Archive | May, 2012

A Quick How To: Revamping Storage Boxes

30 May

I don’t usually blog about the weird little things I do on my free time. Surprisingly enough, I’m actually really big into interior design. It was one of my career choices had I thought I’d be able to actually have a job, and not have to move to a big city. So yeah…I’m constantly in a battle to make my living spaces look like I specifically chose each item to go with each other item, when I’ve actually just acquired them all randomly. My pet project is my bedroom. I have a bedset that is a baroque design, similar to my pink heading above, in black, white, hot pink, and light blue-green. It was my inspiration, but I’ve only gotten it after I moved out into the dorms, which just happened to have a blue and green theme.  Unfortunately, I just can’t get rid of all my mismatched things and buy all new things. I have to make due…so I decided to make this box much more awesome than it was when I bought it.

Not very exciting, right? But those were my dorm colors. I actually have another box (I haven’t finished it yet), which is blue, with a green lid.

What you’ll need for this project:

Standard photo/video storage box 
12×12 pieces of scrapbook paper 2 small pieces of scrapbook paperor 4 pieces 12×12 scrapbook paper
Hot glue gun and hot glue
Scissors

First, I needed something to cover it with. I could paint it…but I’m not that talented with flat surfaces.  I could probably also cover it with fabric, but at the risk of it feeling crunchy, or not turning out well, I opted out of that one. I ended up finding scrapbook paper, and let me tell you the options are endless! I chose to use a baroque pattern for the actual box, and a solid for the lid. I chose a black and white baroque with a hot pink lid for one box, and a pink and black baroque with a black lid for the other. Here is the one Ihaven’t finished:

The pink ones for the lid were smaller, but if you can find a big sheet in the color you need, it might be big enough to only use 1 sheet. None of my pieces were actually big enough to cover the whole box in one piece, so I had to get a little creative. I cut the smaller pieces lengthwise into 4 equal pieces, and used them to cover the sides of the lid; this gave me enough room to fold the paper about a half inch over the top, and underneath the lid for full coverage on all 4 sides of the lid. I hot glued them into place (I’m sure you could use other methods of gluing, but this actually worked like a charm and didn’t leave me with any bubbles or wrinkling).

For the actual box, I used 3 sheets of 12×12 scrapbook paper. First, I folded 1 sheet in half. Then, I cut about 2-3 inches off what is now width. This should make it the width of the box (you might need to adjust more or less). Now, cut the paper on the fold, and you have the pieces to cover each end of the box. Again, fold it over on the top of the box and the bottom, similarly to the lid (see note below). Hot glue into place.

Finally, I used the last 2 sheets of 12×12 to cover the rest of the box. I cut about 1 inch from each piece to make it the same length as the box. I wrapped one over the top lip of the box and glued into place, then brought it all the way under the box and glued it there as well. I repeated on the other side. You will have several seams, but nothing thats terribly noticeable or unattractive.

The one caveat I have about this project is how to deal with the presence of the label holder like I have on my boxes. They are photo/video catalog boxes, and so I had to cut a hole in the paper on one end of the box. I did thisbefore I glued it down, and it seemed to work well enough (not perfect, but okay for my purposes). I’m sure you could cut it after gluing, but it might pose a problem of anchoring that part of the paper to the box. If you don’t need the label holder, you can also just cover it and forget about it. I thought about doing this, but I chose to keep the holder because I liked how it looked. You can use scraps that you’ve cut off to cut a piece of paper to slip inside, so its the same color as the rest of the box.

Ta-da! My newly redecorated, revamped storage box (these are the other colors). You can see that its not perfect, but I was also winging it. It goes great with my bedroom and makes a great accent piece. Sorry for not doing a better tutorial – check out my sewing blogs for a better read; this was an afterthought of the project or I could’ve given step-by-step pictures along with my instructions. Know that you can always change things for what you need, and don’t be afraid to experiment!

How Do You Wipe?

29 May

I have this conversation often enough. It originally started way back when I was probably a sophomore or junior in high school, in which me and a very close friend were discussing the topic. Yesterday, I brought it up to my coworkers during what we have aptly dubbed the “pants party” (when we change out of our scrubs into normal clothes after work).

I happened to be folding laundry while sitting on the toilet (the locker room is our bathroom and laundry room also), and the subject of pooping got brought up (apparently there are different ways to sit on the toilet and poop, too). That ultimately led to our discussion about wiping (not just limited to pooping, especially for the ladies). We decided that there were a few main stances. There is the lean to the side, the lean forward/squat, and then the stand up, with degrees of difference in each. We all kind of thought that wiping standing up was really weird, and inefficient. I happen to be a lean to the side type of person.

How do you wipe? Do you think it depends on if you are man or a woman?

Human Euthanasia: Could It Be a Good Thing?

28 May

 

Euthanasia of animals in controversial, even among those who love animals more than anything else. The reason it gets done is because there aren’t enough homes for all of the lovely animals in this world, and because urban environments allow populations of animals to grow past carrying capacity, which causes suffering of the animals.

There was once a man, Jack Kevorkian, who believed that human euthanasia could be useful. He wasn’t alone, and he never will be alone in that belief. The problem with human euthanasia is the need for a system to designate what would be within the law, and what would not. The circumstances under which human euthanasia would be acceptable could range from requests by terminally ill patients looking to end their own suffering, to requests by depressed patients who would otherwise lead a normal life. Beyond that, human euthanasia could be applied to those not contributing to society, or cause us to make judgment calls about the quality of life for extremely mentally or physically disabled people. We also have a tendency to be more attached to humans than we do animals, and the grieving process takes longer, so the lives of those who know the person in question would also need to be taken into account.

Keep in mind, we already use euthanasia to end the lives of prisoners. 

It could very well have the same implications that animal euthanasia does. It could decrease the amount that humans have overpopulated the world, which would help to decrease suffering not only in underdeveloped countries, but even our own back yards. The sick would no longer have to suffer, and those who wanted to end their pain, would have the option.

What do you think about human euthanasia? Do you think that terminally ill patients who may be suffering should have the right to choose their own fate? What kind of regulations would you propose if it was legal? Do you think capital punishment should be outlawed?

27 May

Ross: Anyway, it wouldn’t matter because I’m a teacher and she’s…she’s a student.

Chandler: Is that against the rules?

Ross: No, but it is frowned upon. Besides, 10 years is a big age difference.

Joey: Well, think about it…when you’re 90–

Ross: I know, I know. When I’m 90 she’ll be like 80 and it won’t seem like such a big difference.

Joey: No…thats not what I was going to say at all. What I was going to say is that when you’re 90, you’ll still have the memory of what it was like being with a 20 year old.

-Friends, “The One Where Ross Dates a Student”

The “Inappropriate” Conversation

27 May

 

There have been very few occasions in my life in which, if I have nothing better to do, that I will stop having a conversation with someone, especially if that conversation is online. I’ve had many a conversation with people who choose to be inappropriately forward, or whatever it may be. At worst, I humor these people, and find what they have to say funny (I don’t get offended easily). At best, I actually enjoy the conversation.

Recently, I was telling a friend about a chat I was having (online) with a person who is generally very forward, and what I would consider…inappropriate. The chat itself wasn’t inappropriate, but my friend prompted me to stop chatting with this person. I thought that was strange, especially considering I will chat with really anyone. I’ve actually been called someones “hero” for my replies (yes, I’m that awesome at comebacks).

When do things become too inappropriate or people become to forward for you? At what point do you become offended? Do you just stop talking to people when they become crude, or do you humor them?

The Plight of a Blogger

27 May

Random person (female): I saw that blog you posted about me! I’m so offended!

Me: What blog?

Random person: The blog where you said this and this and this.

Me: That wasn’t about you; I haven’t written a blog about you.

Random person: Just tell me to my face! I can’t believe you wrote that about me!

Me: I was unaware you had a penis. I explicitly said he.

Random person: Well, I’m sure that was so I wouldn’t think it was about me. You didn’t think I would find out? I’m not THAT stupid!

Me: Well, obviously you are, because it wasn’t about you. But if you wanna think that, go right on ahead! Maybe you should suck that dick of yours while you’re at it.

 

This is a completely fictional conversation. Random person (female) is not an alias for anyone I know now, have known in the past, or will know if the future. Me is also nonexistent. Unless of course you remember having this conversation with Me, or find that your name is in fact “Random person (female)”. Any resemblance to actual people is purely coincidental. 

Paper or Plastic? Using Bags at the Grocery Store

23 May

 

I just got back from the grocery store, and I’m sure the cashier thought I was completely off my rocker. Why? Well, because I refused a bag. My purchase consisted of a box of dishwasher detergent, 2 boxes of macaroni and cheese, a box of crackers, a bag of shredded cheese, a bottle of pasta sauce, a can of soup, a bottle of soda, shampoo, and conditioner. I also had my wallet, phone, and keys, because I didn’t have pockets/purse. So yes, she thought I was crazy.

But if there is any chance that I can carry my items in my arms, I’m going to do it. I hate using plastic. And paper just kills trees (do they even have paper bags any more?). And I usually forget my other, reusable bags. So I opt for inconveniencing myself and carrying them all by hand.

Numbers vary, but one report shows that people in California average about 550 plastic bags per person, per year. If I used that many, and I lived for 60 more years, that would be about 33,000 bags. So, I’ve stopped using them (I’ll be honest, I use them occasionally when I’m having a crappy day, but my bag use is very low). I don’t know if its true or not, but they say recycling the plastic from a bag is more expensive than making a new bag (if you know otherwise, please share!). They might have those plastic bag recycling bins at places like Walmart, but it would be easier for everyone to just eliminate! It may also take hundreds of years for our plastic bags to decompose.

What I want to know is why they don’t start producing plastic bags from corn, like they do with the cups and straws and my university.

What kind of bag do you use when you go shopping? How do you feel about plastic, and plastic users? What nifty “plastics” made from things like corn or potatoes have you come across?

Figuring Out Who People Are By How They Treat Waiters

23 May

I saw the above picture as I was browsing my Pinterest home page. I read it, and continued on without giving it a second thought. Then, I backtracked when I realized how true it really is.

As a general rule, I try to be as nice to people who I meet day to day as possible, and this includes the waiters and waitresses who work at the restaurants I eat at. I’m actually especially nice to them, not only because they can ruin my food if they don’t like me, but I have a habit of being a picky eater – no mayo, extra this, none of this, substitute this for this, etc. Even if they aren’t great at what they are doing, or if I’m not getting as much attention at my table as I’d like, I’m still nice to them. 

I haven’t had a whole lot of experience with people who aren’t nice to the waitstaff, but with the little experience I’ve had, it makes me wonder what is going on in their head. I can understand that the waiter is being slow, or they messed your order up, but that doesn’t mean you need to make their life suck. Right? Going back to the picture: no matter how nice a person is to me, if they treat waitstaff rudely they might not be worth it. I think it can say a lot about who a person is, and it makes me uncomfortable that I’m associated with such a rude person.

How do you treat your waiter/waitress? If a first date was treating you fabulously, but was overly rude to the waiter, would you be less likely to go on a second date with them? Any experiences with really rude people/friends?

Genevieve: A Story

22 May

She was a great mom. Or at least she would’ve been.

It was Spring, and the Earth wanted everyone to know. The flowers were blossoming, and the trees were just coming out of their winter slumber. Life was everywhere, and Genevieve was no exception. Her womb was ripe with life, right alongside the gophers that plagued her garden and the birds who had just built their nest in the newly green tree outside her kitchen window.  She had a good life for herself, and it was true that she would be raising her twins alone, but she would give them a good life also.

There wasn’t a day that went by throughout her pregnancy that Genevieve didn’t rejoice in the feeling of her babies within her. It was only a few more weeks before she could bring them home with her, and begin her newest life chapter. She was lucky enough to be able to take leave from work once the babies were born, but the strain on her body grew every day. Some days she would get home and be unable to even keep herself awake long enough to make sure the house was clean, or to double-check the doors to make sure they were locked. That was the life of a single mother. She probably could’ve gotten help, but she was a strong woman. One day was especially taxing. Genevieve got home late, and sat on her bed to take the shoes off of her tired, swollen feet. She laid back and began to rub them. It was easier this way. She hoped to comfort them; she was sorry they must carry her burden. And then she was asleep.

She awoke to strange, unfamiliar sounds around her. It was rustling, and maybe the sounds of other people, but she couldn’t help but be baffled by why they were in her house, and terrified at what they might want with her. Genevieve groggily opened her eyes, hoping that she wouldn’t see anyone staring back at her. Nothing. That was hopeful, but then she realized that she wasn’t in her bed. She wasn’t in her house. There were bars, and nothing else. Outside these bars was nothing but a plain, gray wall adorned with nothing but a single sign. She tried to read it, but couldn’t. It looked as if someone had made up a language.  Her room was the same dull gray as outside the room, with even less decoration. Her bed was moderately comfortable, and probably the most comforting thing so far. Her thoughts drew away from her vision, and she began to focus on what she was hearing.

It sounded like the creak of a bed. It sounded like someone, or something pacing. Genevieve decided to call out to whomever may be around, in hopes that they could explain the situation. She called out, but nothing escaped her lips. She called out again, but nothing. Perhaps they had taken her voice while she was sleeping, or perhaps the terror that filled her mind did not want her to speak. She tried to let out one more sound, and again was unable to utter a single syllable. Genevieve could feel tears of desperation welling up inside her. The terror of it all was almost unbearable, but then she felt a familiar kick. It was either little Andrew or Elizabeth trying to get her attention. Maybe they were trying to tell Mommy to calm down, that it will be alright, or at least that’s what Genevieve believed. She took a few, deep breaths, and allowed herself to think.

It wasn’t long before they visited her. They were the ones that took her; she didn’t trust them. They brought her food, and decent food at that. Sometimes it was chicken and a salad, and other times it was beef and potatoes. She started counting the days with the number of meals she got, and just hoped that it was three each day. They seemed close enough together that they had to be. Days went by, and each day was exactly like the one before. They brought her food, and she devoured it. They brought her a puzzle, and she completed it. She began to trust them. She hadn’t wanted to at first, but surely they would’ve hurt her by now if they’d wanted to. Maybe trusting them was the key to going home. With Genevieve’s growing trust came growing concern for what would happen when she went into labor. This room wasn’t fit for having babies, or raising babies. Time was not on her side.

Then, a day came that was different than all the rest. They came into her room, and that was something that had not happened before. Not only did they enter through the bars, but they grabbed her by her arms and began ushering her out. They had taken her once, and now they were taking her again. Genevieve didn’t like it and she resisted, but she could only do so much before she put Andrew and Elizabeth in danger. She finally stopped struggling. She let them take her.

As they moved past the other rooms, she could see that what she had been hearing this whole time was other people. Their rooms looked identical to hers, but she felt something different about them all. It was a calm that she hadn’t felt, and still didn’t feel. Maybe that was her mistake. Maybe she didn’t trust them enough, and now they were taking her to a place no one comes back from. Thoughts raced through her head as they took her down the long, gray hallway. Two more of them opened a door, and they were in a room that was different than all the rest.

This room was red, and it had things in it. There were a lot of things, and it struck her to be something of a doctors office. Her realization only made her anxious. Genevieve looked around and took in her surroundings. Nothing looked especially dangerous, but her babies weren’t ready for this world. Genevieve wasn’t sick, either. They never lost their grip on her arms. Suddenly, the two who held open the door grabbed her ankles, and she was being lifted from the ground, swung almost. They were strong. They laid her on a table in the center of the room; Genevieve began to struggle. She twisted and she thrashed around, but to no avail. They quickly overpowered her, and strapped her to the table. Almost immediately, they left and locked all the doors. She didn’t understand, until she began to smell something.

It was a chemical smell, and it was filling the room. Her mind raced, but then almost as if someone had flipped a switch, she began to feel calm, and sleepy.

Genevieve woke up back in the room. The thoughts that filled her head were fuzzy, and dreamlike. It must’ve been a terrible, terrible nightmare. She reached down and placed her hand on her giant tummy, in hopes that Andrew or Elizabeth would give a soft kick, but they weren’t there. Genevieve panicked and sat up. She looked down and there wasn’t a big pregnant belly there any longer. Her womb felt hollow. She frantically jumped off the bed and ravaged her clothing to see if her stomach would offer answers. She got the answer she didn’t want; it was a new, red cut sewn neatly back together. They had taken them. She was dizzy, and as she sat back down, she realized the only thing she knew for certain was that her babies were not here, nor were they in the room they had taken her to. They had murdered her babies.

Days passed as they had before, but Genevieve now felt empty. She stopped eating, and she stopped doing their puzzles. She couldn’t fathom how they expected her to just continue on as if nothing had happened. Her depression soon turned to anger. It was their fault she was here, and it was their fault she felt this way. It was their fault her babies never got to feel her embrace. She began to lash out every time one of them passed. She would jump at them and stick her arms through the bars to swing at them. She wanted them to feel her pain.

More time went by, when one day, one of them came into her room again. It was only one of them. Genevieve was ushered out, more gently than before, and was taken to a new room. It was her only shot to make them feel what she felt, but she knew that they must trust her. She was more than pleasant the entire walk to the new room, and was quite calm as she was guided into it. This one was bigger, with a bigger bed, but the same gray walls. She sat down, and the one that guided her motioned for her to wait. She complied. The one came back, and was carrying a new set of clothing. As the door opened, Genevieve seized her opportunity. She lunged at the one, using all of her rage to give her the strength she needed. She struck, and she bit, and she tore. She used all of her energy, and then fell, crumpled on the floor. The one closed the bars, and left.

Genevieve knew that this was it. She knew the consequences of her actions, but she didn’t care. The only thing she had in this world was her two, lovely little babies living inside of her, and now they were gone. She would never get them back. That’s why she didn’t struggle when they took her down the long hallway. That’s why she didn’t struggle when they strapped her to the table the second time. She accepted it; she knew peace would be soon. They left as they had before, and locked all the doors. This time, the room began to fill with another smell. This time, it was pleasantly sweet. It reminded her of her childhood. Genevieve breathed the scent deeply, and began to feel foggy. It wasn’t the same calmness she had felt before. She felt tired, but strained to stay awake. She strained to think clearly, but she could not. She closed her eyes. I was a great mom.

Aside

Authors Note: Adding Exes on Facebook

20 May

After much thought, I’ve found that the biggest reason why I don’t want to add my ex on Facebook is because my friend didn’t accept. If she didn’t accept, and she had nothing against him, then why on earth would I?