Picture This

One of things I most hate about moving is trying to figure out how (and where) to fit all my furniture and pictures in a new space.  Especially my pictures.  By the time I've lived somewhere for nearly a decade, I've gotten things just the way I want them, with pictures purchased to fill the spaces I have exactly.

The problem is that when you move, even if you have the same amount of space (or more), things never fit the same way again.  It's like losing the last 2-3 pieces out of a jigsaw puzzle.  Now I have more wall space (technically speaking only), but most of it isn't usable in the way I need it to be.  There are too many door frames and window frames in the way, or the furniture is now in different places than in my previous house, as dictated by my new floor plan.  It's very annoying.

Parts of my living room now have walls vaulting up a full two stories.  That's great and all, but what the heck do you do with all that dead space?  No one wants to sit around (or stand around, for that matter) getting neck cramps from trying to gaze at pictures, however big, 20 feet off of the ground.  So what am I to do?  It's a mystery.

A week from tomorrow I get to drive to the airport to pick up my girlie for Thanksgiving Break.  I'm looking forward to seeing her, of course, but this means that I am in a bit of a tailspin this week, particularly after getting behind last week while I was under the weather.  My goal was to have finished my sewing room, cleaned the whole house, and gotten--some 15 months later--all of my pictures hung at last.  Guess what three things are still not done.

So far, I have 1 coat of paint on all of the cubby shelves (my last set, thank goodness!) in my sewing room, and a second coat on the two bottom shelves.  Keep in mind each shelf has three cubbies on it, so you can imagine the amount of time and effort it's taking to paint the inside of what amounts to 21 boxes without painting all of the blue wall behind them.  Finishing these shelves is important because I cannot finish unpacking and organizing the sewing room without them, nor can I hang my intended pictures in that room till I can see where they'll fit once everything's been put away, never mind if I'll have room will left over for other surplus pictures.

While waiting for hours for my flipping Schwan's guy to show up today, I did get a head start on some of the cleaning.  The entire living room and dining room has now been dusted (no mean feat considering I hadn't done it in probably a month because I was working on the stupid sewing room before getting sick and delaying things further), except for the dining table because it is currently serving as Sort Central.  I also have gotten half of the closet in my office organized.  I know it sounds like these things should be unrelated, but they aren't.  I have never been one to clean a single room at a time. I always have multiple things going at once because there's almost always overlap.  For example, today, some of the stuff that needs to be cleaned in the sewing room belongs in the office, but before it can go in the office, I must first remove all the smaller picture frames clogging the shelves (which I have now done) so that those things will fit in my office.  I had put off moving the smaller frames because first I had to finish getting all my furniture arranged and rooms cleaned (no point putting clean frames in a dusty room) so that I could finally decide which pictures should go in which room, and I couldn't really do that till I had them all out where I could see them and know what my options were.  Also, I couldn't really place all my smaller prints until I had sorted out where all the big pictures were going, so I'd know what spaces I had left for them. 

It's like freaking photographic dominoes around here today. 

Before my choral practice tonight I spent a good 2-3 hours dredging out all the already-framed photos and putting them up all over the guest room so I could see what I had.  Good thing there's no guests, because I'm pretty sure no one would be able to sleep with all those faces staring creepily at the bed like a silent and judgmental Greek chorus.  Next I drug out my empty frames so I could decide which graduation pictures should go in which frame since none of those ever even got framed, what with the girlie graduating approximately ten minutes before moving and everything.  So I knew that in addition to the framed pictures I already had, I'd have to leave spots to add the newer senior/graduation pics into the house-wide distribution mix.

When I got home from rehearsal, I spent another hour arranging and rearranging my BIG pictures to see what would work best where, relocating half of them from my original plan for the house.  They still need to be hung, of course, but neither the hubs nor I were in the mood to drag the big ladder through the tight corners going from the garage to the living room.  But I feel better for having a real plan now, because at least half of the picture jigsaw puzzle is now done.  No doubt there will still be some jockeying of the other pieces as I try to fill in the empty spaces with whatever I can make fit. 

In the meantime, the living room is 2/3 done, the dining room is 2/3 done, my office (at least as far as cleaning goes) is 1/2 done and organization is 3/4 done, and the sewing room is maybe 1/3 finished.  I still have pictures to hang and pictures to display throughout the house, meaning I will finally be making said house (grudgingly) into a home because I will finally be admitting that this move is not going to unhappen anytime soon.  I still have floors to do, the kitchen to do, bathrooms to do, and painting to do--though that part at least can wait a bit longer. 

I've got Magic to Do, just for you...
I've got miracle costs to defray. 
I've got dust to reform, meals to warm. 
Pics and things to hang by storm,
As I clean the house todaaaaaa-ay-ay-aaaay.

And as if all that weren't enough, I still have to find the time to shop for Thanksgiving in there somewhere as well.

Anyway, if all miraculously goes well, then somehow everything will get done in the next week and I'll be able to cruise till Christmas, happy in the knowledge that not only will my house be clean, my sewing room and office fully functional and my clothes all laundered, but all of my framed art and photos will finally be hung by the chimney (and every-freaking-where else) with care, in the hopes that no more packing boxes will be found anywhere.

Picture This

One of things I most hate about moving is trying to figure out how (and where) to fit all my furniture and pictures in a new space.  Especially my pictures.  By the time I've lived somewhere for nearly a decade, I've gotten things just the way I want them, with pictures purchased to fill the spaces I have exactly.

The problem is that when you move, even if you have the same amount of space (or more), things never fit the same way again.  It's like losing the last 2-3 pieces out of a jigsaw puzzle.  Now I have more wall space (technically speaking only), but most of it isn't usable in the way I need it to be.  There are too many door frames and window frames in the way, or the furniture is now in different places than in my previous house, as dictated by my new floor plan.  It's very annoying.

Parts of my living room now have walls vaulting up a full two stories.  That's great and all, but what the heck do you do with all that dead space?  No one wants to sit around (or stand around, for that matter) getting neck cramps from trying to gaze at pictures, however big, 20 feet off of the ground.  So what am I to do?  It's a mystery.

A week from tomorrow I get to drive to the airport to pick up my girlie for Thanksgiving Break.  I'm looking forward to seeing her, of course, but this means that I am in a bit of a tailspin this week, particularly after getting behind last week while I was under the weather.  My goal was to have finished my sewing room, cleaned the whole house, and gotten--some 15 months later--all of my pictures hung at last.  Guess what three things are still not done.

So far, I have 1 coat of paint on all of the cubby shelves (my last set, thank goodness!) in my sewing room, and a second coat on the two bottom shelves.  Keep in mind each shelf has three cubbies on it, so you can imagine the amount of time and effort it's taking to paint the inside of what amounts to 21 boxes without painting all of the blue wall behind them.  Finishing these shelves is important because I cannot finish unpacking and organizing the sewing room without them, nor can I hang my intended pictures in that room till I can see where they'll fit once everything's been put away, never mind if I'll have room will left over for other surplus pictures.

While waiting for hours for my flipping Schwan's guy to show up today, I did get a head start on some of the cleaning.  The entire living room and dining room has now been dusted (no mean feat considering I hadn't done it in probably a month because I was working on the stupid sewing room before getting sick and delaying things further), except for the dining table because it is currently serving as Sort Central.  I also have gotten half of the closet in my office organized.  I know it sounds like these things should be unrelated, but they aren't.  I have never been one to clean a single room at a time. I always have multiple things going at once because there's almost always overlap.  For example, today, some of the stuff that needs to be cleaned in the sewing room belongs in the office, but before it can go in the office, I must first remove all the smaller picture frames clogging the shelves (which I have now done) so that those things will fit in my office.  I had put off moving the smaller frames because first I had to finish getting all my furniture arranged and rooms cleaned (no point putting clean frames in a dusty room) so that I could finally decide which pictures should go in which room, and I couldn't really do that till I had them all out where I could see them and know what my options were.  Also, I couldn't really place all my smaller prints until I had sorted out where all the big pictures were going, so I'd know what spaces I had left for them. 

It's like freaking photographic dominoes around here today. 

Before my choral practice tonight I spent a good 2-3 hours dredging out all the already-framed photos and putting them up all over the guest room so I could see what I had.  Good thing there's no guests, because I'm pretty sure no one would be able to sleep with all those faces staring creepily at the bed like a silent and judgmental Greek chorus.  Next I drug out my empty frames so I could decide which graduation pictures should go in which frame since none of those ever even got framed, what with the girlie graduating approximately ten minutes before moving and everything.  So I knew that in addition to the framed pictures I already had, I'd have to leave spots to add the newer senior/graduation pics into the house-wide distribution mix.

When I got home from rehearsal, I spent another hour arranging and rearranging my BIG pictures to see what would work best where, relocating half of them from my original plan for the house.  They still need to be hung, of course, but neither the hubs nor I were in the mood to drag the big ladder through the tight corners going from the garage to the living room.  But I feel better for having a real plan now, because at least half of the picture jigsaw puzzle is now done.  No doubt there will still be some jockeying of the other pieces as I try to fill in the empty spaces with whatever I can make fit. 

In the meantime, the living room is 2/3 done, the dining room is 2/3 done, my office (at least as far as cleaning goes) is 1/2 done and organization is 3/4 done, and the sewing room is maybe 1/3 finished.  I still have pictures to hang and pictures to display throughout the house, meaning I will finally be making said house (grudgingly) into a home because I will finally be admitting that this move is not going to unhappen anytime soon.  I still have floors to do, the kitchen to do, bathrooms to do, and painting to do--though that part at least can wait a bit longer. 

I've got Magic to Do, just for you...
I've got miracle costs to defray. 
I've got dust to reform, meals to warm. 
Pics and things to hang by storm,
As I clean the house todaaaaaa-ay-ay-aaaay.

And as if all that weren't enough, I still have to find the time to shop for Thanksgiving in there somewhere as well.

Anyway, if all miraculously goes well, then somehow everything will get done in the next week and I'll be able to cruise till Christmas, happy in the knowledge that not only will my house be clean, my sewing room and office fully functional and my clothes all laundered, but all of my framed art and photos will finally be hung by the chimney (and every-freaking-where else) with care, in the hopes that no more packing boxes will be found anywhere.

The Last Resort

I know what you're thinking.  The "Last Resort" sounds like I've given up on something and am about to succumb to a desperate act, possibly because of the difficulty in trying to come up with something new about which to blog every day, particularly while I've been under the weather.  True, it does sound that way, but it isn't really.

Seriously.  This is the LAST RESORT.  Just in case you weren't sure.

Today is the first day in most of two weeks that I have felt relatively normal.  I woke up with no scratchy throat, no excessive phlegm (I'm sure you're all grateful to know that), and only minor allergy brain.  I can once again sing without hacking, at least for a while.  So that's good.  I decided to celebrate by going out to eat, particularly since the hubs had band practice and wasn't planning to be home for dinner.

View of the street from the covered patio.

I chose to go to my favorite restaurant here in town, a place called the Last Resort Grill.  It's downtown near the local university and is an awesome little place with an outdoor patio, subdued lighting, and amazing desserts.  It's also very popular; if you don't go pretty early you can end up waiting 1-2 hours most nights.  On the walls is a rotating display featuring the work of local artists for sale.

Sweet tea, mixed green salad, and fresh bread.  Also, a glaring iPad with my current book on it.

I like to go with a book and sit on the patio where I can watch people walk by on the sidewalk in nice weather.  Unless there is something particularly awesome on the specials, I usually order the "Firecracker Filet," subbing out the asparagus spears for grilled corn.  Tonight's filet, complete with mashed potatoes and rosemary compound butter, was excellent as usual.

Yummy steak with the World Trade Towers rendered in corn.

Book of the night:  Lady of the English by Elizabeth Chadwick

After the meal, I sprung for a raspberry cheesecake.  All of the cakes and cheesecakes for Last Resort (as well as several other restaurants in town) are created by the inimitable Cecelia Villaveces of Cecilia's Cakes.  Cecilia is especially well known for her famous Red Velvet cake, which has hand-painted flowers on it.  My daughter, who loves red velvet (unlike me), says it's one of the best--if not the actual best--red velvet cake she's ever tasted.

I forgot to take a picture of my raspberry cheesecake.  Here's a picture of the
raspberry cake, which I also often get.  I loves me some raspberry flavoring.

The famous red velvet.

It was a good evening...very quiet and peaceful, with lots of good food, a good book, and a snobby college girl next to me speaking condescendingly to her friends about her French major.  Ah, college.  It's days like this that I'm glad I'm no longer 20 and excessively full of myself.

The Last Resort

I know what you're thinking.  The "Last Resort" sounds like I've given up on something and am about to succumb to a desperate act, possibly because of the difficulty in trying to come up with something new about which to blog every day, particularly while I've been under the weather.  True, it does sound that way, but it isn't really.

Seriously.  This is the LAST RESORT.  Just in case you weren't sure.

Today is the first day in most of two weeks that I have felt relatively normal.  I woke up with no scratchy throat, no excessive phlegm (I'm sure you're all grateful to know that), and only minor allergy brain.  I can once again sing without hacking, at least for a while.  So that's good.  I decided to celebrate by going out to eat, particularly since the hubs had band practice and wasn't planning to be home for dinner.

View of the street from the covered patio.

I chose to go to my favorite restaurant here in town, a place called the Last Resort Grill.  It's downtown near the local university and is an awesome little place with an outdoor patio, subdued lighting, and amazing desserts.  It's also very popular; if you don't go pretty early you can end up waiting 1-2 hours most nights.  On the walls is a rotating display featuring the work of local artists for sale.

Sweet tea, mixed green salad, and fresh bread.  Also, a glaring iPad with my current book on it.

I like to go with a book and sit on the patio where I can watch people walk by on the sidewalk in nice weather.  Unless there is something particularly awesome on the specials, I usually order the "Firecracker Filet," subbing out the asparagus spears for grilled corn.  Tonight's filet, complete with mashed potatoes and rosemary compound butter, was excellent as usual.

Yummy steak with the World Trade Towers rendered in corn.

Book of the night:  Lady of the English by Elizabeth Chadwick

After the meal, I sprung for a raspberry cheesecake.  All of the cakes and cheesecakes for Last Resort (as well as several other restaurants in town) are created by the inimitable Cecelia Villaveces of Cecilia's Cakes.  Cecilia is especially well known for her famous Red Velvet cake, which has hand-painted flowers on it.  My daughter, who loves red velvet (unlike me), says it's one of the best--if not the actual best--red velvet cake she's ever tasted.

I forgot to take a picture of my raspberry cheesecake.  Here's a picture of the
raspberry cake, which I also often get.  I loves me some raspberry flavoring.

The famous red velvet.

It was a good evening...very quiet and peaceful, with lots of good food, a good book, and a snobby college girl next to me speaking condescendingly to her friends about her French major.  Ah, college.  It's days like this that I'm glad I'm no longer 20 and excessively full of myself.

Why I Hate Pizza

Okay, that's not really true.  I LIKE pizza.  What I have come to hate is trying to freaking ORDER it down here.  We successfully ordered pizza for the movers when we got here at the end of last July, and it's gone downhill from there.  Not long after we moved, Papa John's changed their website and we have been screwed ever since.

AND it's made of a giant pepperoni!!

It's bad enough that for most of our tenure here we have not been on the GPS grid.  Our house is in a relatively new subdivision so no one can find us half the time--especially pizza guys.   I very recently discovered that we have now made it onto Google maps (but not yet TomTom), though they still list our street as being in the wrong suburb.  Typical.  When we put the contract on the house, it was listed as being in "Watkinsville."  After I pointed out that most of the other houses on the street were listed in a different suburb, they went running to research it and ended up making us sign an addendum officially changing the street address.  So apparently even the builder doesn't know where the heck we live. Turns out that part of the problem was a post office power struggle over which office would be forced to service this area.  I should have taken that as a warning.

Anyhow, I spent the next couple of months being ping-ponged back and forth between the Watkinsville Papa John's and the one in Athens because neither could really decide whose responsibility it was to deliver to my house.  The Athens store is slightly closer, but they insist that we are supposed to be on the Watkinsville route.  The Watkinsville store admitted this, but could never find our house.   The thing that really bugged me, though, was that we weren't the only house out here and you can't tell me that a handful of other houses, all with kids in elementary or middle school, never ordered pizza.  One time my online order went to the Athens store, who waited 90 minutes before calling me to say that they couldn't deliver because they were the wrong store and that I needed to call the other franchise.  I finally got my pizza 3 hours later.  Stuff like this went on for some time, and in my frustration (particularly with the very rude and unhelpful Athens store manager) I became very testy on the phone.  Seriously, Papa John's--I don't need your attitude; I have one of my own.

Or at least it is on the Atlanta Highway--you'll notice the B-52s were
looking for a "Love Shack," not a "Pizza Shack."  I now know why.

Eventually I was passed over to some supervisor who listened sympathetically but who wasn't very helpful.  After that I was passed over to a local PR person who was infinitely more helpful.  She agreed that the Athens store should be my store and that they would look into redrawing the boundaries on the map, made sure that it was my online ordering store (while Watkinsville remained my "pick up only" store--go figure),  and mailed me 4 "free pizza" coupons to thank me for sticking with them in spite of the stupidity.

The next 3-4 times I ordered pizza, I received it in a timely fashion from the Athens store.  Then they started to revert to old behavior.  After that, I started getting calls again that they had cancelled my order because it is not in their delivery range (in spite of the fact that it is 2 freaking miles closer than the other store), and forwarded my order to the other shop.  Watkinsville picked up the slack admirably in spite of their earlier ineptitude, though they still had to call every single time to figure out where I was.  The downside was that I then had to pay them in cash.  I like to order online expressly so that I do not have to worry about dredging up enough cash to pay the delivery guy, and I did not appreciate Athens taking that choice away from me by shipping my order to Watkinsville without first asking me.  More than once the hubs and I had to empty both our wallets to scrape together the requisite amount plus tip.

I don't know if this is really true, but it would certainly explain a lot.

Before long, I just quit ordering because it was just too big a hassle between the obnoxious Athens manager and the inability of the Watkinsville drivers to find us in a timely fashion.  True, I could order pizza from other places, but I've never really cared that much for Domino's and most places won't deliver this far out.  Besides, I actually like Papa John's pizza.  I just despise the fact that I am no longer able to get it to my house without drama of epic proportions.  I ordered from Papa John's for 20 years in Memphis and never had a problem getting it.  Here I've had nothing but problems.  It's been very frustrating.  I've tried to get both managers to switch my online account to reflect the Watkinsville store as both my delivery and pick up store, but neither of them seems able to accomplish this.  They both say I have to do it through customer service, but neither would handle it for me nor find me the number so I could do it myself.  So I just gave up and stopped ordering.

That was probably 3-4 months ago, maybe more.  I finally reconciled myself to the fact that I would only ever get pizza when I had sufficient funds at hand to call in the order.  Then, a couple of weeks ago, I got a random email stating that I had won a free large pizza from Papa John's as part of their "Million Pizza Giveaway."  Seriously??  You say you'll give me a free pizza, Papa John's, but you and I both know that you won't actually deliver it to me...and now I want my freaking free pizza!

You say it, but you don't mean it.

So I dug through my old emails, found the one from the nice PR lady, dated last November, and emailed her Friday afternoon to detail the difficulties I've had getting pizza since our last chat, and how and why I had quit ordering.  I told her about the free pizza email and how I was willing to try one last time to get my free pizza, but that I wanted my store switched from the Athens franchise (because the manager there is an ass).  It should be interesting to see what happens when she receives the email tomorrow morning.  Maybe I'll get a pizza out of it, maybe not.  I probably don't actually need pizza anyway.  But it's just the principle of the thing, because I so hate being defeated by the buttheads of the world.  And no, Papa John's, I don't have an attitude problem, you have a perception problem.  Get your shit together or lose me as a customer forever and then watch me bad-mouth you even more.  Online.   I'm just sayin'.

Why I Hate Pizza

Okay, that's not really true.  I LIKE pizza.  What I have come to hate is trying to freaking ORDER it down here.  We successfully ordered pizza for the movers when we got here at the end of last July, and it's gone downhill from there.  Not long after we moved, Papa John's changed their website and we have been screwed ever since.

AND it's made of a giant pepperoni!!

It's bad enough that for most of our tenure here we have not been on the GPS grid.  Our house is in a relatively new subdivision so no one can find us half the time--especially pizza guys.   I very recently discovered that we have now made it onto Google maps (but not yet TomTom), though they still list our street as being in the wrong suburb.  Typical.  When we put the contract on the house, it was listed as being in "Watkinsville."  After I pointed out that most of the other houses on the street were listed in a different suburb, they went running to research it and ended up making us sign an addendum officially changing the street address.  So apparently even the builder doesn't know where the heck we live. Turns out that part of the problem was a post office power struggle over which office would be forced to service this area.  I should have taken that as a warning.

Anyhow, I spent the next couple of months being ping-ponged back and forth between the Watkinsville Papa John's and the one in Athens because neither could really decide whose responsibility it was to deliver to my house.  The Athens store is slightly closer, but they insist that we are supposed to be on the Watkinsville route.  The Watkinsville store admitted this, but could never find our house.   The thing that really bugged me, though, was that we weren't the only house out here and you can't tell me that a handful of other houses, all with kids in elementary or middle school, never ordered pizza.  One time my online order went to the Athens store, who waited 90 minutes before calling me to say that they couldn't deliver because they were the wrong store and that I needed to call the other franchise.  I finally got my pizza 3 hours later.  Stuff like this went on for some time, and in my frustration (particularly with the very rude and unhelpful Athens store manager) I became very testy on the phone.  Seriously, Papa John's--I don't need your attitude; I have one of my own.

Or at least it is on the Atlanta Highway--you'll notice the B-52s were
looking for a "Love Shack," not a "Pizza Shack."  I now know why.

Eventually I was passed over to some supervisor who listened sympathetically but who wasn't very helpful.  After that I was passed over to a local PR person who was infinitely more helpful.  She agreed that the Athens store should be my store and that they would look into redrawing the boundaries on the map, made sure that it was my online ordering store (while Watkinsville remained my "pick up only" store--go figure),  and mailed me 4 "free pizza" coupons to thank me for sticking with them in spite of the stupidity.

The next 3-4 times I ordered pizza, I received it in a timely fashion from the Athens store.  Then they started to revert to old behavior.  After that, I started getting calls again that they had cancelled my order because it is not in their delivery range (in spite of the fact that it is 2 freaking miles closer than the other store), and forwarded my order to the other shop.  Watkinsville picked up the slack admirably in spite of their earlier ineptitude, though they still had to call every single time to figure out where I was.  The downside was that I then had to pay them in cash.  I like to order online expressly so that I do not have to worry about dredging up enough cash to pay the delivery guy, and I did not appreciate Athens taking that choice away from me by shipping my order to Watkinsville without first asking me.  More than once the hubs and I had to empty both our wallets to scrape together the requisite amount plus tip.

I don't know if this is really true, but it would certainly explain a lot.

Before long, I just quit ordering because it was just too big a hassle between the obnoxious Athens manager and the inability of the Watkinsville drivers to find us in a timely fashion.  True, I could order pizza from other places, but I've never really cared that much for Domino's and most places won't deliver this far out.  Besides, I actually like Papa John's pizza.  I just despise the fact that I am no longer able to get it to my house without drama of epic proportions.  I ordered from Papa John's for 20 years in Memphis and never had a problem getting it.  Here I've had nothing but problems.  It's been very frustrating.  I've tried to get both managers to switch my online account to reflect the Watkinsville store as both my delivery and pick up store, but neither of them seems able to accomplish this.  They both say I have to do it through customer service, but neither would handle it for me nor find me the number so I could do it myself.  So I just gave up and stopped ordering.

That was probably 3-4 months ago, maybe more.  I finally reconciled myself to the fact that I would only ever get pizza when I had sufficient funds at hand to call in the order.  Then, a couple of weeks ago, I got a random email stating that I had won a free large pizza from Papa John's as part of their "Million Pizza Giveaway."  Seriously??  You say you'll give me a free pizza, Papa John's, but you and I both know that you won't actually deliver it to me...and now I want my freaking free pizza!

You say it, but you don't mean it.

So I dug through my old emails, found the one from the nice PR lady, dated last November, and emailed her Friday afternoon to detail the difficulties I've had getting pizza since our last chat, and how and why I had quit ordering.  I told her about the free pizza email and how I was willing to try one last time to get my free pizza, but that I wanted my store switched from the Athens franchise (because the manager there is an ass).  It should be interesting to see what happens when she receives the email tomorrow morning.  Maybe I'll get a pizza out of it, maybe not.  I probably don't actually need pizza anyway.  But it's just the principle of the thing, because I so hate being defeated by the buttheads of the world.  And no, Papa John's, I don't have an attitude problem, you have a perception problem.  Get your shit together or lose me as a customer forever and then watch me bad-mouth you even more.  Online.   I'm just sayin'.

You'd Better Be Staring At My Buttons...

When I was in college, I had a fairly extensive collection of "buttons," by which I mean "those random pins that people everywhere had plastered to their jackets and hats," also known as "flair."  It was the 80s--what can I say?  We all wore crap like that.  At least my hair wasn't jacked up every day with 3 cans of Aqua-Net like some people I could name; neither did I routinely wear my undergarments on the outside of my clothing.  But I had a thing for the button pins because they provided a pithy way for me to express my inner anarchist smartass.

The pins were a convenient way to express my personality without being too "in your face" about it or doing something semi-permanent like dying my hair purple.  Unlike other people, I didn't actually wear them all over my jacket but instead tended to sport only one or two that were carefully selected to reflect my mood du jour. 

Some of my favorite buttons were emblazoned with statements like:

"Excuse Me...Could You Tell Me How To Get To The Real World?"

"Reality Is The Leading Cause of Stress"

"Currently Seeking A Country To Rule"

"Women Who Think They Are Equal To Men Lack Ambition"

"Accepting Reality Is The First Step To Insanity"

"I Don't Mind If You Smoke, If You Don't Mind If I Shit In Your Shoe"

"Reality Is For People Who Lack Imagination"

"I'm Naturally Blonde, Please Speak Slowly"  (Well, naturally reddish blonde, anyway.)

"You're Only Young Once -- But You Can Be Immature Forever"

"If Your Life Is So Exciting, Why Are You Reading My Button?"  (Replace "button" with "status" and you have your next update on Facebook.)

"A Woman Who Doesn't Change Her Mind Doesn't Have One"

"This Garment Is Made Entirely Of Animals Who Committed Suicide In The Wild"

"Stress:  The Confusion Created When One's Mind Overrides The Body's Basic Desire To Choke The Living Shit Out Of Some Asshole Who Desperately Deserves It"

I had several others as well--still do, in fact--including the cutesy, the sarcastic, and the generic.  I didn't wear them much past undergrad, though; I had a feeling the great bastions of grad school would have looked upon them unfavorably.  Maybe if I'd had these instead:

Something tells me that the English graduate department would still have frowned on these--with the possible exception of my old mentor Dr. Irwin Weiser, known to one and all as "Bud."  With a name like Bud Weiser, one has to have a decent sense of humor.

And for all of you who are sitting out there laughing at my predilection for snarky buttons, I have just three words for you:  "Facebook Flair" and "PINTEREST."