Someone said this to me. Well, they said, “…you know, if you were a real girl.”

I just kind of stopped talking after that. And, I just want to note that it was said. And pretty much how ridiculously hurtful it was. If I were MJ, I would have taken my skin off.

This is one of the 2 (3, er 4) quilting projects I’m working on. It’s for a little girl named Juliet. I haven’t seen her since she was days old, but I imagine she has red hair.

Here’s my mother’s Pearlie. We’ve got lots of geckos in the house. And outside. Recently, I’ve seen 5 or so on the outside of my living room windows. They eat bugs, so I like them. I also like to pick up the stray babies who don’t know they should be hiding during the day.

And, to put icing on the cake (sort of), I baked these today.

It’s my third batch in a week.

Don’t tell my waist.

Trashy Asian Nails. That’s what I call them.

I’ve always loved to have my nails painted, but before these came along, I was a one-color, usually just glossy nail girl. Oh no, not any more.

I first saw these nails when I got my first pedicure with two friends. While sitting under that UV drying thing, I was flipping through a nail magazine. My initial (and I admit, long-term) reaction was, “That’s stupid. Who would do that?”

But, after living in Hawaii for a bit and working at a place where a constant stream of people flows through… Asian nails are awesome.

You should do it, too. Just once! And don’t just get the painted ones, get the ones with giant, obnoxious jewels all over them!

What do I need to say about this? I love pearl snaps. I like shirts that have pearl snaps on them.

You think I need velcro on my shoes?

As my first-born crab - not really, as he’s smaller than Clem - er, uh, first-acquired, last-born - he’s special to me. And not only because I called him Clementine the first whole day. He’s outgoing, and moves around a lot (in his sweet little pink shell), and is too little to pinch! Not that he would want to. Naming him took a while because I wanted it to be something big and meaningful. I was clinging to Castro for a while. There’s something funny about a tiny pink crab named Castro. Anyway, there was a vote for Otto, because it sounds like a crazy old man’s name (and he’s a hobbly crab?). But, as I love Harry Potter, Aberforth won out. (You know, Dumbledore’s even crazier brother.) All three names are a little nutty, to be honest. And in honor of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, I’ve decided to combine and dub my crab Otto Aberforth Filius Castro. Yeah, I threw Filius in there just for fun.

And it wasn’t long before Aberforth was living up to his legacy-of-crazies name.

You must know, the first thing he does when I put him down anywhere is run.

And he’s fast.

More fast than I imagined a tiny little crab could be. Especially considering I could put Clementine down on the floor for an hour and she wouldn’t move. In fact, any time she senses I’m even looking in her direction, she pops back in her shell. Anyway - so considering he’s a quarter size crab, I thought I’d be safe to leave him in my room in order to take Clementine into the bathroom to lure her out of her hidey hole. But, when I came back, Aberforth was not where I left him. In fact, he was not even in the direction of where I left him. I called my brother in, and we searched… As a last resort, I looked in my closet.

At least he has good taste.

But that’s not all! Not 30 minutes later, I thought I could leave him on the floor of my bathroom while I went to get some filtered water. I even closed the door! Apparently he can fit under the crack, as he was nowhere to be found when I returned. I searched everywhere. I even put my boots in the middle of the bathroom floor just in case. Then, just as I resigned myself to having to tell my mother I’d lost a crab in her house and we’d probably find it dead in two weeks… my brother, who lives alllll the way down the hall, came up to me, dumped the crab in my hand and said, “Keep this thing in its cage.”

Oops.

How did he get all the way over there!!

It’s been five years since my last venture into pet ownership came to a sudden halt. You know, that time when I went on a vacation with extended family, and they all thought I’d taken my dog to be boarded, but really I took her to be put down; and then I let y’all talk bad about her the whole first part of that trip before I said anything? Yeah, that pet.

After that, I’ve been biding my time. Of course, after hearing about the untimely demise of my own dog, Mom immediately went out and found this thing:

What was she thinking with this hideous mop?? All she does allll daaaay long is sit around and look cute, and whine about how cute she is and how hard her life of table-food and filtered water is. Oh, and she’s spoiled. Have I mentioned that? Anyway, I’m still waiting for her to have some pops so I can have my own mini mop-head.

In the meantime, I have these: Land Hermit Crabs aka Clementine and Aberforth.

What possessed you? people ask me. And then they determine That’s so unlike you, and like you at the same time. You see, there’s always this place in an Earthbound store where they have a giant open-air habitat full of hermit crabs. For years I’ve wanted one. Last year, I even came really close! I did a lot of research and decided they were too much trouble for what I was prepared to do (you know, put out some wee pads, cuddle with a cute furball, and give it a stupid name like Lula Pearl).

But, apparently on August 2, 2008, I forgot why I didn’t get hermit crabs last year. Because I was in Earthbound with my friend Cici when this little girl handed me a crab in a little pink shell, and I took it home with me. After getting home and figuring out that this little guy wasn’t going to be the best candidate for the name Clementine, I went back and got another one.

That’s also how I got the band-aid. Girl crabs are crabby. And that’s not even a joke.

Growing up, Mom preferred that I wore stockings with every dress. I hated them. I was always snagging them, or I got a bad kind and they were like plastic and sticking to me. Sunday mornings were always a little stressful, deciding what I could wear according to which of my stockings didn’t have holes in them.

And, inevitably, once I got to church, I’d managed to rip them while sitting in the car, doing absolutely nothing. Or I chose a pair that had a hole near the top, but when I got up, they’d run all the way down to my heel.

But then, fishnets entered my life. They come in a merciful variety of colors and patterns, and though my cousin-in-law will tell me they’re for tarts, I don’t care.

Because at the end of the day, I can’t have more holes in them than I originally started with.