Musings of a Chicago-Born New Yorker

Posts tagged “being married

Couples Therapy

When the husband and I got married, we each had a maid of honor and a best man. We do what we want like that. His people were one of his sisters and one of his oldest friends. My people were two friends who graduated from the same college I did. I met my best man the day I arrived to college, and my maid and honor has been one of best friends since age 9.

The fraternity my best man belongs to throws this amazing party every year. I learned this year it’s only been open to the public outside the frat since 2004, which happens to be the first year I started attending. I’ve only missed two since then.

Last year, the husband went with my best man, and without me, to the party. I couldn’t get off from work after taking off so much time for our wedding. This year, we were all determined to go.

The husband decided to invite some people to join us. The only people who took us up on our offer, and then actually made financial plans to go, were the couple whose wedding I attended when I met the husband. The four of us made plans to drive to Florida and back, meeting my best man and some other college friends there to attend this party.

You may be scratching your head at this point, wondering how old I am. I’m 28. This is just a really great party. The group we were hanging out with were all in college or college age back in 2005. So, yes, we’d be older than most of the people there.

We would be even close to the oldest there though. A lot of people (mostly those associated closely with the fraternity) came back for that party every year. I”m not the type of person to want to go back for Homecoming. Honestly, Homecoming was never fun for me during college. But I like visiting, and this seemed to be as good a reason as any to visit.

So the four of us are in the husband’s car, preparing for a 16-ish hour drive to Florida. We’re laughing, joking, and eating the food the two wives had put together in preparation for the road trip.

Then, as I mentioned in a previous post, the husband of the couple announced we were on a couples’ retreat.

The husband and I looked at each other and said, “we didn’t sign up for this shit. What do you mean a couples’ retreat?”

They laughed at us and explained that as newly married couples (us just over one year, them coming up on three), it was inevitable that we’d discuss some things.

The husband and I were doubtful as we usually handle all of our couple issues in house. Then they explained that they didn’t really have any other couple friends that were  married or even heavily committed, so this was happening.

I looked at the husband and he could tell all I was saying from that glance. I was thinking, “you set this up and invited these people and now we’re on a damn couples retreat!”

He started laughing because he perfectly understood my look. His humor was infectious and then I was laughing too.

And then we spent the next three hours having what felt like a couples’ therapy session. We compared and contrasted some common arguments we had. I’d never done anything like that, and I don’t know that I want to again.

It was certainly interesting to have an outside take on things we did and said. There were definitely a  lot of, “see I told you! I’m not crazy, they both agree with me!”s being said by all four of us, which was hilarious.

Craziness like the first half of that car ride are part of the reason we’d be friends for a very long time. We all grew up in he same circles, but being married drew us together in a different, unexpected way.

I guess that goes to show that relationships grow and change, even complicated ones like a pair of newly married couples.


Conversation With The Husband That Ends In A High Five

The other day I was working out for the first time in many many months, but I’ll talk about that in a later post.

Working out really clears your head, you know? In that moment of clarity, I realized a conversation with the husband was in order. He was in the bedroom, so I walked in and started talking.

Me: Hey baby, I just thought I should tell you… I took a pregnancy test today.

Husband: Oh shit.

Me: Don’t worry, not pregnant. Thank God, right?

Husband: Oh shit. Yeah, thank God.

Me: It’s just that it’s been 8 weeks, and I was starting to get worried. I know I stopped the birth controls pills at an odd time in cycle and threw my body off, so it’s not that unusual. But I had to be sure sure, you know?

Husband: Yeah, I know. That’s shit’s crazy.

Me: I know right. If I was pregnant, I would blame you. I mean, for other than the obvious reasons. I would think you jinxed me when you held a three year old up to the sky and claimed you wanted one.

Husband: I did do that, huh? Well, I didn’t mean it. Not yet.

Me: Better not have meant it. Jinxing me… No babies yet.

Husband: Damn right.

That’s basically the gist of what happened. I’m paraphrasing because I waited too many days to get the quotes exactly right. Husband, If I got some part of that wrong, let me know please.

One of my favorite blogs to read is Single Infertile Female. Her story is just so inspiring and interesting to me. At the moments where I’m so grateful to push off motherhood, I kind of feel like a douche because there are so many women who would love to be mothers if the opportunity were available.

But on the other hand, I’ve never had a real pregnancy scare. This is mostly due to my irregularity. Without birth control pills, my cycle does what the hell it wants. And after stopping pills and throwing my body out of whack, I’m sure it’s just rebounding.

There’s just this tiny part of me that is a bit worried. I’ve never been pregnant before, and I’d like to think that’s because I’ve been smart and careful. But I’ve also never had a fertility test done. I’d like to think when the time comes, I’ll have no problems in that area, but it’s not guaranteed.

Knowing I’m not pregnant, but also knowing how weird my body is being right now, I’m thinking I need to take a trip to the doctor just to make sure things are okay. I figure I’ll give it another week or so.

But aside from my inkling of a worry that something may be wrong, I’m just celebrating the lack of an unplanned pregnancy. The husband and I high fived each other at the end of our conversation.

It’s really for the best. The husband I are so inappropriate, we’d crack jokes at how our first-born was an unexpected accident at that child’s first ten birthday parties. No kid should be put through that.


IRS Says No, Part II

This time last year, I wrote a post about how the IRS rejected my taxes. They basically said I had it coming because I changed my name and got a new SSN card, ID, debit card, etc. around tax time.

As I learned last year, getting married right before tax time is a gamble with your personal information. But after the weeks passed, I got my refund last year and moved on with my life. I was thankful no one tried to steal my full identity, just my SSN.

This year, I figured things would go better. Obviously, the title of this post lets you know it did not go better.

I got my W-2 from work months ago. I was ready to file and get my refund and continue the very new trend of paying all of our bills exactly on time. The husband and I decided to file jointly though, so I had to wait until he got all his paperwork together.

Between finishing up the school year as a teacher, working at his alma mater’s jazz band camp, interest on student loans, and all the itemized costs and cash income of being a musician, this was no easy task.

The husband had to pull information from two different W-2s, a 1098 form, and track CD sales and cash from gigs. I was glad we made the decision for him to just directly deposit all cash from gigs into the bank. Because we use Mint, it was a lot easier to track accurately rather than guess.

Figuring his income and expenses as a musician turned out to be the easy part. We got the band camp W-2 and the student loan 1098. But we were still missing the W-2 from when he was a teacher.

The husband waited.

Then he called and left a message on the voicemail of the woman whose job it was to send out W-2 forms to all employees.

Then he waited.

Then he finally went to the office to find out what the holdup was. When he got there, he found out the woman died sometime late last year. It seems the school district never assigned anyone to take over that particular part of her job.

They gave the husband a website to go to in order to access and print off his own W-2. I’m not sure if that is common practice or not, but it sounds extra janky to me. Good thing we intended to e-file, otherwise our paperwork would be so suspect.

By the time all of this goes down, it’s April already. The husband kept saying he was “almost done” figuring out all his musician numbers.

One things leads to another and suddenly we’re rushing back home from Florida after a lovely weekend trip-turned-couples-retreat, which I’ll talk about in another post.

We sit in front of the computer around 8:00 pm on April 15th, filling out the forms to file taxes. If you read last year’s post on the topic, this was only my second year filing my own taxes without my daddy. This was also the husband’s first year filing taxes without his mother.

Needless to say, he wasn’t really prepared for the automatic steps you always have to have before filing. And I wasn’t prepared for trying to figure out a way around his lack of preparation.

When you e-file, you need and AGI and/or PIN that you setup from the previous year. We stayed with H&R Block, so my numbers were easily available on the forms I printed the previous year and online in the account info.

The husband, however, didn’t know what and AGI or PIN was, let alone how to find it. He called his mother, but she wasn’t at home. He took a guess at what his PIN was, and we filed.

Of course, the very next day, we got an e-mail saying our filing was rejected. I logged back in and the only mistake in the filing was his PIN. By this time, the husband got in touch with his mother and got his AGI from the previous year.

So we entered that and then went on to the page for filing state taxes for Illinois.

Of course, the very next day, we got an e-mail saying our state filing was rejected. I logged back in and the only mistake was how the husband setup his e-signature for the state filing. It’s based on previous years of tax returns and his information was incorrect. So, we fixed that too and finally filed our taxes.

That was three days ago and so far, we’ve not been rejected again.

But damn, right?

I look at it as a learning experience. Here’s what I learned:

  1. Keep track of important numbers and documents for myself and the husband
  2. Filing joint taxes was far less painful than I thought it would be, so that bodes well for future group projects
  3. Mint.com is the best tool ever if you don’t make enough money to worry about having a personal accountant

And We’re Still Together

Does anybody watch the TV show Pysch? I love that show. It’s so hilarious and absolutely ridiculous, but I’ve seen every single episode for all 7 seasons. A very recent episode of Psych made me think more than that show ever intended.

I’ve been following these characters for seasons, so I was feeling very emotionally invested when one of them finally got married to a woman who was perfect for him. No dramedy is complete without a possible breakup at a wedding, so when that happened, I got really introspective.

I began thinking of how much it must hurt for the guy breaking up to watch the people not breaking up. I remembered what it felt like to want to be past dating and just be with the person God intended for me.

I was happy being single because I found things about it I liked, but I have never been the type of person who preferred being single over being in a relationship.

Remembering that feeling made me feel a longing for the safety of a happy relationship. When you are committed, bad things can happen, and it’s okay.

Are there things bad enough to blow up even a very solid relationship? Well, yes, there has to be. Otherwise, the divorce rate wouldn’t be as high as it is.

But in that moment watching a couple ending juxtaposed against one taking a next important relationship step, I was so happy I was couple #2. They were happy and solid. They had quite literally dodged bullets on their way down the aisle to get married.

Luckily, there aren’t any bullets involved with the husband. Just lots of live music. And nothing about his talent is fake, so we’re a step ahead of all the couples on Psych at least.

I’m sure there is something wrong with me to become so thoughtful because of an episode of Psych. James Roday would either be highly offended or complimented.

I’m just thankful I’ve got my solid thing going. I much prefer the comfort of a happy relationship over anything else. For as long as it lasts, this is where I’m staying.

God-willing, it will last forever.


Just Stop Dogging Me Around

If you love Michael Jackson songs like I do, then you know more about his lyrics than the casual music listener. I lump him in with Mariah Carey, Steven Tyler, and Prince. Not because they are mega stars with hordes of fans. They are all lumped together because I never know what the hell they’re saying in their song lyrics.

But being the Michael Jackson fan I am, I know his lyrics. And in his song Leave Me Alone, he only strings together two full sentences in the whole thing. In spite of not saying much, he’s truly expressing how I feel right now.

Sometimes you just wanna be left alone, you know? You get to feeling under-appreciated. And the same people not appreciating you are constantly asking you for things. It’s hard not to let that feeling take over your whole world.

I’m feeling this way right now because of work. If you read this blog a lot, which I still don’t understand because I’m not that interesting, then you know I waffle back and forth on how I feel about my job.

I love my line of work and I love how I’m able to help people without having to directly deal with them. But I also sometimes hate my job and fantasize about winning the lottery and quitting Dave Chapelle style. I’ve recently realized that my love-hate relationship with my job has more to do with the people I work with than the work I do.

When no one needs me to solve an immediate emergency, I’m good. I churn out my reports and hop on the phone with a sparkling personality. I wow folks at meetings and speed through my to-do list. That scenario is the exception unfortunately.

These last few days, it’s been tough. I’m finally starting to understand why my dad was the way he was when I was growing up. He’s got a lot of difficult people at his job; his workplace has a much higher percentage of those type of people than I do. He would come home from work and not want to talk or do anything really. I remember wondering why he brought stress from work home with him.

But now I get it. It’s just so hard to leave work at work. In an effort to maintain a certain level of professionalism at work, I have to suppress my ire toward certain people and situations. The one outlet I had at work to get that shit out and not keep it bottled has been whisked away from me in the sea of changes implemented in the last few months.

So now I have nothing. I have a terrible poker face, so it’s obvious when I’m upset. In spite of my terrible poker face, my words and actions stay professional. All of that professional crap is draining, and by the time I get home, I just want to do nothing. I want to stare mindlessly at some movie I’ve already seen 100 times and go to bed early and wake up late.

My plan to deal with work is fine because it gets me through until things even back out again. But I don’t really have a good plan for being at home after a difficult time at work. I don’t know how the husband is going to deal with it. So far, it hasn’t been going well. He doesn’t understand why I’m upset and he doesn’t get why I don’t want to talk about it. It just takes so much energy to try and not be a monster at work and to try and not be a monster at home.

At work, things are too busy for someone to bother me for too long. Their phone rings or they have another meeting, so they back off eventually. But at home, there is no reprieve. The husband wants to talk about why I’m upset. And then he wants to talk about why I don’t want to talk about being upset. And then he wants to talk about why I seem irritated at the though of talking about why I don’t want to talk about being upset. I wish I were exaggerating, but this happens at least once a week.

The husband is so much better at letting things roll off his back than I am. Sometime I wish I could take on a bit more of his personality because it’s a lot harder to get him down. I admire him because It has to be difficult for him to be with someone like me who’s default is just to shut down. People, I need some advice.

Does anyone have both a demanding job and a spouse who wants all of your attention when you’re at home? How do you find a balance? How do you stay sane?

This weekend is a birthday party for one of my friends. I’m sure I can rally and be in a good mood after work on Saturday for this party. I can always rally for a holiday or birthday, but there won’t be any more of those until the middle of next month. I guess I’ll just cross my fingers and hope things calm down at the job.


Back to the Grind

The day that shall forever be known as “The Day I Didn’t Become Infamous For Starting A Strep Epidemic” preceded a day I barely remember.

I was so damn sick, y’all. It’s not even funny. I acted like a whiny little bitch all morning, and the wonderful man I married put up with it.

He asked if I wanted soup, and of course I did. He offered to go buy me Progresso soup. I was hurt that he’d suggest canned soup to me when I had an amazing recipe for chicken noodle soup.

So I whined that I wanted my soup recipe, and he offered to go the grocery store and then cook it for me. I laughed incredulously at the thought that he could make home-made soup.

I’m so damn rude sometimes. But the husband acknowledges that even with me talking him through each step from the couch, something would likely go wrong.

At this point, I had no intention of getting off the couch. Feeling as horrible as I did, my raging hunger finally got me up off the couch and to the stove. I drugged myself up really good so I did no coughing, sneezing, or sniffling over the soup.

The soup was delicious and totally worth the worsening malaise. The husband rubbed my lower back for me after we finished eating because he’s the best.

The next 30 hours after that are a complete blur. I took medicine and mindlessly watched episodes of Misfits. It’s this British show we get through Hulu Plus. Crazy sci-fi weirdness and lots of slang I don’t understand, but I love that show!

When it was time to go back to work, I felt better. I’m still working on getting rid of this cough, but at least no one in my family got sick. I let my co-workers know who was the lucky winner in the Who-Got-Me-Sick Sweepstakes. I’m just glad I didn’t get the flu or strep throat.

So now I’m back on a three day string at work. Working hard and keeping pace with the constant change has become and every day part of life. At this point, we don’t even get whiplash when something major changes. But I will focus on the positive and be grateful that I don’t have one of those jobs that is the same day in and day out. Monotony blows.


No Strep for the Strippers

I know you all have been on the edge of your seats, waiting to hear the tales of my ascent into infamy by way of infecting a stripper with strep. I’m sorry to tell you, my infamy will have to wait.

I didn’t make it onto the party bus with the stripper. And also, I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually have strep.

After the last post was published, another co-worker texted to let me know she wasn’t coming in to work that night. She was at urgent care, getting a diagnosis of the flu. Then I got concerned, wondering if I had strep or flu, convinced I had one or the other.

It is no fun trying to figure out whether you’ll be taken down by bacteria or virus. You’re just hoping and praying for a third option. Come on, harmless fungal infection!

Nevertheless, I went home determined to rally and go out with the husband. I had to wake him up and make him get dressed, but then we were off. We saw a performance by an amazing musician and his band. I honestly don’t even know what genre of music it was. It was the genre of awesome.

After the next band came on and was not our cup of tea, we headed over to catch the show we intended from the beginning. The party-bus-with-strippers friend was playing at one of the most popular jazz clubs in the city. I was looking forward to seeing what he would put together on his own gig, and I wasn’t disappointed. It wasn’t at all a traditional set, but it was very him. Spontaneous and fun, with just a dash of crazy.

I haven’t mentioned yet that at this point, I already knew we were not getting on the party bus. It was full. F-ing full. I wasn’t banned because I was sick. The husband didn’t decide a stripper party bus was no place for a married couple. None of the reasonable things happened. They just got full up and had no room for us. There were four of us by the way. We caught up with two friends at the first awesome show and rolled to the second fun show together.

After the husband’s friend’s gig was over, we headed to the car to go get some food, and the rest of them headed to the party bus. It was a sad moment for the four of us to watch the bus roll out without us.

We quickly realized how hungry we were and went out for breakfast. At this point, I had been awake for almost 24 hours, but I was still in rally mode. I ordered bacon, eggs, pancakes, and a large cup of coffee.  At one point, the guys realized I was tipping over in my seat, and took compassion on me.

I think the husband and I got home about 30 minutes before I had been awake literally for 24 hours. I was so proud of myself. I got through the night and had a lot of fun. Even better, I didn’t get the husband sick. I also didn’t infect any of his friends or his friends’ strippers.

It was quite the successful day. I woke up the next morning feeling like complete crap, but that’s a whole new story. Spoiler alert, I ended up with neither strep nor the flu, just a badass common cold.


Strep Throat and Strippers

To swing fully away from my last few work-centric posts, I’d like to completely switch gears. Let’s talk about strippers. Stripper and strep throat.

Okay, one last thing about work. Strep is going around. Sore throats and fevers popping up here and there. I was lucky enough to escape the flu going around. But the strep got me. I blame changing weather and a 60+ hour work week. Stupid lack of overtime pay.

Moving on back to the strippers. One of the husband’s good friends has a show tonight. Two of them do actually. In fact, it’s likely that most of them do because it’s a Saturday night. But there are two shows we’re going to try to see tonight since the husband has no gig.

I’m looking forward to seeing both guys because I’ve never seen them playing their own gigs. I’ve only ever seen them on someone else’s gig. I’d love to see what type of set list and song choices they put together. The music is just totally different when you’re playing to your own preferences.

One of the friends is getting married this September, so the strippers aren’t related to him. Not that being married means strippers go out of your life. I wouldn’t suggest anyone pretend they don’t like strippers just because they said I do. But that’s a conversation for another time.

The friend who is nowhere near getting married is the one involving the strippers into tonight. After his gig, he has a party bus, and there are reports there will be a stripper or strippers there. The husband thought it would be fun for us to go to the shows and then join the party bus.

Of course I said yes, mostly because it’s one of those experiences to cross off a bucket list, should I ever get around to making one. I mean, think about it. A party bus just sounds fun, even more so under these circumstances.

This was all before the strep. Now I feel like crap. All the lights are too bright, the sounds are too loud. My throat hurts and I’m tired as hell. And truly, if I’m contagious with strep (unconfirmed strep), should I really hang  around strippers tonight?

What if I sneeze on one of them or something? I would never sneeze on a person if I could help it, but I’m trying to figure out why I would be that close to the stripper in the first place. On a party bus, they’d have my married heterosexual self in the back of the bus so I don’t get in the way of anything.

But in this sneezing scenario, I’ve infected the stripper. Let’s say she doesn’t get sick. What if she just becomes some highly contagious strep carrier? She’d start infecting people and there would be a small strep epidemic.

It wouldn’t take long before some sap visiting her strip club walks in with a weak or weakened immune system. Next thing you know, that guy’s dead. Then people will be tracing all the strep back to the stripper, who will point the finger at me.

Then I’ll have to explain how I could’ve possibly infected a stripper with strep, and only the 13 1/2 people who read this blog will know the truth.

And then the local news will want to talk to the source of the outbreak because it didn’t follow normal disease patterns. I’ll end up on Wikipedia after a few more people die. Let’s face it, if you’re going to find a grouping of people with weakened immune systems, a strip club is a great candidate.

I can’t have that. I can’t become famous or infamous.

I guess that means we’ll have to avoid the party bus with the stripper(s). Not that I wasn’t dying to go, mind you. I’m just trying to save lives here.

I guess we’ll have to figure out something  else to do. Maybe we can double date with the husband’s work wife, but without her non-boyfriend.

Did you follow all that? The husband has a friend we both consider his work wife. We’ve been trying to double date for a while, but she’s not really a fan of her current guy, so we’re thinking of double dating without him.

Is it even still a double date if it’s just three people? I need a name for it other than having a third wheel because it wouldn’t be like that at all.

The husband’s work wife is a waitress though, so there is epidemic potential there as well. Eh, I won’t worry about it because her job has signs everywhere telling the employees to constantly wash their hands. I doubt the party bus even has a sink.


It’s Starting To Get Real

I’m really taking the workaholic thing too far. I love my job– most of the time. And so far, I seem to be pretty good at it. But it’s just… a lot.

I’m typing this as I’m sitting at the fourth desk I’ve had at work since my promotion in November. We’re playing musical chairs and I have a starring role. I’m going to blame my inactivity when it comes to Project UnPack on my constant reorganizing at work.

Since I’m not at the point of quitting my job in a Michael Bay-style blaze of glory, I need to work on balance and calm. Typical Libra that I am, I’m always seeking balance that is never reached. But I won’t stop trying, no no I won’t give up.

People do things like drink, or do drugs, or get lost in a good book to escape from the stress of work. I however cannot develop a drinking problem no matter how hard I try. I don’t mean to joke about addiction, as I know it’s something that’s a real struggle for some people. I just feel frustrated that I have no real vices to lean on as a form of escape from a difficult day.

I’ve been supervisor long enough that now they are putting me in real charge of people’s careers and evaluations and progress. I knew that at some point I’d have to say no to a promotion or fire someone or give them a negative evaluation. But it doesn’t change how difficult it is.

My approach to leadership is blunt honesty and positive reinforcement. It seems like those two things don’t necessarily go hand in hand, but I’ve tried to cultivate an environment where you’ll hear from me whether it’s good or bad, and I’m not gonna sugarcoat the bad or downplay the good.

But when it’s all bad and no good, it’s just so hard! And now I’m whining, so I’m moving on to another topic.

The husband called me today and when I told him I was still at work, he sounded angry. I was unemployed when we me and only got this job 2 weeks before we were engaged. I don’t think he figured on being married to a workaholic. I know I didn’t intend on being one.

I imagine it frustrates the husband that I spend all this time at work, giving and giving (with no overtime paid), and come home and crash. I’ve done a much better job of working as hard to maintain a good attitude at home as I do at work. I know he appreciates that, but I know he probably wants more.

No one has yet said to me they feel like I’m letting them down, but I feel like at any moment this thing is going to fly off the rails. It may just be the lack of consistent sleep talking, but I’m worried. I get a lot of support from the husband, my family, and my bosses. So I’ll be okay. At the end of the day, I love the work I do and I love the husband. These days my life doesn’t consist of much more than that unfortunately. But at least the two things that take up most of my time bring me some joy in addition to all the stress.

If you’re still with me, thanks for reading my whole rant. Sometimes you gotta vent, you know?


Why Is Balance So Hard?

My feet are tiny and I sometimes fall over for no reason at all.

I’m such a classic Libra and I inevitably swing from one extreme to the next in my search for balance.

I can’t decide for certain if I hate or love my new job duties.

And don’t even get me started on the trouble I’ve been having with trying to balance the way I spend my time.

It’s just so hard. And everything pulls me in different directions. And no one seems to care that at the end of the day, I feel like an elastic waistband after a pregnant-with-twins-during-Thanksgiving dinner. I know I’m being dramatic. Just give me a moment and I’ll stop with the incessant self-pity.

Give me another moment.

Okay, so here’s what happened. Once I realized I only had to come into work two days this week, I got super excited. I figured I’d spend time with the husband, sleep a whole lot, play the Sims 3 until my eyeballs got tired, and hang with my girls.

That last one, hang with my girls, was important to me. I honestly can’t even remember the last time I’ve seen one of my bridesmaids. I honestly think it was sometime before Thanksgiving. It’s just shameful because we live in the same city (well, most of us do).

I groaned at the husband about how lucky he is because he has it all. I mean, that man has it ALL. He has a career he loves with flexible work hours. His money concerns apply only to disposable income because he makes enough to cover all the bills. He gets to hang out with his friends all the time pretty much whenever he wants. He has the time to dedicate to his family so they never feel neglected. He’s always feeding his video game addiction.

I will admit that I do have some of those things. I’ve got the same bills thankfully paid that the husband does. And I do indulge in my fair share of video games. But after work, time with the husband, and a smidge of time with family, I’ve got nothing left.

I’m jealous in a way that makes me want to steal all the husband’s left gloves. Nothing is more annoying than getting ready to head out into the cold and you only have one glove. I’d hide around a corner and chuckle to myself at my sweet sweet revenge.

I jest, I jest. I don’t begrudge the husband his lovely life. I just wish mine were a bit more lovely. I miss my girls. And this weekend was going to be my time to hang with them. We didn’t have concrete plans, we were tentatively planning something fun.

And then, dunh dunh dunh. Something came up. One of the husband’s sisters is having a birthday. And with her birthday comes a birthday dinner. That’s Friday night. I don’t miss family birthday celebrations, so of course I’ll be there. Also, the husband has the alumni dinner thing on Saturday night being thrown by a college professor of his. I fully support my husband’s musicaleducationalness, so of course I’ll be there.

There goes my weekend. Perhaps I can get my girls together for a fun Saturday brunch. We’ve joked about brunch, but never done it. Seems to be more of a date or double date kind of activity, but perhaps it can work for a group of girlfriends.

Or maybe we can hang out Sunday after church, since we all go to the same church. And by go to the same church, I mean we’re all members, but not enough of us show up regularly so we all ought to be collectively ashamed of ourselves. I can blame work and sleep and all that, but really I’m just a heathen. I need to do better. And I’ll start with church this Sunday. As long as the husband and I aren’t out too late Saturday night.

If you’re following this rambling stream of consciousness, then you can probably see why balance is so difficult for me. If I’m juggling 5 balls, I simply must add 5 more to balance things out. And then I remember 2 more balls that are actually really important to me as well, and the next thing you know I’ve got a dozen balls in my hands, threatening to hit the floor (that’s what she said. Well, that’s what she said if she’s a huge slut. Twelve balls?! Really?!).

Also at some point this weekend, I need to sleep. I need to cook for the husband. I need to workout. I need to do several other things that I simply don’t have time for. How do other busy people do it? You know, those assholes who never look like they got too little sleep or too much caffeine? Those people make me want to turn stalker mode so I can figure out their secret.

And now that I’ve accomlished the balancing task #6 of publishing another blog post, I’ll return to other balls. Tonight, I must workout and I must sleep. I almost said cook, but then I realized that was never gonna happen. It’s already 8:00pm. I’ll be lucky if I manage to eat anything for dinner tonight. Accidental weight loss, here I come!

Any tips of maintaining balance?

No? I figured.


Starting A Spousal Support Group

The husband and I had another double date with the couple whose wedding we met at. This time, we headed to their apartment to hang out. We brought board games, movies, and pizza. We were happy to prove to ourselves we could hang out on a small budget and still have a good time.

We decided to watch The Campaign with Will Ferrel and Zach Galifianakis. We were watching, and watching, and no one was really laughing. I think we got about a half hour in (though it felt like 4 hours has passed, so I’m not sure) before we agreed we had to stop watching it.

The husband went to get me a sandwich from Potbelly’s because I wasn’t feeling the pizza. While he was gone, the three of us still there setup the board game Loaded Questions. It’s setup for people to play individually. You take turns answering these random ass questions while one person out of the group guesses which answer belongs to whom. The better you do on figuring out the answers each person picked, the closer you get to the winners circle. You win once you’ve gotten at least 3 answers correct on your turn.

The game sounds simple enough, but they are not kidding when they say the questions come loaded. There was so much yelling and laughing and name calling going on. If I had recorded in and played it back, one wouldn’t think it was two married couples playing.

Ultimately, it panned out that the two couples had something in common. In order for me to explain, I’m going to have to give this couple a name. Let’s call them Mr. and Mrs. How Much. I chose that name because they often ask how much stuff costs. They are very cost conscious people. And also, I know it will crack the husband up when he reads the name I’ve chosen.

So, Mrs. How Much needs things repeated to her a lot. Mr. How Much said to her at least 38 times during the game, “stop pick the obvious answer.” And then the very next question she’d do it again. It was frustrating him, but amusing the husband and me. At the same time, I was constantly repeating to the husband the rules of the game. He was the only one who’d played before, and yet for some reason, he didn’t remember any of the rules. Not even after we were playing the game for a second time in one night.

Have you ever stood in front of a wall and repeated the same thing multiple times? If you have, you should probably seek psychiatric help. But if you are the crazy person who has done it, or the imaginative person who can guess what that would be like, then you know how Mr. How Much and I felt.

Our spouses let information go in one ear and out the other. It was like dealing with a glitchy computer. Or an alarm clock that has settings that won’t stick. Or something else equally malfunctioning.

That’s when Mr. How Much and I knew we needed a support group. We needed a support group for the Spouses Who Can Remember Things. In Mrs. How Much’s defense, she does remember some things. She takes care of making sure the bills get paid on time, so that’s huge for her. Outside of that, she’s just like the husband. He’s so sweet to me and can remember my Potbelly’s order without asking (mostly because he has it in his phone, but whatever). But when it comes to remembering just about anything else, he gets all glitchy computer on me.

Sometimes, I think he’s just fucking with me. I think he’s secretly chuckling to himself and what outrageous inanimate malfunctioning object I’ll compare him to. Or maybe he’s testing to see just how many things he can forget without making me officially mad. I don’t know what the end goal is, but I guess I just want him to have some logical reason for having the world’s worst memory. Except for Mrs. How Much of course.

I know I’m going over this a lot, but it was both enlightening and disheartening. When I realized Mr. How Much felt my pain, I was like, “Oh! Someone gets it! I’m not alone any more. Let us commence to commiserate.” But then I was like, “oh… he feels my pain. He knows the never-ending-only-mildly-amusing frustration I always feel. Poor guy.”

At one point, I was screaming because the husband thought the point of the game was to throw people far off your scent so they’d guess wrong. He was right, but oh so wrong.

If a question asks for your favorite museum, you pick your third favorite that could also be someone else’s favorite. You do not pick a museum you’ve never been to.

If a question asks for a disgusting beverage, you still have to pick a beverage, you can’t just say urine.

If a question asks for the ugliest dog, don’t pick one that you can’t even picture what it looks like. I was just frustrated that the husband was purposely messing up the rules. It’s not fun when the rule edits aren’t clever, and they are just random and haphazard.

My screaming was only the encore though to Mr. How Much. He felt frustrated because his wife’s answers weren’t thoughtful. A question asked which president in all of American history would we like to hold the office of Vice President to and she said Bill Clinton. Well, actually, she said Al Gore, but that’s because she didn’t hear the question correctly.

The same thing happened when she picked nachos as her favorite movie food. He couldn’t believe she picked that when it’s what we ordered when we went to the movies not even a week prior.

Needless to say, the ridiculous answers and over-reacting responses had all of us falling all over the floor laughing at each other. You simply had to laugh.

I don’t know if I’m a glutton for punishment or not, but I’m really looking forward to the next time we play that game. I wouldn’t suggest playing it with any old couple though. We would have to play with a couple who could withstand the ridicule that inevitably comes from sub-par answers.

If you happen to have a spouse who doesn’t listen, or doesn’t remember, or is awful at board games, hit me up. Mr. How Much and I would love to have some more support in our group.

I’m sure if you’re on the other side, the husband and Mrs. How Much are likely plotting to start their own support group for Spouses of Hyper-Critical Know-It-Alls.


Going Down The Aisle And Back Again

Divorce and marriage are swirling all around me now. The husband and I are just fine. We’re better than fine actually. No the divorce and the marriage have nothing to do with us. It’s just all the people around us.

If I’m counting right, I currently know of three separations/divorces in process. And I know of, as of last Saturday, five engaged couples. The reason this stands out to me is that all eight couples were at my wedding, and only one of the couples had their current status at that time.

Engaged Couple #1: Dr. & Dr. They came to our wedding as an engaged couple. They met while in medical school. The guy went to college with me and my best friend/my best man. They have an interesting relation that causes mixed opinions amongst those who knew him before they got together. Their wedding is later this year, and it will be a lot of fun since it’s down in Hotlanta. I’m mostly just waiting to see if I’ll get an invite. I got a save the date-ish, so we’ll see.

Engaged Couple #2: Heading for an Island. On a double date we went on once, they discussed wanting to move to Hawaii, which is where the woman’s family is from. She’s an artist, and an amazing one at that. She designed our wedding invitations and the husband’s CD cover. He’s a teacher and jazz musician. I’m quite sure their kids will be gorgeous, and part of me is already plotting on marrying off one of my kids to one of theirs.

Engaged Couple #3: Might As Well Get Married. I met this couple during my ill-fated years in med school. He was in law school and she was getting some sort of Master’s degree. They ended up breaking up and they ended up back together. Again, mixed opinions. But they seem really happy at the thought marrying each other. And their wedding is also will be a blast.

Engaged Couple #4: Actually Getting Married For Real. The guy was one of my best friends for years. He was one of my bridesmen at my wedding. He and his girl have been off an on since college, and they have been going strong for years now. She has mellowed him in a way it took me a while to get used to. They seem so happy together. And if anyone was going to get him down the aisle, it’s her. They’ll probably get married on an island, which will definitely be fun.

Engaged Couple #5: The Just Right Marriage. The guy was the husband’s best man. They’ve been friends since they were young. They were in a band together in high school and that band has since had reunion concerts. I can’t think of anything clever or snarky to say about it because honestly I just enjoy their music, so someone please crack a joke about it on my behalf. His girl is amazing. Their kids will be gorgeous and she loves him to death. Plus, I think he just really wants to have a wife. How lucky that when he decided he wanted to marry, he had the perfect girl in front of him?

Now on to the divorcing couples. I’ve actually decided to only write about two of them. The third is something that isn’t common knowledge I have no idea if certain people I know read this blog, so I’m not even going there.

Divorce #1: The Joyous End. The man is one of my close friends who I’ve known since we were kids. He was also my other bridesman. That’s right, I had three men standing up with me. His soon-to-be-ex-wife is this chick he met at a party a handful of years back. She was everything he’d always wanted, she just also happened to possess some extra qualities he didn’t want. Things really went downhill after their wedding in April 2012. Yup, their wedding was in early 2012. The only thing all his friends agree on is that since they’ve separated, it’s like getting our friend back. The change was so gradual, we kind of forgot all that happened that took him so far from the person he was. Perhaps he bounced back so quickly because they weren’t married long.

Divorce #2: Why’d You Even Get Married? This couple wed in August 2012. I make a habit of not going to weddings of marriages I can’t in good faith support. I let myself get convinced to go to this one because of the travel time between the ceremony and reception. That meant one thing: party bus. Since it was a cash bar reception, the drinks we bought did supply most everyone in our range at the reception. Good times. But back to this divorce. This man is a walking party, and his bride is so not. There was some cheating, some lack of bill paying, and a thought towards a My Best Friend’s Wedding type intervention in the days before the wedding. Either way, they ended up getting married. She ended up regretting it. I ended up going back to my assertion that I really shouldn’t go to the weddings of the people I don’t think should get married.

It’s weird when we think about all these weddings we may potentially have to go to in the next year. Only one of them is for someone who is one of my close friends. And their wedding will likely take place somewhere the husband and I can’t even afford to travel to. The rest of the people are friends of the husband or the best friend.

But it’s really the divorces that are getting to me. These people all had their weddings the same year I did. There were a bunch of weddings at my church during 2012, so the track record really isn’t all that bad. It still gets to me though.

As a newlywed, I can’t imagine ending my marriage. The husband and I have had some serious ups and downs since we’ve been together. As angry and hurt as I was when it happened, I still can’t imagine separating. If anything, all the strife has only confirmed we’re supposed to stay together. I likely would’ve divorced, maimed, and/or ruined any other man had we gone through the same things.

What makes a marriage fall apart that quickly? I just can’t wrap my head around it. If you suspect your guy is cheating, why still get married? I think one’s parents would prefer losing a deposit and dealing with that over paying out the full $25,000 to pay for a wedding and then having nothing to show for it but a divorced daughter a few months later.

The other thing I’m also thinking of is the fact that none of my girls are getting married. Sure, one of my close guy friends is getting married, but that’s different. I want to plan a bachelorette party and a bridal shower. I want to pass on the bridezilla sash they made me. Statistics swear that black men aren’t getting married. I know five who are getting married. We just haven’t found any to marry my friends yet. They’re working on it though. Kudos to them for not settling because then they’d end up like Divorce #2.


Getting Dragged From The House

Although you’re reading this some time after noon, I’m writing this shortly after midnight. Why aren’t I out partying? I’m at work, that’s why. I mentioned in a previous post an unfortunate set of circumstances that landed me at work on New Year’s Eve even though I’m not supposed to work holidays anymore now that I’m a supervisor. Just know that I’m getting through the night, and I’m just glad I’m in charge of scheduling in the new year.

In my last post, I was all busy putting my foot down about not leaving the house until I had no other choice, i.e., having to go work. Well that lasted until the peer pressure broke me down. The wife of the couple we had plans to spend time with on Sunday really truly just HAD to see Django that day and no other day.

After much cajoling, they got me to agree to go. No one believed me that my lip burn was much worse than it looked. They didn’t understand that my skin flap was just pushed up and hiding an awful looking sore. So it was either go out into the public or ruin everyone else’s day. So we went to see Django, which I had no interest in seeing. I’m not a fan of Jaime Foxx like that. I’m really not a fan of Quentin Tarantino. I don’t like it when Kerry Washington and Jaime Foxx are husband and wife in a movie either. But I do love me some Leonardo DiCaprio. I had to sit through three hours of a racist Leonardo with what felt like 60 full minutes of previews in front of it. It was a long ass afternoon.

After the movie, we went to the grocery store and bought fettuccine noodles, alfredo sauce, shrimp, crab legs, salad, chicken breasts, lemons, and powdered sugar. That sounds like a lot, right? Ah, but it was just enough for a great dinner. We had a chicken breast salad with red wine vinaigrette (my own special home-made dressing). Then we had shrimp alfredo. Then we had crab legs. Then we had lemon bars. I made smaller portions so no one over-ate. It was a great meal, and we had fun playing video games, drinking wine, and discussing the movie while we ate.

When it was time to say goodnight, we made plans to hang out again soon. The husband and I really like hanging with them, so it’d be nice to hang out more than once every couple of months. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it yet, but this is the couple whose wedding the husband and I met at. We were having fun regaling them with stories about when we first met that they’d never heard.

The story that really threw them was how we both knew from the moment we met that we simply must get together. We weren’t referring to a relationship though, we were referring to our physical chemistry. They laughed when we said neither of us expected things to go further than a fun weekend together. It still took us several months to get things right. Hell we were already engaged before we got things right, but it was amusing to look back on how wildly different our expectations were from how things turned out.

And as they left, they reminded me that my lip really didn’t look all that bad and I was being self-conscious for nothing. The husband agreed that it was worse in my head. The next day, I got out of the shower while getting ready for work. I noticed the little skin flap (doesn’t that give some odd imagery?) had come off, and now all I could see was a bright pink mark on my lip.

When the husband saw my face, all he said was, “oh.” My response was, “so now you get it?” And he did. What’s going on is that my upper lip looks terrible now. I have armed myself with neosporin and lip balm. I can only hope that soon enough, it goes away. And by soon enough, I mean months instead of years. My skin takes a really long time to heal from burns.

On a completely different note, I’ve been working out! It’s only been two days, so don’t get excited. But I’m just glad I got my lazy ass up off the couch and started again. The stress from work really has kept me from gaining too much weight. I’m only about a pound heavier than I was at my lowest weight when I stopped the last time. I’m just out of shape and flabby. This Tracy Anderson workout pulls everything in and makes you tight.

The couple we were hanging out with asked me why I cared so much about working out when I was smaller than most people. I told them it was because I cared about once again fitting into the dress I was wearing the day I met my husband. They liked that answer. The husband did too. So I’m trying to stay on the workout bandwagon. I’m too invested in my physical appearance to have so many jiggly parts.

Last time I was working out, I felt sure that Tracy Anderson was trying to kill me. This time around, I started to feel the same way, then I remembered that I brought this on myself. I’m the one who stopped working out. I’m the one who got out of shape. I’m the one who (wisely) started back over at Day 1 of her workout plan so I wouldn’t be behind the curve on the later workouts. I never feel pity for people with self-inflected problems, so I don’t have any self-pity now. It’s my damn fault everything hurts. But at least I have a wonderful husband who massaged my legs for me so I could keep going with the workouts.

It seems like most everything I felt had gone out of balance I’ve managed to get back in a few days. Something about putting into writing really put it into perspective for me. It really got my head on straight. Once I remembered my priorities, I was able to find the motivation. The hardest part was getting started. I figure that should last me about a week. Then I’ll have to find a new motivation to keep me going.

And, of course, at some point, I’ll work on unpacking our stupid apartment so I can pack it back up again in a few months.


Why Go Out When I Can Stay In?

The husband had a gig Saturday night. It was for a wedding at Trump Towers. I can only imagine how amazing a wedding was at a place like that. He asked me if I wanted to go with him, but that was before he knew what type of gig it was. When I heard it was at the Trump Hotel in the tower, I was pretty hesitant to just say yes to going. It could’ve been a holiday or some corporate event. There were many gigs that could be there. I could think of so many types of gigs that I shouldn’t just be waltzing into. I’m not sure what the husband was thinking he’d be doing there, but the fact that it was a wedding pretty much solidified that I’d be staying home.

The other thing that solidified my night in was my lip. During a conference call with the other supervisors in my department on Friday morning, I had an accident. During my excitement at planning our annual department party (which is always in February), I also realized I needed to cook the husband breakfast as promised because he had to get to a rehearsal. So I chopped potatoes and heated up oil. I managed not to chop off any fingers, but I did toss freshly chopped potatoes into hot bacon grease/olive oil/butter and it popped back at me.

It hit my right hand pinkie finger and the left side of my top lip. It hurt so badly, I spent the next five hours rotating out different frozen foods to ease to pain. Why not just use ice, you ask? I couldn’t use ice because though we have seven ice trays, all in the freezer, we only had three ice cubes amongst all the trays. I hate ice and never use it except for parties, so I didn’t notice this. So frozen chopped peaches had to do.

Eventually, I switched to neosporin because the pain only kept getting worse. The neosporin helped so I didn’t need to keep ice on my face, but at that point, I was more concerned with how my face was going to look with a burn blister on my upper lip. It takes me forever to heal from burn wounds, and one on my upper lip…? You know, looking like some sort of infection/cold sore/questionable scar?

How exactly does one explain it? Somehow, “no this is not a cold sore I’ve recently contracted from the cheating of either myself or my husband, it’s actually a burn I carelessly caused to myself from hot ass bacon grease because I got too excited thinking about an awards ceremony and wondering where we’d find a golden headset.” Seems like something might get lost in translation for anyone who doesn’t see me everyday and have an intimate understanding of my marriage and my job. So that meant hiding away until I knew what I was dealing with on my face.

One of our favorite couples was to meet up with us Friday to hang out. That had to get moved to Sunday so I could figure my face out. Well, also, I was extra tired from working the last couple of days and really needed to decompress. So I stayed home and re-applied neosporin and waited to see what would come of my lip. It felt worse than it looked. The husband swore he couldn’t see anything on my face. I think his vision is worse than mine though, so I took it with a grain of salt. It did give me hope though that as long as no one looked to closely at my face, they wouldn’t think I had some questionable sore on my face.

So now we’re back to Saturday and the husband is at his gig at the Trump Tower hotel. I laid on the couch, catching up on episodes of Leverage. That show is absolutely amazing, by the way. As I sat there, I thought about how I should get my lazy ass off the couch and start working out. But I ultimately decided against it. I can’t remember why exactly but the reasoning being something like concern about doing too much too fast and burning myself out. I just did the great task of getting back to my blog. A workout would take it too far, or some such nonsense.

So what did I decide to do instead? Well, I chopped up some potatoes, and I made myself some french fries. My daddy always taught me to get back on the horse. I didn’t want to get afraid of the potatoes + oil, so I went in. I didn’t think about the fact that I was eating fried foods two days in a row, I just felt good cooking two days in a row. Then I took it up a notch when I took the fresh-from-the-oil french fries, covered them in cheese and freshly rendered bacon (I like fresh, even if it is unhealthy, you know?), and popped it in the oven to melt the cheese.

It was so delicious, I just ate it straight from the pan. Again, no new burns. As I settled into my potato coma, I felt good. So good, in fact, that I relaxed and let my mind wander on how great I am for getting back on the hot oil horse. Right at that moment, I rolled over and scratched an itch that had been bothering me. Then I set up with tears in my eyes.

Half of the tears were from the pain of accidentally ripping off a layer of skin that was barely protecting the burned area. The other half of the tears were from the knowledge that without that skin, my face would be scarred for months to years while it healed the wrong way. I ran to the mirror and confirmed my fears. I had a bright red spot of skin right there where my actual lip meets that skin between your nose and your lip. What was worse is that the skin wasn’t all the way pulled off, just halfway scratched off.

I grabbed a band-aid, pushed some of the skin back into place, and then applied more neosporin. The ointment burned, and the band-aid felt awkward. But at least I was scratch-proofing my face. I was so worried what the husband would think when he got home. I angled the band-aid so it was diagonal, otherwise I would’ve had a Hitler mustache thing going on. It was just horrible to look in the mirror, so I just stopped.

I fell asleep before the husband got home from his gig, and when he saw me in the morning, he said nothing of the band-aid. He just went to sleep (he was out pretty late, I guess that means he discovered ReBar, which is a wonderful place inside Trump Tower). So I texted our friends who got rescheduled from Friday. I asked if they wouldn’t mind staying in with us. There is just no way I can go out into the public where people can see me with this band-aid on my face. The jokes from the husband and our friends will be bad enough. Then I have to work Monday night. That still gives me several days (until Wednesday) to heal up before I have to deal with the general public, i.e., back on the day shift and running errands.

All I can think of now is how I have less excitement about this party in February. It’s not the party’s fault I got burned, I know. It’s my damn fault. But correlation and causation is hard to separate in the human mind. And my face still really hurts. The lips are one of the most sensitive parts of the body, and getting burned there hurts more than most burns. So what’s the lesson in all this? I think it’s the fried food. I should’ve just baked the home fries I made for breakfast. It would’ve been healthier, and apparently, safer.

Have you ever done anything to yourself that made you want to hide away from the world so no one will know?


Christmas Recap And A Plan For The Future

The last post I wrote was all about how I wasn’t feeling Christmas this year. I said how I wanted to just fast forward through to 2013. I must admit that feeling hasn’t gone away. But I have found the need to get some more balance in my life. Blogging is one of the ways I manage to feel balanced, and so I’m back to try not to depress the hell out of everyone in the last couple days of 2012. I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas in spite of lack of money, a bit too many national tragedies, and a fiscal cliff threatening to pull all the news stations in with it.

On to not depressing you. My Christmas was lovely. We spent Christmas Eve night at the husband’s parents’ house just hanging. We spent Christmas Day early at my parents’ house for brunch. Then we all went up to Evanston for a Christmas dinner at the house of one of the husband’s aunts. Well, not all of us. One of the gifts my parents received for Christmas was Bulls tickets, so they went to the game instead of dinner with the rest of us.

I was so full from their Christmas brunch though, I barely had room for dinner. I mostly just ate the pot roast the husband’s mother made. It’s so good. I ate so much of it at Thanksgiving, my stomach was going through withdrawal. So I had my pot roast fix and my stomach is currently devising ways to get her to make more even though we’re past all the major cooking holidays for now.

If you read my last post, you’re probably wondering if I ended up getting potpourri drawer things for all the women in my world. The answer would be no, I did not. The husband and I ultimately decided to get house gifts for everyone. We got a house gift for my parents, his parents, one of his older sisters, and my grandmother.

We got actual gifts for three of our nieces and our one great-niece. Our lives were made easier because most of the adult siblings etc. still live at home for various reasons (read, not because they are going nowhere in life but because life’s circumstances are kicking them), so they got lumped in with the house gifts.

We still went over budget, which sucks, but we got gifts we really felt everyone could really use and love. My two favorite purchases were the area rug for the husband’s parents and the electric carving knife for my parents. No more big open floor space, though I will miss seeing the great expanse of gorgeous hardwood floors. And for my parents, no more questionably carved… everything. I must admit one of daddy’s strong suits isn’t slicing or carving any meat. Hopefully, that will change now.

Even though I wasn’t feeling Christmas, I still had the Christmas I wanted. I forced my Christmas playlist on myself and really found myself enjoying the tunes in the days leading up to Christmas. How many times can you say Christmas in one paragraph? Anyway, I had good food and good company, which was all I wanted. And neither set of parents had any trees or lights up, so I felt right at home. Maybe we’ll all do better next year.

So about this balance I’ve been saying I needed to find. It’s related to work.  Since I got my promotion at work, it’s just been work. Work. WORK. The job requirements are more than any human can accomplish in a work week. There are things I’m expected to do outside of the hours I’m at the building. Donation is a 24 hour business after all. That being sad, I hate being less than adequate at anything, so I was all about work. Then I realized I was getting no sleep, eating no food, having no sex. It’s a real problem. I have since recommitted myself to finding more of a balance.

In my head, I’ll be blogging more frequently, trying to re-focus my blog on the things I think my readers will actually find interesting. I think my life as a newly married woman in Chicago is pretty interesting. I’ve discovered some great places in this city through hunting for good food and music with the husband. I also really love my job and what I do, though I try not to talk too much about work, but maybe I can find something to share that doesn’t violate HIPAA.

Of course, I’d like to get back on the exercise bandwagon. I’m not a fan of my profile and I shudder to think how difficult it will be to get back in shape after kids if I’m out of shape before we even start. And no, that was not a sideways reveal of a plan to start having kids. It was more of a reveal of the true depth of my vanity. I’ve been so busy with work, I haven’t even contemplated doing anything else but sitting on the couch and re-charging after work. But no more! My life will  be more than spreadsheets, and one on one meetings, and auditing phone calls. It will include baking, and exercising, and blogging.The husband has been really patient with this transition. I think I owe it to both of us to turn back into a real person.

I don’t know if I can just wake up tomorrow and be this whole new person, but I’m sure as hell going to try. I know what I need to do, so it’s just a matter of doing it. I’ve tried making new year’s resolutions. I’ve tried scheduling everything in. I’ve tried self-determination. None of that works long-term, so perhaps now I’ll try a combination of them all. I’ve learned I need to gear up slowly.

Have you ever tried to jump in with both feet into something new? Some people can do it, but not me. When I do it, I go strong for a bit, but eventually I fatigue. Whoever said three weeks was enough time to train people to new activity and habit was a liar and a fraud. It takes waaay longer. All I know is I need decompression time if I’m going to sustain an activity that sucks all my energy.

So what’s first up in my plan to re-gain balance? Well, duh, it was blogging. That’s why you’re reading this post. Once I’ve got blogging consistently back in my life, then I’ll add something else. My work out DVDs are calling, but I don’t know if they’ll be it. We’ll see. But you’ll get no new year’s resolution list from me, so stop asking. Oh, well, since you twisted my arm, I’ll at least let you know how I did on my 2012 New Year’s Resolutions.

Just over a year ago, I wrote my new year’s resolutions post. It was full of wonderful things I wanted to focus on for 2012.

1) Cook dinner for the fiancé at least once a week. This is one I came pretty close to accomplishing. On average, I definitely did accomplish this one. Some weeks, I didn’t cook at all. Others, I cooked several times. I’d say this was a mission accomplished.

2) Go to some sort of production/media thingee once a month. This can be as extravagant as the opera, or as simple as a movie theater. Fail. I think I’ve seen three or four movies this year. I’ve been to no plays, no musicals, no orchestra performances, no ballets. It seems now the only live performance I see is when the husband has a gig. Thank God his music is good.

3) Exercise an average of 3 times a week. This can be going jogging or yoga. Fail again. And to think I thought I’d still have time for yoga, or a desire for jogging. I hate running! I did find Tracy Anderson though. She’d be good to me if I ever popped her DVD into the player. But it’s on my to-do list for 2013. I will get back on track.

4) Improve my diet to a point where I’m only eating fried foods once a week. This one is in between. I rarely eat fried foods. I’ve even managed to get more vegetables on the table at big family dinners. But my intake of potato chips and things like that undermines my lessened consumption of fries, fried fish, and fried chicken.

5) Finish unpacking my apartment by April. Major Fail. I just really want to get out of Hyde Park, and I think not unpacking is a symptom of that. Some part of me never wanted this place to feel too home-y because then we’d never fucking leave. I realize that’s irrational now (though we are still here when we should reside in New York by now…), and I plan to ge it done. I have to actually unpack, so I can re-pack whenever we move the hell away from here.

6) Get another cat. This one I actually did! Jazz is a crazy cat, but she fits in perfectly with our family.

7) Use one of my bridal shower gifts at least once a week. Giggity. Eh, except for when I got my promotion, I guess we sort of made this work. There are still a couple of things I haven’t used yet. But I just can’t imagine the cleaning afterward if I put on the candy underwear. I’m not ready for it yet.

So, I didn’t do so hot on my list. I did better than I thought I did though. I’ve learned setting firm deadlines means nothing if you don’t have the time or motivation to make it happen. Maybe I’ll look up motivation techniques to do things you hate the idea of. I’m not referring to exercise, I’m referring to unpacking this apartment. I just really don’t want to do it. This is the only place I’ve ever lived that never felt like home to me. Perhaps we’ll get it right next time, and we’ll live in a place I can’t wait to make home.

How was your Christmas?Any great plans for self-improvement in the new year?


Shrinking Underpants

In honor of the holiday season, I haven’t even bothered to get back up on the exercise wagon. When my next Tracy Anderson Metamorphosis DVD arrived, I looked at it as it judged me. I felt bad. Then I added it to the stack of DVDs with the promise of returning to it. One of these days. One day real soon, I promise. I’d like to be an inspiration to myself. And I’d really like to wear this backless micro mini dress I own that I haven’t worn in over 2 years before I’m thirty.

With all of my not-exercising, I’ve been pleased to notice I don’t have to go up in a size of jeans. Those size 3 jeans I was so happy to wear last month (or was that September) are back in the closet on time out, but at least I’m not having to purchase new, even larger clothing. The only problem is my underwear. It seems to be shrinking.

I could’ve sworn my panties covered more of my ass. Obviously, I’m washing my mostly cotton underwear in water that’s too hot. Or possibly drying them too long. I mean, that has to be it, right? It can’t be that my ass, etc. is expanding, yet somehow still fitting into the same clothes, can it? Seriously, how can my pants fit, but my underwear suddenly feel skimpier?

I’m going to go completely irrational here and blame the lack of sleep. Today is the first day at work since I started that I actually feel well rested. It’s an amazing feeling and I want it again and again. Adjusting to being awake early in the morning has been no easy task, but I think I’ve found the perfect combination. Before I reveal my fool proof plan for falling asleep, I want to discuss the causes of my lack of sleep and my shrinking underwear.

Washing clothes has the potential to be the bane of my life. It would be an exxaggeration to say that now, but trust that there is potential. The husband and I own way too many clothes. And we wear them all. So they need to be washed. There’s never time to wash, so I get it in where I can. Like at the parents’ house while we rake leaves. The point is, they take up too much time and take away from more important things. Like TV. And sleep. I’ve only recently stopped skipping sleep to wash clothes because it just wasn’t worth it. So much for getting a couple loads done each week…

Also, my cats are jerks. Well, they were. Actually, they still are, but they are less jerky than they previously were. Are you following? Well, they used to run around the apartment at 1:00 am at high speeds, and the little one, Jazz, used to purr loud as hell sitting right on my chest while I was trying to sleep. They don’t do that anymore. Now they run around at 1:00 pm, and Jazz naps on the bags of not-yet-put-away laundry out in the hall. The running still sucks, but at least it doesn’t interrupt sleep. And I’m sure that Jazz’s naps are somehow related to the shrinking underpants.

Our property manager is taking their sweet ass time fixing things in our apartment. Like our dishwasher. The husband does all the dishes, but I think we both really miss having a functioning dishwasher. The manager used to call me with all these issues. After a few calls and e-mails, we finally got its sorted out earlier this month, and now they bug the husband with these calls, since he’s the one at home during the day. Our dishwasher is still not fixed, but at least my naps or work time aren’t getting interrupted by someone outside an apartment I’m not there to open the door of.

The last couple nights, the husband has been really busy. He’s had gigs, and he’s had plans with his friends. I like when he’s out and about, though part of me misses him when he’s not home with me. But since he’s been gone, all I’ve had to think about was how to amuse and feed myself the last couple nights. The husband and I are very compatible usually with preferred activities, but a couple changes and voila, I had no trouble falling asleep.

I accidentally stumbled across the perfect combination. I drank water with my dinner instead of wine or juice or milk. Usually the husband and I have a glass of wine, and no one should drink alone (unless it’s their birthday), so I had water. I’ve also been working on my nails. Instead of waiting until the polish chips or it’s time to file them down, I’ve been doing maintenance each day. A polish fix on one nail can be surprisingly relaxing. And lastly, I watch The First Wives Club each night. The husband can’t sleep if there’s a TV on. This only applies to the bed because he has no problem falling asleep on the couch or in a theater during a movie. But I love it. When I lived alone, I’d watch Hairspray or The Holiday or See Jane Date.

Perhaps when the husband finally runs out of steam and is with me at bedtime, I’ll switch to reading the books that half of these movies were based on. But I need either a light to read my paperback of The First Wives Club or my backlit phone/Kindle to read my ebook of See Jane Date. Or maybe since it’s a movie and not television, the husband will be able to fall asleep. Either way, I’ve got to get continue to get enough sleep because I’m quite sure, that is the only way to make my underpants un-shrink.


Being Addicted, But You Know, In A Good Way

Have you any addictions? Of course you do. If your addiction is cocaine or sex or re-runs of The Jersey Shore, please keep that to yourself. Oh, and seek help.

I’m here to talk about addictions that are less horrifying. Really, they are more like vices. Like Hostess cupcakes (may they rest in peace) or a less horrid TV show (like the Walking Dead). My addictions are: salt and vinegar chips, most primetime TV, painting my nails, and this stupid game called Monster Park.

Let’s talk about the chips first. Since I first had teeth, I’ve been all for crunchy foods. Pickles, apples, raw veggies, potato chips, or whatever else I could get my hands on were my preference to mushy foods. I’m not a fan of salt in high quantities, but I love me some acidity. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t even get a sandwich from Potbelly’s without getting two, that’s right two, bags of chips of the Zappo’s salt and vinegar chips. It’s really the large amount of unhealthy things, i.e., calories, fat, salt, that I’m ingesting that’s the concern. Maybe I’ll switch to baked potato fries with malt vinegar. That’s kind of the same thing, right?

Then there is primetime TV. I had a day off last week and spent the entire daytime catching up on episodes of all my shows on Hulu Plus. The husband, who really wanted to play video games, was judging the large number of shows I watch. I don’t mean to watch so many, but I get hooked. Each fall and summer, I look at the upcoming premiers. I assess if I really want to keep watching renewed shows. I assess which new shows I’ll give a chance, and I assess which old shows I may want to give a second chance. The number adds up. Right now, I’m currently following 32 shows on Sidereel. That’s not including shows like Rachel Maddow, Bill Maher, Stephen Colbert, or The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. So really, it’s more like upwards of 35… Is that a lot…?

The good news is I don’t spend every night glued to the TV because I’m usually just coming home from work during primetime. Also, some of those shows are midseason replacements or their seasons are split between summer and fall. So it’s really on half that at any one time. Still, it’s an addiction that doesn’t seem to be getting any better.

Painting my nails became an addiction while I was engaged. Turns out the husband likes long nails, so I grew them. I don’t like acrylics, and I wanted to have my own longer nails for the wedding. And since then, we’ve discovered a love of all different nail polish colors. That’s right, we. The husband is an enabler in this addiction. He hasn’t gone so far as to buy me nail polish, but he oohs and aahs over new colors, making me want even more. If my polish gets chipped too soon, I have to force myself not to immediately repaint my nails. I know it’s not healthy to do it too often, so I try not to do it more than once a week. I always fail. But that’s why I invested in a slightly costly nail protein base coat that helps strengthen my nails. Ah, the things we do for vanity. And color. And pleasing the husband. And color.

Lastly, there is this stupid game called Monster Park. It’s an app on my Samsung Galazy S3 that I downloaded on a whim, and have been addicted to ever since. You breed these monsters, and collect crystals to feed them, and expand your park to house them, and get silver and make more and buy decorations and all this other crap. It’s one of the most useless games ever, but I love it. I frequently visit the Monster Park Fan website to make sure I’m using the right monter combo in breeding the right baby monster. I literally open and play this game 15-30 times a day. It sucks you in and the next thing you know, you’re on a forum debating whether you’d prefer a Republephant or a Donkeycrat first. It’s just insanity. And it only makes sense if you’ve actually encountered it. See what I mean?

This is just one view of the Monster Park. Looks complicated yet pointless, right?

My addictions are not really so terrible. So maybe I spend too much time watching television. So maybe I spend too much time painting my nails. And maybe I eat to many potato chips. And maybe Monster Park is taking over all my free time. But is that really so bad?

Yeah, I sound like an addict. My only hope is for the next lineup of shows to all suck. And for baked chips to taste amazing. And for someone to create a no chip polish that really works.


Being A Good Child

The husband and I took a few hours out of our weekend and went to his parents’ house. I told myself it was to get some clothes washed for free. And I did wash clothes for free. But in exchange, we worked so hard raking leaves. We raked the front yard, the side yard, the back yard. It took hours, but we got it done.

Is it really that simple? Of course not. The husband has been intending to get over there to do it since the leaves start falling. And by “intending, ” I really mean, he’s been avoiding it like the plague and trying not to scream out, “I don’t even live here any more, how is this my responsibility?!?!”

There’s not much the husband hates more than raking leaves. Well, there is, but when we’re talking about raking leaves, that becomes the biggest hate. So being the loving wife I am, I suggested we head over there together. My bargain was the two six year olds who live there would help. And I could wash clothes for free.

The husband and I patted ourselves on the back for being the good kids of both sets of parents. This is because the cold made our brains shrink I think. Here are the facts:

  • His sister who still lives at home with her twins does a good amount of cooking and cleaning for the whole house. Granted, she lives there and so helping take care of the house is more her job than the rest of the children who don’t live there. But she still contributes more to housework than the husband ever did (he doesn’t cook).
  • His brother who is from Honduras actually did the first round of leaf raking while he was here visiting. Honduras doesn’t have things like fall leaves and snow and the like, so he really got stuck with manual labor for which he was completely unprepared.
  • His parents need the help. We have the young bodies that can better handle fighting with a rake and tall-ish grass for a few hours.

So perhaps we’re not the last-born saviors our parents were waiting for, and perhaps we aren’t the end all and be all of parental assistance. But those leaves were hard work, made even harder by a frustrated husband who really didn’t want to be out there. Add in two six year olds who are incredibly stubborn and just learning to rake and you have laughter, but also lots of frustration.

I’m just glad no one got sent to time out or spanked, and I’m glad all my clothes got washed. Next time though, we need to factor in time for some hot chocolate. And I don’t mean Swiss Miss. I mean the good stuff from Mindy’s.

The husband thought this post would be about how he is such a baby and procrastinated for weeks until I agreed to join him to rake the leaves. And then how he delayed again until I made cinnamon walnut pancakes. And then again until I’d put a load of clothes in the machine. And then how he took a break while I put in the second load of clothes. But no, only the end of this post is about how 5 bags of leaves turned the husband into a five year old. Mostly, this post is just about how we are awesome kids for our parents… at least in our own heads.


Settling Into The Day Shift

I’m loving my new job. It’s just that simple. Each day I work I learn more about my job and how best to do it. I like the sense of challenge and/or accomplishment I’m feeling almost all the time now. We’re only a c ouple weeks in, but so far, so good.

Being awake during the day all the time now means being asleep at night all the time now. It’s really an adjustment for me. I’m naturally more of a night person to begin with. If you consider that I’ve been on night shift for the last 18 months and was unemployed for 12 months before that, you can see how I’ve had a lot of time to embrace my natural state.

Then suddenly, I’ve got to be in bed by 9 at the latest. It’s laughable to think that’s still my goal bedtime. I don’t think I’ve accomplished it more than once. If I work two days in a row, I’m not even home until after 8:30 PM, and that’s not even enough time to brush my teeth and pick out my clothes for the next day. But of course, I’m usually not home. There’s always a family gathering, or the husband has a gig, or there’s an episode of a favorite show that I simply have to watch on a specific night (while I retouch my nails). And once I’ve fulfilled my duties as a well-groomed daughter/wife/TV junkie, I can go to bed in peace knowing 1-3 less hours of sleep won’t be that bad.

And that is why I’ve downed at least 20 cups of coffee since I got the promotion. I love the way coffee tastes, but I’ve never been a coffee drinker out of necessity. You will do some strange things in the name of being good at your job. For instance, while shopping at Target, for a baby shower gift on my lunch break, I downed a caramel brulee latte in less than five minutes. I didn’t even let it cool down. I was just so tired, I needed to mainline the caffeine and get back on top. I wonder if this is how habits start. I haven’t had any coffee since that day earlier this week. But then again, I haven’t been that tired either. How long before a need turns into a want?

Nobody can make something as simple as a cup of coffee dramatic like I can, huh?

I really do have a good reason for needing all the coffee though. Her name is Jazz, and she’s an asshole.

The adorable cat that lives in my house, making all new visitors fall in love with her is a jerk to the tallest degree. Both cats are, really, but the baby is even worse. Our cats have learned how to wake the husband and I up when they want to. It usually involes sitting on your back/chest/side. That way, their weight slowly crushes your ribcage and you have to wake up from the lack of comfort and reduction in oxygen. They also will reach from a distance that’s just far enough away for their arm length and scratch us. Not a mean or sharp scratch, just an insistent scratching like you’d do if you had an itch on your nose that won’t go away.

Five straight minutes of either of those things, and trust me, you are awake. Belle, our older cat usually reserves her jerkiness for the husband. If she wants to be by me while I’m asleep, that usually just means snuggling up next to me and making judgy eyes at the husband or Jazz when they dare disturb us. Oh but Jazz, as I said, is an asshole.

She’s on my old night schedule. I understand that a couple weeks is not enough time for a young cat to act like she has sense. But it is too much to ask to leave me alone if it’s clear I’m sleep and not getting up? If it’s daytime and she wakes me and I don’t want to be bothered, she finds something else to do with her time. But if it’s night, namely 12:30 AM, it’s a no holds barred wake-your-ass-up-and-play-with-me fest. My first three days at work involed being awake at 12:30 AM on the dot with a cat sitting on my chest pawing my face.

The next week, she would sit next to me and get a claw stuck in my hair. When I batted her away and rolled to the other side, she walk around and start messing with my nose, arm, shoulder, or whatever she could reach that wasn’t covered by blanket. It was horrible. I was in deep sleep at this point. Each night she woke me, I was surprised to find I’d only been sleep for a short time. Then I got to try and go back to sleep, but of course my sleep was never as good the second go round.

It hasn’t gotten any better yet, but I’m expecting it will eventually. Jazz is the more stubborn of the two cats, but she likes love too much to keep doing things that get her kicked out of the bed.

Why don’t I just close the door? Yes, I heard you asking all the way through your e-mail or Google reader or however you read this blog. I can’t do that, it isn’t an option. The cats have free reign of the house. This means if a door is closed, they try relentlessly to open it. And while a cat scratching my arm for 2 minutes is bad, a cat scratching at a closed bedroom door for 20 minutes every hour on the hour is far worse.

So for now I’m just crossing my fingers and hoping the cats adjust to my new day schedule. Because otherwise I’ll end up hooked on coffee, shaking and jittery waiting on my next caffeine hit. And I’m pretty sure that will affect my job performance. I don’t want that because I like my job.


Waking Up To A New Day

I’ve gone radio silent, it’s true. But I had a good reason. I was on the edge of my seat waiting to hear about my possible promotion at work. And then there was the campaign. And my dog ate my homework. You know how it goes.

Well, all is well in my house. The husband is off to St. Louis, the land he loves for a quick weekend tour to promote his CD. He loves making travel plans and playing all different venues with his music.

I also have good news for myself. I got the promotion! It’s exciting and potentially overwhelming. In my new job, I’ll still be working in organ and tissue donation. I am switching to working mostly only in the daytime. That will take some adjustment because I’m not generally a morning person. If anything could get me to get my butt up every morning without hesitation, it would be a job I love to go to everyday.

So far, I’ve gotten good support from the folks in my office. I’m hoping it stays that way. If not, you’ll probably notice I never mention work because I don’t want to bash anyone. Let’s just hope I’ll be saying, “work is good,” and moving on from there!

As far as the election goes, I’m happy to report my mother kept her job. She is an elected judge (have I mentioned that before?) and this year was a retention year for her. The people have asked her to stay and she’s happy to oblige. And of course, Obama won. I’m quite happy about that. The husband and I have been making globetrotting plans since we met and we figured we’d have to move up the schedule on a move to London if Romney won. You know, there’s no better way to show your political loyalty than threatening to leave the country if your side loses. [Insert sarcastic face here]

Election was such fun. We had friends over to my parents who just got engaged. We had dinner and a fun little drinking game I made up based on the swing states. Having learned from 2008, the plan wasn’t just to drink every time Obama won. No one wanted alcohol poisoning, so we only had a shot if he won certain combinations of states. There was, of course, beer and wine to supplement while we waited for election results. We popped a bottle of champagne when the official results came in, then turned from MSNBC to FOX news to giggle at their attempts to undermine the results. Nothing like putting negative spin on facts to make them less fact-like.

After the election night fun, it was back to the grind. Settling into my new job has been interesting. Lots more to do, and I’m looking forward to it. It just hit me now while I’m writing this post that I’ve spent no date-like time with the husband in a while. This weekend he’s in St. Louis, last weekend he was on the East Coast. And with my changing schedule, there just hasn’t been time. We’re going to do something about that so we don’t ever slip into complacency. It’s the choices you make everyday people. If we can’t make it happen while it’s just the two of us (plus our crazy cats), we’ll have no hope once we make offspring.

Any good date ideas for me and the husband?


Having Crazy Dreams

In the weeks leading up to my wedding, I started having nightmares. Back then I was blogging about my wedding on Weddingbee, so I’d heard of pre-wedding nightmares. They usually consisted of missing dresses, missing grooms, missing guests, etc. My nightmares were nothing like that. Mine included hundreds of unfamiliar eyes, staring at me unrelentingly, and ruining the intimacy of my whole day.

The nightmares got worse the closer the wedding was. I think I freaked out the husband (then fiancé) by asking if we could not get married as planned. But once I assured him that I definitely wanted to get married, just not as planned, he fixed it. We got married early with 20 people in attendance, including us, the ministers, and the musician. It was amazing and intimate and everything I wanted, and my nightmares immediately ended. I slept great the next three nights leading up to the big ass wedding we had with 300+ people in attendance.

Since then, I haven’t had many nightmares. I’ve always been an either happy dreamer or prescient dreamer. Crazy unhappy dreams aren’t really my thing. So when the bad dreams started again, I was frustrated to find the husband couldn’t quickly fix it for me. Well, I didn’t have to even “find” it out. I already knew because the dreams are work related, and obviously the husband can’t fix work-related anxiety manifesting itself through crappy ass dreams.

This most recent dream involved me showing up to work after a week off only to find that three younger siblings of an ex had been hired. They were hired to replace three people who got promoted to fill supervisor positions. Two of the three people promoted to supervisor were a couple, making their dual promotion all the more unlikely.

I’ve been hinting toward this for weeks without directly talking about it, but this dream likely makes it clear  to you, my dear readers, that I’m currently waiting to hear about a possible promotion at work. Armed with that additional knowledge, perhaps you can imagine how harrowing this dream was. To have my co-workers replaced by siblings of an ex is bad enough. The detail of why the rest is so bad isn’t even important because it’s the siblings of an ex!!

Oh how I wish the husband could fix this for me. The higher ups at my office will decide soon enough though. If I get the promotion, great. And if I don’t, I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll be fine. It’s really the not knowing that is the problem. I hate feeling this anxiety. Considering it’s only happened to me twice in the last year, I should be grateful. There are a lot of people who experience far worse anxiety, some in my own family.

I’ll just keep my fingers crossed that they decide soon. I really don’t want to see who will pop up in my dreams the next couple of days if this remains unsettled.


Trying To Enter Trader Joe’s

The husband and I went to brunch yesterday. It was after hours of work getting our main bedroom together. It was note to take some time out of the day top just hang out and try a new place. The brunch was just so-so, but it happened to be across the street from a Trader Joe’s. Just Google it if you’ve never heard of this store. Because of how literally close it was to our brunch spot, we decided to pop in. I really wanted to get some citrus fruit so I could make fresh-squeezed orange juice, lemonade, and limeade. But that place was hard to get into if you are walking up to the building as opposed to driving. This South Loop store was right on the corner, so I assumed the entrance could be found on the corner. I was extra wrong. We got to the corner to see no door. Three was an awning, so we tried that, but it just had an apartment buzzer, and no entrance to the store. So we walked back to and around the corner. We finally found a door–with a sign on it explainingthe store’s entrance was on the north side. At that moment, we were on the south side. Not wanting to re-trace my steps, we went around the other way through a kind of sketchy parking lot. When we finally rounded around to the north side of the building, there was an entire parking lot dedicated to just Trader Joe’s. And there was a big ass grocery store entrance. How we managed to miss that is still a mystery. Our brunch place was directly across the street from this store and we were parked to the north. You may ask why we went through so much trouble. Well, once the husband and I are in a car, it’s just hard as hell to get us to a grocery store. I’m a Peapod kind of lady. He’s an only-go-to-the-store-when-my-dinner-is-at-risk kind of man. And the store was just right there, so convenient. And I was really craving fresh-squeezed. If you’ve never squeezed your own orange juice, you’ve got to try it. The taste is just so fresh and good. I can’t even drink the store bought juice anymore. So, we finally get into the store and get my fruit. And two bottles of wine. The wine only made me feel partly better, so we went to our favorite place for chocolate based desserts. We stopped on the way at this place called t-shirt deli. I got an I ♡ bacon sweatshirt made. That plus a glass of prosecco made me feel a lot better about my idiotic moment earlier. Seriously, how did I not see that entire parking lot? I think I’m going to have a glass of wine to go with my fresh orange juice.


Letting The Relaxing Commence

I’m sitting on the precipice of an amazing and rare event. I’m about to have basically an entire week off of work, and I didn’t have to take PTO to do it. My legs feel lighter, and the bottomless fatigue I’ve been carrying for a few days now is dissipating.

I feel damn good y’all. There been a lot going on at work and home, and I just can’t wait to step back from it all and breathe. For work, that’s means only focusing on it if they call my cell or contact my personal email. Both have happened before, and with all that’s been going on lately, it’s likely they will in this next week, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

At home, I’m looking forward to finally having time to tackle my most recent great idea for making our apartment a little better. I’m hoping and wishing I can make some real progress so that I don’t finish unpacking the day before our lease is up. That would suck.

When it comes to our apartment, I feel like I’ve landed myself on a list. It’s a list no new wife wants to be on, at least not one who prides herself on taking good care of her husband.

There is some Council of Good Wives out there somewhere, and those bitches are judging me. They cook dinner each night and the floor is always swept. And they always have a stupid ass sunny disposition.

It’s too early in my marriage to concede defeat on this yet. I may never earn my way into the Council, but I can at least get off their list. I just feel like if I can make a real dent and get on top of, or even ahead of, the problem.

So I will try to get my house together.

And I will also try to get some “do nothing” time this weekend.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll improve enough to be considered for membership in the Council of Good Wives.


Watching The Clouds Clear

Things are back on track at home. The husband and I have come up with a plan to response our issue. My urge to kick him in the head has resolved.

It wasn’t fixed  overnight, like these back to back posts probably suggest. But it was fixed in one weekend. From Friday night to Monday morning, we fumed and fought. The conclusion we reached isn’t even really one we both love, but it’s a solution that should work.

I used to think there needed to be a readjustment period after a disagreement. But being married to the man I am, there is no adjustment period. We just dive right back into happy couplehood.

It used to cause a little bit of whiplash, but now I appreciate it. I’ve learned how not to sulk once an argument is finished. And believe me, I know how to sulk. So now once an issue is resolved, we just go back to sweet texts and kind words. It’s very nice.

I hope the next argument is far off. And I hope we handle it as well as we have been learning to.

Now that I think about it, I know what the next fight is going to be about. It’s going to concern whose job it is to vacuum the 4 square feet of carpet we have in our living room. Ahem–it’s the husband.