Tomorrow Is Another Day...

My Dream Job List

An unfulfilled vocation drains the color from a man's entire existence.
~Honore de Balzac, "Scenes de la vie Parisienne," La Maison Nucingen, 1838

My level of stress about leaving my job has now begun manifesting itself in snappish remarks to anyone who dares speak to me and a constant eyelid twitch.  I'm like Popeye with severe rage issues.  Additionally, according to WebMD, I'm going blind from staring at the computer 24/7. 

Many years ago, when I was a charming young naif, I dreamed of the day that I would be sitting behind a computer, muttering sarcastic comments under my breath while my eyelid fluttered uncontrollably.  And just look at me today!  Living the dream, people!  Living the dream.

I've been thinking a lot about my childhood dreams lately, and just how far short of the mark I'm hitting on a daily basis.  In all fairness to myself, the vast majority of my childhood dreams were ridiculous.  And so, to make myself feel better about continuously failing meet my own expectations, I'll share those more far fetched dreams with you today.

Ballerina

Oh, how I wanted to be a ballerina.  I began taking ballet classes long before I can even remember, and I so loved the beautiful costumes and ballet slippers that the older girls wore.  I can remember sitting, hunched against the wall, watching the girls practicing en pointe, dreaming of the day that I would be just like them.  When I was in 5th grade, our wonderful teacher left our school, and she was replaced by a woman who would sit on our backs to "help" us with our splits.  It was around this time that I began to realize that becoming a ballerina would take a great deal of practice and require eating far fewer Cheetos than I would have liked.  At nine years old, I hung up my ballet shoes for good.

Psychiatrist

I'm honestly not sure what sparked my obsession with psychiatry, but this dream lasted from 7th grade through early 9th.  At some point along the way I discovered that if I really wanted to become a psychiatrist, I would have to go to medical school, and that didn't seem like so much fun.  Then I found out that a psychology degree required a statistics course.  NEXT!

FBI Agent

Mostly I just wanted to marry David Duchovny.  Once I started to figure out that television shows are not real, and I would never be able to help Mulder track down creepy aliens, I kicked this idea to the curb.  But not before I read up a great deal on FBI application procedures.  Did you know you have to learn how to fire an actual weapon?  Scary!  So, you know, then I joined the Air Force.  No guns there, thank goodness!

Cupcake Shop Owner

This one still sounds kind of fun sometimes for two reasons.  1) Cupcakes are delicious.  2) Frosting is delicious.  But then I remember that I would have to make the cupcakes every day, probably quite early in the morning.  Also, it would be beneficial to me to work rather long hours with the end goal of not going out of business.  Neither one of those things sound very enjoyable, so instead I just frequent other people's cupcake shops.  It's win-win I think.

Astronaut

I went through a period of intense obsession with all things NASA related in elementary school.  It was sparked by a classroom exercise of writing a letter to an astronaut to tell them about ourselves.  I wrote my letter to Bonnie Dunbar, and was thrilled when I received a letter back from her (read: NASA's PR department) along with some glossy 8x10s of her headshot and their crew group photo.  I was entranced and spent the next year begging my parents to buy a telescope (which I seem to remember they did do, but it disappeared shortly thereafter) and reading books and magazines about the stars.  Then I saw Apollo 13.  Dude, nobody told me you could get STUCK out there in space.  Screw that.

So please, make me feel better about myself.  Are you living your childhood dreams, or would your nine-year-old self arch an eyebrow, curl their lip and swear they'd never turn out like you?

Kind of A Crappy Day So Far

Do you know what is a super not fun thing to wake up to on a morning that is not Friday when your charming and lovable husband has just flown the coop for a two week deployment?  Dog poop on the carpet by the foot of the stairs.  And over by the coffee table.  And next to the kitchen table.  And next to the other side of the kitchen table.

My house smells like crap.  I didn't have time to clean it this morning, so I wiped up as much as I could and will just have to spend the evening with a clothespin on my nose so that I don't die from the stench.  Poor puppies.  One of them must be sick with a little puppy ailment of some kind.  Since I don't know which one, they've both been crated for the day.  They are going to HATE me tonight.

Also, Home Owners Association and your $75 fine?  You suck.  I would really like to know how a clause in our neighborhood rulebook prohibiting offensive items on your property such as trash, broken furniture, and broken down cars extends to a violation of the rule when you don't have curtains hung in your back window.  I hate that we spent a truly ungodly amount of money to buy our house, have to pay money each month for the privilege of living in a neighborhood ruled by our dictatorship of an association, and don't even have a say in whether or not we hang curtains.  Yet our next door neighbors have a veritable jungle of weeds and beer cans in their yard and apparently no one seems to mind.

And Comcast DVR?  You try to convince us all that you're just as great as my old lover, TiVo, but we all know that you are not.  You suck us in with your lower prices and promises of equal service, but your complete disregard for my orders when I tell you to record something, or fast forward, or play, or NOT DELETE AMERICAN IDOL WHEN I HAVEN'T YET FINISHED WATCHING IT have pushed me over the edge of irritation all the way into blind fury.  If I just wasn't a lady, what wouldn't I tell that varmint.

And can I just mention again that today isn't Friday?  I'm ready to go back to bed, please.

Moving On...

I want to thank you all for your supportive comments yesterday.  After I wrote my post, I started thinking that maybe I was taking things a little bit too personally and being too sensitive, so I felt a nice sense of validation when you all seemed to agree that things weren't handled beautifully.  Even so, I think everyone knows that there always two sides to every story and then the truth.  Either way, I feel very uncomfortable in the office today, and I lay awake for a long time last night just thinking.

In short, what it boils down to is that I don't feel like I am respected very much as an employee.  I don't know if I want to work somewhere that initiating a dialog is going to be seen as giving attitude or defensiveness.  There were a lot of things I didn't like about the Air Force, and there were a lot of people that I didn't love working for, but almost every boss I ever worked for respected what I had to say and encouraged candor and two-way discussion.  (To a degree of course, at the end of the day, we all knew who was the boss and that line in the sand was firm.)  The only time I didn't feel respected was with a female boss.  I wonder if there's a connection there, and I've often contended that it is much easier, as a woman, to have a male boss.

There are a lot of other things I'm thinking that I'm not going to document here.  Some issues I've discussed with Colby and with friends, but I don't feel that it's right to go into detail on a public blog.  Over the years I have learned the wisdom of having a few boundaries!  So, thank you again for your indignation on my behalf, and my plan now is to go back to doing my best to rise above this situation and do my job to the best of my abilities while I weigh my options.

Anywhoozle!  How bout them Top 24 on American Idol?  Is anyone else watching this season?  As I've said before, I always try to refrain from picking my favorites until we get to the Top 12, but I am finding it just about impossible to not adore David Archuletta.  Usually, I think Paula is full on whacked out Crazy-Pants McGee (in a totally lovable way, of course), but I fully agreed with what she was saying last night about wanting to squeeze the stuffing out of adorable David A. and hanging him from her rear view mirror.  That was actually kind of inspired.  He has made me cry with his beautiful voice and song selection twice now, and I have officially released my fear that he is going to be this year's Sanjaya.  That is an honor I think I'll be leaving to Danny Noriega, whom I also kind of love in that weird inexplicable way I love Christian Siriano.

I'm a little meh about the girls at this juncture which is rare, since I usually find them far more interesting and talented than the boys, but maybe they'll really turn it on for me tonight.  All I know is that if next week is not "Songs from the 80s" I will feel a deep and painful sense of betrayal.

Get It In Writing

I might delete this later, but right now, I am so upset I am literally shaking.

I started working at my job almost six months ago.  At the time, I was seriously considering just temping through May because I knew that very few jobs would allow me to take a week and a half off for my wedding and then an additional two weeks off in April for our honeymoon.  However, a really great opportunity came along, and I decided to put my name into the hat for consideration.  I had a phone interview and two in person interviews, all three times making it very clear that I had a wedding in November and a honeymoon in April and that I would need more time off than the customary 10 days in your first year.  Everyone nodded and smiled and shook my hand and said, oh no problem, you'll just go into the hole and if you have any excess vacation time when you leave it will be deducted from your paycheck.

That was a practice I was very familiar with as the Air Force has a similar policy, and I was extremely grateful to the company for being so understanding since I knew they were going out of their way to accommodate my already set plans.

I started working, took my time off for the wedding, and then earlier this month submitted my vacation request for the honeymoon and waited for it to be approved.  And waited.  And waited.  I had decided to ask about it when I got an email from my boss asking that I come meet with her about the vacation time.  I went in to meet with her, and she had a print out of all of the vacation time I had taken so far, compared against what I was asking for with all kinds of calculations on it.  I closed the door, and she started telling me about how this was very out of the ordinary to approve a request like this that went so far over the allotted vacation time an employee is allowed to take, and so I'd only be able to take such and such amount of time until Date X, and so on.

Of course, I was incredibly taken aback, because hadn't we already discussed the fact that I was going to be gone for two weeks in April before I was even hired?  And hadn't we already had this discussion about how vacation time overages worked?  I know I must have had kind of a surprised look on my face, and I said, not rudely but with a little confusion in my voice, I'm sure, that I had told them about all of the vacation time I would be taking in my first interviews with them.  My boss gave me this look like I had sprouted four heads, and with a very blank expression shook her head, like I was lying to her.  This just upset me more and I felt my face turn beet red as I stammered something inane.  She said that I had told them about the wedding, but not the honeymoon, and I know that's not true, because the honeymoon was the part I was most concerned about since I would already be in the vacation hole.

I just shook my head and couldn't think of anything to say, and then she took a sort of disappointed mom tone and said that she was getting a defensive tone from me, and a bit of attitude.  I just... I just didn't know what to say at that point.  I have done nothing but smile and nod and do what people have told me to for six months, and when I take one time to defend something that I KNOW we talked about more than once I'm copping an attitude??

The vacation time was approved, she's being quite nice to me now, and I'm smiling back, but I can't say that this hasn't put a really bad taste in my mouth.  I know now that I should have had the wedding and honeymoon discussion documented by all parties at the time, but everyone was so nonchalant and easygoing about the whole thing, it seemed like a total non issue.  I work for a wonderful company with wonderful people, but I'd already been spending a lot of time wondering how much longer I can handle the commute that comes along with this job.  This whole interaction has really tarnished a lot of the items I had on my "Pro List" for staying on board.

Skiing: What It's Really Like

"When it comes to skiing, there's a difference between what you think it's going to be like, what it's really like, and what you tell your friends it was like."
~Author Unknown

Ah, skiing.  The soft, white snow capping the majestic mountaintops.  The whispering swish in the air all that meets your ears as you glide gracefully down the slopes in an elegant dance with nature.   Hot chocolate in the lodge to warm you from the inside out.  Pink cheeks and eyes sparkling with laughter.

That's Colby's experience on the mountain.  Mine goes more like this:

Strap on one ski, fall over multiple times while attempting to strap on the other.  Huff and puff, sweating profusely while laboriously side-stepping up the side of a small hill.  Position skis carefully to begin slow descent down the fifteen degree incline, begin crying halfway down when I realize I don't know how to stop and so fall squarely on my ass, to avoid hurtling into the class of snowboarders five feet from the bottom of the hill.

In short, this girl is not so much a fan of the skiing.  For years I heard about people who would go on these mysterious "skiing trips" over the Christmas or Mardi Gras holidays.  I'm sure that these people really did exist and maybe they even had fun, but I never knew anyone that had actually been skiing aside from my mother, and her resulting multiple knee surgeries didn't exactly spark my interest.

When Colby moved to Washington, he would call me in the evenings after weekends spent on the slopes, enthusing about how great it was, and how much fun it would be when I could go skiing with him.  When I moved up here, one of our first tasks was to outfit me with the proper ski gear.  To Colby, that meant a jacket, pants, goggles, and gloves that would keep me warm and protected from the elements.  To me, that meant another pink jacket added to my collection, and a really adorable pair of puffy white pants.

The clothes were tucked away in the back of the closet for a few months, and then the Christmas holidays rolled around, and Colby, with the joy of a child in his eyes, suggested that we take a day to go skiing.  I was excited about breaking in my cute new ski pants, so I agreed and before I knew it, the alarm was going off at six o'clock in the morning on D-Day, I mean, ski-day.

Everything went great up until the point that I had to wave Colby off as I got dropped off at my first time ski lessons and Colby went to hit the slopes.  As soon as he said goodbye, tears sprung into my eyes, and I suddenly remembered EXACTLY what it felt like when I was dropped off at school for the first time and had to watch my mom walk away.  I lost every shred of my dignity, and practically begged him to let me go back inside and read my book.

He calmed me down, told me I really should at least give it a try, and at some point rational thought kicked back in and I agreed that it would be silly to have spent all of this money and then quit before I'd even tumbled down the hill once.

So, with a bracing hug, Colby wandered off to slide down some mountains, and I pasted a smile on my face and joined my class.  A class that was labeled "First Time Skiers", but actually turned out to be "Refresher Class for Everyone Except Angela and an Equally Terrified Nine-Year-Old Girl".  After a brief explanation of how to put on our skis, we all formed a line and then glided around in a circle, some (read: everyone else) a little more successfully than others (read: me and the nine-year-old).  I fell down a few times, once completely unable to get back up again without the assistance of two grown men, one to yank on my arm, and the other to keep my bastard skis from willfully sliding out from under me again.

Just as I was started to get the hang of how to remain upright on flat ground, our instructor had us side-step up the small hill to begin careening downward.  Trouble was, he'd not really gone into any detail as to how one should actually SKI, because apparently, we were not going at the pace of the slowest learners in the class.  Whatever happened to No Child Left Behind, I ask you!

Anyway, I slowly ascended the hill with great effort and exhaustion, and upon reaching the top, looked down the tiny slope and was immediately slapped in the face with my crippling fear of heights.  My phobia is an incredibly difficult thing to pin down.  I'm absolutely terrified of fire escapes, platforms more than three feet off the ground, and the prospect of bungee jumping, but I'm totally cool with roller coasters and airplanes.  So, I never really know when my fear of heights is going to kick in and totally debilitate me.

And so, of course it did so just as I began awkwardly sliding down the hill.  I was partially blinded by my tears, my arms were windmilling furiously since our poles had been confiscated at the beginning of the lesson, and my skis were skidding hither, thither, and yon across the icy snow as I rapidly picked up speed.  Of course, our instructor hadn't gone over that crucial Stopping Lesson, and so I martyred myself so as not to take out the adorable five-year-old boy snowboarding effortlessly, directly into my trajectory.

It was at this point that I realized that skiing is decidedly NOT FUN, but apparently I was in a class with a bunch of losers who don't believe in quitting.  So I was hauled bodily back up the side of the hill, to repeat my catastrophic descent multiple times.  No one ever told me exactly what I was doing wrong other than to point out that I shouldn't cross my skis.  But then when I was going downhill they would tell me to form a "V" to slow down, at which point, I am sorry, but my skis are GOING to cross, ASSHOLE.

Eventually, the instructor has the brilliant idea that he'll take off his skis, wrap his arms around my waist and walk behind me as I skid down the hill.  But since I still couldn't really grasp the concept behind slowing down, and now I had a man hanging from my back, we ended up in a pile of arms and legs, halfway down the hill.  I think I broke his elbow or something, and he left me alone after that.

At some point, when I was standing at the bottom of the hill, stewing silently, my little nine-year-old friend literally somersaulted down the hill, landing at my feet.  I handed her the little pink hat that had flown from her poor head, offered up an understanding smile, and then said to myself, "Eff this noise, I'm out".  Our instructor arranged for me and Pink Hat to go over with another first time skier class, one that was apparently actually made up of first time skiers, but since I didn't have Pink Hat's whip wielding parents hovering over my shoulder, shooting me encouraging looks and insisting with a will of iron that "SKIING IS FUN!", I hauled my poor bruised body back inside and turned in my skis.

And that was my introduction to the sport of skiing.  I hated every second of it, but Colby loves it, so because I LOVE HIM, I have promised him that next year I will try again.  On Saturday, he went skiing with some friends, and I know he would have liked me to come along, but not enough time has passed yet to dull the painful memory of that horrible experience.  So, I opted to stay home and watch a lot of crappy tv and work on thank you notes some more.

We both had a really great Saturday, he got to ski, I managed to spend the day without developing any tears or new bruises, and it ended with dinner at our favorite Greek restaurant.  Now I'll just be spending the next nine months praying for a freak snow-less winter.  I'm not terribly optimistic about my chances.

Warning: Complaints Ahead

Friday cannot come soon enough.  This has been such a bizarre and looooong week.  And it's only Wednesday.

I've been slightly nauseous for the past two days, a feeling which seems to have left the building for now, but for all I know it could randomly return after I eat lunch.  Yesterday all I could choke down was half of a pasta salad for lunch and then some Goldfish for dinner.  I know this isn't exactly the makings of a nutritious diet, but the thought of eating anything else made me ill.

I'm so incredibly tired of Colby being away at his stupid class.  I know he's only been gone for 3 and a half weeks, which is nothing compared to the suckiness of four months that I'll have to deal with this summer, but according to his original schedule, he should have been home yesterday.  Unfortunately, the Air Force is incapable of planning anything accurately, so his return has been pushed back until Friday.  And who knows if he'll even be home then.  I'm so ready for him to be back that I won't even care when he turns the heat down to 63 and untucks the bedsheets at night.  Well, okay, that's not true.  But I promise that it will be at least three days before I start nagging that the house is an ice box and our bed looks like a cyclone ripped through.

The weather has only gotten more terrible as January has progressed and the days don't seem to be getting any longer.  On Monday I woke up to the sight of two inches of freshly fallen snow, which, oh how lovely, but then I had to navigate the teeny tiny levee road with NO guard rail as well as the one foot wide bridge across the river to get to the train station.  I have never, ever driven in snow, so I was having minor heart palpitations for the entire ten minute drive.  Then yesterday, when I woke up, I saw that the snow had melted, but refrozen during the night forming slick sheets of ice on the roads.  Since out tiny town apparently has no procedures in place to deal with icy roads, I opted to come into work later which meant taking the bus instead of the train.

Oh my God.  Next time, I'll just risk life and limb on the ice coated roads.

I used the handy trip planner on our transportation website and found the two buses I would need to catch to get from my train station to the bus tunnel in Seattle.  So, I slept in a little bit longer and then woke up and headed to the station a few minutes early since I didn't know how accurate the bus schedules were.

My bus showed up a couple of minutes early, saving me from another second in the wet, blustery weather, and we began our trip to the station where I would make my connection.  I was congratulating myself on trying new things and conquering new methods of transportation when we pulled up to a transit center and lo and behold, in front of us was another bus with the same number as the one I was supposed to have caught at the train station.  I piped up from my seat, asking the driver if this was the bus going to "Station X".

"Oh, no honey, you need to be on that bus in front of us that just left!"

I felt like crying as I dejectedly got off of the bus and went to sit and figure out my next move.  As the bus drove away I saw the critical detail that I had missed when I boarded--I was supposed to catch number "100", the bus I'd actually boarded?  "100A"  WHO DOES THAT!!!  What kind of person gives buses almost the exact same number, and then schedules them to arrive at their stops just minutes apart??  And then how on earth did bus "100" get ahead of us since it hadn't come yet when I was getting on bus "100A"??

These were the things I was thinking as I sat glowering on the cold metal bench, and then the snow started again and the wind started whipping through the bus "shelter".  Eventually I pulled out my phone (which, thank GOD for around the clock internet access) and found out that another bus would be coming soon that could take me to Kent and then Seattle.  As it turned out, the bus had even arrived at the transit center early, so I was able to board and sit in the comparable warmth as the snow continued to drift down around us.

I eventually made it to work, but by that time three hours had passed since the moment I left the comfort of my home.  I was exhausted, chilled to the bone, felt like I was going to throw up, and still had five hours of work in front of me.

Now it is Wednesday, and while there is no ice or snow to contend with, it is still COLD and WINDY and I will die if we ever live anywhere that this is the norm for winter weather.  But even with all of that grumping, there are still some nice things that have happened recently.  I know, shock!  Awe!  But I'm just really not in the right mood to give each wonderful occurrence its proper due, so I'm afraid the counterpoint to all of this negativity will just have to wait until tomorrow.

Two Sides to Every Coin

It's not that I'm in a bad mood.  In fact, I feel much more refreshed and positive than I did before the holidays and the week and a half break from work was just what the doctor ordered.  But it's like the universe WANTS me to be in a bad mood.  It keeps sneaking around, knocking over my sandcastles and kicking the sand in my face.  And I say to the universe, STOP IT ASSHOLE or I'm going to tell MOM!

Please allow me to present the evidence.

I've been working diligently to wrap up all of the loose ends from the wedding--selling my dress, changing my name legally and then following up on updating credit cards and the like.  So, I found what looked like a good website to list my dress, filled out the appropriate paperwork, sent in the pictures, and paid the $25 listing fee through PayPal.  Don't you just love PayPal?  Doesn't it make life so much easier? 

It turns out, no, PayPal is actually the devil, and the annoyance being caused by the fallout of that $25 listing fee is completely and entirely their fault and nothing to do with my inattention to detail.

Allow me to rewind a bit further.  Just before Christmas I decided to sell the iPod Touch that I got at my company Christmas party.  I already have an iPhone and an iPod Shuffle and Colby was fine with my old SanDisk MP3 player, so I figured an extra couple hundred dollars would be better in the end than another addition to my growing collection of Apple products.  So, I put it on Ebay, sold it for a tidy sum and then had to add a checking account to PayPal to accept the payment.

The catch is that my primary account is tied up to an old dead PayPal account that I couldn't figure out how to resurrect, so I just created a new one with my new email address many moons ago.  So, when I tried to add that checking account to my current PayPal account it wouldn't accept it and I had to use the account that I use to pay my car note each month.  No problem, right?  They deposited the money and I just moved it into my primary account.

So, back to the dress listing fee... can you see where this is going?  I've never had a checking account attached to this PayPal account before, and I've always just paid for things with my credit card.  So when I paid the listing fee, I just entered the appropriate amount, hit submit, confirmed it and that was it.  Except.  Apparently PayPal now defaults to my checking account.  The one with zero dollars in it right now.  Which means I got charged the $25 and then the additional $29 NSF fee.  Which is all incredibly annoying, because I DO have sufficient funds!  They are just located ELSEWHERE!

And doubly annoying, every single one of my accounts has an overdraft protection set up.  Except.  Not the one that I used to pay the listing fee.  ARGH!  So, essentially I paid over $50 to list my damn dress on one stupid website.  I was considering listing it on a second site for another $25 but now that I've already spent the money on overdraft fees I'm less willing to shell out the cash.

But if you want to buy my dress, know someone who would love to have my dress, or have a dress of your own to sell, go here.  It's a lovely, useful website and I don't blame them for my PayPal misfortune, I blame the universe.

Contrary to the current mischievous attitude of the universe, I had an amazingly easy time changing my name at the Social Security office over the holidays.  I checked, double checked, and triple checked that I had all of the proper paperwork, and after a 30 minute wait was helped by a very nice lady who changed my name within the span of about 5 minutes.  Fabulous!  Since that had been so easy and quick, we decided to take our chances immediately after at the DMV.  Once again, we only had to wait for 30 minutes before my number was called and I went about updating my Louisiana license with my old name to a Washington license with my new name. 

Except.  I love the picture on my Louisiana license.  It's actually a really good picture of me, smiling brightly, my eyes are open and shining, my hair looks kind of lovely.  It's not perfect, but for a DMV photo it looks like a Glamour shot.  So, of course I was let down by my new driver's license photo where my eyes look all squinty, my hair is flat and FAR too long, and my head looks to be approximately the size of a watermelon.  On top of that, I was far from the typical wife-to-be in that I never once practiced signing my new name.  I don't know, maybe it just felt too much like tempting fate.  I only tried signing it a couple of times post-wedding, so now the signature on my license looks like it was written by a monkey on an acid trip.  There aren't enough loops at the end and the letters are spaced out too far in some places or crammed too close together in others.  It's terrible.  If I ever get pulled over again, they'll probably give me a ticket for getting my drivers license under the influence.

Also annoying?  The fact that Colby is gone for the next few weeks, possibly month, and I have to come home to an empty house, with no dinner cooking on the stove and puppies romping playfully around the room.  It is a cold house, the puppies are still crying in their kennels, and dinner consists of chocolatey Special K and an apple or some pickles.  Yum.

But the good news is that he is not currently "Over There", he is in the continental United States at a class he has to attend, and for some reason they can't make that class be HERE.  And so, I am annoyed.

Let me tell you, a big shopping binge would REALLY help my attitude right now.  Stupid resolutions.

Oh my God.  I'm an addict, aren't I?

I've Become "That Girl"

You know, the one that is completely incapable of opening her mouth without wedding related babble spewing forth uncontrollably.  I've been trying to keep quiet at work as much as possible for fear that I will unleash a tirade of nonsense sentences involving flowers, tipping rules, dress fittings, and gift etiquette.  It's like I've come down with an incurable case of Wedding Tourettes.

And the thing is, there really is so much more to talk about.  Like I've been thinking a lot about religion and my beliefs lately, largely inspired by Maggie's serial about her relationship with Catholicism.  And I've had this entry floating around in my head for over a week now about all of the doubts and questions that I have and wondering how one goes about finding a church, and if it's bad to want to go to church just to make friends.  But every time I sit down to write it I get distracted by my photo list or suddenly remember something that needs to be added to my wedding time line.

I want to write about the dogs and how insanely frustrating it is that for the past few months they've made it their sole mission in life to eat the entire contents of our house, yet I still really, really want another puppy.  And then I think oh my God, could that possibly be my biological clock suddenly starting to tick and think marriage, hmm, must be baby time!  But no, right?  Because Colby and I are in harmonious accord about the fact that we want to wait another 4 or 5 years before we even think about kids.  So maybe I really do just want a puppy?  And how can we keep the dogs from eating everything in our house?

I've also got a lot to say about the Seattle transit system, which really isn't all that fascinating, so maybe that's why I haven't written about it.  But seriously, the parking situation at the train stations is absolute crap which led to a parking ticket which I have now lost and need to pay, but don't know how, and then they just randomly decided to cancel my train home without saying anything on Monday because freaking Monday Night Football was in town.  My God Seattle, get your shit together!

So, anyway, the long and short of it is that I just can't bring myself to bore you with another post about the wedding, because you've all been so nice about it and I want you to keep being nice and excited for me, and not like, for the love of all that is good and holy, please shut UP about the WEDDING!

Instead, I'll show you the boots that I bought after all of the wonderful winter shoe advice I received from y'all on Tuesday.  Some people would have thought to themselves, huh, good idea, I should buy a pair of boots!  I thought to myself, huh, good idea, I should buy three pairs of boots!  So I did.

Anne Klein Culhane (Brown)

Nine West Campion (Brown)

Franco Sarto Women's Pension Platform Ankle Boot (Black)

A Different Kind of Saturday

Well, into each life a little contrast must fall, and this weekend is certainly proving to be the antithesis of last.  But you know, I'm cool with that.  I fancy myself fairly adroit in social situations--mostly I'm a good listener, so I feel like I give other people an opportunity to talk while I sit or stand and smile prettily, making supportive noises from time to time.  I like to dance, I like to drink delicious martinis, I love an excuse to get all dolled up for an evening, but I also really, really like to sit at home with my dogs and catch up on the past two seasons of Big Love and then read one of the six books I just bought at Borders.

The night before Colby left, we went to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix since he still hadn't seem it and it was rapidly disappearing from theaters.  The theater was in a mall, and on the way out he decided to stop in the book store and pick up a book to read on his trip.  Now, as some of you already know, entering a bookshop is a very dangerous proposition for me and I actually contemplated just waiting outside on one of the benches.  Instead, I ignored the alarm bells ringing in my head and went in, heading straight for the reduced price paperback section.  Despite the fact that I had to overcome the difficulty of having already read almost everything that was on sale, I did manage to leave the store with the aforementioned six books.  Colby just shook his head in wonder, but you know what?  I blame him, he should have known better than to leave me alone in that place while he wandered the hallowed full price shelves.  Hey, what can I say, he's got a job, so he can afford the good stuff.

So, what was I saying?  Oh yeah, I'm totally boring.  Colby is pretty much my social coordinator, so when he's out of town I get to stay in my pajamas all day and eat chocolate chips out of the bag while watching High School Musical 2 without worrying about getting anywhere on time.  I had the best intentions of going for a run today, but the apparently the weather suddenly remembered that this is Seattle and it was about time it started acting like it, so it's been raining all day.  And not a delightful, misty rain that I actually enjoy running in, but a cold, hostile rain with big fat drops that smack you in the face and sog up your running kleenex.  Which, am I alone in that?  Does anyone else have great difficulty with their sinuses turning into a lava flow while running?  If I don't bring a tissue or two with me for a run, it just turns into a really horrifying situation.  So bizarre.  I don't understand.

Also, while we're on the topic of running, I would like to chat briefly about the importance of putting a leash on your precious puppies once you exit the confines of your property.  Actually, no.  Use a leash once you leave the confines of your FENCED IN property.  So if your dog is lolling about in your front yard while you wash your car or pull weeds?  Put it on a leash.  Believe me, I completely understand that you think your dog is the most amazing, most well trained dog on the entire planet--possibly even the known universe--but may I just remind you that it is a DOG and that sometimes DOGS get crazy ideas into their little pea brains and that no human owner is going to sway them from their crazed decisions, proferred Snausage or not? 

Case in point:  Two nights ago I was out for a run, enjoying the fact that there were no speed walkers present to breeze by me and smiling politely at couples out for a stroll with their babies.  It was all very suburban and pleasant, and I was looking forward to getting back home and rewarding myself with a chocolate pudding.  Then suddenly, through the mellifluous sounds of Britney trilling in my ear, I hear a sharp whistle, and then, if this is possible, a second panicked whistle.  Shortly after, there was a jingling noise and it seemed to be coming closer and closer.  I slowed my pace, took off one of my earphones and turned around to confront a half grown, yet GIANT, boxer barreling toward me at top speed.

And let me interrupt to clarify that this was indeed a canine boxer and not an adolescent "person who fights as a sport, usually with gloved fists, according to set rules" as defined by dictionary.com.  (Although how amusing and unexpected would that be?  To be running along in your neighborhood and then find yourself being chased by a burly young man in satin shorts and padded gloves?)

So, back to our story, there's a big ass dog running at me, full tilt, and all I could do was stand there, earphones in one hand and the other hand outstretched in a sort of "Stop! In the name of love" interpretative dance move.  It was dark, so I couldn't tell for sure, but it appeared as though the dog's tongue was hanging out of the side of its mouth and I thought that maybe his tail was wagging a bit?  So, I threw all of my eggs in one basket, said a quick prayer to a God whom I really hoped was paying attention right then, and began to jog in a playful manner toward the dog.  I used my best puppy baby voice, and lo and behold the dog stopped running toward me and instead waited for me to meet it and then we kind of jogged together in the direction of its owner until proper training once more took hold and the boxer went bolting back to its owner of its own accord.

So, luckily for me, in this instance the unleashed attack dog turned out to be more of a nuisance than an actual threat (although it did screw up my time--annoying!), but I ask you?  What if it hadn't been playing?  What was I supposed to have done then?  Negotiate?  "Hello large dog with very sharp teeth, I am currently uninsured and have a wedding in which I am co-starring in just over 3 months--this would be a really terrible time to be mauled by an aggressive animal."  Play dead?  Then I think it would just find it easier to rip out my throat.  I'm thinking of starting to carry some pepper spray with me, but I worry, could someone sue me if I pepper sprayed the crap out of their dog?  This is the first time that I've actually been chased by one of the dogs in the neighborhood, but it is about the millionth time that I've passed one that was not on a leash and just kept my fingers crossed that it wasn't in the mood for a run.  I don't know.  It's a bit of a dilemma.

Sigh.  So, anyway, that's pretty much been the highlight of the past few days.  That and doing a bit of math and realizing that since the car repair payment went on next month's billing cycle I will INDEED be able to pay off my credit card bill before I jet off to NYC for Bachelorette Party Extravaganza: Part One in less than two weeks!  I think you would be terribly proud of me if you knew just how many pairs of shoes and cute tops I DIDN'T buy in order to finally achieve this feat of financial prowess.  Although, just think if that dog had viciously attacked--I may be missing various appendages and be horribly scarred, but I'll bet after we took them to court I'd be able to BUY New York City with money to spare.  But on further review, I think I'd prefer to keep all of various parts intact.  So my previous decree stands: Put a leash on your damn disobedient dog (alliteration!).  Thank you.

Things That Are Annoying

Thing #1:  Fruit flies.  I have been fighting a war against the Fruit fly Nation for over a month now, and every time I start to think that just maybe I'm going to win, I'll see four or five of them camping out on the cupboard door or flying lazy loops around the trashcan, just waiting for me to open it so they can zoom in for dinner.  Through the miraculous invention of the internet search engine (I think it's here to stay!), I was able to find a few responses to "How do I get rid of fruit flies?"  Unfortunately, the techniques I've found have managed to drain the stash of beer that Colby can only find in a specific part of the country where we don't live, and brought to light the fact that while I keep innocently thinking there are only a couple of the little bastards there are in fact trillions of them flying around in shifts.  The one good thing that has come of this is that I can proudly call myself a fruit fly ace, having killed, at last count, approximately 70 of the disgusting little flying demons over the past month.  I think I deserve a medal.  AND a chest to pin it on.

Thing #2:  M.I.A. Remote Control.  The one thing that we can count on our dogs to accomplish, without fail, is the total destruction of any remote control left in their presence when we're out of the area.  So far we're down two remotes and have managed to not replace either one yet, though it's not for lack of trying.  After driving around town two weeks ago, in a fruitless (NOT fruit fly) search for a Comcast DVR remote I finally decided to turn to my trusty and dependable friend, Ebay.  I found the DVR remote from a seller who was offering a fantastic low price, checked his approval rating which appeared to be high, and went through with the process.  That was two weeks ago today, and we still haven't gotten the remote.  I'm planning to send a note his way asking when he shipped it because I am suffering major tv withdrawal.  I have reached such heights of laziness that it's just too much of a bother to stand up, walk aaaaaalllllll the way across the room (approximately 8 feet) and fool around with changing the channel at the cable box.  And on top of that, I can't even pause and fast forward through commercials!  My life is MISERABLE!  I mean, just kill me now and get it over with!

Thing #3: Colby's Schedule.  This is sort of a recurring theme of complaint with me, and it's actually not just the fact that he's gone a lot that bothers me, it's my method of coping with it that is starting to become extremely annoying.  I mean, I know the deal, he's gone A LOT, I signed up for it, I can deal with it, I'm not expecting that things will change at least in the next few years as far as his frequency of departure.  But I am starting to feel a bit numb to it, and I don't really like that.  When he's away I sort of deal with it by trying not to think about him much, and I think toward the end of his last 5 week trip he was starting to feel the chill and I hated that.  Even when he is around I find that I'm constantly reminding myself that he could be gone at anytime and I shouldn't get too used to him being around.  This sucks, because he could very well be home for two or three weeks at a time and every day I'm just sort of expecting him to not be there instead of enjoying the time we do have.

Thing #4:  Diets.  Blech.  I've kept up the running, but today I'm getting back on track with my diet and will hopefully start to see some results in the next couple of weeks.  It's pretty cool seeing the muscles develop in my legs and arms, and I know if I could lose the layer of fat there I'd have some decent ab muscles, but lordy lordy, it is a LOT more fun to eat brownies and ice cream than apples and green beans.  I mean, apples and green beans are tasty enough in their place, but there is just NO competition there when you throw the brownies into the ring!

Thing #5:  Our neighbors shiteous backyard and front garden which have become veritable weed jungles.  I swear there is one weed in their front yard that has grown to such proportions that it looks just like a baby tree.  And their backyard is just disgusting, which is fine, that's their business I suppose, but it's sending little weed reinforcements into OUR backyard which makes it not fine.  Growl.  Plus they have an annoying yappy dog.

And the final thing, which is not annoying, but somehow extremely and utterly earthshaking to me:

Thing #6:  My little sister has flown the coop, spread her wings, and moved far, far away from home.  She hasn't actually lived at home full time for four years now, but when you go to college 20 minutes away from your parents house, it's pretty much a given that you're going to be back at their house, eating their food, using their hot water, and enjoying the benefits of their cable selection on a fairly regular basis.  But last weekend my parents packed up all of her things in a U-Haul, jumped in their cars, and drove her far, far away from home.  To a place that is not New York City, but will maybe someday lead to a certain career path which would then maybe lead to New York City--and not as a diner waitress.  So, it's kind of weird for me to process that.  If I go home to visit my parents, Brittany won't necessarily be there.  If I need to ask my mom a question I can't just instant message my sister and ask her to shout the question down the hall for me.  When I want to mail her something I will have to actually LOOK UP HER ADDRESS and not just mail it to the address where I lived most of my own life.  And it's especially bizarre to me because as far as I am concerned, my sister stopped aging at 13, and quite frankly, I think it's just unacceptable to expect a 13 year old to go out into this big bad world and make it on her own.  But, in all reality, I think she's probably much more capable of surviving in the world on her own than I am, and I know she'll be okay.  Knowing my sister she's probably already made 50 bestest friends ever and is throwing a Broadway theme party on Friday for which the entire city will probably turn out in their most sparkly and spangly attire.  Yep.  She'll be fine.  It's the rest of us who still think she's 13 that I'm most worried about.  That's kind of insane.

Wednesday Wedding Weigh-In: The Meltdown Version

Y'all, it has been a long and frustrating week, here at the homestead.  I'll begin by saying that none of the following paragraph has a thing to do with the weight loss segment of my blog, so if that's what you're here for, just skip down a bit, because I've got some whining and self pity to take care of first. 

It all began two weeks ago, when I received a phone call from Colby who was at a class in Kansas.  He'd been gone for a week and prior to that had been home for a few days after another week-long TDY.  In the course of the phone call, it was revealed that a really super fantastic two week trip to Europe was available and he had the opportunity to snap it up.  Of course, being the near saintly and always understanding fiance, I gave him my blessing and urged him to go enjoy Europe for two weeks--no matter that I had hardly seen him in May and wouldn't see him for all of July--go off and enjoy the old country while I stay home and unpack boxes and take care of the dogs!  Okay, maybe it didn't quite go off like that, but with a few glasses of wine between now and then, that's how I remember it.  Anyway, turns out he got screwed and they ended up going on the normal TDY to places that are not so much fun and make me quite nervous when I don't get my nightly check-in phone call.  Huh.  How bout that.  Karma's, she's a bitch, isn't she?

So, Colby got home from his Kansas TDY and the next day headed off to the great wild Yonder.  A couple of days passed until they reached their destination and that's when I got the next bit of news.  Apparently, someone, somewhere screwed up.  "What are you guys doing here?" was the welcome Colby's crew received when they arrived, "We don't need your crew, you can go home tomorrow."  Steam.  Exiting.  My Ears.  So, I expected him home on Saturday.  Yay!  There'd be no tax-free paycheck in June, but I was okay with that.  But then the powers that be interfered once more, and they decided that they would send his crew on a quick mission and THEN send him home probably on Monday.  Want to guess where Colby is not currently, at this exact moment?  Yeah, they've been back from their "mission" since Sunday evening or Monday (I've lost track), but they can't get set-up for their go-home mission.  Not only is it hard to not have him home so that we can see each other for a solid block of time before he leaves again, but it makes it hard for me to get anything done or scheduled since I have absolutely no clue when he'll be home and needing my chauffeur services.  Le Sigh.  Anyway, now that's off my chest, I feel a bit better.  And you must understand that the high drama of this situation is only being exacerbated by "that time of month", which I realized was upon me last night as I was watching America's Got Talent and sobbing after each performance, in awe of the sheer beauty of the talent displayed, or the heart-wrenching sorrow of each person sent back home.

And now, finally, we move on to the topic at hand, the weight loss challenge I have issued to myself.  When I stepped on the scale this morning, I did a little jig of happiness, but I should preface by saying that they may not be entirely reflective of weight lost in the past week.  I did a little research on the appropriate way to weigh yourself, and it seems the general consensus is immediately after waking up, after a little bathroom break, and dressed only in what God gave you.  Las week when I recorded my weight I'd had lunch a few hours earlier and was wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, so it's highly likely that some of my progress this week is due to the different conditions under which I weighed myself.  Next week should be a more accurate recording, but with that said, let's get on to the numbers!

Starting weight: 130.2
Current weight: 127.8
Pounds Lost: 2.4
Goal weight: 115
Time left to reach goal: 24 weeks

When I stepped on the scale this morning, I wasn't sure what to expect.  I tried very hard to stick to my plan, but I did have a run-in with a brownie one night, and the three cartons of ice cream in my freezer called out to me another night, but all in all, I think I ate fairly well over the last week, a cup of cereal instead of an entire huge bowl, a single packet of organic macaroni and cheese instead of half a box of the processed stuff, yogurt for desserts, whole wheat goldfish or pretzels and hummus for snacks instead of delicious, heavenly, puffed Cheetos.  Also, I didn't quite meet my all of my fitness goals.  Starting my count from last Wednesday I ran a total of three times, and on the one rainy day we've had in a few weeks, I tried substituting walking up and down stairs for a run.  Let me tell you, walking up stairs is FAR more painful than any little jog around the block.  I made a total of 15 minutes of stair climbing, and just added the other 15 minutes onto my run yesterday.  Unfortunately, I'm starting to feel my shin splints coming back, so I'm taking the next couple of days off in hopes that when I run again this weekend they'll be gone.

So, there you have it, I'm pleased with my success, but hope to have a better and more accurate showing over the next week.  For now, I'm sticking with my fitness program of 30 minutes of aerobics, 60 situps, and 20 pushups 4 times a week.  Overall, I think even barring the normal weight fluctuations, and differences in weighing conditions, it's safe to say that I met my goal of .5 pounds of weight lost this week.  Does that mean I can have a cookie now?

Thank God for Family and Wine

It seems such a short time ago that I was cavalierly mentioning how little stress I'd encountered during the wedding planning process.  I've had a nasty encounter with the shop that I bought my dress and bridesmaid dresses from and one mostly exhaustion-fueled "discussion" (some might say "meltdown") about tablecloths at the reception site, but all in all, everything has fallen into place remarkably well thus far.  And actually, everything is still going swimmingly as far as wedding plans go--it's the extra-curricular activities that are starting to give me a headache the size of Texas.  Or Alaska.  Whichever one is bigger.

(Oh, that reminds me of the time Colby and I were walking around campus a when we first started dating and I noticed his RA's car with an Alaska license plate on it.  I wondered aloud how she had gotten her car to Louisiana and mused that it must have been by ferry.  Colby looked at me in horrorified silence for a moment, I presume he was praying that I was joking, and then replied, "Or maybe she drove it here?!"  Because apparently Alaska is actually connected to North America and not, in fact, an island as many maps would lead one to believe.  Who knew?  I am so glad his attraction to me is not based on my geography prowess.  But I digress.)

So, back to the whining at hand.  I'm reaching the end of my rope about the supposedly fun-filled bachelorette party that my blessed sister is trying to plan and am completely ready to throw in the towel and just put the money toward our honeymoon fund.  Colby and I decided months ago that we would have our parties in Las Vegas this summer as our friends are spread across the country, and some even across the pond.  We agreed that we didn't want to have the parties the night before the wedding and the day before that will be Thanksgiving, so we figured we'd do it a little early and pick a fun place as our base of operations.  I talked to some of my friends about it at the time and they were all, "Yay, Vegas, here we come!"  That was then...

Let me insert here that I absolutely hate that I'm complaining about this, because the last thing that I want is to sound like the self-centered bride who thinks the whole world revolves around her and her stupid bachelorette party.  I don't think that, I know that my friends have their own lives, and I respect that completely.  It's just... it's hard to watch Colby talk to his friends about the bachelor party and hear them say, "Definitely, just tell me when and where and I'll be there!" and then of the 14 girls I invite, the only definite is my sister.  I love my friends to bits, I really, really do... it's just kind of disappointing, I guess.

Enough of that.

So, to wrap up my post from a couple of days ago--because Lord knows this blog has enough plot holes as it is--I decided to go with dress #1.  I bought it yesterday, so I'll post a review when I've had a chance to try it on.  The smallest they had was a 6 and according to the size charts I should have gotten a 4, but it looks like it will be able to be altered a bit and at least I know it won't be too small, because seriously, the last time I wore a size 4... well, let's not talk about that anymore.

My reasoning went like this, the turquoise dress was beautiful, and if I were a much richer girl I would have bought it in 10 different colors.  However, like a few of you so kindly pointed out, it will look dated by this time next year and if I'm going to drop some cash on a dress it needs to be something I can wear for more than a season.  The second red dress was so incredibly hot, I still kind of covet it, but I liked how one of you put it--it looked a little too "I'm gonna steal your husband while you're tossing the bouquet" for a wedding.  So, it came down to the LBD and red dress #1, which had been my secret front-runner all along.  But then my decision was made for me when the smallest size of the LBD was an 8 and the red dress was marked down 50% and less than half of the black Vera.  Thank you so much for all of your awesome input--I could see every single point each of you made and it really helped in the decision making process.

Now I'm off to eat some truly phenomenal Trader Joe's cookies and drink some wine... you know, just to make sure I can fill out that dress.

In Constant Need of A Nap

Update:  Colby is officially back on US soil, so hooray for that!  It'll still be a week before I see him, but now I can pester him with phone calls constantly!

I am freaking exhausted, and my crankiness will probably be exhibited to its full effect in this post.  I feel just as worn down now as I did when I had a full-time job to do along with all of the extraneous activities I've been doing for the past two weeks.  I'd go to a doctor to get it checked out, but doctors are pretty much off limits for me until November 24th, when I finally resume my lifelong career as a military dependent, so for now I just yawn a lot and fall asleep on the couch most afternoons.  Tonight, I was supposed to go to dinner with a friend, but we decided to postpone it because he was running late helping a friend move and I was about to digest my stomach.  And I've got to tell you, I was pretty thrilled to put it off to next week, I would have been less than stimulating company tonight.

So, since we last chatted there's been some wedding drama that has stressed me out more than I should really let it.  The issue is the fact that my parents have made it clear that this is Colby and my wedding, so we should be in charge of all of the planning, which tends to conflict with Colby's mother who is in possession of just as controlling a personality as I have.  Don't get me wrong, I get along well with her, and I really do love both of his parents--they're great people, that have never been anything but kind to me, and I truly enjoy spending time with them.  However, from the beginning of this process, she has been extremely... how shall I say... "present" in the planning. 

From the beginning she was suggesting photographers and bands to Colby, which I was fine with, although I already had plenty of amazing vendors in mind, but I knew that she was just helping, and I didn't think much of it.  Then, one of the things that we worked on over the Christmas holidays was checking out hotels to block during the wedding weekend for our guests.  However, we didn't find anything we liked in the couple of hotels I had time to investigate and instead of waiting for me to get back to Baton Rouge in February so we could make our decision together and potentially block more rooms for a larger discount, she did her own research while I was still in Little Rock and blocked rooms for the guests on Colby's half of the guest list in a hotel on the other side of town from my parents' house and the wedding location.  Again, it's just a little thing, but it's been little things like consistently that each time we interact.  I sent out a schedule of events for next week, detailing all of the appointments I had made so that Colby can meet all of our vendors and start getting involved in the plans.  I sent the email over two weeks ago and heard back from Colby that everything looked good.  Then, yesterday. I got an email from his mother asking me to rearrange practically all of the appointments, in an already event packed week.  Again, one of those "small things", but when you add it to the hotel blocks, her questioning our reception choices, and not including me in the rehearsal dinner decisions at all, amongst other things, well, let us say that I often express my anger through tears, and there have been tears to be had over this issue.

I'm trying to let it go, I keep letting it go each time, and when we spend time together everything is really okay.  It's just these moments of exhaustion and frustration that make me want to say screw this whole thing, we're going to Vegas.  But then I remind myself of all of the other wedding horror stories I've heard, and I remember that I don't really have it all that bad, and I put on my big girl panties and deal with it (read: moan about it on my blog).  Plus, I really, really want to be the center of attention for a whole weekend!

In other news, how bout that American Idol, huh?  Man, those boys suck.  I generally try to reserve my opinions about my favorites until the Top 12 have been selected, but the good ones just really stick out to me this year.  I love Blake Lewis (the beat boxer) and Chris Richardson (the JT look-a-like) and have no doubt that they'll make it into the Top 12.  I'd really be okay with it if the rest of the boys were kicked off tomorrow though.  The ladies are still a little more difficult for me to narrow down, though I do know who I want in the Top 12 without a doubt--Stephanie, Jordin, Sabrina, Melinda, Lakisha, Gina, I'm pulling for you ladies, rock it out for me next week!  As for the rest of these kids, they had their shot, and they were decent, but no one will remember their names in 6 months.  That's show biz... kid.

Anyway, it's just about bedtime for this girl.  Tomorrow is going to be a lazy day of guest book making and then Sunday I'm off to the White Oak Bridal Show--keep your fingers crossed for me that I win something big!  Of course, the other big event Sunday will hopefully be Colby's arrival back in the US of A, so if you want to cross some of your fingers for him too, I'm willing to share the luck!

Happy VD

So, yet another Valentine's Day goes by without a special someone to spend it with.  Granted, I'll take these circumstances far beyond the circumstances of last year!  On the bright side Colby finally figured out how to call our house phone, since my cell reception here is so terrible, and we had a nice, albeit brief conversation.

This morning was the first day of Angela's Running Challenge (Volume 9,654)--the main challenge being to drag myself out of bed and get myself onto a running track.  Once I'm there it's easy (well, easy is of course a relative term... it's easier than, say, killing a roach), but getting myself in the mindset to work out is nearly impossible.  It's easier for me when I have a workout buddy of some kind, but my requirements are that they be in at least as terrible shape as I am, and hate working out just as much, so my sister is really the perfect partner.  It's going to be a sad day when I leave here and have to find someone new to motivate me.

It's funny though, the running program we're doing is geared to the completely out of shape, it starts you off very slowly (Which is fabulous since I haven't run regularly since, um, June--doesn't that give you faith in your armed forces?  I always just figured that if I were ever in a life or death situation and someone was shooting at me, I wasn't going to be able to outrun a bullet, no matter how quickly I ran a mile and a half.  I'm just being realistic here!) and after a little over two months you're supposed to be able to run a 5K without stopping.  So, I've done this program numerous times since I seem to follow a pattern of enjoying running for about 6 months and then hating it with a passion for about a year, and having run off and on for years I have a pace that I'm comfortable starting out at and I know I'll be able to build up to a steady run without stopping.

But running with my sister is like running with Bambi after he just heard the hunters' shot in the forest.  We start running and before I know it she's light years ahead of me, and I'm hollering at her about finding her pace and not wearing herself out in the first 5 minutes.  We did finally make it the full 30 minutes, and aside from the bone-numbing wind and the stabby feeling in our ears, it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd expected.  I'm tired right now, but I know eventually I'll work up to a point where this gives me energy rather than sapping it out of me, and mostly I just want to stop bulging ever so slightly at the top of my jeans.  I can accept a lot of things about my body changing as I mover farther and farther away from 16, but one thing I will never accept is the muffin top.

So, I was inspired for my next article at Wise Bread, about getting fit without shelling out tons of dough.  I think there's a lot of good information in it including the 5K running program I use as well as how to's for my favorite calisthenics and hand weight exercises.

(And I promise at some point I'll stop linking to my articles in my posts here, but I'm still not sick of pimping myself out, so you'll probably just have to live with it for a little while longer.)

If It's Not One Thing...

I'm so frustrated with the Air Force right now, I could positively scream.

So, months ago, when I applied for my separation I put down a separation date of March 2.  This was before I knew that I would be moving up to Washington with Colby, but after that became the master plan I toyed with the idea of changing my date so that I would have a little more time to take care of business at home before moving to the other side of the country.  But I read up on our vacation allowances and saw that there was a 20 day permissive TDY (Temporary Duty--can be used in lieu of leave days) for housing and job search authorized for individuals separating under a voluntary separation incentive.  So, I figured that with those 20 days I could be out of the area by mid February, get all of my wedding planning taken care of and spend time with family all before Colby came home at the beginning of March and we began the road trip to Washington.

Turns out, not so much.

For whatever reason, the Air Force has decided that under this specific separation program those 20 days are no longer authorized.  The extremely frustrating part is that I know people who have already gotten their 20 days approved and apparently they're getting grandfathered in so that they can still take those PTDY days.  My friend is working her last few days of work this week before she starts on her 20 days and separates from the Air Force in January.  But since my separation date is a couple months later, I'm shit out of luck.

So, now if I want to get home in time to get anything done that I had planned for those few weeks I'm going to have to put in a request to move my separation date a few weeks earlier.  Which means that'll be out a paycheck and another day of leave that I'll be losing.  Not to mention the fact that it takes about 6 weeks to get separation requests approved and I only have 8 weeks between now and the time that I want to get out.

I would fight this, but if I take the risk and end up losing the battle in a couple of weeks I'll be stuck with my March 2nd separation date and there definitely won't be enough time to get it moved up.  Honestly though, this just reinforces my reasons for wanting to get out of the Air Force.  I grew up hearing about how the military was a family, and it took care of it's own, but ever since the day I set foot on base it's been one infuriating thing after another and now I just want to get out as soon as possible.  This isn't a family that I want to be a part of anymore--I'm tired of being treated as a second class citizen just because I'm a person instead of a weapons system.

Now I just hope that my request is approved in time for me to get on with my life.  I'm ready for the next chapter to begin.

I Call Bullshit

Excerpts from an article on CNN.com

For years, Mary Cheney's openness about her sexual orientation had posed a dilemma for conservative activists who admire Dick Cheney's stance on many issues but consider homosexuality a sin.

Janice Crouse of Concerned Women for America described the pregnancy as "unconscionable."

"It's very disappointing that a celebrity couple like this would deliberately bring into the world a child that will never have a father," said Crouse, a senior fellow at the group's think tank. "They are encouraging people who don't have the advantages they have."

Carrie Gordon Earll, a policy analyst for the conservative Christian ministry Focus on the Family, expressed empathy for the Cheney family but depicted the pregnancy as unwise.

"Just because you can conceive a child outside a one-woman, one-man marriage doesn't mean it's a good idea," Earll said. "Love can't replace a mother and a father."

That article right there pretty much sums up my reasons for not being able to consider myself a Republican.  While I generally align myself under the economical platforms of the republican party, I read an article like the one excerpted here and it makes my head explode with the sheer stupidity of what has just entered my brain.  I don't particularly adore Mary Cheney, but there are a lot of people in the world that I don't like, and that doesn't mean I don't think they should be allowed to have children.  Wouldn't the world be a scary place if I were allowed to dictate who should and should not have kids?  Damn, I'd be busy.

I really and truly cannot understand what it is that scares people so much about a same gender relationship.  What is more threatening about two women who are in love than a man and a woman who are in love?  I seriously cannot wrap my head around it.  Doesn't it seem like there are so many other things that we could be worrying ourselves about regarding other people's relationships?  Things like physical and emotional abuse?  Things like the rising number of divorces in the country as we witness celebrities (in heterosexual relationships, mind you) marry and divorce within the span of a few months.  What is it about a homosexual relationship that is so very wrong?  And if you say God doesn't like it, I'll probably barf on you.  Bring me a note signed by God himself that says "No gays allowed" and then I'll believe you and promptly turn in my Christian badge.

Take those quotes straight out of the article: "It's very disappointing that a celebrity couple like this would deliberately bring into the world a child that will never have a father."   They are encouraging people who don't have the advantages they have."  "Just because you can conceive a child outside a one-woman, one-man marriage doesn't mean it's a good idea."  "Love can't replace a mother and a father."

So, just by reading those quotes we can now deduce that men and women who are divorced or widowed should not have children.  Men and women who are not wealthy should not have children.  In fact, if you don't have a penis and a vagina present in a relationship, you cannot successfully raise a child.  Well, isn't that good to know!  Actually, I think the stupidest statement out of them all is that "Love can't replace a mother and a father."  Kind of like love isn't a reason to get married, right?  I find it so ironic that these Christian organizations that supposedly promote love and and acceptance then turn around and say that love isn't enough.  Apparently "love" only counts if you're straight.

I don't know what kind of God these people believe it, but my God couldn't care less what your gender is, what you look like, whether you choose to have children, if you're married, or what your race is.  My God is a loving God who accepts all of those who choose to let Him into their hearts.  I find it horrifying that the majority of Christians don't seem to feel the same way.  That they feel it should be in their power to pass judgement on who should be allowed to have a marriage or a child and who shouldn't.  It seems to me after reading this article that an abusive father and alchoholic mother are a better option that two loving mommies or daddies.  Which is just mind numbingly idiotic and I think purposefully obtuse.

I know that there's nothing I can say or do to change the minds of people who staunchly believe that homosexuals should learn to "overcome" their "afflictions".  I read so many heartbreaking stories of men and women who finally divorce their spouses after decades of marriage because they just can't hide who they really are anymore.  Does this invalidate the love that they have for their children or their skills as a parent?  Because a man is no longer married to a woman or a woman is no longer married to a man? Sorry, but I just don't buy that.

Getting It Out of My System

Tomorrow is a day of thanks and giving, appropriately named "Thanksgiving".  As we circle around our tables along with family and friends it is important that we look back on this past year and give thanks for everything that our lives have been blessed with and look forward to the year to come.

However, there are some things that I really need to go ahead and say that I am just really, REALLY not thankful about at all.  Let's just go ahead and get those out in the open today, so that tomorrow I will be able to play the part of the serene, Stepford-esque hostess while serving my delicious meal provided by the gourmet chefs at Super Target.  Thank you Super Target.

1.  Seriously, what has happened to Gilmore Girls??  At this point I find myself watching purely because I absolutely adore Luke and April, but I honestly couldn't care less if a high tech Gilmore-seeking missile wiped Rory and "Lor" off the face of Stars Hollow.  Those two are completely unrecognizeable as the strong, independent characters we've grown to know and love over the past 6 years.  Chilton Rory would NEVER take Trust Fund Asshold Logan and the Independence Inn Lorelai would never have let things get this far with Christopher.  Do you see the look on her face when she's talking about how "happy and certain" she is about her marriage?  That is not the look of a woman who is happy and certain in her relationship--that is the look of a woman desperately wondering what the hell has happened to her life in the past season year.  Talk about Gil-less.  That's exactly what this show has become.

And what is with those vapid little cheerleaders "discussing" the show after it airs?  I understand that the CW is catering to a younger, hipper crowd than I can probably claim to belong, but still, do they really add any value whatsoever to the shows?  If I have to watch one more 14 year old girl talking about how her experiences so similarly match those of Lorelai's, I'm going to pitch my television over the balcony.

2.  Discover card.  Stop. Calling. Me.  I don't know how to make it any clearer that I'm not interested in your credit card, and also, HOW did you get my phone number that is most CERTAINLY on the Do Not Call list?  In the past week I have gotten over 50 phone calls from various recordings claiming to have very important information for me, and urging me to call back between the hours of 8-5 on Monday through Fridays.  I do not HAVE a Discover card.  I have never HAD a Discover card.  I do not WANT a Discover card.  Thanks to your stalkerish behaviors I now no longer answer my phone.  You are forcing me into Howard Hughes type isolation all because I can't bear to wake up at 6 o'clock in the morning ONE MORE TIME to hear a recording telling me to call back between the hours of 8 and 5.  You know what?  If you aren't open at 6 on a Saturday?  I'm probably not either.  If I start peeing in jars and lining the circumference of my apartment with them, I blame you, Discover card.

3.  Monster.com.  Believe all of the evil things you hear about this company.  I decided to take my resume down because I was tired of my email inbox being flooded with emails promising Very! Exciting! Opportunities! provided by headhunting companies that are requesting I send them my resume so that they can find me a totally awesome job somewhere in the country.  Except that they supposedly already saw my resume.  And I want to move to Seattle.  But, you know, other than that, totally awesome!  Thanks Monster.com!

There are some other minor annoyances, most of which involve discussing my job, but I think we all know the Golden Rule of Blogging:  "Thou shalt not trash talk thine employer on a public website that contains thy full name."  So, I'll just end on this note and count down the last remaining hours standing between me and the holiday weekend.

I Reserve the Usage of This Word For Only the Most Extreme Cases

But you know what, Senator John Kerry?  Fuck you.

I don't even want to waste any more words on that man.  Vile.  Absolutely vile.

It's Time We Speak Out!

I've been thinking about this topic a lot lately, as it continues to come up in conversation repeatedly.  Last week a friend of mine came in to talk to me about pros and cons of separation from the Air Force.  There's an ex-fiance who is coming back into the picture, on top of a general dissatisfaction with her job.  We talked about it at length and my take on it was that if she's not happy with her career she's still young enough to go back and start over in the civilian sector and if she decides to do that where her (ex) fiance lives, then more power to her.  Her life, her choice. 

We talked some more about me separating and moving up to Washington and she made a comment to the effect of, "Why is it always us (the women in the relationship) giving up things for them (the men)?"  Yesterday, I read a similarly themed conversation on Sarah's blog and it struck a chord with me, probably because I've been thinking about it so much lately anyway.

Here's the thing--I don't feel like I'm giving up anything by moving to Washington.  I was planning to separate from the military before Colby and I ever got together, and at that point I was just planning to move back home.  It wasn't an ideal decision just because I've always wanted to live in other places and experience different parts of the country, and I definitely had my eyes open to other opportunities--I was pretty open to moving just about anywhere.  Once we made the decision to get back together and head toward marriage, the obvious answer was to move to Washington once I separated.  I don't feel as though I lost out on anything at all by making that decision.

Now, let's say that I got a fantastic job offer in Colorado, another place I've always wanted to live.  Would I take the offer?  No.  I would have to say, thanks for the opportunity, but I'm moving to Washington.  Would I be giving something up in that case?  Absolutely.  But isn't that what relationships are about?  Give and take?  I'm fairly comfortable in making the assumption that if Colby had any decision making input about where we would live, we make more compromises.  But he doesn't.  And as a military significant other, it is part of your "job description" that you'll go where the military sends you.  And you can't hold that against the person who is doing their duty and make it all about the "sacrifices" that you, as the dependent, are making.

So, what's with all the judgement?  If you make the decision to follow your husband or boyfriend, and you make it freely, then who is another person to say that you are giving up your own life for that person.  Silliness I say--just silliness!  So, I guess I'm a little sensitive about that subject, but I definitely feel strongly about it, and I'm speaking out!

So, I've created a ribbon for my cause that you can pin to your sweater in support of girlfriends/boyfriends/husbands/wives who don't much give a damn where they live as long as they're with their little snugglywuggums.

God, if that's not a community service bullet on my next performance report, I don't know what is.

(PS  I still reserve the right to bitch if we have to move to Altus AFB.)

Oh! I Forgot To Tell You!

So!  In the midst of all of the drama that's unfolded over the past couple of days and my post of self reflection and optimism (always a portent of evil things to come in my world--I should really be negative more often) I completely forgot to talk about the weekend of Riverfest in downtown Little Rock!

If you've ever heard of the Beale Street Music Festival, Riverfest is a lot like that--lots of fairly well known bands (Train, Switchfoot, Live, etc), overpriced food and beer, arts and crafts, and all for a pretty decent price with the convenience of being about 15 minutes from my apartment.  Of course, given that convenience and the fact that it's in my hometown I spent hardly any time there at all.  Go figure.  However, Saturday we did go, and I'll always look back on that fateful Saturday as my very own comedy of errors.

I think it's been fairly well established that if something bad can happen or something can go wrong in my life, it generally will.  Sure, I have a pretty good life OVERALL, but oftentimes I think that if I were a shirt in the Disney Store I would definitely be the pink Eeyore shirt.  From a distance bright and cheery, up close--oh God, don't even ask.  So, it's safe to say that pretty much everything that could go wrong did on Saturday night.  I'll present this in an easy to read timeline format, please, enjoy my misery!

4:30 pm  Decide to take a nap as it's been an exceptionally tiring day of feeding the dogs and watching Absolutely Fabulous while camped out on my couch.

4:45 pm  Phone rings.  Contemplate not answering, but decide that I've been enough of a hermit, I might as well see what's going on in the world.

4:46 pm Talk talk talk talk talk...

5:00 pm  Want to go to Riverfest?  Sure, okay... talk talk talk... hang up

6:00 pm  All dressed and pretty!  Woo, goin' out!

6:30 pm  Halfway downtown... oh crap, I forgot cash... and my ATM card... and my drivers license.  Make conscious effort to stop speeding through the residential area.

6:31 pm  Turn around

6:32 pm  Call friends sheepishly and tell them to go on in, don't mind me, I'm an idiot, I'll be there eventually!

7:00 pm  Finally, am downtown, and barely behind schedule... now just need to find a place to park...

7:05 pm  Still looking for parking...

7:10 pm  Damn out of towners taking up all of the good parking spots...

7:15 pm  There's a spot!  Oh... no... tiny motorcycle type vehicle there

7:20 pm  Holy crap, how did I end up on the interstate??

7:25 pm  Maybe the other side of the river...

7:30 pm  YES!  I WILL GIVE YOU MY FIRST BORN IF YOU JUST TELL ME THAT THERE'S A SPOT OPEN IN YOUR LOT!!  Oh, it's just five dollars?  Well, okay, or that then...

7:31 pm  Should be able to take shuttle across the river from right here... Dear me, is this the line?  And they can only fit 30 people on the shuttle at a time??  Hm, okay.  Well, I'm in good shape, I'll just walk!

7:35 pm  Walking...

7:45 pm  Walking.....

7:50 pm  My God, why in the HELL did I wear heels?  And how big is this damn river??

7:55 pm  SHIT.  I left my paid in advance, half priced ticket in the car.

7:56 pm  Debate going back to retrieve ticket and laugh maniacally at the prospect.  Forge ahead, seriously considering just going back home.

8:00 pm  Walking...

8:10 pm  Finally locate gate, shell out another $15 to get in and can't get friends to answer their cell phones.  Sit, disgruntled, across from the Navy tent and stare at their butts.

8:15 pm  Friends call!  We triangulate our locations and find one another!!

8:20 pm  Really, really want to drink, feet hurt like hell, is h-o-t.  Hate.

8:25 pm  Ready to go see the band--woo!  Live!  Lightening Crashes!  Yeah!

8:26 pm  Stage is where?  On the other side of the river??  Where I just... walked... from...  Like hell I'm walking back over there, we will wait for the shuttle.  Line is satisfyingly short.

8:27 pm  Shuttles are shut down.  Waiting for an ambulance.

8:28 pm  Trolley comes.  Hesitate, not wanting to lose our place in the shuttle line, but decide to risk it.

8:30 pm  Oops, sorry girls, you'll have to wait for the next trolley!

8:31 pm  Apologetic looks from friends... sigh in defeat, take off shoes and cheerfully suggest just walking back across the river.

8:32 pm  Repeat of 7:31-7:50 pm activities, this time Britney Spears style--sans shoes.  Asphalt kind of hurts like a bitch too, but it's better than the damn heels.  Nobody told me I'd be running a marathon tonight.

9:00 pm  Make it to stage, have I mentioned that I still really want to drink?  And also cry?  Concentrate on how this will make a great blog entry.  Try to find Zen place in my mind to relax.

9:05 pm  Meet up with more friends--oooooh, hot guy!!  Alright, here we go!

9:10 pm  Hot guy's friend, Not So Hot Guy hits on me.  Go back to Zen place and smile and nod a lot.

9:15 pm  Band plays... La la la... small children in front of us smoke weed... move aside, panicky about possible drug testing at work next week.

9:30 pm  Band still playing... hm, yeah, really smoky out here... La la la... Feet reeeeaaaally hurt...

9:45 pm  Are you ready to go?  Yeah... kinda... you?  Yeah... pretty much... We are such boring people.

9:46 pm  Walk back to car, again shoeless.

9:50 pm  Going home, yay!

9:55 pm  Can't figure out how to get home... roads shut down... GAAAAAH!!!!!

Anyway, I eventually made it home, but OH MY GOD, I walked around like a cripple for the next two days and ended up spending about 25 bucks to see 30 minutes of a band playing.  Seriously, there are some nights you should just not answer your phone.  Although, I guess on the good news side of the coin, I didn't die--so not EVERYTHING that could have gone wrong did...

(Oh, but I did take myself to Barnes and Noble for a rather ridiculous shopping spree on Monday to make myself feel better.  Seriously, that place is like a drug for me--but I got some AWESOME stuff to read!)

(Like I don't have at least 50 unread books already at home sitting sadly on a bookshelf awaiting their turn on my bedside table.)

No Brilliant Segues Here--But Then, Are There Ever?

I've been trying to think of a witty way to tie these two things together: The Backstreet Boys and Asshat Drivers.  I've been unable to come up with a way to intelligently link them in well written discourse, so instead I've decided to go with my usual rambling and decidedly unliterary style.  That being said--if you can think of a way to transition eloquently from one to the other, please, please share!  I will envy you your cleverness and then I will probably steal it as my own.  But!  You shall be Queen for the Day here at katiescarlett36.com!  And that's fun, right!  Unless you're a boy... then perhaps that's just insulting.  Anyway.  Getting to the meat of the story.

This morning on the way to work I heard a Backstreet Boys song and I found myself transported back to a happier, more innocent time.  I'll admit it.  My name is Angela, and I am a Backstreet Boys-aholic.  It's true.  I love the Backstreet Boys.  I should say, I loved the Backstreet Boys, now my feeling for them is more sisterly affection, but there was a day oh, there was a day.  I remember in highschool my sister and best friends and I all had a certain Backstreet Boy chosen that we were so incredibly going to marry some day.  I think we found our matches by one of those little fangirl magazine quizzes that asks you things like your favorite dessert and ideal date to set you up with your ideal Backstreet Boy.  We would go for runs after school and our motivation was being able to go back to the house, pull out our tattered magazine and finish memorizing all of the words to "I Want It That Way".  Even though I wouldn't qualify myself as a "Fan" nowadays, I won't deny that if I were to hear a Backstreet Boys jingle on the radio, I'd turn it up and belt along to it.  Come on, I mean, don't we all have our guilty pleasures??

And moving onto the assclown I ran across on the road today... GAH... I mean seriously, I don't understand how these people function in day to day society!  It's true, I'm a bit of a Mario Andretti at times when it comes to highway driving.  (And other driving as well, but that's beside the point.)  But when the posted speed limit is 60 and you're going 50 in the left lane, you are NOT ALLOWED to be annoyed with me for riding your ass.  Not to mention, my ass is being ridden because people can't figure out why I'm going so damn slow.  And then?  When I try to pass you because I have acknowledged the fact that you are a huge pain in my butt?  DO NOT gun your engine and go flying off down the road, because I will then have to flip you off and disrespect the military uniform that I am wearing.  And no amount of Backstreet Boys music will make me okay with that kind of treatment.

Help! Help! My Hair Is On Fire!

Angela's Current Priority List:

1)  Eating

2)  Boys

3)  Dogs

4)  Keeping in touch with family and friends

5)  Work

6)  Keeping apartment in presentable condition

7)  Buying new, fun things

8)  Working out

9)  Blog

10) Oh, and also paying bills

Angela's Suggested Priority List:

Um, not what I have listed above.

Seriously? Seriously?? Life seems to have recently exploded and also, I am very sore right now. I decided to go for a run last night because I would like to be skinny and hottt for this weekend (more details on that later) and amped up the pace a little bit since I've been running at turtle speed for the past few weeks. After about 5 minutes on the treadmill I really and truly thought I was going to die. However, being the highly motivated type (hahahahahahahaha!!!!!) I pushed through the pain, but after 15 minutes in I decided to do a little walking. I finally finished my own personal Trail of Tears and managed to not collapse in a weary heap before finishing my cool down. Before I got off the machine I cycled through to see my distance, time, and calories… and also incline… which should have been at ZERO. Turns out? Some hero who ran before me? He does not run without an incline--noooo, for he is a hero and enjoys running hills and all that crap. I RAN AT AN INCLINE!! (I will not tell you that the incline was only 2%, because that makes me sound kind of wussy, but please note TWO does not equal ZERO) I am sore today in places that I did not know I was capable of being sore in.

But do not have time for soreness! Must accomplish things this week! Distinct possibility of having male visitor this weekend! Both personal appearance and apartment have fallen into sad state of disrepair! Do not know why talking like Tarzan!

I am managing to get things accomplished, but I'm finding that my head is not screwed on as tight as it once was. Just in the past month I have missed a credit card payment, almost forgotten to pay rent, and realized yesterday morning that April 15th is approaching rapidly and I should probably file my taxes at some point. I have NEVER, EVER missed a credit card payment. I'm one of those obnoxious people who pays it off in full every month and couldn't even tell you what my APR is because I've just never had to deal with it. However, I received a nastygram from my credit card company 8 days after the due date saying that they were SURE my payment was probably just crossing their notification in the mail, but probably not really and just pay the damn minimum at least. Please. Sincerely, Carter Franke. (I hate that guy.)

So, I'm trying very hard to focus right now. I have 14,000 lists going on. I'm trying to get Ellie spayed before she rapes Jack, but the Humane Society is all "no, we don't think so", and I'm all, "fine, I'm calling my vet and telling on you, bitches!" And I'm taking an obscenely long lunch today because my hair has just gotten out of control and it is time for Kitty to whip it into shape. I have dusting, bathroom cleaning, vacuuming, laundry, dishes to wash, dogs to train, groceries to buy… so… basically this was all just a very roundabout way of saying that pictures of Ellie should be coming soon.

(Hehe, let's see which of you suckers buys that line again!)

Do You Want To Take My Picture?

Let’s have a little chat about photographs. Last night I was given the joy of receiving a buttload of pictures of my dog, my glorious self, and my boyfriend’s puss filled small pox injection site.

The dog was cute.

Truly, if I were to live out the rest of my life without ever seeing another picture of myself, I would still feel as though I lived a full and satisfying life. The girl I see looking back at me out of, oh let’s say 82.6%, of the pictures that I take look nothing like the girl I see in the mirror.

It’s as though I have some sort of internal mechanism that senses a camera has been leveled in my direction and causes some sort of spasm resulting in a horrifying sneer, slack jawed gaze, mid-blink catastrophe. And none of these things are helping me in the pretty department.

I don’t think I’m anywhere near supermodel proportions here, but I also don’t consider myself an ogre. Of course, there are days when I’d prefer to leave the house with a paper bag over my head, but I think with the right amount of attention to hair, makeup, and clothing, I manage to look rather presentable, possibly some may say “hot”. And I’ve never had a problem attracting admirers of the opposite sex, creepy or otherwise. I like to think that, at least on some level, part of their attraction to me has to do with physical appearance, and doesn’t all hinge on the $100 I slip them under the table when no one is looking…

Let’s just say that fairly often the photo-Angela would need a lot more than a hundred bucks to get a man interested.

I think it’s the Amish who won’t allow their pictures taken for fear that the act of taking a photograph will rob their soul. I think that’s a load of bull-hockey. I think one day, many moons ago, an Amish woman had her picture done for the man in her life, took one look at her image, immortalized forever in a bad hat, no make-up, and an unflattering hair style and said “My stars, no woman should ever have to go through that again”.

I’m moving to Pennsylvania.

You're In My World Now

For those of you who may not be otherwise aware, I live in a little bubble in which I am under the impression that I am the totalitarian dictator Queen of an autocratic purely non-democratic regime. The fact that this regime does not extend outside of my internet domain has just begun to dawn on me, and so I am tightening my grasp as my world begins to slip through my fingers.

In short, what I am saying is that I am issuing forth a new decree. If you write something mean in my comments and I do not like it, I will delete it. This is my website, mine. And if I have to act like a two year old who hasn’t taken a nap in a week, then so be it. I will stomp my foot, scowl, and then proceed to Typepad and delete you and your meanness from my life. I may not be able to delete people in real life, but bitches, I can do it on the internet, and I will.

(But if you haven’t been mean to me, I still love you dearly and would never delete anything you write—but don’t cross me, because I will cut you.)

(Not really, I’m actually quite a pushover in real life, and I would never cut anyone.)

(I’m not even sure what that means “cut you”—is it literal? Like, I will take out my knife and cut you? Or is it gangsta speak? I do not know these things, this word is not commonly used in my world.)

(I should probably stop saying things if I actually don’t know what they mean.)

(Okay, I’m stopping now… seriously.)

Commercialism In the Workplace

I’m feeling a bit “mom and pop” competing with Wal-Mart today. I may have already mentioned that we’re having a door decorating contest in my office, and it has unleashed the competitive demon I have tucked away deep down inside. Or some may say that it is not in fact tucked that deeply away… but moving on.

I came into the office on Sunday and worked with the other exec on papering the door, cutting a snowman out of wrapping paper, making snow on the ground from cotton balls… basically living out my inner kindergartener. We walked away feeling pretty darn smug. We’d gotten a jump on the competition, our snowman was looking pretty damn festive, and we were ready to come in and laugh in the faces of all the other bare door-owners.

Then I came back from lunch yesterday.

In response to our homemade creation of sparkle and glitter, the back office had put up beautiful store-bought bows and a snowman that lights up, radioactive-blue lights framed the door, and one of their desks was wrapped to look like a large gift. This morning they had added a 4 foot tall dancing, singing Santa Claus to the display--a jaunty “SC” emblazoned on his belt.

I’m sorry, but as proud as Martha Stewart may be of our door, there is no way that we can compete with the store-bought goodness of the back office. I’ve done my best to add some jazz to our door—I gave our snowman a little pipe with cotton ball-smoke billowing out, he’s got button eyes and a button nose, and I added some poster board presents. But seriously, we should have laid out some ground rules—like if one person spends 4 hours decorating their door on a WEEKEND when their BOYFRIEND just got in town then they should automatically beat the person who spent 45 MINUTES hanging up their light up snowman and hideous blue lights. I’M JUST SAYING, ROGER!! And also, kissing butt is a very ugly thing—I’m sure our boss will see right through you—I’m SURE of it!!

How To Effectively Piss Me Off in 8 Easy Steps

It’s really much easier than you would think! Here, in easy to read, numbered format, is a brief tutorial:

1) End serious relationship very badly, and expect that I will still be your best friend. Sure, I will be your best friend, if by “Best Friend” you mean “Person Who Gouges Your Eyes Out For Fun on a Friday Night”. (Very Shakespearean, no?)

2) Marry woman for whom said relationship ended very badly and then take the GODDAMNED name for your spawn that I picked out for our future children. Who, come to think of it, would essentially be the children of Satan.

3) Continue to send “friendly” emails about how you hope I'm doing all right, and you still think about me until I block your name from my email account. And also roast all remaining artifacts from our relationship over the flames of the fiery pit of Hell.

4) Drop off the face of the earth for four years and then send me yet ANOTHER email claiming to be a changed man, and telling me what a significant part of your life I was. (HA I say—HA!)

5) Upon receiving a civil reply from me turning down your ever so considerate olive branch of “friendship”, become pissy and condescending in your response and tell me “no hard feelings” are had by you. I’m sorry?? No hard feelings are felt by YOU?? Funny, you must have mistaken me with that girl that GIVES A RAT’S ASS!

6) Tell me that “you will have forgotten this attempt at contact by weeks end” and that “you were just trying to be a ‘good person’”. You know, it’s funny, when the devil wears a blue suit, HE’S STILL THE DEVIL. Asshat.

7) Also, reflect upon how happy you are, and hope that someday I and my boyfriend will be as happy as you and your wife and start a family together because it’s “a wonderful thing”. Yes, because truly, your counsel is what I depend upon to get me through the rough times. And obviously, you are quite happy with your life as four years after ending things with me, you are still trying to ease your conscience about the complete disregard with which I was treated. I am quite envious of your life. Really. I mean it.

8) Sign off with “no reply necessary”. You know, just in case I felt like changing my mind and declaring my undying love and devotion.

And Now For Something Completely Different

So. For the past few days we’ve been working Hurricane Katrina issues on base like crazy. People are working quite literally around the clock sending troops, food, water, relief supplies, and money, we’re downloading supplies off of international airplanes that are bringing in provisions for the affected areas. So far we’ve had Chinese, British, African, Indian, and Russian representatives fly in, and these are just the ones that I’m aware of. Folks are walking around like zombies—going without sleep, eating whatever they can find in the snack bars, and sneaking minutes here and there when they can to get some personal time. Our resources are exhausted, yet people still want to give more and more.

I’m running a base wide fundraiser for money to send to our Air Force family at Keesler AFB, we have lodging available on base, cots set up in our barracks, vacant base housing has been furnished and is ready for evacuees. On the way home from work yesterday I saw a sign up at the local community center for a job fair and kids day for Katrina victims. Local apartment complexes are opening up their vacant spaces for the evacuees, television stations and radio channels are talking about nothing but volunteer opportunities, drop off points for supplies and money, holding donation drives. I’ve received a note on my windshield offering supplies and refuge after someone saw my Louisiana plates, my neighbors have asked about family and friends back home and offered any help they can give. Tomorrow my secretary’s church is holding an impromptu wedding for a couple that had to evacuate New Orleans days before their wedding and have absolutely nothing now. The church is scrambling to find them a cake, flowers, candles, wedding gifts, and these two people will manage to overcome the odds and still get married on their wedding day because of the kindness and generosity of complete strangers.

On a daily basis, I come home from my day or night at work, turn on the news and see nothing but the people who refuse to leave New Orleans—after a MANDATORY EVACUATION ORDER mind you—bitching about how no one is helping them and they are being left to die and rot in sewage and squalor. They’re screaming at the National Guardsmen who are risking their own lives to go in and rescue them about how they are American citizens and have their rights and will not be treated this way and blahdy freakin’ blah, now I’m going to go rob a store at gunpoint and shoot contractors who are trying to FIX THE DAMN BRIDGE SO PEOPLE CAN GET THE HELL OUT. (Okay, I know that’s a broad generalization, and I realize that not all of the residents of New Orleans are rampaging murderers, please do not send me angry email because I will probably hunt you down and rip your head off, this is venting here people)

Then I’m reading my brainless entertainment news, since that’s all I can handle now, and I read this completely asinine quote from the internationally known news pundit, Celine Dion, about how people who are looting should be left along because “they just want to touch something nice for once in their life”—what on earth?? Since when does Celine Dion even live in the same reality as the rest of us that she has the insight to make a comment like that?? I swear to God, nothing makes sense to me anymore. I refuse to even watch the news now because the media has managed to zero in on every negative aspect of this admittedly appalling tragedy and magnify it, while at the same time managing to ignore the valiant efforts people and governments AROUND THE WORLD are going to to send assistance. And then, if anyone has the audacity to talk about anything other than the hurricane they are immediately cast down as cruel, heartless, and selfish for even beginning to think of themselves and not devoting every waking minute to reflection and sadness for the people along the gulf coast. All that we can do as a nation is look for who we can blame, who we can tear down, what sort of political statement we can turn this into—both Democrat and Republican—instead of seeing this for the natural disaster that it is, learning from it, and marveling at the outpouring of human kindness and compassion that it has evoked in people around the world.

Is it any wonder all that I can find to talk about lately is the sweetness and precociousness of an innocent puppy?

I Feel Like I'm Taking Crazy Pills

Bleh.

That’s the word of the day. Because seriously? I’ve not got much else. It’s been one heck of a 24 hours, and honestly, the thing that I would most like to do is crawl into my comfy bed and go to sleep. But then I’d wake up at 3 in the morning and ew, who wants that?

Yeah, so this is what I should have been doing today, lots of cooking out, hiking, fresh outdoors (even though it is damn hot… so maybe this is for the best? Nope, that’s not it…) and other such fun activities with the boy. Instead I’m home watching Oprah, and going in to work tomorrow. Oh, the joy that is my life! I mean, my boss is great and all, but still, just not quite the same as a romantic weekend in the mountains with Colby. Ah well…

And this morning, I was a collector at a urinalysis, which means I get to sit behind a nasty table and accept people’s little bottles of pee. They do not tell you about this when you sign up for the military. *sigh* Anyway, it’s not generally that bad, but this morning, one fine gentleman… dropped his bottle. In. The. Toilet. Yeah. Ask me if we wear gloves when we accept these blessed gifts of urine, go ahead ask. No, no we do not, because apparently that makes the whole process more difficult. So, this morning involved waking up at 4 o’clock in the morning AND handling a bottle of pee that had gone skinny dipping in MORE pee.

Then like the little cherry on top--I’ve just been feeling a bit on edge lately, pretty much anything sets me off, and unfortunately I tend to take these things out on the people I love most. I’m not sure why I can’t just be a nice person. Other people don’t seem to have a problem with it, but no, me, I must bring the drama and the insanity and drive people away. That’s really great.

So, that’s pretty much the update for the today. To recap: tired, no visit, pee, bitch, crazy. I rock.