I melted my coffee mug in the break room’s microwave.

Around 15 minutes into the work day, I discovered my pants unzipped.

Yesterday, some hooligans broke into our locked shed and stole various tools and our replacement bikes for the ones stolen last year… The bikes were locked and chained to a wooden post. Unfortunately, our shed also housed several saws in which the thieves used to free the bikes…the irony is not yet funny to Matt.

I’m a Professional

I have come to the conclusion that I am the world’s most productive procrastinator. It used to be low-level productivity like cleaning the house, but since I married a rather clean (OCD) man, I’ve had to expand my procrastination methods. I’m not talking Facebook or Netflix, no, it’s more serious than that. Those procrastination tools are just temporary, meek distractions of the mind, easily identifiable as time wasters. To truly procrastinate, one must focus their mind on a task that is beneficiary and productive, but not nearly as productive as the thing on which you are procrastinating on.


For example, I am a writer, a rusty writer, but a writer nonetheless. I should be honing my skills. Writing. Thinking. Reading. Writing. Writing. Deleting. Writing. This is the beat of drums that I so decidedly and desperately ignore as I design phone cases, learn to sew, teach myself to draw (scary at best), practice calligraphy and photography and yoga poses. This is what makes a professional procrastinator, because as my fellow procrastinators are playing candy crush and binge watching seasons on Netflixs, I am accomplishing something. Even if that something means absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of purposes.



So…here’s to the time wasters, goal breakers, and severely unmotivated–May you find the courage to pursue that which you are avoiding. Or solace in the things you are accomplishing. Cheers.




Well, I ran into a couple of walls and find myself home sick, forced to really stop and think about where I should go next. I happen to be very good at my job, and for the most part I enjoy it. There’s some tedious aspects that I avoid, such as calling insurance carriers to make sure a bill has been received. That part kind of kills me. I’d rather work on the problem claims that involve legal issues and finding loopholes. More often then not, it involves an extremely detailed look into an on the job accident and more research which leads to an appeal. So basically I found a job where I can write and argue which is almost perfect.

The problem is the pay. And the company is slightly sketchy in their constant firings and ability to keep people long term. But ignoring the office politics,  the job zaps my creative energy. Which is kind of who I am, so I’m at a loss of identity when I leave work every afternoon. My mind races with projects and ideas, but I’m so damn tired and I don’t where to start, and I shouldn’t stay up late because I have a lot to do at work tomorrow.


I had this plan to start sort of creating at work. Sketches while on hold, practicing my calligraphy as I research, writing a little on the side. That didn’t work out so well. Really all it did was create a half-assed use of my time in both departments. I slept a lot those few weeks, drained of purpose.

As a newly married couple, I can’t afford to quit my job and soul search. I can’t reduce my hours or create more time in a day. But I need to find a balance and a niche.  And it would be super wonderful if I could find a niche that makes a little money.

Also, my doctor told me I needed a writing mentor and possibly a writing retreat. Wouldn’t that just be lovely?


In other news, I created a fabric pattern for a Modcloth competition. It’s nothing too special, but I  so want this dress. 


make-the-cut-dress-classy feline

Moskal Wedding (A Kickass Teaparty Affair) 6-8-13

Well I’m finally getting around to the wedding photos. If you didn’t already know, I kind of have a slight obsession with teapots and teacups, but not really tea, unless it’s of the sweetened southern iced variety. Also, I like books and wish I read more. English degree not being used right here. I found all my the items for my center pieces at thrift stores and some yard sales.  To cut costs I did all the arrangements–most of the flowers came from Fresh Market that morning. And if you look closely, you’ll find some fake ones mixed in cause they were 50% off at Hobby Lobby.

The wedding favors were handmade (thank you, Lord for Sharon Taylor and Erica Mountford). I ordered custom labeled tea and some wildflower seed bombs from the darling Etsy shop Plantables & Paper, which were placed in gift boxes from the dollar store. I topped each box with dried baby’s breath and some other dried flowers that I pulled off a wreath I found at Goodwill. Sharon labeled each box with “Wildflowers & Tea” instead of my awesome suggestion of “Teabag  & Balls.” I still maintain that was a genius idea and not at all unclassy…

In an effort to balance out the insane amount of girliness, I had the groomsmen choose a lego for their boutonniere. We ended up with Hans Solo, Yoda, Indiana Jones, Captain Jack Sparrow, and Raphael Ninja Turtle. The father of the groom, who actually married us, had a specially designed lumber jack lego with a chicken on his head, and the father of the bride(that would be me)  had a lovely boutonniere adorned with a Chewbacca lego. Quite fitting if you ask me, but I was the bride so naturally everyone agreed with me.

The beautiful photos are the work of The Kenneys , a wonderfully talented husband and wife photography team. There’s so many more, but I’m trying to keep this post readable. Hope you all enjoyed your weekend and GO BRONCOS!!

World War Whiskers: Introducing the Cats

During my college years (plus a couple more), I worked at a health food store for pets (excluding fish, birds,rabbits,hamsters,snakes,gerbils, guinea pigs, chinchillas, spiders, and turtles). We basically sold high end, all natural, organic and raw food for dogs and cats.  This era became what I like to call my Chapter to (almost) Adulthood. There’s probably a hundred different lessons/events  I could go into, but the top 3 contributors are listed below.


1) I met my husband there. He was a customer who made me instantly wish I had done my hair that morning and wasn’t wearing my white and dirt covered work hoodie. But that’s a story for another time.

2)I learned the value of nutrition. While I ignored this for myself, my animals still eat the best.  I still have a soap box I occasionally stand on and yell about how truly awful Science Diet is when it comes to nutrition. Think about it, people..Would you pick corn as the healthiest option for a carnivore to eat every day of its life? No, you’d pick a meat and then like the rest of the world you would pass the corn right through your arse. Digest that. *stepsoffsoapbox*

and finally

3) I met my baby sewer cat, Maddie. Now Maddie was technically not allowed to live with me under my parent’s roof (which was on the market), but I got around this somehow with the argument of joint custody (Maddie spent one week with me and then one week with my friend and coworker, Biff) and the fact that she was never at the house alone because she went to work with me. She was the store cat. See photo below for further proof and explanation of her description, “sewer cat.”MadieStore

As a store cat, Maddie’s responsibilities included sleeping, pouncing on unsuspecting dog customers, stealing toy mice from open containers and sleeping. As a result of this, Maddiecat developed a preference for dogs, and a distinct animosity toward all things feline. To this day, she won’t even look at herself in the mirror.Not even if you stand super close and hold her head.

At some point, Maddie became fully mine and then by proximity, partially Laura’s (roommate), who I lived with for at least 5 years. One day, Laura got a kitten. He was tiny and orange and long haired and we named him Meiko Moloko. We introduced them slowly, tried placing his sent around the house prior, and associating it with Maddie’s happy things and chicken treats. We read the books and were prepared for an angry cat, but this was worse than angry cat, this was sadistic cat who raises threatening paws at you and growls when the kitten has been nowhere near for days and you’re just reading in bed. All the time. She stopped cuddling, purring, playing, and all things sweet until Laura and I gave up and found Meiko a new home.

Laura stuck to dogs after that. And the demon cat dissipated with the kitten scent as if it was always a one-cat home.

Fast forward to June of 2013 and Matt and I had a problem. Meet Matt’s huge kitten, Prim. IMG_1055

She’s maybe a year old, a complete klutz with that obnoxiously lovable “younger sibling syndrome.” She plays with everyone and thing, so we were less worried about her and more concerned with introducing Maddie to a new home and cat. We figured it was probably best that the yellow house was considered Prim’s and hoped this would tame any dwelling demons in Maddie.

Well we were slightly off. For the first 2 weeks, Maddie had her own room where she safely hissed at Prim and her intruding paws from under the door. But she was still sweet Maddie (to humans & dog), so I was content. Eventually we began switching them out. Prim would spend most of her timing smelling everything Maddie had touched in the room, while Maddie explored every nook and cranny the yellow house had to offer. They would share litter boxes, food, toys, and sleep areas, as long as they couldn’t see each other.

And then it happened. I was going into Maddie’s room ( aka the CraftyCat room) when Prim slipped in behind me. There was no greeting or pause, and Maddie was not prepared for the agile tiger disguised as Prim. Within 4 seconds, Prim was on top of Maddie who was screeching and someone was growling and so naturally I begin screaming. Not sure what I said, I think there was a mixture of “stop” and “Prim” and general “AHHHH” sounds.

Matt later requested that I never scream like that again unless it’s actually called for; he had thought I was dying. I maintain that my yelling was an attempt to distract the cats from killing each other.

Being the problem solver that he is, Matt did what I’m pretty sure all books tell you NOT to do–he intervened with bare hands and arms into the clusterf—- that was our cats. He did not scream, or yell, or say anything, or maybe I just didn’t hear him over my screams which now included the word “Matt” and “don’t.” Either way, he managed to separate Prim from Maddie who promptly bolted from the room. I shut the door and ran after her to check for wounds. Besides some bald spots and a couple of claw marks, she was fine. Shaky but fine. So I went to assess Prim & Matt for damage. 

I knocked on the door before entering (in case Prim was stalking the exit) and heard Matt say “It’s okay” in his I’m-tired-of-this-shit-and-slightly-pissed tone. I opened the door.  I first noticed the recliner had been flipped over and that Matt had blood down his arms. I looked at Prim who was growling at Matt from the top of her cat tree, her fur still standing. Next to the cat tree were two tiny cat turds. Matt refers to this as the time he “literally scared the shit out of Prim.” A full room assessment led to the discovery of multiple broken blinds some of which were dotted with blood, a yellow, fowl smelling puddle, several red specs on various spots of the walls, and dozens of frizzy-grey tumbleweeds.

I’m still not sure what happened in that room. Matt just says that he won and is now top of the pecking order. I’m happy to report that the cats are both free to roam and occasionally play together when Maddie feels like it.



Perfect depiction of myself on most days…


I wish I knew where this came from–Please comment if you know so I can link back!


And that’s all I can muster tonight. But in my defense I did install 2 plugins and finished the blog design after a pretty productive day in the office. That deserves a cookie and a half.

So much for consistency…

Well, I planned to post at least 3 times a week. And generally be productive rather than play Candy Crush and think about my next entry..for 3 weeks. Here’s the thing about thinking and planning, it will wear you out more than the actual doing. And then I realized that my entry doesn’t have to be perfect. This is MY blog. If I wanted to, I could upload a picture of my doodle cats and call it a day. I’ll save that for later though.

So new resolution: just do it.

Nike has the right idea.


And in honor of my doodle cats and Labor Day, I give you this beautiful drawing.


Matt and I arrived at our honeymoon tree house around midnight and with none of our belongings (see previous post about unorganized airport butt wads). My face was covered with airport stickiness, and my prescription face wash sat cozily next to my toothbrush in Dallas. Thankfully, the tree house came equipped with an enormous hot tub on its own floor.

So naturally, we didn’t really care about this when we were submerged in warm, bubbling water surrounded by pine tree tops. I didn’t really care at all actually until I woke up the next morning starving and completely against wearing ANYTHING that touched the Dallas airport. Cause that could poison the rest of our trip. My pants, in all likelihood, were cursed. Plus who wants to go to breakfast and be introduced as the newlywed couple while wearing dirty, black gym pants, a t-shirt, and an afro (this is what happens if don’t have my hair products). Not me, no thanks, isn’t that what husbands are for?

Yes, is the answer my question, husbands get the breakfast. They also make treks up the nearest store for sinus medication when their wife wakes up in a pool of snot.

I’ve been told by various Colorado residents that the pollen was unusually bad, the weather was unseasonably hot and everyone’s allergies were acting up. “Just keep drinking water,” they told me, “it will get better.”

It didn’t. In fact, as we adventured through the little mountain town, my tonsils began to swell, my nose closed up, and then I went deaf.

DEAF. You think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. For someone who grew up in Florida and Memphis, my body was in no way prepared to be 7,220 feet above sea level. So along with allergies and my ears protesting the sudden change of pressure, my body developed what is known as altitude sickness. Short walks became marathons and I dizzily entered each little shop out of breath. By the third day, Matt and I stopped by Walgreen’s for a B12 shot Unfortunately, CO requires prescriptions for this, so we bought out the pharmacy.

Souvenirs we collected:

  • Earache Drops
  • Rubbing alcohol
  • Sore throat lozenges x3
  • Vapor Inhaler x2
  • Vaporub
  • Benadryl
  • Claritin
  •  Multi Symptom Cold and Flu Relief
  • Mucinex
  • Local honey
  • Peppermint Oil
  • A & D Ointment (for my raw nose)
  • Tissues x4

I’ve never been on more drugs than I was on my honeymoon. And that includes that one night with the dreadlocks guy and that gothic chick from college who made me watch Rocky Horror Picture Show with Spanish subtitles.

I began taking steam showers multiple times a day. In the shower was a little perch where I dreamed about breathing. It’s also where I was when I asked my new husband how to hock a loogie. I’d like to say after hours of making strange gag noises and spitting I became a master at evacuating phlegm, but this wasn’t the case. And Matt is a pretty good teacher. I was just destined to be one with my mucus.

And that’s how my honeymoon became one beautiful Colorado, completely unsexy, drugged up vacation in a tree house.












The Honeymoon

I never know where to start when I begin a new journal. Birth? Those awkwardly rebellious teenage years? First career move after college? The day I met Matt?  No, that’s all just too much work. Since I was just recently married, I think the best starting point would be with that first week after the wedding; The honeymoon.

Now you know how most couples choose to spend a week in one of those aphrodisiac-ly decked out resort suites with the pools and the oceans and the sunbathing? We were too cool for that. And also ADD, so the sunbathing would undoubtedly become torturous.  Instead, Matt and I decided that it would be best to go somewhere that we could explore for cheap; i.e lets hike the mountains and fly fish. Plus my heart was stuck on staying in a tree house which are way less common in beach areas. And that’s how we landed at The Tree House in Evergreen, Colorado.

I wish I could go on to write about the sappy, romantic week we had, but that’s not really my style. Also, there was no(NONE.ZERO.ZILCH) sex to write about. But I’ll get to that later.

A bit of background on my husband–he has horrible flying history. It’s actually so consistently bad that his entire family warned me about this infamous flying reputation; maybe we should consider going somewhere closer where we could drive? Or maybe a cruise, the Disney cruise is nice?

There is not a plane god. I know this. But anyone who has ever had a flight with Matt insists that Matt pissed off the plane god somehow. So I prayed to the actual God, can we please have smooth flying? And then I felt guilty because clearly God has more important things to do than intervene with the chaos that is the airport. So I edited my prayer to a simple, please don’t let the plane crash, and if you could keep me from sleep drooling on another passenger’s shoulder, that would be great too.

We arrived at the Memphis airport on time (a major accomplishment for a Moskal) only to find that the plane was delayed in Dallas and by the time it would arrive in Memphis, our next scheduled flight from Dallas would have already left. The customer service rep looked sincerely annoyed, which was kind of nice. She kept putting her fingers to her temple and shaking her head as she phoned every flight from Dallas to Colorado. No seats available, all booked, sorry.  Okay so new plan, we would get to Dallas that day, but would have to spend the night in the Dallas airport and catch an early flight out in the morning. I was prepared for this, so I just laughed it off and put my white “Bride” jacket on. Maybe I could get some sympathy freebies; after all we had already received free bag checking and a hotel room. We’d make the best of it, cause we’re totally married now (except we really weren’t, but that’s another story).

GOOD NEWS! We made it to Dallas and because their hotel rooms aren’t really that great, and we’d much rather get to our tree house, we stalked every flight to Colorado. We were #10 on the waiting list, so we ate dinner through the first flight. For the second flight (2 hours later), we were bumped up and my prayer changed to, “Please, please let more people miss their flight.” We didn’t make it, but we were now number 1& 2 on standby for the 3rd flight scheduled to leave in an hour.

This was that rush you get when you really, really want something but have absolutely no control over the outcome. My fingers were crossed, my prayers to God were shortened to a repeated please, Matt’s jaw was twitching, the 3rd flight was boarding and our names had now moved to #3 and #4.  We marched up to the counter and politely with teeth clenched, Matt asked, “WHAT THE HELL?”

Frequent flyers get perks; like skipping the line, even if the two people in front of them are on their honeymoon and the Dallas airport delayed a flight which made these two innocents miss their original flight in the first place. Freaking Dallas. That’s probably not the word we used in the moment. I took this opportunity to check in on our luggage. Is it scheduled to go with our flight tomorrow? Do we need to recheck it? The Dallas airport lady, who did not care that we were on our honeymoon or that she had a slight mustache, said “Your luggage follows your original flight.” Which means our suitcases were already at the CO airport and made no sense to me, because they can’t just send luggage with planes when the passengers aren’t on it, right?

So I asked another lady at the 4th flight counter–where we were now back to being 1&2 on the list. “We missed our original flight because of a plane delay, we have tickets to leave on a flight tomorrow, but we are the next up on standby, where is our luggage? This woman said that our luggage was connected to our ticket bar code and if we made it on this flight our ticket would be scanned and our luggage would follow us. This made way more sense, and therefore I could accept it as true.

I decided to stand directly in front of the counter with my back to the reps and my backpack on the ground. This made the “Bride” written on my jacket in direct eye line of the Dallas Standby Patrol. I then rested my head on Matt’s shoulder pathetically. It was 10:30pm and we had been at that God forsaken airport for 10 hours. I was prepared to use every manipulative move in the book to make it on that flight.

Thankfully though, I didn’t have to fake a panic attack or bring out the tears, our names were called and we ran onto that plane before any frequent flying whores could show up to butt ahead.

We made it to the tree house a little after midnight, without our suitcases. Because the Dallas airport just had to throw one more honeymoon punch at us.