I’ve toyed for some time with the idea of starting a “Five Favorite Things Friday” post series on The Evie Standard. A lot of bloggers do this sort of thing, and it’s kinda cute, I think.
But you know and I know that “Five Favorite Things Friday” will start off great and then become “Five Favorite Things Every Other Friday” and then “Five Favorite Things Fridays in May” and then…
But today’s Friday! Yay! And here are five things. I’ve used up all my commitment on watering plants and limiting caffeine intake, y’all.
1. Update on last post: After throwing up the last post, I noticed many more examples of Animals Gone Domestic in our fair city. This is good for the blog, bad for me. I fear I may end up starring in my own version of Life of Pi, trapped in a dingy in the middle of the ocean with a pissed off tiger. Or an armadillo. In my case it would be a pissed off armadillo. Maybe I could finally convince the armadillo to trust me, and we could work together to find rescue. Anyway. What? So, examples.
Evie and I attended a playdate at a local park this week. The day was breezy, overcast and a pleasant 84 degrees. As close to Fall as Florida is gonna get. The park’s amenities included a path that wound through the surrounding woods. Before setting off on a walk on this path, another mom casually informed us that someone had said they’d seen bobcats in the woods. Then what happened? Everyone set off for the walk.
??**%%!!** (I just don’t have words anymore, folks.)
Also, a friend of mine posted on her Facebook page that her husband saw a panther walking around their neighborhood. Ho-hum. Panther. Probably selling Amway. Pretend you’re not home.
Oh! And I wanted to show you guys this:
This sign is posted on Honeymoon Island, a state park located on a beach that we frequent. I mean, really. What’s a day at the ocean without a few rattlers?
2. Gone Girl. Readers, you know how sometimes you stumble upon a book that consumes your life? That you can not put down? My house is a mess, the laundry is piling up, and Evie’s Halloween costume is still not done. But I could not put this book down. I read it in three days. And if I didn’t have this pesky homemaker gig to do, I’d have finished it in a day. Or less. I had to make myself stop reading it. I considered picking it up at stoplights, and I almost, almost gave up nightly TV time with my husband, my favorite time of the day, to read it.
I’ve talked with others who’ve read Gone Girl, and they weren’t as impressed. They didn’t like the ending. They thought parts of it were unbelievable. I agree that the ending wasn’t on par with the rest of the book. It felt rushed. It wasn’t as tight. But I totally believed the rest of it. It was kind of like a really good Law & Order episode meets Dial M for Murder meets…a Lifetime movie if you could admit you watch Lifetime movies. Which I can’t.
Also, I read it on a Kindle, which I didn’t hate. It was actually kind of awesome. I recant my former statements about Kindles.
3. The Neighbors. This is a show you aren’t watching. Why are you not watching it? You should be watching it. Quick, before it gets cancelled! It’s about your typical American family who, seeing an opportunity to pounce upon a wicked-good deal in a tanked real estate market, buys a typical subdivided American house right smack dab in the middle of a community of aliens who have come to study our typical American ways. Hilarity ensues! Well, not consistent hilarity, but this show has so much potential, y’all! It’s quirky. It’s clever. It’s charming. It’ll probably never make it. Or maybe it’ll fly below the radar like The Middle or Raising Hope as a nice filler between the Nashvilles and the Revolutions.
Besides, it stars Jami Gertz, a woman who’s got riding on the back of a kick-ass motorcycle in a gypsy skirt, legs wrapped around a late eighties Kiefer Sutherland AND holding Robert Downey Jr’s hair while he pukes up whatever battery-acid cocktail of cocaine, booze and wasted youth he’s consumed and then crying on a mid-eighties Andrew McCarthy’s shoulder about it on her resume. And that, dear readers, make her awesome.
4. Cats. Why are cats such a pain in the ass? I recant my former loving statements about cats. Just kidding. Sort of. The newest little member of our family, Izzie, has upset the balance in our home. Which I knew would happen but secretly hoped wouldn’t happen. Sam, our other pathologically neurotic, always-on-edge cat, is determined to…just…just…make somebody pay for this! She’s righteously pissed that all the time she formerly spent being fat and shedding now has to be spent standing in doorways and at the top of the stairs, looking menacing. Seriously, folks, it’s like living with an early-nineties Glenn Close. I guess that makes Izzie Anne Archer and me Michael Douglas. I’m fine with that.
It’s really all worth it, though, because there’s this:
Evie and Izzie reading a book together. Izzie also sleeps with Evie every night. Granted, it’s because I shut the door to Evie’s room so Izzie can’t get out, but still. I have to protect Anne Archer from Glenn Close!
5. Growing my hair out…again. Oy. This again. Over the past ten years I’ve cycled through short hair, long hair, short hair again, highlighted hair, long hair with my natural color, badly highlighted hair, short hair again. Really short hair. And now I’m growing it out. As she’s expressed to me many times, Evie likes my hair longer. As he’s not expressed to me many times but I know it’s how he secretly feels, Gill likes my hair longer, too. And I’m ready for a change. I miss my ponytail.
But, holy moly, what a pain in the ass. Worse than the cats! I haven’t had my hair colored in a year, so the blond is now only at the very ends of a small section of my hair right in the front. And the cut I had was many-layered, so, depending on the humidity, my selection of hair products and my level of giving a damn that day, I can look like this:
It just depends, really. What I really want to look like is this:
Meantime, I’ve got Gene Wilder hair most days, my eyeballs have decided to reject my contacts on the same days as the Gene Wilder hair, and my skin, appalled and offended by my hair and 15-year-old glasses has decided to break out all over in mighty protest.
I’m about as far from Ms. Bancroft as one can get, friends.
But I live in Florida among the ferocious beasts. And it’s October 26th, and I still have a kick-ass tan.