Some Assembly Required...

So yet again, another month is gone and I've utterly failed as a blogger. I blame this solely on the holidays. Christmas, Thanksgiving and all those other ones that people celebrate. This entire season is filled with consumer driven holiday jingles that jangle the change right from your wallet.

Wal-Mart aka the giant rat maze (it's not actually called that I just made it up) is packed with holiday shoppers. Yet somehow with the increase in people they still only have 3 lanes open. I"ll stand there flipping through People magazine, catching up on the royal couple, while the woman in front of me takes advantage of the stocking stuffer specials and sends a hoard of miniature gifts down the conveyor belt. Fine with me. I'll just wait 15 minutes to buy shampoo and a mirror because you don't have the express lane open.

I'm not really mad. It happens every time. I've just come to accept that a "quick trip" to Wal-Mart is approximately 45 minutes. I'm prepared for the wait, my inability to find anything in an organized manner, and the employees that take me on a tour of the store before they find what I'm looking for. I think it's in their training to help a customer find an item by taking them the longest, most product filled route possible. On the other hand, I don't think Wal-Mart is ever prepared for me in all my glory.

My trip today was for exactly 3 things: shampoo, conditioner, and cookie cutters. I left with: shampoo, conditioner, cookie cutters, a curtain rod, curtain clips, peppermint marshmallows, and a giant ass mirror.

The curtain kit is for hanging the curtains my mother-in-law gave me. However, I failed to realize that the curtains came in 2 panels and each panel requires 7 clips. I only bought one. So I hung, half a curtain. Yep.  Doesn't it look nice?

The mirror was an impulse buy. I should never, ever give in to my impulse buys. The mirrors are actually really nice looking and somewhat cheap. A really big mirror was $40.00. The one I liked was in the front, yay me, but it had a crack in it. Boo. So I found another one 10 little mirrors back. Awesome, I can do this. I put down my curtain kit, of course I didn't have a cart. That would make sense. I started lifting the mirror out from behind the other mirrors. Without bumping the hanging mirrors above me, success! Oh shit, it's stuck. Come to find out the entire bottom part of the mirror is broken off. The corner is stuck to the mirror behind it, which also caused it to tumble forward. Effectively sandwiching the broken mirror in my hands to all the other mirrors. I'm standing in Wal-Mart with a broken mirror the size of an albatross and am on the verge of the worst bad luck in history if they all go tumbling down.

Lucky for me an older couple spots my struggle and flags down 15 managers. Ah, I see the secret of Wal-Mart's failure. Everyone is a manager. As the couple doesn't attempt to help me. The mirror finally rips free and I fly backward holding a giant piece of glass with three wooden sides. SMASH! A lovely mirror falls face first on the tile floor and shatters. Shit, that's seven years of bad luck.

Three managers whip around the corner. The broken mirror is taken from me. The smashed mirror is swept out of sight and I get 10 different employees asking me if I'm OK. "I am so, so sorry I broke your mirror...yes, I'm fine. No, really, I'm fine.... No.... I'm not cut. Do I look like I'm bleeding?... I just wanted that mirror but the bottom came off... Yes, it was behind the other ones. No that one has a crack in it. Yes, that one. Oh, look it's all together. Pretty. Can I have that one? What do you mean it's a special price. It says forty dollars... Oh, it's twenty-five. Just for me? But, I broke your mirror. No, I'm fine. Yes I'd love to buy it for twenty-five. No, I don't have a cart. I'll go get one."


And that is the Adam Sandler way of getting a mirror on sale.



Love,
Grace

Where the "F" did November go?

“The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several times the same good things for the first time.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche

However, no one likes burned cookies when you forget them in the oven. No one likes being forgotten after field hockey practice. Thanks Mom. I'm sure none of the others kids made fun of me. God forbid we forget birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays. What is most unforgivable is forgetting to update your blog. I am so sorry cyberspace. I forgot. Please forgive me. Please don't stop reading my blog. By the way your hair looks nice. Have you lost weight? You look fantastic.

Phew. Now that the groveling is over we can continue. It wasn't like I was sitting on my bum twiddling my thumbs. These past few (more than a few) days were filled with ice cream cake, turkey, stuffing, ham, deviled eggs, mac & cheese, chocolate chip cookies, blueberry pancakes... SORRY! I was counting by food again. Anyway many, numerous, several, multiple things happened while I was "vacationing". Charlie turned 3 and we had a party, with ice cream cake! Not for the dogs. You humane people keep your red paint in the buckets. Thanksgiving rolled through or actually we rolled around after all the food we ate. Matt and I celebrated the day he asked me to marry him. We opened the Christmas decorations box (YAY CHRISTMAS!) Finally, Matt let me bring home an animal from work. What? No, I'm not lying. Don't laugh at me like that. Dreams do come true people.

To back track, Charlie our dog turned 3. We had a dog birthday party disguised as football Sunday. The Redskins didn't even have the decency to win. Worst gift ever. We celebrated with ice cream cake (for the people) and dog treats for the dogs. I did smear a bit of icing on Charlie's tongue so he could feel included. For the record, we have the most awesome friends. Jennifer hunted down candles for the cake and cut it! John led the Happy Birthday song. Chris and Bunni tried to round up the dogs and Collin helped pick out the dog treats. Best of all, they still talk to us. Love you guys. Also, thanks to the grumpy lady at Food Lion who wrote Charlie's name on the cake. I didn't have the heart to tell her it was for my dog.

Jennifer lighting the candles and Matt singing "Happy Birthday" to Charlie!

Thanksgiving is possibly my FAVORITE holiday. It used to be Halloween because, for what other reason,  the candy. In actuality Halloween doesn't bring your family together (unless it's mine). Then it involves costumes, alcohol, and Maryanna's birthday. Still sore we missed that this year. So I made up for it by being at Thanksgiving. 1. There is a ton of food. More importantly it's a lot of good food. Gay starts the Turkey at 7:00 am so the whole house smells good the entire day. 2. My sister discovered a talent for baking cupcakes. That deserves it's own number on the list. 3. Turkey Day Family Football. Somehow it ended up being the Reeds against the Jones'. With Morgan (my niece) defecting occasionally. 4. Dad's tire swing. 5. Seeing family. 6. Secret Santa drawings. 7. Several different types of alcohol. All encouraged and consumed. 8. The noise. If you've never been to a Jones family gathering you'd might be concerned that you've either entered a pub or a large angry mob. 9. Knowing that no matter who walks in the door they'll get a hug, a beer and a plate of food. 10. Having 2 days off so we could see Matt's family too!
Also, my dad is a turkey baby. He was born on Thanksgiving so the holiday is usually a combined birthday. This year my ridiculous cousins gave him "ass-cream". Aptly applied for when he's being a pain in the ass. My step mom said that the cream should have been for her. That, is my family in a nut shell. 

My Thanksgiving 2011

Yikes. It looks like I'm writing a book here. I'll try to wrap it up before you fall asleep on me. On 11.27.11 Matt treated me to IHOP before work as a celebration of an anniversary of sorts. I had blueberry pancakes. They were delicious thank you for asking. A year ago he asked me to marry him. Here we are now- home owners, check. Married, check. Kids... not yet. Grandparents please continue to hold your breath. Feel free to breath though because when we do have kids we want you to be alive. Thanks. If you want a full encounter of our proposal leave it in the comments and I'll write a post about it.

Matt proposing 11.27.10

Finally, I have a kitten in my house. Hehehehe. My evil plan is working. I think. Probably not. He's sick and we're fostering him until he gets better. That's the plan. We don't need another animal. Even one as cool as Bebe. We don't need another animal. We don't.... awww he's so cute. No. Matt (the other Matt, our best man Matt) told me "This sick kitten is your gateway drug and the SPCA is your dealer". Touche, sir, touche. Anyone need a kitten?

Love,
Grace

 

All The Help You Need

The Help will be released on Blu-Ray and DVD December 6, 2011.

 
In honor of The Help finally making it from a best selling novel to the big screen, I'm re"printing" my first book review ever. For a review on the movie check out Rotten Tomatoes!

My review was published in Southern Maryland Women Magazine in April/May of 2010. By then The Help was already on the New York Times best sellers list for 44 weeks with four of those weeks at number one.

Enjoy!

  

The Help

Kathryn Stockett

Amy Einhorn Books/ Putnam, 464 pg.

Hardcover $24.95

By: Grace Jones

Eugenia “Skeeter” Phelan is twenty-three, a college graduate, tall, gangly and single. In essence, she is her mother’s worst nightmare. Driven by the mysterious dismissal of her childhood maid, Constantine, she embarks on a project that will change not only herself but everyone who reads it.

Abileen Clark is steadfast, wise, and a black maid. She has raised seventeen white children. Mae Mobley will be her last. She knows she loves that child, just as she knows it’ll eventually break both their hearts.

The Help published February 10, 2009.

Minny is short, loud and sassy. She can cook and keep house like no other, but she can’t control her temper, and that’s no good when you’re a black maid in Mississippi. After several dismissals she finds herself employed for a wealthy white-trash woman with secrets of her own.

Seemingly different, these three women will come together to write a book that will cross racial lines and set fire to southern social norms. 

Stockett’s main characters are endearing. You hope, cry, laugh, and fear for them. Abileen, Skeeter, and Minny each take turns narrating. The effect is a whirlwind of optimism and despair.  Stockett’s story is much like the southern dialect that it’s written in, coated in sugar, laced with irony and tainted with a little bit of malice. The tone is remarkably upbeat for such a depressing theme. The result is an uplifting and soul searching tale. In the end you applaud for Minny, pray for Abileen, and cheer for Skeeter. These three women will take you on a remarkable journey through race torn Jackson, Mississippi and leave you wanting more.

First published in February of 2009 it spent forty-four weeks on the New York Times best sellers list, and 4 weeks at number 1. If you haven’t read it yet, you should.

The Magic of Childhood

There are few things that I secretly covet. The most important one of all is Harry Potter. I have read the series numerous times since the first book was published. I'm not bragging. I'd read it more if I could and probably will.

What's most important is that this series, these characters, this amazing story has become an integral part of my life. I can define years by which book I was reading at the time. It may sound silly and naive but for me they are more than books, they are friends. They are friends that are always there when I need them. As if they say, well there you are. It's been a while. We've been waiting for you. Each reading reveals hidden passages. Things I may have missed on my previous trips to Hogwarts. Something that makes me pause in my reading and think, surprisingly deeply on the world in which I have encased my childhood.

When the books became movies I was hesitant to be excited. However, now I will always stop on any channel that is playing them. I am only a year older than Daniel Radcliff (Harry) and the same age as Rupert Grint (Ron). Which in essence means I grew up with the cast.

This summer was the final installment of the Harry Potter series on the big screen. My husband, being the supportive wonderful man that he is, took me to see it. I warned him I was going to cry. I did. I utterly and unashamedly sobbed my way through the entire film. The last movie encapsulates the all too real side of the HP series. Death, sadness, and the eternal fight of good versus evil. Pictured with words the deaths of characters in a book are sad. Captured on screen they are horrifyingly real. 

As I left the theater with my husband I was still crying. I was crying just as much for the death of my beloved characters and the end of a beautiful series as much as I was crying for the girl who's grandmother gave her the first book. The girl who's mom took her to a midnight release for the second. The girl who devoured the third book in one night. The girl who cherished the fourth. The girl who wept over the fifth. The girl who took the sixth to field hockey camp. The girl who graduated high school with the seventh.

I walked out of the theater weeping for the end of my childhood. There was nothing more to tether the illusion to reality. The final movie was made. The ticket bought and spent. A hour or more later and I left an adult.

Love,
Grace

Why did I teach my daughter to read!?!

Hi. My name is Grace and I am addicted to books. 

Ha, you're thinking no surprise there. Well I have proof. May I present exhibit A.

Exhibit A, books bought  from the Fluvanna County Library book sale.

You can't count them all but there are 38 books. THIRTY EIGHT. The book sale only lasted 4 days. Unfortunately the remaining books not bought at the book sale are 25 cents a piece and available until Thanksgiving. So of course when I returned the books I borrowed for free I had to buy more.

I bought everything from trashy romances to vivid non-fiction to American classics. I'm not picky. This particular trip got me 25 paperbacks for 4 dollars. I think she cut me a deal because I must have looked like an angel of mercy when I arrived at the check-out desk with books stacked to my nose.

I can't promise I'll read them all. If they're horrible I'm going to donate them right back. 

The title is an actual quote from my dad.
He got tired of moving my books every time I relocated.

Love, Grace

FOURBUCKS...

Oh sweet seventeen-dollar cup of coffee.

I really don't know why when I'm early to work I have to hit Starbucks. It's a fix, like snorting cocaine in the bathroom during the 1980's. It's all the rage. You should try it, man.

What gets me is, they charge $4.00 for a cup of coffee. FOUR DOLLARS. You know what else you could buy for 4 dollars. 4 cheeseburgers off the McDonald's dollar menu. A comb. 8 cans of soda from a machine. At least 2 candy bars. You can see where my priorities are (food, food, food).

I always feel so silly for not ordering an entirely complex drink. (Tall Caramel Machiato--by the way, spell check wanted to make that Machination, that tells you something about Starbucks doesn't it!).


"Hi, I'd like a cup of coffee that tastes like 15 million calories but really I'd like it to slim my fat ass 10 pant sizes so I still look sexy and hip drinking this coffee, K thanks!"  aka "Hi I'd like a grande low fat skinny latte, hold the foam, no whip, extra cheese?"

Not so much to ask, right? Do you think if someone walked in and ordered a cup of coffee, black, that crappy indie music they play would screech to a halt? Like the sound of 10 thousand vuvuzelas dying after the world cup? Everyone would freeze and creepily turn their heads in unison. A secret guard would silently but efficiently glide out of the back, grab the man by the arm and guide him towards the door. The poor man wouldn't know what hit him. He'd just keep repeating over and over, "but I just wanted a cup of coffee!" His toes skipping the ground like a child's doll.

FWUMP. And now he's outside.

Also, I really hate how they make us gather around at the end of the counter like Hyenas waiting for the Lions to be done eating. Our coffee, logically, should come out in the same order it was placed. This is false. It's as if they purposely make coffee out of order so we get edgy. One of these days there's going to be a fight if that woman has to keep watching other coffees come out before hers.

"EXCUSE me? But my coffee is going to be upgraded to a  grande-ass-kicking if I don't see it here SOON."

Don't mess with that woman. She's the Hyena with 14 cubs and a lazy bum for a  mate. She needs her caffeine.


Ok, so I can't take full glory for the Fourbucks joke. That right belongs to Jack, Matt's step dad. And Matt every time we go to Starbucks and order a $4.00 cup of coffee and he quotes it. Fourbucks. Don't worry, you'll think of it next time you go. You'll feel guilty... pleasure. If loving a coffee shop is so wrong, then I'm better off broke so I can't buy it.


And all you hipsters doing homework, all you old people trying to be cool, and all you prada mom's in your tracksuits, high dollar sneakers and Louis Vitton bags, get over it. Where do I fall? I'm the quiet one, who gets her coffee, smiles and says thank you, and leaves. Like a ghost. So I can enjoy my coffee sin in private.

Love,
Grace

PS. Starbucks, I love the new sticks that fit in the lip hole, just so that little bit of warmth never escapes.
PPS. Your yogurt cost $3.75. It's delicious and I hate you.

GREETINGS, The Awkward Hug...

I am not a good hugger. I mean oh sure, I'll let you use my shirt as a snot rag when you're sad. Grab you and jump up and down, screaming when something amazing happens. I’ll even do a quick wrap around when I haven't seen you in ages.

I seriously can’t, CAN’T, hug you when I don’t know you. If we just met, we better have survived some crazy end of the world catastrophe. Like a meteor, a train collision, or the titanic is going down.

At work I made a friend. Cut the jokes. She’s really nice and we chat whenever we run into each other. However, I never knew her name. The other day I answered the phone at the front desk and helped a fellow co worker by running to the break room and checking her schedule. Lo and behold, it was my new friend. Yay! She decides to thank me with a really awkward, sideways, one armed hug. I froze, then immediately started a rapid paced conversation about traffic. While backing away slowly, pushing my mop bucket.

I have to be missing some important female genome. Don’t all women hug? They hug at work, at the gym, everywhere! Casual acquaintances hug when they haven’t seen each other in years.

“Jane, Hi!”

“Eliza, oh my goodness, how are you? It’s been forever.”

HUGGING, HUGGING, HUGGING.

Not me. I guess I’m just weird.

Love, 

Grace

Top 10 Places to Visit in C-Ville!

I thought I'd throw a top 10 together for you guys. While Matt and I haven't explored all of the cool places to go and neat things to see in our new home town Charlottesville, Virginia, there are a ton we want to. To narrow it down I chose my tops picks to share. Hope to see ya'll round here.

 

Love, Grace

"Can't Spare a Square"

Okay guys, I am seriously behind on my book reviews. I have 2, count them 1, 2, books that I finished reading since Sunday and I have 1 more almost done. I'm a reading machine. I'll probably do a double "issue" for the next post. Watch out for that.

On to the real discussion, why public bathrooms are (a necessary) evil. Whoever set the standards for public bathrooms- set them too high. Then they forgot to train ALL EMPLOYEES, EVERYWHERE.

There are a few key things women have come to expect from their stalls of relief.

1.) A lockable door. There is nothing worse than trying to hover over a toilet while holding a door shut and aiming. God forbid someone tries the door.

2.) A hook for the purse. No excuses. We are going to attempt to pee while holding a purse before we place it anywhere near the ground. Even if this means the straps are hanging from our mouths.

3.) A tissue thin barrier between our rear ends and insanity. We're imagining at least 15 million contractual diseases before our butts hit that naked seat of horrors. It's that or squats from hell.

4.) A little brown paper bag for our monthly messes. We really don't want to flush them (like your little paper sign says) but what else are we supposed to do?

5.) A flush-able toilet. Because men were raised to believe that women use the restroom strictly to powder their noses. Any evidence left otherwise is blasphemy.

Julia Louis Dreyfus as Elaine "The Stall" episode

6.) Toilet paper. We don't want to be that women who has to reach under the stall and ask her neighbor for a scrap of tissue. You know that bitch is going to give you 2 squares.

7.) Get rid of the scale machine! What woman in her right mind enjoys getting on the scale at home. You skinny ones, keep your mouths shut. Why the hell would we pay 25 cents to get on one in a public place. Put that thing in the men's room where they like to weigh themselves before and after a bowel movement.

Gentlemen, the real reason we travel in packs to the bathroom is so we can hold each others purses, pass the toilet paper and "powder our noses".

And that long line ladies, pee and get off the pot. Geesh. 

Love,
Grace

Happy Halloween!!!

Halloween is my favorite holiday of the year. 1. You get to pretend you're something else for a few hours. 2. It encourages creativity in adults (also lots of drinking). 3. C-A-N-D-Y. It's the only time of year Matt lets me buy candy, in bulk. Who cares if we only get 3 kids for trick or treating. I have an entire bag of mini snickers calling my name. *High Five!

Charlie as a Ghost, Halloween 2010.

Also, Halloween is an excuse to dress up the dog without Matt questioning my sanity. :) Take for instance last year's debacle. It was a failure partly because of my inept sewing skills and Charlie's unwillingness. However I did snap this quick photo. His tail is wagging but that's only because I'm bribing him with treats.

So this year I have no idea what last minute costume I'll whip up for him, but you can bet it'll be just as bad.

In order for this post not to be a complete waste, I'm leaving you with some fun facts about Halloween I gleamed from our friends at Huffington Post. 

-Americans purchase nearly 600 million pounds of candy a year for Halloween.

-The top selling candy: Candy Corn. Americans purchase over 20 million pounds of it a year, though it is unlikely that every last one of those millions of candies was actually consumed.


-Candy Corn is the most searched-for candy term in Google -- more popular than candy apples, gummy worms and candy pumpkins. Searches for Candy Corn are up 10 pecent from October 2010.

-Out of all 50 states, Alabama searched for candy corn the most!


And to put all of that into prospective Lewis Black once said: The worst thing about Halloween is, of course, candy corn. Candy corn is the only candy in the history of America that's never been advertised. And there's a reason -- all of the candy corn that was ever made was made in 1911.


Love,

Grace

The Botticelli Secret

Review of: The Botticelli Secret

Marina Fiorato

St. Martin's Griffin, 514 pg.

Hardcover $14.99

 

A strong female lead,  a pinch of murder, a dash of treason, marinate it with a twisted plot and top it with a secret as big as The Da Vinci Code. Viola, you have The Botticelli Secret.

I adore historical fiction. I began my secret love affair with this genre when I first read The Other Boleyn Girl my senior year of high school. Oh Phillipa Gregory, how you make my heart go pitter-patter. While Gregory prefers England and it's proper monarchy, Marina Fiorato, a "half-Venetian" herself, prefers the romantic setting of Renaissance Italy.  It's a journey worth taking.

By: Marina Fiorato

If you love, The Da Vinci Code, don't compare it to The Botticelli Secret. While it isn't a New York Times best seller, it is one great read. I thoroughly enjoyed Fiorato's use of Italy's tumultuous history and her characters. Much like other historical fiction novels the main character, Lucianna, is intriguingly weaved into the fabrics of time and history.

Summary:
When Lucianna's best client asks her to pose as a model for Sandro Bottecelli's painting La Primavera she agrees. Surprised at Bottecelli's talent, she is equally surprised when he walks out and refuses to pay her. In a moment of anger Lucianna swipes a miniature of the art work. Immediately people around her are being assassinated. In an attempt to save her life she goes to the only person who can help her. Guido della Torre, a novice monk and the only man she couldn't entice. Together they flee the city and try to solve the mystery of the Botticelli painting before their enemies do.

If you like historical fiction, romance, or are even in the market for a fun read, The Botticelli Secret is for you.

"An intriguing mix of history, mystery, art, music, poetry, romance, and politics... Writing with charm and authenticity, Fiorato produces a blend of historical mystery and modern romance that is thoroughly entertaining." -Booklist

Love,
Grace

A House is not a Home Without a Pet!

I knew that taking this job was going to tug at my heart strings every day. I wish I could adopt every single animal, take them home, love them and snuggle them. But then I'd be divorced, unemployed, and the star of an episode of Confessions: Animal Hoarders. Hey there Animal Planet! I'm pretty sure the SPCA wouldn't appreciate that.

But there are 2 furry babies that have captured my heart. JUST TWO!!! Can't we save JUST TWO, or four, or sixteen. It's a down hill cycle. Luckily my husband sees that.

Haleigh, up for adoption soon.

I am hoping that since I can't adopt them, someone loving will so that I know they went to a great home.

To the right, is Haleigh. She's new to our shelter and will soon be up for adoption. I call her my mini Charlie. She's so sweet and very affectionate. Oh please won't you take her home with you.

My other love-bug is BeBe. He's an orange tiger kitten. As soon as I take him out of his cage he's an instant purr box. Like Quaker Oats, "just add love".

Ahem, *Lifting right hand*

I Grace, promise to not flood my blog with photos and sob stories of fur babies that need homes.

But these two, would already be home if I could.

Please forgive the weird way Haleigh and I are (both, even weirder) looking off to the right. Stupid phone.

If you can't adopt a baby, please donate to the SPCA so we can continue to help these wonderful animals find their forever homes. You can visit www.caspca.org for more info!

Love,
Grace

I also found this quote. Proof that my cat is plotting revenge:

"Thousands of years ago, cats were worshiped as gods. Cats have never forgotten this."

With a Little Love for My Fans

So in celebration of me officially being on the blog-o-sphere for... a week. I wanted to give a little thanks. Mostly because there is one person who is amazing and dedicates time out of her day to read my posts and bring thoughtful insight to her comments. It's nice to know that someone, in the vast billions of internet junkies, is reading what I write. Shannon, you're one in a hundred billion.

I know that you love books and reading. And you have one of the sweetest, most romantic hearts I've ever met. So to say thank you and in hopes to tempt you to keep reading! I'm giving you a little gift.

$10.00 Amazon Gift Card

Thanks!

Love,
Grace

"Anyone who can walk to the welfare office can walk to work."

Or drive, which is what I'm doing this morning. Yes, I am going to work. Let us give praise and thanks to the god's of minimum wage. Which by the way, is higher now than it was when I bused tables at 14. Bonus!

Cartoonist Al Capp

It really doesn't feel like work yet. I have to be in at ten, which means I was up at 7 a.m. or at least my alarm was. Did you know my phone decides that I can't hit snooze after 7:45. I think it was tired of yelling every five minutes for my ass to get out of bed.

Anywho, that quote is by Alfred Caplin, aka Al Capp, a cartoonist best known for the cartoon Lil Abner. I'd never heard of Al Capp before but I like his style. I hate not working. And I hate applying for unemployment.

My dream job would let me read the hours away. I don't get to read but I do get to do my second favorite thing-- play with animals. I got hired as a Front Desk Clerk at the Charlottesville SPCA. Of course in my dreams of working at the SPCA go like this:

Me, rolling around on the floor with dozens of clean, fluffy retriever puppies that smell adorable and are climbing on me and licking my face. Insert giggles here.

Reality: Me and a shovel cleaning dog poo, walking animals that aren't leash trained, cleaning cat gashes on my arms, and crying over furry babies that won't be able to find a forever home. 

Every job has a down side.

Ultimately I'll be working for a cause I believe in. I'll save animals lives and help people find pets that they will love and hopefully treasure as much as we treasure our Charlie and Gracie. (Yes, Matt named his cat Gracie. In his defense he named her 4 years before we met.)

Off I go, joining the millions of the many, the thankful, employed. Wish me luck.

Love,
Grace

A Little Inspiration

 

I like to find things that inspire me. This quote (see above) was posted on Facebook by my Aunt Sherry. A beautiful woman with an unyielding optimism about life that I can only envy. And I love that about her.

So be inspired. 

Today, go do something you've always wanted to do because even if you fail, you will have done it. 

Love,

Grace

A Bit Peculiar

Review of: Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children

Ransom Riggs

Quirk Books, 349 pg.

Hardcover $17.99

Front Cover

Ranson Riggs, writer, film maker, and collector of abandoned photographs is also a New York Times Best Seller. The gold stamp of approval on the cover of his first novel, Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, is well deserved. Riggs’ first novel is a hauntingly emotional story filled with enough wonder and peculiarity to keep you entrenched in an otherwise seemingly impossible world.

When I first stumbled upon Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children I loved the cover. It’s black and white and it’s ancient. It’s captivating and it’s intriguing. In other words, it’s creepy. I really like a creepy factor in my books. The cover made interested, the photographs inside sold me the book. Riggs’ amazing collection of “authentic, vintage photographs” is what tethers fantasy to reality.

Back Cover

The story begins when sixteen-year-old Jacob’s life is torn apart with the tragic death of his grandfather. In order to understand the only family he ever loved, Jacob travels to a remote island off the coast of Wales. Upon arrival he discovers a dying sea village, an abandoned house, and the peculiar half truths of his grandfather’s life.

Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children is delightfully mystical. Riggs journeys far beyond the mysteries of the supernatural and introduces a world outside the likes of any pagan folklore. While Riggs created this essentially wholesome world of children he also created the monsters that lurk in the darkness. Miss Peregrine’s children are being hunted and they need a hero. In search for the truth to his Grandfather’s life Jacob finds he is on a journey to discover himself.

It’s a wildly creative tale.

The only fault I could find was in the ending. It ended a bit like a young adult novel preparing its reader for the next installment. While it didn’t leave a bitter taste in my mouth it most certainly left me wondering what’s going to happen next.

I hope this isn’t the last we see of this gang of unusual children and their stoic headmistress.  

Love, 

Grace

The Mystery of Shakespeare!

Anonymous the movie

Here we have it, Hollywood's answer to the timeless question, was Shakespeare a fraud? In all honesty, it's been a few hundred years. If the man who wrote these plays allowed Shakespeare to title them as his own, then voila, he obviously didn't want anyone to know.

I stumbled upon this great article by Alex Knapp from Forbes Magazine  Yes, Shakespeare Really Did Write Shakespeare. He's the entire reason for this post. I love learning new things. Especially if I can sprout off impressive remarks about 16th century England. Alex, you've now made me that girl who smugly recites annoying facts to her friends. It's like spilling soda on them during previews and now they're uncomfortable the entire movie. Hence why I love this article so much. It doesn't ruin the movie, it just makes you a very smug movie goer. It leaves you with the ability to enjoy the movie without doubt.

I say, folks, quit reading signs in the sky for the end of days, quit trying to hunt down the Easter Bunny, and for goodness sake, let the man have his glory.

Ultimately it's for you to decide. Go ahead, give Alex a go. Did he sway you or did he leave you more in doubt?

Love,
Grace

Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children

When I first spotted this book I was trolling through Wal-Mart. I like to swing by the book section because sometimes, as much as I read, I don't always keep up with the newest best sellers.

I was immediately drawn to this really strange cover. If you don't believe you can judge a book by it's cover, then all books would be covered in paper bags. THIS cover grabs your attention. See for yourself.

So first thing I did when I got home from my shopping excursion was order it from Amazon. Other reviews said don't buy an electronic version. DOWNER. I buy a lot of books for my Kindle. However after seeing it at the store. I agree. The pictures Ransom Riggs dug up for his book are worth it. Creepy children, there's nothing like it. I ordered it with my Amazon gift card (birthday) and I anxiously awaited it's arrival. Being a Kindle lover spoils the postal service for you.

By: Ransom Riggs

It arrived yesterday. YES, YESTERDAY. I haven't opened it, except to gleam looks at those creepy children. I have a feeling it's going to be one of those books I can't put down. I hope I'm right.

I'll let you know as soon as I'm finished. Don't worry, I have a feeling you won't have to wait long.

Love, 

Grace

The Many, The Hopeful, The Unemployed.

The first week of not working is the best. You just left behind days of structural tasks and objectives and are facing days of unending opportunity. I'M FREE! My first week I spent doing what I love to do. Reading. I read approximately 4-5 books in my "free time". To clarify that's time not spent cooking, cleaning and watching Project Runway reruns. I love that show.

The first title I plucked off my shelf was a grab bag goodie from a friend who was giving books away like candy at a veterans parade. Not one to miss the opportunity to test the structural soundness of my library, I rescued many, many books. And I found Jen Lancaster.

Bitter is the New Black has become my handbook for unemployment. While I didn't take a Prada bag to the unemployment office, I actually don't own a Prada bag, I still ache with the need to be self sustaining. It's a blow to your esteem and your ego when you go from being respected in your field to a housewife. Yes, I said housewife. Years of feminist movements and the psyche of the American work ethic (which ironically is dying with our younger generations) creates a hell of an emotional upheaval. I'm left contemplating my self worth when rejection emails flood my inbox and phone calls about interviews go unanswered.

Jen Lancaster is just the thing I need. She's amazing in her ability to be scathingly funny. I mean that. I'm afraid she'll read this and write something about the loser who mentioned her in their blog post. Before I go all hero worship here, she (and my cousin who wouldn't quit harping me) are the reason I'm writing this blog. Because if I don't do something, I'll ultimately be deemed insane. Then my husband will have to put me in a mental institution and some bimbo will come along, whose hotter than me, has big boobs and talks with a sexy lisp, and steal him away. She won't love my dog either. Bitch.

So thanks to Jen. Who truly is an amazing writer and a constant inspiration, I'm writing this blog to stay sane. I can't guarantee anything I write will be in any way useful to you, my readers, but I can hope that it will entertain you.

Love, 
Grace

For those of you who don't know who Jen Lancaster is, educate yourselves.