outside oklahoma

He should've known better

2011-06-30T15:03:00.000-04:00

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.

2011-06-29T12:51:00.005-04:00

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 ...

2011-06-27T14:59:00.000-04:00

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

2011-06-24T11:48:00.000-04:00

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

2011-06-23T10:30:00.006-04:00

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

2011-06-17T11:15:00.005-04:00

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

2011-06-15T16:50:00.000-04:00

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

2011-06-14T11:01:00.000-04:00

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

2011-06-09T16:53:00.000-04:00

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!

2011-06-08T12:47:00.000-04:00

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

2011-05-24T15:27:00.000-04:00

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

2011-05-23T16:09:00.002-04:00

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

2011-05-18T10:03:00.000-04:00

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

2011-05-17T17:45:00.000-04:00

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

2011-05-16T10:05:00.002-04:00

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

2011-05-13T13:14:00.006-04:00

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 ...

2011-05-11T13:27:00.002-04:00

... 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

2011-05-05T11:23:00.000-04:00

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

2011-05-04T11:28:00.000-04:00

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

2011-05-03T12:13:00.003-04:00

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

2011-05-02T23:10:00.000-04:00

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

2011-04-29T00:02:00.008-04:00

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

2011-04-27T18:26:00.000-04:00

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!

2011-04-26T21:46:00.006-04:00

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 ...

2011-04-25T23:22:00.000-04:00

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!

2011-04-18T13:10:00.000-04:00

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!

2011-04-12T20:37:00.000-04:00

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

2011-04-05T14:22:00.000-04:00

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?

2011-04-01T14:38:00.001-04:00

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"

2011-03-27T14:39:00.001-04:00

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. :)

During ... & After

2011-03-27T00:23:00.001-04:00

I survived the big haircut, and I've got pictures to prove it.

Prepping the hair ...

Starting to cut ...

Snip, snip, snip!

Yikes!!!

There's a big picture gap here because I was upset at the stylist for rushing through the donation part. She tried to cut by eyeballing the measurement. I stopped her, though, and whipped out the measuring tape I'd brought just in case (thank goodness!).

I was probably anxious about the donation, and it was all cut off so fast! By the time my hair was washed and the stylist had started cutting my post-donation hair, though, I was able to loosen up.

And luckily, I went from reeeeeeeeally not liking the stylist to thinking she was pretty darn OK.

Done! This is the shortest my hair has been since I was 9 years old!

My donation. I don't know why, but I think this is kind of gross ...

The back. This lady got my hair looking as good as the NYC salon!

My new baby ponytail!

I'm OK with the final results. It's a little more of a young and cute style than I'd typically go for -- especially since people always think I'm younger than I am as it is -- but it's not bad. I'm sure as I get used to it, I'll like it more and more.

For now, I'm so glad this is all done!

See the Before shots here.

Before ...

2011-03-26T08:51:00.002-04:00

In a few minutes, I'll be heading to DC to get my hair cut.

Objects in front of wall are not as green (or pale) as they appear.

This picture totally verifies my anger at my last haircut. What a hack job!

Looooooooong! I'll be donating my hair straightened.

Did I not mention I'm driving 3 hours just to get a haircut?

Considering it's the biggest cut I've ever had, I'm leavin' this one to the big guns.

Is this length gonna cut it?

2011-03-24T10:40:00.002-04:00

Friends, I need your help. Badly.

I have been growing out my hair since October of 2009. It started on accident. I'd gotten a fantastic haircut, and by January, I couldn't believe how long my hair had gotten. I decided to keep going and donate it. It would take no time at all!

Only my hair decided to stop growing as quickly, and along the way I tried to get a couple basic maintenance trims that turned into full-on haircuts, thanks to overzealous stylists who didn't pay attention to my "half-inch or inch at the most. I'm growing it to donate it" instructions. Those set me back a few months, and it happened twice. Yuck.

So now here I am, seventeen months later, ridiculously ready to hack off my hair. For months I've been getting more and more anxious to see it all go. It's in my way; it's in K's way. I'm ready to get to put layers back in it. I'm ready for my hair to be my hair.

I mentioned this to a coworker a couple weeks ago, so she decided to measure it for me. She told me it's 10" long at the middle of my back from my shoulders, and it's 8" on the sides, with the (grown out) layers that frame my face. I only need 8" for the Beautiful Lengths donation I intend to make. Suh-weet!

I excitedly scheduled my appointment last week. I'm supposed to go in this Saturday.

Only now I'm getting cold feet.

I had K remeasure my hair just in case. Nine inches from the bottom of my curly hair is right at my shoulders. That could be bad. If my hair gets cut above my shoulders, it becomes horizontal. I'll have to straighten it, which is a huge pain, until it grows out.

But what if I'm so nervous about having my hair long enough after the cut that I don't let them cut enough, and it all just has to get thrown out because it's unusable? What a waste!

What if the layers I told the stylists to ignore (and they didn't) make the majority of my hair unusable?

(And what if the hair gets lost in the mail before it gets to the company? Agh!)

Let me give you a visual here.

I will donate to Beautiful Lengths, which requires an 8" donation. I figure I'll give them 9", just to be sure they have enough. (Also, for those of you who clicked the link from my last major haircut, for the record, I do own other shirts than this one.)

That rubber band -- where my hair will be cut -- is dangerously close to my shoulders. Like potentially ugly close to my shoulders. Since my hair is curly, it will likely kink up and be above them.

My options:

Cancel the appointment and reschedule for a later date (May, maybe?).
Cancel the appointment, immediately begin taking prenatal vitamins for the next 4 weeks. Then switch back to my vitapaks so those aren't wasted ... and when those are finished, resume the prenatals, since we planned on having me start those anyway.
Go to the appointment, hack off my hair, and straighten it for a few weeks -- potentially with some prenatals in the mix -- until the awkward stage is over. Enjoy the warm fuzzy feeling that goes with knowing there's a little girl out there who won't have to worry about how she'll look when her illness takes her hair because of my donation and Beautiful Lengths.
Go to the appointment and donate my straightened hair. That means less taken while still meeting the requirements, and I'll still have more left after the donation. Hopefully everyone wins. I may or may not have to use the straightener and prenatal post-haircut option. But I'll still get the warm fuzzy feeling.

My hair has been close to shoulder-length before. Maybe it'll look OK.

Either way, please feel free to weigh in. Either way, I am donating. It's just a matter of when (and how I deal with it post-cut).

With something as important as hair, I feel like I just can't make this decision on my own!

Looking for advice

2011-03-18T12:06:00.001-04:00

Jewelry Storage

I've been expanding my jewelry collection over the last couple years, thanks first to H&M and now to friends having jewelry parties (gotta show my support!). My jewelry box just isn't going to cut it anymore.

I've seen those cute little frames with the wires on them, but those only hold so much. And there are these, which are charming, but I'd like my storage system to not cost too much more than I'd spend on the jewelry it'll hold.

I'm contemplating something like this, but I thought I'd check with you guys first. What do you do?

Dealing with Gum

I hate gum popping. Hate. It.

I think it stems from my childhood. My mom is one of the worst offenders in the world. One of her favorite times to chew gum? In the car. So picture me, my poor brother, and my dad, stuck in a car for hours with my mom pop, pop, popping away.

Torture.

I finally learned to make a game out of it, so that's what my brother and I did. We'd count each and every gum pop. Sometimes, it got hard to count that high. But it turned the popping into something funny, and we'd be laughing and shaking our heads over the fact my mom had just popped her gum more than 120 times in 5 minutes.

She didn't realize she was doing it. But she'd hear us laughing miserably, ask why, and then laugh herself, embarrassed, when we told her how bad it was. Right before she started popping again a few minutes later. It was a habit.

So gum popping is (and always has been) one thing I just can't tune out. I can put in headphones and crank 'em up, and that works depending on how far the offender is from me.

But I have a coworker who really loves popping gum. I usually put in headphones, but sometimes music is distracting too. And I feel like I shouldn't have to put in headphones every other day so this lady can do something distracting in an office place.

This is a question I've wondered many, many times. I've even found myself at a Broadway show sitting in front of an offender who popped through the show. I seriously think these punkwads follow me around.

So what do you think:

Is there a polite way to ask a person to stop popping their gum?

Happy St. Patty's Day!

2011-03-17T14:22:00.001-04:00

I'm sporting my green today (duh). I've even got it on my fingernails ... kind of.

I've been on the lookout for a certain shade this season, and I've tried different polishes and been disappointed. Today, though, I found it. I hadn't tried this brand before, but I'll definitely get more of it. I don't know what's different about this brush, but it's awesome! Plus, the polish dries so quickly, and so far the polish seems to be pretty tough.

Mint Sprint. Love it!
(No, those aren't my hands. Picture taken from here.)

Yay for being festive!

I'm going to remember this one for later!

2011-03-17T14:11:00.003-04:00

I've asked K probably 10 times to schedule an appointment to have our taxes filed. I'd call them myself, but I think K has to do it. Plus, he has the number. How long can a phone call take?

K will be out all next week, meaning we could find ourselves in "oh shit!" territory with eleventy billion procrastinators if we don't schedule an appointment soon.

I texted K a reminder about it this morning. He was in a meeting, he said, and hadn't scheduled "...yet."

Just a few minutes ago, I texted him:
If you call today, I'll wear my black lacy thong tonight ... and let you take it off. If you *don't call today, I'll wear period panties.

Not 5 minutes later, K texted me back:
30 March at 10:30. Boom!

His last line said it all:
Nice motivation BTW!

Guess I should've tried that in February (when I first started bugging him about this).

Why you'll never see me on Operation Homecoming

2011-03-16T15:11:00.001-04:00

As a military spouse, I am evidently the perfect person to send all military-related emails to.

A "we don't appreciate them enough" chain letter? Why not.
An email full of pictures of soldiers at war? Sure!
A poem from a family member's perspective about missing a deployed soldier? Perfect.

The list goes on. Some of the things I get (from my mom, from friends, from my father-in-law, brother-in-law, K's cousins, neighbors, and that chick I just met through my friend's brother) are good. Lots of them aren't.

But I'm a sucker for the homecoming videos. Every time I see them, the first thought that enters my head is, "I know what that feels like!!!"

The anticipation, the nerves, the excitement, the feeling that time can't drag any slower ...

I've been there. And the effort it takes to keep the tears in my eyes from spilling over when I see videos like that is ridiculous.

But that new show on TLC, Operation Homecoming? No. I will not watch it. First off, I'd spend the entire time bawling my eyes out, which leads to a headache ... but that's not even the main reason.

The thing is, if K ever did that to me, I would be pissed.

I think the show is perfect for kids. It's really probably best to surprise them with something like that because kids aren't good at waiting for things they're really excited for -- the waiting just doesn't make sense to them yet.

But me?

Like, if K were to be gone for 12 effing months and then randomly show up and surprise me? As soon as I could see through my tears, I'd punch him in the face!

I'd immediately fire 200 questions at him: When did you get here? Where did you arrive? Why couldn't I be there to greet you? How long have you been within a few minutes of me?!!

The truth is, after all that time apart, the last thing I'd want is to know I missed out on even an hour of seeing him. Especially since I'd surely have already chosen my homecoming outfit (probably two months in advance!) and would definitely not be wearing it at that time. I wouldn't be finished with my homecoming to-do list.

I get it: To the soldier coming home, those things aren't that big of a deal. But to the family members who've stayed home and trudged through the last year? We want things to be as close to perfect as possible.

And we sure as heck don't want to miss a single second of togetherness!

For the record, I've made it clear to K how I feel about this. Heard. Understood. Acknowledged.

We're really gonna do this ... I think

2011-03-15T13:28:00.007-04:00

It seems K's coming around to our little family planning ... plan. While we were in PA last weekend, I overheard him telling his brother that we'll probably have a baby in the next year or two, and the next day, I heard him telling his friend's wife (that couple is K's age and has 5 kids!) the same thing.

I've still pretty much kept it a secret. I told you guys, and I finally told ER about it several weeks after I wrote the post. It's come up in conversations with Heather, who reads my blog (actually, who I know from the blog), and with CG, since she reads occasionally also.

But that's it.

My aunt asked me about it over Christmas, and I told her we'll start thinking more seriously in a year or two, but I didn't go into details. I've told people I'm not really repulsed by the idea of having kids soon anymore, which was a big enough development for these people to understand how big of a development it was (my, am I eloquent today!). Part of me doesn't want the barrage of questions to come from my very ready family, and the other part thinks it's fun to have a little secret.

But even though I haven't been talking about it much, I've been thinking more about this whole baby thing. One of my closest friends, Danielle, gave birth to her first baby -- a girl -- last week. Seeing her pictures is exciting, and I feel more ready to be in that phase myself. Not completely ready, but I have a feeling that transition will take place soon after a positive pregnancy test.

K and I have talked more about our plan. I'll finish my last pack of birth control pills in mid-May. We'll resort to other methods at that time, but we know other methods are less effective than the pill, which could mean we get pregnant immediately. (Not that there's any guarantee that won't happen before we stop with the pill.)

Timing-wise, it's kind of go-time. We know we're here in VA for another year, probably leaving sometime after Memorial Day next year (I'll be a few months from 29 by then). After that, we'll likely spend 10 months in our next location while K is in a school (approaching 30 by then). After that? Who knows. But a deployable unit is very likely, which means me ... raising a baby ... by myself ... potentially in a strange place.

This sucks, but it's kind of what we've signed on for. The price you pay for marrying a badass superhero. While I would hate to have K miss any part of our future children's lives, it's part of military life, plain and simple. Not to say that any pregnancy or birth or growing baby is less meaningful than another, but I'd love to have K be here for all of those firsts (especially since I have no clue how my body will react to this business).

We could wait until after a likely deployment, but we'd like to have a baby before I'm 30 (which is 35 for K). And while things are wrapping up in Iraq and Afghanistan, we may find ourselves at war with another country/ies in the next coming years. Or the world could just end in 2012 ... (does anyone else like making the 2012 joke as much as I do?)

So basically -- even without deployments considered -- this is as stable as we'll be for the next 2 years. And even though driving/moving halfway across the country with an infant doesn't sound like the best-case scenario, it definitely sounds better than being pregnant and/or giving birth while moving halfway across the country.

Which brings me to the next item on my mind: space. We live in a 3-bedroom home. We have a nice, spacious guest room, and I intend to keep it that way. Which leaves us with our office. Our tiny little office.

It's dark (partly because of the paint, which I love, and partly because of the size and fact there's no overhead light). It's small. It's funny-shaped -- kind of triangular.

And we'd have nowhere else to put anything in there at this time.

Which means we'd just have to throw in a crib, probably on the half-OU, half-Army wall. At least there's a nice closet in there, which would minimize the need to find room for a dresser or something.

Would we have to repaint? Would it be OK not to? Would we want to? Would it make sense if we're only looking at being there with a baby (potentially, that is) for a couple months?

Is this bad?

So much to think about!

I get busy ... You get 6 posts in 1!

2011-03-11T13:24:00.000-05:00

Time Flies. That's It

How the hell does my life go by so quickly? The last time I posted, I had just gotten home from Orlando. I spent two nights in my own bed before heading north for a conference for work. Got back on Thursday, just in time to get ready for a massive party at our house on Saturday night, which brings me to ...

Mardi Gras -- Let's Not Do That Again

We had our kickball team over to the house on Saturday to celebrate Mardi Gras. We've hosted lots of parties at our place, since we're the only ones who live in a house (everyone else is single & in an apartment), and I worried that this one might blend in with all the others. Considering K spent 5 years in Louisiana and I felt like a semi-resident for about 4 years, we wanted to show everyone what Bourbon Street is all about.

So we found a recipe for hurricanes as close to the authentic Pat O'Brien's flavor as possible (we didn't think ahead enough to just order the mix. Four liters of liquor, and some grenadine, pineapple juice, and OJ later, we had our lethal potion. It was delicious, but it was destructive. As were the Jello shots made with 100-proof vodka.

Two beers, two hurricanes, and two Jello shots later, I woke up on the bathroom floor at 6 a.m. Not pretty. The last thing I remember is stepping into the garage (evidently somewhere around midnight) to watch people playing beer pong. I did make it upstairs to the comfort of my bathroom before getting sick, and K checked on me in between enjoying the rest of the party.

I kid you not, I did not feel right again until Tuesday. I have never been like that, EVER, and I've only even gotten sick from drinking a couple of times (OK, 3).

I never want another hurricane or (100-proof) Jello shot again.

Runnin', runnin' and runnin', runnin'

My little running group is going so well! We're in week 6 of the Couch-to-5k program, and these people who weren't comfortable jogging at all can now jog for 8 straight minutes! This program is great because it goes in intervals, which is a lot easier for someone just getting started. This week, we ran for 18 minutes total, but it was broken up with 3-minute walks (jog 5, walk 3, jog 8, walk 3, jog 5). Much easier mentally.

They're just 3 weeks out from running a full 5k, which is awesome. The group is loving it and is really please with themselves (as am I!) for their progress. One of the girls said on Monday, "These intervals are so much easier! Why didn't my gym teacher have us doing this? I could've been running this way instead of huffing and puffing and having to stop all those years."

I can't take credit for the training program, but I'm glad they've got the motivation to get moving. Amazing!

Staying in VA

We're officially staying in VA another year. We announced the exciting news to our kickball team at the Mardi Gras party on Saturday (just after the first Jello shot). I'm hoping the people we're renting our house from let us stay in it another year. Fingers crossed!

Job Prospect

Last week, kickball friend sent me a link to a job opening at her place of work. I think I'm about half-qualified, but she assures me I'll be just fine and an amazing applicant. I wasn't sure about applying, since making a move toward getting out of a job (no matter how frustrating the job is) is really scary. But the friend met my coworker/friend at our Mardi Gras party. Coworker knows how frustrated I am, and I guess that came up. Kickballer told her about this opportunity after I'd exited the party. Coworker brought it up with me this week and said she thinks I should apply.

That same night, I talked to Heather, who told me the same thing. "What's the harm in applying?" she asked. Touche.

So apply I did. Last night. Half-heartedly. Very scaredly.

I have no clue what I want.

That Last Sentence Isn't Entirely True

What I want is to stay at home. Sleep in my own bed. My soft, fluffy, cozy, super comfortable bed. Wash my face at my own sink. Dry off with my own towels. Lounge on my own couch, watching my own TV. Gaze out at my own back yard (which has daffodils and hyacinth in full bloom in the flowerbeds!).

But not tonight. Or tomorrow night.

We're headed to PA this afternoon to party with K's friends for St. Patty's Day.

Turns out my shiny newly aversion to Jello shots and hurricanes applies also to large quantities of beer, which are what is in the cards for this weekend.

Especially when we're driving 6+ hours to consume such large quantities of beer.

When gas is $3.45 a gallon.

When, because of conditions in PA, we'll be traveling in K's gas-guzzling SUV instead of my little coupe.

When daylight savings time is really going to make Sunday that much more brutal.

My head hurts already.

I'm still pissed at you, AirTran, but thanks for the motivation

2011-03-02T23:54:00.007-05:00

I already posted about the drama that took place once we arrived in Orlando. Believe it or not, the trip started off with even more drama.

K and I were set to fly out just before noon. Friends who were also going to the wedding from NYC left on a flight that morning that stopped in our area on its way. We had booked our flight so we would join them on that layover. We were set to arrive in sunny Orlando around 2 p.m. -- just in time to enjoy the pool.

K and I got to the airport and got checked in an hour before the flight. We picked up Chick-fil-A -- our friends' request, which we were happy to fulfill (there's no CFA in NYC, and we love the food so much that we get pumped for "CFA days"). When we checked in, the airline didn't give us tickets, telling us instead to get them at the gate. Weird, but whatever.

Except when we got to the gate, they told us the flight was overbooked. I know this happens a lot, so I didn't think much of it. Until the gate was empty, save for us and another couple, and the employees didn't seem to have any plans of letting us on that flight. We had some real Meet the Parents moments as the gate attendants spoke on their little loudspeakers even though we were the only ones there and were standing right in front of them.

We began getting nervous, so we started asking questions. Evidently none of us actually selected a seat when we booked our flight. I never do that if there aren't two together. Sometimes you have to pay extra to book a seat, and most times the people at the counter are able to get K and me seats together anyway. If not, well, I really don't care where I sit, so I figured it was no big deal.

Silly me, I had thought that when I clicked "Book Tickets," I was reserving my seat on the flight. Boy, was I wrong.

The other way around the overbooking mess is to check in online -- which, of course, is not free with AirTran -- and we never do that because I think it's ridiculous that online check-in even exists.

Anyway, you can see where this is going. Door closes. Jetway leaves. So does plane. K and I (and other couple) still at airport.

Dis. Like.

(In case you're wondering, the employees were kind enough to deliver the CFA to our friends.)

The four of us left standing were none to happy about it. To appease us, AirTran generously (whatever -- they said it doesn't cost them a thing) gave us each a round-trip ticket to anywhere AirTran flies. They booked us on a flight through Charlotte (our original flight had been direct), where we could attempt standby on two earlier flights before settling for our guaranteed seats on a 10 p.m. flight.*

Defeated, K and I went back home to wait out our layover. We watched Couples Retreat, a movie we'd DVR'd months ago. Despite two weddings and 3.5 years of marriage, K and I have still never been on a honeymoon (we had planned on going back to Destin, where we got married, last September ... but the whole oil spill nixed that trip), and the only trip we've taken by ourselves without meeting other people at our destination was a 36-hour ski trip that I spent sick (I try to time all illnesses with vacations).

When the movie showed the couples arriving at their tropical resort, I immediately teared up. I hadn't realized how badly I've been wanting to go on a nice trip together -- alone.

Only now, we have these nice little tickets to anywhere AirTran flies. The gate attendants told us their priciest flight is to Montego Bay, which can run up to $1200.

Free airfare to Jamaica sounds pretty dang good.

*In case you're wondering, our first standby attempt was successful, so we arrived in Orlando at 8 p.m. ... which is where my first post picks up. A crappy** trip, from start to finish.
**Badum ching!

This is already getting old (also, TMI THROUGHOUT)

2011-03-01T11:32:00.006-05:00

Can someone tell me what ISN'T a symptom of pregnancy?!!

When I had thought about how I'd share parts of this story before, I was going to be a little less informative, but now I think that's out the window.

So last Thursday, K and I flew to Orlando for a wedding (more on all this later. I promise). Because of circumstances I will explain later, I wound up having a 2-hour old Chik-fil-A meal for lunch. I ate a brownie that afternoon. K had all of these things.

Flash forward a few hours, when we're about to touch down in Orlando. That's when my stomach starting going downhill. I thought it was motion sickness, even though I've never had problems on planes before. I just felt a little sick, a little headache ... nothing crazy. I figured I was just ready to be done flying.

We land. Go to dinner. I eat chips & salsa. By the time my dinner gets in front of me, I have no appetite (I didn't eat that much chips & salsa). I force some down to avoid wasting it. Take the rest to the hotel.

That night, diarrhea. Ew.

The next morning? More diarrhea. And then vomiting. Like, ohmygoshwilliteverstop vomiting. (For the record, Chili's is disgusting the second time around.)

More diarrhea. Chills. Then getting really sweaty.

Luckily, all that drama took place between 8 p.m. Thursday and 8:30 a.m. Friday. After I threw up, my stomach felt better ... but the diarrhea stayed. Which meant in the hotel I stayed, instead of going to Disney World.

I forced down some Sprite and crackers. Drank some water. Still had diarrhea.

I thought it was food poisoning. Just knew it was food poisoning. I took Immodium and, like a real trooper, still went to the gathering the bride & groom were hosting Friday night. I drank ginger ale (that stuff is amazing and magical! How did I never try it before?), and I ate 6 whole (tiny triangular) pieces of pita bread.

I got so excited that it was all over when I got back to the hotel and only had to pee ... and then I remembered I still had the stupid Immodium in my system.

Saturday, I woke up and only had a little diarrhea. I thought maybe it was the reserves the Immodium had prevented from leaving (yes, I know that's disgusting. I'm sorry). I still felt fine. I cautiously ate a little Mickey Mouse waffle (with syrup on the side). The rest of the day, I stuck to Sprite and crackers.

At the wedding late Saturday afternoon, I thought I felt the first tiny tinges of hunger I'd felt since Thursday. It was over. Thank God, it was over!

I ate hors d'oeuvres at the cocktail hour. Even drank a beer! With dinner, another beer (the food poisoning is over! Celebrate!) along with a few bites of the not-so-good food. I ate just a couple small bites of cake (do you know how hard that is to do with red velvet? Thank God it was fondant icing, or I might not have been able to control myself).

I didn't push it any further, but I did have a Coke at the bar after (being sick means you get to play DD all weekend). I was still on Immodium (just in case), but the night was drama-free for my stomach.

That Sunday, we went with friends for lunch. Since my food poisoning was over, I was excited that they settled on a pizza place. I still hadn't felt hungry, really, but if anything would make me want to eat, it would be pizza.

We ate cheesy garlic bread. I drank a Coke (no more Sprite!!!). I ate a piece of pizza. But I didn't really enjoy it like I'd hoped. I could hardly put down one slice. I'm a pretty big eater for a girl -- especially when it comes to pizza.

Soon after lunch, though, I realized what I had was still there, so it definitely wasn't food poisoning. More diarrhea.

Are you freaking kidding me?

Sunday night, it was back to crackers and Sprite. F'ing crackers and Sprite.

Yesterday, I braved it with a granola bar for breakfast. Soup for lunch (I hate soup. It's so boring and always feels like punishment food.). Pasta for dinner. I had to force it down again, and even then, it was only a fraction of what I'd normally eat.

Today? Still no appetite. But still no diarrhea.

I posted on FB about it:
Sad story: I can name everything I have eaten since Thursday (the list isn't long). I don't know what this bug is, but I'm definitely ready for it to leave my system.

In true "Hey, you're of child-bearing age!", I got this from a mommy friend: "And you're sure it's a stomach bug?!? Nothing else....."

Just for the hell of it, I googled.

Lack of appetite and diarrhea are both symptoms of pregnancy. Obviously vomiting is (though that only happened Friday morning).

But do you know what else is a fucking sign of fucking pregnancy?!!! Increased appetite and constipation.

Ev.ry.thing. is a sign of pregnancy.

Guess I better go buy a freakin' box of tests on my lunch break.

At least I know where the cheap ones are now.

I kind of want to make that boss some cookies

2011-02-24T09:59:00.000-05:00

I hadn't posted about this yet, but K and I have been waiting the last few months to find out where we're supposed to be going next. So many things are riding on this information -- the biggest being when we start a family and what I do about my job.

When K took this assignment, we knew it was only for two years.

We were originally supposed to hear something about the next move in November, which (in true military style) turned into "at the first of the year" ... which also came and went with no news.

But last week, one of K's bosses offered to make a call. He talked with K first about what he wants out of his career and where he'd like to go. He told K he'd call the branch that decides who goes where (I call them the magic wizards. I picture them being something like in The Wizard of Oz, hanging out behind a huge curtain ... except these guys really are doing wizardry of telling everyone in the Army who goes where based on a formula that includes rank, each post's needs, supposedly each person's preferences for where they'd like to go, and who knows what else).

Anyway, just an hour after K finished talking with this boss -- who used to be in charge of a portion of the Magic Wizard branch -- he had his list.

The list is awesome.

The No. 1 place we'd like to go (along with everyone else in the Army) is Colorado. And two of the three possibilities on the list include CO.

The third option is to stay right here in VA. We really love it here, and we'd like to be able to stay another year.

Obviously what's most important is doing what's best for K's career, though. He's going to talk to the boss one more time next week before making a decision.

Once that's done, all the planning can begin!

Fuck you, cancer

2011-02-21T22:00:00.001-05:00

I lost a classmate on Friday. She died of lung cancer. On her 30th birthday.

Meg was a beautiful girl, one of those people who just glows. She was always smiling. In high school, she was on the drill team. She was in track. She was active and healthy. She didn't smoke. Her family members didn't smoke. Meg and her husband had their first child early last summer, just weeks before she found out she had stage 4 lung cancer.

Because she was two grades ahead of me, I didn't know Meg well, but I knew her brother. He was in my class, and I've known him since the first grade. I can't begin to imagine what he's going through.

The whole thing is just so terrible. It makes you think. It makes you angry.

No one that young -- that young and that healthy -- should die from cancer.

But Meg is the 3rd person I went to high school with to die from cancer. The others were 22 and 28.

I found out today that another classmate was recently diagnosed. Hers was found early, so she has a 94% chance of beating it. She is 31.

There was cancer in our past, too. A girl in my fifth grade class was diagnosed with cancer. Another girl in the class below me had lymphoma in junior high. They both survived.

My hometown is small. I graduated with 175 people. The other classes were that size too.

Which makes the number of my classmates who have had cancer all the more upsetting.

Being rational blows

2011-02-14T15:18:00.002-05:00

I want to do something irrational.

Dump water over my head
fuck up my hair
throw something out the window.

scream.
loudly.

storm out of the building.

kick the wall.

rip phone out of annoying coworker's hand if she says "mhmm" one more fucking time.

quit.
my.
job.

but what will I do with all that free time?

how will I pay bills?

so here I sit ... raging inside.

i really think i hate this place.

Left Out

2011-02-14T12:32:00.002-05:00

Being left out sucks. Nobody likes it.

It used to happen to me all the time in high school. My “friends” had this habit of doing things without inviting me – and then laughing about inside jokes that came out of those gatherings in front of me.

Since I know how crappy it feels, I’ve always made an effort to not make people feel left out. I don’t bring up activities that a present party isn’t invited to, and I even try to explain the gist of inside jokes if the number of people who don’t get it is anywhere close to the number of people who do.

Honestly, my hatred of feeling left out might be to blame for my feelings about Valentine’s Day. Feb. 14 is the ultimate left out day because more often than not, the ones who care about it most are the ones who feel like they don’t have anyone to celebrate it with. How crappy is that?

You know what else is crappy? I’ve recently found myself in that same effing situation my high school “friends” put me in.

K and I have people over to the house all the time. For game nights, for potluck dinners, for watch parties … We typically wind up with 10 people, sometimes closer to 20. But we always invite everyone from our kickball team.

Many of the girls on our team watch The Bachelor. I do not. However, I went to a watch party for the show last year just to get some good girl time. I love me some girl time. So much that I’ll even put up with a craptastic show like The Bachelor just to get it.

Last year, it was a small group of three who watched the show each week. This year, it’s a big group. I’m not quite sure how big, though, because I wasn’t invited. I do know there’s a final pick pool involved (which is totally the way to make me semi-enjoy the show!), and every girl I know goes. It’s come up in conversation the last few times I’ve been in a group setting with more than one girl in The Bachelor Group. Which sucks.

It really hurts my feelings.

It came up yesterday when K and I went to watch some of our kickball friends play in another league. The semi-boyfriend of one of The Bachelor girls said, “Oh, so this is the group who watches The Bachelor.” The girl, who is one of my closest friends here and I regularly have lunch dates with, said, “Oh, no, MLIB hates The Bachelor.”

That may be true, but I’d love the opportunity to make the decision myself. Had I had that chance, I’d probably have joined. Weekly girl time and a glass of wine? Who would turn that down?

I was really upset about the whole thing yesterday, and I had mentioned it to K a few times. He told me I should talk to the organizer (I’m not even sure which girl that is) and find out why I wasn’t invited.

Only I’m not sure that’s fair. I mean, it’s their right to do whatever they want, and they can invite whoever they want. It would be nice if they didn’t talk about it so openly so I’d find out about it (again and again), but I guess that’s just life.

My feelings are justified, but that doesn’t mean they owe me an explanation or even an apology for not inviting me.

K felt differently. He told me if I wasn’t going to ask the girls about it, he didn’t want to hear about it anymore. When I told him I felt like that was unfair, he opened up. He agrees that it’s crap, and he actually thinks they owe it to me to invite me. As many parties and gatherings as we’ve had; as much beer, snacks, and alcohol as they’ve had at our house … He says we’ve invested in these friendships, and it’s not right for them to not invite me.

I see what he’s saying, but I disagree that they owe us anything. We choose to invite them to our house. We choose to share food and drinks (everyone brings a little something, but we have our kegerator). But we can’t do that with any expectations.

So I’m stuck. I hate drama, and I definitely don’t want to start anything unnecessarily. But at the same time, I think it’s rude for them to talk about this group when others who aren’t a part of it are around.

I swear, this is why I quit hanging out with girls in college!

I AM BURNT OUT

2011-02-09T13:02:00.000-05:00

I needed to say that to someone. Anyone.

Well, anyone but my boss. Although I might just tell her too.

I'm also underpaid, which makes the burnt out feeling harder to want to fix.

Le sigh.

In a good mood? Skip this post.

2011-01-31T09:40:00.000-05:00

I'm not a big fan of Mondays, but I really hate today.

I had a great time in Dallas for Jeremy's wedding (more on that later). I'm still completely exhausted from such a quick trip. That's probably a lot of the reason for my foul mood today.

Here's a few others:

I have a ton of crap to do at work, and I don't want to do any of it. You know the line, "A lack of planning on your part doesn't constitute an emergency on my part"? Well, unfortunately, I always manage to find jobs where that's not true. I hate it. I'm tired of crossing things off my to-do list, getting it under control, and coming in the next day to have an "OhmygoshIneedthisdonelastweek" bull shit project. NO!
I can't even say that I love my paycheck. This job pays me what I made working PART TIME in Dallas, right out of college. I can't imagine that it's that much more expensive to live in Dallas than it is here by the beach. Instead, I have to say, "I love having a paycheck." This is true. But some days, the measly thing just isn't enough to justify the job.
K is a cranky buttface. I don't know what his deal is, but the littlest thing gets him all worked up. It pisses me off! I've tried talking to him about it before -- I thought maybe it was just the holidays, since this started around that time -- but we need to nip this shit in the bud, pronto. I'm not going to be 70 and dealing with a bitchy husband. I love that guy, but I swear, sometimes I just want to punch him in the face. Today is one of those days.
I didn't really get the girl time I wanted this weekend. I wanted just girl time, but the weekend was just too busy for any of that (turns out a 2:00 wedding can take up your day and night). Bummer.
The running group starts today. I am nervous. I have no business trying to teach people how to run. And on a day like today, what I really need is a good, ass-kicking run. I won't get that with the group, since they're all beginners. Which means that I'll have to run with them, head home, run for real, cook dinner, eat, let it settle, and get to the gym for a back & biceps workout. That would be a busy night. This means I'll probably have to skip the real run. If K gets in a real run while I'm on my way home, I might have to punch him in the face.

Or maybe I should just punch myself in the face for having a bad attitude.

Stupid Mondays.

Glam time. It's on!

2011-01-28T10:20:00.002-05:00

K and I head out this afternoon to glorious Tejas. As I was packing for the trip last night, I kept reaching for dressier shirts and fun necklaces and bracelets and bangles.

I never wear fun necklaces and bangles. Pretty much just when I'm really going out, which hardly happens.

And then I realized what I was doing. See, girls in the VA Beach area just don't dress up. I miss getting to go out with the girls in OK & TX. It meant wearing really cute (or really hot) dresses, heels and dangly earrings. It meant getting dolled up and fixing your hair and having one of the girls do fun eye shadow for everyone. It meant freezing your ass off on the way to wherever we were going, but feeling so good about looking damn good that you really don't care about the cold (in short increments).

It meant laughing over drinks and having so much fun just being silly and being girls.

The last time I did that -- a really good girls' night -- was July 2010. At ER's bachelorette party. Pathetic.

But this weekend? We're staying with Heather & B, and I am SO excited! Just to get to hang out with one of my closest girlfriends and be silly girls.

I may find myself a bit over-accessorized for the majority of the weekend, but -- wait, who are we kidding?! I'll be in Dallas.

Where there's no such thing as over-accessorized or too girly.

I!! can't!! wait!!!!

Trust me.

2011-01-27T15:24:00.000-05:00

Wherever you are, whatever you're doing right now,

STOP!!!

In another window, go to your music downloading site of choice and search for the Mumford & Sons album. Buy it. Immediately.

You're welcome.

Hi, have we met?

2011-01-25T10:14:00.000-05:00

I just got a note from K's cousin to add a purple ribbon to my FB profile to show my support for PETA.

My dad is a butcher.

My favorite shoes are my cowboy boots.

Sorry, PETA. I love animals, but I'll be damned if I let those cows die in vain!

Here we go again ...

2011-01-24T20:54:00.000-05:00

This Friday, K and I are headed to Dallas. Dallas -- where I lived for four years before moving to VA. Dallas -- where a lot of my friends still live.

We're going to Dallas for Jeremy's wedding. We're really excited for it. Jeremy is still one of my best friends, and he'll always have a special place in my heart (and K's) for helping me to get through K's 14-month deployment to Iraq.

I'm thrilled that Jeremy has found his fiance, and this wedding is something I wouldn't miss for the world.

K and I get to stay with Heather, which is another bonus. We missed getting to hang out with her when we were home for Christmas, but I'd planned all along that we'd at least see her for this next trip.

The trouble is that we have to figure out who else we will see. I've done my standard little trip-home bit where I don't tell anyone we're coming but the ones we know we'll see.

Jeremy knows we're coming. Heather knows we're coming. And that's it.

ER doesn't even know. We spent a day with her last time, but do we need to see her again this time?

And what about AJ (my cycling and concert buddy)? I haven't seen AJ since I was home last January. I should probably try to see her, but it might be hard to fit that in. But it's possible. (Especially if she meets us somewhere.) There are others I could see, too -- particularly Brit (former Dallas coworker and friend). I haven't seen Brit since the Dallas wedding (May '09).

So far, my plan was to keep doing what I've done so far: Put off the decision for another day.

But tonight, I got a message from Addie. Who I know through Brit. I hung out with Addie several times, but, like Brit, I haven't seen her since the Dallas wedding. Somehow Addie knew K and I would be in town, and she'd like to hang out after the wedding if it's not too late. Only Addie isn't going to the wedding (she does know Jeremy, but I don't know if they've seen each other since -- you guessed it! -- the Dallas wedding).

I was confused, so I texted Jeremy. Addie isn't going to the wedding (I don't think she's invited, actually). Evidently Addie called Jeremy to find out if K and I were going to the wedding.

How random is that?! I mean, I guess it's cool that she wants to see us so badly, but is it bad that I hadn't even thought about calling her? I mean, we have three days in Dallas, part of which will be taken up by a wedding.

I swear, going back home (by "home," I mean the entire region between Dallas and Oklahoma City) always winds up being so exciting and stressful at the same time.

Sure, I'll lead start a running group!

2011-01-18T13:31:00.001-05:00

There's a run coming up that my work is sponsoring. I am the lone runner in my office, and as an Official Marathon Runner, that means I'm basically an Olympian.

I believe I'm the only person in my entire department who runs. I know one lady is interested in starting, and another might go on light jogs, but I doubt any of them know what distance a 5k is. Not that a 5k is a choice in the run we're sponsoring.

Because two or three people have asked me about it so far, I sent out an email today about the upcoming run.

I volunteered to start a running group.

Most of the people in my department are in their 40s and up.

Which means I just volunteered to teach 20-something 40-somethings (OK, like 3 are in their 30s) how to run up to a half-marathon (there's a shorter distance that's a run/walk) in less than 4 months.

Yikes.

The perfect subject for my new camera flash

2011-01-13T22:46:00.005-05:00

K and I exchanged Christmas gifts the day before we left for OK & TX. Good thing, because it meant I got my shiny new auxiliary flash just in time for seeing ER and my favorite little girl in the history of the world.

She's 5 months old now, and she is seriously the most adorable thing I've ever seen. I took eleventy billion pictures of her, but wouldn't you?!

Baby Evie with her best friend, Clara

Love these big blue eyes. ER is crossing her fingers that they stay blue, since she and her husband both have brown eyes. Blue eyes run in ER's mom's family, though, so there's a chance!

Doesn't that smile just make you melt?!

I bought her this little stuffed animal. He's so soft!

This picture makes me laugh. :)

Such funny faces!

Evie was doing this constantly! She was so close to crawling!

LOVE Evie's face in this picture.

I definitely showed these pictures to my entire family over Christmas. Good thing they all know ER, so they all asked about Baby Evie anyway. Not that I wouldn't have busted about the photos regardless.

Like I'm doing now. :)

New toys

2011-01-11T23:31:00.005-05:00

I've been meaning to post about some of the goodies I got for Christmas, and tonight, I'm going to do it!

I'd wanted an auxiliary flash for my camera, but I definitely wasn't expecting it. I was planning on saving up and getting one for myself eventually. K beat me to it. And he somehow knew exactly the one I wanted!

Thanks to this sucker, I can take pictures with much better range than before. It can be a lot more flattering than a built-in flash, and I have better control over my pictures. Just one of many benefits of an external flash. LOVE it!

An awesome gift from my mom.

This plate describes me perfectly! "Boomer" was actually on the list of names for Piper (obviously), but I felt like she was more of a Piper than a Boomer. That being said, she does respond "SOONER!" when you yell "BOOMER!" (the OU battle cry). (OK, she barks twice. But she's totally saying "SOONER!" in dog language. Enthusiastically, even.)

I didn't know what to think when I opened this other gift from my mom. I had never seen one of these before, and I had no idea what it was. "You mean, it's a brush ... for my face?"

The Clar!sonic M!a

That it is. And it's fantastic. Within a couple days, I could tell a difference in my skin. It just looked so much cleaner and healthier. (Which led to K saying I looked "rather radiant lately." Considering I can spend an entire day scrubbing the house and that guy wouldn't notice a difference, I'm pretty sure he was just going for brownie points, especially since I had just mentioned the M!a. However, the comment added to the list of reasons I bought that pregnancy test last week ...) I don't feel like I have to hide my face if I'm not wearing makeup. My skin is clearer, and if I do get a blemish, it's very minor, very easy to handle, and quick to disappear.

Basically, if you're thinking of getting one of these, DO IT! If you haven't heard of them, look them up and think about getting one for yourself (and then see previous sentence). Mine is the travel version (the M!a), which is smaller and--score!--cheaper.

My dad got me a photography book I'd been wanting for a while. I haven't had a chance to dive in yet, but glancing through it, it's exactly what I'd hoped it would be! It's got examples of photos with different settings so you can actually see for yourself how different changes can create different final products. So cool!

A sign you've been watching a little too much Harry Potter

2011-01-10T14:03:00.001-05:00

K and I recently bought the boxed set of Harry Potter movies (we even decided they were worth getting on Blu-Ray!). K and I both had seen snippets of a couple movies over the years. K saw the entire sixth movie and decided he wanted to watch them all in order.

We started with movie one a week ago Sunday. By Friday night, we had finished the fifth movie.

We spent Saturday afternoon picking up the entire yard of leaves that had built up in our backyard after neglecting them all season.

"This is what sucks about being a muggle," K said. "If we were wizards, we could just do this all with a magic wand!"

I cheated on the gym ... with running

2011-01-05T23:59:00.002-05:00

Running a marathon made me lazy.

Seems odd, I know, but it's true.

For 18 weeks, almost everything K and I did revolved around running -- what we ate, the plans we made (and missed out on), our sleep schedules ... even what I wore to work was affected by training (heels? after running 6 miles in the morning and knowing I had to run 18 on the weekend? Puh-leaze!).

All of our energy went toward running. When we reached the peak in our training plan in late September, we quit going to the gym. As the Saturday (longest run of the week) distances increased, our Saturday plans decreased. We'd run, shower, and veg for the rest of the day.

We quit folding laundry. We quit going grocery shopping. We weren't staying on top of the housework like we usually do.

By the time we ran the marathon, we were completely out of the habit of grocery shopping and going to the gym. We didn't care to resume either activity. And then came Thanksgiving and the rush of the upcoming holidays ... K's aunt & uncle visited ... and then it was Christmas. We ran a few times in there (maybe 30 miles total), but still no gym.

Then last week, we went to the gym for the first time since September. It was awful.

The cardio warmup was fine, of course. But the pull ups we did after? Pure torture. I struggled so much doing less than what was a warmup for me just 3 pathetic months ago. I was disgusted and frustrated. How did this happen? Yeah, we hadn't been lifting weights or working our arms, but it wasn't like we were sitting around! We were training for a marathon! We were in probably the best shape of our lives. How could we lose strength at the same time?

I could see how people would get discouraged when they're beginning to work out or are getting back into it after a longer time off. It's hard to start up again! Especially when, like last week for us, you manage to find better things to do a couple other nights of the week.

This week, though, we're back in the game. We've gone the last 3 days in a row, and I'm already feeling better about myself. I've realized with a lot of exercises, I haven't lost much strength, really; it's the stabilizing muscles that I need to regain.

It'll come, and I know in a month or so, we'll be back to where we were in September.

Funny how hard you work to get to a certain point ... how easy it is to fall out of it (even if you're training for a freaking marathon) ... how hard it is to get back into it ...

... but how quickly it can feel like you're getting somewhere again.

Thank goodness!

Before you get excited, the answer is no

2011-01-04T20:22:00.003-05:00

I posted a status on FB last week. It was an innocent status about my sense of smell. About how strong it is.

It started when I noticed our volunteer at work reeked of Old People. I've worked with her every single week, but I'd definitely never noticed that.

The post, of course, brought comments (from friends who are mothers) asking me if I was pregnant. Considering my period had started that day, I thought nothing of it. I actually thought it was kind of funny.

And then I thought about it some more.

I've always wondered if my sense of smell is a stronger than most -- particularly when I'm running. I don't know that it's been stronger lately than usual (has it?), but at the same time, after 3 months of working with this lady (once a week), how did I just notice that she smells like moth balls?

I considered that maybe she'd pulled her sweater out of storage. That could explain things. I brushed it off. And then on my drive home, when I was on the phone with K, I felt pretty moody -- moody enough that having something like hormones to blame it on would be nice.

Then my period wound up being very short -- only a day, maybe. That doesn't happen.

Not to mention the fact I'd just gotten back from OK & TX, where so many of my friends are pregnant or new moms that you'd think there was something in the water. I did drink a lot of that water ...

And Sunday, after sleeping in (thank you, iPhone alarm failure) until 12:30, I was somehow barely staying awake watching a movie with friends at 8:00. But sleeping too much can make you too tired, and we'd had a late night on Thursday and Friday.

Last night, it was all still on my mind. Especially since I felt a little nauseous. I decided to do something I've never done: go buy a pregnancy test. I made this decision after dinner. K and I had plans to go to the gym, and I told him I needed to go to Target afterward for an errand.

Except Target was closed when we got there. I had told K I needed a new battery for my keyless entry for my car. This was true, but it wasn't an emergency. I lied to K, telling him I really needed mascara. "For tomorrow?"

"I had hoped so," I said. He left the decision on trying another store up to me. But I couldn't hold it. He knew something was up.

"Do you need ... suppositories?"

I laughed. "No!" (He told me later he picked that because he couldn't think of what I'd be embarrassed about needing.) And suddenly, I couldn't quit laughing. Through the nervous laughs, I managed to tell K the various details that led me to think I needed to buy a test. K was speechless. Almost frozen. The few words he could get out were gibberish.

As we headed toward Wal-Mart, K realized he was driving far below the speed limit. Guess he was still a bit shocked.

"It's probably nothing. I'm pretty sure I'm not. I just thought I'd check to be sure."

When we got to Wal-Mart, we wandered around the pharmacy area several times looking for the pregnancy tests. Those suckers are hard to find! K was the one to spot them first, and he came to tell me as I looked on another aisle.

Sure enough, there they were, each one in plastic boxes. There were only a few, and they sat on the top shelf in a small section next to awkward things like condoms and lube (way to keep it real, Wal-Mart!). I stopped at the end of the aisle, hesitant to approach the tests. Two other men were in the aisle (looking at things that weren't pregnancy tests, condoms, or lube). "It's OK, babe. We're married," K said.

We looked at the variety of tests. The rumors were true -- those things are expensive! And there were so many different kinds!

"Wait! I googled this on the way here," I said, reaching for my phone. Still pulled up was a page listing several different kinds of tests and what hormone level is needed to determine if you're pregnant. The early detection tests were more expensive. But since my (largely non-existent) period was last week, we weren't looking at early detection.

We settled for an ept test in the non-digital version, since it was around $12 instead of $20+ (I figured since I was pretty sure this would come back negative, why waste an extra $10?). After grabbing a battery for my keyless entry, we checked out. As we walked out of the store, we admitted that we'd both made sure our wedding rings were very visible to the cashier (actually, I usually just wear my wedding band to the gym, but I'd gone ahead and worn my full wedding set specifically because of the errand).

When we got outside, K said to me, "Can I pee on one?" Leave it to him ...

I wanted to read the directions in the car, but I worried about desanitizing the test. I didn't want to assume the two tests were individually wrapped. We got home, and I headed straight upstairs. I read the directions, and I took the test.

(THE TMI PART)
I didn't want to pee in a cup, so I went the hold-it-yourself route. The instructions said to hold it in the ... [ahem] stream ... for exactly 5 seconds. "12345!" I immediately wondered if I'd counted too quickly.

I waited the 2 minutes the test requires. I didn't look at it at all during that time.

But after 2 minutes, there was only a faint straight line instead of a plus sign. Negative.

Just to be sure, I checked it again later (and this morning, and tonight). It had been fun thinking of ways to tell K, and since we'll be heading back to Dallas for a wedding later this month, we could've told my family in person.

But at least this way, we can still follow the plan for the vitamins and such that we decided on a few weeks ago. And since the test purchase had ruined any surprise I could've enjoyed sharing with K, it'll be nice to be a little more ready later.

Before we find ourselves in that position, I'll be making a trip to Target!

NYE: The Aftermath Edition

2011-01-02T21:57:00.006-05:00

When the party goes 'til 6 a.m., the next morning is not gonna be pretty.

The only reason this table is so uncluttered is because the night owls decided to play a game of A$$hole ... sometime after 2 a.m.

Our neighbors noticed their melting snowman looked spot-on for the first morning of the New Year, so they added this sign. (K and I were glad we didn't wake up feeling like this guy looks!)

Snapshots from NYE

2011-01-02T00:53:00.000-05:00

We hosted a little party at our house last night. I got the idea (well, I got the idea to steal the idea) late yesterday afternoon to make a photo wall, since I've seen pictures on FB of a few different friends at parties that had them. It looked fun.

I'm SO glad we did it! It was a hit (especially after midnight!).

The party ended at 6 a.m.

Not bad!

Why K and I will never be in a jewelry commercial

2010-12-22T19:49:00.000-05:00

Have you seen that chocolate diamonds commercial -- the one for K@y? I swear, every time I see it, it makes me laugh because that couple is nothing like K and I.

For starters, no matter why or how long I've been up, I do not look like that at 2 a.m.

And then, when the husband explains he's up at 2 a.m. because it's 2 a.m. on Christmas ... for their first Christmas as a family, I'd definitely have to make fake vomiting noises.

He hands her a chocolate diamond ring. The practical side of me would immediately wonder just how much overboard that ring was for a Christmas gift. And I'd feel like a loser for just getting him a Blu-Ray, a stupid sweater, and whatever gadget I could get him to admit he was slightly interested in.

As if that weren't enough, as the commercial closes, the husband asks if his wife thinks their baby will remember that first Christmas. She gives the sugary sweet, cheesy answer, "I know I will."

My sarcastic response would be something along the lines of: "No, dumbass! She's 6 months old!"

No, we're definitely no jewelry store commercial couple.

We're way cooler than that.

I have to tell SOMEbody

2010-12-13T15:03:00.001-05:00

Over the weekend, we had some more friends (acquaintances, actually) announce that they're pregnant. Afterward, we girls got to talking to her asking how she was doing, and the conversation inevitably led to the planning part. Someone started talking about prenatal vitamins and how you can take them up to 2 years before you have a baby.

I remember from several years back my doctor telling me at my annual well-woman appointment that I needed to be taking a daily multivitamin to make sure I have plenty of folic acid for someday when I have a baby. It wasn't an issue then, so I didn't pay much attention.

K got me started on GNC multivitamins years ago, and I take those most days (when I remember). I hadn't realized that prenatal vitamins could be taken so early. I definitely see K and I getting ready for (or even having) kids in the next couple years, so it occurred to me that I might ought to look into those.

And there's that whole birth control pill thing. I've been on those since I was 18. I know a few women who got off the pill, immediately got pregnant, and then had miscarriages (my mom included, which worked well for me because if she hadn't had the miscarriage, I wouldn't be here!). Sometimes those just happen, and oftentimes it's nothing the mother did to cause it. However, I can't help but think that if I can do anything to help that not happen, it's a good idea.

So yesterday I brought it up with K, slowly. I mentioned the prenatal vitamins, and how you can take them up to 2 years early. Told him I was thinking I might look into those. I've got all my GNC active women's daily multivitamins, but I could do research on prenatals and see how they differ. I could start taking those soon.

And in June, when I go for my well-woman exam, maybe I'd just not renew my pills. Just to get off them for a while before we're ready for any expansion (of the family and my belly).

I softened this proposed plan with a lot of, "Not that we'd have to do anything right away ..." and "Just so we're ready when we're ready ..."

K seemed pretty quiet. I asked him how he was taking it. He was fine with it. Unphased, even.

Looks like we have a plan!

What the fcking fck?!

2010-12-08T10:43:00.002-05:00

I don't know why this occurred to me on this particular morning on this particular day, but for some reason, I realized I could probably look at my mom's FB profile, scroll through her friends list, and find the FB profile of a scumbag I wanted to rip a new one in 2005.

The scumbag I heard about the day after Christmas, when my dad accidentally told me at my favorite restaurant in my hometown that my mom had had an affair years before (I say "accidentally" because he thought I already knew. My mom had told him that she'd already told me).

So I did it. And sure enough, there he was.

There he was, smiling like the player asshole I suspected he was. A 50-something wearing a collared white shirt, unbuttoned somewhere below the cropping of the picture so his sleazy, selfish chest peaks out for the world and his poor college-aged daughter to see.

And of course he's single. And of course he's looking for friendship, dating, and a relationship. (Evidently the bastard is always looking for that. He was married when he cheated with my mom.)

I wanted to send him a message. Short, simple, but totally not sweet. Subject: "Merry Christmas." Body of messsage: "I know who you are. Just wanted to tell you I think you're a selfish, asshole scumbag."

Oh, how badly I wanted to write that message. From the moment I looked at his profile -- his sleazy, nasty profile -- I felt the blood in my heart boil. I felt the adrenaline rushing through my body with a fire I didn't realize was there. I could imagine this asshole logging on -- probably to look at trashy porn -- and seeing this message. See the color drain from his disgusting face and his bare chest. Oh, would that be nice.

Except then he'd message my mom. And then there'd be this whole dramatic spiral. My mom knows that I know because I have strongly hinted at her. We've talked about it, even. She knows exactly how I feel about it. I didn't mince any words, that's for sure.

I didn't send Mr. Sleaze a message. But I did look at his wall.

And there, in a few places sprinkled throughout his wall, was my mom. In a few places, she was actually flirting with him! (Nov 1-"So what exactly is this truth game. Didn't think you could handle the truth! lol") My mom has always been a playful person, oftentimes with members of the opposite sex. Not to say that she's slutty or a tease, but she just enjoys laughing and joking around with them. I don't think it's a bad thing in all circumstances, but this one is not in that group. You do not flirt with a man you once had an adulterous affair with. Especially since I'm pretty sure her current husband doesn't know about this affair -- or if he does, he has no idea he knows the person my mom had the affair with.

I started typing a message to my mom with the subject "Reprimand." The message was telling her I'd seen him on her friends list, that I'd clicked on his profile and seen her messages on his wall. That I thought it was dangerous territory and she should be careful.

But I deleted the message. I glared at his profile a little longer, and I typed this blog.

It's the drama-free route.

The boiling has lessened, but it's still there.

Taking the high road sure sucks sometimes.

Let the planning frustrations begin ...

2010-12-03T10:19:00.000-05:00

K and I booked our flight back to TX yesterday. I'm so excited! I haven't been home since August, and even then, it was a quick, hectic trip to play maid of honor in that one wedding I didn't want to happen.

I got to see ER and meet her baby, but I didn't get to see any family members or many other friends. I haven't seen my dad, grandparents, or brother since July. I haven't seen ER or her baby (who is growing WAY too quickly!) since August. I haven't seen Heather since June.

The list of people I need to see far outnumbers the amount of days we'll be in OK & TX. So now begins the list -- who can we not leave without seeing? How can I maximize the time with my family, even though my dad and grandparents will be working the whole time?

When do I go to my mom's house (an hour from my dad's house)?

I emailed her this morning to see when my stepsisters were coming over, since one of them told me they'll be spending Christmas with their mom this year. My mom's response:
Not sure when the girls are coming. Didn't realize they were spending Christmas with their mom this year since they did last year. Seems like [husband] and I spend alot of Christmas' alone. Am thinking we might start going somewhere that week since it's just the two of us anyway.

Groan. Let the guilt trip begin.

I'll be annoyed about it for now, but I'm sure as hell not letting it ruin my trip!

It's all in the perspective

2010-12-02T15:07:00.007-05:00

I'm having a bit of blog envy right now. Strangely enough, it all started on FB. I read a comment someone posted on a friend's (OK, an ex-bf's) wall, and it led me to Google, which led me to a blog. The blog was my ex's high school girlfriend. I remember his stories about her. She seemed kind of fascinating. Her blog totally proved that she is.

She's lived in Texas and in England, both to write greeting cards (how cool is that?!). She's witty and seems to be so full of life. And she's a talented photographer. She is now living in Miami studying photography. (I would kill to study photography.)

A few weeks ago, one of my very favorite bloggers, GFF, posted about Blog Envy. I'm sure it's something we've all felt. Someone else seems so much freer, so much cooler, so much smarter, more talented, funnier ... Well, Miss TX/England/Miami (much like GFF, actually) seems all of those things to me. So much that I even overlooked a comment in one of her posts that mocked my beloved Oklahoma (something about actually using the words "cool" and "Oklahoma" in the same sentence).

It's definitely my fault for neglecting this blog like I have. Some days I feel too busy to get down all I need to (part of that is due to the fact I don't really tell short stories), and sometimes I feel like I wouldn't have anything nice to say, so why bother to begin with (which is why I didn't write a marathon post immediately after the run).

Miss TEM, with all her world travel and amazing photos of places I may never see, seems so much wiser and worldly. I'm definitely not worldly.

I started to feel a little down on myself ... and then I started thinking.

I'm a pretty patriotic person. I've always been that way, but it's increased more and more over the years, starting first with my love of the Fourth of July and our family reunions, then the report I did in the fourth grade on Molly Pitcher, building with my high school experience at Girls State, and rocketing to the next galaxy once I fell in love with an Army guy.

And obviously I love Oklahoma. I am so proud to be from there, and I am so proud of the reputation we Okies have as being such great, friendly people. You can talk to anyone in Oklahoma, whether you know them or not. I've had some surprising and great conversations that way. (It's taken me a long time to realize people in most other places don't do that. Not that it's stopped me from trying!)

Oftentimes people somehow know I'm from that area (and this was even before I got my necklace). It happened with a kickballer on another team (he actually wanted to guess I was from Nebraska, "or one of those nearby states," he said. For a guy born & raised in VA, he got pretty dang close!). It happened to me once when I met a new coworker in Dallas. (I asked if it was because I exuded awesomeness.)

I've had people marvel at my knowledge of state facts (doesn't everyone know their state bird, state tree, state flower, etc.?). Sometimes I actually even remind myself of the dad in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, with his ability to tie everything back to Greek culture (obviously for me it would be Oklahoma). What most people don't know is that it was leaving Oklahoma that made me love it so much. Absence definitely made my heart grow fonder.

Here in VA, I've heard comments like, "You're so from Oklahoma!" (I took that as a great compliment) and "How big is the town you're from?"(For the record, 18,000. Pretty decent size for Oklahoma.)

I may not be worldly. I might enjoy using the word "y'all" a bit too much. I will never quit trying to start up conversations with strangers at the grocery store.*

I am the all-American girl next door. A small-town Okie. A meat & potatoes girl. A butcher's daughter. A NASCAR sister. An Army wife.

My world may be smaller, but it's the perfect size for me.

*For the record, I'm not the crazy lady who mumbles to herself. I'm a fan of talking to people in similar situations. Real-life example: Scanning an aisle at the store, noticing a woman next to me doing the same. "I swear, they're out of everything today!" (No, this woman did not respond. This happened in my first few weeks of moving to Dallas. She stared straight ahead, unmoving, as though I didn't exist. I really wanted to cry.)

My dad is going to give me a heart attack

2010-11-29T15:29:00.001-05:00

I typically talk to my dad two or three times a week. I'll call him some mornings on my way to work. We almost always talk during OU football games. But we rarely talk during my workday.

So on the rare occasion my dad calls while I'm working, I know it's not good.

Last time, it was to tell me the daughter of a family friend had been killed in a car wreck. The time before that, he told me that a very close family friend had only a few days to live (cue me crying at my desk). I could go on.

I've gotten to where seeing my Dad's number pop up on my phone during my workday makes my heart feel heavy and my pulse race at the same time. I answer with a variation of, "Who is it this time?" and listen intently to his first words for any clues about the closeness of whoever he's calling about, while repeating over and over in my head, Please let Grandma and Grandpa be OK.

Today, I went with, "Is everyone OK?" Dad's answer, of course, was no. He went on to name an aunt & uncle, and then he filtered down to their son. A 2nd cousin I didn't see much because they didn't come to our family reunions very often. He was 33, and he was killed in a car accident not long before the phone call.

I remember his sister much better because she was closer to my age. We message from time to time on FB. I learned of the accident before their grandmother, and before a lot of our other family because my grandpa has to spread the word.

I feel terrible for my cousin and for my other family members, especially his sister. I'd be devastated if anything happened to my brother.

I feel bad to say that I'm relieved it wasn't someone I'm closer to. But still, nearing an hour after Dad's phone call, I don't feel right yet. My heart is still heavy, and my anxiety level is still high.

I'm tempted to ask Dad to hold all phone calls until after work ...

Damn hormones!

2010-11-23T16:49:00.003-05:00

Obviously I have a lot of things to catch you guys up on, like actually telling about my marathon, and sharing pictures from a camping trip a few weeks ago, when I slept outside for the first time in my life.

But there’s something a bit more pressing to share. It’s more pressing because it’s been kind of sudden. Or I’m guessing that it’s becoming that way.

In the past, I’ve actually started a post a couple times about my thoughts on children (I never published them because I was afraid they'd come out the wrong way). About how once I got Piper and realized how badly I wanted people to like her and how protective I felt about a freakin’ dog, I also realized there’s no telling how ridiculous I’d be with a child. Not to mention when you consider how protective I am over my perfectly capable little brother, who I still refer to as my “little” brother despite the fact he’s 6’2” and 26 years old.

I decided I wanted nothing to do with having a child. Maybe ever. Because the world doesn’t need that level of sanity, and ohmygosh do they ever stop crying?

I heard them all around me. Crying. Begging. Demanding attention. I saw exhausted parents and parents who seemed to make their lives revolve around their kids. I saw dirty fingers. I saw minivans.

I realized I could see myself being ready for a family in 10, maybe 15 years (with an SUV, of course). Only I’d be 35 or 40 by that point (remember, this was a couple years ago). Plenty of people have started families at that age, but surely I’d want to start one before that.

Thankfully, K was just as opposed to the idea of kids anytime soon as I was.

Only he’s actually good with them. Kids love K. I’m the awkward one. I overthink the entire interaction. Oh my God, this kid’s handing me a Crayon. What am I supposed to do? Tell him thanks, or give it back? Am I supposed to hide it so he doesn’t color on the walls? Am I supposed to ask him what color it is? Shitshitshitshit!

And then ER had a baby.

And then Danielle got pregnant.

Along with everyone I'm friends with on FB.

And I read blogs written by amazing mothers who have beautiful children who occasionally misbehave (like everyone) and sometimes have dirty fingers. But it’s great to see the moms' whole perspective, especially since I’ve watched these babies’ entire lives! Not to mention the fact that these moms manage to live for their kids (as it should be), but still hold onto themselves and do all the things they loved before the baby.

I had wondered if maybe I was missing the "mom gene," which would be crazy since I’d been labeled the mom in a group of friends a couple times. Maybe my aversion was to babies. I was relieved to talk to friends who said that the “switch” had flipped quickly for them. Or the ones who said they felt awkward around kids too, until they had their own. That it all came naturally.

Lately, as I’ve been taking advantage of holiday sales (whoops!) for my professional winter wardrobe, I’ve thought to myself, Should I be buying clothes right now? Not because I feel guilty for taking advantage of Christmas sales for myself, but because I worry if I’ll be fitting into them much longer. *ahem ahem*

Then, last weekend, while hanging out with K’s family and his cousin’s 2-year-old son, I heard this weird voice in the back of my mind: I want one.

Only I don't. I don't feel like I want one.

Not just yet. So where did that come from? Is my brain just preparing me for that time? Or am I in extreme effing denial? I've considered before that my ridiculous preoccupation with not wanting a child was a little suspicious.

I’ve thought about this dozens of times. It used to go like this: We could have a kid. I could handle that. It's just the responsibility of raising it that I don't want. I still want to be selfish and spontaneous.

Now, it’s a bit more detailed: We could do this. K and I could have a kid … Only we don’t really have room for one. We still need a guest room, so we’d have to use the office. Dang it! I like the office how it is. Maybe we could just throw a crib in there. It’s not like we’ll be here that much longer anyway. ... (Don't worry, I wouldn't just throw a kid in the office.)

And money. I mean, we're financially stable, but bring-a-kid-into-the-picture financially stable?

I’ve told K (hesitantly) the things I’ve been thinking, and he's seemed pretty unphased. I haven't brought it up to anyone else yet, but I already know what ER will say. She'll tell me what her doctor told her: that most people don't ever feel like they're perfectly ready to have a child. They just make room for it.

Is that what's happening here?

Is this how it starts? Or am I just getting less vehemently opposed and more comfortable with the possibility?

MLIB, Marathon Runner

2010-11-15T00:04:00.000-05:00

We ran. And ran. And ran. But we finished, and we had a pretty awesome pace.

It was painful, it was torture, and I'm pretty sure we're insane for doing it, but it's done.

We're done.

I'm never doing that again.

An additional challenge

2010-11-12T14:06:00.002-05:00

We put off as long as we could today our last training run -- 2 miles. A nice, easy run, which we had to keep to a slow pace. We decided to bring Piper along.

One thing I haven't mentioned on here is that I have tachycardia. Having two bad knees isn't quite enough for me. Nope, I have to throw a heart condition into the mix.

We had gone just over a mile when Piper made it clear she needed to stop. K took her leash, and I leaned over to clean up. Just then, my pulse started going.

I've seen a doctor about my tachycardia before, obviously. It's nothing life-threatening, just a huge pain in the a$$. Basically, what happens is that from time to time, my pulse starts going really quickly. Like over 200 beats a minute. Sometimes it lasts a couple seconds; one time it lasted a couple hours. If an episode lasts long enough, it makes me feel tired, and it can even make my arm hurt. I have to take deep breaths. But as soon as it's done, I'm fine. Completely back to normal.

My doctor gave me the option to take beta blockers for it, but that would mean my pulse would never raise, not even during workouts, and I'd get fatigued more quickly. Something about that sounded like not living, so I chose not to take them. What that means is that if my pulse starts going, I have to immediately halt any physical activity.

My doctor knew I intended to run a marathon someday and that I was active with cycling, running, and working out at the time. "You mean to tell me that if you have an episode in the middle of a marathon, you're just going to stop running?"

"Yes."

What can be good is that these "episodes" typically come in spurts. What's bad is that I haven't had one in a while ... until today. Luckily, today's only lasted a couple minutes.

See that 237? That's my maximum heart rate during the run, thanks to my tachycardia.

If you don't mind, please keep an extra set of fingers crossed for me that if my pulse decides to mess around with me tomorrow, it waits until the afternoon.

Ready or not ...

2010-11-10T18:24:00.000-05:00

As you know, K and I have spent the last 18 weeks training for our first (and what we intend to be our only) marathon. Our training began on July 13, at the height of summer barbecues and trips to the beach, with a modest three-mile run. We ran through high heat, early mornings, and a few times even late nights.

These 18 weeks have affected every aspect of our lives: our sleep schedule, our meals, our water intake (we're human camels now), energy levels, sex lives, weekend schedules, activities, gym time (we haven't been in weeks!), our kitchen (we eating everything in sight, and we don't want to waste energy going to the store), and even the tidiness of our house. We ran 9 miles when we were in Oklahoma for a wedding; we ran 12 miles when we were in Pennsylvania for a birthday party.

We reached the peak of our training on October 20, when we ran 21 miles.

Twenty-
one
miles.

We have run almost 300 miles over the course of our training. We have gone through countless bottles of Gatorade and packets of Gu (let's just say we've been buying them by the case!). We've even gone through a couple pairs of shoes. And it all comes down to Saturday.

Our marathon begins at 8 a.m. I'm hoping we've crossed the finish line by 12:30 (if our actual start time is right at 8). No matter what, though, we'll be proud of ourselves for accomplishing this feat.

And as a heads-up, if you have stock in Gatorade and/or Gu, you might want to sell it by Saturday.

A gift ... or a test?

2010-10-18T13:29:00.000-04:00

When I discovered the amazing gift from God that is Ou!dad hair products, I blogged about it. Booked an appointment for a haircut. Blogged about it.

I told friends about it. I became a fan on Facebook.

A year later, I'm still hooked. I've had another Ou!dad cut since then, and I've ordered liters of shampoo and conditioner over the last 12 months.

A few weeks ago, I went to order a couple more liters and some bottles of my favorite finishing gel to take advantage of a free shipping offer. Somehow, they were out of stock of my gel, but I went ahead and ordered the liters, since they're the bulk of the weight of my shipment anyway. I checked the website regularly, and when the gel was back in stock, I ordered it -- two bottles even, since it was the same price for shipping and I know I'll use it.

Imagine my surprise when I received a shipment containing four bottles of gel! I checked the statement, and sure enough, I had been charged only for two.

I called Ou!dad's customer service, but evidently they were closed. I had explained my story to the girl who answered the phone, but she said she could only help me with placing an order. This was last week.

So today, I went to call Ou!dad on my lunch break. But I couldn't help but wonder: Am I the world's biggest idiot?

Am I trying to pass up a Gift From the Curly Hair Goddesses? Will I get bad karma for not calling customer service (again) -- or is this a gift of good karma all together? (I mean, I have called the cops twice in the last month to report large items in the road in hopes of preventing an accident.)

Do I call and let Ou!dad Customer Service be the one to tell me it's OK to stay mum?

Am I part of one of those hidden-camera tests to see if people are decent and honest enough to report such an error? (You guys would tell me if I was a test subject, right?)

Is it reparations for the terrible teasing and torture I endured in the 8th grade because of my curly hair?

Decisions, decisions ... If only I didn't believe in karma.

What would you do?

"You gotta have a goal"

2010-10-11T22:46:00.000-04:00

Our marathon is approaching ... not quickly enough, but it's coming. And after all that training is done, we're going to have a whole lot of time on our hands. It's going to be awesome.

But somehow, in a conversation with K's aunt & uncle, who stopped by to visit as they passed through VA on a road trip, K and I decided to fill that free time with a different activity.

To celebrate completing our marathon, we're going to learn Italian together.

And then, we're going to Italy to use it.

K has family there, and I'd love to see Venice. And Florence. And Rome. But especially Venice.

Not a bad reward for running 26.2.

Hell, maybe we'll even call it a honeymoon.

One-track mind

2010-10-07T12:05:00.000-04:00

I feel like I owe my Facebook friends an apology. My status updates are pretty often about running, or my knee, or something related to running. But as sick as they might be about reading about me running? I guarantee I'm more sick of doing the running.

I cannot wait for this marathon to come and go. (Just over a month left!)

I feel like our entire lives revolve around running, training, and training runs. It seriously affects everything: our diet, our schedules, our sleep, our weight lifting, our sex life, our weight, our house, my ass. Everything.

We have to particularly watch what we eat (and drink) on the nights before our long runs, which we typically do on Saturdays (and now that we're nearing the marathon, Wednesdays too). And we're always hungry; considering I've always been a snacker as it is, I pretty much eat all day every day.

We have to be careful how much we plan on weekends, because we have to get in a ridiculously long run at some point. We're always tired. We haven't been going to the gym as much (see previous sentence); my arms have lost a little definition (yay, sweater season).

As for the sex life, the desire is there, but the energy is not (dislike). Both K and I have noticed our weight is always fluctuating, probably due to the ridiculous water intake and then the sweating during the run. I've actually gained a few pounds through this whole ordeal, and I think K has too (it's actually common to gain weight during marathon training -- who knew?).

The house isn't as spic 'n' span as it usually is because, frankly, when we're not running, I kind of don't give a damn about cleaning. I made it around to the toilets and sinks last weekend, and K vacuumed. That's good enough for me right now, so the dust bunnies will remain.

But my ass? It's spectacular. And so are my legs. Just in time for the end of swimsuit season. Go figure, huh? And I know, K is the one who will get the most benefit out of this, and he gets to see them all the time. However, with all this time, effort, and energy, it would be nice to just parade around in a bikini on the beach and show it off. No such luck.

Now for blurbs, because it's been forever since I updated.

I'm a real runner now
(Guess I owe you guys an apology along with my FB friends ...) A week ago Saturday, K and I were 3 miles into our 16-mile training run when I realized I was going to have to make a pit stop. Then, I did something I've never done before in my life. And that milestone makes me feel like I can finally say that I'm a real runner: I shit in the woods.

Hey, when you've gotta go, you've gotta go. Thankfully, K had found himself in that situation a week or two before, so he made sure to bring toilet paper from then on. Thank goodness!

But imagine our surprise when we emerged from the woods, rounded a corner, and saw two portapotties on the side of the road. Evidently there was a fundraiser walk of sorts going on, so as we continued on our route, we continued to pass portapotties every few miles.

Oh well. The woods made me feel much more like a badass.

Work
Still here. Gonna stick with it, obviously. I've kind of learned to not let it get to me so much anymore. There's only so much I can do, right?

Actually, I have so much to do that I've been assigned a volunteer to help me. This woman has an MBA from Boston Un!versity. She has held management positions. And I am making her help me with piddly tasks I don't have time to get to.

It's nice to have the help, but I don't like being in charge of someone. It makes me uncomfortable.

Mom's visit
It went well, but I was glad when it was done. I'm a lot less patient with my mom. Things my dad or anyone else would get away with fine somehow annoy the holy hell out of me when my mom does them. And she's terrible at following directions. Terrible. At one point I experienced a little déjà vu from her failed Dallas trip to go wedding dress shopping with me (that fight resulted in us not talking for over a year). The woman drives me f*ing insane sometimes, really.

The first couple nights I was driving home, I just felt completely stressed out. Anxious. And I didn't know why. I talked to K, and he told me he wasn't surprised that way. That I was probably on eggshells because my mom was there, and he could understand that. I talked to ER. She listened to me vent for a bit when I had to make a quick trip to the grocery store.

But the times actually spent with my mom and her husband were all good.

Well, except for the part where we toured the White House. See, my mom had scheduled a tour for her and her husband, K, and me. We were supposed to get a private 2-hour tour. Only something came up that day, and they had to move our tour to the following day. K and I adjusted our out-of-office days at work, and we headed up to D.C. for the tour. What we didn't realize was that because our date got moved, we no longer had a private tour. In an effort to get two days' worth of people through the White House in one day, we'd get the standard walk-yourself-through tour. Hugest waste ever. We were done in 20 minutes.

I don't ever want to look at the White House again.

(For the record, if you're already in D.C. and plan to take the tour, it's perfectly fine. But do not travel to D.C. specifically and solely for the tour. Trust me, you'll be pissed. And your feet will hurt because you thought you were supposed to dress up, but there were punkwads touring the White House !!! in baggy jeans, flip flops, and hats.)

One lucky girl

2010-09-22T14:12:00.000-04:00

Today is K's and my three-year wedding anniversary (from the Florida wedding, the one where we were actually legally married). Three years and a second wedding later, we still haven't had a honeymoon. We swore to ourselves that we'd finally get around to that this year, but between all the traveling for weddings, wedding showers, a baby shower, and we-haven't-seen-you-in-a-while visits, we just don't want to have to take off work again for something else. That, and sometimes it's just nice to be home for once!

We're very fortunate to feel like we have everything we want or need, so we didn't plan on even buying gifts.

So imagine my surprise today when I see an enormous bouquet of flowers coming up the stairs today. And when the bouquet was moved aside, I could see that the delivery person was K!

Of course he planned his arrival just in time for lunch. That alone was a nice treat, since we work in completely opposite directions from one another, so it's a good 40 minutes or so between my workplace and his.

Tonight is our weekly kickball game (by the way, I had an amazing catch at last week's game, AND I'm somehow the 3rd kicker in our new lineup!), which we always look forward to.

We're still going to fit in some of the sweet, romantic stuff -- we've got brunch and a couple's massage at a spa schedule for Sunday. Considering the jam-packed day we have on Saturday, which includes a 16-mile training run, Sunday's relaxation will be pure perfection.

But for tonight, we'll celebrate with a little kickball, lots of friends, and a couple beers.

That's more our style anyway.

Since odds are good we won't find ourselves at the same Halloween party

2010-09-20T12:29:00.001-04:00

An actual email I just sent to K.

Subject:
*gasp* We have 1 month and 10 days ...

Body:
... to come up with a kick-ass Halloween costume.

What do we want to be?

Paris Hilton and a bag of cocaine?
Julius Caesar and a salad? ('cause together, we'd be a CAESAR SALAD!)
Pizza & beer, because they're everyone's favorite and they go perfectly together? (Like US?!)

My vote is something more punny and funny than romantic and gag-inducing.

I also don't want it to be an obvious combo ... so I guess that eliminates Paris and the cocaine.

Damn.

Love. That. Class!

2010-09-10T11:15:00.001-04:00

Last night, I went to my first kickball class in for.ev.er. I can't even remember the last time I was able to go to that class, but I'm pretty sure I'd only been once since my class with GFF.

With all our travels in August, we just weren't here on Thursday nights for me to enjoy my class. I had to skip last week because my knee was still acting up, and I figured the last thing I needed to do was spend an hour doing squats.

But last night. Oh, last night.

I didn't bring my own kettlebell with me because I wasn't sure I could handle it after all that time off. I grabbed a 10-pounder from the gym, and it made the first half of the class very easy. At our first break (30 mins. in!), I grabbed a 15-pound kettlebell that someone had just put back, and I used it as much as I could for the rest of the class.

It was exhausting. It was painful. It was sweaty. It was fantastic.

Today, my glutes are burning. My thighs are burning. My back is sore. My arms are even protesting a bit. I just might be in the best mood I've been in for a good couple weeks, probably (and it's a workday!).

And for the first time in 3 weeks, my left knee feels 100%.

I suspected mentally that I was addicted. Evidently my body needs that weekly ass-kicking too.

I'm happy to oblige.

Real men love football

2010-09-09T13:13:00.002-04:00

I'm so excited it's finally football season again. Maybe that's part of the reason it suddenly feels so much like fall.

One thing about life in Oklahoma and texas is that football is huge. Guys love it. Girls love it. That's it. It's inspirational.

Here in VA, they have other sports. Hockey. ... ... I'm sure there's something else, but the point is, you can take the girl out of Oklahoma, but you can't take the Oklahoma out of the girl. My awareness that hockey exists here is solely due to my confusion that people can get wrapped up in any other sport than football (and sometimes NASCAR -- hey, my brother works for them. don't judge). I mean, we have basketball and baseball in OK, but we still know the big show starts in September (and sometimes, when we're very very lucky, late August).

In OK & tx, I always had plenty of people to talk to about college football. I never really had to even seek people out. But in VA? Not so much. And I definitely haven't found a girl here who likes The Greatest Sport Ever Invented.

I first realized the gravity of the situation when the whole conference realignment was going on. The rumor that my beloved Sooners would become part of the PAC-10 was at its highest point. I was stressed. I didn't like the uncertainty.

I tried to talk about it to a coworker, Matt. "Do you follow college football?"

"No. Why?"

I ignored that first part. Since he's male, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I started going into the conference realignment. I had only been talking about 5 seconds when he interrupted me.

"Did you ever watch Charlie Brown?"

"Huh? No." I was confused why he'd be changing the subject from football to kids' cartoons.

Matt went on to tell me about the teacher, and how whenever she talks, all the kids hear is, "Woh woh wohwoh woh woh ..." (I had seen enough Charlie Brown to know that.) "That's what you sound like to me right now," he said.

I looked at him in amazement. And for the next 10 seconds (until my mind was back on the realignment), I wondered how on earth his wife is able to think of him as a man.

Reasons I love my job have a job

2010-09-08T15:01:00.002-04:00

It gives me money to buy cute clothes.
It's helping me pay off my credit card.
It give me a place to wear cute clothes.
It gets me out of the house.
It's helping me pay off my credit card.
... ... ...

Sometimes (most of the time) I need a reminder.

Maybe I should print this list and post it on my computer screen.

Do you remember that temp job that I hated last winter? The reason I hated it is because it was data entry, which is so NOT what they hired me to do. They hired me for writing and editing. So not data entry.

My current job hired me for writing. And then, like sneaky little punkwads, they slipped some data entry crap in there on me. That stupid bit of side work now takes up a pretty decent chunk of my time.

And the funnest (yes, that's a word) part of my job -- which they interviewed me extensively about -- has been farmed out to outside companies because I don't have time to do it anymore.

Lame.

My 6-month review is tomorrow. I'm unleashing.

Maybe it would be good for me to take that above list into my review ...

How Mc Donald's cost me $100

2010-09-07T13:33:00.001-04:00

I rarely leave the office for lunch. I've been that way in every job I've ever held. It's just cheaper and easier to bring a nice little Le@n Cu!sine to eat at my desk, so that's the route I've always gone.

Today, though, I decided to go out. Heck, I ran 13.1 miles Sunday (more on that later), and if I'm craving McDonald's, I'm going. I earned it!

I considered getting my lunch and eating it at a park nearby, but when I was walking to my car, I realized it might still be too hot to do that. I opted to head to the mall instead to return a tunic I'd been meaning to take back. Being productive and still getting my crap food fix at the same time? Score!

As I headed in the direction of the mall, I passed under a tree-lined street. A gust of wind made the leaves rain down over the road. I smiled. I had football on my TV last weekend, and now this? Fall feels just around the corner!

When I got to Banana Republic, it seemed I wasn't the only person who'd come up with the lunchtime productivity idea. Since the line was really long and there was only one cashier, I decided the best use of my time would be to look around the store.

Turns out Banana had been bitten by the Autumn Bug too.

Unfortunately, a trip to the dressing room only solidified my desire for a pair of brown corduroy pants (they actually had them in long!!! do you know how hard that is to find in corduroy?!) and two adorable, stylish fall shirts.


Aren't they so retro-modern chic?! You know how much I love yellow, and the other shirt has that great faux tie thing going on. And the updated houndstooth? Who could pass that up?! sigh You win, Banana. You win.

I bought them all. I told myself it was a reward for finishing the half-marathon. And considering the pants were on sale (that was a fun surprise!), my total was under $100 (so what if that included the refund from the tunic I returned!). That wasn't even $1 for every minute I ran on Sunday.

On my way back to the office, I still swung through McDonald's. It was fantastic, but not quite as exciting as my Banana find.

As fantastic as today's lunch break was, it served as a great reminder of why I don't leave my desk for lunch. Looks like Le@n Cu!sines for me for the next several weeks.

Especially after I run my full marathon in November!

Pathetic, no?

2010-09-02T12:53:00.001-04:00

This is a picture of all the vitamins and supplements I'll take through the course of my day:

GNC Ultra Mega Active Women's Daily vitapak
2 Motrin
2 glucosamine tablets (which K is making me take for my knee)
birth control

The funny part? The most important pill is the smallest one!

I'll take it!

2010-09-02T12:31:00.007-04:00

My knee has continued to suck this week. I've been icing it regularly (especially the last couple days), and I've started taking Motrin again in case that helps. I haven't gone running since Saturday.

But still, 5 days later, I'm hobbling a bit, and I've continued to clutch the stairs when I go up or down them at home and at work.

Because of that, I decided to wear my brace at last night's kickball game. I wondered if I should even be playing. I was ridiculously nervous about my knee, and I had K do a short, slow jog with me on the field before the game, just to see how it felt. The verdict? Not very good.

It feels almost like there's something missing beneath my kneecap on the inside part of my knee. That's the best way I can explain it. And there was still a slight pain/discomfort there on some steps.

But I played anyway, even though I worried it was a bad idea.

When I went up to kick, I heard some girl on the other team say, "She's got a busted wheel. Easy out at first." I felt a fire in my eyes. I stared straight forward, determined. Afterward, I wished I'd looked at her. I'm pretty sure I'd have burned a whole straight into her face. I know she was kidding, and jokes like that can be part of the game, but I felt like it was a little below the belt. Especially since I was so concerned about it to begin with.

I kicked, and I ran toward 1st base. The ball made it there before I did.

Damn!

And then the girl on 1st base dropped it. SAFE! (Take THAT, "Easy out" girl! Also, for the record, the girl I think made the comment never made it to 1st base. One of those attempts was killed by K, who caught her foul ball. BOOM!)

That one trip around the bases (I only got as far as 3rd base, since our kicker got the 3rd out of the inning when I was there) made my knee a little more swollen. When I realized that, I told K I was afraid I might not be able to run our half-marathon on Sunday.

When I went to bed last night, I propped my knees up on two pillows to elevate them. I've continued icing today off & on at work. It's still felt iffy, and it's totally affecting my day. Obviously I have to skip kettlebells tonight (I haven't been in forever!), :( which doesn't help my mood either.

But then, when I climbed the stairs today after fixing my lunch, I was able to make it up almost normally. Almost.

I wasn't exactly upright (I was leaning pretty far forward for balance), but there was no clutching of the rail. The lilting steps were almost even. And I climbed them pretty quickly!!!

When I went down the steps again later, even that had improved. It wasn't quite as much as with going up the stairs, but there was still a change.

Sah-weet!

It's a minor victory, but sometimes that's all you need. Maybe (with a couple more days' rest) I'll be able to run this weekend after all!

I guess this means I'm a runner

2010-08-30T16:37:00.007-04:00

I was able to get in to see my knee doctor last week ($1 million tip: If you find yourself talking to a mean receptionist who won't let you talk to the doc to find out if your situation even warrants an appointment -- especially when she keeps telling you they can't work you in until September -- ask for the nurses' line. That line is a godsend!). After my bouts of pain at the end of our training run that Saturday, I had had a bit of swelling and plenty of worrying about what it meant for the future of my marathon training.

The doctor took a look at things and told me that, given my history of injury, there will just be times my knee hurts. There will just be times my knee swells. And in those cases of pain, I'm supposed to stop running. I told the doctor I could do that.

I was able to ask him some questions I'd had for a while now. Like whether or not the increased cracking of my left knee on stairs is something to worry about. (No.) Or whether I might be wearing my braces wrong. (No.) And is he sure I'm not insane for running a marathon with my history of knee problems? (No. Just kidding.) The doctor told me he has lots of patients who are runners, and they're all going to run no matter what. (OK, then.) He told me to come back after my marathon and tell him how it went.

He said I'd done well by taking it easy and icing my knee. I had waited until Wednesday morning to test out a 3-mile run. I started slow and easy. I even told K not to worry about slowing his own pace to stay with me. He reluctantly ran ahead. And by our halfway point, I had totally caught up with him.

Friday, we went for a quick 2-mile run, just to loosen ourselves up for Saturday's long run. It went well.

Saturday, we ran 12 miles. We were in PA, which is definitely hillier than VA. We'd been going along for a few miles before the tinges of pain started ... but we hadn't gone as far as I'd liked. I ran through them, just to see what would happen. They only lasted for a few steps. Sometimes even just two steps. But they would come and go, and I would wince while they were there, and give quick sighs of relief when they were (temporarily) gone.

The bouts increased along with our distance. Just before we reached 12 miles, there was a pain that made me cry out, but not loudly. It wasn't the first time that I'd done that (and it was primarily out of worry), but we were close to the trail that led to our car. The next step on my left knee resulted in a similar sound.

"Stop," K said to me.

I tried to argue with him. "No, I'm fine. We're almost done --"

"Fucking stop!" he handed me the keys, and, defeated, I hobbled back to the car.

Late Saturday night and several times throughout the day yesterday, I iced my knee. I took Motrin once yesterday and today, to help with the swelling and ease the (still minor) discomfort.

All these years, I had thought my right knee was the problem (see the surgery scars?)!

As you can see, my left knee is still pretty big. And I'm hobbling still -- particularly on stairs (which I deal with at home and at work). But I clutch the wall with one hand and the rail in the other, and I deal with it.

So far it's all like last week, which makes me think it'll gradually fade like last week. Which means I'll be in great shape (all right, OK shape) for my half-marathon this weekend. One of K's best friends is a doctor, and he suggested I take Motrin before the run. Done. I'll just take it easy until then, own the run, and take it easy after.

So I guess I lied to my doctor, but it was an accident. I mean, if my knee is going to swell and hurt from time to time regardless, why not just keep running?

At least my doctor was right about something: Those patients of his who are runners are going to run no matter what.

(Sorry, Doc.)

Whoops!

2010-08-26T11:11:00.000-04:00

So I just scrolled through this little blog, and I realized that 4 of my last 6 posts were talking about our crazy lives, how we need to slow down, and how I need sleep.

I think you get it.

So you know what you also get now? Pictures. Not because I loaded them, but because I stole them off of Facebook from less-tired people -- or those who are cool enough to suck it up, load the pictures, and sleep tomorrow.

Meeting ER's adorable (and tiny!) baby! I've seriously never been so excited to meet a baby before.

K, who (praise the Lord!) is a natural with kids. ER's baby is an absolute angel, though, and hardly ever cries! Also, this picture is awesome because it shows exactly what was going on in the rare moments that I wasn't holding the baby. :)

It's our standard pose! And we continued our tie tradition as well. K and me at Rachel's reception.

Happy times after kickball! In case you haven't noticed, when my weight fluctuates the tiniest bit (I'm talking like 3 lbs. here, people), the first first first place you see it is my face. Always. This picture made me realize that when my mom visits in a couple weeks, she's totally going to tell me I'm too skinny.

And yes, you read that right. Mom. Here. Two weeks.

Maybe we'll sleep at 28 and 33

2010-08-26T10:59:00.001-04:00

Have I told you guys how tired I am? Seriously, ridiculously tired. I wondered a time or two if I should go to the doctor about it, but I did research, and I guess this just happens. I'm 27 now (FYI, I'm not one of those people who intends to ever whine about my age. 27 is young. 37 is young. It's just not the same level of young as 17, even if my schedule seems to show that I think it is.). I guess I can't just run around like crazy and not pay for it all day every day.

Of course, it doesn't hurt that we had our kickball game last night. We went to the bar after, and we left close to 11 p.m. I went to sleep at 12:15, and my alarm started going off at 5:30 because K and I were supposed to run 6 miles for our training. (That totally didn't happen.) I hit the snooze for a good 30 minutes, until I shut off the alarm and let myself go back to sleep. It was heaven.

And it was probably better that way. Today is K's birthday, and we're driving up to PA tonight for the weekend. We've got a couple fun plans in store that I'm excited about.

But first, back to that kickball game. I actually got on base both times I kicked. And -- AND!!! -- I caught someone's kick for the final out of the game. I told K that I'm feeling better about my Kickball Skillz this season. Instead of Sucking, I'm totally Mediocre now, and I plan on continuing to improve throughout the season. Maybe by early November, I'll actually be Not Bad!

K and I can't quit gushing about how grateful we are for having found kickball. When I met the girl from Meetup.com, who introduced K and I to a couple of her friends who were on this kickball team, they told us about it several times, trying to get us to join. I can only imagine the looks K and I gave them: "Kickball? Seriously? Riiiight."

But joining that team was the best thing we've done here! That one move has brought us 20 close friends and fellow teammates, and we've made friends on other teams as well. Everyone on our team is so nice, and we've marveled several times how little we actually know about mundane topics like what we do for a living. It's crazy when someone brings up a funny work story, and you find yourself saying, "I didn't know that's what you do!" when you've spent countless hours hanging out with the person at bars, the swimming pool, the movies, and sometimes even each other's houses. It's pretty awesome.

In other news, I've taken a ridiculous amount of pictures lately. Pictures from Rachel's wedding (that was two weekends ago), from when I met ER's baby (!!!), from various concerts, and from our kickball party last weekend. I haven't even uploaded most of them to my computer yet because -- you guessed it -- I'm so dang tired. And busy.

I keep thinking that K and I need to slow down or something, but this is pretty much what this time in our lives is for, right?

We never slow down

2010-08-23T11:53:00.000-04:00

Last weekend was our last one without visitors or travels for at least a month. So what did K and I do? We packed it full of activities and decided to host our entire kickball team. That's how we roll!

Friday night, we headed to Busch Gardens, where I somehow just realized I have a healthy fear of heights (how the hell did I ever go sky diving?!). Saturday morning, we slept until 8 (whoops!) and got a late start on our 7-mile training run. Toward the end of the run, we were cruising along at an 8-min-mile pace. I wanted to pick it up even faster, but I wasn't sure how much farther we had to go, and I didn't want to burn all my energy and have to suck it up the last little leg. Suddenly, a sharp pain went shooting through my left knee cap. I told K I needed to stop. We had just hit mile 7.

We walked for a bit. I loosened my knee brace and slid it off my knee to give it a break. After a mile or so, K asked if I felt up to running the last mile to the car. Since my knee had been the only thing that stopped me, I thought maybe the walk would've ironed out some of the kinks. I pulled my brace back up, tightened it, and stepped forward with my right foot. As soon as I put weight on my left knee, I winced and stopped. The pain was still there. Yikes. Needless to say, we walked that last mile too (I'm on strict orders to not run through knee pain).

When we got home, I cleaned the house while K mowed the yard. As soon as we finished, we headed to the beach. I made a regular genius move and skipped the sunscreen, since I thought we wouldn't be out long. I had put sunscreen on my face before we left the house, so my face is fine, but my back and chest are a bit red. I'm kind of itchy today, so my back might start peeling soon. Yuck. Pretty sure I've learned my lesson.

After the beach, we had just enough time to get home and get showered before our kickball friends started coming over. We had a nice joint birthday party for me, K (his birthday is this Thursday), and another friend. It was a great party. The last guests left around 1:30 a.m.

We slept in until 11:30 yesterday morning. I could've slept longer, especially since I managed to nap a couple times on the couch. In the afternoon, we went to see Piranha 3D. I don't need to see it again, but it wasn't bad. Pretty silly. Definitely good for some laughs.

K and I ran some errands and grilled steak for dinner. We somehow managed to get ourselves to bed just before midnight when I'd wanted it to be an early night.

Now I'm supposedly back to the grind -- not that I can concentrate. My back is itching from time to time, and I'm still ridiculously tired. This hectic life of ours is hard enough without throwing marathon training in there!

Oh well ... You only live once, right?

Symptoms

2010-08-18T13:57:00.000-04:00

I'm tired. A lot.
I'm hungrier than usual.
I'm thirstier than usual.
I have to pee all the time.
Some mornings, my stomach is upset.
Slight weight gain.
Periods of increased breakouts.
Regular thoughts about the pain and torture I'll be putting my body through in a matter of weeks.

Marathon training. Kind of sounds like something else, doesn't it?

27

2010-08-17T14:16:00.001-04:00

Today's my 27th birthday, and so far, it's been a pretty good day.

Instead of getting up to run 3 miles for our marathon training, K left the decision up to me before immediately cuddling up next to me. I'm pretty sure he was just looking to get out of the run without being the one to take the blame. I was happy to oblige.

I woke up feeling nice and rested, and I was in a great mood. K slipped a small box by me while I was getting ready this morning. I was immediately in love with what was inside.

I had already decided to wear a new shirt I'd been wanting to wear for a while now. I really wanted to wear the necklace, but it wasn't the best fit for the ruffly shirt. In fact, with the ruffles and the shiny chain, it almost looked Guido-ish.

Should I change shirts? But I wanted to wear this one. It's the perfect birthday shirt--bright and fun and cute, all at the same time.

But I didn't want to wait to wear the necklace either.

My solution: It's my birthday. I'm wearing them both! And there's not a damn thing anybody can say about it.

I wanted a cookie!

2010-08-10T14:18:00.000-04:00

Our department head resigned a couple weeks ago. His last day was Friday, but he planned to come in for lunch with all of us at some point.

I mentioned to a coworker that I was thinking of making cookies for that day. She told our former boss ... which meant I definitely had to make the cookies.

The lunch was scheduled for today, so last night, I baked. I packed enough cookies this morning for everyone in the office to have two. I planned on setting them out when our former boss came by the office.

Only he met us at the restaurant instead. So I had to give him the cookies there.

All day I'd looked forward to enjoying a cookie or two this afternoon. Instead, they're now on the way home with my former boss.

Dislike.

The craziness continues ...

2010-08-09T12:59:00.000-04:00

Geez, I said I was going to come back to this thing, but I'm determined to make a liar out of myself, I guess. K and I are in our fifth week of marathon training, and I'm shocked how much time it takes up already. Not the running, necessarily, but the extra water drinking and snacking (burning those extra calories takes a toll quickly!) ... the extra peeing ... the extra sleeping ...

We typically run in the morning, and we still try to go to the gym and lift at night. If we miss the gym, it's because we're going to a concert or hanging out with friends -- or packing to go somewhere and see somebody.

We really never stop, I swear!

We actually had a power outage last Friday morning, and we were all able to go home early. Because of that, I was finally able to take care of the house work I'd been neglecting due to all that resting.

And it looks like there's no resting this week. We have the gym tonight, a movie with friends tomorrow, packing on Wednesday, a concert on Thursday, and early Friday we're heading to OK & TX for another wedding. The one where I'm maid of honor. The one where I have to give a speech about my friend marrying a guy I don't like.

I still need to write that thing.

Geez, does it ever stop?

A sign?

2010-07-30T12:21:00.000-04:00

K and I will have been married 3 years this September.

Thanks to his deployment and our move to VA last summer (and trips we've taken to visit friends for various reasons), we've still never taken a honeymoon. We resolved to fix that this year.

We planned on visiting Destin/Ft. Walton Beach, FL, which is where we got married. Then, the whole oil spill thing happened. Only, it's supposed to be done now and getting cleaned up, and the trip wouldn't be until late September.

Today, I found a beautiful picture on a photo site. Thought to myself, Wherever that is, that's where we should go on our honeymoon.

And then I saw the title:
"Relaxing in Destin"

I ran 7 miles today; I can do whatever I want!

2010-07-24T11:52:00.000-04:00

K and I are doing our first marathon in November. That's right. Twenty-six point one miles.

We're in our second week of training. We're doing Hal Higdon's training plan, which K found and, coincidentally, a marathoner friend of mine recommended.

Today, we ran 7 miles. Not exactly a distance we haven't run before, but a distance we haven't run in a few months. We got a later start than what we'd planned, so leaving around 8 got us out just in time to enjoy a heat index of 100 degrees. Not fun when you're running for 70 minutes (we were just aiming for a 10-minute mile).

We finished. I hated the majority of it.

What I haven't hated? The fact we went for Chick-fil-A, where I ordered the four-piece (three-piece is standard) mini chicken biscuit breakfast. I destroyed it. And then I napped for 45 minutes.

I don't feel the slightest bit guilty or lazy.

And the afternoon plans we have at the beach? They're gonna be incredible.

No matter what we do or don't do for the rest of the day, we totally earned it.

Intermission complete

2010-07-22T22:42:00.002-04:00

It's funny how easy it is (for me, anyway) to fall out of blogging. You find yourself in a rut -- I hate my job. I'm on the computer all day; why would I want to log on at home? -- and next thing you know, you've hardly posted in weeks.

This time, I was pretty sure I was done. At least for a while.

But it's funny how things happen to remind you why you started it all in the first place. I've had a couple such reminders in the past couple days.

The first happened when K and I were discussing our upcoming 3rd anniversary. We talked about last year. We remembered we'd opted for something small and simple, with plans of doing something big this year instead. We just couldn't remember what "small and simple" was. "I'll check my blog!" I said.

The second thing that happened was a reminder of a good part of the reason I kept blogging. When I started this whole thing over 4 years ago, it was intended to be a way to record things that were going on in my life. I had been dating K for a few months, and I knew it was going somewhere. I thought it would be fun to have a record of it all, along with my experiences living on my own in Dallas.

What I hadn't realized was that this blog would bring several friends into my life. Friends who knew more details about my everyday life than my everyday friends did. Friends who knew about things I wasn't comfortable actually saying aloud.

Friends in places like New York, California, Florida, Michigan, and D.C. Even friends in Dallas, where it all started.

Tonight, I had the privilege of meeting the very first blogger who ever hooked me. In fact, it was the discovery of her blog that made me think, "Hey, I should do this."

So tonight, when Girl From Florida and I found ourselves in the same area, we knew we had to meet up. She actually joined me for my kettlebell class, which has become one of my favorite and most torturous workouts ever. (I'm totally addicted, and evidently she's got the bug now too!)

Then, she and her family and K and I went for dinner. What an amazing time! The food was delicious, but the conversation was so great that it was hard to care about even remembering to eat. And when it came time to call it a night, it took about a dozen tries to say goodbye before we were able to all get into our cars. I was giddy excited that I'd finally gotten to meet GFF. I can't wait until we can meet up again!

From this blog, I've gotten a nice record of the last several years. But it has been the unexpected parts -- the connections, the support, the friendships -- that have been the best part.

And that's definitely worth keeping this thing up for.

What kickball SHOULD be

2010-07-01T10:44:00.000-04:00

Written 6/17. Posted 7/01. Because I took forever to edit (read: majorly trim down) what I originally wrote. Sorry!

K and I had a kickball game last night (two, actually, but more on that later). One of the guys on the opposing team is quite a character.

Abs spends a lot of time working out. The reason I know this is because he takes off his shirt so many times in the course of a game that it's become a league joke to keep a tally of how many times it happens. As if that's not enough, he also enjoys busting out with random pushups, pullups (on nearby soccer goals), handstands, etc. It's bizarre. It's cocky.

When we played Abs's team, we were both tied for first in our league. Talk about a big game.

We made some mistakes in the first inning. We were a little nervous, and it was obvious. Abs's team capitalized on that, and they were able to score 4 runs. There were 3 questionable calls (2 of which involved refs' conflicting opinions), and all went to Abs's team, since my team takes the classy route and doesn't argue with refs.

Our nerves settled down after that inning. It became very clear that Abs's team was just as nervous about playing us as we were. Possibly even worse. Where missed catches, wild throws or bobbles on my team are met with, "That's OK! Shake it off!", Abs's teammates were more of the "C'mon! You gotta GET THAT!" It was tense. It was intense. It was not fun.

It became clear that Abs's team had actually scouted and studied our lineup. The coach would shout to the entire team, "Justin's kicking! Then Mike! Then Liz!"

They were playing only their 12 best players; the rest of the team sat in plain clothes on the sidelines. We had our entire team of 20 suited up and playing. And every one of us got field time.

Somewhere in the 3rd inning, we realized we weren't going to win this game. When Abs removed his shirt again, one of our girls started yelling and joking about nipples. Our pitcher, who loves kickball and gets pretty nervous about games like this one, was laughing so hard that he actually had to pause for a minute to gather himself before throwing the ball.

It was all downhill from there. We decided all the guys should take their shirts off at the start of the 5th inning. K liked the idea so much that he ripped his shirt off as soon as we told him. Another guy followed.

It was our turn to kick. One of our teammates had a blast with his at-bat. It was clear he was going to get tagged out on first, but for the fun of it, he dove for it. I swear, he flew 3 ft. We were cracking up on the sidelines! To add to the fun, as soon as he jumped up, he ripped his shirt off as he ran back over to us.

It was then that the team decided if we made it to first base, we would take off our shirt.

Fast-forward an inning, and it was my turn to kick. Abs had just dropped into a random set of pushups. My teammates joked that we should each do pushups before we kicked. Sounded like a good idea to me.

I stepped up to home plate. The pitcher and infield players were just settling in to their places again.

I marched right up to the plate. Dropped down to the ground. I set myself into pushup position.

Five pushups. Real pushups -- not chick ones. Just the right amount to get my point across. Just the right amount to deliver confidently, correctly, and without expending any energy I'd need for my next task.

Far in the background, I heard my teammates screaming. Cheering. Clapping. People were going crazy.

From the infield, I heard Abs say he could admit when he'd been stood up by a girl--just before I saw him bust out a handstand from the corner of my eye. (Seriously, what is UP with that guy?!)

I vaguely heard and saw all of these things. But I was already focused on my next task at hand: kicking the ball. A task I'd managed to suck at quite a bit this season. I hoped my initial "in your face" display wouldn't be met with a sheepish strikeout.

The pitcher chunked the first ball at me. It was far left of the plate.

Ball!

Then another.

Ball!

"Yes!" I thought. "Maybe he'll walk me."

But the next pitch went screaming right over homeplate. "Here goes nothing."

I raised my right knee, and the ball connected with the inside of my right foot and headed toward third base. It looked fair, so I took off.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Abs go running for it.

"Shit! He's going to beat me!"

He was headed toward first, ready to throw the ball at the baseman. I was determined to beat him.

I ran as fast as I could. Just before I reached the base, I saw Abs's wild throw get away from the first baseman. I was safe. By a longshot.

I slammed my foot into first base, and I immediately began celebrating.

I might have remembered the deal myself, or I might have heard one of my teammates screaming about it from the sidelines. But somehow, as soon as the "reach the base, take off your shirt" rule clicked in my mind, I ripped my shirt over my head as quickly as I could.

I was screaming and jumping up and down.

Of all the times to get on base--and of all the ways to do it--this was the best.

I ignored the wayward ball.

Like hell was I about to risk getting out by getting cocky with base running. Like hell did I think twice about taking off my shirt. Like hell were we going to get upset about losing a kickball game.

Seriously, my favorite moment of the entire kickball season.

When the game was all said & done, we lost 6-0. But anyone watching us leave the field would never have known. Our team was laughing, smiling, and carrying on. Abs's team walked off little by little, looking more like they'd lost, and asking the coach why they couldn't have more fun like us.

Man, I love kickball

2010-06-17T11:20:00.003-04:00

These pictures perfectly capture the mood of the game for both our team and theirs (Note: Our team is in the grayish jerseys [both girls here]; their team is in white [both guys here]).

Wanna know why my shirt is off -- and why I'm so damn excited about it?

Don't worry. I won't leave you hangin' too long.

Before you worry that we were rubbing a big lead in their faces, they were the ones winning. (Doesn't it look opposite?)

Why, yes, I am a badass

2010-06-08T11:05:00.001-04:00

I finally had that MRI follow-up appointment yesterday. I am now the owner of TWO hardcore knee braces. They fitted me for one for my right knee too!

The doctor started the appointment by telling me that I have a minor tear in my menial meniscus on my right knee (that means it's on the outside of my knee). Evidently that's pretty uncommon -- most people who tear their meniscus tear it on the inside of their knees. When I asked what could've caused the unusual tear I have, the doctor told me I must have twisted my knee. (I've definitely done that well a couple times.) He said this damage was done some time ago.

Then, he moved the discussion to my left knee. "Have you had a serious injury on your left knee?"

"Yeah, lots of 'em." I gave him a brief rundown of my knee problem history:

In the 6th grade, I injured my right knee. I was wearing hiking boots on carpet (thank you, Jurassic Park!), went to turn, and my knee popped very loudly and gave out. The doctor couldn't figure out what happened, but they found something in my X-ray that made them think I had cancer. My parents forgot to tell me about that part until a good 5 or 6 years later.

When I was in the 9th grade, I fully dislocated my right knee. When that happened, a piece of bone chipped off and lodged in my joint. I had arthroscopic surgery to remove the bone and to repair the cartilage that was damaged. After that, I bounced back and forth on partial knee dislocations. Between the two, I've dislocated my knees a good 6 or 8 times. At least. I kind of lost count. Especially since they managed to happen in such unexciting ways, like while I was wearing my knee brace, sitting on my bed doing math homework (I KNEW math was bad for me!).

I left out the hiking-boots-on-carpet and the knee-in-brace-during-math-homework details when I talked to the doctor, but his face showed more and more disbelief as I explained my colorful knee history.

And then he told me that at some point years ago, I had fractured my left kneecap. I was shocked. I have no idea when that happened.

I instantly felt like a badass.

Luckily, it's managed to heal itself. The doc threw around the a-word ("arthritic") a couple times, but I honestly don't remember which knee he was talking about. (Heck, maybe it was both!)

K had come to the appointment with me, since after my last one, I had trouble remembering what info related to what and what terms the doctor had thrown at me. (Plus, since K was pre-med in college, he's a bit more familiar with the terms, and it's always good to have another person to ask questions and help remember everything the doctor says.) We laughed when we realized that between my bad knees and K's Army-imposed torture, we're both going to be reliant on our future children to push us around in wheelchairs!

The doctor said I'm still cleared to run, though. I just have to be sure to keep my weight down and to train properly. Not a problem (I hope). Everything's fine as is, unless I start having problems with my knees locking or buckling. That happens very rarely, so I'll just make note if and when it does (hopefully doesn't). Until then, my knees will swell from time to time, which isn't anything different, except that now I know specifically why.

The best news: I asked if I have to wear my braces on shorter runs, like 2- and 3-milers. The doctor said no! That shaves a good couple minutes off my pre-run prep time. Plus, those things get hot and uncomfortable to mess with for such a short run. (Not to mention how tough it is to get them off afterwards, since they're designed to stick to your skin to stay in place AND they get sweaty. K has to help me pull them off!) Of course, I'll wear them for longer runs, but for the short distances, it'll be so freeing to not have those on!

Avoiding the knee braces for short runs should definitely help my feelings about running. And the knowledge that I've got at least a few years before I run myself into a wheelchair is pretty comforting too.

Ugh ... men

2010-06-07T10:13:00.005-04:00

K was in upstate New York last weekend for a bachelor party. Between having friends visiting, getting the house in order post-visit, and our own traveling, it feels like it's been a good, long while since K and I have had a nice, chill weekend to ourselves. And (in true K & MLIB style) we'll have to wait at least a couple weeks more before that happens.

There was a lot I wanted to do around the house, so I made myself my big to-do list. I did a ton of laundry, and I folded all of it. I washed our guest bedroom duvet cover. I vacuumed almost every inch of floor in the house. I cleaned out the refrigerator (there's ROOM in there now!). I cleaned all the toilets and sinks (I hate cleaning the showers, and since I just did it last week, I decided it could wait a few more days). I washed and ironed our dining room table runner. I even washed my reusable shopping bags!

I felt like such a good wife -- not that scrubbing the house is my job as a wife, but because since I think it's absolutely wonderful to come home to a spotless house, K would surely feel the same.

I had just finished my very last chore and was about to collapse on the couch and relax when K got to the front door. I waited for him to say something about the house.

Nothing.

He had just arrived, though, so I waited patiently. We watched TV for a bit. By then, he had been to the kitchen and all around downstairs, but he had still said nothing.

"Why don't you take your stuff upstairs?" I asked him. That way, he'd have to walk up the freshly vacuumed stairs, down the freshly vacuumed hallway, and into the freshly vacuumed bedroom. He'd notice the bed was made and the sheets were cleaned (they're a different color than when he left), and he'd see the stacks of his laundry that I'd folded.

I went upstairs a few minutes after he did. I started a conversation. He still said nothing about the house. I couldn't wait any longer. "Will you just tell me the house looks awesome?" I threw my hands in the air.

He looked at me like I was crazy. "I cleaned the entire thing this weekend. Can you just acknowledge that it looks good?" (K would want me to tell you that there was an F-word or two dropped in these lines somewhere, but I don't remember where, so I didn't add them here.)

As you can imagine, none of this went over well with K. Instead of telling me it looked great and leaving it at that, he said something along the lines of, "Fine, it looks great. What do you expect from me? I'm tired!" (For the record, there were some F-bombs dropped in those lines, too.) He continued griping about how tired he was, and he finally told me that he didn't even care that the house was clean. That it didn't look any different from how he remembered it looking when he left (he was way off).

"No," I said. "When you left, it was tidy. Now, it's SPOTLESS!"

"Those are YOUR DEFINITIONS!"

He went on and on, and I finally just started laughing at him. I could tell he was tired and cranky. All I had wanted was acknowledgment of my hard work.

I told him I was going to wear the hottest pajamas ever to bed, and he wasn't going to get anything out of it.

"Hot pajamas? Is that even possible?" (I told you he was cranky!)

I rolled my eyes, laughed and left him to finish unpacking. When he was done, he started getting ready for bed. I picked out a soft, sexy nightgown, and I made sure to start getting ready for bed while he was still in the bathroom. He was in bed and asleep before I was done. The guy was too tired to even be tortured. Damn.

Yet again, a reunion that went nothing at all like I had thought it would.

I'll just have to remember from now on that we suck at first nights back. The traveler is always tired and cranky; the non-traveler is always too excited about whatever got done around the house in that time (no matter how big or ... not).

But at least my house is freakin' spotless.

Even if I am the only one who's excited about it!

Help me decorate my living room!

2010-06-04T23:22:00.007-04:00

I've been wanting to update the pillows on our couch to mix in some patterns and add some color. I ventured onto Etsy this week, and I found some I really like. In fact, there's one set in particular that I so want to work, but the colors in it don't match the rug ... I like the set so much that I'm worried it's clouding my opinion of whether or not it's an acceptable fit.

All three pillow sets below are approved by K. There's one set I LOVE, one I'm not crazy about, and one that I'd probably like more if I wasn't so in love with the other set.

So I'm asking you guys! What do you think?

This was taken a while ago, but it's pretty much what our living room looks like.

Option 1

Option 2

Option 3

Blurbs. Because I haven't forgotten this thing exists ...

2010-06-04T10:02:00.002-04:00

... And because I'm sure you're tired of my random posts complaining about my job.In case you haven't figured it out, I probably won't quit because I like having a paycheck and because I think I have to prove something by toughing it out. And yes, I know that's stupid.

Carrying on now:

I got stung by a bee yesterday on the fleshy part of my big toe. It stung. Whoever came up with that term to describe it chose wisely.

This job is still annoying the holy hell out of me. We had a longtime employee just quit -- effective immediately -- on Monday. She beat me to it. She started in this department two weeks before me (she worked in another area here for like 20 years before that).

K and I planted lilies in our back yard last year. They started blooming a couple weeks ago, and they were beautiful. I'd love to be able to show you a picture of them, but stupid rabbits have eaten all of them.

In other news, the rabbits that run all over our neighborhood are no longer cute to me.

I freaking. love. my kettlebell class. If it weren't for that, I'd probably be in a pretty pissy mood today. This job tends to do that to me.

My kickball team is undefeated. We've tied twice, but we've never lost.

Remember that game when I was named co-MVP? That's the last time I had a good game. I'm buying a kickball to work on my catching and kicking skills. I'm going to beat this thing.

I'm not OK with sucking at things. I think that's part of the reason I don't like this job. Do I beat the sucking, or do I ditch because it makes me cranky for pretty much 50 hours a week? (Note: We only work 37.5.)

K is out of town this weekend. I've made a huge to-do list for myself. It includes an ab class tomorrow morning, going for a run (I haven't run by myself in FOREVER!), getting a manicure, and watching at least one girlie movie. There are some chores on the list too, but I'm more excited about these parts for obvious reasons.

I'm also excited about the rabbit repellent I'll be buying and immediately spraying on my lilies.

Man I love Fridays.

Daily questions

2010-05-26T15:33:00.002-04:00

How do you know when it's OK to say that it's not the right fit without feeling like a quitter?

How do you justify leaving when so many don't have jobs? Would it be so bad to tough it out for a year?

Is it worth the money?

How do these people think I'm a writer? Will they realize I'm not one and fire me?

How am I supposed to juggle everything they want me to do?

Are they paying me enough for all of these tasks?

When will these huge knots in my back disappear?

Just when I think you can't get any dumber ...

2010-05-25T11:48:00.000-04:00

K just pinged me on my phone. He's 10 minutes away from my office (which means he's now about 40 minutes from his).

Evidently this was a planned surprise. Tomorrow marks 5 years from the day we met, so he wanted to do something special. Since he has a meeting or something tomorrow, he asked for an extended lunch today so he could surprise me with one of my favorite places for lunch!

Does that man know how to redeem himself, or what?!

Feeling annoyed

2010-05-24T23:26:00.001-04:00

I got home from ER's shower tonight. It was a good, busy weekend, and I'll post about it later.

I had talked to K at around 5 today. When I asked if he was going to the gym or anything, he told me he planned on staying at the house to get some things done.

"Like what?" I asked.

"Just ... stuff."

So this means that in my last 3 hours of traveling, I had PLENTY of time to consider what "just stuff" could mean:

Maybe he's mowing the yard, since we have 5 people coming to stay with us this weekend.
Maybe he's hanging pictures in our room, since he moved the bed for me while I was gone -- something I'd been wanting done for a long time now. (I ruled the picture hanging out, since he doesn't know what I want to go in the frames, and he's smart enough to leave that to me!)
Maybe he's going to buy flowers. Our I Do, Part 2 anniversary was Sunday, and he texted me AND put something about it in his Facebook status. And since he sent me flowers for Military Spouse Appreciation Day last year but didn't get me flowers this year, and since he didn't get them for me for Valentine's Day (which we boycotted, so I told him not to) OR for our first G Day, maybe he was getting them. I was sure of it, in fact.

I was only gone 3 days, but I missed K and was really excited to see him. My monthly visitor was here when I left, so I was looking forward to some one-on-one time with K.

When I got home, though, I found the dining room table cluttered with stacks of shit. I had ordered a couple packages the week before last, and they finally showed up in my absence. There were magazines and junk mail for me to go through. The way K stacks mail, he has to have it aligned in a perfect grid. It's nice and all, I guess, but I hate not being able to see my table under 19 stacks of papers, whether they're aligned or not.

I immediately started going through everything in an effort to make the table look decent again.

I went upstairs and saw the bed for the first time. I still can't believe K moved it on his own, but it's clear the boy doesn't quite know what he's doing with decorating. He had the window partially blocked with my night stand. We'll have to fix that soon.

I studied the room, not sure if I liked the way it was looking now. K wasn't happy about that. I realized he'd vacuumed the floor. I asked if that's what he did after work before picking me up. It was.

I'm glad he vacuumed. I appreciate it. But at the same time, that's it?! Vacuuming takes no time at all. And if you move furniture around in a room, vacuuming is on the list of things you HAVE to do when you're done.

The bathroom countertop looked disgusting, and while K is gone, I always clean it, since he's got all of his toiletries with him and it's less stuff to move and clean under.

The living room wasn't quite put together. It wasn't messy, but it wasn't tidied up. I KNOW vacuuming doesn't take that long upstairs.

And there definitely weren't any flowers.

Not to mention the fact that barely a minute after I got in the car, K was telling me about how he'd had an upset stomach the last two days. Nothing like not seeing your husband for 3 days, only to have him tell you about how much he shit while you were gone.

Or having to throw out a super-ripe banana from the fruit bowl. How did he miss that?

I feel bad for thinking these things. K isn't my maid, so just because I'm gone doesn't mean he has to do all these things. HOWEVER, I've certainly done them constantly for him, so why can't he pick up the slack for once?

But he vacuumed, and he is helpful. He moved our ginormous, unbelievably heavy bed BY HIMSELF because I've been wanting it done for a few months now.

I hate these internal battles.

I'm tired, and I'd like to be in bed, but I can't relax because I can only think about how much shit I have left to do around the house after being gone for this baby shower.

Five people will be staying here this weekend, and one is arriving Thursday. That means I have tomorrow to clean everything, since Wednesday is kickball.

And I realized I hate my job. I don't want to go back to work. All the ridiculous drama and childishness is really not worth it. If I didn't have work, I could clean the house with no problem. Except I wouldn't have my own paycheck.

Bummer.

Can I go back to Texas again?