Story of my life

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

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

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

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

Gloomy day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Today is not my favorite.

Weight on my shoulders

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is already getting old (also, TMI THROUGHOUT)

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.

Fuck you, cancer

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

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

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!

In a good mood? Skip this post.

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.

Here we go again ...

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.

What the f*cking f*ck?!

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 ...

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!

My dad is going to give me a heart attack

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 ...

I wanted a cookie!

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.

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

... 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.

Feeling annoyed

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?

There's a sucker born every minute. This one was born almost 27 years ago.

ER's baby shower is this weekend. I'm flying back to Dallas for it. That's costing me almost $250.

I feel bad that I'm not there to help in all this time, so I've offered to do whatever I can from afar. I volunteered to do the invitations. I designed them, and I ordered (and had rush-delivered) 50 pale yellow envelopes so I could get them sent out in plenty of time. I printed them out, wasted a bunch of envelopes, bought postage, and mailed them. All in all, that probably cost me just under $45 (actually, there was an extra $30 if you add in the envelopes I originally ordered that arrived in a shocking shade of highlighter yellow).

So I'm at about $300 (without the oops envelopes). Then you add in the $50 I contributed with two other girls for a stroller or car seat or who knows what.

And there's the $60 I spent entirely on my own at H&M because they have adorable baby clothes that are so cheap it's hard NOT to buy them. That's my own fault, but it adds into the cost. And so does the $7 ridiculously adorable headband I ordered from Etsy.

Seriously, is this not one of the most adorable damn things you've ever seen?!!! I'm not even kidding, I was THISCLOSE to ordering two just to hang onto one for the next 10 years until K and I have kids of our own (please, oh please, let us have a little girl with springy brown curls!).

Now we're talking about the final preparations this weekend. I recommended some games. ER's sister found some game where everyone paints a onesie. I've offered a couple times more to do anything I can to help. ER's sister suggested I go to Wal-Mart to buy plain white onesies. They're $10 for a 5-pack. We need 30.

That means I'll be spending $60 on onesies we'll be virtually destroying.

Which brings my grand total for this shower to $480. Which is effing ridiculous. Especially since it doesn't include the money I won't be making for taking Monday off (without pay, since I haven't accrued a day of vacation yet) when I travel back, since the shower is on Sunday afternoon.

ER's sister has mentioned that I could help on the day of the shower by going to a florist to pick up some flowers she's ordered. I don't know if that means I'll have to pay for those as well.

I know that I chose to fly to the shower. I'm excited about it. I know that I chose to go in on a gift with two other girls. I know I chose to spend $70 on adorable things I found for the baby.

I don't remember if I volunteered to co-host the shower, but as far as I'm concerned, that was never a question. ER is my best friend. She was my maid of honor.

I'm not sure how we'll handle things at the end -- if the four of us hosting (ER's sister, me, ER's friend from San Diego who is NOT flying in for the shower, and a college friend who randomly volunteered to help) will tally up the shower costs and divide them among the four of us, or if everything will go unmentioned and we'll just suck it up individually. I'm definitely too much of a sucker to say anything about it.

I guess it's a good thing I have my own job now. I definitely know where this paycheck is going.

It's a good question

Will I last here?

I'm starting to wonder.

At this point, I'm also not sure if I care.

Thank you, Thumper!

You know Thumper's famous advice: "If you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all"? (That's a double negative, but it's his exact quote, and you know what I mean. Also, shit! I've kind of broken the rule already.)

That's why I've been a bit silent lately. That and the fact I've been incredibly busy. We were gone all weekend (pleasant post about that later), and once we got back Sunday night, I was so busy with getting dinner ready, unpacking, and doing laundry that I didn't even get on my computer. I didn't touch it last night either.

K and I are getting into running again right now, which is turning out to be pretty unfun. It's been several weeks since I had an enjoyable run. That run was the 7-miles K and I did around our neighborhood. It's the one my knee swelled after, and the swelling only got worse after the 10-miler. Although I haven't had the swelling problem (knock on wood) since then, I've still hated every step of every single run we've done since*. My MRI is this week. Maybe after I meet with my doctor for the post-MRI followup, I'll feel better about running.

We've had a house guest the last two weeks, so that's kept me from the computer. He leaves this weekend.

But the biggest thing in my life right now is that new activity that takes up about 40 hours of my week. I'll go with Thumper on this one, too.


*Except for last Saturday, which wasn't really a run. Maybe that was the trick. But again, more on that later. :)

Ready to run

When I was little, like a lot of kids do, I thought about what I wanted to be when I grew up. Also like a lot of kids do, I changed my mind a lot. Actress. Singer. Lawyer. Teacher. Fashion designer. Helper. Writer.

I went back and forth on potential careers, but the one thing I didn't change my mind on was that I wanted to be tall when I grew up.

Sometime in 6th or 7th grade -- probably about the time I first really understood height measurements -- I decided I wanted to be 5'9" or 5'10". Just tall enough to not have to ask for help with items on the top shelf. I wasn't one of the tall kids in the class. My dad was right at 6', but my mom was 5'4". Who knew where I was going to wind up.

Then, in the summer between 8th and 9th grade, my body decided to grow very quickly. I started passing a lot of my friends. I got tall enough that when people asked me, "Have you gotten taller since the last time I saw you?", I could honestly say to them, "I hope not!"

I stopped growing somewhere between 5'9" and 5'10" -- right smack where I wanted to be.

But while my body was doing all that stretching vertically, it forgot to tell my knees to keep up.

So that summer, I had my first big knee injury. I had surgery. I got crutches and a brace. And then I hurt my other knee. I got a brace for it. Over the next few years, I went back and forth between dislocating my right knee and my left knee. My doctor gave me exercises I'd have to do for the rest of my life, and he told me I couldn't participate in any sports for the next 4 years. I didn't get "athletic" until after college, so at 15, that news wasn't a big deal.

When I did start running 10 years later, I ran with braces on both knees. Thankfully, random buckling incidents had died off. I still worried about my knees in certain activities, but at least they were more reliable now.

Then K and I ran the 10-Miler 2 weeks ago. We had done a training run several days before, and my left knee was swollen for a few days after. The 10-Miler left it even more swollen for a few days longer. I saw a doctor about it. They did x-rays, and when I went in for the follow-up, they took more x-rays.

I was scared they'd tell me I couldn't run anymore. Funny how all these mornings the snooze button has won out over going for a run, yet the moment it seems that option could be taken away, it seems devastating.

Thank goodness, the doctor told me I could keep running. Evidently my problem stems from the fact that my kneecaps point  to the outside of my leg rather than being center-aligned. The doctor says this is something that happened years ago when I was growing, and nothing I've done has caused it. I'm cleared to keep running, but I have new exercises to do. He also fitted me for a wicked-looking brace that came with a DVD. I was OK with that.

Then yesterday, the doctor called me again. He wants me to go back for an MRI. I guess one of the other things that's wrong with my knee(s?) made him want to get a better look.

I'm supposed to run a 10K tomorrow. Thanks to all this swelling/knee problem business, I haven't run since the 10-Miler. And since the doctor has said things to me like, "I bet your knees hurt when you have to sit for a long time, like at the movies. Here's why," I've become aware of the tinges of pain I've ignored. Like when I'm sitting on the floor hugging my knees. Or climbing stairs.

I've started babying my knees, worrying that certain movements can further damage whatever is already wrong with them. Like the constant squats in my favorite kettlebell class.

I don't like this change. I'm ready to get the stupid MRIs, have the follow-up appointment with my doctor, and know how I can go on about my life without worrying about the damage I may be inflicting upon my knees. I kind of need those things.

Feeling worthless

I don't know how much longer I can take this without going crazy. I feel like a lazy, worthless piece of existence.

I have no job. I have no friends here.

For the last couple weeks, I've been working remotely almost every day with the company I worked for in Dallas. It's been nice to have something specific to do each day (as opposed to a list of chores to do throughout the week), especially when it brings in money. But it's inconsistent. The work only goes from project to project. Not exactly consistent work.

We had two friends stay with us last weekend. One guy is in the area for a training class, so he's been here a lot the last month or so. The other drove down from Boston to see us. It was the first guy's birthday on Saturday, so we went out for dinner and drinks. It was three guys and me.

Since K is in the Army (and was stationed at such a shithole last time), I have often been in that situation -- being the lone girl with the group of guys. But that's how it always is here, since a couple of K's friends have found themselves in our area for training since we've moved here and since we don't know anyone here (girls or guys).

I was so excited to be going out on Saturday night! I picked out a really cute outfit and fun earrings. We didn't know where exactly to go out, so I had gotten on Facebook and asked a guy I worked with at the temp job if he had any recommendations. He gave us a list, so we picked a place and headed out.

The bar was all right. After we got there, the crowd started looking a lot younger. A live band played that was pretty decent. But going to a place like that with a group of guys is completely different than being there with a group of girls. Instead of talking and interacting with people, we sat at our table. Often in silence (although the loud band may have been partially to blame for that).

I felt awkward. Unfun. I love people watching, but it felt like we were at the table no one wanted to interact with, since we didn't look like we were having fun even amongst ourselves. Maybe it was because 3 of the 4 of us were married. Maybe I felt that way because I was the only sober one (someone's gotta be the DD).

I found myself (even more than at the gym or the grocery store or at restaurants) scoping out the crowd for girls my age who I could be friends with. Not that there's any uncreepy, unweird way to go about that: "Um, hi. You look my age, and I don't know anyone. I promise I'm not weird. Do you want to be my friend?"

I miss girl company. Getting dressed up to go out and spend time with your friends. I started thinking about the next time that will happen for me. Late spring at the earliest. It all depends on when I go back to OK & TX next.

That's a long time to wait.

So here I sit, wasting away in my living room. Again (although there is a work project that's supposed to be hitting my inbox anytime now). Because I don't have a job, and I don't know anyone here.

Blech.

*Note: I have applied for a couple of jobs lately. We'll see if anything comes out of that. I also looked up info for various volunteer organizations around here. I'm working on improving my situation, but I can still feel crappy about it for now. At least for a couple more hours.