Truths November 23, 2009

1. Grocery store brand diet soda is not an acceptable alternative to Diet Coke.
2. When my family gets together we will always make too much food.
3. Tylenol PM will not make me drowsy, no matter how much I wish it would.
4. Trivial Pursuit books and literature questions are 75% unknow-able.
5. Tyra Banks is a judgy bitch and watching her talk show just makes me angry.
6. Finding out that your ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend is less attractive than you is Make My Day material, no matter how over a relationship you are.
7. Scotty dogs that smell like pumpkin pie are also Make My Day material.
8. Finding out that your Fiance and your brothers ate the last of the fudge covered oreos you were hoarding is Definitely Not Make My Day Material.
9. I don’t know the appropriate amount to tip a hair dresser.
10. Having pictures of your friends and loved ones on your newly acquired desk in your newly rearranged dining room will make you happy.
11. Turkey Sandwiches are one of the few foods I could eat daily for an almost infinite amount of time.
12. A good portion of my belongs still smell like smoke and have charing on them from the 2006 house fire.
13. Some days are writing days, some days are thinking days, some days are communicating days.
14. There should always be reruns of House or SVU on the television at all times on weekends. It is my royal decree.
15. I will miss my family minutes after they/I leave.
16. Brandy’s Monday posts make Monday’s better.

Pot Stashed In Strollers, Beer Pong, and Women Trying To Steal My Fiance November 2, 2009

That was, in short, my Halloween night.

Let’s start at the beginning. In the last few months The Boy and I have made decent friends out of our across the street neighbors and the neighbors behind them. This week they informed us that another couple in the neighborhood was throwing a Halloween party and that we should all check it out. So, late Saturday night The Boy and I, dressed as ourselves at prom, and our neighbor friends, dressed as themselves from the day before, trot across a few lawns and arrive at a garage party the policed department could only dream of.

The hostess of the party was very nice and offered us some jello shots and burgers that we graciously turned down due to our fear of dysentery and strange meat products. She spent a good portion of the night bouncing someone else’s squishy baby on her lap. We later found out that the parents of the squishy baby were two class act inviduals who not only partook in some illegal substances but were actually the providers of said herbs. The baby daddy popped open the little compartment on the top of the stroller and took out a bag of weed and a bong. I remember distinctly tugging on The Boy’s arm and making him watch as this 19 year old father of an 8 month old carefully resealed his bag and put his drugs back into his son’s stroller. Evening thinking about it now, I have no words. !!!?@#? is all that comes to mind.

Anycrazypeoplespawning, The Boy and I took on a pair of women in Beer Pong, where I did exceptionally well and could have won us the game if FianceFace could have sunk a ball in a damn cup. Competitive much? In all honesty he did well, especially considering he was about five drinks ahead of me. I just did better than expected, I am notoriously bad at beer pong. However, our best was not good enough and we had to ensue teasing and smack talk from the women who won.

One of these women came up and started chatting with us a little later, and after learning that my future husband is A) smart, B) employed C) a high wage earner and D) has good taste in jewelry informed me that if she wanted my man, she could have him.  To which I giggled nervously because I’m a sheltered white girl and I had no idea what remarks would be appropriate and what would get my ass beaten by a 5′3 black girl. Later that night she started dancing up on me and mentioned that her boobs were better than mine, to which I take offense because though I know the rest of me needs some work, my girls are PERFECT.  And her’s were rather floppy.

And according to my fiance I had “the best butt at the party.”

Which, of course, means I win. Take that homegirl.

How was your Halloween lovers?

Things to Be Happy About October 13, 2009

• trading body wash for dove bar soap
• free week trial gym memberships
• crisp air and bright purple sunrises
• homemade perogies your fiance claims to be “the best thing you’ve ever made”
• pumpkin flavored drinks that won’t put you in the poorhouse.
• sleepytime tea in over sized mugs
• the softness of newly cut hair
• excel files named “wedding addresses”
• long gray granny sweater weather
• cuddly fiances that double as foot warmers
• apple cider, unpasteurized.
• Anne of Green Gables, for the umpteenth time
• podcasts instead of television
• yankee candles on the stove
• dishwashers
• handwritten letters from far away friends
• cooing over puppies and kittens on a daily basis
• an excuse to buy a new outfit
• kissing

Have a Molehill? Need a Mountain? I’m Your Girl. October 12, 2009

Every so often I get all out of whack.

I get unhappy to a point where any little thing can plunge me into the “depths of despair”* or the “mean reds” if you’re a devoted Golighty fan.

I start to feel like a toddler. All I want to do is play with my toys and the big mean world has informed me that it’s dinner time. And it doesn’t matter that I like what’s on the menu; I’m going to stomp my feet and cry because I JUS’ DON’T WANNA.

What bothers me the most is that I can feel myself becoming unrational and crazy. I can predict that if The Boy pinches me playfully one more effing time I’ll snap on him. And yet, I can’t seem to do anything to stop it.  And what’s worse is that after I’m pushed over the edge, after I’ve succeeded in making us both miserable…I feel better.

Misery loves company? Perhaps.

Or maybe I’m just a closeted drama queen? I don’t know. What I do know is that everything will be going fine, better than fine, exceptionally well even, and then I’ll decide that Something Is Missing or Something Is Wrong or I Just Want to Be Miserable and that’s when I stir the coals.

Usually it’s little things. Little day to day infractions that get pushed aside until I’m settled into this brooding period. Then they pop up, like dandelions in my relationship’s lush green yard (I am aware this is a horrible simile, but I refuse to remove it). And then I can’t stop focusing on them. I hyperanalyze and over think, I begin a downward spiral because the inflection on a sentence came off as overly critical and soon I’m convincing myself that long-time love isn’t in my cards. “It’d be ok, really,” I tell myself, “You could become a nomad and be ‘Crazy Aunt Shaba with The Cats,’ it’s not so bad.”

Then I remember that cats are not all that into travel.
And that, really, 99% of the time I’m ridiculously happy.

And I apologize to my fiance.
And he tells me to look at the tv, which of course, has a big scary whale on it.
And I cringe, but know I deserve it.
And within a few hours things go back to normal.
And I fall asleep cuddled next to him.
And things go back to normal.
And have the most gorgeous sleep of my life.
And things go back to normal.

* ten points if you know what classic literary character uttered that dramatic phrase.

Also, My Crush on Old Richard Gere-No Apologies October 5, 2009

I once read that the biggest mistake a blogger could make is falling victim to explaining away absences. Readers don’t really care why you were absent, they just want to know what’s going on with you now. And for god’s sake, don’t apologize for being gone. It’s boring, self-important, and unnecessary.

So, I won’t.

But it did make me think of a few other things I refuse to apologize for. Like my love of Raisin Bran. I’m enjoying a bowl presently and I really don’t care if it makes me an old person, I LOVE bran! And Raisins! And I will defend my enjoyment to any naysayers that dare to insult my cereal choices. Nom.

Another thing I won’t apologize for loving? Madonna. More specifically  Madonna’s Immaculate Collection. Vogue is one of my favorite songs of all time. It was also the track the majority of my backyard gymnastics routines were choreographed to. And if Cherish, or Like a Prayer or, god help you, Holiday comes on the radio don’t you dare touch the dial. Make fun of me all you want, I won’t care. I’ll be busy singing into a hair brush and rocking a side pony tail.

A few other things I refuse to apologize for:

• Watching reality television
• Putting bbq sauce on a few too many things
• Allowing the laundry to reside in the baskets
• Not smiling at work (um, hello, I’m WORKING, not PLAYING)
• Breaking every What Not to Wear rule on errand days
• NEEDING to brush my teeth before bed, no matter what.
• Feeling superior to those “bakers” who buy their pie crusts
• Still wearing and loving a pair of light wash jeans
• The monthly bag of chocolate covered pretzels
• Untagging unflattering pictures on Facebook
• Simultaneously loving the Disney Princesses and realizing they are horrible female role models.
• Turning down the check out clerk who asks for a donation to some charity I’ve never heard of
• Loving Thursdays
• Not liking The Office, Will Farrell, or Tucker Max
• Happily enjoying twitter, tumblr, facebook, and 20sb.

What do you refuse to apologize for?

This Post Is About Oatmeal, No Seriously, It is. September 22, 2009

I used to be an oatmeal junkie.

In high school I ate it every school day, especially in the winter when I was shooting competitively and attempting to be consistent to an inhuman level. I love it. It’s warm and filling and oh so easy to do bleary eyed at an ungodly hour of the morning.

I’m a Quaker girl, through and through. Even though I’ve heard Lady O-to-the-Prah harp on the miracle of steel cut oats for years now and I’m sure they’re better for me and everything; I am a sucker for the healthy in a hurry convience of Quaker’s just add water preportioned yumness. I’m partial to the  peaches and cream flavor. Yum. Freeze dried fruit.

But my favorite flavor is Vanilla Cinnamon from the Nutrition for Women line.

Which is, unfortunately, no longer sold in stores ANYWHERE.

When it started to become scarce on the shelves my mom and I bought up all remaining boxes in our area. I’ve been rationing it ever since, treating the little packets like gold and threatening anyone who gets to close to my stash to back the eff off my oatmeal.

It is that good.

And now I’m running low. I’m talking a measly six packets or so left. And I’m starting to get antsy. I’ve done the research online. Apparently Quaker still makes it, they’ve moved it to their regular line and called it plain old “Vanilla Cinnamon,” but the Internetz agrees with me that this must be a horrible horrible lie because try to find the stuff on shelves and you’d think you were looking for the holy grail.

And so, after reading that some lucky souls have found it on shelves of stores that exist miles and miles from here I’m about to embark on a area wide search for oatmeal.

I may not return victorious.

I may not return at all.

And if I am successful I will rejoice in the splendor of wonderous oatmeal akin to the magesty of Clear Pepsi.

And if I fail, I swear to god I will cry a little tear over my last packet.

And if you’ve read this far in a post about breakfast I will give you medal. Or a cookie. Whichever you’d prefer.

Why Is Tommy Lee Jones Here and Where The Hell Is My Dress? September 21, 2009

Apparently turkey, bridezillas, and Tommy Lee Jones movies will result in really crazy dreams.

Last night I came home from work to fully prepared Thanksgiving dinner made by my multi-talented fiance. Yes, that’s right kids, not only can he fix all things that need fixin, but but can also cook a turkey and make a mean stuffing. And he has a pension.

I know. Lucky me.

So, anyway, we dined and talked and had a lovely meal together and chit chatted about how we need an electric knife to correctly carve a turkey. And I of course, followed this up by shouting “I’ll add it to the registry!” because adding things to our registry is my new favorite past time since I decided to register us through Wishpot.com. It’s just so much fun! The only problem is my indecision currently has my list twice as long as it should be because I can’t decide between correlle patterns and china patterns and do I really want china or do I want two sets of correlle because The Boy is hard on things and china is expensive but it’s oh so pretty and matching linens and candlesticks and am I really this person and how did this happen….and so on.

After our yummy dinner The Boy fell asleep and I made pumpkin cookies (for which I am famous, because they are 1.) completely vegan, 2.) moist and delicious, and 3) extraordinarily easy) and sipped apple cider because it’s starting to sort of feel like fall in SOVA and everyone knows that apple cider is the equivalent of autumn in a glass. Seriously, I love fall.  I’m a summer/fall girl all the way. The crispness of the air makes me want to decorate in orange, browns and reds and get out the comfy warm socks and sweaters and buy pencils and notebooks and read a history book on my bed circa 2003. Ahhh, fall.

So with the kitchen cleaned and left overs put away and the cookies iced and cooling The Boy and I settled in for Bridezillas and the introduction of The Most Annoying Woman on The Planet–Kirsten. Seriously, did y’all watch this woman? I know I say it after every episode, but what person in their right mind could put up with that for the rest of forever? Also, I’d like to see the divorce statistics for Bridezillas. I’m betting it’s slightly higher than average. Both brides this week had some sort of problem with their dress (invisible stains and shortness and such) this week and I’m guessing this is what made me have a dream that my bridal shop was attempting to convince me that I bought a completely different dress than the one I fell in love with.  And no one seemed to believe that no, really, I never said  I wanted this bedazzled vegas show girl dress they were trying to push on me. Even my mother, who was there in dream world, seemed convinced it was the dress. If I remember correctly, I was more concerned about why everyone suddenly went crazy than my dress.  It’s good to know that even in my dreams I won’t become a bridezilla.

So, after meeting my weekly quota of yelling “Seriously?! Seriously woman?!” at the television, The Boy popped in a movie we Red Boxed called In the Electric Mist, with Tommy Lee Jones. I’m not sure how I feel about it. It seemed a little disjointed at parts. The plot follows Tommy Lee Jones who is, of course, a semi-retired hard nosed detective with a wife who could be his daughter and a daughter who looked nothing like Tommy Lee Jones or his strangely young wife. Mr. Jones is trying to figure out who is killing women and leaving them in pieces around NOLA, and in the end *spoiler alert* he does and things are restored to normal.

The killing women and putting them into containers thing must have registered something with my subconcious because I had wild dreams about a girl who was killed by being roasted like a turkey. In a blue Paula Dean roasting pan.

Thirty Four Things For A Tuesday September 17, 2009

1. I’ve come to realize that my chest-size…is perfect for my body. My boobs are one of my favorite parts of me.

2. I’ve come to realize that my job(s)…are not what defines my life. They are a means to yet another end.

3. I’ve come to realize that when I’m driving…I discover more about myself than I do at any other time and I tend not to listen to my music as much as I probably should. All self evaluation and no singing makes Jane crazy-pants.

4. I’ve come to realize that I need…to get back into a routine I love. Including weekly yoga. And vitamins (which, btw, have done nothing for my nails.)

5. I’ve come to realize that I have lost…the person I was a few years ago. And I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’ve also lost my ear phones. Again.

6. I’ve come to realize that I hate it when…I can’t vocalize what I want/need. And when The Boy doesn’t read my mind and do what I’ve OBVIOUSLY been telepathicly telling him to do for the last three days. The nerve…

7. I’ve come to realize that if I’m drunk…I’m happy and silly and goofy and will undoubtedly feel less so the next morning.

8. I’ve come to realize that money…is a renewable resource, so don’t worry.

9. I’ve come to realize that certain people…talk just to talk and not to listen. I talking to you Crazy Newly Married Co-Worker.

10. I’ve come to realize that I’ll always…live inside my head, at least a little bit.

11. I’ve come to realize that my sibling(s)…are becoming human beings. And pretty decent ones at that.

12. I’ve come to realize that my cell phone…is better left untouched for a few hours at a time.

13. I’ve come to realize that when I woke up this morning…I wasn’t tired. And it was 6:00am. Apparently that’s a good time for me?

14. I’ve come to realize that last night before I went to sleep…a good make out session can mend a bad day.

15. I’ve come to realize that right now I am thinking…I’m in a good place.

16. I’ve come to realize that when I get on Facebook…it’s more to stalk semi-friends and acquaintances than to actually connect with people I miss and adore. Which needs to change.

17. I’ve come to realize that today…is sort of my Friday, woot.

18. I’ve come to realize that tonight…is ravoli night. Glorious deliciousness.

19. I’ve come to realize that tomorrow….my house will get cleaned, my clothes will get washed, and my world will feel a little more right again.

20. I’ve come to realize that I really want to…get back into a routine. A routine that includes yoga and regular blogging.

22. I’ve come to realize that love…isn’t easy. But the pay off is awesome.

23. I’ve come to realize that this past weekend…I was cranky and mean. Again. For no real reason.

24. I’ve realized the best music to listen to when I am upset…is something that makes me more upset, strangely.

25. I’ve come to realize that my friends…are gems. And I’m lucky to have them.

26. I’ve come to realize that this year…is going to be a exciting, bumpy, and thrilling ride.

28. I’ve come to realize that maybe I should…pick up the phone more.

29. I’ve come to realize that I love…having my days packed full. I get grumpy without a purpose.

30. I’ve come to realize that I don’t understand…how we go through iced tea so fast. I’m making a whole jug a day.

31. I’ve come to realize my past…is extremely important to me.

32. I’ve come to realize that parties…thrill me, from the planning stages to the clean up. (Ok, maybe not the clean up)

33. I’ve come to realize that I’m totally terrified…of getting stuck in a “comfortable” job beneath my education level. Of choosing the wrong option. Of never feeling content.

34. I’ve come to realize that my life…will never be a carbon copy of someone else’s no matter how much I attempt to emulate them. And that’s a good thing.

 

What have you realized lately?

Even Bratz Dolls Have A Passion…..For Fashion September 15, 2009

I have a confession. I am extremely jealous of people who know what they want to do with their life. I truly think that those individuals who haven’t changed their career paths since middle school are the lucky ones. Having such unwavering conviction in oneself is commendable, and certainly a lot less stressful than the 20-something quarter life crisis the rest of us face. And I’m not just talking about those people who have been on the course to MD’s or law degrees since seventh grade. I’m also jealous of those weirdos I keep seeing on Oprah or CNN who committed to their life’s passion and made a career out of it. The fact that they have identified their passion, in something, whether it be beekeeping or cupcakes, frustrates me out of raging jealousy.

It seems like I keep hearing about people who have transformed their careers and totally upgraded their quality of life by doing what they love. Then this article from Zen Habits popped up in my reader….

Five things you can do to move toward getting paid to do what you love:

Find your passion. This is all about your great love, and what makes you come alive. To get started here, ask: “What am I insanely interested in?” “What could I talk about for hours?” and “What would I do for free?”

Find your strengths. What we’re looking for are things you’re naturally good at, and the unique strengths you’ve had since birth. This is about contributing your gifts to the world. To get started, interview your friends, family, or peers and ask them what three things you’re naturally talented at.

Find your value. Finding the intersection between what you’re good at and what people are willing to pay you for is what it all boils down to. If you can’t find a way to get paid to do what you love, the other stuff doesn’t really matter. So it’s worth spending some time figuring this out. To get started, think about the benefits you’ll give others by contributing your value. Think about whether or not there is a desperate pain or a deep passion involved in what you’re offering.

Make the commitment. I think, more than any other reason, people fail to succeed is because they fail to commit. Thinking “I don’t know” or “maybe someday” will not get you to the point of doing what you’re passionate about for a living. It takes an uncompromising commitment to make this change for yourself. Instead of thinking “I don’t know,” think “I’ll figure it out.” Remember, paths are made by walking.

Be willing to let go. As much as you might want to make this change for yourself, it can be hard to let go of the old patterns of thinking and behaving. A lot of us have ideas that “work shouldn’t be fun” or “you should just suck it up.” Breaking down those beliefs can be difficult, but moving toward a new direction is most definitely worth it.

What will you give up? You might not think that you have time to take on a new endeavor, and you’re right. You won’t have time until you make the time. There are a lot of things we place in our schedules that we think we must do. But in reality, our world wouldn’t collapse if we chose something else. Make a list of all the activities and time sinks that you’ll give up in order to make time for your new journey

Will you say Yes to yourself? You may want to become a writer, dentist, life coach, painter, or public speaker. If you know that this is what you’re meant to do, then give yourself permission to call yourself that… even if you’re not established yet. And even if you don’t make a full time income from it. Own your passion, completely and unreservedly.

The article is spot on. I do believe people with a passion for what they’re doing will never “work” a day in their life. They may have hours of frustration or unsavory red tape to cut through, but they won’t spend their days looking at the clock tick. I’d love to set these steps into motion, to find out what I really wanted to do and just do it, but I can’t seem to get started.

My problem is I can’t get past step one. I don’t know what my “passion” is.

So I did what anyone would do.

I jumped to step two and asked Facebook what three things I’m naturally talented at.

My answers were: writing, baking, shooting, diving, gymnastics, wedding planning, and The Boy taming.

So, any good ideas as to how I can meld all these Natural Talents into something career worthy?

Preferably something outside the realm of a circus act, though I’m sure a Fiance taming, wedding dress clad acrobatic combination shooting/ high dive act would totally drive in the crowds…..

Especially if I promised them all home made oreos.

My Job Is More Uncomfortable Than Your Job September 14, 2009

Because I bet you don’t have to say the word “anal” an average of fifty times a day like moi’. You see, getting your pet’s anal glands emptied is a service my new veterinary employer offers for a minimal fee. And thus, I get to ask owners of all colors and creeds about their pet’s butt fluids. I also get to calculate dosages and dispense pet medication, which is both fun and scary. While I enjoy playing pharmacist without having to ever take Bio Chemistry, I’m paranoid I’m going to give out the wrong medication.  I take an inappropriate  amount of time behind the pharmacy counter, triple checking my math because I’m terrified I’ll give some puppy too strong a dosage

Such is a day in my life.

I’ve just realized that I can truthfully give the following response to inquiring, judgy people who ask, “So, what do you do?”

“Oh me? I work with a stripper*, talk about anuses, and dole out drugs.”

Shaba=WIN.

*Whom I adore and respect, just so we’re clear.