I Thought of Another Way to Avoid Making a Decision Myself

There are many things in this world that I suck at, and President and CEO of that list is making decisions. Sure, if it's a big deal sort of decision, I'll figure out a path that works. However, if it's a minor sort of thing, I can't do it. Don't ask me where we should go for dinner. I DON'T KNOW. Don't ask me to decide if Enjoy the Silence or Down In It is the better song. I DON'T KNOW. Don't make me tell you whether you look better in the green shirt or the yellow shirt. I DON'T KNOW.

I DON'T KNOW.

This new house stuff is making those two brain cells responsible for making insignificant decisions psychotic. Just call them Larry and Curly because they are continuously bonking each other over the head with a baseball bat. Larry's all, "You decide, you moron." Curly is all, "Screw you. I ain't deciding nuttin'. Who you callin' a moron anyway?" Then they fall over each other trying to beat each other up. Neither one of them ever does anything useful like MAKE A DANG DECISION.

From what color to paint the walls to where to hang the dragonfly light fixture, I can't decide. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. In the weeks since we've gone under contract to buy the place, I have debated. Pondered. Shopped. Scoured magazines. Debated. Pondered. And not decided. I finally realized that there is one chief decision that needs to be made. If I can figure it out, all the rest of the pieces will kinda sorta maybe fall in place.

Oh, internet, help me figure it out.

The issue is this: I have too many choices for where to put the playroom. It's a ridiculous problem, and would very easily be solved if a giant tree would just fall on the house and render a few rooms useless. Since there are no trees anywhere in the vicinity, I think I'm stuck having to pick a room. Here is the rundown.

Choice #1--Bedroom 4: There are four bedrooms upstairs at the new house, and Alexis' future room is the larger of the two bedrooms at the end of the hall. Directly across from her room is a very tiny little bedroom. Pros: I would never, ever have to clean it because there would be no reason for anyone other than Alexis to ever see it. Cons: Not only is it tiny, it's also very secluded. It's at the furthest possible point from the rest of the house so Alexis could host a NKOTB reunion concert and I'd never know. That might also be considered a pro.

Choice #2--The Loft: The stairwell from the first floor to the second is very open and there is a decent-sized (10x15ish) room tucked above the dining room at the front of the house. Pros: The floor is not all that visible as you come up the stairs as you have to walk down a hallway to get to it. Thus, it would be OK if it were left messy, just so long as the mess didn't reach a height of, say, three or more feet. Cons: It's upstairs. I don't really like it when Alexis is on a different floor of the house than me. Also, I'm game for decorating the play room in the most obnoxious, kid-friendly way possible, and the fact that the room is 100% visible from the street might deter me from making it as crazy as I would like (also, the walls are visible from the front entrance and dining room--I would have to figure out how to transition from crazy to tasteful in the midst of that very open space).

(The Loft is to the left of that half wall. Like I said, it's VERY open to the rest of the house.)

Choice #3--The Living Room: The house has a family room connected to the kitchen (all one big open room, really), but also has a formal living room. It's not visible from the kitchen and family room since it's down the hall, but it's not that far away. Pros: It's big. I'd say 15x15, at least. While it does face the street, I worry less about people being able to see into it because trees/landscaping will eventually make those windows less peeper friendly. Cons: There's a bathroom connected to it. The builder intended for it to be able to be used as a living room or first floor master suite, so it has its own full bathroom. Which better not get used. Ever. Or I will scream at somebody. Seriously, that bathroom is off limits. There are too many of them in that house, and that is the one that I am declaring forbidden. If the playroom is right there, Alexis will have easy access to it, and I might not be able to stop it. Three year olds and a forbidden bathroom sounds like a recipe for disaster.

Aaaaand, I think just writing that all out moved me closer to a decision. Maybe. OK, maybe not. Tell me, oh wise internets, what do you look for in a playroom? Secluded so you get silence? Nearby so you can monitor what is going on? Big? Small? HEEEELP!

I Am Not Amused

As I hurriedly rinsed the soap from my hands, a tiny little glint caught my attention. In a rare show of vanity, I glanced up at the mirror. I'm not one to actually check my appearance during the day because, really, what am I going to do? Comb my hair? Touch up my makeup? HAHAHAHAHA! No. I'm not going to do a thing. Why bother even looking?

I leaned closer, confused as to how there seemed to be exactly one strand of very blond hair, despite the fact that I desperately needed to touch up my blond highlights. "Weird," I thought.

Then I did a double-take. "No freakin way. Is that?"

My eyes grew wide as I ripped that one lonely hair out. I wasn't completely sure, but it seemed to be . . . white. Or gray. Not blond.

That was a year ago.

Guess what happens when you stop highlighting your hair, and decide to dye it even darker than your natural color?

Uh, yeah.

That one lonely maybe-white-maybe-gray-maybe-blond hair dared to show its face. And it brought friends. Like, a dozen or so of them. Not only are they peeping through where there should be dark brown, they are LOUD and they are PROUD.

The mother truckers are ruining my plans for not ever dying my hair again, what with their taunting and screaming and mocking of my eyes. They are all, "HA HA! You used to always be the youngest at everything, but now you're just an old woman! HA HA! See what happens when you have kids! HA HA! Hey! Look at me! I AM PROOF THAT YOU ARE OLD, BIOTCH!"

Flipplesnuckleshnart.

It's still better than having bird poop all over my head, though.

The Concert We Shall Not Name

Twenty years. That's how long it had been since I last saw a particular band in concert. I wouldn't say they were ever my favorite band. In high school, that honor belonged to Nine Inch Nails, but this band was the very next set of CDs in my alphabetized wallet. (Nobody can ever say everything I listen to sounds exactly the same.) This band was up there, though, near the top of my favorites list. Way up there.

When I learned they were rolling through Pittsburgh, I figured what the hell? Tickets were only $10, so I could saunter in a little late, hang out for a few songs, and leave early without really wasting any money.

Yeah, right. I stayed for the whole show.

Anyhooooo, if you know the name of the band in the photos, that is in itself a confession of dorktitude. Recognition = knowledge = reason for mockery. So tread lightly when you mock me for going. Just sayin'.

Besides, at least I've changed clothes since the last time I saw them in concert.

Seriously. Where the hell do you find neon knee socks and leggings? There must be a whole generation of peeps who kept all their 80's stuff because that sort of thing was EVERYWHERE. I haven't seen so much neon, ripped denim, and side ponytails since Lisa Frank was adorning the front of my Trapper Keeper.

Some twitter friends and I met up at the show, and were sort of just standing around staring at the Fashion Crimes as we waited for The Band to hit the stage. We all had general admission tickets valid for sitting in the grass, but were in no hurry to find our way out there. Good thing, too, because all of a sudden security decided to open up the roof-covered pavilion to us cheap jerks.

There was a stampede.

*Insert really mean joke here. I totally admit, it's MEAN.*

We cautiously followed the herd of wild animals into the pavilion, and not a minute too soon. The skies opened up and IT POURED. We stayed dry because we are that kind of awesome.

As the skies cried over our collective dorktitude, the show finally started.

SQUEEEEE!

*ahem*

You gotta admit, some of the guys have held up pretty well over the years.

Shut up. I have to give bonus points because LET'S GO PENS!

Not long after the Beantown Boy made it clear that the Pens have the right stuff, Monkey Boy had a . . . uh . . . moment with the stage. It was AWKWARD.

But that was all forgotten the moment Blue Eyes popped up in the middle of the crowd. This is the moment when he saw me and realized the love of his life was still out there.

Coincidentally, that's the same moment when I realized that I REALLY need image stabilization on my 75-300mm lens so that I could have better photographic evidence that he still loves me best.

You should probably be grateful that I was too cheap to buy a lens with image stabilization. Otherwise, you'd be looking at a very clear photo of the Old Man's pooper.

It sucks that he's older than me. I can't really yell at my elders to pull up their pants, you know.

I can, however, use my Mom Powers to make note of something significant. There seems to be one member of The Band who is not all that cool with being there. I recognize the signs because my own dear sweet child does this same thing. You see, when Alexis finds herself in the midst of a crowd and gets uncomfortable, she tries to make herself invisible by hiding her face in her shoulder. It's as if she thinks that if she can manage to avoid making eye contact with anyone, it'll be like she isn't there.

Check this out:

"You can't make me look up."

"La, la, la. There are only four guys on stage because you can't see me if I don't look up."

"I'm still not here. Carry on."

I don't know. Maybe Jonathan has some sort of neck condition that causes his left ear to be permanently attached to his left shoulder? Either that, or he's trying REALLY hard to not make eye contact with anyone. If he doesn't see you, you can't see him. Just ask Alexis, she'll confirm that is how it works.

He could probably teach her how to hide in some fog, I suppose. He's got mad skills when it comes to that.

Overall, I have to admit it was a pretty good show. There were some minor-ish issues with the crowd (For example, there is a bounty out on the chick that was trying to get busy with my left leg and left arm. OMG, how hard is it to respect personal space? WTF? Do people really need to give me a lap dance at a concert?). The newer music from The Band kinda sucks because it's all pervy sounding (e.g. 40-somethings REALLY shouldn't be singing about giving a girl Full Service. I'M JUST SAYIN'.), but the old stuff? Just as good as ever.

Commence the mocking in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .