Beta Room

I know that I haven't posted lately, and you probably are thinking that I've been busy doing fun, amazing things. And you'd be right. For the past two weeks, I've been working on fixing up my bedroom---finally. Since moving in, I've focused a lot on the main room and I've completely neglected my bedroom because I had no idea what to do with it.

I finally got an idea, and I've been working towards that. I have pictures that I'd love to share, but you have to understand that this is still a beta room. (Please note that my bedroom is not the master bedroom, so you cannot call my room a master beta. El Senor's room is the master beta.) It's a concept that I like and that I'm working with, but there are still lots of things I want to do with it.

First I started with my love of dark wood on green. I'm picky about my shades of green, so I found one that worked for me. Next, I realized that the green went very well with maroon and dusty rose colors, so I covered some old wood shelves with fabric in those shades. Luckily, the dresser I already own is purple, so that works. I've been buying a few accents (if you don't know about Home Goods yet, you need to find out about it because that's where I've done a lot of my shopping---the mirror on the dresser cost me $30) and I'll have to acquire a few more things before this room is done. Read my to-do list if you're interested, and scroll further down to see the beta pictures!


TO DO

• I'll be upgrading my twin to a full bed, probably in April.
• I'll be changing the window treatments. I'll have a dark brown blind and sheer whispy drapes to hang to either side of the bed.
• I need to acquire pictures to put on my walls.
• I'll probably buy a large shelving unit to go on the far wall.
• I'll replace the bowl chair with a chair that takes less space; possibly something like this, but less expensive.
• I'll make decorative bed pillows, probably in pinks and maroons, possibly out of felt.

Flower Policy

In honor of February 14th, allow me to share with you my Flower Policy. It might be slightly harsher than my Bridal Shower Policy, but believe me, it's based on sound logic. You'll see. It is inspired by Nemesis's post today, especially the part where she buys flowers for herself and plans on delivering half to her sister. Nemesis's actions are in line with my Flower Policy. Without further ado...


1. Women should never* have flowers delivered to other women. Although it normally takes a woman one second to grab the card and look at the sender's name, that one second is enough time for at least one dozen male names to cycle through the woman's brain (men who she hopes it might be, men who she hopes it's not). Invariably, seeing a woman's name on the "From" line will cause disappointment. Boiled down? Women sending flowers to other women causes disappointment. And it's not always just a let down after one second of anticipation. Once, for me, it was several agonizing hours. I had recently had a fight with a love-interest. I went home to find that a flower-delivery attempt had been made while I was away. The note indicated that my neighbors had signed for the flowers. But my neighbors weren't home. I waited four agonizing hours, wondering blissfully that perhaps the flowers were from an apologetic love-interest. Instead, when my neighbors got home, I found out that the flowers were from my roommate. Who knew I had had a fight with my love-interest. Who felt bad and thought that sending me flowers would make it better. Who could have just as easily (and less expensively) bought the flowers herself and gave them to me herself, or left them on the kitchen table for me herself. I'm just saying.

*There are exceptions of course. This past December, I missed a flower delivery and had to go pick the flowers up at the shop. I told El Senor that the flowers were either Love Flowers, Friend Flowers, or Death Flowers, and that since I had just returned from my grandma's funeral, I was safely assuming that they were Death Flowers. When I picked them up, I found out that Daltongirl, Nemesis, and Sakhmet had sent them to me. There was no disappointment because A) there was no expectation that they were love flowers, and B) none of those women live in my same city, so it's not as if they could have delivered them in person.

2. No one should ever give flowers anonymously. The anonymous giving of flowers is a cruelty that should have been prohibited in the Geneva Conventions. The anonymous giving of flowers doesn't work out well for the receiver or the sender. I believe that very seldomly does the receiver's hope of who the sender is actually match up with who the sender is. Women anonymously giving flowers to women is the worst. The recipient will be deluded into thinking that some man has romantic interest in her. The let-down will be soul-mangling to say the least. Men anonymously giving flowers to women is only slightly better. But when the recipient finds out that the sender was actually the weird social outcast instead of the handsome French speaker, and that the weird social outcast was actually harboring a secret undying love for the recipient, the recipient will be both crushed and very, very afraid. And then the recipient will hate that kind of flower for the rest of her pathetic, lonely existence. (And so what if I'm speaking from personal experience? Don't ever try to send me yellow roses because I don't care what the crap you say about yellow meaning "friendship"---I know that it means much, much more, you crazy social outcast!)



So that's basically it for my Flower Policy. If you're a woman, deliver the flowers by hand so that there's no moment of hope to cause inevitable let-down. If you're a man or a woman, sign your name to those flowers on penalty of death.

This and That

I haven't updated in so long and I've had a lot to say, so I'll see how I can do at giving you a life update as concisely as possible.

1. I booked a gaycation with Switchback. Of course, neither of us is gay, but it just turned into what we called our gaycation. She called me one night with news that I could get a round-trip ticket to San Diego for $60. Since Switchback is always worth at least $60, I went online to book my trip, only to discover that the fare was non-existent. One thing led to another and before we knew it, we were both purchasing tickets to Maryland for the end of March while she's on Spring Break. We plan on staying with my parents and doing DC and Baltimore. When I didn't blog about this, she wrote me the following email:

so I couldn't help but notice that you havent put up our plans for a gaycation on the blog. Are you afraid to admit to everyone who you are and what our relationship is really? Because if you can't, I serious think we should reconsider me meeting your parents.

2. This leads me into my next story. I was google chatting with Saule Cogneur the other day. My google chat tagline at the time read, "I'm going on gaycation." He asked me how I was doing and pointed out that I seemed busy lately. I mentioned that I've been busy at work and that I've recently started dating someone. Several minutes later, I realized that my tagline read, "I'm going on gaycation" and I told him that I had recently started dating someone, so I felt a strong need to clarify to him that I am dating a MAN.

3. This leads me into my next story. I'm dating a MAN. No seriously. He's ten years older than me. He's suggested we round it down to nine, but I pointed out that it's almost exactly nine and three-quarters years, so it really makes more sense to round up to ten. Since you're all dying to know everything there is to know about him, I'll give you only the most relevant details:

• He has only missed flossing three times in the last decade (like, since when he was my age). He was traveling all three times.
• He thinks that Banana Republic is "low-end" and "cheap."
• His Republicanism has already made me angry enough to have caused me to excuse myself from dinner and go to the bathroom to sing repeatedly the first line of Mary Cox and the Pop Rocks' song "All I Care about Is You," which goes, "I don't care if you're Republican; I don't care 'cause that's not quite the worst sin..." I tried unsuccessfully to convince myself that it was true.
  
• One of his hobbies is photography, and I haven't admitted to him yet that I kindof want to make him go to Antelope Island with me to show me how to take good pictures of birds, because I'm afraid that he'll think I'm cooky. I admit it. It's cooky, which is a word I never use but is entirely applicable in this case. (Luckily, since I am grounded in reality, I'm sure that he'll tell me that he doesn't have the right lens for taking pictures of birds on Antelope Island.)

4. Which doesn't lead me into my next point, which is that Rice had the most amazing encounter with a squirrel in her house recently. You'll remember that Rice and I went turtle fishing years ago with a stick, string, and a hot dog and didn't catch anything, so we changed our plans immediately to squirrel fishing and hilarity ensued. Allow me to present you with this exclusive google chat interview with Rice:

CICADA: Oh! Wait! Oh my gosh!

RICE: What!

CICADA: I almost forgot!

RICE: OMG! [That’s her making fun of me.] WHAT!

CICADA: El Senor told me the story about the SQUIRREL in your HOUSE and you were SCREAMING and you didn't know what to do!!! Rogers Rice! Of ALL people, I thought you would know BEST what to do with a squirrel. Didn't you have hot dogs and a pole and a string???!

RICE: Oh Cicada. That was Hilarious. And squirrels in homes are much scarier than those in the wild. It started charging me while I was talking to El Senor. No hot dog was going to quell his want of my blood. I fear that I've made an enemy. He now sits on my porch and watches me.

CICADA: How did you get him out?

RICE: It was so awesome. We set up an elaborate obstacle course for him, so he had to charge at me. But I was waiting, holding a broom, at which point I was able to hockey puck out the open door, and he ran up a tree in front of my house. And now he stalks me.

CICADA: Wait... so he really was after YOU the whole time??

RICE: That's what I'm saying. He even peed on my bed

CICADA: I bet it's squirrel revenge. Oh, Rice!

RICE: We made some powerful enemies, Cicada. The hot dog on the stick... Biggest mistake of my life

CICADA: I'm going to have to watch my back from now on. And my bed.

RICE: Word. They'll get you

Which doesn't lead me to any more points. I'll try to be better at updating, promise.

Mall Cut vs. Mom Cut

So a few months ago, I went to the Valley Fair Mall to buy a pair of jeans. I walked out of the Valley Fair Mall with a pair of jeans and a haircut. Risky, you may think, getting a mall cut, particularly at the Valley Fair Mall, which is a little bit W. T., if you know what I mean.

But the fact is that it was a great cut. I've loved my hair for the past couple of months. Sadly, it grows, so while it still looked cute, I knew it was time for another hair cut. Fortunately, my sister-in-law, Captain Mom, had a $20-off coupon for her hair stylist. I made an appointment and looked forward to my visit to a real salon (or hair design studio).

My hair cut began with an oil-head massage. So... you know how there's foods that you've never liked, and you keep trying them every few years or so to see if you like them yet? Lately, I've been thinking about signing up to get a massage because I've been stressed at work. The problem is that I really hate strangers touching me. But I thought maybe I could get over it and enjoy the massage. Well, judging by my oil-head massage, I'd have to say that I still have not developed a taste for strangers touching me unnecessarily. I'm shuddering just thinking back on it.

After I explained to the stylist what I wanted, she proceeded to cut my hair and make chit-chat, another part of the hair cutting process that I usually loathe. She asked me where I usually go for my hair cuts. I told her about my place in Provo, and explained that I'd only had my hair cut once since being in Salt Lake---and that it was at the mall. She kindof cringed right then and said, "Wow. You're brave. Which mall?" When I said, "Valley Fair Mall," I think that she almost passed out.

She quickly got over it and kept up with the chit chat. Like once, she asked me if I had a boyfriend. Two minutes later, she asked me if I had a boyfriend. I felt inclined at that moment just to make one up and see what she did in another two minutes when she asked again if I had a boyfriend and I gave her a different name.

Granted, my conversation with my mall cutter wasn't that much more intimate or entertaining. She told me about her dead-beat husband and his no-good friends. And although that sounds like it might be more interesting than repeatedly discussing my dating status, it wasn't.

By the end of the cut, I looked like a mom. Not that that's bad, all you mothers who are out there reading this, but you know what I mean. I'm only hoping that I'll be more pleased with the cut after I wash and style it myself. It was just interesting, as I left the salon, to think that my mall cut was actually a more positive experience. Maybe I've got a little W. T. in me after all.
DISCLAIMER: This is not to say that Captain Mom has poor taste in stylists. I always love CM's hair. I am reluctantly confident that my hair will turn out to be just fine tomorrow, and while I'm debating whether to go back to this stylist (meaning there's a very slight chance), I do appreciate CM for looking out for me and encouraging me to explore options beyond Valley Fair Mall.