Aimless..... (plus failings)

So it's gotten to the point that even my mom is hassling me about not keeping up my blog. For example, this little snippet at the end of an email from earlier today. Hold that - I was going to put just the snippet but I think I'll actually cut and paste the whole damn email, as I tend to find my mother's emails both amusing and amazing:

did you happen to read small stump and studio choo today? OMG they had one of those 70's macrame owls i still have nightmares about. beverley used to macrame all kinds of weird stuff and if you can believe this, your dad had all kinds of macrame plant holders and terrariums in his shop when we met. youn won't even believe what i did this morning.....i went to bed last nite after setting my alarm for 2:00. it was about 11:30 , my usual bedtime. I woke up at 2:30 with the alarm blaring and me thinking WTF???? why is my alarm going off at this time? i did not even remember market!!! i have never, ever done that! then i woke up again at 4:45 and sat bolt upright and thought SHIT!!!! MARKET!!! oh, well. i get to go on friday now. are you planning on going to market with me for the wedding? you don't have to , just askin'. Why aren't you doing your blog anymore? bored, or just busy, or nothing to say? love you. mom

I get these stream of consciousness emails from her perhaps once a day and I'm never quite sure how to respond. My mother is 59 and just got her first email account a couple of months ago. Just thought I'd clear that up since from the email you might have thought she was my 15 year old summer camp buddy.

Moving on. I have been quite busy, and not spending too much time online. On fire with fireflies has been at the back of my mind though. Last week I was mulling around the idea of themes. Adorable April from lost in the forest had just announced that she was going to start theming her blog and I find pretty much all of April's ideas worthy of stealing. The first theme that popped into my head was things that I am bad at. Really. I'm not sure what that says about me. I was plotting out a full week's worth of posts centered around my failings.

Now that I'm revisiting that, it's really not such a terrible idea. Failure can be amusing, no?

This idea came to me last week as I was leaving a Wal-Mart in disgrace and defeat.

I can't stand Wal-Mart. To a point where it's almost like a phobia. But I need a desk chair (I'm starting to get super achey from sitting in a normal chair all day), and my brother has one that he loves that he bought at Wal-Mart for $49. I had not been in one in at least a year. I'm a grown woman and quite capable (I thought). How bad could it really be?

I chose the Wal-Mart that is the newest, nicest, and least crowded in my town (there are three to choose from). My list was small and simple: a desk chair, light bulbs, a surge protector, condoms, and glue sticks. I was confident that I could be in and out in 20 minutes.

Over thirty minutes later, I had a headache, was hopelessly disoriented, and was so frustrated that I had nearly come to tears before I found my surge protector. My shopping list was only half completed and I was pushing my cart in an endless loop through and through and through the healthcare aisles in a fruitless search for condoms. And I knew, absolutely felt to my core that once I found them they would be locked up behind glass and I would have to hunt down a Wal-Mart employee (even scarcer than other mythical beasts like unicorns and minotaurs) to open up the glass case for me. I suddenly realized that I didn't have to do this. I left my cart where it was and fled the store. Forty minutes had passed. I bought nothing. I was defeated.

I immediately called my brother to congratulate him on his mad Wal-Mart skills. He rubbed in my failure by informing me that the location I had chosen was nicer and easier than the one he regularly shopped at.

I don't know what it is. I have a good sense of direction but I get hopelessly confused within seconds of walking in one of those Hell-holes. I am not a snob (honestly, I own things I rescued from dumpsters). I am good at many things. Fuck, I even have a 150+ IQ. I am also utterly incapable of successfully shopping at Wal-Mart, a.k.a. the most popular store in America. You can't be good at everything, I suppose.

postscript - a link to what I'm missing out on (click for lowbrow entertainment/allbrow horror):

The People of Walmart

Everything is coming up Megan

The past couple of weeks I have spent virtually no time on the internet. Well, no time aside from checking my email, speedracing through google reader, and occasionally curling up with a blanket and a mug of coffee to watch episodes of Project Runway and America's Psychic Challenge on mylifetime.com (shut up, they're good. QUIT JUDGING ME). This is not intentional - me and internet are still bff4ever. It's because I've been spending my days away from home in a little pink schoolhouse that has no computer.

One of my big failings is that I have a ridiculously stubborn inability to ask for help or worse, to accept help when it is being offered to me and I quite clearly need it. I don't know why I'm like this, but I always have been, and no matter how much I try to work on it, I suspect I always will be. The worse thing about it is that occasionally I'll resent loved ones for not just jumping in to help in spite of my saying I don't need help. I know - I'm a monster. I'm going somewhere with these non sequiturs. Promise.

A few years ago, my brother and sister-in-law bought their first house, which is located in Willmore City. Willmore City is a small pocket of Long Beach that if properly rehabilitated could be a historical district the likes of which is virtually nonexistent in Southern California. It holds the oldest homes in Long Beach: gorgeous Victorians left to crumble for the last hundred years, most of which are now inhabited by people who have no feeling or respect for the gorgeous architecture they reside in. It's one of the most densely populated pockets of the city and ergo one of the poorest and most crime-riddled. I never drive through it without feeling my heart break a bit and wondering what would happen if the city council spent one quarter of the effort on preserving this area as they do trying to build up the nearby downtown for visiting conventioneers. Here I go again with my non sequiturs. This is what happens when I don't blog for two weeks - I'm cramming too much into this one entry. Let me back up.

A few years ago, my brother and sister-in-law bought their first house, which is located in Willmore City. It was the height of the real estate bubble, but because of the neighborhood and having an excellent real estate agent, they were able to secure a hundred year old Victorian mansion that even in its current state is absolutely delightful and with proper renovation could be a complete showstopper. Their home had long ago been carved up into a fourplex, where something like 25 people were living on one small piece of property. My brother and sister-in-law dreamed of opening a small school for young children, where they could spend as much time as possible with their own kids while also making an impact on other young children. And that is precisely what they did. They used the different parts of the house for their living quarters and the school. The downstairs bedrooms were nap central. Next to the house was a small detached building that had been a carriage house a hundred years ago and had since been turned into living quarters. They painted it pink and dubbed it the schoolhouse and taught lessons to toddlers there. Recess was held under an old juniper tree in front of the schoolhouse.

Which brings me back to the beginning. Almost a year ago, Sean and Cindy closed the school. They are both writing professionally now. And the schoolhouse had been unused save for a convenient bathroom when their kids were playing outside. The past few months, they have been offering the schoolhouse to me as a studio, and I have been resisting. Resisting because I have a hard time asking for help, because it was still filled with toys and teaching materials and that was my excuse as to why it wasn't really unused, but mostly resisting because I am stubborn to a degree that puzzles even me.

I moved in two weeks ago, and feel overwhelmingly grateful every day. I am so in love with my new studio. The space is perfect for me. The living room is where I print. There is a kitchen that will be my office once I move a computer over. And there is a bedroom that stays cold even in summer that will be the most perfect flower studio. There is a little yard out in front with a picnic table where I eat my lunches. My brother and sister-in-law stop by during the day for visits, and at night my niece and nephew come to visit and they're so adorable that they make my heart ache with happiness. At night when I go home, I really feel like I've left work behind me and I can relax and enjoy my leisure time. I think I may actually get to craft again - something that I have not had time to do since ghost academy started taking off over a year ago.

I'm staying home today to do laundry and house cleaning, and I am just itching to go in to my studio instead. I never thought it would be like this. And I am so grateful.

Just like Mom and apple pie

Matthew is in Vermont right now, visiting his folks. I opted to stay home because Vermont is . . . well, let's just say that it's not all maple syrup and fall foliage.

Before I met Matthew, I had never known anyone from Vermont. Not surprising, since it's 3000 miles away and the entire state's population is roughly the same as just my home town. And so my impressions of Vermont were made up entirely of its reputation in popular culture: cozy ski lodges, hills dotted with sugaries and dairy farms, and other New England cliches in the key of Norman Rockwell and Grandma Moses. I joked to Matthew that Vermont was nothing more than America's Bed and Breakfast.

"Well, it is pretty," Matthew corrected me. "It's beautiful. But my hometown is exactly like Gummo."

Gummo, in case you are unaware, was a mid-Nineties cinematic ode to White Trash culture, featuring glue huffing, cat killing, and, well, pretty much every other form of filth you can imagine. When I saw the movie I thought it was a farce, but Matthew insists that it could have been a documentary about Barre, VT, where he grew up.

I still did not quite believe him until the first time I visited, back in 2003. This was right after Vermont had become the first state in the U.S. to legalize gay civil unions. That alone seemed to call bullshit on everything Matthew had claimed. But then one of the first things I saw as we were driving around town was a huge homemade billboard outside of a farm that had been handpainted with the words "faggots go home!"

The thing that really struck me that first visit, even more than the homemade billboard, was the fact that everyone stared at me. Everywhere I went. Complete, undisguised, hostile gaping. And nobody was friendly - not even salesclerks or waitresses who were paid to be nice. They didn't even bother saying "hello" or "thank you."

"Why does everyone stare at me? Is it because I'm a girl and I have short hair? Is it because my skin is too dark? Is it that they don't know me?"

"They stare at me just as much," replied Matthew, "and this is my hometown. They stare at you because of the way you carry yourself. Because you have grace and class and care about the way you look. It makes them think less of you."

After that, we drove around rural dirt roads in pouring rain while listening to Joy Division really loud. Matthew said that was the best way to experience "his Vermont."

There must be something good about this state. Matthew does love it, but in that sort of way that you would still love a parent who abused you. Out of habit and obligation. He has only been there three days, and each day he has called me at least four times to tell me about some funny trashy thing that just happened and that he misses me.

ring (actually chirp - my cell phone ring is birds chirping):
"This morning for breakfast I had something called The Cockleberry."

"What was it?"

"Two eggs and toast."

"Why was it called The Cockleberry?"

"I have no idea. Also, it only cost a dollar."



rinnnng (chirp):
"I'm at a bonfire where people were reminicing about hanging out at the drug dealer's house when they were 12 years old and the dealer told them that there was a crazy woman who lived there and that she was always taking her clothes off. They were mad that that never happened while they were there."



rrring (chirp):
"My dad seems okay. He's worried though because my brother keeps burning up all of the furniture."

"WHAT?"

"Yeah, apparently he keeps taking our furniture down to the bonfires to use as fuel."

"What the hell! Hasn't he heard of firewood?!"

"Guess not. I try not to think about it."



rrrinng (chirp):
"Oh man. I just put more money in my parking meter and I was standing about a foot from two guys so I said hello. They just ignored me and then started making fun of me to each other."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I think they thought it was faggy that I said 'hello'."



rrrinnnng (chirp):
"I'm sorry if I'm calling too much, but just promise me something. Promise me that we'll never live in a small town. I know we talk about it sometimes, but I want to stay in the city where people are nice."


And so on. And on. And on. It's Matthew's birthday today. He thought it would be special for his family if he spent his birthday in Vermont. But then tonight he said he was wrong and that he never realized that what made birthdays fun was spending them not in Vermont. I miss that guy like crazy. But at least Vermont, unlike its sister state Hell, is escapable. He will be home soon. I can't wait to see him.

Aaaaand.... we're back.

So Catalina was pretty flipping fantastic. It was just two days but it was exactly the break I needed. Unfortunately now I'm home and my house looks like my mom has been living here. I realize that only my family will understand what that means, but trust me - it's pretty awful. Think chaos and piles everywhere.

I love to travel and don't have money, so necessity has turned me into quite a bargain hunter. I was able to find a deal that paid for our round-trip boat tickets over to the island, two nights at a hotel, and an unlimited entertainment package that included all of the tours, movies, and golf (or in our non-athletic case, mini-golf) we could manage. This set us back just under $300 total, taxes included. We don't usually do super-touristy things. If it costs extra and you have to wait in line, I'm generally not interested. So it was a big change to take a bunch of tours. And being compimentary and in the off-season, we actually had a blast taking them.

A bit more about the island - I sometimes forget that you guys hail from all over the world, and Catalina means nothing. So in the early 1900's, Catalina Island (a small volcanic Island 20ish miles off the shore of LA) was purchased sight unseen by William Wrigley (of the chewing gum/Wrigley field fame). Wrigley came to the island to check out his investment and fell in love. He made it his mission to preserve the island in its natural state, and his heirs have upheld this same goal. So instead of being built up with amusement parks or luxury hotels, the island remains largely wild, with the exception of two tiny towns.

We arrived Sunday morning after an hour-long boat ride on 10 foot swells that tossed our ferry around like it was a toy. We felt like we had had enough boating for the day, so we booked a four-hour bus tour of the interior of the island - where nobody is allowed to go without the permission of the Catalina Island Conservacy (founded by the Wrigley family). The tour was on a gorgeous 50's era bus and followed tiny winding precarious mountain roads that were originally constructed to hold stage coaches a hundred years before. We saw breathtaking views of mountains and the ocean, a horse ranch owned by the Wrigley family, a bald eagle whose wing was being mended, and a buffalo. A herd of about 150 buffalo roams the island - they were left behind by a movie crew in the 20's.



At night, we went to see a movie in Catalina's famous Casino building. It's not actually a casino - when it was built, "casino" was just an Italian word for place of entertainment. The Casino is possibly my favorite building I've ever been in. It's the most spectacular piece of art deco anything I've ever seen, and I love art deco. The outside is breathtaking, but it is nothing compared to the inside. The bottom of the Casino houses a huge movie theatre with a domed ceiling, which is plated entirely in sterling silver. And the walls are covered in a mural of a forest/greek mythology scene that takes my breath away every time I see it. We were really willing to go see any movie just to set foot in the building. And the only movie showing was. . . wait for it. . . All About Steve. Le sigh. We didn't mind though - the theatre was worth it.



The next morning we booked a tour in a boat that has a submerged bottom chamber made of glass. The boat cruised through kelp forests to Catalina's protected harbor and thousands of fish swam all around us. It was amazing. Here's a tiny video of what we saw (watch with the sound off - unless you want to hear the people (and children) in the boat).


We then went back to the Casino. Yeah, I love it that much. I made Matthew take the official tour with me. And we got to see the top-level ballroom where pretty much every Big Band ever played in the 30's. SO GORGEOUS.

It was too cold to go snorkeling (our plan), so instead we played mini golf. Catalina has my favorite mini golf course - instead of having a weird theme park-esque course, everything is all odd and old-timey and homemade seeming. It's so quaint. Like some physics-loving dad built it in the 40's.

And then we came home and snuggled with abigail and watched Spinal Tap. I got seasick on the ride back, but we won't talk about that.

Jonesing

I have been insanely busy lately and missing on fire with fireflies somethin' fierce. "Somethin' fierce", by the way, is a colloquialism that my Dad and I like to use. We used to have little phrases that we tossed back and forth that we referred to as the "Okie-ism of the week."


Anyway.


I shipped out fifteen orders this week. 15. F i f t e e n. Craziness. And I had a wedding today. I am exhausted. . . bordering on delirious. Matthew and I were so tired that on the way home today we got in a fight about him calling my little brother (who just got home from Marines boot camp today).


The fight was like so: "You have to call Nick." "Well, I will." "NO. . .you HAVE to CALL HIM. Because he thinks we're COMING OVER." "WELL I WILL CALL HIM!" "just CALL HIM!" "YEAH, I'M GOING TO!!!! WHY ARE WE FIGHTING?" "I DON'T KNOW, OKAY? I JUST WANT YOU TO CALL NICK."


We both get pretty punchy when we're tired.


In spite of my exhaustion, We're getting up at 6:30 tomorrow morning and taking a boat over to Catalina Island. As a belated anniversary celebration (last Thursday was our 5th wedding anniversary). Here's a picture of Catalina:




That pic is kinda old, but I'm sure It's pretty close. Otherwise, I will be very disappointed.



I think I remember having a point when I started this post, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was. Something about missing this blog and you guys or some sappy crap. I can't remember. How I intend to post more etc. etc. and also lose 10 pounds and floss more often. Something like that. I need to go nap.

this is how we do it

I have never understood people who hate birthdays. Or those birthday cards that feign shock and angst over the number of candles on one's cake. Granted, I am in the fortunate position of being a 31 year old who still gets carded, but I have always loved getting older. In fact, I love it so much that even though I normally cringe away from attention, I always make a big stinkin' deal out of my birthday.

My birthday was last Friday, and I managed to turn the one day holiday into an epic four day weekend celebration.

Friday morning, I got up early and met my mom, brother, sister-in-law, niece, and nephew for birthday donuts. Like starting the day with your birthday cake, only better.

Better because it came with coffee and better because there's no pick-me-up quite as satisfying as two adorable kids catching sight of you, screaming your name, and breaking into a full on sprint to get to you as fast as you can. My niece and nephew almost always do that, and it never gets old. Actually, I'm usually so excited to see them that I start running towards them too and then we end up in a big cuddly heap. My nephew presented me with a card that said "happy birthday megan lightsaber," which from what I understand is a compliment of the highest level.

Post donuts, we had an hour to kill before matthew worked. He bought me a birthday lottery ticket with Seal on it that won $4. I DOUBLED MY MONEY!!!! Awesome.

After dropping Matthew off, I had to go in to work myself. But it was okay, because I got to make really pretty wedding bouquets using autumn berries and dahlias and all kinds of things that make me super happy. And then my Dad gave me this cordless drill that I wanted super bad (mentioned way back in a post in March).

After work, I went to the airport to pick up my bestie Anna. Yep, my birthday is so epic that people actually fly in for it. We went out to dinner at my favorite Italian restaurant and stayed up late giggling. The next day, Anna worked as my assistant (she's a florist too) and we delivered another wedding. We love getting to work together, and it was kickass.

Sunday, other bestie Emily took the train down from Hollywood and we moseyed on South to go to the beach in San Clemente - like a little piece of Hawaii in Southern California. It was gorgeous and fun. The girls spent the night again and then on Monday we all went to Knott's and spent the day riding rollercoasters.

I learned two important lessons: 1) a Monday in school season in a recession is the best possible time to go to an amusement park. There were 5, maybe 6 people in the entire park. They kept letting us stay on rides so we could go on them multiple times without even getting off. And 2) doing mundane things (walking, driving) slowly while saying "chuggachuggachuggachugga" and then doing them fast while throwing your arms up and yelling "whoooo!" makes said mundane things super fun.

Emily and Anna went back home, and I'm in post-birthday-slumpville. I can't wait to get another year older. Again.

Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!

I finally got the website for my new flower business up, and I'm somewhere between insanely and unreasonably excited about it. So excited actually, that I haven't done anything productive today (well, other than go to the flower market in the wee hours of the morning), and yet I've been strutting around the house all day with a huge sense of accomplishment.

So please check it out!

Honey and Poppies... click here to visit

Also, if anyone finds bugs, please let me know! I am still tweaking and debugging. I already know that it loads a bit slow on the font is hard to read on some screens, but anything else. Thank you!

Some more info for yous guys:

-I used WebPlus10 to build it (so far almost everyone I've shown it to has asked this). You don't need to write code with WebPlus - it's all drag and drop.

-This is the 3rd website I've made, and yes - you can do it too. It just takes patience. Lots and lots of patience. And about 40 hours.

-Honey and Poppies, while a bit cutesy sounding, is named after my grandparents, who both passed away in the last couple of years. They lived to be 95 and 99, were married for 71 years, and were pretty much the two best people I've ever met.