On Being a Woman…

For starters, I am thoroughly amazed that the two giant, big cup Reese’s peanut butter cups I just ate have not crushed my painful stomach cramps into oblivion, thus rendering them a vanished nightmare that is no more. They really seemed like a great idea ten minutes ago. Which leads me back to pill poppin’ Midol again. And another Diet Dr. Pepper… yanno, just in case that was the missing ingredient I forgot in the first place.

Lately I’ve had several (read: A LOT) of friends pregnant and pushing out babies. They’re cute, cuddly, cooing, barfing, burping, pooing, breast-sucking, breakable little darlings that scare the ever living shit out of me. But I have to admit, the baby kick going around has perked my curiosity. You see, I’m one of those people that absolutely love children when they reach about a year or two old. They’re indestructible, they start talking so they can actually communicate what they want (instead of just screaming and crying all the time) and you’re on that final runway approach, ready to take off towards the land-of-no-more-diapers. I have no problem keeping up with them, pulling their fingers away from uncovered light sockets, and grinning like a crazy woman when they fall down and bong their forehead on the coffee table, then look to me before deciding whether they’re going to start screaming or just shrug it off and forget about it. I LOVE THIS STAGE. It’s adorable and fun and I have no problem with it. Tantrum throwing terrible two’s, it’s all good. I can handle that.

(Watch, I just completely cursed myself- this stage will now likely be the most horrific experience of having children for me).

Oddly enough, I’m not interested in anything that comes before that. (I know, I’m backwards and weird. Shut up). Nothing about getting fat during pregnancy appeals to me, being told mostly what I can’t eat, can't do, can't be around, can't breath or inhale, etc, etc. (I’m specifically not looking forward to cutting off my long withstanding relationship with vodka. And red wine. And coffee. And, and and the list could go on and on…) The stretch marks, the hormone changes, the potential for morning sickness… having another body inside of me, leaning all over my bladder and other vital organs, trying to kick and shove them out of their way. What about that do people find pleasant? Interesting, yes, an experience of a lifetime, yes… but enjoyable? Hmmm... And then we get to giving birth and labor… only to have stitches and recovery while something is feeding on your breasts every time he/she awakes. I feel like I’m the only person I know that finds the thought of this stage utterly ANNOYING if not completely TERRIFYING.

One day I’m sure I’ll get there and the whole ordeal will be no big thing to go through. However, until then I’m sure I’ll still ponder the world that is child bearing, and still receive curious, head-cocked glances when I’m asked how many children I want and my reply is I’m not committing to going through an experience more than once until I’ve actually done it once; so ask again later. I know these female experiences are things that only we powerful, fabulous women on the planet have the privilege of, however sometimes I just want to sneeze bullshit on the whole thing and wonder how WE got stuck putting up with this shit (this comment refers also to the monthly horror flick that is the menstrual cycle). There are really only two things I find fit the “enjoyable” description about being preggos (not that I've been through this obviously, and feel free to share actual experiences if you have them)- first, crazed, hormonal sex (which might get cancelled out depending on how challenging that it to accomplish when one hits the latter part of pregnancy) and NOT HAVING THESE GOD FORSAKEN CRAMPS FOR NINE MONTHS!

New Business Plan

I think I’ve devised a new business plan in a matter of minutes, naturally expanding on technology that already exists. I want to develop onto the electric start for cars that already exists, only ones that blare the A/C full blast. They have this for heaters and defrosters up north, why not down here in the blazing heat for the reverse? Then some form of coolant should run through the base of the steering wheel (still maintaining all normal safety features of course) as well as through the seatbelts. And while we’re at it, cooling seats would be fantastic too. Seriously, this could sell to at least the lower states of the U.S. Because the Arizona heat where I grew up sizzles the hair right off your head upon entering any vehicle that’s been sitting in the sun for over five minutes, and even here in the grand state of Tejas I find myself with frequent burn marks in various places on my body, compliments of the above stated vehicle contraptions.

I’ve worked so hard on working out and obtaining some form of base tan so my former pasty whiteness didn’t scare small children this summer, and now I’m going to spend the next three months hibernating indoors. Go figure.

Uh Uh, She Didn’t…

It’s occurred to me in the past few weeks that oh yeah, I still have a blog. And I don’t write or post worth a damn anymore (I blame my absurdly crazy-busy schedule of work, school, home-buying, decorating, life in general and… oh yeah, I opted to take all that on. Well let’s just blame it on the economy then. Works for everything else these days). Either way, I figure I could at least take five minutes to rattle something of a post a little more often in an effort to re-join the blogging community world. In other words, instead of reading cute, half-well-written stories about important and funny moments in my life, you’re now going to get short, thrown-together blurbs of the thoughts that roll through my mind at any given point during any given day of the week. And I may or may not use spell check. Or censor. Don’t say you were warned.

Anywho, onto the real subject matter that was a weird thought I had a few minutes ago… among the many, many blessings of sharing a home with a member of the opposite sex in a long term relationship (read: magic lawn-mowing and garbage-removing fairy, convenient sex without concern of diseases or having to necessarily brush one’s teeth, and having someone to laugh with, nag or annoy when one is bored) is the joyous wonder that is intimacy.

Ahem… however one deeply disturbing form of intimacy that some rare (and crazy) couples choose to relish in is complete openness and sharing of what goes on in the bathroom. Most couples I know consist of the man/husband that shares all but is willing to otherwise close the door- but only after making the grand announcement of where he is going, what he is doing, approximately how long he’ll be gone, and what magazine will be sacrificed and taken with him- while us ladies prefer to not know, or talk, about it whatsoever. Men, at least the ones I’ve dated/lived with/married/whatever in my lifetime, have all possessed this same quality. One even daringly tried to OPEN THE DOOR when I was using the restroom, thinking this was normal, acceptable behavior (not in my lifetime buddy, it’s a great way to get your nose broken as the door slams back full force in your face. Then after I’ll spend two minutes in utter embarrassment trying to grasp the fact that you KNOW WHAT I’M DOING IN HERE. And we ladies just don’t do that, right. Ewe). These are generally the same men that laugh hysterically at South Park’s “More Crap” episode reruns where Stan’s dad craps a record breaking shit and gets it into the European Fecal Standards and Measurements Office on record (thanks to Google for those details). I can still hear him calling his wife Sharon into the bathroom to look at it; their interaction is not unlike the common interaction is in my household when it comes to discussing bowel movements of any kind (or maybe these are just the kinds of guys I attract, who knows). “It’s a guy thing.” Yep, figured that one out on my own there bud.

ANYWAY, it occurred to me that women may possibly have a random habit that revolves around this matter too (although I doubt many have openly discussed it over brunch with their girlfriends- leave it to me to bring this up right. And I hope you’re not eating while reading this). But I realized that, every once in awhile, I will actually hop on the scale after above-stated event takes place. And really, every once in awhile it makes a difference! Besides, no woman on the planet will weigh herself while either A) completely clothed, or B) stuffed from some recent meal (unless in the doctor’s office where we’re forced to while clothed- and with shoes on, OMG- but I look away every time). But it really didn’t occur to me that this was an actual habit until recently. AND I KNOW I’M NOT THE ONLY WOMAN ON THE PLANET TO DO THIS. Tell me I’m not crazy here.

Yeah, that was pretty much my rant for the day.

And on a side note, I’ve had a craving for hot teas lately. So while it’s a whopping 107 degree steam room outside, not unlike the same feeling of being in an unventilated laundry mat, I’m sipping hot green ginger tea. And it’s delightful.

Didn’t Quite Make My “Top 5 Most Embarrassing Moments”

It came to my attention earlier- in a brief moment of pure embarrassment from hell- that evidently I need to begin checking the wind predictions before opting to wear a flowing linen skirt to work (but ah, with diamond studded flip-flops it’s both chic and incredibly comfortable).
About an hour ago, I decided to take a shortcut out of our office and into the other side of the building to get to the restrooms… and, WHOOSH! A big gust of wind threw my skirt up OVER MY HEAD. It all happened in a millisecond, I didn’t have time to scream, move, throw my hands down, nothing. My ass (GOD, why did I wear a thong??!) is now officially a recorded program on the building security camera footage (oh yes, it was a door entrance therefore I had two cameras, one on each side of me for that double angle shot. UGH).

I quickly escaped to the restroom and spent three whole minutes DYING. When I had composed myself and re-emerged (and had completely forgot to actually pee), I created a mental checklist and did a run through of the building to ensure the top five people I-could-never-live-if-they-saw-that picks were actually otherwise occupied elsewhere during that brief moment. To my utter amazement, they were and I cannot thank enough of my lucky stars for that. Combined with the fact that, in that brief moment, I didn’t see anyone outside in the parking lot or through the two windows that had a view of me, I decided that this moment doesn’t quite make my Top Five Most Embarrassing Moments list. The only way for any moment to make that list is if there are witnesses, and in this circumstance there was not.

Now had one of my co-workers, or WORSE one of my bosses, had been witness to this event, it would have made the list. And I wouldn’t be writing this, because I would be writing my resignation letter while dying a slow and painful death.

The Asylum Denied My Entry Application

Once upon a long-ass time ago, I dreamt of having a corner nook in a house to make my own, complete with soft, plush chairs, beach scenes and books (you can find that dream documented here). Well, that moment is about to arrive. The countdown to commence moving in to our NEW HOUSE has begun and we're less than a month away from closing!

The past month and a half has been far more busy, more insane, more crazy that I ever could have possibly imagined way back when I was bitching about being so busy with just school. Yeah, try adding work, overtime work, school, rushing through massive amounts of home improvement projects within two weeks to get the condo ready to sell, moving most of our things into storage, going through the emotions of negotiating during the sale of the condo, going on vacation, coming back to moving out in less than two weeks, and the emotions of negotiating the deal of house purchasing and loan underwriting. This has been my life for the past four weeks (yes, all of that happened within four weeks. I’ve re-defined insanity. The local asylum won’t even take me in now).

Let’s back up and I’ll fill in some more detail. We have a crazy neighbor that lives downstairs from us in the condo. One early Saturday morning this guy decided to get in his car and follow Jon around the neighborhood as he walked the dogs. When Jon started to cross the street to get back to the condo, this guy floored it right at him (and directly at another car, which he had to swerve out of the way to not hit. This was not a “whoops, did I DO THAT?!” Urkel moment). He missed obviously but he now has quite a dent in the side of his car from Jon’s foot (one should never under estimate what that man can do with those soccer legs of his). Nothing ever came of the police report that was filed, however a week and a half later we were talking and the idea of finally selling the condo came up in the discussion. Ok, let’s look and see what we could sell for. Hmmm, alright now let’s see what home improvement projects are left that really need to be done. That turned out to be two weeks straight of painting, demolishing, re-building, crown molding, more painting, boxing, cleaning, hauling, organizing, staging, etc, etc, etc. Every spare second of every single day. Spare seconds are now quite the hot commodity in my corner of the universe.

As it would turn out, the bad economy and recession we’re supposed to be experiencing has not hit Texas very hard at all. Austin and the surrounding cities here are among the best in country, which might explain the how’s and why’s of housing going nuts here and why I just tilt my head and give people a strange look and raised eyebrow when they discuss our horrid economic outlook for the next couple of years. We had a cash offer in 48 hours of the condo going on the market. We also had competition in the neighborhood with other condos on the market, so ours was not the only condo available. This took place during our vacation to Seattle (which was wonderful! But busy as well…) and upon our return, we had a week and a half to get out before closing.

So we jumped on the most gorgeous house that I had had my eye on for weeks prior. It was fabulous and we put an offer down. Turns out, there was a reason it sat on the market so long. The seller’s disclosure came back with the big F word no buyer or home-owner ever wants to here. Foundation problems. I was heartbroken, I wanted so badly to make it work anyway but there was no way around that one. So, over the course of the next three days (as we’re packing, still working, still doing homework and school) we proceeded to pick out a total of 16 houses we liked on the MLS listings on the internet. Within 24 hours of picking them out and sending them over to our realtor, 11 of them came back as pending under contract. These are houses that had not been on the market longer than a WEEK. At this point I’m thinking this whole economy BS is a ploy for Wall Street and the government to draft cash out of my 401K and just blame it on something else that they’re “trying” to fix. Cause really? Damn.

Anyway, we looked at those five houses, narrowed it down to two of them and took a shot at one. We loved it, but refused to love it until it was ours (that’s a really complicated emotion I’d not recommend taking on until you absolutely have to). They countered. We countered back with a note saying, we’re not ever going to go that high there bud. They countered again, a much more reasonable offer. We countered once more with an alternate provision, and we got the text from our realtor last Wednesday that read, “DONE! WOO-HOO!!!”

The house was ours. The inspection took place two days later and as of this morning we just got past our option period and we close on May 26th. It’s a beautiful 2-story, 2,007 square foot, 3-bedroom, 2 ½ bath with a huge back yard, cherry wood and tile floors, and a granite kitchen with all the stainless steel appliances included. I’m now allowing myself to be in love. I love being in love (it might have some lust in there too).

In the meantime however, we did have to move somewhere and obviously it’s not our new house so we’re camping out with Jon’s brother at his place for the next month. I’m counting down my final week of school and I’m so burnt out with everything, I’m taking the summer off. As I was recollecting over some items that are top priority for me to work on when we get into the new place, I remembered my chenille library I had dreamt of last year. Sure enough, there’s a cozy, open little area outside of the bedrooms upstairs that will work PERFECT. Guess maybe if you wait long enough and work hard enough, dreams really can come true.

SXSW and Blogging

Last Friday afternoon my co-workers and I decided that we had had enough of the bosses out running around downtown and enough of sitting bored at the office receiving zero responses to our e-mails while the rest of the city was out having fun… so we took off early and headed out for SXSW to kill the afternoon and kickoff the weekend with a bang.

Granted, we didn’t get far because when one attempts to get within a three-mile-radius of downtown Austin during any major event such as SXSW, ACL, the Jonas Brothers making an appearance or a Mythbusters Marathon is running and everyone needs to GET HOME NOW, they find themselves at a dead stop stuck amidst the masses of traffic. Given we work on the eastside, we went to the closest place that fortunately we happened to have RSVP’ed to. The Fader.

Summer and I parked a couple blocks away and got in the door about 30 minutes later. It was sunny, beautiful, the music was fabulous and the free Southern Comfort was even BETTER (which by the way, is damn yummy with Diet Pepsi. Yeah, really). We walked around, jammed with the band, people-watched and checked out the layout of the place which admittingly, was pretty damn awesome. There was a Ray Ban photo booth and free printed shirts, Levi’s jeans and clothing inside, stations with a group playing Guitar Hero and seating randomly scattered here and there. We wandered over towards the stages and ended up in some back door to the building selling the Levi’s jeans. Lo and behold, we found ourselves not among clothing racks but in a BLOGGING ROOM. I swear to blog, I’m not kidding. Hyped out in all forms of uber-cool, IKEA-imitating chairs and tables was a group of people on their laptops blogging. AT a SXSW venue.

Seriously, when did this happen? Blogging in real time? Granted, the reader gets a first-hand, in-real-time account but doesn’t that take away from enjoying the experience yourself? You could be drinking, hanging with your friends, or… blogging about what others are doing because evidently, you’re too busy blogging to be doing it yourself.

Maybe it’s me… I love writing and blogging but I’m otherwise pretty anti-committal towards it most of the time. It’s not ranked high up on the daily priority list, doesn’t have a regular spot in my weekly rotation. I probably should post more, make more of an effort but with home improvement projects and discussions on selling condo, the beginnings of house-hunting, school, my full-time job, dance, and the dogs I’m otherwise preoccupied. Blogging is about all of those things, not about blogging to blog because I love blogging and OMG let’s BLOG!

Seriously when I hear of someone actually blogging while ON a first date, that’s when I’ll know to drop everything and expect the sun to turn black and hell to freeze over. Because WOW. A bit overboard there peeps.

Stress… I Guess

I know, I know… I fell off the face of the planet in the past month. What was I thinking taking on full-time school? It’s insanity. Among my full-time and VERY busy job, this week houses a full load of class work AND two finals. I woke up this morning with swollen eyes, a broken out cold sore across my bottom lip and strange bumps on my leg (that’s not razor burn). Needless to say, while my brain is stating that I’m fine, it’s almost over, and this weekend will be undeniably lovely... my body however is saying FUCK THIS STRESS!! And exploding out of my pores in the most disguising displays. After two full weekends of studying and pulling 3 to 4 hours every night rolling on homework when I’m otherwise too exhausted to even function, I can understand my body’s reaction. I think my brain melted into liquidity and oozed out my ears sometime late last week. I am happy to announce however, that I am going back down to half-time status! For the sake of my own mental sanity, if nothing else.

In other news, we decided to try letting our Sheltie stay out of her cage during the day. Our assumption was that she would be fine because she had Cookie to play with and the equivalency of shittons of toys and bones on the floor to occupy her time. Yeah, about that. Last week went without a hitch but this week, she must have gotten bored with the 1,256,843 toys she had access to because instead, she opted to chew and EAT a large, gaping hole in a storage wicker basket of mine. That was fun cleaning up that evening, but little did we know the real fun had yet to begin.

The next morning we woke up to shit EVERYWHERE. Evidently wicker does not suit her stomach very well, as there were piles of shit throughout the bedroom, on Cookie’s bed, down the hallway, piled by the front door, on the couch and smeared on the backdoor. AND IT ALL HAD STICKS IN IT. Two days of cleaning and let me tell you, the condo still smells like ass. But needless to say, Vel’s not shitting sticks anymore so that’s a plus.

Welcome to Austin...

Ah, ‘tis that time of the year! Residents of Austin, gather your spatulas, uncover your old wooden rulers buried deep in desk drawers, and pull out your best high heel shoes… cause we’re about to get some ice and snow accumulation. And naturally, no one here owns any sort of real device for removing ice off a vehicle besides the above noted items.

(The picture above was taken in early December when we had a “fake” ice/snow day but it melted before any reasonable effort in chipping ice was necessary. The weather here has taken on a schizophrenic quality; it’s 35 degrees and dropping and only last Friday it was mid-80’s and I was wearing sandals. Make sense of that one).

Changing Tides

About a month ago my other half found out that his long-time friend from Seattle, Gary, along with his wife and child, would be coming to town this month. Initially it started as a three-day business trip but given his wife has another close friend who lives in town it turned into a weeklong family adventure. So this morning I received a forwarded e-mail from Jon, wondering if they could stay with us for a portion of their trip.

When I first began to respond to the message I toyed back and forth, deleting lines and re-writing them in my outlook response, trying to hide my true ugly self. That old, familiar agitated ripping and tearing deep from within me began to surface as my brain processed all of the things totally and completely wrong with the scenario… School starts on Monday for me, I need time and space this weekend to prepare (for FULLTIME status, because I wasn’t a disastrous train-wreck last semester at three-quarter time), the tornado effect we have going on in our all-too-small spare bedroom of our all too-small condo (at least for entertaining sake) that’s piled thirty feet high of junk we have no other space for, the noise of the dogs and getting up early to get ready for work, the fact that our new rug purchase in the master sprung a re-decorating streak this past weekend and currently our blue/brown rug by far does NOT match the red of the bed and curtains (one of many home improvement projects currently under phase). Oh yes, and we have no baby stuff, no crib, only a measly little blow up bed. Welcome!

Luckily for me I was fairly swamped with five other things requiring my attention at that exact moment and I had a few minutes to process. I reconstructed my message with more of a concerned note (rather than bite-your-head-off irritated) and sat back to think. I received a response back a couple minutes later; yes let’s chat tonight, this idea just came up and concerns returned.

My thoughts wandered back to my childhood growing up, as- for the most part- an only child living with one parent (ahem, divorced when I was five). My working mother put in some sweatshop-worthy overtime hours on a consistent basis, averaging ten hour days, six days a week. Therefore, my responsibilities far outweighed that of a normal child’s… starting around age 8, I didn’t have just my bedroom and bathroom to keep clean but rather the entire house deep-cleaned each weekend, the patios hosed and swept, the dishes daily and the laundry weekly. I was home alone a LOT, I managed the place and therefore it was mine to do as I pleased. These habits ended up traveling with me into my adulthood life; living with the one roommate I had was tedious and inconvenient at best (that’s a WHOLE other story with quite a background to justify my departure that has nothing to do with my own neuroticness) and most men I’ve actually lived with were also frustrating to no end. Frankly put, I loved living alone. I loved my own space, my own decorating, and my spare time to do as I pleased without regard to anyone else in the process.

Until now.

Interestingly enough, as soon as I thought it all out, the feelings of agitation completely faded away. My own e-mail response back again, when I re-read it, shocked me. Let’s definitely chat tonight, let them know the small space; we could totally move stuff out and into our room and simply apologize for the invisible UNDER CONSTRUCTION sign that should hang on our doorstep. And could so-and-so help us out with spare items for the baby? Yeah, eh? From me? Really?

And so it goes with any relationship advice I heard once upon a time but had never really understood, I’m finally here witnessing it in myself, seeing it for all its glory in action. For the first time in my life, I’m totally willing to bring guests into our home because even though they’re strangers to me, it matters to him. He cares, he grew up with them, attended their wedding and shared his life with them. I can't make myself NOT care. Suddenly, the havoc is our home isn’t a big deal and things don’t have to be perfect and on my time, and my schedule dammit! I’m actually desiring to open my home and time up, and give up caring about whether I’m on top of school work for one f@&king day, and thinking that they not staying at a hotel an entire week could possibly free up some finances for them to really go out and enjoy the city and its surroundings and do more things. My brain is now currently creating lists of all the fun things they should see and do here in town and where we can take them.

Seriously, this is SO NOT ME. Or at least, who I used to be.

And I absolutely, undeniably love it.

Organizational Herding

Yesterday afternoon, after a very quick convincing to one of my bosses that we really should have the office closed today (of which, we now are) I took off work a bit early and headed over to Barnes and Nobles. OF COURSE. Last week in my efforts to hold off until Christmas, as its’ inevitable that I end up with seven thousand B&N gift cards, I decided to re-read the entire Twilight saga. And then Monday night, I finished the fourth and final book. *sigh* Right. So I leisurely explored the packed store over in the Arboretum for about an hour, made a selection of two books (figured that would get me through at least a couple days) and made my way home.

My other half called while I was on my way and mentioned his parents wanted to get together for dinner. Rudy’s. Who EVER turns down Rudy’s here? So an hour and a half later, we found ourselves waltzing into one of the most delicious smoked BBQ joints in the state. Now mind you… this was not just his parents and us. This was the parents, the sister, brother-in-law and two children, us, and younger brother and girlfriend. We inched our way up in the line, oblivious to how we were actually going to proceed to ordering.

Two cashiers opened up and some guy with a checklist began shuffling us over into the two lines (as I found out when we got up there, we were all ordering together on the same ticket). As Jon, his dad and brother-in-law stood at the counter contemplating how and what to order chatting with the cashier (the rest of us in line thinking we still had to give our orders), the dude with the clipboard turns right over to me and starts griping about how we either needed to make two lines or get out of the way. Yeah, eh??! My jaw dropped and I stood there stunned. I shook my head and pointed at the three guys.

“They’re making the decisions; I just thought I had to give my order.”

I honestly thought about lecturing him on how I’m TOTALLY CLUELESS on how to function in large family groups (not to mention, the place was not what I would call incredibly busy). I might have cocked my head to the side and stared at him but I ended up saying nothing. You see, I grew up with divorced parents and one half-sister who is practically old enough to parent me. The largest family gathering I ever had included my dad, grandparents and a couple cousins, but always in my grandparent’s house and NOT a public place that required a small amount of planning and group coordination. I had no idea that being in a group that large, not really knowing what was going on, felt more like I was wandering aimlessly in a herd.

Once we got our food- as always with group ordering there was entirely too much- we all crammed onto one table. A couple discussions went around as to whether we would all fit but in the end the ten of us were snuggled up together chowing down, laughing and chatting away. This part was what I missed growing up not having a huge family, I had thought to myself as I smiled with brisket in my teeth. And in the end I thought that was almost as good at the BBQ. Almost.