It's not all our fault: Exhibit C

The next piece of evidence in my ongoing exploration of why the millenials turned out the way they did.

Exhibit C: Are You Afraid of the Dark?

Answer? Yes.  We all were.  For years my sisters and I didn't like to go to bottom story of our house alone.  Why?  There was no telling what kind of creeper was hanging out down there.

I love to sit and think and come up with reasons for things.  Everyone needs hobbies, right?  But for all my efforts, I have yet to think of a good reason for all of the spooky-related books and TV shows we were flooded with in the early to mid 90s.  Goosebumps, Are You Afraid of the Dark?, and Tales From the Crypt.  And 48 Hours Mysteries.  Arguably not a show for children, but we still watched it.  And it was on the air in the 90s.  So I think it counts.

The most frustrating part about 48 Hours was that you were left with no resolution.  Just the after-image of live re-enactments with terrible acting.  And the icky feeling that the were murderers and rapist living next door to you.  No matter where you went you would never be able to escape the horrors of it.  And probably they were hiding in your basement right now. And those of us with healthy imaginations are still coping with the residual scenarios our brain summons when it's a 'dark and scary night'.  It's like everything is perfectly normal until it's the middle of the night, and then your brain is like, "you know what we haven't thought about in a while?  Demons."

Thanks brain.  Thanks a lot.

Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall

Truer words my friend.

I woke up this morning to the most absolute wonderful feeling after a gloriously hot summer:

I was cold.  Which meant that the months of being in a love/hate relationship with my blanket were over.  I got to snuggle up deep under my covers with no worries that in an hour I would be sweating.

Fall is that wonderful time of the year when you don't have to scrape off your windshield, but you do turn on the heat in your car.

I had my first hot apple cider of the season today.  Love that stuff.  I don't even want to know how many Costco boxes of it I have consumed.

The colors are amazing.  And I don't even mean Seattle green and grey combined with the golds and reds, which is admittedly pretty spectacular, I mean jewel tones.  Wearing plums and peacocks with accents of citron and olive.  Layer after layer of charcoal and silver.  Wool, plaid, cable-knit, cashmere, sequins, sheepskin, leather. I think leather must be one of my absolute favorite things in the world.  The feel of suppleness against the skin is just so comforting and decadent at the same time.  For what more can you ask?

Did you say silver sequin skirt?  Because now you can come out of the depths of my closet and make my life wonderful again.  Because, for whatever reason, just like it seems wrong to wear copious amounts of white after labor day, it seems vulgar to wear sequins before it.  Like I'm trying to compete with the dazzle of summer.  But good news: fall is basically an invitation to prepare for the glitziest season of them all: Winter.

As much as I love going out and seeing people and doing outdoorsy things, I love that I can stay in now and not feel guilty because it's gross outside.  Thank you for assuaging my conscience Seattle.  You're the best.

Football happens again.  And also the sheer number of hours I spend discussing it with my Dad.  Watching games, and rehashing them, and then talking about how the players need to shape up, or just keep being totally awesome.  And predicting how they'll do in their next game.  Who they might recruit next year.  The fun never stops!

I feel like the whole season is basically the best excuse ever to bake everything and anything that sounds delicious.  Like donuts.  And pumpkin bars.  And anything containing apples or cinnamon.  On top of all it's other stellar qualities, Fall is totally delicious.

Fitzgerald knew what he was talking about.

It's not all our fault: Exhibit B

Exhibit B: Mr. Sketch Markers

In the words of the BFF, "mmmm...  Mr Sketch is delicious!"

These actually were first released in 1965... but all that really means is it's had more time to affect people.

Because it taught us how to sniff markers people.

Let's just sit quietly and think about that for a while.

Time for an Update

I love clocks.

I don't know if it was a product of growing up in a house where from any given angle in any room you can see at least two clocks, or the fact that the rhythmic ticking sound is terrifically comforting to me, but either way they are pretty spectacular and I totally believe in them.  The bigger the better.

So when I moved to Seattle about a year ago, I decided that a giant wall clock was one of my primary needs for a new apartment.  I found this little gem on ulta-clearance at Fred Meyer.  I wasn't certain that I loved it, but as my mother pointed out--you can't buy a 20" clock kit for as cheap as this was.

True.

So I bought it.  And the clock remained undisturbed inside of its original packaging through two moves, and multiple mental redesigns, until last night.  When I made the sudden decision that I was ready to paint it.

So I did.  I still mentally changed the design about three times after purchasing all the materials, but I think I like how it turned out.  

Survey says?

It's not all our fault: Exhibit A

Reasons why the Millennials turned out this way:

Exhibit A: Mall Madness

Let me be clear here.  The goal of this game was to spend money.  Faster than anyone else.  Whoever spent money the fastest won the game.  The game used the same marketing techniques stores use, that sales were limited time only, limited quantity, and that if you don't have it first you're missing out.  Mall Madness was like real life.  And the box had these really cool-looking girls on it who were shopping for rad things like boomboxes and those mini backpacks everyone had in the early 90s ( you know what I'm talking about.  Don't deny it).  Everyone who was anyone had it.  And we played it often.
We learned that as long as it's on sale, it's totally worth it-even if you don't need it.
We learned that whenever you spend all the money on your credit card, you just need to go to the ATM.  It's a magical money dispenser.
And we wonder why people have a hard time with money management if this is how we spend our formative years?
Because I don't wonder.  Mall Madness has a lot to answer for.  Other than being fully awesome of course.

Today is brought to you by the letter...

Tyler doesn't like things that start with the letter D.

Dogs.
Dragons.
Most desserts.
...
And David Bowie.

I mean weird right?

And even though Harry Potter arguably starts with an 'H', he didn't think he would be a fan of that either.  Because mostly he just doesn't love the fantastical.  But he does love me, and I love the fantastical, so I suppose by some sort of transitive property he loves it too.  Subconsciously.

Regardless.

Apparently I use too many HP references in my life, and Ty decided that he needed to figure out what all this nonsense is about.  So we have been slowly but surely making our way through the movies (movies first... so if he gives up before he gets to the books he'll at least have the gist of it).  Slowly.  But as we were talking about it, Ty asked what house he would be in.

And that's when I heard it.  That innocent question might not have signaled anything to you.  But to me, it meant curiosity.  It meant... interest.

So of course I told him that, rather serendipitously, JK Rowling has a whole website about her books.  And that if we went on it would sort him into his house.

Tyler.  Got on.  Pottermore.  Clearly one of the greatest achievements of my life.

Only once.  And I suppose it doesn't really count because he hasn't been back.  But it did happen.  And everyone knows that Harry Potter is like a gateway fandom to all the other worlds of fantasy.  So maybe one day he'll be making me watch LOTR or Star Wars.

It's not impossible after all.  Just improbable.  And that's what I'm all about.

I mustache you a question

After a recent conversation, I am forced to re-evaluate all my childhood memories.  'Cause turns out I'm crazy.  Or, as I prefer to think of it, my brain is just remarkably creative.

In the house I grew up in, I knew the dead bolt was locked when it looked like this.  Well,  mostly like this.  Approximately like this.

Mostly it looked like it was a face with a mustache.  So, in the grand tradition of Stephanie, I made up a quasi-mnemonic device that really serves no good purpose.  In this case, during my daily manifestation of early on-set paranoia, I would ask myself if the door was locked.  I would glance at it and think, oh good.  Mustache.

The mustache became not just linked, but synonymous with security.  Can we talk about the irony there?

I have since suffered multiple setbacks upon realizing that some dead bolts look like this

What am I supposed to think when I see that?  Nose?  Beak?  Everyone knows that noses and beaks have nothing to do with dead bolts.  It's absurd.  Irrational.

Even worse are these

Okay.  I can see that it says locked.  And I can see an arrow.  But actually you mean that it's locked when it's at a weird angle.  Okay.  Cool.  I'll never remember that.