We're Moving!

The day has finally arrived!! I am in the process (finally) of moving Abby Gabs from Blogger (booooo!) to Word Press (YAAAAAY!)

And there's absolutely been no tequila involved!

So far.

Nobody said anything about vodka though.

So, while I'm waiting for all the techno-babble mumbo-jumbo to go through, my site may be temporarily down. I'm hoping to be able to start setting up the new blog by Monday, and keeping my fingers crossed for a re-launch by the end of next week.

I know you'll miss me, friends and neighbors, but I'll try to post silly anecdotes on my Twitter and Facebook pages to keep you thoroughly entertained in the interim.

In the meantime, here's a cute illustration of myself to remind you that we are currently undergoing some construction.

See you on Word Press!!

Wii Bowling Party: An Abby Gabs Tutorial

A little friendly advice, from me to you: when your husband/wife/significant other/roommate/little sister/self-built android comes to you and says, "Let's have a Wii bowling tournament party!" ----->just say yes. 

Because we did one this past weekend, and it was SO. MUCH. FUN.

Here are my tips to creating the world's awesomest Bowling Party, all from the comforts of your living room.

You Can Do It, Too: Wii Bowling Tournament Tutorial

Tip #1: Let Your Husband/Wife/Significant Other/Roommate/Little Sister/Self-Built Android Come Up With The Name Of The League AND The Event.

Because then, you wind up with a name like:

While it makes some decorations a little more difficult to create (YOU try putting that many letters on a banner), it makes everyone laugh when you step into the room to announce that the Inaugural Tournament of the Incredibly Excellent Bowling League of Awesomeness is about to begin. 

Don't worry. If you say it enough, you won't have to look it up every time. Promise.

Tip #2: If you have someone with minor OCD in your life, allow them to take over the planning, decorations, and food for the party.

In this little scenario, that person would be me. And I had an absolute blast planning bowling alley themed foods, bowling pin cards to identify said themed foods, meticulously wrapping the white plastic eating utensils with red electrical tape to look like bowling pins, and coming up with the most complicated bracket known to man.

Cheesy Bowling Ball

It only took four hours...ish.

OK, I lied. The bracket was too complicated for me. Brian made it up, I just wrote it all pretty.

Tip #3: Re-stock your printer with paper before you allow the OCD person in the scenario to begin creating decorations.

I made banners, lane markers, food cards, and more, just using my printer, some scissors, tape and string. I'm the MacGeyver of crafts, y'all.

Tip #4: Take pictures.

And once you've had a few beers, feel free to give the camera to your friends so they can capture some candids as well. Otherwise, you'll miss out on all of this:

Seriously, the best shots are often the ones taken after you bust out the booze. As long as they're in focus. Which brings me to my last tip...

Tip #5: Don't take so many pictures that you aren't allowed a little creative room to groove when it's time to blog about your party.

Because after three beers and a rum-and-coke, my camera was left in a corner somewhere, and I forgot all about a hundred different shots I wanted to take, including a group shot of the 11 bowlers that came to our party.

But never fear, Photoshop and our Nintendo Miis are here!

Back row, from left to right: Zach, Kristie, Arielle, Steven, Jenn, Ashley, Fred, Ray, and Sam
Front row: Abby and Brian

Seriously. That's one epically awesome team portrait--which is perfectly fitting for the Incredibly Excellent Bowling League of Awesomeness. (See, I told you remembering the name gets a little easier the more times you say it.)

A Funny Thing Has Been Happening Lately...

...and it all started a few days ago, when I brought home a certain new CD. I'd be sitting at the computer, writing away, when from the kitchen I'd hear Brian humming.

Brian: *♪♫ quiet humming ♪♫*

And I'd be all like...

"What in the world...?"

A few minutes later, I'd hear...

Brian: "♫♪...Ohhhhh ohhhhhh....♪♫"

And I'd be all like...

"Is he singing what I think he's singing...?"

As if he were unknowingly trying to answer my question, he would then start singing a little bit louder...

Brian: "♪♪ I like the Remix, baby....Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, oooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...♪♪"

And I'd get all silly and giddy and be like...

"Tee hee! He's TOTALLY singing New Kids on the Block right now..."

After a few minutes of belting out the chorus of the Kids' latest single, Brian would inevitably realize what was coming out of his mouth, and, well, his reactions were sort of like...

Brian: "DAMMIT."

And I'd stay sitting quietly in my little computer chair, like...

"...I wonder if he'll stop now?"

Adorably, wonderfully, after a few minutes of silence it would start all over again.

Brian: *♪♫ quiet humming ♪♫*

I just can't help it. Hearing him sing New Kids songs makes me kinda...well...

Stupid Happy.

Addendum: When I finally pointed out to Brian that he'd been singing Remix all the live long day, he looked at me with a totally straight face and said, "What? It's a catchy tune." I may have swooned. Just a little.

Starting Over.

Today, I weigh 250.6 pounds.

There, I said it. The number---that dreaded, awful, huge number---that plagues my thoughts on a daily basis. It has been written out in bold print for the world to see. I am ashamed, I am mortified, I am disgusted.

But why? Why am I ashamed to share that number? Why does it make my palms sweat, and my knees weak, to think that people...not just my husband, but people I know...will see that number and think "Crap. She IS fat."

It will not change how much my best friend loves me. It will not change the wonderful relationship I have with my parents. It will not cause people to un-friend me on Facebook, or unsubscribe from my blog (I hope.) 

That number---250.6---is just that. A number. It is not who I am. I will not be defined by that number. I will not allow myself to be defined by my weight, just like I won't let myself be defined by my infertility, or my Southern heritage, or my liberal politics. I won't allow myself to be typecast, pigeonholed, or labeled. Because I am more than the sum of my parts. I am more than a fat girl, a childless mother, a tree-hugging hippie. I am more that the definitions society wants to place on me as part of its stereotypes. 

There have been obstacles in my path so far--ones that I should have scaled over or navigated around--that stopped me in my tracks. So now it's time to pick myself up, and dust myself off, and figure out just why I keep falling down to begin with. 

I may need a band aid over to cover my scraped ego. I may even need a kiss and a hug and a pat on the head.

But I will continue my journey, even if I have to tread through the brambles in order to find my path.

Who cares if I have to start over? Who cares if I've done it a million times before, only to fail?  This time might just be the time that it all makes a difference. So I'll get up in the mornings and go to the gym that we haven't visited in two weeks. I'll count my calories and eat more vegetables and avoid my trigger foods. It's back to the grind, back to the full time job that is trying to lose weight. I will tell myself that this 2 week layover was a setback, not failure. And I will move on. To a healthier, happier, thinner me.

source

Abby's Weight Loss Journey, Day One, is today.

Excitement Is A New Album From My Favorite Boy Band, Ever

For those of you who don't care a whit about NKOTB, my obsession with Donnie Wahlberg, or the fact that I'm doing cartwheels because of their new album, you can probably skip this post. However, you are weirdos and I reserve the right to judge you for judging me. 

The New Kids newest album, "10," came out today. I downloaded it on iTunes this morning before the gym, and was waiting (with Brian) outside of Target at 7:45 so I could buy my store exclusive copy (TWO EXTRA TRACKS!!!) when they opened at 8.

Like a true fan-girl, I recorded my reactions as I opened the cd. There may or may not be a love letter for the band at the end as well. Enjoy. 

AbbyGabs in April

Here we are, a brand new shiny month. This year is flying by already, and I've got so much stuff to look forward to in the coming months. April is a big one, and I thought you might like to know what's coming down the pike for me, my family, and my blog. So here's a peek at the first few weeks of my calendar for this month.

April 1, 2013:
Day one of Camp NaNoWriMo--the online support system for budding writers is at it again, and I'm jumping in with both feet.  And as usual, the 50,000 word count goal in 30 days is plenty enough to get my competitive juices flowing. I've managed to do it twice...and I happened to bang out a my very first novel by participating in NaNo 2011 and 2012.

source

The real beauty behind Camp Nano is that, while you can start a brand new project, you're also encouraged to take that thirty days and do pretty much whatever you want to do (involving writing, of course.) Edit a past project, write poetry/blogs/short stories, work on a timeline for your next big idea---the point of Camp NaNo isn't just to write a new work. It's to write. Period. The End. That's All Folks.

I'm really jazzed about Camp, especially since I've not been writing nearly as much lately as I'm used to, and I'm missing it fiercely. So, I'm going to stoke my inner campfire, blow the dust off of my very first novel and edit the crap out of it every single day in April, in hopes that by the time I'm finished, it will be 100% publishable material.

You guys know the drill--I'll still be posting here as regularly as I can manage. I plan to set aside one day a week to write several blogs, and they'll all be scheduled to post while I'm doping up on coffee and popping aspirin to battle my keyboard-hunch back pain. And with you cheering me on, anything is possible! Hi ho, Hi ho, it's off to Camp we go!

April 3, 2013:
Appointment with my OB and fertility specialist.

I'm scared and excited and worried and nauseous and thrilled, all at the same time. We've waited years for this opportunity, and I'm *trying* to be hopeful that we will receive some helpful answers to solve our fertility problems. And since I cried all over you guys a couple of weeks ago in a blog about that very subject, it seemed only natural that I tell you about this latest development in our journey to become parents.

Don't worry, I'll keep you in the loop. Especially if there are hormone replacement drugs involved. Because they make me a little crazy, and more prone to film video blogs involving tears, snot, and smeared mascara. So stay tuned, friends. Stay tuned.


April 7, 2013:
The Inaugural Tournament of the Incredibly Excellent Wii Bowling League.

Yes, you read that correctly.

My ingenious husband finally figured out a way to cram our tiny apartment to the brim with practically every person we know within a thirty-mile radius---and all in the name of bowling. He created a Wii Bowling League, and we are having the first tournament at our house this weekend.

source

There will be brackets, bowling-themed food, fierce competition, and trophies. (Yes, he bought trophies. Just like the one pictured above.) It's going to be epic, and we are hoping to turn it into a regular thing. Once we weed out the serious competitors from those more interested in the bowling ball cupcakes (yes, that would be me you're picturing with chocolate crumbs on her chin) we may just invent team names and create bowling shirts (which I will have to beg for, because I'll be the one losing on purpose so I can sit in the kitchen and chat with my friends between turns.) Don't worry, readers...there will be a full blog with pictures after the event. It's going to rock.

Sometime Mid-April:
I'm moving.

Not me, personally, but my blog. 

That's right, I'm making the leap from Blogger to Word Press. 

source--and also not the website I'm using to navigate my move. That's HERE.

It's been a long time coming, and I've been thinking about it, and planning for it, since the beginning of the year. I've finally convinced myself that I can do it without the help of a paid professional (although I'm considering asking my doctor for a prescription in Xanax). With the support of blogger friends who have done it before, a father-in-law who I'm convinced could fix the internet if it was completely broken, and pep talks with some of my favorite Word Press bloggers, I'm ready to make the leap.

If you'd like to send assistance in the form of tequila, email me and I'll send my mailing address.

April 10, 2013:
Abby hosts Dinner Club for the first time.

Back in January, two of our favorite couples contacted us and asked if we'd be interested in joining a dinner club. For those fuzzy on the details, it works like this: the host couple comes up with the theme and provides the entree. Couples two and three are in charge of the appetizer course and the dessert course, respectively. 

Truth: it's a great excuse to get together with our friends not once, but twice, to eat great food, drink great wine, and enjoy each other's company.

Most people, while in the planning stages of this event, would be focused more on coming up with a menu that will be pleasing to the palate, but will allow them to act as hostess and spend more time with their guests.

You read the part above about my "competitive juices" though, right?

I'm feeling very...."Barefoot Contessa" about our first club where I'm in charge of the culinary experience. As in...I have to rock this, and rock it hard.

Abby rockin' the kitchen, circa 2010.

I'm not looking to intimidate our friends and make them worry about the contents of their spice racks before the next dinner...much. I'm just looking for everything to be so awesome that we're still talking about "that first dinner club at Abby's house" five years from now.

And maybe, just maybe, I'm holding out hope for a gold ribbon of cooking genius. 

So that's what's going on with me, friends and neighbors. No huge announcements, just lots of little stuff to look forward to. What's going on in your neck of the woods? (Be forewarned: if it sounds like a good time I might just crash your party.)

There's a Milk Monster In Our Midst...

It all started when Dizzy was a kitten. You know---adorable, small, rambunctious. One day he discovered the milk at the bottom of our cereal bowls. And the obsession began.

It was all fun and games at first. He'd hop up in my lap, nudging his tiny little nose toward the bowl. I'd give in to the cuteness and let him lap the milk from among the Fruit Loops, and we would all giggle at the cute little slurpy noises he would make as he gobbled it all up.

Fast-forward a few years and now Dizzy is a full-grown, 10-pound cat. He's still adorable, but he's much bigger now. And much more insistent that he gets his milk prize every morning. He still jumps up in my lap, but if I'm less than agreeable with his begging, he takes matters into his own...paws.

When he's satisfied that he's saturated his paw in enough milk, he'll sit back and slurp it right off of his foot. Loudly. Usually in my ear.

This habit annoys me. It all but infuriates Brian. Being the Dad in this scenario, Brian usually puts Dizzy on the floor with a firm "NO." And Dizzy, knowing which side his proverbial bread is buttered on, will sulk for a moment, then mosy over to my corner of the room.

His M/O has changed a bit over the years. He will find a perch that is as close to his goal as possible (usually the arm of the couch) and stare at me as I eat my cereal. Sometimes his face is less than an inch away from mine.

He doesn't always wait so patiently, but for the most part, he'll allow me to eat at least 3 spoonfuls of cereal before he makes his move. And then, ever-so-slowly, he'll start to creep closer, and closer, and closer, until...

Most of the time, I get relatively annoyed, and relatively quickly, and wind up pushing him out of the bowl. But some days...most days, as soon as he starts making that same slurpy sound...

...I cave in and let him have his fill.

It's worth it, even if I have to eat my Cheerios dry.

Things I'm Loving Lately

After this weekend's somber post, I decided to do something much happier to kick off the week. (I know you're relieved. Truthfully, I used up half a box of tissues just writing Saturday's post. I'm ready to move on to the happy stuff, too.) So, I'm turning to the blogging tool that has been so successful for me in the past. I'm sharing with you a list of the things that are making me smile lately. (If I use it as a tool to turn my frownies upside down, well, that's just an added bonus. Right?)

Things I'm Loving Lately:

1. This house in Kansas:

As it turns out, it was purchased by activist Aaron Jackson, who bought this house just to send a message to their neighbors: the Westboro Baptist Church. A peaceful, and colorful, protest to all the hate speech---I'd say this is a must-visit location to any and all living and vacationing in Kansas. It makes me so happy, I'm not above declaring that if we buy a house with siding, it might just get the same treatment. (Somewhere in a hospital room far, far away, my husband the nurse just collapsed when he read that statement.) Visit CNN to read the entire story.

2. Smash.

I know, I know---I've gushed all about this show here on AbbyGabs before. But the new season started a couple of weeks ago, and I've got to tell you----I'm just as addicted in season 2 as I was in season 1. I know I'm not supposed to like Ivy, but I absolutely adore Megan Hilty, and I'm excited for what's coming up for her character in the episodes to come! For your viewing pleasure, here she is again, as Marilyn Monroe. LOVE.

Sigh. My Broadway tendencies get tickled every time she performs. I really want to be her when I grow up.

3. Lego City: Undercover (for the Wii U)

This game has everything we love: Lego-themed puzzles, fun game play, and silly narration. We simply can't stop playing. The only thing it doesn't have is multi-player...but it's only making us look forward to future Lego games on this new console that much more. My favorite mantra while playing Lego games? BREAK STUFF!!!!

4. Searching the internet for nerdy t-shirts to wear to Comic-Con in July.
Believe me when I say there are a treasure trove of them out there. I've got an entire Pinterest Board dedicated to the subject. Here are a few of my favorites, for your viewing pleasure.

Nyan Cat Meets Doctor Who

Star Trek Awesomeness

The Entire Buffy Gang--The Peanuts Version

5. Remix (I Like The)
Don't throw stuff at me. I know I told you all about how much I love this new video by NKOTB in my last video blog. But someone happened to point out to me that I failed to leave a link to the video on that post, and so I'm sharing it with you here. (Remember--part of this blog is so I have something to look at to make me smile. And this video makes me smile. So there.)


It's not just the hotness of the band in suits, or the fact that the lead in the video is a big girl like me, or the ADORABLENESS that is the dance sequence with Donnie Wahlberg near the end. It's the WHOLE SONG, and the knowledge that I'll get to see them perform it live in T-minus 2 1/2 months, that gets me all giddy and grinny. I can't wait for the album release in April. Yay!!!

Ok that's it. My list of happy things. I've got a few more, but I'm too busy rocking out to Remix and pretending I can sing like Megan Hilty to write any more. 

Coping

Today's post is going to be raw, emotional, and probably painful for some of you to read. In truth, I started not to publish it. But this has been sitting with me for awhile now, and so I wrote it out in hopes that it would bring me some comfort and closure. I didn't write it to seek out sympathy, or to evoke any particular emotion for my readers. I simply wrote it for me. Any of you who have ever suffered with infertility will understand that sometimes, crying it out and exhausting all emotion is the only way to pick yourself and move on, to give yourself enough courage to take the next pill, the next shot, or the next test. That is what this post is for me.

I'm sitting in the bathroom floor, legs tangled beneath me. The towel I'm crying into smells of Brian's body wash. A nervous cat who managed to get closed into the bathroom with me sits by the door, tail twitching, waiting for a chance to escape. The digital pregnancy test still sits on the counter where I left it, the words "NOT PREGNANT" in stark analog print, breaking my heart again.

It's 4:30 in the morning.

Last night, we sat at the kitchen table, holding hands, the truth of the situation like ashes in my mouth. "I'm 15 days late," I say.

"I know," he replies.

Like a sorrow-filled waltz, we dance around the topic of conversation. He asks me if there are any signs of impending doom. I show him my ovulation calendar. We talk about the "peak fertile days" we managed to hit in the last month. Hope blossoms like spring flowers where one would think the roots were dead.

"Should I take a test?" I ask him.

"Maybe. But let's wait until morning," he replies.

And so we walk through the rest of the day, preparing meals and cleaning dishes, hugging cats and laughing at sitcoms, until the time for bed arrives.

As I brush my teeth, I rummage through the cabinets until I find what I'm looking for: a box of pregnancy tests, one left, waiting for the chance to make our dreams come true. I set it out, unwrap it, and stare at the blank screen, wondering what judgement it will have for me. I spit in the sink, and a spot of toothpaste lands on the digital screen. I wipe it away with my finger.

An hour later, my husband sleeps deeply beside me. I slide the bookmark between the pages of my current novel and turn out the light. My cat snuggles up on my chest, and I pet him while I think about what the morning might bring. So many possibilities. 

I try to keep myself from thinking it, but as usual, the laundry list of those possibilities begin to rattle off in my brain. If it's positive, I could have the baby by Christmas. If it's positive, I'll want to schedule an appointment with my doctor as soon as possible. If it's positive, I want to tell my parents first. If it's positive, I'll have the chance to tell Jenna in person this weekend. If it's positive, we'll have to do something about that middle bedroom. (I've always loved the idea of a Dr. Seuss-themed nursery.)

If it's positive, will it be a boy or a girl?

If it's positive, I will cry and laugh and dance and celebrate.

If it's positive.

I fall asleep with visions of round cheeks and tiny feet dancing in my head.

When I wake up with a full bladder at 4 a.m., my whole body comes to attention. I slide out from beneath the covers, leaving husband and cats undisturbed. I take a deep breath and do my duty, waiting the unbearable 2 minutes before allowing myself to read the screen of the pregnancy test.

And the new, more familiar laundry list of possibilities take over. If it's negative, I will not beat myself up for days on end. If it's negative, I will not let it ruin my week. If it's negative, I won't tell anyone about it, because I don't want people to feel sorry for me. If it's negative, and of course it will be negative, I will mark it on my calendar and move on.

If it's negative, I will mention it to Brian over breakfast and we won't talk about it anymore.

If it's negative, I will let myself cry, but only for a few minutes.

If it's negative.

I give myself ten minutes to mourn the baby that never was, and then I wrap the test, that thing, in toilet paper and throw it away. I toss the box and instructions away, too. I wipe down the counters, the sink, and the mirror just for good measure. I splash my face with cold water, blow my nose, and brush my hair. I never look at my reflection because I know I'll only see misery and regret. I turn out the light and open the door, freeing the trapped cat from the confines of his prison cell. I tiptoe back into the bedroom and ever-so-gently lower myself back into bed.

His voice pierces the night.

"Negative?" he asks.

"Negative." I reply.

And we wrap ourselves in each other and cope.

Magical Godmother Moments

We celebrated my godson's third birthday this past weekend. And we celebrated in style, with the whole Sesame Street gang. It was a day filled with laughter, presents, Elmo, and all the cuteness that comes with a child's party. 

As usual, there were plenty of moments that I tucked away into my heart for safekeeping: Ellie napping on my chest, Jacob's delight with his giant balloon bouquet, quiet conversation with Jenna over a cup of coffee. 

But there was one moment in particular that was so special, I'd like to share it with you today.

As usual, Brian and I arrived hours before the party so we could help Jenna set up. There were decorations to be hung, fruit and veggie trays to prepare, and games to organize. Naturally, all of those things were sprinkled with pauses for the tickle monster, singing songs, and kissing babies.

Jenna's mom (affectionately known as Gran) arrived shortly after we did to help with "kid wrangling." She bundled them up, tied their little shoes, and whisked them outside for playtime. The rest of us got busy setting up for the party.

At some point in the morning, Brian and Jenna were busy at work, moving furniture to make way for guests. I took my cup of coffee and joined Gran and the kids in the backyard, where my godchildren were happily swinging in the hammock. 

I stood with Gran, admiring their adorableness, commenting on the warm spring day. Suddenly, Jacob decided he wanted to get down. He reached out his arms to us, and together, we hauled him up and out of the hammock. Ellie was retrieved by Gran, and it looked like it might be time to find a new game to keep them occupied.

Just as I was about to head back into the house to make myself useful, Jacob walked over to me, put his arms around my leg and said, "Aunt Abby, I swing with you?"

He looked up at me with those big, beautiful, chocolate-brown eyes. And I simply melted. 

"You want me to swing you in the hammock?" I asked.

"NO, swing WITH me, Aunt Abby!" he said enthusiastically, and pointed at the hammock.

I had a brief panicked feeling. Will I be too big for the hammock? Will it break? But I didn't have time for my insecurities to keep me from enjoying the moment. I followed my godson as he tugged me toward his goal, his feet crunching in the leaves on the ground.

I steadied the hammock, sat back carefully, and helped him climb in beside me. "Are you ready?" I asked.

"Ready!" he said.

And so I lifted my feet, allowing the momentum to swing us forward.

I looked down at the child laying beside me, and my heart swelled at the sight of the smile on his face. He scooted over as close to me as he could get, snuggling up so that his head was on my arm. 

We got comfy and enjoyed the gentle swaying of the tree branches overhead. Sunlight warmed our faces, and the birds chirped us a sweet spring lullaby. 

I sighed with contentment, and caught Jacob peeking up at me from beneath his cap. "I could do this all day," I said to him quietly.

"I could do this all day," he parroted. 

And when his hand curled up over my heart, I pushed off with my feet again, and we laughed as the hammock lurched forward, higher than ever before.

Tweezers: Beauty Tool or Means of Torture?

A girl I admired in high school once told me I had really nice eyebrows.

It as one of those rare, odd compliments that has always stuck with me. Here I am, nearly 14 years later, and I still think of her when I examine my eyebrows in the mirror. 

Truthfully, I never plucked a single hair out of my brow-line for years. I was probably 27 or 28 before I even thought about it.

That thought was made possible thanks to a less-than-friendly manicurist at a local nail salon.

I'd gone in with a friend for a pedicure, and was looking forward to being pampered for that blissful thirty minutes. I was not, however, looking to be dissed by the guy who buffs my heels. He took one look at my face as I settled into the massage chair and said, "You want I do your eyebrows?"

Thinking I'd somehow communicated that I wanted 'the works' instead of just the pedicure that day, I answered, "No, just the toes today. Thanks."

He had the audacity to smirk at me, then said, "Ok, lady. But I do eyebrow for ten dolla'. Wax away those ugly hairs." Then he put his fingers over his eyes and waggled them at me.

I was shocked. I had perfect eyebrows! Didn't he know?? I wished I was still in touch with that girl from high school, so I could call her up on the phone and let her wax philosophical about my forehead hair with Mr. Manicure. 

That evening, I came home and studied myself in the mirror. Ok, so there was an errant hair here and there. And to my horror, there was a weird one growing out of the center of my forehead. 

But other than that, my eyebrows were normal. 

Weren't they?

I turned to Google for help and realized that at some point between 1999 and 2007, the natural eyebrow look had gone out of style in lieu of the perfectly sculpted eyebrow, complete with a nearly-architectural arch.

Well, my eyebrows had never had much arch to them at all. They were sort of...flat. Like someone took a ruler and drew a line of hair across my forehead, leaving just enough space between them so I didn't look like Bert sans Ernie.

I began to doubt my friend's kind words, and myself. I immediately went to the drug store, bought my first pair of tweezers, and set to work trying to remedy this hair-fashion problem.

Let me say that whoever devised plucking as a method for hair removal was a sick, sadistic freak. I don't care what anyone says---every single hair you pull out of your face hurts like holy hell. You never get used to it. 

I'm not sure what led me to the conclusion that pulling them all out at once would hurt less than one at a time, but my next move was to schedule an eyebrow waxing from my hair stylist, LeAnn. She is wonderful, and as gentle as can be...but it still hurts. A lot. 

But, with each waxing, I get that perfect, shaped, arched eyebrow that all the fashion magazines say is the number one accessory must-have.

Still, I can't help but miss the days when I didn't have to pluck at all. Mainly because ripping hair out of my face on a regular basis seems like a form of torture that should be reserved for terrorists and the mass murderer guy that Kevin Bacon is hunting on basic cable.

Either way, I'll continue paying LeAnn to wax my eyebrows every 8 weeks. And I'll keep yanking that one weird forehead hair out on my own (before I go see her, because WHO HAS A HAIR IN THE MIDDLE OF THEIR FOREHEAD?) 

Why?

Because I liked being the girl with the perfect eyebrows.

Would An AbbyGabs Coffee Mug Make Your Life Better?

The other day, I posted this thought on Facebook:

And believe it or not, I got quite a responses in favor of an Abby Gabs t-shirt. In fact, many of you requested one to add to your own wardrobes. 

I have to admit, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about opening a little swag shop associated with my blog. I've actually thought about it quite a bit, mainly because a few of my favorite blogs (Late Enough, Crappy Pictures, Hyperbole and a Half, The Oatmeal) all have shops of their own.

Not to mention my father-in-law, Walt, author of The Lucky Puppy, who launched his shop years before I ever heard the word "blog." 

After about an hour of scouring my blog, looking for items that might make cute t-shirts, I find that I have a few. All they require are a little editing, some funny catchphrases, and a vessel on which to print them up. For instance...

How cute would this be on a coffee mug?:

And I had already thought of this one for my nerdy Comic Con t-shirt...(Saying something like L8 Nerd.) 

I have a few that I could take ideas from, too...like Super Abby:

Or the classic "I Survived the Red Roof Inn:"

Of course, there would be Abby Gabs swag, too---bumper stickers derived from my banner, t-shirts with just the blog logo on it, etc.

The question is: are you guys really interested in this idea? Would you be willing to buy a $5 bumper sticker with my face on it? Would you really wear a t-shirt with a badly-drawn, caffeinated dinosaur on the front? 

So let's put it to a vote. If you'd love to see an Abby Gabs swag shop, vote below. And if there's an illustration you adore that you'd pay to see on merchandise, and I didn't mention it above, let me know which one you're interested in!





I'm curious to hear your thoughts, readers. I will say, I'm probably going to create the nerd shirt for myself, but opening up a shop would be a totally different endeavor! I think it would be fun, and I'm hoping you will, too. Let me know your thoughts in the comments below.