Just Lizabell

People Watching

I have discovered in myself a new fascination. One that has obviously been laying dormant for some time and has now decided to poke its little head out of the brush and hop about very distractingly. My new time-wasting-not-working-should-be-concentrating pastime is People Watching. And I am quite good at it, if I do say so myself.

I once read a story about a writer who, upon being published and receiving the gargantuan advance that most of us writers have to come to view as little more than folklore, bought himself a lovely house with a big home office that featured a large window with a fantastic view. He found a grand desk, filled it with his “I am a real writer now as evidenced by my desk and all this stuff on it” type things and proceeded to place the desk directly in front of the window, so that he might enjoy his marvelous view while he worked. A week later he was scrunched up in the corner, writing with the shades drawn, as he found the view of leaves and streams and children distracted him - and subsequently, drove him mad.

And this is where I am. A huge reason I fell in love with my apartment (which i am -and if you didn’t already notice then you obviously need to go read my previous post where I gush on and on about it) was because of the very large and open windows with iron frames that swing wide to let in the breeze and the sounds of the birds chirping. Oh and the sound of sirens, people talking, airplanes, and the occasional almost-accident. I have yet to actually witness a car accident (all I ever hear are tire screeches) but it is going to be a glorious day when I do. Expect a full report.

Now most of this I can block out. The birds and church bells I don’t mind at all and happen to find very grounding. However, my issue is that I’m an extremely visual person which is perhaps why I’m drawn to all the visual arts, and because of this fact (and the large windows in my apartment) I literally cannot help but stare in some kind of fascinated trance whenever there is a person within any sort of viewing distance from my window. Seriously - can’t help it.

And the remarkable thing about this little habit is that the people I watch aren’t doing anything of even remote interest. Perhaps if there was some grand production of love, tragedy, and comedy worthy of Shakespeare himself happening withing in viewing distance of my fire escape then I could see some merit in having my face pressed up against the glass for a good portion of the day. But there simply isn’t.

Although, I will admit, within a week of having moved in I saw a couple from a neighboring apartment building come outside with fake swords and proceed to “LARP” for half an hour or so. (If you don’t know what LARP means consider yourself an educated, participating member of society.) And that was probably one of the most humorous things I’ve ever seen.

Most of the time though its pretty monotonous. People drive to work. They get out of their cars. They go inside. They come outside. They smoke. They go back inside. Sometimes they eat. Sometimes they talk. Usually they just drive home. On the surface it all appears incredibly dreary and boring but for some reason I’m hypnotized whenever I see this small collection of people going to and from their work at the building I live next door to.

I would like to think it’s the writer in me that has this trait. That everything I see is meant to be taken in carefully, as grist for the mill, and that with enough people watching I will soon become a brilliant authoress and spin out grand character-driven novels that simply fly off the shelves. More likely, however, is that I’m simply curious, prone to spying, and easily distracted. Either way I’m enjoying it immensely because while 90% of the watching I do holds day to day activities for which “mundane” is a generous title there are, occasionally, little things that occur that remind me exactly why I adore people and all the chaos they live in. And in all reality it’s probably these moments, few and far between as they may be, that keep me watching.

One such moment occurred two mornings ago. I was sitting down with breakfast when a woman, who I have come to refer to as “The Girl In The Red Truck” due to the fact that her identity is clearly linked with the decaying old Toyota she drives, arrived early for work one day. I have a habit of subconsciously memorizing the schedules of people I live with and near to and it is because of that I knew she was early. And it turned out to have been a very good thing she was early because while getting out of her truck she managed to spill the large 7-11 drink she was carrying all over the floor mat. Leaving her door wide open, she bustled inside and returned with a roll of paper towels as big as my torso and proceeded to unroll strips as long as her car, bunch them up in big wads and try to mop up the mess she had made. This was all fine and dandy until while cleaning up what appeared to be one particularly bad spot she stood up to get more paper towels, hit her head on the door frame, and the toppled face first onto her car seat and the mess of soppy paper towels. I swear I could hear her cussing from three floors up. And that is what kept me grinning for the rest of that day.

Another instance was on a walk down to a local arts festival. Halfway there I literally stopped in my tracks to stare at a guy that was obviously moving into an apartment. He had a mattress he was trying to move in and, for the life of him, couldn’t seem to figure out how to get it up a small flight of stairs and through the door. He twisted it, turned it, and even stood it up and ran headlong into it, barreling against it, shoulder first, only to have it lift a few inches of the ground and then fall back into place. He stepped back and circled the thing, like a lion salivating over its prey, but for whatever reason the mattress wouldn’t go up the stairs. Finally his friend came to the rescue. The guy was handed a box and a set of keys and his friend just picked up the mattress and carried it through the door. This is a prime example of why I enjoy living downtown.

This people watching business is an strange vocation because in many ways I become more and more interested as the time passes. I don’t know them, and they don’t know me, but my curiosity continues to grow. I wonder who has what job in the little building next door. I wonder who is friends with whom, where everyone lives, what their names are, why they work there, and what they’d rather be doing. I think it’s human nature to be curious about those around us if only because of the contrast they provide to our own lives and that perhaps the routine-ness of others’ lives is what keeps us from finding our own life to be a giant, depressing bore. And so maybe the only reason we watch others is to prevent the possibility of going insane ourselves and if that’s the case then it’s probably a good thing I have such large windows.

Home

I have this habit, of a curious nature, of dividing my life into neatly categorized boxes with lovely handwritten labels, each stacked in its own place, patiently waiting for its turn to be opened. The boxes themselves are lovely - the contents, always a mess. Most people would find this exceedingly difficult - much like organizing a home that has been previously filled with some other persons junk and on top of all that has been assaulted with all of your stuff (because you, of course, would never own anything that might be labeled as “junk”). Most would twist and turn and agonize over boxes and arrangements and pieces of furniture from god knows what era and ultimately become frustrated and resort to simply throwing everything, good and bad, out in hopes of starting fresh.

Unfortunately we can’t do this with our lives as things never fit neatly in boxes and if you somehow manage to cram it all in one anyway it will insist on spilling out over the edge, rearranging itself of its own accord, and holding hands with all its friends on the other boxes making it impossible to untangle. The only way to accomplish such a process of “spring cleaning” is to demand of your life (and all its paraphernalia) that it find some way to cookie cutter itself into assorted categories so that you might be able to make some sense of the thing. For me - it was moving.

When I was young, we moved. Not always with intent or purpose but more often by chance as certain leaves are kicked up by August winds while others are left behind. And because of the frequent changes and the lack of “roots” to one home I naturally began to divide my life up into little sections - a new section for every place I’ve lived.

When my parents were still married there were apartments. And after the divorce there was a house with me, my mother, and my grandmother. I imagine that, could I remember more of it, I would label that time, when I was only three or four years old, as the most peaceful of my life. My mother, I’m sure, would disagree. After that there was Oklahoma. The songs about the wind are true - it never stops blowing. Dry and bitter you can taste in your hair and on your skin. I remember the fireflies as well. After Oklahoma we went back to the house with my grandmother but this time my aunt’s family was there as well. I never did care for them much. So quiet and stodgy they walked as if on glass and always spoke with the air of a funeral. I don’t remember much laughter from them.

As I grew we moved closer to the city, into apartments and condos. Always with my mom, my brother, and sister. The four of us making a close, if chaotic quartet - each dancing our own tune and always struggling for the center spotlight. At the time I always wished for more space, big backyards, high ceilings, and open courtyards but now, looking back, I cherish the simplicity, the cosiness of it all. We never wanted for anything in the little houses we built together except maybe for more individual space to call our own but it’s a characteristic of my childhood I would never trade. It taught me many valuable lessons.

In the last few years I moved repeatedly, on my own (or rather without my mother whose whereabouts I always defined as “home”) but for the first time I have an apartment I truly feel is my own. No family, no roommates, simply me and my fiance. It’s a curious thing, setting up a home without anyone else there to tell you how to do it. I find myself arranging dishes and cutlery as my mother does, dusting and sweeping more often then I ever have before, and watering my plants with religious fervor. I am, first and foremost, my mothers daughter.

But as much as I admire my mothers’ unique ability to set up a home every time she moves (which she has continued to do frequently with or without my presence) there are glaring differences that separate us vividly. Our taste in art sets us apart in many ways. My mother, god bless her, chose paintings that would “go” with her dishes, her rugs, or her sofas. The art I plan to hang on these walls my walls are pieces that touch the most fragile and sacred parts of my true essence. And while both choices have equal merit, they help me to understand the differences between how people live. My mother also has a remarkable ability to take an apartment and make it look like she’s been there for years. She sees not empty rooms, but surfaces upon which memories are made. Everything in her home has a place, a presence, and you’d be surprised to find it hadn’t been just that way for years. My apartment on the other hand, is a disaster. Weeks after a move it’s still filled with boxes, scattered items in strange places, and almost empty shelves because I simply can’t figure out what I want to put there and the damned plant I planned on putting there in the very first place wont fit.

My mother is more practical than I, and thus her homes are chosen on practicality. I tend to label myself as more of a “free-thinker” which my mother might call “impulsive.” Either way her apartment is chosen for location, price, and size. Mine is chosen for french windows, hardwood floors, and a bathroom from the early thirties. Hers has covered parking. Mine has a door buzzer that reminds me of New York.

And so, when it comes down to it the choices that we make, the arrangements we plan, and the dinnerware we select all seems to define us in both elegant and meaningful ways. I love my new apartment. I love the smallness of it, the arches over the doors, the iron peephole through which I can see visitors, and even the rusty fire escape (now home to the bravest and most daring of my potted plants). I love the nooks and crannies, the recesses of shelves in the walls, the cupboard that holds an ironing board which threatens to give you a concussion every time you open it. I love the black and yellow kitchen, the cupboards as high as I am tall, and the sound of the bells from the cathedral that stands towering not twenty yards from my front door. Most of all I love it’s mineness. And I love the man I share it with.

I think that maybe the smaller, more ordinary things in life, are the ones by which our true nature can be defined. And that by paying attention to those, we discover what it is exactly that we’re meant to be doing down here. And perhaps the best way to mindfully notice those things is to try and sort them out into little categories so that we little people scurrying about can make sense of the bigger, more pressing matters. Like what drawer to put the measuring cups in.

May 11th

On May 11th of 2004 - exactly five years ago from today, I got myself in a whole heap of trouble. I didn’t know at the time exactly what kind of trouble I was getting into but looking back now it seems as clear as day. It’s not that I got myself into that situtation in the first place that bothers me (everyone makes mistakes) it’s more that I allowed myself to stagnate - to stay there so long without any real reason as to why. It’s frustrating to think of the time I could have spent doing other things, being with other people, and growing as a person and instead, out of fear, I stood still and hoped that magically things would somehow get better.

But even knowing all this I still wouldnt trade that time for anything. Not because I enjoyed it (quite the contrary actually) but because I learned one of lifes most difficult lessons extremely well at a very young age. I learned to trust myself, and my judgement. I learned that deep down I already know the answers. I learned to never let fear become a way of life or a state of mind. And most importantly of all I learned that happy endings only require that you firmly believe in them.

I’m up to something new and when its a bit more settled my updates will become a bit more regular again but until then please enjoy this picture of my brand new bunnies!

*Honey (the white one) & Socks (the black one*

Recession-Busting

Unfortunately in our society, so many of the ideas that the general public believes to be true are really just pointless bits of media-fueled drivel.

Recessions are a great example. Now don’t get me wrong - I’m not saying that our budget isn’t stretched pretty thin right now and that there aren’t a lot of people in tough spots, but I am saying that the idea that it’s the huge, overbearing, scary ECONOMY that, as a whole, is to blame for all of this is pretty skewed. Because really each and every one of us is responsible for the way our own financial life looks. And if a whole bunch of people are having big financial problems right now - enough to cause the media to start sputtering off about recessions and financial ruin - then it doesn’t mean that our “economy” needs fixing. It’s our mindset and our habits with money that need fixing.

If you don’t have a job it’s not the economy’s fault. It’s yours. Maybe you could have worked a little bit harder in the job you did have to make sure you didn’t get laid off with all those other people. Maybe you could have started your own business five years ago (so that you wouldn’t be in this mess now) but didn’t for one reason or another. Maybe you should have taken better care of your health so that you wouldn’t have to take so many sick days off at work (even though the “sick day” concept is ridiculous in and of itself). Whatever it is that you did or didn’t do - it really boils down to the fact that as long as you place your financial responsibility in the hands of someone else (like an employer or your spouse) by blaming everything and everyone else when something goes wrong - then its really you and only you that is to blame when things don’t go as you’d like. If you chose not to drive the car you can’t be upset for where it takes you.

A lot of people don’t like this sentiment because it’s really difficult to take responsibility for the bad things that have happened in your life. They’ll say things like “Well it’s because of my boss and all of his bad decisions. He cost the company money and now me and a bunch of other people were downsized.” And while that may be true - you are still held accountable because you chose to place your security in the hands of: Your boss. Who then went and made bad decisions, none of which you had any say in and weren’t done with you in mind, and guess who got screwed in the long run? You did - because you gave up that control.

Don’t do that.

If you find yourself in a mountain of debt with creditors calling and bankruptcy looming then once again, even though it hurts to admit, it’s entirely your responsibility. Even if there were outside factors - things that you had no control over you still have to take 100% responsibility for it. Otherwise you’ll end up spending your whole life blaming other people when things go wrong and then turning right back around and handing them more control over your life - so they can just mess it up again. Because no matter who you hand over the keys to Your Happiness to they are never going to do as good of a job as you could have. So instead of being fearful and letting other people make decisions for you cut up the credit cards, work out a new budget for your house, and tell everyone you live with that things are changing and that you are taking charge of it.

It feels good to empower yourself that way.

A recession is one of the best times to really evaluate where you stand financially, and what your financial goals are. The really smart people are using this time of fear and panic as a learning experience to prepare for the future and to really get clear about what they want in terms of a career, wealth, and freedom. Recessions are also a great tool the universe uses to shake people out of bad money habits they might have acquired over years of prosperity. Like owning three or four cars or five or six TVs. Maintaining such habits isn’t good for the environment or for you as a person either. In fact people that tend to spend like this are usually people that have some pretty hardcore fears of lack. They’re living with this back-of-the-mind paranoia of Not Having Enough so when they come into any kind of money they overspend out of the fear of possibly losing all of it. Ironically enough this fear is what causes so many of them to lose what they did have. That kind of mentality is a fear-based way of thinking and will not serve you in the long run. If you live from a place of abundance and don’t allow those fears to become part of your reality then you won’t need to worry about them sabotaging you from the inside out. Overall a recession can be a great way to gain some perspective on how you’ve been handling your money and what you should be doing to get yourself closer to your personal financial paradise.

Instead of paying attention to what the media is saying about the economy, take some time this recession to do some deep thinking/journaling about what you want from your money. Money is simply a tool - a means to greater ends - and if you learn how to use it properly, it can be a huge asset to gaining the freedom to live the most amazing life you can dream up. Get clear about how your money can serve you and your goals and write down a list of steps that you can take Today that will get you started in that direction. Whether it’s getting started on a business plan, deciding to ask for a raise, cutting up the credit cards, or finding the courage to quit your job and start down a new path of financial freedom, find something that you can do right now that will inspire you to take control of your life and to never place that control in the hands of anyone else ever again.

Now go out and kick that recessions ass.

How To Know When To Break Up

Sometimes the hardest part of a relationship is just figuring out when it’s over.

One of my more drawn-out mistakes in life was dating the same guy all through my high school years. We met when I was in ninth grade (that’s like fourteen years old - way too young to be dating!) and we dated until just a few months before I graduated from high school. I never really saw anyone else on a long term basis besides him. I stopped hanging out with most of my friends while we were together (a decision I paid the price for), I rarely did things with my family, and I turned into an emotional mess whenever we fought. This guy and I had countless problems, endless things we fought over, fundamental differences in beliefs, and when it came down to it I really just didn’t like who he was as a person.

And here’s the thing - for almost the whole entire time that we dated I knew that I shouldn’t have been dating him. I just didn’t really know that I knew.

Make sense? No? Well what happened was I just couldn’t get out of my own head long enough to realize that I wasn’t happy. Instead I spent all this time over-analyzing every aspect of our relationship trying to push myself in one direction or another when really, the whole time, I already knew what direction I needed to go in: Out. Every time we fought I would sit down and ask myself if I was really supposed to be with this person. I would wonder if this was the guy that I was going to marry, to live with, to spend the rest of my life with - and if that was even what I wanted. I tried to picture my life ten or twenty years down the road and whenever I did - he wasn’t in it. I just couldn’t see things working out long-term with him. But somehow weeks turned into months, months turned into years, and before I knew it I had spent way more time than I had ever planned with someone that I knew wasn’t a good match for me. And while maybe on the surface I had a few reasons to keep dating this individual (very superficial ones) deep down I knew I wasn’t happy, and that I wasn’t ever going to be happy with that guy.

So even though, in retrospect, it’s blindingly obvious that I wasn’t meant to be with that kid and that we definitely weren’t in love anymore (not sure that we ever really were), somehow I still kept dating him.

And here’s the reason. While I was stuck looking at that relationship from the inside out I became totally and completely paralyzed. I was so afraid of making the wrong decision (to leave or not to leave) that instead I just didn’t make a decision at all. I just sat. And waited.

I don’t know what I was waiting for - maybe for some make-believe Decision Fairy to poof down out of the clouds and fairy dust me into doing the right thing without any fear or discomfort, but obviously that never happened. That isn’t how life works. Life is about learning and you can’t learn new things without sometimes being uncomfortable. But because I was too afraid of what might happen if I left, and just as afraid of what might happen if I stayed - I just did nothing. I played it safe. And I lost four years that I could have spent having a ton of fun, with someone that didn’t appreciate me for who I was then. Fortunately I got lucky and I got a kick in the pants by the universe that reminded me of how much I was really losing by not taking control of my life.

I saw a glimpse of what my life could have been like if I wasn’t with that guy. I saw how much happier, relaxed, more peaceful, more joyful, and more together my life could have been if I just took a leap of faith and made a difficult decision. And seeing that - seeing the kind of woman I could be, and the kind of life I could live, gave me the courage to do something I’d been putting off for four years. So instead of sitting still, and waiting for my life to figure itself out all on its own - I took charge and decided to create the type of relationship, and the type of life that I Really wanted.

The key here is to listen to yourself, to make a decision and then to have the courage to follow through on that decision. If you find yourself stuck trying to figure out whether or not you should be with someone the chances are that you already know the answer to your question. You may not particularly like that answer. It may throw you out of your comfort zone. Or it may scare you shitless to even think about it. But the bottom line is that you, and only you, know whats best for you. None of your friends or your family can tell you if the person you’re with is a keeper - that’s something you’ve gotta figure out all on your own. And the best way to do it is by following your fear - because almost always it’s our fears that show us what we really need to experience in life. Afraid of commitment? Try committing. Afraid of leaving? Leave. The worst thing that can happen is that you’ll gain a new experience and the insight that comes with it to make an even bigger decision the next time around.

So if you find yourself making pro/con lists, asking everyone around you what to do, and bouncing back and forth from one answer to the other the best thing you can do is to remember that you are an amazing person - and that you already have all the answers you could ever need inside you.

All you have to do is trust yourself. I promise you won’t be dissapointed.

Under The Tuscan Sun

One of my favorite favorite books in the world is Under The Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes. It’s a book that, curiously, feels like coming home to me - even though I’ve never spent time in Italy. Or anywhere in Europe for that matter. I don’t know why but I never tire of the endless descriptions of iron wrought gates, dusty Chianti bottles, and metal hip bathtubs that Mayes’ writing seems to overflow with.

There are only two people in this world (that I know of) that share my affinity for the most basic of things and find more pleasure in discovering a corked up bottle or an antique colander than in watching the latest celebrity scandal on the dvr. One of these people I plan on marrying. The other has filled countless pages with writing so distinctly Italy that I can almost feel the olive oil seeping through and staining my fingertips. I am jealous of not having been the one to hatch such a grand scheme. To buy, renovate, and adore a house in Italy and then write a best-selling memoir (or three) about it? Count me in.

For those of you that are completely and utterly deprived of the true pleasures of life - or, as it were, have not read Under The Tuscan Sun you are sorely missing out. I urge you to give it a try. It will either be the most fantastic book you have ever read - or the worst.

You might, as I did, fall in love with imagery of hand-thrown dishes displayed on old shelves, white linens drying on line with a golden backdrop of hills, and ancient stone walls that, under layers of ivy, have stories all their own. You might lose track of your whereabouts while picturing uncovered frescoes on dining room walls, lemon trees sprouting out of giant pots that guard doorways, and flowing curtains that drift in the breeze ushered in by doors flung open to greet an Italian dawn.

Or. You’ll wonder how many pages might be filled with endless minute details of restoration. You’ll ask why- why do we need to know every bloody step it took them to dig a new well for the house’s water cistern, why ancient methods of guiding water into cities are being described, why it really matters where they put the silly well - and who really cares anyways? And when you put it that way it does sound dreary, boring, and might come across as little more than the obsessive-compulsiveness of an old woman who loves houses.

But in Italy water is precious. Having grown up in Utah, the back-of-the-mind fear of drought is no stranger to me. Those hot summer days can be nothing short of miserable so it is easy to understand why in ancient Italy every drop was preserved and used with the best of intentions. And when it just so happens that you’re digging a well that has the very real possibility of flooding an underground passageway built by the Etruscan (!) then it becomes far more significant and deserving of careful attention and good intention. What might seem to be inconsequential steps in the restoration of one house belonging to one writer actually holds more impact than one might imagine.

However, the point is that if you haven’t read the book -do so. If you have and you hated it please feel free to send me hate mail with regards to my terrible taste in literature. Please note that watching the movie in place of reading the book will not do as they are remarkably different from each other being that one is fiction and the other is not. If you do love the book you were probably disappointed by the movie. If you loved the movie, Under The Tuscan Sun, odds are you were probably hoping for a romantic novel about love affairs in Italy.

Needless to say things are often not what we expect them to be and, unfortunately, our current public can’t seem to take interest in anything that doesn’t have the term “reality” or “show” somewhere in its title. There are too many people out there that simply cannot be bothered with the simple pleasures in life and, as a result, will find Under The Tuscan Sun to be incredibly dull. These people need a rude awakening to shake them from their stupor and remind them that life is short and should be primarily spent in a state of enjoyment. It’s only natural that the people of countries far and distant from America find themselves to be happier, healther, and live longer, fuller lives than we do simply because of their appreciation for the most basic of lifes’ tasks.

If you find yourself to be one of those people that simply cannot get caught up in anything that doesn’t involve shooting, car crashes, crime, chases, escapes , sex, affairs, rampant alcohol and drug use, video games, weight loss, or simply just sitting in front of the television every night watching recorded episodes of other people accomplishing, doing, being, and generally just living out their lives (in contrast to the very absence of life that you are living) then perhaps you have a thing or two to learn from houses, writers, readers, and -of course - the Italians.

I’m back!

Dear loyal readers that I don’t deserve,

Yes yes I know. I suck.

Clearly The Universe has no intention of letting me stay on top of my blog posting since it keeps throwing very preoccupying things my way and thus preventing me from finding five freaking minutes to write out an update.

*dies*

So here’s what has been going on with me lately:

- I have officially moved back down to the city and am currently staying with friends

- The process of moving down here was a total disaster. Seriously. Moving should not take the whole week. Uncool. Two days is my limit. After that I’m reduced to constantly eating egg rolls and wishing for a nap.

- Somehow the box that had my portable dvd player in it has managed to escape to the depths of my mothers storage unit. When I find it you can be sure it’s going to get a talking to.

- The boyfriend is trying to tempt me into moving in with him yet again (it’s working - will most likely be in apartment with him in a few months. no I don’t have any will power. thanks.)

- I would really really like to find a vintage toaster from the early fifties. Preferably one that works. Plz Halp!

- I am fairly certain that someone stole my little dwarf hamster. It’s name was Oliver. If anyone finds him. Bring him back to me - or I will cut you. (Little side note here: since hamster was residing at Petco when the crime was committed local authorities may not agree with me on the term “theft”. However don’t listen to them. I named him and thus he is mine. This philosophy also applies to buildings, traffic cones, stop signs, guinea pigs, cute hats and -of course- egg rolls.)

- The boyfriend keeps trying to buy me a car and in doing so keeps trying to sell his. If anyone see’s an 08 mini for sale in Utah DO NOT BUY IT. This way I win and he gets to keep his fast little car. (So there.)

- Also I am perpetually cold. Can it be summer now please?

So that is essentially what has been going on with me lately. I know you all find it fascinating. I certainly do. More updates will be coming soon (yes I do always say that) and they will most likely have pictures (and I always say that too) but until then I am off to eat more egg rolls.

Love love love,

Elizabeth Marie

P.S. Does anyone know the egg roll recipe Cafe Trang uses? (MUST HAVE EGG ROLLS) Much thanks.

Happy Birthday Puppy!

My Darling Puppy,

Today is your very first birthday! Congratulations! You are our little “New Years Baby” and we couldn’t be happier to have you around.

In just twelve short months you have learned to eat out of your own bowl, get water to run all the way down your little goatee, dance for treats, roll over when you feel like showing off, leap, bound, and fall face first into big piles of snow, and even to pee on all of the lawn ornaments (which I fully support).

We have learned many things from you too. We all know how to give puppy manicures now - and can trim the little fur on your paws so that you don’t come inside as a big clump of snow. We’ve learned that the blow dryer is the best solution for when you do come inside with snowballs matted in your fur and that you’re more than happy to eat these snowballs as they melt off of you.

We’ve also learned that you prefer cheese puff treats to the little steaks but that you’d much rather have a carrot if it was all up to you. And we know that if we line up your crunchy dog food in a path you’ll eat them all one by one - without skipping any - knowing all the while that there’s usually a grape treat waiting for you at the end.

You’re so cute little puppy and even though you blatantly favor my mother over the rest of us I still love you terribly and will always be watching out for you.

Happy Birthday Sammy-Joe! One Year Old!

Letter To A Searcher

Dear Explorer Of The Internet/Winner Of The “Strangest Search” Award,

I am so pleased that you found your way onto Just Lizabell. I appreciate the time you spent typing odd/vulgar phrases into Google and I am even more so thrilled that Google deemed my page relevant for your specified search term which follows below:

“lawn ornament in sexual position”

While I am disturbed that you have either the spare time or the sexual preference to search for such a term I am also very glad that my blog could be of use - albeit in an highly unusual fashion.

However I must note that while your presence on the site is appreciated regardless of your search term origins you may be better served looking elsewhere for said term as I am confident that since this blog has little to do with sex and even less to do with lawn ornaments you wont find what you need here. Also if there isn’t already a sex site revolving around the placement of lawn ornaments to satisfy your query- then one should be made (possibly with you as its creator) and its existence is long overdue.

Again I appreciate your presence and am assured that I will continue to see your visits to my blog under various guises. Also please say a quick hello for me to your assumed friends who also found Just Lizabell from the following terms:

- gummy hamburgers (Why would you want to know where these come from? Seriously.)

- naked little brother and little sister (This is just creepy. And gross.)

- armadillo teapots (This one I sympathize with. Two very cute things - mixed. I love it. Come back any time.)

- my raincoat wet (Fairly certain this is either someone who is not a native speaker of English, someone who has never seen rain, or a brilliant euphemism for sex. I’m betting on the latter of the three.)

- chirping noise coming from ceiling lights (Problem: That’d be a bird dude. Solution: Get it out. *Solved by the amazing-ness that is me*)

I appreciate the continued humor/weirded-outness I continue to receive from you all. Thanks again.

Cheerily yours.

Elizabeth Marie

P.S. Fun Fact: In explaining the premise of this post to my mother she said “Well I search weird things in Google all the time.” To which I responded with “Uh. Like what? Or do I not want to know?” Her idea of weird was “Well like *banana’s* or *Christmas puzzles* - you know weird stuff like that.” No Mom. No. My generation obviously has an entirely different definition of “weird”.

My Christmas Letter

Dear Santa Claus,

Sorry that I haven’t written to you up there in the North Pole for a while now. I’ve been very busy with the whole growing up-puberty-learning to drive-surviving high school- putting myself through college thing. It’s been a crazy decade for me so I hope you’ll forgive my absence in the way of correspondence (which I think is the only fair thing to do seeing as you never write back anyways).

Let me proceed to the purpose and intent of this letter right away and, without further ado, give you my Christmas List for the year. I’m sorry that this list is a little bit late - blame the election.

First of all I would really appreciate it if you would send down a couple of elves that would be willing to pack my room up for me. I’m not looking forward to moving again (for the fourth time in two years) and truth be told I despise packing in all forms anyways.

Second it would be nice if you would also send a check with those elves for the purpose of paying for my college education.  See the problem is that I can’t afford to pay it on my own (tuition has gone up almost 30% in the last four years - although I still couldn’t pay it if it had stayed the same) and our brilliant government system has set up the financial aid programs in the most ridiculous fashion. See the way it works is that the big wig’s up on the hill will only give you a grant or a scholarship if your “expected family contribution” is below a certain amount. This amount is calculated based on your parents taxes and income from the previous year (even if you don’t live with them). If your parents make over a certain amount - then zero help for you. Well guess what. Even though my mom didn’t have a job for most of last year the net sum of what both my parents make combined immediately takes me out of the running for any kind of financial aid. My fathers salary places me firmly in the ” you are wealthy enough to pay for school all by yourself sweet cheeks” category and thus makes me ineligible for any grant or scholarship. Certain people don’t seem to understand this. According to FAFSA (the financial aid peoples) my “expected family contribution is over fifteen grand a year. Regardless of the fact that I haven’t even seen my father in a year, or the fact that every penny that’s gone into my college fund has been my own. My parents aren’t paying for my school no matter what my “expected family contribution” is supposed to be. Clearly “expected” is the key word here. There is no way in hell that my father is giving my fifteen grand a year for school. No way - No how. Which, by default - means that you Santa are the only other person I can ask. So hey - college fund for moi please?

Thirdly I would really really appreciate some kind of transportation-oriented vehicle to come my way. I assure you I don’t want anything fancy. I would love a little smart car (nicely priced at under thirteen grand with crash test ratings that hold to my mothers standards and an mpg rate of 45 to the gallon *dies* (and that’s true James I don’t care what you say!) Or a little black toyota yaris (a two year old model with only 25 thousand miles comes in at just under eight grand) would suit me nicely. They have the second best resell value this year, great mileage, and they won’t start breaking down at thirty thousand miles. Yes I have done my homework (it’s handy having a fiance in the auto industry). And if anyone even thinks the name Dodge I will cut them.

Finally Santa there is one last thing I want. You know what it is and I know what it is but for now we’ll just keep it between the two of us ok? And could you hurry up and deliver on this one? It’s for the good of everyone.

Thanks Santa - much appreciated.

P.S. I’ve been awful good this year - I only colored on my brothers face twice.