He should've known better

To warm up before our kickball game last night, we were practicing catching pop flies. K and a couple of our other stronger kickers took turns firing balls toward us in the outfield.

I felt like we were in The Replacements or something. Most of us were dropping them and just generally seeming pretty "off."

That is, except for our newlywed teammates who just got back from their honeymoon on Sunday. When they both managed to make pretty good catches right in a row, K called out to our team, "THAT's how it's done! That's it, everyone go on a honeymoon now."

I screamed out from center field -- with perhaps a bit too much fire -- "I'D LOVE TO!"

Confidence: I needs it.

I have a confidence problem.

I can go up to any stranger and strike up a conversation (although, if it's a guy who's alone and I'm not with anyone, I always worry he'll think I'm hitting on him, which would probably make him feel awkward ... which makes me feel awkward). That's not the kind of confidence I'm missing (although, come to think of it, I'm often thinking to myself when I'm the one talking in those situations, "I sound like an idiot. Why am I telling this story? He/she doesn't care!").

What I'm missing is confidence in my abilities. 

I don't think I'm a very good writer. There are occasional posts here where I feel like I really expressed myself as I meant to. While I have gotten compliments on my writing for pretty much my entire life, I still feel like it's something I used to be good at, but that I lost it somewhere. I honestly feel like I just write the way I talk. That probably came from my job back when I started this little blog ... a job that involved editing a lot of letters and columns by both journalists and wannabe journalists. Too many people tried to come off like literary geniuses, using words they never say in real life (and are likely using incorrectly) and throwing in a couple uses of the word "whom" (again, often incorrectly) to try to make them sound more intelligent. Lame. And also obvious. And annoying.

Confidence is my big problem with kickball. When I go up to the plate to kick, I'm thinking, "Crap. Here's another out. Sorry, teammates." And if I manage to keep the ball on the ground (instead of popping it up, where it's easily catchable) and actually get to first before the ball does, when my teammates compliment me on my kick, I assume they're just being nice. Like they're trying to be supportive and are excited for me that I, the sucky girl, actually got on base. I don't take it as a rude thing; I just feel like I know my role.

I have the same problem with pop flies in kickball. They take SO long to get to me, and the whole time I'm thinking, "I'm gonna miss it. I'm gonna miss it. Ohshitohshitohshit." The balls that scream at me when I'm on third? I'll totally catch those easily. No time to think about it. 

And photography. I feel like I have an eye for it, but that doesn't mean I can do it myself. When people compliment my photos, I think they must either not really know about photography, or they're just being nice. 

Just yesterday, I sent out some pictures of our kickballer friends' wedding a few weeks ago. A friend of mine whose dad was a wedding photographer and who dabbles in it a bit herself emailed me: 

Shit, girl! These are awesome! Can I share your link with a couple people at work? I have a couple of friends that are really interested in photography and are always looking to see good work. If not, totally cool. Just thought these are so great that they deserve extra sharing.

I figured she was being nice. That she'd noticed the lighting was inconsistent and that some of the backgrounds were washed out, and she wanted to send them to her coworkers as an example of what could've been better and how. Again, it's not because I think she's mean or that I took her actually very nice and awesome email in a rude way. I just didn't believe it.

That is, until K messaged me yesterday saying the girl's boyfriend had sent him a message yesterday morning: "Janet says MLIB should be hired as a photographer."

This confidence thing is the reason I don't dance, that I didn't play sports when I was younger, and actually part of the reason I didn't become a TV reporter. In a field full of job-hungry, often cocky people who are willing to do whatever they have to do to get a job, I'd have been eaten alive.

Speaking of jobs, every time I've been hired for a job, I kid you not, I think, "Man, I'm glad no one else applied for this job." Because clearly, if there was competition, I'd lose. Despite the fact I have a great resume and do well in interviews.

The confidence issue is part of why I was so unhappy in my first job. A decent portion of my daily duties involved writing headlines that hundreds of thousands of people would read, and it was hard for me to feel like I was good at something so subjective. That's why I liked editing: The rules were black and white (for the most part).

Whether it's my looks, cooking, baking ... heck, even leaving voice messages or dressing/accessorizing myself, I always feel like it's not good enough.

Maybe it's impossible standards. Maybe it's modesty to a fault.

Whatever it is, I sure wish I could crank it down a few notches.

Oh, the in-laws ...

What makes it so universally frustrating/annoying/difficult to spend time with people who you didn't grow up with, but who suddenly became your family all because you signed a legal document forever binding you to a person who did grow up with said group?

If I lost you there, I'm talking about in-laws. And if you still haven't caught up yet, well, mine visited this weekend. And they drove me freakin' crazy.

K's brother Bill (get it? BIL?) is 16 years older than him. That puts him at just 5 years younger than my dad, and only 2 years younger than my mom!

K and Bill are pretty different. K is married; Bill is divorced (as of 3 or 4 years ago). K has been in the Army for 13 years; Bill is in a good, but unstable and dangerous job (that he might quit this week and start with a new company next week). K loves gadgets; Bill loves toys in general -- his guns, his four-wheeler, his motorcycle, his drum set, his camera and lenses (he has more lenses than I do, and he's not even into photography like I am!) ...

At 48 years old, it's hard for me to understand how Bill can constantly talk in cartoon voices, drum incessantly, and burp out loud at the dinner table. My dad and brother weren't big belchers (thank God! I even hate that word), so it's just not something I'm used to hearing. It's repulsive. And following it up with "excuse me" doesn't make it any less rude that you just burped out loud at the dinner table!

Bill is also a billboard reader. Actually, he comments on everything in the car: license plates, billboards, stickers on cars, types of cars ... I think he just likes to think out loud. It drives me crazy!

Over the course of the in-laws' visit, K and I found ourselves in places I've never been before -- the army surplus store and a Harley Davidson store. Not exactly our scene. And all this was on a beautiful, sunny day, when all K and I wanted to do was go to the beach or the pool.

I felt bad for being a bit frustrated, but K admitted he felt that way too. I shot him secret, horrified glances over dinner last night as his 14-year-old nephew followed in his dad's footsteps, burping loudly and immediately excusing himself. Bill followed with his own, and his son one-upped. K finally said, "Come on!" to them to get them to stop.

All this just makes me ready for this weekend, when we head back to OK for my family reunion.

Where, instead of burping at the table, there will be sounds I'm more used to: farting. (I kid you not, my dad would fart in front of the president. Which might be why I don't mind that K is more of a farter than a burper.)

Where, instead of discussing guns and impersonating cartoon voices (which I am eternally grateful that K doesn't do), the men in my family will talk about car races. And instead of the army surplus store and the Harley store, we may find ourselves at the local dirt track race, where my brother will help on the pit crew for a family friend or two.

Where we spend most of our time sitting at my dad's store, chatting with my grandparents and dad and any regular customer who stops in, has been coming in since I was 12, and hasn't seen me in a few years. Where, instead of nonstop chatter, my family members respond to entire conversations with a thoughtful, if not distracted, "Hmm." And at home, my dad may just fall asleep in the middle of a conversation, but I will know it's because he's been up since 6 a.m. and on his feet the majority of that time.

Where we'll stay the night at my dad's bachelor pad, where it's extremely difficult to take a shower, thanks to the spray nozzle that isn't connected to the wall (but to look on the bright side, would be really convenient for washing a dog, if my dad had one). But I know that my dad is excited to own this house, and after a long day on his feet, fixing a spray nozzle that isn't that inconvenient for a man with short hair doesn't top his to-do list.

Maybe to K, sitting inside that grocery store for hours on end is as brutal as standing inside an army surplus store for 30+ minutes while waiting for his nephew to decide to buy a flashlight was for me. But at the end of the day, I'm sure deep down he enjoys his time with his in-laws because, just like I was with his brother and nephew, he's glad to see them and knows how much I enjoy the visit.

But it's also why -- for both our sanity -- we make sure to keep visits with in-laws of either side pretty brief.

Soundtrack

Isn’t it funny how a song can take you right back to the past? I’m listening to my iPod today, and O.A.R.’s “Shatter” came on. Immediately, it’s late September 2009.

I’m sitting in the airport with K and his roommate. They’re both waiting on their flight back to Iraq from R&R. As a military spouse, I was given a special pass (after showing a few legal documents) by the USO that would allow me to go back to the boarding area with K. It was a coincidence that his roommate was there at the same time. The guys had a couple hours until their flight, so we went to Chili’s for lunch.

K’s roommate talked about all the music he’d downloaded, catching up on the new songs that had come out in the 9 months they’d already been gone. “I’m really liking that new song by O.A.R.,” he said. “Have you heard it?”

K and I (rock fans) shook our heads. Bryan started singing the lyrics: “You know, ‘How many times can I break ‘til I shatter …’? Something like that. Good song.”

Naturally, I heard it after that. And downloaded it. And associated it with that day.

Just like I associate “Low” with K, Bryan, and Bryan’s fiancé (now wife), since my first experience with “the ‘boots with the fur’ song” came when Bryan talked about how much his fiancé loved it and how it had come on when they were out in Houston the previous weekend. We were all sitting on the floor or an air mattress – the sole furniture left in their apartment, since they were leaving for 15 months – when it came on Bryan’s playlist.

Or how Flyleaf’s “All Around Me” can still make me tear up. It’s one of the songs that randomly made me cry on the way to work. And there’s Lonestar’s “I’m Already There,” which made me cry in the dentist chair.

Deployments are fresh on my mind again, given K’s bomb he dropped late Wednesday night. After holding it together all day at work (yet getting nothing done because I couldn’t concentrate), I was finally able to cry about it on my way home.

When I got to the house, K’s brother & co. (the four guests at our house) were there. I had expected them to be gone, still out at their amusement park trip. I had to just keep my sunglasses on and head up to our room to avoid a “what’s wrong with your eyes?” conversation. K and I were rushing off to a kickball game anyway, so I had a good excuse.

K was frustrated at me, though, for being upset. We talked about it as we drove to our game. I told him how I had thought we were safe from deployments for another year or so—which to me meant they weren’t even going to be a possibility. I told K I understood that he was the one bringing this up (as opposed to the military in the form of orders) and that nothing was necessarily happening. But I also understand his reasoning and have to agree that it’s what makes sense.

I told him I was just adjusting to the possibility. “This is you adjusting?!” he asked incredulously.

I don’t know if that means he’s worried I won’t handle the deployment well. But I’ve been through 2 of these stupid things, and I handled them like a champ, if I do say so myself. That doesn’t mean I have to like it. K told me that he never lets himself think deployments are out; that people get called up individually all the time. I know these things. But that doesn’t make it easier to talk about.

“See, this is why I hate being in a non-deployable unit,” K said. “You get comfortable.”

That last statement seemed funny in several ways. I mean, how could we not be thinking about combat zones and training and missions and separation? Who stops thinking about that?!

“I’m sorry! I married you because I like hanging out with you!”  

K’s tone changed after that comment. It’s part of his job to hold it together and think logically and always be ready for deployments and be a badass and not break in front of his soldiers. He’s good at all those things.  

But I didn’t join the military (well, I guess I partially did by marrying into it). But I never took an oath swearing to serve and protect. And while I may not have a role in the “protect” portion of K’s duty, I sure as hell still have to serve.

I’m proud of that role. I’m proud of K for what he does.

And when he does deploy, whether it’s from here or from some other place we’re stationed, I’ll be a badass about it then. But I can be a little upset about it now. 

The d-word

K and I were on our way home from the bar after kickball. We had given a friend from another team a ride home.

"We have to have a big party and invite their whole team over. I really like them."

K agreed.

"Maybe for our birthdays! I really do want to do a big blowout this year for my 28th. I mean, since we're moving next summer, well be getting settled and won't do anything big next year. And you'll probably be deployed for my 30th. Woo-fucking-who. Let's celebrate now."

"Yeah," K said, "I've been thinking about that. Maybe I should just deploy from here."

It was like a punch in my stomach.

"What?"

"Since you have a support system here."

"What do you mean? How could you do that?" I know that there's always a good chance that K will deploy again. I tell myself that I expect it, but it will never lessen the blow. But he's not attached to a unit that would deploy. I thought we were in the clear for the next year or so.

"Well, I could volunteer to go so I can guarantee that I go to [training K is hoping for next summer] afterward."

I sure as hell didn't see that coming. "When were you thinking about this?"

"Just the other day."

"Well, I don't think this is a good time to talk about it. But we're definitely going to have to have a conversation later." It was 2 a.m. We had just turned onto our street, heading toward our house, where four guests were asleep inside. Plus, the sudden dropping of the "d-word" had quickly magnified the effects of my beer and a half and shot at the bar.

"Every time there's a deployment, I feel like we're tempting fate. Whether it's you, or friends ..."

"Every time we get behind the wheel of a car, we're tempting fate," K said.

"Yeah, but driving isn't the same as being in a combat zone."

I've often wondered what it must be like to be married to someone without having to worry about deployments or even lengthy field exercises. I told K this as we climbed into bed. "There's always something else," he said. Thinking logically. Like short business trips or office retreats can be compared to months spent apart while he's in combat.

Even though in a way it was just normal work talk to him -- and not even anything coming down in the form of orders or official plans -- I still feel rattled today. I got through the previous deployments, but K's Iraq deployment was the toughest and longest 14 months of my life.

And as much as I try to tell myself I know another one will come, it sure feels a lot different to actually talk about when it could happen.

The girl with the heart condition

I'm never blogged about it in depth before, but I have a heart condition called supraventricular tachycardia. I was diagnosed with it when I was 16. The way my doctor explained tachycardia to me then was that we all have a spot in our heart that regulates our pulse. Those of us with tachycardia have a bad spot that wants the heart to beat much faster -- in my case, 200+ beats a minute (often even higher than 230) faster. Occasionally, that spot takes over for a while, resulting in an "episode."

The doc said I'll have more frequent episodes as I age, and that they'll last longer. I can opt to have surgery where doctors insert tubes into my veins through my hip and shoulder to electrocute and kill the "bad spot." But it's not a serious condition -- just something that might annoy me enough someday to have the surgery.

He seemed pretty unconcerned about the condition (his wife even has it!), so I never worried about it. I'd have episodes from time to time, but they're really just a temporary inconvenience. I compare them to asthma, although the episodes are not as serious: I will always have symptoms from time to time.

When I have an episode, it's harder for me to catch my breath. It's never even close to something to panic about. I just take really really really deep breaths. Episodes can last as little as a few seconds, and once as long as several hours (that was the longest by FAR). It's instantly clear when an episode starts because of how hard my heart starts beating -- so hard you can see it through my shirt (heck, even through a band uniform). My doctor had told me the way to get an episode to stop is to stand on my head (no lie), so I'll usually try to find somewhere to lie down and put my legs over my head.

When the episodes last a long time, I start feeling pretty tired. If they last longer (like 30+ minutes), my left arm can start to feel tingly, and every once in a while my chest will hurt. As soon as the episode is done, though, the tiredness and tingly arm go away. (Once when I was in college, I had an episode start when I was in the car with my boyfriend. I said, "My pulse started," so he waited until the last minute to stop at a stoplight. I thought we were going to rear-end the car in front of us, which kickstarted my pulse and made it go back to normal. It worked, but it actually hurt like hell. It felt like my heart was twisting or something.)

My doctor in Dallas seemed a little more concerned with my condition. I've had ultrasounds on my heart, and EKGs ... I've even worn a Holter monitor for a few days. Everything always comes back normal. My Dallas doctor gave me two options (since I think the surgery is unnecessary): 1) I have to stop whatever I'm doing when I have an episode until it's done. 2) I could take beta blockers to alleviate symptoms. They would make me fatigued quicker, and I would have a steady, slow pulse at all times -- whether I'm on a roller coaster, working out, or sitting on the couch watching TV. That sounded so lame to me. Like not living.

I like feeling my heart beating like crazy when I'm sprinting or toughing out my kettlebell class. I remember how hard and fast my heart started beating when I found out about my kickball friend last month. None of these are episodes, but normal reactions to life. It makes me feel alive.

To be honest, I never thought about tachycardia often until lately. I never thought of it as a limitation, but as an extra little hurdle I have to deal with from time to time. 

But then, just 4 days after running my marathon last November, I got turned away from donating blood because of tachycardia. And last week, I got denied for placement on the bone marrow donor registry because of it. Even if I have the surgery or take beta blockers, both of those would disqualify me for the donation as well. 

I don't have episodes very often, but every month or two I'll go through a phase where I have a few pretty close together before another dry spell. I'm in an episode phase right now.

I had my first episode in a while on Wednesday at a kickball scrimmage. As I laid with my legs up in the air, hidden behind trees so the other kickballers wouldn't make a fuss (pretty sure none of them know I have a condition), one of my teammates was arriving. Naturally, she asked what I was doing, so I mumbled something about a minor heart condition and getting it to stop. Another episode came when we were on the field, so I had to tell my team I needed to sit out. I hollered for an outfielder to take my spot at 3rd base.

As I walked off the field, someone said, "Did you get stung by a bee again?" (True story: I got stung by a bee during our game last week.)

"No."

"Is it your knees?" someone else asked.

"No."

"Is it your heart?" my teammate who'd caught me stopping the earlier episode asked.

"Yeah." Someone cracked a joke about my many problems. It wasn't meant in a rude way or to call me weak or anything like that, but it's exactly why I don't tell anyone about the heart condition (unless an episode happens around them) and probably why I don't think much of it. It's one thing to be the girl with the shitty knees. But the girl with shitty knees AND a heart condition? No thanks.

And last night at kettlebell, another episode. Right at the start of the last song. Do you know how hard it is for me to tough out a hardcore class like that for 52 minutes, only to leave in the last 3? It f*ing sucked.

Part of the reason I had never thought of tachycardia as a weakness is because most of the time, it doesn't keep me from doing normal things. I can go on about my business without most people knowing I even have it. I can pretend I don't.

Until lately, with the blood donation and the bone marrow donation, the only times I had had to accept that it is a weakness was when an episode was happening -- from the humbling, frustrating second it begins to the relieving moment it ends.

The concert

Mumford & Sons was amazing. Somehow even moreso than I thought they'd be. I've never seen a band have so much fun making music. And we had a blast listening. The crowd was dancing around, singing along, and cheering so loudly.

You could tell how humbled the band was. Evidently this is their first tour, and they explained to us that the show was their biggest gig yet. Throughout the show, you could see them exchanging glances that said, "I can't believe this is happening!"

They opened with "Sigh No More," the first song on their album. I actually teared up watching them because it really was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen.

I didn't feel so bad about that when the big screen after "Little Lion Man" showed some late-40s man with red, teary eyes. And a girl walking near us as we pushed our way out of the venue was talking about how she "wept. Like, bawled."

I'm pretty sure it was impossible to stand still through that concert. To resist the overwhelming urge to dance to the uplifting music. To keep from smiling like a jackass at the energy in that pavilion and the men loving every minute of playing on that stage.

Mumford & Sons sang three or four new songs along with most every other song (maybe all, actually) from their album. When the band headed backstage after about an hour and a half of playing, the crowd roared until they came back out for their encore, "The Cave" (of course).

It was the most fun concert I've ever been to.

Totally worth not getting home until 3 a.m. on Friday (and having to work that full day).

My husband is awesome

Last Saturday, K and I went to a wedding of some friends on our kickball team. After the wedding, we all (including bride & groom!) went out to a bar.

K had taken his ring off. I pinched him jokingly. "What are you doing?"

"I'm fixing it. I had it on backwards."

"What do you mean, you had it on backwards?" K's ring is solid and symmetrical.

He was looking on the inside of the band. "I always wear it the way you put it on me."

I was stunned. "You know which way I put the ring on you? How do you know that?"

He explained. "I took it off after the wedding and looked at the stamp inside so I'd know."

It was one of the sweetest things I've ever heard. I might have cried a little.

Exciting night ahead

I don't know how many of you took my advice about Mumford & Sons, but I'm still loving their album. Since I saw the footage of them playing at the Grammys before Bob Dylan, I knew I had to see them live.

Their energy was amazing, and they sounded exactly the same live as on the album. I definitely never thought I'd see someone headbang to music involving a banjo. The band looked like they were having a ball. The audience looked like they were having a ball.

I've been curious ever since about what it's like to see Mumford & Sons live.

I'll let you know tomorrow.

!!!!

Peace out, pills!

I haven't posted about it yet (let's be honest, I haven't posted at all lately), but I'm off the pill. I took my last one on May 14. I started the prenatals on May 16 (I was scared to start them for some reason, like it meant we were actually trying or something).

I was scared. I've heard stories. Stories of breakouts and terrible cramps. What if I had crazy mood swings or something? What if I suddenly stopped liking K? (I have a friend who once read a study about how the pill can make us choose partners we wouldn't normally choose. She was worried being on the pill influenced her choice in husband. In her case, it makes sense, seeing as how nobody else is crazy about the guy.)

Messing with hormones makes me very nervous. I had a bad experience when I was about 20 and my doctor switched me to a different kind of pill. It took me several months (4, maybe?) of being in a really crappy mood before my boyfriend asked if it might have something to do with the switch. (It did. When I switched back to my original kind, the world was good again.)

Obviously I did not want to go through something like that again. But considering I'd been on the pill for almost 10 years, it was time to give my body a break.

So far (knock on wood), it's a good thing. A really good thing, actually. I haven't noticed any changes with my skin. I'll find out about the cramping thing in a few days. I'm a little nervous about that, but I'll have to deal with it no matter what.

As for K? I actually like him even more. It's been a great few weeks for us. (wink wink)

My mood as a whole has been awesome. I remember when I was in high school and early college, I was always really happy. Like, really happy. In psychology class, we learned about serotonin (from Wikipedia: "a well-known contributor to feelings of well-being; therefore it is also known as a 'happiness hormone,' despite not being a hormone"), and I decided I might just have higher levels than most people. Feeling elated was a common thing for me. It was awesome.

I hadn't felt that way in a while, and I decided it was just something that had faded with my youth. Sad, but part of life. I would still get that feeling from time to time, but it generally happened around events I was really excited about -- walking around OU with ER for homecoming, getting our closest friends together for our wedding ... Normal, I know, but a change for me.

Lately, though, I feel back to my giddy self. Take today, for example: I'm in a good mood at work. That's huge for me at this place! I'm being more productive, which adds to the good feelings.

I'm hoping that these changes are attributed to letting my body's natural hormones take control. I've wondered if maybe they slip something into the prenatal vitamins to make you feel a little more giddy and lovey, which leads to activities that make you glad you took the vitamins, but frankly? I don't think that's why they're in business.

I know it's still early with this whole pill-free thing, but so far, it's freakin' awesome!

Ramblings on shopping

So I found out a couple weeks ago that evidently I like to shop when I'm sad. At least in this instance, I got things I'd been thinking about for a long time, and in a way, I kind of saved money. Kind of.

See, at lunch that day, I bought a pair of shoes for a wedding we're going to in early June. I knew what I wanted and had planned to go several times before, but I finally made it that day. After trying on every pair of nude heels in the store, I found the top pair for $50 ... and a really cute clutch on sale for less than $20.

That night, I stopped at Target while I was out buying a gift for a friend's wedding shower the next day. Since I felt like wandering aimlessly, I headed over to the shoe department, where I found myself in front of a pair of even better nude heels for half the price. (I just took the first pair back today.)

Back at home, I took advantage of a free shipping offer at Victoria's Secret by ordering every pushup swimsuit top they sell so I could find the one that would make me not look like a boy in a bikini (and send back all but one top).

And I ordered a couple necklaces I'd been eyeing on Etsy for several months, thanks to clicking on my listing of favorites and seeing one of them -- a hot air balloon necklace that reminds me of our first anniversary -- had sold. As soon as I saw the seller had posted an identical necklace under a new listing, I snatched it up with a camera necklace ... which I'm wearing today.

Trying to sport the double necklace look today ...

I love the camera necklace, but an unintended side effect is that it now reminds me of the day I ordered it. In time, I think that could be a good thing ...

Luckily, these were all purchases I'd thought about for a long time. Luckily, K doesn't think I have a shopping problem (I'm not sure if I agree).

Luckily, I don't get sad often.

Oops ... dude moment

May 23, 2009: It was a day that was in the works for over two years -- our "I Do, Part 2" ceremony. It was the day K and I had our "real" wedding -- in a church, with a reception, and almost all our friends and family there.

It was a beautiful, special, long-awaited day ...

... that turned into one hell of a party ...

... that I completely forgot about today ...

... That is, until I got an email from K's aunt wishing me a "Happy Dallas anniversary."

Whoops!

At least someone remembered, right?

For the record ('cause we get asked this a lot), we celebrate the September wedding -- the one where we actually became legally married -- as our wedding anniversary. Although we didn't live in the same state for almost two years after (heck, we didn't live on the same continent for 14 months of it!), it was a tough time in our relationship that I definitely want credit for!

It's funny because it's true

Saw this preview last night before Bridesmaids. The last part of it (starting at 2:20) had me laughing so hard I was crying. For several minutes.


The Change-Up Trailer by teasertrailer

*For the record, I make K leave the bathroom if I have to really go. I related to this because once we moved to VA together, K had no qualms about doing anything in the bathroom when I was in there. Just wanted to clear the air there.  

Story of my life

I have a date tonight with a group of girls. We're headed out for dinner and to see the movie Bridesmaids.

It's a girls' night. I never get those. I'm always lobbying for those (specifically the kind where we get really dressed up for the hell of it).

The sad part is, I'm not really looking forward to it. Things have been so hectic the last few weeks that K and I haven't spent any time together. We've spent lots of time together with other people -- we even had a guest with us all weekend -- but none just the two of us.

Leave it to me to finally get my girl time ... and only want to spend time with my husband (who has kickball practice tonight anyway).

A lesson in perspective

I wish I could tell you that my day got better on Friday -- that K and I worked out our argument, and that my day was productive and great from there.

The first part happened. K and I did talk around 3:15. It was good to clear things up, get our apologies out, and feel better again. I wanted to be able to hug him, but at least I could have my head clear to at least make the end of my day productive.

For about 20 minutes, it was nice.

And then I found out one of my kickball friends died. He wasn't on my team, and he was new to the league this season. I met him the first week. He was so fun and full of life. I didn't know him well, but these traits were obvious to anyone who interacted with him. He was someone I looked forward to seeing after the games each week. He was 23.

I felt a little silly for how upset I was about the whole thing. I've only known him for a few weeks, and even then, we've only talked a handful of times. It's just shocking and heartbreaking when you lose someone so young.

With that news, I just called it a day and left work a little after 4. There was no way I was going to get anything done anyway.

It put my day into perspective, obviously, but it was a frustrating way to deliver that lesson. I really do believe that everything happens for a reason and that we all go when it's our time. I believe these things because I trust that God has a plan and, frankly, it's comforting to think there's a plan. Especially when someone so smart, so loved, so full of life and energy, and someone with so much to give is taken from us so unexpectedly.

Needless to say, I'm glad it's a new week.

Gloomy day

I am in such a funk today. K and I went over to some friends' house last night for dinner. It was delicious, and it was a nice night ... until a little after 11. I was ready to go home, since I wanted to get to bed a little early. I've been exhausted for the last week-plus (lots of traveling and social stuff), so I was excited for an early night. I guess K wasn't on the same page.

By 11, I was telling K I thought we should head home soon. He didn't agree. I reminded him that we all had work today, but he acted surprised that I'd even want to go home already. I told our friends to kick us out if they were ready for bed. I hoped they would say something, but they didn't. At 11:15, I curled up and went to sleep on their couch (which I often do at this couple's house, because everyone always winds up either staying up until 3 a.m. on weekends playing board game after card game, or they play video games, which I find extremely boring to watch).

Shortly before midnight, K woke me up to tell me we were headed home. I was annoyed. I wanted to be in my bed, with brushed teeth and washed face, asleep. When we got outside, I asked why we'd stayed so late. I told K it was rude that we had stayed so late. K said, "We stay at the bar until after midnight after kickball!"

"A bar is a business. That's why it's open. Their home is not a business." Seriously, this couple eats dinner at 5 most nights. I know they go to bed earlier than we do.

I was frustrated, annoyed, and half-asleep. I was cussing, but not speaking much differently than K and I usually do. But for some reason, K got mad. When we got in my car, K refused to drive home. He said I was being bitchy and ridiculous. I told him I was being completely rational. Finally, I said, "Put the f*ing car in drive and go!"

K refused. He demanded I stop "talking to [him]" that way. I wasn't cussing at him or calling him names, and frankly, I didn't cuss until I met him. I got it from him. I didn't know why he was suddenly bent out of shape. He still refused to move the car. He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms. I told him if he didn't drive, I was walking home. He still didn't move.

I had two choices: 1) punch him in the face, or 2) walk home. These friends only live about a mile from our house, so I went with option 2. With every step, I felt angrier and angrier.

He eventually started the car, and he pulled into the next neighborhood and waited for me. When I got in, he was driving like a jerk, peeling out, slamming on the brakes at the stoplight, and almost squealing the tires on turns. He tends to drive like that when he's annoyed and driving my car. I told him to stop, but he didn't.

"Why do you always drive my car like a jerk when you're mad?! I don't do that to yours!"

K's response: "Well, if your car wasn't such a piece of shit, I wouldn't."


"Oh, I'm sorry I couldn't get deployed, come home, and buy a car straight off the lot!" was my response.

I can't believe he said that about my car. It's a 2003 Honda Accord. It's a nice car, and I actually get compliments on it. People always think it's much newer. It's in great condition, and it has all the upgrades offered on that car. It even has heated seats (which K's car doesn't have). I love my car. (My favorite part is that it's paid off. And I bought it myself.)

When we got home, K slept on the couch, which is what I had planned to do. There was no way I could fall asleep in the same bed as that guy. We ignored each other as we got ready for work this morning, until K came up to me right before he left for work, kissed me on the forehead, and said mechanically, "Have a good day." (We usually give each other a hug and a kiss before we leave.)

I'm still really upset about the whole thing, and I think he owes me an apology. I still don't think I was out of line in the least (getting out of the car may have been a little dramatic, but seriously, K was NOT going to  move it anytime soon).

And now this couple has emailed today to see if we want to go out for dinner. Frankly, I don't want to do anything with anybody.

I want to go home, I want to clean house a little bit, and I want to go to bed. Like by 10 p.m.

Today is not my favorite.

Pardon my cattiness, but ...

... I'm fucking brilliant.

I love photography. Love. It. In a perfect world, I would get paid to travel the world and take photos of beautiful landscape, and thousands of people would buy my pictures. I'd be "Ansela Adams," as a friend once (overgraciously) called me.

But the little secret I love most about landscape photography: As beautiful and sentimental as I find the photos I take on our travels, the thing about landscape photography is that I really didn't do anything. God did all the creating; I just do the capturing. If I just get a good angle or an artistic focus with the right composition, all of a sudden I look like a photographic genius.

Food photography, on the other hand? That's tough.

I was recently asked to help out with some food photography. As in, BE a food photographer. For menus. And ads. And a website.

Whoa. (I seriously instantly thought of L and GFF. They're both constantly posting mouth-watering pictures of fabulous food. If those were my pictures, I'd have felt a little more confident.)

I was honored and excited, but nervous. I mean, I've always taken photos for myself. If someone else likes them, perfect. If not, it doesn't matter. But this time, if I screwed up, I'd be costing someone else money and time because there would have to be a do-over. And given the people who were asking this of me, a do-over would not be awesome.

Without going into too much detail, because of other conflicts, someone else wound up doing the photo shoot. I went along, though, for another purpose, and I ultimately played backup photographer.

Today, I saw my photos and the primary photographer's photos. I got some pretty decent ones, but I was anxious to see the primary's images.  I don't mean to brag, but

MINE WERE TOTALLY BETTER!!!

Like, heads and tails better. Like, right thing in focus and perfect amount of sharpness on the main dish, with perfect blur on side dishes.

Who's ready for dinner?

I AM, after looking at these pictures!

I know it sounds mean and bitchy and catty and ugly, but I was just excited for my own little victory. For thinking I couldn't do it and for totally kicking ass.

I love photography.

A different kind of productivity than I'd hoped for

Things I need to do tonight:

• Fold laundry
• Go to Target and/or ULTA
• Go grocery shopping so friend staying at our house this weekend has food to eat
• Go to the gym and/or run
• Cook something of nutritional value for dinner
• Pack for North Carolina
• Figure out what I'm wearing to this weekend's concert
• Paint fingernails
• Go to bed early

Things I will actually be doing tonight (with K's help): 

• Get groceries for tonight's dinner
• Make rush dinner of no nutritional value (enchilada casserole & tacos) for unknown number of people
• Hurriedly tidy up (vacuum, clear off mail from dining room table)
• Host unknown number of people for spontaneous kickball Cinco de Mayo party at our house
• Stuff my face (again) with unhealthy garbage and wash it all down with beer 

Camping with my kickballers

Last night I was finally able to stay up long enough to finish editing all my camping pictures (camping is fun, but exhausting!). We only had to travel an hour to get to this campsite, but thanks to beautiful scenery, the two tunnels, and 18-mile bridge (actually, there were 3 tunnels, now that I think about it, but the tunnel to VAB is one we're used to taking), it felt like we had escaped somewhere much farther from home.

That gap in the road isn't a real-life Speed moment. It's a tunnel!

Loooooong, straight (that'swhatshesaid) bridge.

I don't know what this is, but I thought it was pretty. I guess it's a non-lighthouse? (Or is it?)

Setting up camp.

The neat bridge just a few yards away from us that led to the beach. 

Someone told us these were there to help create reefs. Whatever their purpose, they were pretty neat to look at.

Can you believe this sky?!

Poor little blue crab. :(  Further down this beach, there were tons of seashells.

K pretending to catch our food for the day.

There were antics ...

... and there was a lot of recycling.

Happy campers (Sorry, couldn't resist!).

We are so doing that again someday.

Weight on my shoulders

I am getting closer and closer each day to saying f* this place with my job.

I don't know specifically what it is, but I hate it. I really do. And it feels good to say it: I hate it.

I feel kind of lied to. I'm doing mundane shit that wasn't part of my initial job description.
I feel like communication blows. Too many people ask me to do things, and my boss isn't looped in.
I feel mistreated. My boss often given projects that have been let almost reach a deadline ... and with little to no direction or details on what has been done to that point.
I feel stressed. Not completely sure why, but it's always there.
I feel unhappy. Because I just don't want to be here.
I feel unsure. Because I think quitting would be the easy way out. The irresponsible thing to do.
I feel stuck. What would I do without a job? Be worthless. Watch TV. Waste away.
I feel ungrateful. So many people need jobs, want jobs ... and here I am bitching about mine.
I feel lazy. Am I just trying to get out of doing work I don't want to do?
I feel dishonest. I'm pretty unproductive at work a lot of times. It's frustration, exhaustion, and annoyance at processes. And sometimes when I try to be productive, I hit walls because of processes.
I feel selfish. Everyone has parts of their job they don't like or don't want to do.
I feel arrogant. Do I think I'm above some of these tasks? Everyone would love to have the mundane work taken out of their jobs.
I feel immature. Because I want a 9-5, non-weekend job that doesn't interfere with time with K and friends.

A lot of my dissatisfaction deals with my work environment. A lot of it deals with the work itself. A lot of it deals with my boss and that  leadership style.

I do enjoy some of what I do. I sometimes get excited about the work we do here.
This place and this work will look good on my resume.
Unfortunately, there are little to no journalism options in this area.
And K will be working down the street from me in months. That could be awesome. Maybe we could carpool.

For those last few reasons, I will stay. I will tough it out a little longer. I will ignore the stress. I will pretend I like being here.

But every day, I get more and more tempted to just tell my boss it's not working.

Dinner date

K and I had a dinner date tonight! We went to the Ch@mberlin, a beautiful restaurant on historic Fort M.onroe that we've wanted to visit for a while. Thanks to a Liv!ng Soc!al coupon that I bought months ago (and that expired -- you guessed it! -- today), we finally did. It was fantastic!

(Sorry the color is weird on these pictures. I'm too exhausted from camping this weekend -- more on that later -- to worry about it much right now.)

Fried shrimp battered in rice krispies. Surprisingly, unbelievably delicious!

K ordered duck. Also yummy.

My view at dinner

Beautiful restaurant! (Mondays aren't their busy night.)

The Chamberlin is actually a historic hotel. It kind of reminded me of The Shining.

The view outside the restaurant. You might recognize this shot from my run photos a few weeks ago.

Beautiful view off the balcony.

For a couple who doesn't really do date night often, this was a great choice!

I'm gonna make this look good

I pulled my hair out of my face today just to realize I'd moved enough back to show off a new highlight I'm sporting.

I've seen smaller ones around my hairline. Those first started appearing when I was 24 (when K was in Iraq and I was planning our second wedding). But this one is a full strand, somewhere in the middle of all my hair.

I'm pretty unphased about the gray itself. Honestly, I'm just excited to see that it's still curly. My hair was straight until I hit puberty, so I've worried that it could return to that texture just as easily as it switched before.

Another bonus: This strand totally matches my earrings!

Thank God for kickball

I really, really, really hate my job. I've been compiling a pro & con list about it in my head lately. Unfortunately, I'm probably going to just keep toughing it out because I like using my degree (it means those student loans and college education weren't a waste), I like having a paycheck, and I like feeling like I'm contributing to society (not that not working means you're not contributing).

But today is Wednesday. That means my night has in store for me a fun time with 20 great friends. And on this special kickball night, we have a later game, which means we're all gathering to eat pizza & have a beer before playing one of our favorite teams on the field later tonight.

I need this.

Good thing baking's my specialty!

K and I spent last weekend in PA visiting his family for Easter. I realized early last week that I wasn't at all excited about heading up there.

I guess it makes sense to not be gungho about driving so long (in one weekend) to spend the holidays with someone else's family, but they're my family too, even if they're not the family I grew up spending holidays with.

K's family definitely has different traditions than mine. Since they're Italian, pasta is pretty much always on the menu for holidays. That and antipasto. Both are delicious. Those are the staples, and all the others vary. Most of them, I haven't heard of.

It's very different from my family. With my family, there's always a ton of meat on the menu -- part of being a butcher's family. And my grandma and great-aunt make sure to keep us full with everything else. There are veggies, salad, iced tea (sweet, of course), and delicious rolls (though those aren't always homemade).

But the part I look forward to most is the dessert. The fruit salad in the red Jell-o (with nuts and other goodies) and the pies and the cookies (and fudge at Christmas!) that my grandma makes from scratch. They're all delicious, but the best one of all? Her peach cobbler. It's to-DIE-for delicious.

The dessert table at my grandma's house last Christmas. Everything here is made from scratch. And it doesn't even show her homemade fudge! (There's more!)

K's family, though, has no dessert table. When I spent Christmas with them last year, I couldn't wait to see what they had for dessert at the end of the meal. (Who doesn't look forward to Christmas dessert?)

Only there was none. There were only two tiny plates of tiny cookies. One looked like chocolate, though, and the other looked like some sort of cookie rolled in powdered sugar (my guess was a pecan cookie or something). I could handle those. Except that when I ate the cookies, the "chocolate" one was a pepper cookie, and the pecan powdered sugar cookie was something that tasted like black licorice (yuck!).

Last week, as I remembered that disappointment, I realized what my purpose was at K's family gatherings: to make dessert!

Obviously, I was going to go straight for the big guns: grandma's recipes. I could try her delicious peach cobbler, or go for her famous Italian cream cake. I let K make the decision, and he chose Italian cream.

I'd only made it once, and that was with Grandma when I went back home after Christmas in 2010 -- over a year ago.

It's one thing to bake with Grandma. It's quite another to try to bake like her ... and without her help.

So I did what I always do in this situation: Start baking, and keep the phone handy. I called my mom a couple times to decipher Grandma's recipe (She doesn't give all the instructions, and the recipe was in a weird order, since she had rattled it off to me off the top of her head.), and I called Grandma for the big stuff (Why can't I get my egg whites to look like meringue? How long do I have to wait to assemble the cake after it's done baking? [Can I wait a couple hours?] Will it be safe to store the cake in the garage when it's 50 degrees outside, since the refrigerator is full?).

In true MLIB style, I managed to make a pretty serious cosmetic error -- I was so worried about properly "folding in" my egg whites (now in proper consistency, thanks to my stand mixer and the super-duper high setting) to the rest of the batter that I forgot to fold in the pecans and coconut along with the egg whites. And I didn't realize it until I had already divided the cake batter evenly among the three cake pans.

My mom had stressed to me how important it is to properly fold the final ingredients. If you do it wrong, it evidently makes a pretty big difference. Do it right, and your cake is fluffy and fabulous.

So I sprinkled the coconut and pecans on top of the batter in each of the pans. I folded them into one of the pans, but I felt like it looked a bit flat. I just left the others and hoped they would somehow fall in as the cake baked.

And for extra measure, I added some pecans and coconut in the icing between the layers.

I was nervous the next day when it came time to cut into the cake and give it a try. K's family knew it was my first attempt at the cake and that I'd made the whole thing from scratch (including the icing).

The verdict?

Delicious. In fact, my FIL couldn't believe I'd never baked a cake (from scratch) before.

From now on, I'll never have to ask what I can bring for the holidays with K's family!

Last one of these I'll see for a while ...

Full, anyway ...

Not that we're planning on starting anything or trying anything or expanding anything ... just taking steps to be ready when we're ready.

Yikes ...

I may not be awesome, but I'm not un-awesome!

I am not that awesome at kickball. I kick inconsistently, I can't throw as hard as I want, and sometimes I just feel like a total girl (in a bad way) when I'm playing.

What I can do is catch. I like combatting my girlyness (-iness?) by jumping right in front of a ball that's screaming right at me. If I have to let it bounce off my face to get it, I'm going to stop that ball, dammit. That mindset has worked well for me, and it's gotten me a fantastic spot as our third baselady.

It's an important base, and I don't like seeing people reach it.

I told you I don't like seeing people there.

I tell the people in my running group that the biggest challenge in running and cycling (in a lot of things, actually) is the mental part. I've seen people cry because the remaining distance of a race is more than they think they can handle ... and I've seen them so proud of themselves when they hit the point they know the actually can finish. It's awesome.

Last night, I realized I might have the same problem with kickball. When I go up to kick (my big weakness), I am thinking negatively: Great, I'm going to kick it up, and it's gonna get caught. Or if I somehow manage to get a good bunt, I'm not gonna get to first in time. A guaranteed out. 

Even if I do kick well, I manage to find some fault in it -- either I didn't get to score, or someone else got out (If I kicked it better, they defense wouldn't have gotten to the ball). This is just how I play.

So imagine my surprise when I saw our post-game write-up last night. My kick actually brought in my team's final point in the game. Somehow, I hadn't realized that.

I guess I need to take my own advice to my running group.

And even if I'm not awesome in every aspect of kickball, evidently if I stop looking for my errors, I'm making some pretty dang good contributions!

Screw you too, job!

I have officially been in my job for a year. Yesterday was the day anniversary, but today was the actual date anniversary. Now, no matter how you look at it, I have been sitting at that desk in that job for a full year. Three hundred sixty-five days.

At my first job out of college, they surprised me with goodies on my one-year anniversary (there were actually two of us who started on the same date, so we got double the goodies!). 

At my second job (the one I had to leave when we moved to VA), my one-year anniversary was even better. I arrived to work to find a large gift back on my desk, filled with the company's standard, cutesy one-year gift: a retro silver lunch pail (with thermos, I believe) and silver CD case with the company logo. My boss took me out to lunch, and the other people on my team came along. We'd have drinks at lunch, and there'd probably be an afternoon beer at my desk to continue the celebration. 

Obviously not all workplaces are as laid-back (or awesome) as that job, so I know not to expect anything like that again. 

However, I do expect some sort of mention. I mean, maybe it's silly, but I think it's a big deal to reach one year at work. It should definitely be celebrated with a cake, or lunch, or even a half "Congrats!", half "Thanks for your hard work" email. (For the record, I'm all for any excuse to eat cake -- especially at work.)

But here, at this job I've been uncertain about all along ... at this job where I make about half of what I made in Dallas ... where I can't wear jeans daily to work, or bring my dog, or drink a beer at my desk ...

This job is the one that didn't acknowledge the one-year milestone.

Just a mention was all I wanted, really. 

Instead, it felt like a slap in the face.

Saturday 10k

K and I ran a 10k on Saturday. Considering we haven't been running consistently pretty much since our marathon, we were a little worried about how this would go.

We finished 4 minutes slower than we did in this same run last year. Still, though, we were under a 9:30 pace.

And with such beautiful weather and scenery to enjoy, it was hard to care too much about a silly thing like pace.

I was feeling superduperawesome at this point, so these are the pictures I took during the run. I hope to take more during our half-marathon this weekend, since it's in a location I haven't been to before.

Are they trying to get rid of me?

When I was a music major in college, my Music Ed professor told me I should be a writer -- this based on an email I wrote him about my uncertainty about my music major future. He said I was a great writer.

When I worked as an editor, my boss encouraged me to consider writing -- this based on emails I wrote to others in my department. She said I had a great voice for it.

Today, I am a writer. Only I do lots of other things at my job -- including photography and videography, in small, informal scale.

And today, my boss told me I should consider doing photography or videography someday. (Granted, I really enjoy both of those -- particularly the first one.)

Either I'm really good at a lot of (journalism-based) things, or my supervisors are always wanting to get rid of me.

"Nothin' like a good piece o' ass"

This lazy afternoon, I'm watching one of my very favorite movies, Steel Magnolias. It's a sad movie, but it's somehow happy at the same time. I've loved it since I was little.

Plus, it's full of such great quotes. Aside from the title of the blog, there's "He's such a gentleman. I bet he takes the dishes out o' the sink 'fore he pees in it!" ... "He's so confused he doesn't know whether to scratch his watch or wind his butt." ... and one of my favorites, "I assure you my personal tragedy will not interfere with my ability to do good hair."

But now this movie is tied to great memories, too. In the spring of 2009, shortly after K got home from Iraq, he and I went to visit the town where the movie was filmed. It was only 45 minutes from where K was stationed in Louisiana, and I actually had to drive through it every time I went to visit him.

Heather is a big fan of the movie, too, so she and B came with us. We had so much fun!

The house where Shelby and her family lived is a bed & breakfast now, and of course that's where we stayed. K and I stayed in Shelby's room, and Heather & B were next door in the room that Jackson crawls into through the window on their wedding day.

The Eatenton house, where Shelby lived with her parents and brothers

Heather and me

K, me, Heather, & B

Shelby's room, where K and I stayed

Of course it's all pink -- it's her "signature color"!

A picture from the movie, displayed in the very spot the picture was taken.

IT'S THE PINK BATHTUB!!!! I showered here.

This was in Heather & B's room. This is the window Jackson climbed into on their wedding day. It's even the same curtains!

This is where Shelby tells M'Lynn she's pregnant!!!

Just a fun shot of my animal whisperer husband, making friends with the homeowners' dog.

The back staircase of the house

The kitchen, which looks exactly the same as in the movie. I'm sure the homeowners are aching for a remodel, but I'm glad they haven't touched it.

Heather and I had a blast going through the house and exclaiming, "This is where [insert movie moment here]!!!" We reenacted and quoted our favorite lines in their actual locations.

So much fun!

What a good weekend. :)