it's that I would have an easier time listing 5 songs that I'm not embarrassed to have on my iPod. Here are the rules:

1. Like to the person who tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share 5 songs you are embarrassed to admit to others you like and tell why.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blog.
4. Let each person know they've been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

I tend to describe my taste in music as "bat-shit crazy," or, as the Mister likes to say, "all over the damn place." There is absolutely, positively, no rhyme or reason. If you read my blog regularly, you shouldn't be surprised. Rock, Folk, Pop, Country: I am an equal opportunity consumer of crap, and impossible to peg by my taste in music alone. I've spent the better part of the last day and a half trying to catalog my music. I think I've narrowed it down to five genres.

The Empowered Woman

Employed mainly in my early twenties during periods of romantic discord and/or long dating droughts, this often maligned genre is best appreciated by females en mass, e.g., "Breast-Fest," "Lesbopalooza," "Girlapalooza," and "Lilith Fair." Frequently used on long road trips where a Subaru Outback is recommended, but not required. Also known as "Angry White Female," "The Lesbian," "90s Chick Music," and "Ironic Intelligentsia." Alanis Morisette, anyone?

Artists include, but are not limited to: Sarah McLachlan, Sheryl Crow, Shawn Colvin, Joan Jett, Fiona Apple, Suzanne Vega, Bonnie Raitt, Pat Benatar and, last but not least, everybody's favorite...

The Indigo Girls

Please listen to the audience singing. It is 99.99999% female. There are, like, three guys in the crowd and two of them are there on the off chance the girls they just started dating will sleep with them. The other guy is security.

The Urban Cowgirl

Mainly a byproduct of years of Sunday drives with my parents, my brothers, and one of two stations available on FM radio. Dukes of Hazard, The Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour, and The Mandrell Sisters (dammit, why wasn't I born blonde!) only exacerbated matters. The death knell? Dolly Parton. Dolly flippin' Parton.

Artists include, but are not limited to: Eddie Rabbit (I Love a Rainy Night!), Juice Newton (Playing with the Queen of Hearts!), Kim Carnes (Bette Davis Eyes!), and of course it goes without saying this Urban Cowgirl would be lost at sea without these islands for safe harbor:

I present to you Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers!

The Tween

Sometimes I forget I'm thirty-five and find myself drawn to music only a twelve year old would love. This genre requires a positive attitude, a sense of humor, little knowledge of music and a love of all things sweet and saccharine. To be honest, the reason I love this song is because my dad used to sing it to me and we would dance in front of my mom to a routine choreographed by yours truly. I can see my lace-up suede boots flitting underneath my swirling gypsie skirt as if it were yesterday...

Artists include, but are not limited to: Paris Hilton (Stars are Blind! ...And my ears, Deaf!), Hanson, Justin Timberlake, Jessica Simpson, Britney Spears (pre-breakdown!)

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for...meet The Archies, a band that NEVER EXISTED!

The Midnight Toker

Classic rock. This style of music is best appreciated in your mom's basement with herbal cigarettes. And I love it. The music, not the cigarettes. I've actually never taken any drug in my life, other than that required by surgery. In fact, I barely drink and have been drunk twice. I'm just too into world domination to be messing around with mind numbing substances. True story: when the Mister and I first started dating he was quite shocked to see my CD collection and preprogrammed stations in my car. Flabbergasted, he turned to me and said, "You know, for someone who's never smoked pot before you sure do listen to a lot of loadie music."

Artists include, but are not limited to: Bad Company, Boston, Journey, Tom Petty, Eagles (!!!), Moody Blues, Fleetwood Mac, ZZ Top, Allman Brothers, The Who, Jethro Tull, and many, many more.




The Perimenopausal Woman

To enjoy this music you must be no less than 57 years or age. Or me. A weight problem is a bonus, but not mandatory. Also preferred are many male friends, most of then gay. Membership in a country club is a required, as are charitable civic duties. Must like preparing theme dinner parties and hosting high school reunions. You can be college age, but you must be drunk in a bar with friends and receive a monthly stipend from mom and dad. Sorry, no exceptions.

Artists include, but is not limited to: Christopher Cross, Billy Joel, Kenny Loggins, Air Supply, REO Speedwagon, Bonnie Tyler (Total Eclipse of the Heart!), Rod Stewart (!!!), Lionel Richie, Elton John, Carly Simon, and the one who made his fortune off touching you and touching me...

Neil Diamond, everyone!



So that's it. My top five most embarrassing songs. Not really. These were just the top five easiest to score Youtube videos. Unfortunately, time constraints and a strict adherence to the rules forced me to eliminate "The College Frat Girl," "The Divorcée," and "The Solid Gold Dancer." Oh well. Maybe next week.

Now I have to tag seven people. You all know how I loathe to tag people. This was so fun, though, that I don't think too many of you will mind. You don't have to do the videos. I did because my picks were so old I wanted to make sure those of you born in the 1980s knew who I was even talking about. Bah. I can't do it. Same rules as before: do it if you want, and let me know if you do. I want to laugh at you commiserate with you.

Earth Day

Today is Earth Day, which is fitting since I spent half the day wanting to dig a hole to China and escape from the world in general and my children in particular. Instead, I baked (and ate) THIS.


and washed it down with this


Then cruised the internet and bought THIS eco-friendly lovely is from the awesome ladies at Rock Scissors Paper. They are having a 25% sale on totes in honor of earth day. The offer ends today, so get shopping!


Speaking of cruising, here's a tip. When searching Google for images be sure to type Mexican Beer, not Mexican Bear. Because, really? You will need quite a few Mexican Beers to drown out the images of some of the more "grizzly" Mexican Bears. And if you have no idea what I am talking about be glad. Be very, very glad.

Day 5: I've lost my mind.

I made a huge smoothie for breakfast this morning. Mikey took one sip and said, "Mmmmmm, mama! This one is good. I'm sorry I didn't like the parsley." I have to say, he was right. It was a good smoothie. I made so much (added a wee bit too much pineapple) that I had some left over in the fridge. It sat all day in there, so when I took it out tonight after dinner it was ice cold...and...delicious. I've lost my mind. Blended spinach actually tasted delicious. The Mister grabbed a pear from my basket to add to his dinner salad and I about stabbed his hand with my fork.

"Don't eat too many pears. They're for my smoothies!" Really, I snarled.

Pack your bags, kids. The end of the world is fast approaching: I would have preferred more of my smoothie to ice cream.

Pineapple Green Smoothie

• 3/4 small bag of pineapple
• 1 frozen banana
• 2 cups water
• 2 cups spinach
• 1-2 TB Agave or honey

Blend and enjoy. Really. I'm not kidding.

Words and Roses

I have always loved roses. They have a solid dependability I can't resist. While other flowers come in and out of fashion, roses are the stalwart sentries of the gardening world. Reliable, predictable, and ready to please. The Mister doesn't share my love of roses. He claims it is because his mother traumatized him by forcing him to prune and weed her many rose bushes growing up. In order to have a few rose bushes at our first house, my mother in law had to resort to buying me garden center gift certificates for my birthday. Once they were in, even he had to agree they were gorgeous. It didn't hurt that people would stop at the house and comment on our blooms. Nothing warms a fickle heart like flattery.

So, you can imagine our surprise when we pulled up to our current home almost 3 years ago and discovered the (then) owner had an enormous rose bush collection in the front yard. It's amazing how two people can utter the same sentence at the same time and have two entirely different sentiments.

Jules: "Oh, look! Roses! Look at all the roses!"

The Mister: "Oh. Look. Roses. Look at all the roses."

The Mister vowed to have them ripped out within a year. I told him he could go pound sand. Three years later and we still have the roses, but we also have a yard service.

I lose track every time I count them, but we have around 48 rose bushes. Maybe 50. I know some of them are rare heirloom bushes you can't buy anymore. It's a pity I don't take better care of them, but lucky for me I live in an environment very hospitable to roses. One of the many wonderful things about living in California--and my desert-like environment in particular--is the extended bloom time. Our bushes will bloom from April until October with nary a pinch or deadhead from me.

My favorite place to write is at the kitchen table. The lighting is almost adequate (we're flanked by two enormous, sun snatching, old trees) and I like to look out every now and then at the goings-on in the neighborhood. With the roses now in bloom my favorite spot in the house is now even better. The smell is intoxicating. I hope it doesn't mess with Mikey's allergies, because we'll both be sad to see them go.

Is it a lazy day where you are? Maybe it's the heady scent of roses, or maybe I'm just tired from an early morning wake up call from Nico, but all I want to do is collapse in a comfy chair with a good book. Instead, I need to write. I've been getting a number of copy writing jobs, and I would like to wrap one up this week. I'm always surprised--and thrilled--when people contact me to write product descriptions, website pages, business tag lines, etc. I've never advertised that I do any sort of copy writing, but I get emails regularly. I'm even toying with the idea of starting up a little copy-writing freelance business. I really do love it. Of course, I'm getting paid to write. What's not to love?

Well, I better sign off and start writing. I hope you all are enjoying this fantastic weather!

Days 3 and 4: The First Weekend

Maybe things are going well because the only change I made to my diet is an addition. To be honest, my usual attempts at health involve me eliminating things like sugar, starches, or things that taste good. I'm definitely in unchartered territory.

I already notice an improvement in my skin, which has me very happy. I am also experiencing more energy and less stomach pains. Over all, the last four days have been great. The smoothies are also tasty, believe it or not. Tasty, not delicious. But, hey, they're blended greens. Isn't tasty already better than you expected? It is for me! I have a feeling they are going to get tastier the more I drink. Last night I went to bed looking forward to my smoothie in the morning. I know. I couldn't believe it, either.

Saturday's smoothie was a bit of a bust. It was predominately blueberries, and I'm not a fan. Raw blueberries are tolerable, but blueberry drinks or muffins or baked goods just don't appeal to me. I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that I live in California. By the time blueberries get to me they are usually mushy and moldy. But, they're such a powerhouse of antioxidants that I decided to give it a shot. Meh. All I could taste was blueberry. Mikey loved it, although he was disappointed the smoothie was not green.

Blueberry Smoothie

• 1 small bag frozen blueberries
• 1 frozen banana
• 1 TB coconut oil
• 1 TB Agave
• 2 cups spinach
• 2 cups water

All of this went into the blender and processed until smooth.

Today's smoothie was probably my favorite so far. It was very...fresh tasting. I had to really up the agave to make this smoothie mildly sweet. I can't describe why I liked it so much, but I suppose I liked the clean taste. It had mangoes, parsley, and agave. I hate mangoes, but three of them were in there (the recipe called for two). They are just such a bland fruit. Blech. By increasing the mangoes the recipe produced almost 4 cups, so be careful if you don't have anyone with whom to share a smoothie.

I'll be honest, Mikey didn't like this one at all. He tried a few big sips, but couldn't get past the peppery taste. Today was the first day since Thursday that he didn't have a smoothie and I really noticed a difference in his behavior. Lots of temper tantrums, whining, and complaining. He also crashed and burned around 10:00am, even after a huge breakfast of fruit and two bowls of cereal. I definitely think the smoothies keep him satiated longer.

Mango/Parsley Smoothie

• 1 bunch parsley
• 3 mangoes (two fresh, one frozen)
• 2 cups water
• crapload of Agave (OK, maybe 3 TBs)

Blend everything until smooth. Next time I am going to try this with pineapple. I'm also going to add coconut butter or oil. The addition of fat helps increase satiety.

OK, boring post over!

Favorite Moment

I wash washing dishes at the sink when Mikey walked into the kitchen and said, "Mama! My finger is dirty right here. Can you clean it?"

"Sure, honey." I said turning around, "Let me...HAH! Hello! Wow. Hold on just a second..."

"See, mama? See how it's dirty?"

"I sure do. You can't miss it! " {click}

"Mama, it's not funny. You need to clean my finger. See how it's dirty? There's marker right there."

"Oh, it's dirty, alright." {click} {click}

"Mama! You need to help me clean my finger! It's not funny mama! My finger is dirty!"

"OK. I'm going to clean your finger right now. I promise!" {click} {click} {click}

"MAMA! RIGHT NOW! NO MORE PICTURES BECAUSE MY FINGER IS DIRTY RIGHT HERE AND I NEED YOU TO CLEAN IT!"

"I'm sorry, Mikey. Mama needs just one more picture." {click} {click} {click}{click} {click} {click}{click} {click} {click}{click} {click} {click}

Day 2: An Unexpected Bonus

We all woke up late. I went to a party at Kara's house, so the Mister fed the boys dinner, gave them bathes, and put them to bed. He swears it was lights out by 8:00pm, so I'm thinking he slipped them Valium at bedtime. Mikey didn't wake up until 8:45, and Nicholas was in his crib stretching like a cat in the sun until 9:00am!

Since Mikey's egg allergy diagnosis, breakfasts have been a challenge. Baked goods are out of the question, as are eggs, obviously. We've been giving him cereal and fruit, but it doesn't keep him satisfied. I have also noticed he gets a bit hyper, and then crashes around 10:00am. It makes sense, really. Even the healthy cereal I give him is pretty empty in terms of nutritional content. He likes his cereal dry, no milk, so really what is he eating other than some puffed rice and fruit sugar?

This is where the green smoothies have been an unexpected bonus. Mikey loves them, and they are perfect breakfast material. Who knew? Maybe this was God stepping in, trying to give Mikey a better breakfast. Maybe it's just a coincidence. I don't really care! I'm thrilled that I now have something nutritious, filling, and [gasp] tasty for Mikey to have for breakfast.

Here's what we drank this morning.

• 2 cups water
• 1 frozen banana
• 1/2 bag frozen pineapple
• 1 TB Agave
• 1 TB Coconut Butter
• 2 cups spinach

Add everything to the blender and blend until smooth.

Day 1: A Good Omen

I decided to start my green smoothie experiment today instead of Friday. We were all up and ready early enough today to head to the store by 9:00am, so I decided to jump in and start my challenge before I chickened out. Of course, I had no support from the peanut gallery once we got in the car.

Mikey: "Mama, where are we going?"

Jules: "We're going to Ralphs."

Mikey: "I don't want to go to Walphs! I want to go to Bons [Vons]!"

Jules: "What's wrong with Ralphs? We're going to Ralphs because they have the double seat shopping carts and this way you can sit with Nicholas."

Mikey: "But mama I don't want to go to Walphs! I don't want to sit in the baby seat because I am not a baby!"

Jules: "Well, we have to go to Ralphs because they have a better selection of fruits and vegetables for our smoothies. Don't you want to make smoothies?" Note: Mikey loves smoothies.

Mikey: "Mama, we need to go to Bons. Walphs is just not a good idea. It's just not because it's not."

So we pulled into Ralphs with a chip on our shoulder. Like I knew he would, Mikey forgot all about his disdain for the baby seat once he realized it meant he could inappropriately squeeze, poke, and prod Nicholas when he thought I wasn't looking. Every now and then he'll actually do something nice, like give him a hug.

This is why I love my Ralphs. Their produce selection is amazing. Expensive as all get out, but amazing. I even bought Kumquats. Can you believe I've never tried one before? I know! I'm from California! People around here grow them as house plants. Anyway, I bought some and they were pretty tasty if you like things sweet and sour like I do. Mikey tried one, too, and almost threw up all over the kitchen floor. He thinks they are quite vulgar, or in his words, "No. No, mama. No."

And here we go.

Jules: "Mikey! I told you no wrestling in the cart."

Mikey: "But I'm not, mama! I'm not doing anything!"

Jules: "Then why are you all leaned up against Nicholas? You're totally squishing him. I know what you're doing, Mikey, and you can't wrestle in shopping carts, or anywhere else for that matter."

Mikey: "Huh?"

We left with a cart full of fruits, vegetables, and tears. Oh, and a super-bouncy-ball. I don't really know how the super-bouncy-ball got in there.

We finally made it home and started working on the green smoothie. I didn't take any pictures of the actual process, mainly because I was busy feeding a screaming Nicholas like a pigeon while I gave Mikey things to put in the blender--or as he likes to call it, The Giant Smoothie Cup that is Really Loud.

OK, so I basically took a recipe from Victoria Boutenko's book and modified it to please my novice green smoothie taste buds. My usual smoothies are one rum shot away from a Piña Colada, so I wasn't kidding myself with this whole "Green Smoothies taste like candy!" nonsense. Into the blender went:

• 2 cups water
• 1 frozen banana
• frozen peaches (about 1.5 cups) --the recipe called for 6 fresh peaches, but since they aren't in season, I bought frozen.
• 1 TB coconut butter
  
• 1 TB Agave syrup (it's like thin honey)
• 2 handfuls of spinach (!!)
  

You know, it was actually tasty! It wasn't thick like a regular smoothie, which was intentional because I thought I was going to have to power it down. It went down like a glass of milk. It was mildly sweet, and the taste of spinach disappeared after the addition of agave and coconut butter. Really, I didn't need to worry about swallowing it all as soon as possible because it tasted just fine.

What did Mikey think? He loved it! He actually drank it all in one sitting and was disappointed when it was all gone.

Nicholas even had some. It wasn't love at first slurp like it was for Mikey. In fact, I wish I had a video of him taking the first sip. He did a whole body shudder and muttered, "huuuuu-haaaaaaa!" He was a trooper, though, and finished it up.

So, all in all, a success! One day down, only 29 more to go! I think I might be able to do it, though. We'll see. I think it's a pretty good omen that I committed to doing this yesterday, which happened to be my 100th post (I had no idea). How about that? That's a good sign, right? Right.

I Weigh What?! or, My Head is Going to Explode.

I am on day three of a migraine. I woke up at 3:30am and drank some water hoping I was just dehydrated. Wrong. I woke up again at 5:00am and begged the Mister to get me a pain reliever and an ice bag. With all my ulcers, all I'm allowed to have is Tylenol. Um, that doesn't do much. I eventually drifted off to sleep and woke up 30 minutes before I had to drop Mikey off at school. Ugh. At least now I am feeling a bit better. Nauseous, but better.

I know most of this comes from my diet. I've been under a lot of stress lately, and my diet has suffered. I got in a bad habit of drinking diet coke again, which (for me) is a big migraine trigger. So why drink it? Because it is so flippin' delicious I can't even stand it. It's also my only source of caffeine on mornings after sleepless nights.

Diet coke also does something to my appetite. I get hungrier than usual and crave crap. So, along with diet coke I've been eating a lot of fast food. Consequently, I weigh as much now as I did when I was studying for the bar. Not good.

So, what am I going to do? I'm going to start off by drinking a 16oz green smoothie everyday starting Friday. Do any of you read The Happy Foody? She's on my blogroll (the one I have yet to update) and I recommend you check her out. Anyway, in February she hosted a green smoothie challenge that I pointedly ignored. I was able to dig deep with a few good excuses and never participated. Now I regret it, because it would have been nice to do this with a community of participants. Oh well, my bad. I'm going to start tomorrow. Check out her blog for testimonials of people who have just finished the challenge. Her rules for the challenge were pretty simple.

• Drink a 16 oz. of green smoothie each day…preferably for breakfast. I HIGHLY recommend getting the book “Green For Life” by Victoria Boutenko. It’s a quick read and it has lots of yummy smoothie recipes in it. Check out her website too!

The Happy Foody: The Happy Foody Green Smoothie Challenge (Feb. 13, 2008)

Anyway, that's what I'm doing. My goal is to lose weight and not have a headache for 30 days. In addition to my regular posts, I'm going to use my blog as a log of sorts to track my intake and recipes. I hope you don't mind! I'm also encouraging anyone who wants to join me to leave a comment or send me an email. Oh, and wish me luck! I'll definitely need that, too.

So, have any of you taken steps to improve your health this year? Have any of you improved a medical condition or lost a good deal of weight? Tell me all about it. I love success stories, even when they aren't mine.

5 Things Meme

I've been tagged by Adventures of the Reluctant Housewife for the 5 Things Meme. This should be fun, because I get to answer questions instead of picking out five random things on my own. Focus! Focus is good for me. It keeps the crazy down.

What were you doing ten years ago?

Let's see. 1998? I was in graduate school getting my master's in public health wondering why I was in graduate school getting my master's in public health. Just another notch on my belt of degrees I seldom, if ever, use.

Name Five Things from Today's To Do List.

1. Laundry
   
2. Vacuuming.
3. Going to an all organic supermarket! So excited about this one!
4. Having dinner with my mom and brother (the Mister is having dinner with clients)
5. Reading either
1. The Hummingbird's Daughter by Luis Alberto Ureta
   
2. The Simple Living Guide by Janet Luhrs
   
3. A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle

Note that writing should be on that list. It's not. One day I'm going to work up the courage to write about fear.


Name 5 Snacks You Enjoy

1. Chips! I especially enjoy a crunchy bag of Kettle Chips.
2. Avocados. When they are fresh and in season, I like to cut them open, take out the pit, drizzle Balsamic Vinegar in the cavity left behind, and eat with a spoon.
3. Good bread, dipped in good olive oil sprinkled with good salt. It's all good.
4. Dark chocolate.
5. Icecream! Love it. Love it, love it, love it.

5 Things You Would do if You Were a Billionaire

1. Visit my grandmother.
2. Pay off my lawschool loans. Hell, pay off all my debts if I'm a billionaire!
   
3. Invest/Put money aside for the boys' college tuition.
4. Share the wealth with loved ones.
   
5. Remodel the house!

Name 5 Bad Habits

1. Emotional eating.
2. Leaving the lights on when I leave the room.
   
3. Leaving the slider open when I go out side.
4. Changing my mind about everything. All. the. time.
5. Going to the grocery store without a list. Also, going to the grocery store with a list but forgetting to look at the list. Also, going to the grocery store with a list but getting 53 extra items that weren't on said list.

Five Places I Have Traveled. It's supposed to be places I've lived, but I like this one better.

1. Europe
2. Argentina
3. Mexico
4. Hawaii
5. St. John, U.S. Virgin Islands

Five Jobs I have Had

1. Medical records clerk
2. Controller
3. Research Attorney
4. Writer
5. Mom

Five Bloggers I Tag

1. You
2. You
3. You
4. You, and
5. You.

Hah! I can't tag people. It requires a decision, which is not my strong suit. I also don't know any bloggers that haven't already been tagged. I love reading these, though, so if you decide to keep the meme moving, do it in the comments or on your blog and let me know!

Spring Cleaning

The Mister likes to say he can always find me by following the trail of half-completed projects. Hah hah. That's really funny. I'm totally laughing. On the inside. Questionable comedy notwithstanding, the Mister will have to rework his routine because Mikey's allergies have achieved the impossible: I'm cleaning regularly. That's not to say I was dangerously messy before. The Mister likes to exaggerate because he knows it gets a rile out of me and because he is one folded towel away from being that guy in Sleeping with the Enemy. I never had one of those rooms with bags of forgotten Target bargains. No molded over bowls of food sitting on end tables, either. No, my house never looked like a bomb went off. It just looked like I was making one.

But the times, they are a changing. I now vacuum and dust every other day, sometimes everyday. I do at least one, usually three, loads of laundry a day. I don't even have too many hot zones of clutter anymore. I have a few, but they are disappearing as I delve deeper and deeper into Operation Dust Mite and Misc. Allergen Annihilation. Even my taste in furniture has changed. The other day the Mister and I were in Crate and Barrel looking at an entertainment unit. I told the Mister it was gorgeous, but not for us because the rough finish and low profile would make it difficult for me to dust and vacuum around. The Mister was so thrilled with my observation you would have thought I had just revealed I was naked under my trench coat. What ever floats your boat, Mister.

Speaking of furniture, we're selling ours. Almost all of it, including our behemoth sectional. With all the cleaning I have to do, it just makes sense to have furniture I can dust and vacuum under, rather than move everything around like I do now. If I need to deep clean everyday, I'm making it as easy on me as possible. This charming little sofa from Macy's is exactly what I need to simplify my life:

Simple, right? Exactly. Simple is what I need right now, and I'm going to get it. I took a long hard look around my house and decided that if I don't love it or use it, I'm selling it. I'm just tired of feeling weighed down by possessions I don't need. We have a garage full of furniture that doesn't fit in this house, but until now I've resisted selling any of it because they were so expensive. Well, too bad. I may have paid a fortune for it five years ago, but it's not increasing in value sitting in my garage.

The time has come to declutter my house, and with any luck, my life.

Favorite Moment

Favorite moments are a lot like those dreams you have when you first fall asleep. Vivid, sharp, and impossible to forget-- until you wake up the next morning to nothing more than fragmented memories darting around in your mind like hummingbirds. During the week, every now and then I will look up from life and think, yes, I would like to remember this. Sometimes I do, and writing my favorite moment feels so fluid, so easy, that it's as if I'm merely transcribing the story for someone else. Other times, like this week, I struggle to find the memorable in the ordinary. I start dreading Friday and resent that I committed myself to writing about the favorite moment in a life that is, for the most part, rather uneventful.

So I sit there and think and grumble and go through my many pictures for the week until I remember. I remember bits and pieces of wonderful that I would have otherwise forgotten had I not decided to use this blog as dream catcher to pluck priceless memories from the recycle bin. Somewhere between the overdue tax refund check and the "service engine soon" light flashing on my dashboard I forgot that I turned the corner on Monday and found Mikey and Nicholas playing for the first time.

Or that when there is a breeze in the air the orange trees that line our driveway whistle a tune so distinct that Nicholas can't help but stare at the dancing leaves in wonder and amazement. Nature provides the best mobiles.

Or that ever since a dentist came to the school last week to teach the children how to take care of their teeth, Mikey asks before every meal if it is, "loaded with sugar."

I doubt the brown rice cereal sweetened with fruit juice is loaded with too much sugar, but I'm pretty sure my life is.

Bug in my Ear

Three weeks ago Mikey was up most of the night with an ear infection. By the time morning came, the painful "growth" stage of the ear infection was over and he was almost pain free.

Mikey: "Mama! My ear feels much better! I don't need to go to the doctor anymore."

Me: "I'm so happy you're feeling better, Mikey! But you know what? We still have to go to the doctor so he can look in your ears."

Mikey: "OK. Why was my ear hurting?"

Me: "Oh I don't know. There's probably just a little bug in it." I said it without thinking and winced at my own stupidity. For me, a bug is bacteria. For Mikey, a bug is...a bug. During our conversation he had been jumping on the bed while I struggled to keep him still long enough to slip on a shirt. After the bug comment he stood frozen in one spot with eyes the size of basketballs.

Mikey: "Well then, Mama. You know what?" His voice was a barely audible whisper. "I think we need to be quiet because the bug is sleeping."

{...}

Fast forward to today. The bug is back but, according to Mikey, he is not pinching him like last time. This time he is just buzzing around, but not all the time.

Me: "Mikey, how's your ear feel?

Mikey: "Better. The bug is gone right now. He flew out of my ear and he is trying to find his place where he can sleep."

I think the bug should leave and never come back, but I'm just inhospitable that way.

Sometimes Mikey hears a buzzing noise, and other times not. When it buzzes, it feels better when I take a Q-tip and rub just around the ear canal. I barely go inside, so I'm confused how this makes his ear feel better. I wonder if the buzzing is somehow related to his allergies? I guess we'll find out later today!

Rice, A Bonny Lass.

My cookies are, frankly, quite nice.
And I churn out a pretty fine dice.
So could somebody, please
Explain if cooking's a breeze
Why the *#&%! do I always burn rice?!

An American Girl

Tristan and Kara tagged me weeks ago to list seven interesting facts about myself. Instead of listing seven small facts, I've decided to recount seven stories from my past. This is story number two.

Growing up an immigrant can be difficult, especially when you just want to blend into the crowd. I remember sitting at the school picnic tables, waiting for the bell to ring us into class. All the girls were talking about where they were born.

"I was born in Reseda!"

"I was born in Los Angeles!"

"I was born in Arizona!" Oooooooooh. A collective murmur of approval from 5 seven year old girls. Good one! Someplace outside California!

And then it was my turn. Already nervous to be included in the conversation with so many of my classmates, I opened my mouth and said, "I was born in Buenos Aires."

Dead silence. Stephanie L. looked at Julie M. and rolled her eyes. I could see the door to the inner circle closing fast. "I don't know where that is but..." Too late. They had moved on more important topics that didn't include me.

My name was different. My parents had accents. My lunch box contained sandwiches made with French loaves and obscure meats like mortadella and prosciutto. Even though we immigrated when I was six months old, my mom had found small ways to keep close the country we left behind, hoping one day I would appreciate her efforts. And years later I did. But as a shy child of seven, all I wanted was to go by the name Jennifer and eat pasta with sauce from the jar. I vowed to Americanize my parents.

To their credit, my parents were always willing to play along with my attempts to strip every last filament of culture from our home. As Thanksgiving approached, I gave detailed lectures on its meaning and the appropriate menu: a Butterball turkey, Stove Top stuffing, and cranberry sauce from a can. I gathered from eavesdropping on various conversations that this was what all the cool girls were eating so, by God, that's what we were having. We also had to hold hands around the table and give thanks for things like God and the USA and Holly Hobbie. I remember my dad looking at me with, what I believed at the time, utmost concentration as I waxed on and on about the importance of being like everybody else. That same memory now, seen through the eyes of adult, clearly shows my dad barely able to contain his laughter.

Thanksgiving was a processed foods phenomena and, flying high on my dictatorial success, I started planning my birthday party. Now, let me just say that I was a shy child. I never wanted to go to parties and didn't want to have any of my own, either. I don't know what possessed me to have a birthday party, but I did.

I turned 8 with a bang.

I briefed my parents on proper party etiquette. Entertainment was a must. All the girls at school had a magician at their parties. My mom went and hired a magician.

We also needed a fancy cake from the supermarket with words on top! My mom went to Vons and ordered a cake.

Last, but not least, there needed to be a piñata. It was 1980 and my mom had no idea what a piñata was or where to buy one, but she was resourceful and determined to bring me out of my shell. She asked several of the moms at school about my latest party request. They all referred her to a Mexican/Hispanic market in town, and she bought the biggest, fanciest piñata they carried.

The day of the party came. The magician was perfect. The cake, delicious. My American party was going along as planned. And then, the moment I and every girl at my party had waited for: time to knock the crap out of the piñata and fight tooth and nail for every last bit of cheap candy.

All the girls had a chance to hit the piñata and we were now on the second round. By now, the parents were gathered around, eager to watch the approaching mayhem. Shani R. stepped up to bat. She was always a bit of a brute, and by the looks of the crumpled piñata we knew she was going to be the one to strike the death blow.

Whack! That was it: finished. Crepe paper snow drifted down to the ground and all fifteen of us girls dropped in a tangle of thin arms and legs and scraped the ground for toys, candy and, Hubba Bubba bubble gum. While the parents laughed and cheered, those of us in the ring quickly made a startling discovery. One by one, indignant girls jumped up from the ground.

"Hey!" Shani said. "This piñata doesn't have any candy!"

All eyes turned on my mom, and there she stood with color creeping into her cheeks at an even faster rate than my own. While preparing for my party, she asked what a piñata was. She asked where to buy a piñata. She even asked how to set it up and bought a special rope for my dad to tie it to the basketball hoop. She just never thought to ask if they came filled with candy.

My mom ran into the house, leaving behind some good natured laughing by the parents in attendance. Some of the girls were still shaking out their hair and looking under their skirts for candy. The concept of an empty piñata was so incomprehensible they assumed the candy had somehow gotten trapped in their long hair or bounced off the ground and into their underwear.

It's a damn good thing my birthday is 30 days after Halloween.

The screen door slammed open and out of the house ran my mom, her 80s perm blowing in the wind, clutching bags of leftover Halloween candy and various items raided from the pantry. Before anyone could yell "Cover!" we were hit with a spray of candy. Under pressure, mom has a good arm. She tossed handful after handful of candy at us like pigeons. Chocolate, gum balls, mints, Ding Dongs: if it was edible and prepackaged it was fair game.

It took us girls about 3 seconds to realize the piñata rules had changed, but once it clicked we hit the ground with the same excitement we had 5 minutes earlier. Only this time, instead of searching the ground and looking up at the piñata, we kept looking at my mom and her stash. Everyone was screaming and laughing. The parents were cheering my mom for her ingenuity and encouraging their daughters to skip the candy and go for the Doritos.

Needless to say, I didn't get my American party. I got more. I found proof that my parents, who left everyone and everything behind so that we could live a better life in a new country, were willing to suffer all sorts of indignities for me to fit in. I witnessed resourcefulness under pressure. I learned that candy makes memories short and smiles long. And, above all, I have damn funny story to tell at any party with a piñata.

Thanks, Craig!

I know I rarely post on the weekends, but I'm too excited to wait until Monday. We finally found a dining table, and we found it on Craigslist!

This is the table I was alluding to in this post. I wasn't 100% in love with it, even after seeing it in person. I ran it past by trusty design pal, Nicole, and she wasn't sold on it, either. I believe her words were, "the chairs are ugly enough to almost be cute." Hah! I happen to disagree with Nicole. The chairs were what I liked--they remind me of something you'd see in church--and that little sway at the base is the perfect cradle for a fat ass, namely, mine.

Well, I kept coming back to it and after a few days decided to buy it. For what it was selling for, I could afford the risk. The table and chairs are now in the house and we love it! Sure, we need to clean it up and reupholster the seats (that's the original avocado green upholstery!) but I think eventually it will all look pretty fabulous. Did I mention it comes with three leaves (one never used) and extends to seat twelve? Perfect for dinners with family!

She drove a hard bargain, but I eventually convinced her to toss in the world's most adorable baby boy free of charge. I don't know much about him, but I hear his mom is down to earth and humble.

I'm not sure what fabric I'm going to use when we reupholster the chairs. We're in the process of selling our living room furniture, so I think the best thing to do is hold off until we know what the adjoining living room will look like. With Mikey's allergies (and the Mister's) it's been recommended that we buy furniture you can vacuum under, like this one. It helps control the dust and dog hair, and in the end will temper the breathing problems Mikey is having. The goal is to save Mikey from developing chronic asthma. Right now, it's only cold induced.

OK, so that's it! Random post, but that's to be expected from me. Oh, and now for a random question. If any of you know where I can find more sofas like the one I linked to, please comment or email the links. So far I've checked out Crate and Barrel, Room and Board, Pottery Barn, CB2, West Elm, IKEA, etc. The usual suspects. The Mister really wants a tight back and seat (no cushions!) because he hates how the seat cushions and backs wrinkle and deflate over time. Yes, he's as crazy as me. I thought Nicole and some of you other design savvy readers might have a better idea than me. Yes? No? Maybe?

Either way, have a great weekend! :)

Favorite Moment

We are not moving to New York.

The Mister returned last night from a week long business trip to New York City. What could have been a long, arduous week for me was almost enjoyable. On the same day the Mister left for New York, I packed a small bag for the boys and headed over to my parents. The boys flourished like little weeds under the constant onslaught of adoration and cookies, while I enjoyed conversations with real, live adults.

The Mister and I went back and forth regarding the idea of moving across country. The money was tempting, as was the idea of living in a big city. Thrilling, actually. We were able to tweak the numbers to make the move work, and I even found reasonable apartments all throughout the city. There was just one wrinkle we couldn't iron smooth: family.

The move to New York didn't have us worried. That we were actually looking forward to with bated breath. It was the move after New York that gave us pause. After that six month training period, the United States lay before us like an open blanket. We had no idea where they would place the Mister, and if it happened to be in a rural state without a major metropolitan center, the Mister would have to cover that state and portions of neighboring states. All in all, he would be traveling 10-15 days a month. The money was tempting, but not enough to be away from home 50% of the time.

There is also our extended family. Growing up, it was just me, my brothers, and my parents. We didn't have any extended family living in the United States. No grandparents, cousins, aunts or uncles. The Mister also grew up away from family, although not to my drastic extent. He at least saw them a couple of times a year and sometimes on holidays. Me? Never. I've never experienced the indulgent love of grandparents, or at least not more than 5 times in my life. My first cousin wasn't born until I was well into my late teens, so no experience there, either.

I want Mikey and Nico to know their family. Brie from Keeks and Brie once said she would give anything to spend one more day with her deceased grandmother. I want my boys to feel that way about their grandparents, too. I want them to grow up playing with their cousins and to return to school after holidays exhausted from visiting family.

I was on my way to my parents' house to pick up Mikey when the Mister first told me about the possibility of moving to New York. Mikey and my mom were spending the day together so I could deep clean the house without interruption. When I got there, Mikey was sound asleep in a chair and on the counter was this:

Mikey and my mom had decided to take two hour a walk along the canal that waters the orange groves near my parents' house. Into the canal Mikey tossed twigs, pebbles, and leaves. He was having the time of his life, but when it came time to toss into the water the biggest rock in the pile, my mom suggested he keep it instead. He did, and she commemorated the rock with details of their walk. My eyes welled up with tears when I saw it. In NYC no one would write on rocks for Mikey.

While the Mister was gone Mikey and my mom continued to take walks. Each day Mikey would pick up a stick or twig he found interesting and drag it behind him on the long walk home. By the end of the week, he had a tidy bundle to show the Mister.

I couldn't help but notice the symbolism in Mikey's rock and bundle of sticks. Like a rock, family has become my foundation. They are solid, dependable, and likely to withstand all sorts of storms and the test of time. Sure, my family is crazy. But probably no more crazy than yours. Does anyone have a sane family? Certainly no one I have met. I like that I can call my mom at the last minute to babysit. She claims to hate it and vows one day to refuse, but so far it hasn't happened. Her bark has always been worse than her bite.

Mikey's sticks were thin and fragile and often broke after a few sword fights with imaginary foes. My mom and I kept telling him that they are stronger bundled together than they are separate. And, really, families are a lot like Mikey's bundle of sticks. Stronger united than they are divided. Aesop said it best. Union gives strength.

So we aren't moving to New York. We aren't going to make money hand over fist and I won't shop Park Avenue or tour Mikey and Nico around world famous parks and museums. But, I will call my mom at the last minute to babysit the boys because I have a hair appointment I forgot to put down on my calendar. Mikey and Nico will take walks and toss twigs and pebbles into the same canal my brothers and I did when we were children. And, when they think I'm not looking, they'll eat way too many cookies with family they see regularly.

And the winer is...

I used a random number generator to pick the winner of the Pay it Forward giveaway, and the number 7 came up. Well, if you look at comment #7 you will see that Kara, my best friend since kindergarten, is the lucky winner! Congratulations, Kara!

As happy as I was to find out Kara won, I wanted to avoid even the slightest suggestion of collusion. So, I used the number generator and up popped number 2! Mainehappymama, that's you!

Kara, I already know where you live. Mainehappymama, please email me with a current mailing address. Pretty soon the three of us can start eating clean! :)

Pay it Forward

The Mister has been out of town for a week and isn't expected to return for another couple of days. Naturally, we've all been sick around these parts. Typical. I'm feeling better, so I'm spending today and tomorrow tackling laundry and cleaning the house top to bottom. Yeah me! I know you are jealous, and it's ok. You have every right to be.



I'm taking a break my my domestic nirvana to pop in to remind you that tomorrow is the deadline to sign up for the Clean Eating subscription! I would enjoy cleaning so much more if I could do it to the sound of emails hitting my inbox--those emails, of course, being comments on this post. Don't hesitate to post because the first time you've ever commented on my blog is to win something. News flash: Me. No. Care.

I'm off to annihilate the 10,000,000 dust mites hiding in the warm, moist, environments in my home. [shudder]