More Spoiled Complaining

Today's the daaaay!
The sun is shining, I cleared a gigantic space, and we are getting a piano!

I have to take checks to the bank (because payday).
I have to buy groceries to make a side for the office potluck tomorrow.
I have to go to choir tonight.

ALL WONDERFUL THINGS. But taking so much time away from the fact that after a year and a half I will finally be able to play on a really good piano again.
Cuz here's the thing; piano is my therapy.
Like, legit.
I kind of need it.
But the problem with that is my therapy is kinda between me and the piano. Like, you could say I know plenty of people who also own pianos, and there are billions of church buildings with pianos, go play on those! Sneak into the practice rooms at the colleges and play those if you need it so badly! (Disclaimer: don't mess with the practice room system. MUSIC MAJORS WILL CUT YOU.)
But if we're taking this therapy thing seriously, that's basically like saying, "Well here, I have a therapist talk to them," or, "Just have your therapy session at the mall, with all the humans, no big deal."
Um.
Big deal.
So as much as playing on any ole piano is great, it's not what really let's me de-stress.
Eleanor Sivan is credited with saying, "I tell you a secret about Chopin, piano is his best friend. More. He tells piano his secrets."
GAIZ. That's me. I'm no Chopin, but I definitely have that relationship with the piano. My piano. This is the piano that I learned and grew on. It's the piano that got me through the roughest part (so far) of my life. It has my worst times, and my best times woven deep in that wood. I know it's sounds, I am accustomed to it's feel.
It is my oldest, dearest, most cherished friend.
I enjoy naming inanimate objects/possessions for the sake of being silly. Our truck is named Gunter, Mark's car is Marvin, and my blue jetta is Benji. But I've never been able to pick a name for the piano or even assign a "gender" because seriously, that piano is basically just an extension of my own soul.
And it's being moved into my house today. 

How I feel about being stuck at work today. Let me out!!

This day is FOREVER.

Venticular Wackycardia

That's my Grey's Anatomy knowledge talking...

(also.../sob)

I forgot why I came here.
Like.
What was I going to talk about?

OH! Yes, more whining about things that are wonderful and marvelous.
I'M DOCUMENTING MY LIFE. Leave me alone.
I feel like I need to take a week off for EACH thing I need to do for the house.
I need to figure out this clothing situation. I didn't do a good job of keeping up with laundry before we moved so there's really no telling what is clean and what isn't and where it should go.
But! Let's celebrate my moment of awesome last night where it was past ten o'clock and I was dog tired but I stayed up to sweep, vacuum and mop and wipe the baseboards of our laundry room so we could put in the machines. Operation Laundry is a go! Maybe.
I need to unpack our like, eight ginormous kitchen boxes so, I don't know, maybe we can start eating like civilized humans. I tried to make a sandwich for lunch this morning and, go figure, a plastic knife was not the easiest cheese slicing implement. I need to figure out how I want to organize the kitchen, considering it's basically the size of our bedroom in the apartment. ALL OF THE CUPBOARDS. Old Mother Hubbard hit the jackpot, peeps.
I have probably around five projects lined up in need of a good DIY session but are they gonna happen? NO. Because carpet. And laying. And laying on carpet.
But really. I haven't even done the research to figure out how exactly I want to scrub down our scummy couch so that it looks less dingy and meth labby, or scrap off the gunk from the bookshelves that my sisters ruined back in our childhood but I've held on to them because BOOKS.
WHY DO I HAVE SO MANY BOOKS?
Oh yeah, cuz books are da bomb dot com, yo.

I want to make a cushion top for the hope chest so that it's functional as a seating bench (and so no glasses get placed on top of it, further ruining the surface) but HAH. Sure, okay Hope. Keep dreaming.
I mean, we were fully moved in Sunday night. We moved a couple things around that evening but it was all complete. There were no longer any of our belongings at the apartment. And so far....
I've cleared a spot for the piano.
That's basically it.
And I'm so close to going bananas, the piano is all packed up at my parents house so I logically should probably use the company whose packing is wrapped around said piano but I can't get a number for them because...well, certain people are busy and haven't communicated with me.

And on the flipside of all of this...
I am so completely, and totally, and marvelously happy with the way our life is going right now. There are many tough spots and things that aren't easy. Complications that aren't beneficial. But I appreciate that the trials give me the opportunity to be grateful. Grateful for what IS going well, and for the blessings we DO get to enjoy.
So while work is like...

And I do this with my phone when talking to ANYONE...

(what can you expect when you dump your smartphone

in a 5 gallon bucket of paint?)

And my face realizing that sound keeping us awake at night is rodents in our walls....

Me forgetting that other thing that was super important...

When Mark reminds me to do things he was supposed to do...

ALL OF THAT, can't over power the fact that we're homeowners...

And I get to decide where to put all the art and mirrors....

And I was this close to buying the bulk dog food when I so intelligently decided I could handle going to Winco on a time constraint yesterday....

Every time I walk in the door having driven straight home after work...

So really, most of the time, on the inside I'm mostly like...

#HATERSGON'HATE

I can't be trusted to make my own decisions

My level of crazy has officially shot through the roof of River Tam level crazy.
Only I'm not graceful nor could I beat anyone up or defeat an army of Reavers.
So maybe just Amanda Bynes Meltdown crazy.

I am seriously debating one of two scenarios, both dealing directly with the current state of hair affairs. And they just so happen to basically be complete opposites.

I miss short hair and want to have another go at it. I like (really like) how it looked and I also wish to begin swimming often to get back into the healthy weight region but who wants to lug around 5 pounds of wet hair all day? Not Hope. And if you're about to say, "Swim caps!" to that I shall respond with, "Unless you want to come with me to the gym and put the cap on my head, stuffing my nearly two feet of thick hair up into it, then it ain't happening."
Tried. Hated. Swore off.
So we're looking at this...

(I'm the dope in pink)

(Also, good times)

(not my face.)

OR, I am so so so so so tempted to go full on River Song (I'm a fangirl for Rivers apparently)...

I told you.
Crazy.
You're all probably feeling a little like this (nun?) lady...

But you know how it is...

Obviously though I care enough to ask for opinions before jumping in headfirst without telling anybody.
So with that, what thinkest thou, O interwebz??
Oh, and another thing; I've mentioned before via social media my desire to go curly and had an outpouring of concerned souls demanding that I promise I wouldn't do perms because they ruin hair and you can do it just as easily with "product" from the grocery store. What is this magical product and how do I use it? And for your reference, I would never do a full on legitimate perm but more of a semi-perm. Something that fades with time and washing.
So that's my dilemma.
HALP.

Oops, too far?

Who's Emotional? Certainly not me...

That moment when merely reading the summary of Disney's "Paperman" short brings tears to your eyes because it's just so simply beautiful.

"In mid-century New York City, [the man’s] destiny takes an unexpected turn after a chance meeting with a beautiful woman on his morning commute. Convinced the girl of his dreams is gone forever, he gets a second chance when he spots her in a skyscraper window across the avenue from his office. With only his heart, imagination and a stack of papers to get her attention, his efforts are no match for what the fates have in store for him."

(I'd like to add that if I were ever aforementioned "beautiful woman" in a video, that would be the thumbnail the video stops on :3)

I Can Haz a Dream...

As per the norm, I read something on the internetz...

And I made a Facebook status about it...

And that wasn't enough so now I'm here to talk about it some more.

But mostly to talk about what I wanna do to fix it.
Except I'm so much for serious. Like, really. srsbsns gaiz.

Okay, enough with the gifs, I know. Sorry.
Remember how awhile ago I made this post about how much my life [read: wants] would be made easier with money?
A few of my bullet points are about adopting dogs and getting educated in veterenary skillz and owning a huge amount of property (and something about a Beast's Castle library, I dunno).
Well, turns out my brain can't stop thinking about that idea.
What if we managed to somehow buy a plot of land that was exceedingly spacious and somewhere not so blazingly, disgustingly hot as Arizona? What if we could construct a sizable "kennel barn" of sorts and outfit it to be pretty snug and cozy? What if we did all that and could go around to shelters and take in their old dogs and the ones born with a bad rap?
It would be like a haven/old-folks home for dogs.
I hate that the old fellers hafta die cramped in those kennels because nobody wants to adopt 'em and deal with the heartbreak of losing a dog so soon. They already grace us with such short lifespans, bringing one into the family when they're far out of their prime is just emotional torture at it's best.
I totally understand that!
We're seriously looking for a dog now and don't want one much older than a year because we need to be able to train it and want it around for as long as possible.
But it breaks my heart in the meantime for the others.
What if they could be taken to a place where they can run around as they please, ruff-n-tuff with some buddies until their hips sag and their energy lags?
Wouldn't that "quality of life" be better than holding out for the hope that somebody will hug them other than the nurse putting them down?
I don't even know what an appropriate or manageable number would be for that sort of thing and sadly we'd still have to screen out potential hazardous dogs, I mean I'm not crazy. But even then I'd want to have a separate housing facility for "trauma" cases. The ones that need that extra TLC to not be so defensive and scared.
It would literally be the opposite of the underground dog fighting ring.
It's so shiny and beautiful and great in my head.
But I don't even know what it would actually take to make it a reality.
Not to mention I couldn't do this until we were done having kids. Once our last was settled in school, probably second or third grade, then I could see really going somewhere with it. And this would be more my "side-business" than Mark's, cuz lezbihonest. It would turn into a business.
But non-profit, obvsly. Nobody's gonna pay me to house unwanted strays.
And do I hafta have a permit for that?
And how much better would it really be?
The idea is to basically have an enclosed ranch for dogs, where they can go about the yardage as they please, pooping and sniffing to their hearts desires....the barn would be for shelter and sleeping cubbies but I wouldn't round them up at night or anything. If they're misbehaving I guess we'd keep doors on the "cubby" to shut them in.
But what kind of fence would be adequate enough? Cuz dogs like to dig. And some are good jumpers and climbers. I don't want it to look like a freaking holocaust camp or anything.
But I guess if it's all the older dogs they won't have much energy for escaping...

Obviously I haven't done adequate research on this yet, but I've really only been contemplating it for a couple weeks. Seriously contemplating it. My husband and I talked about it a long time ago as one of those bucket list things you would love seeing yourself doing before you die but not really putting much thought into it.
I'm thinking a lot of thoughts about it.

But be ye prepared! I'm pretty sure there will be more on this after I become a research wizard and figure out my life or at least just become more comfortable with the chaos therein.

Seriously. ^^My life in a nutshell.

Also, I think I just admitted to you guys that I want to be an old, crazy dog lady. The lesser known hermit cousin of the crazy cat lady.
Except for I'll totally allow cats, too!

So I'm the crazy dogcat lady? Just crazy lady will do. Either this could be the best idea ever or I'll just end up getting locked away for having a dog/cat farm. But not really a farm because I'M NOT STUPID and will make sure every "tenant" is spayed/neutered respectively.
I'm crazy and okay with it.

Hashtag Palooza

We gave you guys a glimpse on Facebook and Instagram at the insanity that spilled forth when Ali was texting me about house drama and included the simple but eloquent #logicforthewin hashtag which, naturally, made me think of Spock.

Because logically, logic leads to Spock.
So Ali posted that screenshot right as I was doing the same, so I took on the next part of our conversation which went as follows...

Only it didn't end there.
Oh, no. Most certainly, it did not.

Enjoy.

Whew!

Then it got into personal conversing with scattered hashtagging but I won't go into that.
Can we just appreciate the perfect line I made over her phone number on that second to last screenshot? Had to shutoff my brain while I was doing that to not care about how sloppy I was drawing those on. But that one is perfect, and on the first try, so we're good.

In conclusion, I do enjoy quoting movies :)

My name is Hope and I hate that I'm insecure

HelloGiggles' Guide to Beautiful Eyes

Hope's Guide to Beautiful Eyes; keep 'em clean and see the good in others. See the world with a good dose of optimism and a shade of realism.
I would much rather look into the bare, honest eyes of a kind, caring human than the long-lashed, colorfully lidded, wing tipped eyes of a model worrying about her eyeliner smudging.
Why can't eyes full of life and emotion be more beautiful than the painted ones?

But on the other hand, I know how much better I feel when I look in the mirror and see the highlighted curves of my face and the brighter glint in my eye from the subtle effect of makeup. So I understand the usefulness of makeup. I just wish it wasn't such a crutch.
I think I would've been happier if that HG article had simply been titled "Guide to Beautiful Lashes" rather than eyes. I have never worn falsies, doubt I'll ever get to that stage, and I won't really miss it! My eyes can be just as beautiful without it, thank you very much.
And I doubt the author meant it like that.

Backpedaling story time! I had a rough, rough night last night. We were in bed by 9 o'clock but I didn't actually lay down to finally fall asleep until around 11:30. What was I doing those two and a half hours, you ask? Well without going into too much embarrassing detail, I was on a hormonal rampage throughout our small apartment, crying hot, fat tears and using styrofoam packing pieces to placate my need to dropkick a small baby.
I was basically a rage-monster frothing at the mouth for no other reason than my eye felt like it had something in it while I was trying to sleep and I felt fat.

I tried multiple times to just get over it and go to sleep but the rage would boil over as the bedsheets were too hot, my eye was too irritated, the pillow to lumpy, and my husband too peaceful. Not his fault of course, I was lucid enough to understand that so I'd slip off the bed one more time and go break some more styrofoam and scream into a goose-feather down comforter.
It wasn't comforting.
The current state of my uterus didn't help at all, and probably led the rebellion in my emotions but I was really miserable last night, guys. Naturally, "miserable" in the shallow sense of the word in that my life is basically perfect and my misery was founded in vanity.
Nontheless! I was miserable.
Satan was pulling a fast one on my self-esteem and it wasn't pretty. (ba-dum-tss)
I wash my face every night. I don't wear hardly that much makeup anyway, but I wash it every night and use the Arbonne acne treatment, as well as using a St. Ives exfoliating scrub every time I wash my hair in the shower (which is every few days). I drink three full red solo cups of water every day at work and then some back at home. I hardly ever drink soda and our meals have gotten drastically better. I sleep a lot.
My face still looks like this...

I blame Chrissy for my bravery in posting this photo. (Sorry to direct more traffic to your post deary, but you are just so inspiring. The back a yo head is ridickalous, Sparkle. Own dat ponytail, work dat updo!)
I have never had acne issues this bad in my life...until I got married. Oh, the irony. Granted, I'd much rather deal with it now that he's stuck with me forever rather than attempting to date with that glorious array of gross adorning my face but still.
Not cool.
I'm leaning towards thinking that it's hormonal imbalance that's causing the issue and should probably go see a doctor about it but I'm terrible at scheduling appointments and considering things serious enough for medical intervention.
Regardless, I'm not a fan of what's happening to my face.
So I washed up my face last night to reveal that pictured above, and in case it wasn't painfully obvious enough, my hair has been acting like it's in the throes of the terrible two's and never cooperates. I think I need to get it styled. The cut it's currently in is just NOT working.
And as I mentioned earlier, we have been eating relatively well. For the past couple months I have fruit for breakfast, salad for lunch, something substantial for dinner because by then I'm feeling woozy. We go on walks, I'm constantly mindful of ways to sneak in a little bit of exercise...

...and I'm STILL over 160lbs and it STILL bothers me.
Guys, in no way am I "fat". I know that. In my intelligent brain, I know that. So why do I often feel like I'm staring at Jabba the Hut when I look in the mirror before stepping in the shower?
How terrible is that? Why can't I just erase all that body image garbage weighing down my mind and realize it makes no difference to what kind of person I am?
Doesn't my character matter more than my appearance?
Shouldn't I be more worried about which soup kitchen I can get a shift in? Shouldn't I be answering the call from the United Blood Services (programmed as "vampires" in my phone) to set up an appointment rather than ignoring it? Shouldn't I dig through my cupboards and cook up a casserole for the sick family next door? I don't even know if there is a sick family next door because I don't know my neighbors! (Most of them are potheads and wouldn't answer the door anyway, /shrug)
How did I let it get this bad? How did I get to the point that I'm so wrapped up in how I look that I'm barely seeing anything around me that I can help with?
It's unfair to myself that I'm having this existential crisis in the middle of our moving adventure so pretty much I look terrible ALL the time as well as I need help from OTHER people as well as my time is mostly blocked out with packing and cleaning and working.
On a similar note; finally did laundry last night. Found a clean load of Mark's shirts in the dryer that had been sitting nice and pretty for probably a week, ready to be folded. Sorry, babe.
Guys, how am I gonna be a mom with my mind and ego in this blubbery, compromised state? How am I gonna look at my post baby body and think, "Those stretchmarks and those sore boobs are so worth it and I am such a beautiful woman," when I can't hardly do so with my young and healthy body now.
How can I teach my daughters their worth when I don't even see my own? Or my sons!
How can I teach my children to look beyond themselves when I don't see beyond myself?
Do as I say, not as I do?
While I was up and miserable last night I got out my landscape drawing pad, put it up vertically and using a black sharpie started scrawling angrily all the things I hate about myself.
It started with a huge, all-caps UGLY underlined at the top and went from there. By the time I got to the bottom there wasn't room for all the words and I started filling in the holes back up the sides.
It sounds horrible but it was cathartic and I'm glad I did it. Why? Because at the end of it all I looked at my terrible piece of loathe-art and realized that the majority of what I'd written was all outward appearance based. "Fat", "ugly", and nit picky bits about my face and body that I don't view as perfect.

I am guilty of having the word "vain" on my scribbled list (all these issues are stemming from looks, after all), but Rowling makes a wonderful point that was immediately brought to mind as I surveyed that paper I'd emptied my insecurities into.
If those are the worst things about me, the terrible, awful things that were making me cry and tantrum late into the night...then maybe I'm not doing as bad as I think. Maybe I'm actually okay and just need to forget myself.
In that moment by myself with my page full of downers I desperately wanted Mark to realize something was wrong and come check on me. I wanted him to come hold my face and tell me every good thing he's ever seen in me and convince me that I was wrong. That the things I saw weren't true.
But he was asleep. And it's not his job. He can't control or directly affect the way I see myself. And he shouldn't! They're my eyes and my brain and my responsibility. I'm grateful for his presence and ability to bring me back to reality when my ego's getting unmanageable. I'm grateful for his love that reminds me that I'm worth something beyond my contribution to fashionable appearances.
I need to take care of me. I need to love me. I need to forget me and be more mindful of others. Did freaking Jesus care about his complexion and whether his robe was hiding his tummy fat? No! He was too busy healing blind people and spouting parables and turning water into wine.
I can't do any of that, obviously, I'm no doctor or Messiah and I'm no good with symbolism and making up stories.
But I can visit lonely people. I have a healthy body that could do yard work for those less...sprightly. I could call my Mom more. I could cook dinners for busy Moms. Wouldn't I rather my hands be dirty and scratched from weeding/pruning somebody's yard than adorned with the swankiest manicure around?
Wouldn't I rather my feet be sore and tired from walking with my husband, enjoying the fresh air rather than propped up and chillin' in front of the tv?

I would! I would so much rather!
And I would rather the world did it with me, too.

Easily Distracted Song lyrics

What if songs had ADD and randomly just drifted off mid-sentence?

"If you cut me I suppose I would bleed..."
Owl City

"I like where you sleep..." Edward? Is that you?
HelloGoodbye

"Farewell powdery paradise..." this can either be a donette factory accident fantasy or a substance abuse lamentation.
Owl City

"Midair, I woke up..." that's called levitation. Gozer may be interested in your fridge.
Owl City

"Cuz I don't want you to know where I am..." they have witness protection for that.
Relient K

"I'm waking up in ash and dust...." #pompeiiproblems
Imagine Dragons

"Home is a boxcar..." 

Owl City

"You and I ignite..."
"I set fire to the rain..."
"The frozen days we set ablaze..." um, arson is dangerous. Ya little pyros.
New Heights, Adele, Owl City

I've always admired Owl City's Adam Young and his lyrics but recently I just kept hearing "if you cut me I suppose I would bleed" separated from the rest of the song and it made me giggle. Then I pictured songs as little balls of walking color repeating their lyrics to themselves but getting distracted and making zero sense.

Any songs you can think of that are extra bizarre taken out of context?