My Porous Hell

I checked out Amanda's blog today, and she had a fun post about pet peeves. It's part of a writing prompt from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. Okay, I can handle that. I have pet peeves. A lot of them. Like clipping nails at the office, poor grammar, and people who won't just be flipping courteous and let me merge into their lane when I have nowhere else to go and it's just the nice thing to do (!!). Some of them bother other people, too, but this writing prompt is about pet peeves that bother you but shouldn't. Something that is totally normal but I somehow turn it into something completely assinine directed only at me for the sole purpose of making me want to claw my eyes out. I'm talking about sponges here. I don't know if a single object counts as a pet peeve, but it counts for me.

On Tuesday night, Dan and I headed over to Lowe's to check out counter top options for the new house. We'd been talking about granite tiles, and we went to look at the different styles. Until then, Dan had said nothing but good things about granite and then all of a sudden, he broke out with "it's porous so you have to be careful about food dyes and raw chicken and stuff." First, I'm not going to cut chicken directly on the granite. Second that's what sealants and antibacterial cleaners are for. Lastly, there are nastier and more porous things that touch the counter top than raw chicken. Like freaking SPONGES.

I've always hated sponges. In fact, I hate most non-disposable cleaning products. I'm in no way concerned about reducing my carbon footprint when it comes to stuff I clean with. Dust rags are the only exception to this. Those can stay. Sponges are just gross. I hate using them. They smell, and you can't tell me that tiny bits of stuff aren't hanging out in the porous material of your average kitchen sponge. Before I met Dan, I dated a guy who didn't understand my hatred and detest for sponges and thought I was wasting paper towels. Imagine his surprise when he took away my paper towels and handed me a sponge and then watched me freak out almost to the point of tears when I was told we'd be using sponges from now on. He was an a-hole, granted, but now you understand just how much I really hate them.

I've grown up and got past it somewhat in the last couple of years. I can say that I do use sponges for some things. Much to my chagrin, but it has to be done. I have good pots and pans that I don't put in the dishwasher and they have to get cleaned somehow. So I use those really nice Scotch Brite sponges with the green Brillo on one side. Somehow, buying the really good expensive ones makes it better. No generic Target dollar bin sponges for this girl (even though some of them are very cute). And it's preferred that the sponge itself is connected to something else (like a wand with dish soap inside) so I don't have to directly touch it. I wash the darn things in every other running of the dishwasher to keep them as clean as possible, and I don't keep them for more than about a month. For something that's not supposed to be really disposable, I make it so. It's the only way I can handle using the most disgusting thing I can think of.

And you'd better believe they never touch my counter tops.

Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

I've been a very good girl this year. I am patient, a good big sister, and want nothing more than to give cuddles. I've been much better about not barking at strangers, and I promise to be even better next year. This year for Christmas, I want my own king size bed with huge fluffy blankets, my own room and/or house, an extra feeding every day, 67 stuffed animals to tear up, a heated dog bed, world domination, and a closet full of cute puppy clothes. Merry Christmas, Santa!

Love, Paisley



Dear Santa,

Butterflies. Sparkles.

Love, Clover

Don't worry. Toto is okay.

Last year for our cubicle decorating contest, I turned my cubicle into Brooke's Cocoa Bar with the creative help of Salt. I had fresh cocoa and all the fun stuff to put in or on it, decorated sugar cookies, chocolate chip cookies, and tried to turn my cube into a festive little wonderland. I came in second. Not bad considering I'm alone in my cube and the winners had two minds to put together and decorate.

This year, I decided to go in a different direction. Redneck Christmas. With the help of Dan's skills and my coworker's extra pair of hands, I turned my cubicle into an iconic Airstream trailer. I covered in in silver paper, then added an Airstream logo, wheels and windows and strung it with lights. Dan made me that doormat that says "Git R Done." I had a tree put up and used bobbers as ornaments, and hung little stockings for my little rednecks all named Bobby (including a Justin Bobby, R.I.P. The Hills). A coworker brought in some rickety old lawn chairs and I have plans for poinsettias in KFC buckets and my pink flamingo lawn ornaments are on their way. It was on the road to White Trashville.




But this morning, I came in to find this...


My coworker with a hilarious sense of humor left the tornado on the wall when she came in and saw the trailer has collapsed. Don't worry, Toto is okay, and with the help of FEMA, we'll be rebuilding in time to take the gold medal at judging on Friday. It'll be even awesomer.

Godsmack kind of day

In my 29 years of life, I've gone through plenty of music phases. I did the obligatory "OMFG New Kids On the Block! I heart Joey! must have the sleeping bag!" thing in about 5th grade. I thought I was awesome sauce when I grew past that and fell for the local oldies station, singing along to 50's songs and asking my friends if they'd heard such-and-such song oblivious to the fact that they'd been out for 30 years. I was way Cool, clearly.

Then in about 8th grade, I fell for country. Ugh. Those were my awkward years. I played endless Clint Black, George Straight, Martina McBride, and Garth Brooks. At least I liked country when country was really good, right? My first concert ever was Reba. I was excited for weeks, and I think my dad bought me a Western shirt for the concert. I may or may not have worn a cowboy hat, I don't remember. But yeah, I was wicked excited, and bragged about my amazing concert experience to my friends the next day while they rolled their eyes and went back to their Beastie Boys.

I dropped the country crap and went the route of rock for a while. Metallica, Beastie Boys, Pearl Jam, Foo Fighters, Smashing Pumpkins. Then I realized I didn't so much have to stick to just one genre and added rap and hip hop to the mix. That's when I really started to love music. I still had preferences, but at least I was open minded. When I was in college, I worked at American Eagle, a store that always had cool music on their Muzak playlist and I broadened my horizons even more to bands like O.A.R., Coheed and Cambria, Iron and Wine, and individual artists who I can't even think of right now.

When I dated my ex before I met Dan, he made fun of my love for metal so I didn't listen to it much. So it's no surprise that the second we broke up, I was all hard rock and metal, all the time. I blared Rage Against the Machine, Nonpoint, Cannibal Corpse, Mastodon, System of a Down, Slipknot, and Five Finger Death Punch pretty much constantly. The louder, the screamier, the angstier, the better.

Now that I have a husband who fully supports my love for the Devil's Music and has introduced me to even more awesome artists, I've calmed down some. I don't try to appear all bad ass all the time as much as I may have before in my efforts to rebel against my ex's hatred for what I liked. I definitely use music to set my mood at work. If it's a fun kind of Friday, I'll play Soulja Boy, Amy Winehouse, Dropkick Murphys or let Pandora have at it and discover new artists.

Today, however, is a Godsmack kind of day. The kind of day when I have to get things done, and perhaps people or the pressure of month-end are irking me just a bit. I put on my Godsmack and go to town and get stuff done. You'd think it would make me angry, but it keeps me going. I actually end up liking Godsmack kind of days - tuning out and letting the music take the pressure eases me, and I go home a happy kind of girl.

What kind of music do you usually tune into? What do you listen stressful days? Anyone else having a Godsmack kind of day?

Junk Drawer Tape

A couple weeks ago, I baked some cute dog cookies for the nieces of my coworker and shipped them to Michigan. All of my cookie packing stuff was in the car, so I pretty much packaged them at my desk when I got to work. Of course, when I got there, I couldn't find my nice roll of clear packaging tape. So I asked our wonderful admin assistant if she had some tape to borrow. What she brought me reminded me instantly of something from my childhood: junk drawer tape.

When I was younger and asked my mom or dad for tape, I was directed to the junk drawer in the kitchen. In the drawer lived a roll of 3" wide packaging tape that should have been thrown out looooong ago. It was yellowed, brittle, and the cardboard core was warped, rippling the tape. The handy-dandy dispenser and razor cutter had long since disappeared. Every time you used it, you had to find the end (because none of us were smart enough to fold it under making a tab) and hope that you could peel off the length you needed without it somehow shredding. Then, since it was packaging tape and therefore tough, you had to make sure you had scissors handy to cut it. If you were wrapping a gift and wanted neat little strips, you had to make your own by cutting the strip lengthwise. God forbid we just buy some scotch tape on a nice neat little roll with a dispenser. If my parents had any of that glorious stuff, they kept it hidden.

Now that I'm on my own and can buy my own tape, I'm kind of nutso about it. I keep multiple rolls in various places - the junk drawer, my craft drawer, hidden in my desk at work. I spend good money on 3M brand Scotch tape (no generics!!), and if one should lose it's dispenser and razor, it finds a new home in the trash. My packaging tape is the same. My days of fighting with packaging tape and struggling to get a 3" strip without tears are over. I even buy those cute little pop-up, pre-cut dispensers for Christmas wrapping. Tape is now one of my "things," along with good ol' name brand 27-ply toilet paper, which is also a result of being deprived of the quality stuff at my parents' house. My mom is so cringing right now.

So when Shannon sweetly handed me her tape at the office and I burst into laughter and called it junk drawer tape, she just looked at me completely baffled. I'm pretty sure if I ever ask to use it again, she'll ask if her tape meets my standards. As long as she tries to give me junk drawer tape, that answer is 'no.'

Do you have something silly that you're now obsessive about because you were deprived when you were younger?