Went up north with some friends on Saturday. Had never been to the Ikea right outside of Chicago and I was uber excited. I didn’t even make it to the third floor (where I’m sure I would have found some new wine glasses). As soon as I got home, I told CPH that we would have to go back together. It’s something that I want him to experience as well. Forget small villas in Italy, let’s go to Ikea!

Maybe these won’t be available till I’ll be able to wear it?

I don’t even read the blog regularly, but with a design like that, maybe I should.

Ha! Spoilers you will not get me down! I was hoping that my inside info about the outcome of Project Runway was wrong and, boy oh boy, was I glad I was right…and they were wrong….about me being right.

Yipee!

Don’t you think this would make a super cute diaper bag?

Well, CPH and I have decided to say goodbye to one of our ferrets. Come tomorrow evening, the Beeler ferret count will be down to three. I’m extremely saddened by this. I have no idea if we’re doing the right thing. Shasta’s never been an expremely active ferret, but all he’s doing now is sleeping. He can’t use his back legs much anymore (an effect of the insulinoma, we think) and sometimes CPH will lift up his legs so that Shasta can go to the places he hasn’t been able to maneuver himself to in such a long time.
When Ferris died, we told ourselves it was so much harder to deal with his death simply because we thought Ferris was in fairly good health, only going in for a somewhat-routine visit. CPH reminded me of this while we sat on the phone crying with each other and talking about our sad decision. I chalk it up to a good excuse, at the time, to get over the pain.
Tonight will be rough.

Happy Anniversary to my big brother and his wife. Three years today!

Update: Per Amy’s request, I have added pictures of my brother and sister-in-law, seperately (and respectively). Funny that I almost posted these instead of the cake picture, but decided against it.

When you’re encouraged not to fight allergy and/or sinus problems with the help of drugs, the sneezes and runny noses last a lot longer than usual.

Thanks to a day that only gets celebrated by department store sales, I got to stay on the couch nearly all day. I’ve been really lazy all day. I tried to make some chicken noodle soup, which was really good at first and then became all gooey before the I had finished the first bowl (I think I experienced the same problem that A* had experienced at her last chicken noodle attempt). So we had sloppy joes for dinner that were too salty and sour, which made me realize that my tastebuds might be a little off. On top of that, CPH was drinking orange juice with his sloppy joes which seemed, I think, the least appetizing combination I’ve ever been near to touching. Piles of dirty laundry have been sitting on the living room floor since Friday. Guess it’s time to make the trek downstairs.

CPH and I are regular visitors to a local creamery. The creamery holds a farmers market weekly, now with just a few booths, but during the height of harvesting season boasts much, much more. My mother-in-law frequents this creamery also and invited me last week to a class that was being offered at the creamery by some national group. The emphasis of the class was fats and, from what I had garnished from my mother-in-law, we were going to learn about good fats and bad fats. I have to admit I wasn’t too excited about this class, it seemed a bit boring. We were going to be learning how to make a mayonnaise and, well really, CPH and I rarely use mayonnaise. But it was a good excuse to spend an afternoon with the mother-in-law so I agreed to go. It was a large turnout, a few men, but mostly women. The lady at the front kept talking about this little old lady that had started this, dare I say, cult of people, believing that purely organic foods is a panacea for all life’s problems.
I have to admit, I like the organic idea. CPH and I have been buying organic milk and fresh eggs for quite a while now. We mostly buy these things simply because of the taste.
But this group of people kind of freaked me out. They reminded me of the bombers outside the abortion clinics.

Had a dream last night that involved a baby. I remember it not being a very good dream. Something happening to the baby because of my lack of responsibility. This has been a fear of mine for quite sometime now. Nearly everytime I dream of having a baby, something usually happens to that baby that, in normal awake time, would be considered quite dreadful. It’s not a fun feeling to wake up to that. Especially now.
I’m scared, really I am. I’m scared that I’ll forget to feed my baby. I’m scared that i’ll leave scissors out and the baby will cut herself. I’m scared that I’ll leave a blanket too close to my baby and she’ll suffocate. I’m scared that I’ll drop my baby on the ground or run her into a door knob.
Please tell me this is normal.

The SMWB has heard from another school, with money being offered. Since CPH heard of his first acceptance 3 days after the SMWB, I think it’s in the cards for CPH to be hearing from another school come this monday. This is an exciting time!

Last night wasn’t a real episode of Project Runway. Instead, all the contestants showed back up and talked about Vanessa and Wendy and how bitter and bitchy they were (respectively, of course). I’ve hated Wendy throughout this whole affair. I’m constantly berating the judges for kicking someone else out and keeping her on simply because of her bitchiness (which causes drama, which helps ratings). But Wendy said something last night that made me understand her strategy (i.e. that made all of her bitchiness make sense). She was in this to win (I haven’t seen the end result yet, but I have a feeling that she did, in fact win) and she didn’t care whose feelings she hurt by getting to the end. I don’t want to like the bitch, but I see her point, you know?

Didn’t sleep well last night. My legs were in a constant state of needing to be stretched and my stomach was not feeling so nice. CPH suggested I sleep on the floor (an old trick that used to work when I would suffer from pre-menstrual up-all-night-can’t-sleep-for-the-love-of-God leg aches). As I moved to the floor, I asked him if he would miss his “heat factory” (a nickname he gave to me shortly after spending the first night in bed with me). “Heat factory?”, he retorted, “more like volcano factory!”.
And so it begins.

CPH got his first notice of acceptance into a PhD program yesterday. It’s not his first choice, but (considering other things that have popped up recently) it was a welcome invitation.

Drew this while listening to The Postal Service – Such Great Heights

Heater went home this weekend and found some goodies from our college years. She sent me this picture of our EKU/WKU weekend in 1996.

(me in bottom left corner).
I’m very thankful for the BSU at EKU. Most of my college memories are associated with the BSU or, at least, associated with people I had met at the BSU. Man, those were good times.

CPH and I went out to eat with our friends K* and M* and M*’s little girl, J* (two years old). Our waiter kept asking J* if she was a boy. He was clearly playing with her – teasing her, if you will. But he kept doing it. And she kept correcting him, screaming (something to the effect of), “NO, I AM A GIRL”. He was annoying me. So much so, that after about the 10th time that he came and said, (something to the effect of) “Hi, J*, you’re a boy, arent’ you?” I leaned over to her and said (something to the effect of), “The next time he says that, you should totally hit him.”

We’re walking to a Pacers game last night (thanks to my work for nice freebies) and NJC asks me if I am tivoing Dooce on ABC.
OH CRAP. I FORGOT TO TIVO DOOCE.
And if there’s one thing that Dooce has taught me, it’s the importance (and beauty) of tivo. And there I went flushing all that education down the drain.
Please forgive me.

I have a memory of spring time circa middle school. I grew up in a small town and a big time in that small town usually meant going to the various school carnivals that were held throughout the year. My cousin and I (best friends for so many years – we were so close in age, it was pretty much decided, at birth, that we would, at least during our formative years, be inseperable) had gone to one particular carnival on a Catholic School/Church campus. I remember singing the Jets (very popular at the time) song Crush on you while K* and I swung on those swings that are so popular at school carnivals.
So, the night was over and either my mom and her mom came to pick us up. I remember getting into the warm car and clearly thinking that my right (is it called pinky?) toe is sticking through a hole in my sock and I’m a little distressed – because even though we didn’t have a lot of money and holes in my socks may have been quite normal, I was, most importantly, a girl on the verge of teenagedness and holes in my socks were not acceptable.
And I take off my shoe and realize that there is no hole in my sock. I do however, realize that the hole in my sock feeling is really a numb pinky toe feeling. I am amazed by this sensation.
And everytime, when it’s cold and I’m walking the multiple blocks from my parking lot to my office building and I feel that numb pinky toe feeling, I reminded of that first time when discoveries like that were amazing and I thought holes in my socks were unacceptable.

Sunday after church, everyone was standing in the hallway (as we usually do) and as someone walked past us, my friend says to me (something to the effect of), “Do you know (so and so)? I think you two would really get along”. I tell him that I don’t think I know her and he says (something to the effect of), “It’s probably better that way. Don’t wanna start making friends if you’re leaving soon”. Of course, he quickly took back those words saying that I seemed like someone who would keep in touch with my friends, but I have to admit that I started to wonder if this is when it starts – when people start treating me differently because I may not be here six months from now.
As much as I love finding new places, I hate this part – the part of hiding in the shadows when new friends are introduced into our midst.

A*, over at CorrespondingShapes, is writing a continuing story about a, beloved by many, professor of hers who was murdered a few years back. Her post got me thinking about Dr. Beck’s suicide. He was a professor at the local community college where I grew up and I had taken two of his classes at the community college. CPH had taken many more and quite possibly, if he had stayed the course, might have found himself in a career in archeology.
He was quite an amazing guy. He was a short fellow, but extremely fit and he always had a tan – I suspect that he maintained the tan because he was constantly on digs. He was an extremely intelligent man. He had a Ph.D (I think, actually, he had more than one) and I was always amazed and grateful that he was teaching at a community college. He had some sort of museum (Western Kentucky Bible Lands Museum) set up in an old mall and I remember CPH and I walking past it just a few months before his death. I’m pretty sure (but I could be making this memory up) that Dr. Beck had one of CPH’s model on display at the museum (some sort of amphitheatre) and we went in to say hi, but he wasn’t there.
My mom and I took one of his classes together, which was probably one of my favorite times with her. I think he got a kick out of a mother/daughter team taking his class.
We found out about his suicide from CPH’s parents a few days after it was in the newspaper at home. One of the security guards at the mall had found Dr. Beck in a closet in the museum. He had hung himself. Turns out that just a few days earlier, he had been indicted for carrying artifacts across state lines (some sort of interstate commerce). In my diluted mind, I wonder if he gave up on life, simply because he feared that he may not be able to continue living without being allowed to carry out his passion.
Funny how, remembering Dr. Beck, also brings to mind a substitute teacher that was a common fixture at our high school. This guy was a chubby guy and once wore a white turtleneck and a cream colored suit and soon thereafter was known only as Twinkie. No one liked Twinkie much. He was an awkward fellow and we thought him unqualified to teach us much simply because of his substitute status. He was a lonely guy, it was rumored that he still lived with his mother. I remember one time, sitting in the lobby at my church (he went there as well) and he came up and started talkin to me and the group of friends I was sitting with. I remember after talking to him feeling very sad for him. I think now, I should have apologized to him – apologized for how my friends and I had taken no actions when people around us would laugh at him as he would walk down the halls or how we, ourselves, had found ourselves laughing right along with them.
But there you have it, one guy who was loved so much, but who loved his work so much that the thought of not being able to do that work literally killed him.
And then, right beside him, in my memory of him, is this guy that no one liked – that no one, in particular, seemed to care all that much for. But yet, I am reminded. I wonder what he’s doing now. I wonder how he’s doing. I wonder if he’s gotten over the hurt of hearing his nickname being cattle-called after him. I wonder if he’s forgiven us.

Most of you noticed that the site was down for a day or so last week. We could not figure out (simply due to my limited understanding and CPH’s limited time to search for an answer) why it was not working at first, but in the end discovered that my domain name had expired and needed to be renewed. The problem was alleviated fairly quickly, but I have to admit that during that one day while I was unable to post, I was a bit nervous and frantic, experiencing a near (what I am now referring to as) obsessivity-attack. It felt good to post again after that day.
Last night, CPH says to me (something to the effect of), “so we had to renew Popstrang. I guess that means it’s a year old now.”.
Wow. That’s fun.
And now a completely unrelated picture. Sent to me by my mom. She took this picture with her new digital camera. For Christmas, I bought my niece some knitting needles and some yarn and had no idea how difficult it would be to teach someone how to knit(notice the lifted hands over to the right of the picture, he’s trying to teach us how to knit). I don’t think I succeeded very well, but she’s a pro at casting on.

A somewhat regular poster on popular stranger, NJC, has started a blog. Everyone say Welcome, NJC!

Left work a little early yesterday so I could get my hair cut. CPH started to mention the sad state of my hair (he’s good about it, not mean) earlier this week and I told him that I hadn’t called to make an appointment because I didn’t think it had been a month. I have to make sure I don’t go more than once a month, because, after all, I usually shell out 50 bucks each time I go. Apparently, it had been nearly two months since I had been in, according to M* who held up my note card (that has all my notes – what she’s done, what she wants to do, what I want her to do) like a person with a bible hitting me over the head with God’s love. I think I’ve found the greatest hair stylist, really. Every time I go to her, I let her do whatever she wants. I think she loves me for that. I really have no say in the small details of the hair cut, mainly, because I have to take my glasses off and they are not returned to me until she is finished. I kind of like this relationship we have. I trust her to cut my hair, she trusts me not to cry when she is done. So far it’s worked out beautifully. Note: Please disregard that fleck of white on the side of my head – It’s not meant to be there.

While I was there, I was telling her about the flower pins that I’ve been creating for the next gallery opening at the Harrison Center. My friend L* and I are selling last minute valentine gifts to raise money for L* now that she is home with a sick baby. I know some of you have seen these already, but here are some of the ones I’ve already completed.

M* mentioned that her boss, the owner of the salon, might be interested in the flowers to sell in the shop. So, the plan is to finish some more on Saturday morning and take one into her so that she can be my first spokeswoman.

A friend and I drove to Bloomington for a show on Friday night. In Bloomington, I experienced something that I had not experienced before. Since returning, I have been referring to this sub-culture of people I watched, nay, was amazed by, neo-hippies. Drug-enjoying, floweydresses-wearing, makelovenotwar-painting, hometown-loving, bigcorporation-hating kind of people. Everywhere you looked you saw children – children on the shoulders – children with no shoes running around the dome (see an example here). Apparently, a guy had bought some land in the suburbs and had built this dome as his residence, but in reality, had only built it so that these neo-hippie kids would have a place to hang and listen to groovy music.
The music that night included rap (interestingly enough, rap about stopping I69 from ravishing their farmland) and a local Indianapolis band, Undefeatable Beats. There was flame-throwing in the lawn in between bands and halfway through the UB set, breakdancers took over the front half of the dance floor.
I want to go back someday, but I probably won’t. I didn’t really fit in.