I’ve been reading posts at digitalphotographyschool for a while. A friend who thinks he’s an artist with his camera referred me to the site. It’s fun - there are a lot of people who post in the forums. Some are really, really good, and some are… not. Anyway, they occasionally post something on a new way to do post-processing. I always find these posts interesting - I love to play. =)

So, today’s post was something on faking a lomo look using Photoshop. I don’t have Photoshop (Paint Shop Pro is a heckuva lot cheaper), so I spent some time tonight trying to replicate the settings the post suggested. I kinda like a toned-down version of the effect - it can make pictures pop. (It can also make pictures look ridiculous if you’re not careful.)

That didn’t take very long. 

A guy from church had someone in his family drop off some fancy-shmancy eco-friendly laundry detergent for us to try.  We weren’t home, so I guess the messenger just popped it in our mailbox.  Unfortunately, we acted rather too quickly in throwing away the mystery liquid.  But seriously - it wasn’t labeled and we live in the ghetto!  No label, no note, no advance notice…  How were we to know?  At best, it looked like something someone tossed into the box because they were too lazy to throw it away.

*sigh*

It was so much more fun as a mystery.

Yesterday, instead of our mail, we received a suspicious, possibly sinister item.  Did someone steal our mail in order to leave this item?  We don’t know. 

I got home from work, turned off the alarm, and let the dog out.  As is my custom, after I let the dog out (and before he comes back in), I check the mail.  I was surprised to find no actual mail in the box - we are quite popular with the folks who offer credit cards, and there’s always an ad or two in our box.  Even on holidays, sometimes.

No mail.  Just a small plastic bottle containing an unknown viscous fluid.  Behold:

Could it be a bomb?  Could it, when opened, release gases intended to kill us?  Could it be some kind of marker (a tag placed in our mailbox by a would-be thief, saying our house is ripe for the pickin’)?  Could it be some bum’s shampoo (it was raining out)?  Could it be a message of some kind?  Could it be a gift?  What does it mean?

We gingerly carried it out to our dumpster, without shaking, bumping, or opening the bottle.  The city picked up our trash today.  We figured “better safe than sorry” - but now we’ll never know what it is.

To the person who placed this item in our mailbox: 

• If this was an attempt to kill or maim us, you failed.  Please don’t try again. 
• If this was a marker for theives, HAH!  We thwarted you!  And anyway, we have a big dog and a very loud alarm system that’s connected to the police.  You don’t wanna mess with our house.
• If you’re a bum and you’re missing your shampoo, come talk to me.  I’ll replace it.
• If this was a gift or a secret message, I’m sorry we threw it away.  Next time, leave a note. 
• Also, if you stole our mail, please return the bills, letters, and cards - you can keep the rest.

I have hit a new level of crazy recently when it comes to organization.

My closet (including the shoes) and my dresser drawers (9 of them) are all organized by:

• type of garment  - short-sleeved shirts, dress pants, casual pants, long-sleeved shirts, sweaters, etc.
• size - regular, baby-doll, short, capri, long, etc.
• color - dark to light

It’s not unusual for my clothes to be so organized - what’s unusual is that the organization has lasted longer than one day.  Typically, I straighten up and organize, then proceed to live normally (messily).  When things are messy enough to drive me (or my husband) crazy, I do another round of straightening.  It’s a cycle.

I’m not cycling anymore.  I’m stuck in organization overkill mode.  It’s spread from my bedroom and clothes to other parts of my house, and even to my office.  I’m normally pretty neat, but it’s getting out of control.  On my desk, things have to be stacked just so.  In the stacks, things are organized.  Even the post-it notes, which are typically everywhere (I like taking little notes and keeping them where I can see them - it gives me a sense of accomplishment to throw them away) are organized onto a small section of wall just below my corkboard, which is also organized.

Bethany (my closest girlfriend, who’s studying the DSM right now in her social work masters’ program) suggested to me last night that I’m so anal about organization because I can’t control something (not getting into it here) that’s going on in my life.  She says because I feel helpless (subconsciously, of course) in that area, I have to control everything else.

Or, that I’m pregnant (I’m not) and nesting.  =)

Today’s a pretty stinking hilarious day at work.  An email string I just got:

A writes: 

This here delightful item might make a great holiday gift for or from you creative types: http://www.puttyworld.com/index.html

D writes: 

I looked at the website. Looks like you can fashion clothes out of it — like belts and stuff. Picture it: Mood underwear!!!!  J, I think we should invest in this one. We could make A KILLING with MoodPutty Undies!

J writes:

Agreed.  Two men pass a woman on the street.  One says, “That woman is HOT for me.”  The other asks, “How can you tell?”  The first one says, “Because her panties turned bright red when she looked at me!”

D writes back:

The second man responds: “Dude, you’d better check your color key. I think that’s the woman you stood up last week for drinks.”

J replies:

First one’s reply:  “Come to think of it, the bright red was in back…”

D responds:

The woman, still silently fuming about being stood up, thinks to herself, “What was WRONG with that other guy’s socks?”

A conversation my coworker and I had today:

DD: in the 40s today
DD: kinda nice actually
DD: ahhhhhh
me: uggghhh
me: I’d much rather it be warmer.
DD: most folks would
DD: JR and i will have to run away together to an ice floe somewhere
DD: hang out with the polar bears…
me: I’ll send you postcards from hawaii
DD: we’ll send you photos of the snow angels we make.
me: I never understood what would possess grown people to lay down in the snow and wiggle.
me: first of all, the angels look like they’re wearing culottes.  those went out of style AGES ago.
me: secondly, it’s wet.
me: thirdly, it’s cold.
me: fourthly, the person on the ground is lying in a prone position - just ripe for assault or theft.
DD: mugged by a gang of penguins…
DD: really, i don’t think that there are many assaults and thefts on ice floes.
me: well, I suppose we could leave out point #4 in that case.
DD: and coulottes come and go
DD: i’m all about wearing what i like
DD: my snow angels have similar feelings about fashion
me: culottes should stay gone.
me: seriously - when I was a kid and did the snow angel thing (like, once), I actually scooped out the leg line.
DD: how funny!
me: had to fix it.
DD: and they didn’t medicate you then?
DD: ;-)
me: anyway, because you’re squirming so much, the head always ends up shaped funny.
DD: i tend not to do a whole lot of flailing
me: isn’t that the point?
DD: it’s not really a whole-body experience
me: yes, it is a whole-body experience - your whole body gets wet and numb from the snow!
DD: i mean, you only have to move your arms and legs
me: yeah, but try moving your ring finger without moving the others - things are connected!
DD: my head’s not connected to my legs
DD: or my arms
me: but it’s connected to your neckbone, which is connected to your…
me: didn’t you go to preschool?
me: didn’t you TEACH preschool?
DD: yes, but the fine points of flailing were never covered in my curriculum

So, this morning I’m getting ready to leave for work. I’ve spent a significant amount of time doing my hair up in a cute way.  I NEVER do my hair up in a cute way. I put on a fuzzy girly purple sweater.  I rarely wear girly clothes.  I’ve just turned on the house alarm and left the house.  I’m not wearing a coat or gloves.  It’s cold.

I lock the first lock on the back door, and put my keys into the second lock.  My hands are cold, so I fumble the keys.  They fall - but not onto the deck.  They fall 3 1/2 feet down into the 4″ wide gap between the deck and the back door.

I’m locked out of the house and I can’t get into the garage.  I’m trapped in my own backyard.

I proceed to spend about a half hour getting the keys out from under the deck.  I start by standing there with my mouth gaping open.  I whimper a little.  I pull out my phone to call my husband - maybe he has an idea. Then again, I say to myself, he’s the brilliant one who - yesterday - put away the rake that’s been sitting on the deck for the last week.  The rake that could have saved me the forthcoming horrors.  I grumble about responsible spouses as David’s voicemail picks up. He’s in class.  I’m on my own.

Seized by a flash of inspiration, I run through the dog poop-infested yard to the compost pile where my husband and teen Zach have been throwing leaves and fallen branches.  I can’t find what I’m looking for - a branch that grew into a coat hanger before falling from the tree - but I find something that’s long enough, at least, to stick down in the gap.  I run back across the poopy yard and lay down on the deck.  It’s still cold. With my head against the dirty back door and wall of the house, I slide down the length of the deck, pushing the keys inch by inch to the edge.

Now, I have to get the keys from beneath the side of the deck.  There’s a tall lattice wall in the way, so I have to go off the deck to the 1 1/2 foot space between the lattice wall and the 6-foot privacy fence surrounding the yard.  I’m not a small girl.  Still, it won’t be so bad, I think to myself.  All I have to do is squeeze along the fence and bend sideways to grab the keys.  Then I look at the fence.  The English ivy that covers it (and is boring into our foundation) is going to make this difficult, not to mention dirty.  Then I look closer.  There are red ants completely covering the ivy.

I run back to the pile of branches and find one that’s long and not straight.  I beat off as many ants as I can, then prop the longer ivy back over the fence with the branch.  With my makeshift ivy arbor in place, I stand staring.  I cover as much exposed flesh as possible with my scarf, then I count to three and charge in and grab the keys.  I charge back out, shuddering and itching.

After brushing off and thawing in the car for 10 minutes, I arrive at work, late and disheveled.  All day I’m picking leaves and sticks from my no-longer cute hair and clothes.

The lesson I learn from my morning foray into the wild of the deck’s environs: keep a coat hanger handy in your backyard.  You never know when you’ll have to go key fishing.

We’ve been waiting for two months to adopt a girlfriend for Jake from the Rhodesian Ridgeback Rescue, and I just found out tonight that the owners decided not to let us adopt her.  Instead, they’re passing her to some friends.  =( 

Anyone know of any young female ridgebacks for adoption? 

… at Woodruff Place.

Today, we had an impromptu tuba mouthpiece blessing at church.  The choir got up to sing, and as we were arranging ourselves, the pastor started talking. 

Zach is a teen from our church who was just given free private music lessons (via some grant for underprivileged inner-city kids).  His new teacher gave him a good mouthpiece for his beat-up school tuba, and he’s been showing it to anyone who’ll look.   Zach has had to work for every good thing in his life, music included.  He is enthusiastic, willing to work hard, and is ambitious.  He got himself into a really great band (the Indianapolis Youth Wind Ensemble), and through that has received his lessons.  Everything this kid does, he does it with enthusiasm and a genuine desire to honor God.

Pastor took time during the service today to dedicate Zach’s mouthpiece to the Lord.  It was bizarre, but sweet.  I know that Zach will remember this for a long time, and I’m sure that he’s been edified, encouraged.  Goodness knows he needs someone on his side.

And stranger things have happened here.

We hosted the third (our second) annual pumpkin carving extravaganza over the weekend.  The founding folks were all there - David & me, Jason & Robin, and Bethany & James - as well as some veterans who were at the second annual extravaganza.  There were the ever-present hot cider and caramel apple snacks, and, of course, the pumpkins.  Cooking the pumpkin seeds was such a fiasco last year that we didn’t resurrect that “tradition,” though we tried to carry over all the others (StrongBad pumpkin designs, fighting siblings, etc.).  The biggest change from last year - young children.  We had babies and kids still in single digits running all over the place.  Also, our dog - he had a smorgasbord of pumpkin bits to eat, and eat he did!  Here are a couple of fun pictures from the shindig: