How the heck does Disney make us think one deer is a BOY deer and one deer is a GIRL deer? This fascinates me. Any ideas? *picture me contemplating this as I stroke my silver chin hair. I named him Gandalf, FYI.
See you on Monday-- my talkative side has been bubbling up and is going to explode allll over this website next week. I have the most appealing way of phrasing things, I know.
First of all, I want to thank everybody who's been wishing me a happy birthday! Between facebook and text messages, I feel like I'm in front of some sort of tennis ball launcher that's chucking waterballoons filled with loooove. Truly blown away.
So, THANK YOU, EVERYONE ♥ I'm a lucky lady to have you all.
Aaaand as promised, here's my little present to myself: the new Matthewsers page! Brought to you entirely by kind internet strangers who post HTML tutorials, and my (desperately naive) late night grit and determination:
(click to zoom)
...at least, that's what it should look like. Hopefully.
There were a few blooper reels-- for a while, I thought it would be a genius idea to draw cartoons of us on the sketchbook. After an hour or two of drawing, I got halfway done and decided STRONGLY against it:
(for the record, Jason requested to be upside down)
Can't. Do. It.
Why does it look cool ontheseguys and cheesy here? I don't know. But I can't bring myself to go through with it.
***
Here are a few tutorials I found especially easy and valuable:
Even though my name is April, and I like ducks & bunnies, and my favorite color is white, and I've been called "bubbly" on more than one occasion-- I have a punk rocker side.
(Don't laugh! You'll hurt my inner punk-rocker's feelings.)
So considering this, and my favorite pastime (costume parties), I was thinking:
pre-birthday-party @ my house
+washable markers
+colored hairspray
+lots of safety pins +etc. (copious amounts of etc.)
a wonderful excuse to have fake tattoos and
colored hair for a night
And then this is where I get stumped. Go out to pizza and look ridiculous? Go play on a playground? Go bar-hopping and accidentally end up in the middle of a gang war?
ALL OF THE ABOVE??
But thennn, I stumbled across this Cup of Jo post:
I am a terrible housewife. I was never made for this. NEVER. I need direction; I need pressure; I need someone to boss me around.
(I need for any potential employers to erase the previous sentence and the existence of this blog from their memory, and believe I'm a perfectly self-motivated individual with energizer-bunny drive and the focus of a bald eagle with binoculars... who never writes run-on sentences.)
It makes sense that if I don't have a job, and Jason is working his butt off at school, I should be doing an equal amount of work in job-seeking and housewifery, yes?
Job-seeking? Check!
Housewifery? ....
Let's just say, it's so bad that I get aprons as gag gifts.
Click to zoom. If you dare.
Euphemisms of the past:
Dinner isn't late, it's... suspenseful.
Dinner isn't burnt/completely carcinogenic/could be used as charcoal sticks for caveman drawings, it's... smokey. Or "Cajun?"
And the biohazards in the fridge? Just think of them as biodiversity. Flourishing biodiversity. Perhaps you prefer the term "wildlife?"
As for as the algae growing under the dish drainer, it...
I just can't euphemize that. I can't. That was the final straw.
Combined with that horrific discovery and the manic-episode-inducing-happy-sunny springtime outside, it's as if someone shot me full of some sort of Crack-Ritalin cocktail.
I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF RIGHT NOW.
I'm going through a "This is why I'll never be an adult" cycle, and right now I'm full-on:
This is so amazing that I feel guilty for using it, even when I give Allie credit for it. SOURCE: hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com
Seriously, my hands are chapped from bleach.
Currently working on:
Planning this entire week's meals and writing a grocery list for all the ingredients, organized into three different grocery stores, and BY AISLE. I'm serious about the Crack-Ritalin suspicions.
Sterilizing/organizing the entire apartment.
Redesigning zee old blog... it's gonna be COOL!
Redesigning my professional portfolio-- I'll link you to it once the dust settles.
Drawing, & painting, & learning a new architecture design program!
Applying for volunteer jobs at animal shelters while I wait to hear back from architecture firms.
Taking a shower every day!
Planning PARTIES!!!
I'll tell you about them soon. It's exciting. As is FREAKING EVERYTHING right now.
...I hope I don't crash too hard.
P.S. I finally thought of a way to euphemize the algae under the dish drainer: "At least that's ONE houseplant I can keep alive!" Buh-dum-PSHHH.
Nature is on crack right now, and I'm totally getting a second-hand high off of it. I love it.
This weekend was so beautiful I had no choice but to go outside and play with my camera. Nothing like documenting plants in all their flamboyant reproductive glory!
OBSCENE, isn't it?
And then they've got all these bees up in their business:
(Awarding myself 10 points for not saying buzziness.)
Soon I'd become obsessed with photographing bees. This was only made possible with the help of my zoom lens, because bees make me scream like a little girl.
Nothing like being wayyy zoomed in on a little bee, and then having it fly STRAIGHT TOWARDS YOUR FACE and shrieking like a seventh-grader on helium and almost dropping the camera and startling an old couple walking by hand-in-hand.
(Although this artsy abstract shot came from one of those instances:)
.png)
