Entries Tagged 'Daily Maybe Photo' ↓

In the past two days, I’ve learned the following:

It takes approximately 90 minutes and 42 curlers to get my hair ultra curly

I learned that even when I’ve slept on those curlers all night, my hair still won’t be dry. Even after blow drying it.

Also, it takes a lot less time to unroll than roll.

I learned that it takes about 39 bobby pins and an excessive amount of hairspray to look as though I’m going to prom.

I’ve learned that I will dislike an up-do nearly immediately.

And that people gawk at the grocery store when faced with one.

So I will take it out. And ‘fro it out.

I’ve learned that moody purples eyeshadow quads aren’t really that moody, but did bring out the green in my eyes nicely.

Also, four coats of mascara is sometimes necessary.

Additionally, a peeling sunburn cannot be tamed with Aveeno baby lotion and tan lines can’t be camo-ed with foundation.

I learned that a messy ‘fro half-updo will take a fraction of the time of a prom-ish up-do and only 4 bobby pins. And 2 mini claws.

I learned that I have friends who get really excited to see me girled-up.

And some of them take lots of great photos.

I learned that a photo taken while I’m mid-comment will bring about self-loathing.

I learned more drinks than I will admit to (yet. Wait for it.) makes me feel a little more comfy around a camera. In fact, I might even become a ham.

I learned that when you combo a ball gown skirt, pale-as-death skin and dark hair, a few people will call you Snow White.

I learned that everybody loves a boat ride.

I learned, thanks to Rebecca, about a great new flickr plugin. Which is already saving me time.

I learned that an open bar is both my worst enemy and best friend. Also, that an untended bar might bring about sticky fingers.

I learned that I could have just as much, if not more, fun sitting with friends on the seawall with pilfered liquor, coke and foam cups.

I learned that I am entirely capable of peeing in the bushes while wearing a ball-gown skirt, without getting my skirt wet or dirty. But that this shouldn’t be attempted on an incline, because my feet might end up in a muddy puddle.

Also, I like having polished toes.

I learned that even if he’s already asleep, The Ex will not be speaking to me after I come home late.

I learned that I will feel a queasiness in my tummy the next morning, comparable to the first months of gestation of Isobel, after I down nearly 20 drinks. But I still will not hurl.

Also, I might need to reign in the drinks.

Also, my hair gets bigger when I pass out. Perhaps due to some sort of magical elves.

I learned that this guy was doing exactly what I wanted to be, all day. And the fact that it was right outside my window, reminding me of the impossibility? Sucked.

I learned that it’s not berries.

So, um, some of you might know that I get a little bit of wood anytime decluttering or organizing is brought up in common conversation. If you ask me to come to your place and help you weed through a closet, I’m likely to tongue-kiss you while our children watch.

In fact, if you read this post, I alluded to the possibility of opening up a side-business, decluttering professionally. My neighbourhood is begging for one, with the lack of space most of us have, combined with Downtown Vancouver’s ability to convince us to buy, collect and figure out where it’ll all fit later.

Don’t believe me that my neighbourhood might be cramped? This is my apartment (click for bigger):

All of those photos were taken from entrances; the living room, from the front door; the two of the bedroom from its door. Directly to the left of the first picture is my bathroom; the right, the kitchen.

400 square feet of bliss, yo. (Please ignore the cigarette pack on the window sill in the living room, as well as the passed-out semi-naked child in the bedroom. We’re really classier than that.)

For the past few days, I’ve been reading and scanning and raising my right eyebrow at every image in every bit of text I can find about organization, decluttering and downsizing for smaller spaces. Consider it research.

It’s really like porn, to me – I get all hot and bothered seeing row after row of ceiling-height, bright white bookcases, with hard-backed books aligned finger-tip-deep from the edges. A living room with a conversation area and an entertainment centre with closed storage? Makes me a little weak and my thighs turn to jello. Don’t even get me talking about home office armoires.

Last night, I decided to take the advice of one book (and Dooce), and check out Flor. Which led to Ikea. And a few other sites that offer modular furniture and organization solutions.

Two hours past midnight, I had to log off, before my wrist got too tired. You know, I think I could get to like this whole “do what you love” thing.

In the mean time, I’ve built up a list of must-haves in order to make this space more functional, aesthetically appealing and best of all, clutter free. In August, I’ll start (after the addition of Isobel’s big-girl bed) to slowly procure one bit at a time of storage, seating and entertainment combinations.

Because I? Like pretty things, that unfortunately don’t come for free.