Tomorrow Is Another Day...

Domino's Effect

Oh World, why do you keep finding new and uncharted ways to torment me?

If you know me at all, you are most likely aware of my deep and abiding affection for Domino's Pizza.  It all started on a cold December day, with a packed-to-the-gills moving truck just pulling up to our brand new life in South Carolina.  Because we firmly believe in the power of bribery when it comes to getting the best work out of our movers, we always buy them pizza and sodas and hang out with them at lunch time.  They usually end up being kind of awesome people with pretty fascinating lives, and in each of our moves they've gone the extra mile to help us in a number of various beyond the call of duty ways.  Let that be a life lesson.  Pizza brings people together.  And greatly reduces the amount of paperwork required by filing damage claims.

Anyway, we had noted upon driving into our neighborhood that there was a Domino's near the entrance, and they were running some kind of ridiculous deal on carry out pizzas.  So we loaded up on some pepperonis and supremes and prepared to worm our way into the hearts of some manual laborers.  Much to my shock, having not gone near a Domino's in ages, the pizzas were incredibly delicious.

The crust was garlicy and perfectly seasoned.  The cheese to sauce ratio was downright scientific in its perfection.  The sauce itself was delightfully tomatoey without the cloying sweetness of some unnamed competitors (cough, Schmapa Ron's, cough), instead balancing the acids with zesty red pepper.  From that day forward, a pizza love affair blossomed.

I got to know my pizza makers through the magic of the Pizza Tracker, always hoping that my favorite and generous with the cheese pizza artist, Christoper (yes, Christoper) would be in charge of my order.  Clapping my hands in delight when my order showed itself as winging its way toward my front door and otherwise daydreaming about these mysterious People Behind the Tracker.  I looked forward to the nights when Colby was away when I could curl up with a movie, a bottle of cheap wine, and a delicious Domino's Pizza.

Then it happened.  After nearly two years of the New Recipe Renaissance, I noticed a steady decline in the quality of the pizza.  The sauce began to taste less kicky.  The cheese and toppings were almost entirely missing on some slices.  The dough was returning to its former tasteless beginnings.  Worst of all, Christoper seemed to have moved on to greener pastures, as his name vanished from my Tracker, leaving me with a steady parade of less qualified replacements.

And last night was the final straw.  After over a week of spending hour upon hour in the kitchen, stirring, baking, cooking, and injecting, I had been looking forward to a quiet night on the couch with my Domino's and my DVR.  And my pizza?  It was nothing short of disgusting.  Tasteless.  Greasy.  Only the most scant smattering of cheese and toppings over a scraping of sauce.  As I chewed my way through a most disappointing pizza experience, my heart shattered into a million pieces.

I don't know where I'll go from here.  I feel so unready and unwilling to jump back into the pool of delivery pizza options.  I thought we had such a good thing going for us, Dominos and I.  I feel betrayed, lost, alone.  Hungry.  Every time I look at that Ziploc full of leftovers in my refrigerator, those feelings of disgust and revulsion bubble back to the surface.  How could you do this to me, Domino's?  I LOVED YOU!!!

(Christoper:  If you're out there, find me.  I've got an oven in my kitchen and a pizza shaped hole in my heart to fill.  This could be the start of something beautiful.)

Homecoming Hotness

For those not in the college football know, one of LSU's love him or hate him players, Tyrann Mathieu, was dubbed the honey badger (inspired by this amazing viral video) at the beginning of the season.  He earned this moniker due to his tendency to zip around the field making some pretty sweet plays and, as the video goes, taking what he wants.  Mathieu has had a rocky road the past few weeks and likely destroyed his shot at the Heisman, but when I saw this shirt combining my love for LSU with my love for ridiculous internet memes, I knew I had to have it on my body.

I won't be watching LSU play WKU in our homecoming game tonight 1) because homecoming is traditionally a lame matchup that doesn't air on any of the channels we get and 2) because I'm working.  But you'd better believe I will be representing my team in my rad honey badger shirt.

Thanks for the ball, stupid!

Six

No guest post today, I'm traveling into the future once again to celebrate my sixth blogoversary with you!

Six years ago today was just like any other day.  I went to work, spent way too much time putzing around on the internet instead of proofreading performance reports, came home, ate dinner, and turned on the television.  Maybe there was nothing on, maybe I got bored with whatever I was watching, but for some reason, that was the night.  I opened my laptop, pulled up Typepad.com, created a username and password, and in minutes a blog was born.

A lot of things have changed since that night.  Colby and I broke up, I dated other people, we got back together, we got married, we started trying to have a baby.  I was a lieutenant in the Air Force, I separated from active duty, found a job working as the office manager for a marketing firm, moved on to working as a child care assistant, was promoted to child care site leader, went back to school, got my Masters in elementary education, realized that was a really dumb move, still really enjoyed my classes.  I had recently moved from Louisiana to Arkansas, then I moved to Washington, now we're in South Carolina.  I had two gerbils, then a dog, then another dog, then the gerbils died--the dogs are still alive.  Blogging wasn't cool, I told only a few people that I'd started a "personal website", most people gave me the side eye, my parents thought it was pretty cool, then people started to know what I meant when I said I had a blog, I got fewer side-eyes, now everyone has a blog and celebrities show up at BlogHer.

I've changed, the internet has changed, the world has changed, and it's all been documented here for posterity.  The one thing that hasn't changed is how strongly I feel about the name that I chose for this site.  It was something of a whim--I've loved Gone with the Wind since I was 12-years-old, and "Tomorrow is another day" has always been the quote that meant the most to me from the book and movie.  Then I heard the quote that is in my header, and the phrase held even more meaning to me.

I've had a lot of good times over the past six years, and a lot of bad times as well.  The one thing that has gotten me through those more difficult times is knowing that someday I would get through it, that I would come out on the other side a stronger, more experienced, better person.  That tomorrow really is another day, and so far nothing has ever happened to take those tomorrows away from me.  Today might be shitty, but the hope that tomorrow will be better--or at the very least just tomorrow--has always encouraged me.

I often wonder how long I'll keep this website alive.  It's hard to imagine my life without it, though there have certainly been times when I've considered throwing in the towel.  I don't know if I'll be blogging forever, but I do know that I'll always have all of these years worth of todays and yesterdays transcribed and immortalized for all of my tomorrows.  And I cannot wait to see what my tomorrows bring me.

Things That I've Learned

Dry clean or hand wash only is just a fancy way of saying toss it in the washing machine and hope for the best.  70.2% of the time, everything works out just fine.  The other 29.8%... well, you probably didn't like that shirt that much anyway.

The hardest part of any workout program is not starting it.  The hardest part is working out.

The most effective way to seem cool and self-confident as an adult is to talk about what an awkward dork you were in high school.  That is supremely annoying to those of us who truly were awkward dorks in high school.  No one thought it was cool then.

Dieticians and fitness magazines will tell you that many times your feeling of hunger can be satiated by drinking a large glass of water.  Your dehydration just tricks you into feeling hungry.  That's probably true, but I find the water to be most effective when washing down a slice of pizza.  Or when it is wine.

Running is not something I will ever enjoy for itself.  But the excuse to watch reruns of Millionaire Matchmaker and Real Housewives of Somesuchcity while I'm on the treadmill makes it almost endurable.  It's my penance for watching such crap television on a regular basis.

Dusting is the most pointless, sisyphean curse foisted upon humanity.  There is nothing so infuriating as spraying the Pledge, wiping the surface, and then watching as those fecking dust particles drift right back down to the exact location you just cleaned.

Reaffirming My Neuroses

It's kind of a running joke between Colby and me--how he's a daring, adventury type and I'm the scared little mouse, keeping back from cliff edges, paralyzed by fear at great heights, terrified of pretty much anything and everything.

I've tried to explain to him that the rest of the human population seems to have a "yeah, but it won't happen to me" mindset, whereas my take on things is more along the lines of "terrible things have to happen to someone, why wouldn't it be me?"  So while most people seem to live life with a sanity preserving expectation of near immortality, I'm pretty much expecting death and destruction at every turn.

And my cautious nature has kept me pretty safe throughout most of my life.  My most extreme injuries have been a broken foot, a sprained wrist, and a twisted ankle.  I credit a healthy dose of fear with getting me to the ripe old age of 28, and I'm hoping that prescription lasts well into my old age.  

Every now and then I think how wonderful it would be to be more of a daredevil--to push through the fear and do the things that scare me so much.  Go bungee jumping, climb all the way to the top of a rock wall, ski fearlessly down the black diamond course.  To not have my heart in my throat every time Colby wants to peer over the edge of a mountain or disappear into the wilderness for days of hiking.  I can't imagine what a mess I'm going to be when I have kids.  I don't even like it when my dogs are off leash at the dog park--what if a dog attacks them, or they drown in the lake, or a snake bites them, or, or, or...

But then I hear about a jumper whose parachute didn't open, an experienced bicyclist wearing all of his protective gear who is hit by a utility van and ejected over the edge of a 30 foot high bridge, a baseball fan reaching for a foul ball and plumetting 20 feet to his death.  None of those people woke up in the morning thinking that it would be their last, they just thought how amazing it would be to feel the wind in their face, their muscles working, to see their favorite team play a good game.

And then I'm right back where I started, Colby teasing me about my wariness (I prefer to think of it as wisdom or mindfulness... or self-preservation), and me thinking "Bad things happen to people, and I'm a people.  Coincidence?  I think not."

SOS

Halp!

Please send Internet!*

iPhone insufficient for quality communication with online world.

* Also Oreos if have some on hand.

/end communication

Pizza SAVES LIVES!!!

New deployment coping, and potentially SURVIVAL, strategy.  Order a pizza from the local Domino's every day.

Now, when I inevitably fall down the stairs and can't get up, maybe someone will notice my plight BEFORE the dogs eat my face.

The new Domino's:  Now with better sauce, a rockin' pizza tracker, and MedicAlert training.

Helloooo... Housekeeping!

Okay, so a few things, y'all!

1) One of my most devoted readers... my mother... mentioned a little while ago that she was having trouble commenting here on the old bloggeroo.  We determined that the problem was that she wasn't entering a URL into the corresponding field, so she just started entering one of my dad's websites.  Now, the thing is, you really shouldn't have to enter a URL to comment.  So, is anyone else out there having this problem?  If so, please let me know and I'll work on getting to the bottom to it.  If you can't comment, you can email me at AngelaNoelle1982 (at) gmail (dot) com.

2) This one goes out to all of my Facebook peeps.  Thank you all so much for reading about my silly little life--I think it's awesome that so many in real life pals read and comment and email me about what they see here.  However, I'm trying to work through a few kinks on my Facebook blog page, and once I get things fixed, I'll no longer be feeding my blog posts through my personal page, but ONLY through the blog page.  If you still want to know when I've updated, you can either "like" the Facebook page or add this site to a feed reader, such as Google Reader that will update automatically.  I have so many great friends who have "liked" the blog, and as things stand, they get an influx of stories in their newsfeed about new posts, so I'd like to limit it to just one per post!  I'm hoping to have this switch made by next week, but I'll let you all know will actually be the last post to update on my personal page.

3) And finally, today I am guest posting over at Uncorked and Unwined.  Please go check it out and maybe leave a comment so I don't feel like the awkward new kid at school!

You know how some people have a dream job when they're small?  Something that drives them their entire life toward greater accomplishments?  Well, I've never really had that kind of ambition.  When I was little, I wanted to be a ballerina.  Things didn't really work out in that direction once I dropped out of ballet class at age 9.  Then when I got older, I wanted to be a psychologist.  Until I found out you had to take a Stats class in college.  Nixed!  My lifelong ambition has been to live overseas.  And once I joined the military, then married a fellow military man, that dream became more focused on moving to Germany.
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Celebrity Twinsies

It's a well known fact that I watch a lot of television.  And even some movies from time to time.  And when I watch a television show or a movie, I inevitably spend a great deal of time on IMDB working out where I've seen an actor or actress before.  But sometimes, those actors and actresses are tricksy hobbitses. Because you see, there are some celebrities who like to trick me by looking EXACTLY LIKE other celebrities.

 

These boys are both just ridiculously beautiful, and if it turned out that Chace Crawford and Ian Somerhalder share a great-great-great uncle twice removed, I would not be the least bit surprised.

I think Ed Helms joined The Office and Jason Sudeikis joined Saturday Night Live around the same time, but I remember being really confused as to how this one guy could possibly have enough time to be in both shows simultaneously.  Then I realized they were different guys and figured they must be brothers.  Wrong again.  But uncanny resemblance, down to their speaking patterns.

Okay, yes, SNL kind of scooped me on the resemblance between these husky-voiced red heads, but in my defense I thought Emma Stone was Lindsay Lohan's doppelganger when I watched House Bunny many moons ago.  There, two embarrassing confessions.  I get these girls mixed up and I watched House Bunny.

 

Well, Vivien Leigh has been dead for a long time, so I've never actually gotten these two confused for one another, but when Natalie Dormer played Anne Boleyn in The Tudors, I couldn't help but feel like I was watching the reincarnation of Scarlett O'Hara.

I'm sure I've missed some others.  Any celebrity look-alikes you can think of?

If You Can't Say Something Nice...

"I'm a very honest person.  Sometimes I hurt people's feelings, but I just tell it like it is."

"I can't help it--I tell the truth--at least people always know exactly what I think!"

I've been hearing a lot of self-descriptions like the ones above lately.  People declaring their own blunt honesty with a hint of apology and a smile.  It's gotten me wondering, where does one draw the line between honesty and hurtfulness and what ever happened to that old saying "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."

I'll admit, I'm not always the most thoughtful person when it comes to the words that leave my mouth.  As I've gotten older, I've made more of an effort to watch what I say and think more about the impact my words could have on another person, but that doesn't mean I don't frequently stick my foot in my mouth or unknowingly say something that could offend or hurt another person.  And of course, if someone asks for a truthful opinion, I'm not advocating a lie.

But isn't there a difference between lying to someone and responding in a tactful manner?  In not taking so much pride in your own blunt honesty that you forget the fact that words can be the most painful weapons in our arsenal?

There's a lot of teasing about the Steel Magnolia approach of "Bless her heart" when you really mean "What a dummy", and I don't necessarily believe that's the perfect approach either.  But I think there is something to the idea of phrasing our thoughts in a kinder way and focusing less on our own thoughts and opinions and more on our friends' feelings.

I suspect that this new "honest" approach has a lot to do with how self-centered we've become as a culture.  We blog our every brainwave (guilty as charged!), we update our Facebook status every time we leave the house or think of a clever quip (um, yep!), we tend to think that our own thoughts and opinions are universally accepted and agreed upon.

So, I ask you:  Does honesty trump tact?  If a friend asks you if a pair of jeans makes her look fat, is there really a right answer?  Do you consider yourself honest to a fault or do you hear Thumper's voice on a loop in your head on a regular basis--"If you can't say something nice..."

Santa Finally Came Through!

Between my parents, Santa Claus, and Colby, I've been begging someone for a cat for the past 27 years, all to no avail.  Who knew all it would take is a deployment, a 13 hour driving distance, and a hot summer day for my wish to come true!

Meet Kitty.

Boy?  Girl?  Who knows!  We like to maintain an element of mystery in our relationship.  Keeps the spark alive.

 
Not such a fan of being camera stalked.  I blame the paparazzi.

Through tuna, we have built an unshakable bond.  Next up?  Trust falls.

I'd say I'm trying not to get too attached, but um, obviously that would be a blatant lie.

Kitty has taken up residence under Colby's car for the past couple of days, and after a lengthy Facebook meeting of the minds with some of my most cat savvy pals, we're all pretty sure she's a stray.  Her fur is in fairly good condition, but she has what looks like some scarring above her eye, she's skin and bones beneath that lovely coat and she's pretty skittish, though she lets me pet her and didn't hesitate to come out when she smelled the can of tuna I brought.  I'm working on building up her trust so that hopefully I can eventually get her into a carrier and bring her to the vet for a check up.

Disgruntled Kitty says, "Aren't your precious with your little plans and ideas."

Cherry on Top!

Ahhh, the excitement still hasn't worn off, and plans became even more official yesterday as we booked our flights to Barcelona for a screaming deal.  My parents also decided to come with us, and have a fancy balcony room on the top of the ship, so we'll probably be spending many an evening crammed onto their balcony gazing out on the vast blue sea.

Another event occurred last week that gave me a thrill as a fellow military spouse blogger, To the Nth, honored me with one of the most adorable little blog awards I ever have seen.  I'm so grateful to her for this honor, and so happy that we found each other through the Mil-Spouse fill in.  She's always got the most hilariously dry take on life, and I look forward to reading her posts because I know I'll always get a good laugh.  Thank you so much!

Cherry-licious Rules:

• Thank the person (or people) who, in a display of erudite good taste, bestowed the award upon you.
• List three things you love about yourself.
• Pass the love along to five other bloggers.

Self Love

• I love my sense of humor.  I crack myself up on a regular basis, regardless of whether or not anyone else is laughing.  It's great that I enjoy my own company since with Colby's job I'm by myself frequently.  I spend an alarming amount of my own time talking to myself and cracking jokes.  If I start to feel too self conscious, I just pretend I'm talking to my dogs.  I'm not sure if that's more or less insane.
• On a more vain note, I love my eyes.  As I've gotten older, I've noticed that I have sort of an eyelids-at-half-mast thing going on that's a bit annoying, but I still think my eyes are one of my best features.
• And riffing a bit more on the first bullet point, I love that I'm perfectly happy on my own.  I love to go to movies by myself.  I've traveled alone.  I shop and go out to eat alone (still haven't gotten brave enough to go to dinner at a restaurant by myself), and I'm completely content.  Of course, it's also fun to do these things with friends, but I have this theory that if you can love your own company, everyone else will love it too.  I have not yet scientifically proved or disproved this theory.

Blog Love

I'm going to use this platform to highlight some of the newer blogs that I've discovered.  Not new to the world, perhaps, but new to me!

• Kaley at Cheap Therapy
• Chelsea at Chelsea's Psycho Babble
• Kendra at Uncork and Unwined
• Aly at Breathe Gently
• Ashley at Ashalah (Okay, well, I didn't just discover her, but I DID rediscover her after losing track of her blog for ages as we both moved internet addresses!)

Congrats ladies, for having that little bit extra... on top...  You know, like a cherry.  Nothing dirty, you perverted people!

Sisters: A Facebook Montage

I've made no secret of the fact that I love Facebook--my passion for it is so strong that I even gave it up for Lent a couple of years ago, and it was one of the biggest sacrifices I've ever made.  There are a lot of great things about Facebook, but one of the best parts is the way it has forever immortalized the strange and singular relationship I have with my sister through the beauty of Wall to Wall.  It's true that I have a... different sense of humor... but when our powers combine...  Well, let's just say, here is a sampling of our comments to one and other over the past year or so.  Do not expect any sort of narrative thread.  If you find yourself laughing, but you're not sure why--welcome to our world.

Angela to Brittany: You know what the worst thing about being sisters is? "Your mom" jokes fall really flat.

Brittany to Angela: I bought a pair of cowboy boots at a vintage store today ;) They're already beat up, so I won't feel bad about dinging them up around the city... but I thought of you cause they had SOMEONE ELSE'S FEET IN THEM!

Brittany to Angela: They didn't have someone else's feet in them at the time that I bought them... the only feet in them were mine... I mean... they HAD someone else's feet in them at some point...

Brittany to Angela: Just to... clarify...

Brittany to Angela: You are pretty fly... I mean, for a white guy...

Angela to Brittany: I think New York made your boobs bigger. Will Charleston have the same effect on me? One can only hope!!

Angela to Brittany: I'm thinking of writing a song for you. It would start out "When I'm feeling down and a little bit upset, I always tell myself, 'Well, at least I am not dead!'" But after that, I kind of hit a wall. A metaphorical wall.

Brittany to Angela: You're facebook following me...

Angela to Brittany: Do you like Bailey's?

Brittany to Angela: Only out of a shoe!

Brittany to Angela: You were in my dream last night... driving my car (that I don't have)... on a mario kart track... you were a very poor driver... and my teeth fell out... and your friend who is a blogger appeared in the car sitting on your lap as you drove.... because she could do this thing where her mind would wander and her "spirit" could travel... it was a very peculiar dream... good seeing you though!

Brittany to Angela: You're not dreamin' it's the moondreamers--makin' your sweet ass dreams come true!

Angela to Brittany: Holy crap. I heard No Scrubs on the radio today! I wanted to text you, but I was driving a bus full of kids and that seemed imprudent.

Angela to Brittany: Bawk, bawk, bawk. You're right. You're not a chicken. You're a rooster. Check it!

Angela to Brittany: WE ARE THE PERFECT MATCH! I just have to find a way to make you know it... Tara! I'll go back to Tara!

Angela to Brittany: Wow, Tyrone Power. I've... heard of him? I'm obsessed with these stupid facebook quizzes. Make me stop! I kind of want to punch you in the jaw now. Just to see how you take it.

Angela to Brittany: Holy jeez! That's a whole lot of Brittany head! (That's what she said.) (That was weak, I know.) I know nothing about what makes for a good headshot, but I just wanted to tell you that you are very pretty and I hate you for that. But in a way that is very loving.

Angela to Brittany: You know, your status updates are more like watching a descent into mental instability than any indication of what you're actually up to. On the other hand, your eyes look kind of green in that picture, so there's that.

Angela to Brittany:  Freedom cheese!!!  Yum!!!

Housekeeping and a Design Challenge

Oh my gosh, you guys!  I have made it so much easier for you to stalk me!  The other night, I was sitting in my pajamas, drinking a glass of wine, and trying desperately to get into a kind of boring book.  As generally happens, I somehow found myself on the internet.  But then!  A terrible thing happened!

I had no unread email.

No one had updated Facebook for almost an HOUR.

GoogleReader was completely empty.

What is a girl to do in a situation as dreadful as all that!?  Well, start a Twitter account.  Obviously.

I had a Twitter account that I broke up with about a year and a half ago, so it's not like I'm totally new to this ballgame.  But I am starting from scratch as far as followers and people to follow, and I hope to I never find myself in as nightmarish a situation as I was on the Night of the Dead Social Networking Websites.  So far I have Tweeted about wine, Gandhi, Jodi Picoult, and my dog taking a poo in the herb garden.  You can find me tweeting my heart out here.

Also, I have caved to the future of social networking and got myself a Facebook page--not for me, for the website.  If you find that you can't get enough of me here, we can now be linked eternally through the magic of Facebook!  You can click "like" over there on that little box in the sidebar, or go here and "like" me directly through Facebook.  I'm not sure what you get out of this, or even what I get out of this, but it makes me do a little happy dance whenever I see a new face over there.  And DON'T YOU WANT ME TO BE HAPPY?!?  Tangentially related, I really want to see that Facebook movie.  It seems like a surprising amount of drug, sex, and alcohol have gone into its creation.  Facebook, not the movie.

Though, I'm sure the movie too.

And FINALLY.  I'm in the market for someone to overhaul my site design, and in exchange for this service, I will pay them US dollars.  Does anyone have recommendations for someone who does work that is reasonably priced, simple, elegant, and doesn't involve any cartoon characters or pin-up girls?  Nothing wrong with cartoon characters and pin-up girls, I just want something different, and that seems to be the design trend lately, so it's in all of the portfolios.  I found this seller on Etsy who seems to have a pretty good deal running, but I'm open to suggestions as well.

I hope y'all are having an amazing weekend.  I am actually planning to leave the house this afternoon and interact with live humans, so I'm pretty excited about that.  Here's hoping your day is equally as thrilling!

Who Should I Be Reading?

I'm going to wrap up my time in Japan early next week, but I wanted to spend the weekend asking y'all for a little help.  You see, I've recently updated my blog roll and noticed that a majority of the blogs I've been reading for years either no longer exist or are only updated every few weeks or even months.  I think I only read about fifteen blogs that update on a regular basis, which I guess is to be expected as I've been doing this blogging thing for almost six years now and there are sure to be blog casualties in that amount of time!

I've gone through some of your blog rolls to find new reads, and am running into a similar problem there, finding mostly dead links, defunct blogs, or the most recent update from some time in May or June.  The 20 Something Bloggers group has just gotten overwhelmingly huge, and I can't even begin to filter through all of the blogs there.  And yet, I know that there are some great blogs out there that I just don't know about--and I want to find them!

So, this is where you come in--please, please cheddar cheese with a cherry on top, recommend a couple of your favorite blogs to me!  I'm not too interested in the super-bloggers, but I have a weakness for funny, intelligent bloggers with a focus on travel, writing, work, raising a family or just day-to-day life.  I'm not totally writing them off, but college students do tend to make me feel older than dirt...

I'm looking forward to checking out your suggestions, and if you're a lurker (I know you're out there!), by all means, show yourself--I'd love to check out your blog too if you have one!

The Accidental Vigilante

First a note on my weekly weight loss check-ins.  Last week I had a number of, ummmm, how shall I say this delicately... digestive issues.  As in, I was eating food, and then the food never really... came out.  Soooo, I spent the weekend with a gentle laxative, a severe case of the bloats, and an aversion to going anywhere near a scale or a tape measure.  I'll be doing my next check-in this Friday, and then my final weigh-in will be the following Thursday, also known as THE DAY BEFORE I LEAVE FOR JAPAN!!!!

I will say, I've seen some very positive changes in my body, regardless of what my weight turns out to be.  My arms are much more defined, I can actually see some toning in my legs, and while I wouldn't say I have a six-pack yet, I am hovering around the two-pack area, and have those two little lines of defined muscle running down my obliques.  Also, last week, I easily fit into a pair of shorts that have always been skin tight.  So, I'm a happy camper!

Aaaaanyway, this past weekend we went out for an amazing dinner at The Library restaurant, in downtown Charleston.  We got an incredible table, on an elevated platform right next to a window overlooking the street.  As I was enjoying my calamari and beets, bacon and goat cheese salad, I started giggling at a guy across the street making an attempt to ride a bicycle.  He couldn't keep upright and had to keep putting his feet on the ground trying to stabilize, then he crashed to the ground.

At this point, Colby started wondering what I was guffawing at, so he turned around to look just after the hapless bicyclist struggled back to his feet, pushed off again and rammed into the side of a parked vehicle.  That's when I stopped laughing and we realized that this man wasn't exactly in a sober state of mind.  He once again tottered forward a few feet, then crashed to the ground once more, this time he lay prostrate for about 30 seconds next to his bike.

Eventually, he got back up and hauled his bicycle to the sidewalk where he leaned it on its kickstand and then stumbled back toward the bar from whence he'd come.  It was then that I looked back at the parked car and noticed that the backseat passenger's door was completely bashed in where he had run into it.  The guy was still standing in front of the bar, wobbling dangerously on his feet.

I decided the only thing to do was tell our waiter what had happened so that if the owners of the vehicle asked questions about what had happened to their car, there would at least be some explanation, and the guy might still be in the bar.  He told the manager of the hotel where the restaurant is located, and I went about enjoying my scallops and herbed risotto.

About 30 minutes passed, when Colby looked up a spotted a cop headed toward the guy who was now seated on the front stoop of the bar, looking a bit worse for the wear.  He stood up to talk to her, gestured to his now bleeding knee, then suddenly she was pulling out the handcuffs, reaching around to pull his hands behind his back and marching him towards the car.

I felt absolutely awful.  I really hadn't intended to get the guy arrested, I just knew that if my car was bashed in when I left a lovely stroll along the Charleston waterfront, I'd want to know who did it.  After we finished eating, the cops were still out front talking to the couple who owned the car.  We gave them my information in case they needed a statement from me to get their car taken care of, and that was the end of my evening of watching out for the innocent people of Charleston.

Although I feel badly that the guy was arrested, I'm glad that the owners of the vehicle should be able to get the damage fixed and hopefully that will be the last time Drunky McGee decides that a bicycle is a viable alternative to driving when smashed beyond all oblivion.  Someone get me some Spandex and a theme song--I've got a whole world out there waiting for me to save it!

A Distraction of Microscopic Proportions

Today was meant to be  a day all about the joy of shoes, as we compared and contrasted the relative merits and drawbacks of my New York shoe contestants.  Instead, I am sitting downstairs in a nearly empty room, while a man cleans all of our carpets, and am awaiting a delivery from Amazon of mattress, box spring, and pillow covers.

It appears we have been infested.

With what, I do not know.

A couple of weeks ago, I received what I thought was a red ant bite on my leg.  It itched, and I grumbled about it, and waited for it to go away.  A couple of days later, I got a few more bites all in a row on my left arm, and I noticed that the "red ant" bite appeared a little less red antish than it had previously.  I continued to itch and grumble, as the bites mounted up.  We decided it was probably biting gnats as I'd been spending a lot of time outside in the evenings working in the garden.  But then, as I spent less time outside and the bites continued to increase in number, that seemed to be a less and less likely option.

There was still a lot of itching and grumbling going on.

Ever since I saw a 20/20 or Dateline or Nightline or somesuch special on bed bugs, I've been absolutely paranoid about Colby bringing bugs home from one of his trips.  He frequently makes fun of me as before I get in bed, I'll fling the covers back suddenly, in hopes of catching one of the blood suckers scuttling around beneath the sheets.  So, of course, the more I thought about it and the more time I spent with Dr. Google, the more I was convinced that our house was crawling with tiny bugs.  Colby raised the valid question as to why he wasn't being bitten, and even more valid, why after intensive searching we still hadn't found a speck of physical evidence of a bed bug infestation, but I was itchy, grumpy, and still intensely grumbly, so I stripped our bedroom of anything fabric and ran it through the sanitize cycle in the washing machine.  I also ordered the aforementioned mattress covers, and set to applying cortisone cream liberally.

At last count, I have somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty to sixty bites covering my arms and legs, and one particularly cheeky bite inside my belly button.  Colby has... zero.

Last night we slept on a bare mattress with just a sheet that is to be thrown into the washing machine shortly, and I wore a long sleeve shirt, pants and socks to bed.  And I still woke up this morning with more bites--or "bites" I don't even know at this point.

Currently Dr. Google has me convinced that I've managed to somehow contract scabies, perhaps as a throwback to my former life as a fearful pirate sailing the seven seas.  I already have a doctor's appointment set up for Thursday, so I'm going to ask if they can check out what is rapidly becoming a rash covering my appendages so I don't have to make another appointment and wait even longer to find out what is wrong with me.

Sooooo, the point of all this is that in my intense panic and grossed outedness, ordering shoes fell by the wayside.  But no parasitic mite should be able to take away that one last joy--you may feed off of my blood and ravage my skin, but you shall not take my shoes!

The Friend Fade

I don't believe it's possible to live a life without regrets.  Do I think that people should wallow in regrets or let those regrets hold them back in any way?  Absolutely not.  But show me a person who says they truly have no regrets, and I'll show you a liar.  Heck, just today I've racked up at least a dozen--I regret not going for a run, I regret that I forgot to file my unemployment claim last week so now I won't get paid, I regret not making a hair appointment sooner because my hair is driving me absolutely batty.  I could go on at length, but those are a pretty telling random sampling.

But I have big lifetime regrets as well.

There are two people whose friendship meant the world to me for a brief moment in my life, but because of time or immaturity I didn't hold on to.

One was a friendship that died because of the inevitable impossibility of three teenage girls being able to sustain the "best friends" relationship long term.  I'm not even sure that three adult women are capable of being best friends without any friction or hurt feelings, but leave this task in the hands of three fifteen to sixteen year old girls and there are bound to be fireworks.  The bad kind.  More like Surface to Air Missiles, actually.

The other girl was one with whom I became close friends my senior year in high school and then bonded with further through our college years.  In retrospect, I realize that friendship also started out with three of us, and quickly deteriorated into a two person situation.  I'm like the Grim Reaper of friendship--make friends with me and fear for the life of your outside relationships.  I leave behind a blazing trail of razed and mangled friendships.  Anyway, that one was all well and good until I graduated from college and moved out of state, leading to an ever-slowing trickle of emails and phone calls which eventually ground to a halt.

The first friend, I actually did hear from when I was in college.  She emailed me with a much justified and understandable, "Hey, so after all of these years, can we talk about what the hell happened?"  I wrote back and we traded a couple of emails and talked about meeting up, but then I went through a nightmare of a breakup, the whole world became all about me and my woes and heartache, and I can't exactly remember how that correspondence fell off the wheels.  I was too busy starving myself and reading self-help books and angsty poetry.

There are still days when I think about reaching out.  Through the magic of the internet and my overwhelming curiosity, I have a basic idea of how their lives have turned out, at least in the big picture sense.  If I really wanted to, I know that it would be pretty easy to get in touch with both of them.  So, I guess my biggest regret is not losing their friendship in the first place, but knowing that I'm not brave enough to make the first step toward reconnecting.  Is it a regret that I lose sleep over, or that haunts my every waking moment, no.  But it is one that crops up in a big way from time to time when I'm feeling particularly nostalgic.

I know that even if we did touch base again and exchange a couple of emails, nothing would ever change the hurt that I caused one friend or compensate for the length of time we've been out of touch.  It's a sort of "let sleeping dogs lie" response, and sure, that may be cowardly, but after all of this time I find it hard to believe that they're sitting at home on a Monday night wondering about me.  So, that's the excuse I've allowed myself to use, and I just make do with a google or facebook search here and there to quell any lingering curiosity.

Oh my God, I am such a stalker.  I definitely regret that, but not as much as I regret the fact that I haven't eaten a brownie today.  At least that last one can be fixed, pronto.

Fallness

I don't think that Washington is aware of the fact that it is now Fall.  Shhhh.  Let's just keep that fact between you and me.  I remember once upon a time in a land of endless summer, wishing desperately for just one day below 70 degrees so that I could wear my sweaters, jackets and boots at least a couple of times over the course of the year.  Oh, how the tables have turned!  I'm sure by next year I'll be back to praying for a couple of cold snaps around September.  But for now, I am perfectly happy with our sunny 80 degree Washington days

Would you like to know what else I am happy with?  All of those other lovely Fall events.  School is back in session which means I am making money.  With that money, I can once more afford new sweaters!  With those sweaters, I can go to exciting Fall festivals, like Oktoberfest in a tiny, Bavarian-themed Oregon town.  At that Oktoberfest I can drink overpriced wine and learn to polka!

Yes folks, I have learned to polka and I nearly died trying.  You try hopping from foot to foot at a frantic pace as a German gent in leiderhosen flings you around a dance floor.  You will probably die trying too.  But at least it would be a pretty enjoyable way to go.  Seriously, how did the polka go out of fashion, let's bring it back!  And the Charleston too while we're at it--I think it would be rather precious to dance the Charleston in Charleston, don't you?

Oh, and also, Fall television?  I welcome you back with open arms.  There are so many shows that I am L-O-V-I-N-G right now.  I'll have to do a run down once I get my schedule fully set.  I'm still on a trial period with some of the newer shows, but let's just say that Glee and Community have nothing to worry about.

This is kind of all over the place, isn't it?  I'll be honest, I'm blogging because I can't think of a concluding paragraph for a paper that I have to turn in tonight.  And next I'll probably watch Glee, then sometime around 11:30 pm, I'll bang out 75-100 words in random order and call it a day.  Hey, at least it wasn't another Hawaii post, right?

Growing Up Optional

It's a Friday night that I sit here, waiting for my husband to get home from a work trip and pondering the strangeness of life.

For one thing, I have a husband.  I've been married for almost two years, and I still can't really quite wrap my mind around that particular development.  And not only do I have a husband, but I'm married to the boy I had a silly crush on when I was seventeen.  If I could go back in time, find myself in the quad where I would frequently "run into" him accidentally on purpose, I would love to deliver that bit of news to seventeen-year-old Angela and see the look on her face.

Another weird thing?  I own a house.  My name is on a title for a HOUSE.  I mean, only grownups own houses right?  So what does that make me?  I certainly don't feel like a grownup.  I don't feel any different than that seventeen-year-old Angela--and if we're being really honest here, ten-year-old Angela.

One of my favorite family stories revolves around my grandmother on my dad's side.  In her 80s, as she was slipping away from us into the haze of dementia and I suddenly realized that there was no way that deep, nut-brown hair color was real as her last dye job faded away and she didn't bother with a touch up, in a moment of rare clarity she said, "You know, sometimes I look in the mirror and wonder how a sixteen year old girl got trapped inside this old lady's body."

In just a few short months, I'll be turning 27.  I have a husband.  I own a house.  People my age and younger are having babies.  On purpose.  And, in most cases, no one seems to think they're making an unwise decision.  Sometimes I pick up a shirt, or a dress, or a headband that I really love, but I put it back down because really it's too young for me.

I wish I could pinpoint the exact time in which I made the transition from girl to woman.  Maybe then it would feel more real that all of this is really my life.  But maybe that leaves the portal open.

Maybe you never do have to grow up.  Not in a Peter Pan way--yes, there are responsibilities that must be accepted and certain social mores that should generally be followed--but sometimes maybe it's okay to wear a headband with a bow or to put off laundry for one more day in favor of a play-date with your friends.

Because isn't that the part of being a grownup that you always dreamed of when you were a kid?  Making your own rules and eating ice cream for dinner?  Growing up is a weird and strange evolution, and I know that the next sixty years will fly by in what seems like minutes and then I'll be the one sitting in front of a mirror, staring into the wrinkled face of a stranger.

But I think as long as you always know that there's that sixteen year old inside of you, you'll always be okay.  You'll always still be you.

"You can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old."
~George Burns

Well, It's Not A No...

The one aspect of marriage that I find most difficult is the whole "joint decisions" thing.  Generally speaking, Colby and I are pretty in sync on most things, so it's really easy most of the time.  Which tends to make the times when the joint decisions AREN'T so easy stand out in kind of stark relief.

I've always wanted a cat.  Even before I was begging my parents for a dog, I was patiently writing to Santa Claus year after year with my cat requests.  One year, my parents hinted at the fact that I may actually get a cat, and I actually did--a stuffed cat.  Ha.  Ha.

Fast forward a bajillion years to my life post-college.  I really wanted a pet, I knew that Colby really hated cats and I quite loved dogs and had experience raising them, so a dog it was.  And then another dog.  And then I got married and as we started building our beautiful life together, I realized that I wanted something more.  Something that I could cuddle and love and raise, together with my husband.  A dog of course, you sillies!  But the more I've thought about the idea of a third dog, the more the it kind of exhausts me.

Scene: A friend's house, watching So You Think You Can Dance.  Enter stage left, a delicate little kitten of only a few months old, curling up on my lap and purring contentedly as we watched our show.  Why, yes, I think to myself, this is what I need in my life!  A self-reliant, independent, yet cuddly kitten.

Once upon a time I would have found the kitten of my dreams, marched down to the local animal shelter and procured her.  Now, there is a little more finesse involved, a little more effort on my part to make my kitten dreams come true.  I think I might need to work on my technique, as evidenced by this facebook conversation this morning.

Angela: So, did you see our kitten?

Colby: Our what?

Angela: I've named her Pigwidgeon!

Colby: Define "our".

Angela: It's the kitten you're going to give me when you get home!

Colby: Ohhh, is that what it is? How about them' apples.

So, what do you think, I've got a pretty good shot, right?  He's coming home tomorrow, so I think a visit to the shelter might be in order this weekend so that he can visit little Piggy and fall in love!

This Isn't Productive, It's Procrastination

We are more than halfway through July right now.  In fact, we're pretty close to what could be considered the end of July.  I've been on my summer break for more than a month now.  It's times like these when I would give anything for a Time Turner.  The summer is just flying by far too quickly, and there is not time enough in the day for me to get anything accomplished AND be a disgusting couch potato all at the same time.

This past weekend, I spent some time helping a friend pack up her apartment as she is leaving us for greener pastures--or at least pastures where she was offered a pretty job offer.  That, combined with a news article I read got me thinking some kind of deep thoughts about best friends that I'll be writing about at some point when my brain feels like cooperating.

We've got just a little over two weeks left until we leave for Hawaii.  I can't remember what I've talked about here as opposed to Facebook and Twitter, but we are leaving on August 6 for six days in Kauai and five in Oahu.  I'm trying desperately not to over-plan the trip, and instead only book in advance the activities that tend to fill up, and then just go with a list of things we'd like to do.  I have this idea that vacation spontaneity will be more relaxing, but honestly, I'm just feeling a bit stressed that we don't have an itinerary.  We do, however, have rental cars!  I was gasping in horror at the price of a rental car on the islands until I found a most magical website that cut the cost in two, and now we have the cars for the full time that we'll be there for a bit under the price that expedia was quoting for the first week in Kauai.  Of course, we'll probably show up at the airport and they'll be like, "rental car, wha?" but I feel that the price makes it worth the risk.

I was planning on getting a lot of writing done this summer, but so far have spent most of my efforts on editing the steaming pile of mish-mash I've already written.  Then, last night I had a dream about it that is making me want the change EVERYTHING, including the time period it takes place in and a pretty big portion of the back-story.  Sigh.  Writing is frustrating.

So, instead of being productive, I've been watching heaps of BBC period pieces as "research" for my writing.  Let me tell you, if you enjoy Pride & Prejudice, there is a whole world of non-Austen romance out there just waiting for you to discover it.  So far I've quite enjoyed Wives & Daughters, The Buccaneers, and my new all time favorite, with Margaret Hale and John Thornton stealing my heart from Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy, North & South.  Not surprisingly, I've been spending a significant portion of time staring off into space, daydreaming of exchanging smoldering, illicit gazes with aloof, yet dashingly handsome young men of means.  I think it is very much past time for my husband to come home.

*Tap Tap*

I swear, I have not forgotten about my blog.  In fact, I think of multiple blog ideas per day, and am constantly composing epic posts in my brain while refereeing kickball games at school, gasping through a run, cursing Jillian Michaels, or trying to fall asleep at night.  I just cannot seem to find the time to both live my life and actually write those posts down.

Times like these, I really miss the days when I filled endless hours sitting at a boring job with this darling blogging hobby.  I got paid a lot more then too.  Man, what was I thinking quitting that gig?  Oh, right, that I needed to find something more meaningful to do with my life.  But really, what is so wrong with meaninglessness!  Front desk girls are important in their own coffee providing, package signing, office organizing way!

Anyway, right now my life consists of: work, sleep, school, eating, trying to maintain some semblance of a social life, and from time to time, working out.  In exactly one week, work will be gone from that equation, which should give me an extra 40+ hours per week to dedicate to blogging and other amusements for the summer.

Until then, let it be known, I am buying not one, but two pairs of Crocs today.  Truth.  Commence with the hurling of stones in my general direction.

Washington Bucket List

There's so much I want to talk about right now, and the past three days have been jam-packed with fun and productivity, but I have a paper due tomorrow that I've only just begun, so I'm going to insert a cop out post today.  This may be a bit premature as apparently the email that Colby got a few weeks ago about receiving his assignment in June with a report no later than (moving) date between October and January apparently gets sent out every quarter and only applies to a select few of the recipients.  But still.  My mindset is still that we won't be here through the winter, because honestly, that's the only way I'll be able to make it through another winter here.

So, Colby and I have begun compiling a list of all the things we want to do before we leave Washington.  From the length of the list, you'd think we did nothing but sit around the house twiddling our thumbs, but it's just that the longer we've lived here, the more things we keep hearing about that we must do before moving.  Plus there's a bit of Oregon and Canada thrown in just for good measure.  And, to our credit, we've done almost all of the major tourist attractions in the area, so our bucket list is sort of a graduate level Washington course.  I'm definitely taking suggestions as well, so if I'm missing something it's either just because we've already done it or we haven't heard about it yet!

◊    Woodland Park Zoo

◊    Asian Art Museum

◊    Whale Watching—San Juan Islands?

◊    Seattle Opera

◊    Weekend in Port Angeles

• Start at Port Angeles, and drive west on highway 101. You will see one of the most spectacular alpine lakes in the region. Crescent Lake is nestled amongst deep green firs, which rise in dramatic slopes from the waters edge. Nearby, Marymere Falls and Sol Duc Hot springs are great diversions in you’re staying in the area.
• Forks

◊    Sounders Game

◊    Mt. St. Helens

◊    Bainbridge Island Ferry

◊    Victoria, B.C.

• Tea at the Empress
• Butchart Gardens
• Craigdarroch Castle

◊    Winery Tour

◊    Discovery Park

◊    Lakeview Cemetery

◊    Steilacoom Beach

◊    Alki Beach

◊    Dash Point State Park

◊    Rhododendron and Bonsai Garden in Federal Way

◊    Saltwater State Park

◊    Southern Oregon

• Ashland, Oregon Shakespeare Festival
• Crater Lake

Hm, maybe we will need a few extra months in town to get this all scratched off the list!

The Internet is for Porn

This past Friday, I celebrated the annual occurrence of Angela Breaks Her Blog when I realized that because I am an idiot, I didn't renew my domain name and hence it had been overtaken by a vile and probably very successful porn site.  I would imagine that the moment that change took place, that URL instantly saw more traffic in one hour than it had seen in the previous year of its life.  So, I wish it well, and have moved on to greener--or at least less morally corrupt--pastures.

In the general sense, I'm not terribly distraught by the situation.  In fact, I would go so far as to say that I'm a little glad that this happened.  It probably won't surprise too many of you to hear that I'd been seriously toying with the idea of throwing in the blogging towel.  I recently read an interesting post about the death of a blogger, and will confess that a lot of the points mentioned hit very close to home.  Almost all of the blogs that I was reading in the early years of this endeavor have fallen by the wayside or are only very infrequently updated.  I've added some more wonderful blogs to my reading list over the past year and a half, but in the past few months I have been very unmotivated to invest the effort into finding new blogs to read and forming relationships with other bloggers like I did in years past.

I also managed to acquire a hateful little troll, hailing from the lovely city of Atlanta, Georgia according to a WHOIS search.  A troll that felt entitled to peppering posts with nasty little comments and then becoming self-righteous and highly affronted each time I deleted one of her rude personal attacks without any response.  Here's the thing commenters, if you're going to be horrid and hide behind a mask of anonymity, I have ZERO qualms about deleting and blocking your hideous little self.  So, anyway, moral of the story, by changing my URL maybe I've managed to shake her, and if not, recent IP blocks seem to have taken care of the issue anyway.

All this to say, I was beginning to feel that maybe a blog just wasn't in the cards for me anymore, and that I would quietly close down operations without fanfare and slip into oblivion.  Then my blog went kaput of its own volition, I felt a little relieved for a nanosecond, and then immediately thought of approximately fourteen things that I had been meaning to blog about and realized that no, I'm not ready to give this up quite yet.

So, here I am, all moved into my new digs.  I'm sending out change of address cards, updating my address with the internet postal service, and hoping that everyone can come along for the ride.  I'm still working through the standard move-in kinks--for example, why on earth have all of the photos in my posts vanished??  And why did my little favicon disappear??  That didn't happen the last time I changed URLs!  But I think this was the shake up I needed to get back on track with the blogging world, and I'm looking forward to becoming a more active member of blogging society once more and kicking things up a notch around here!
 

The Mechanics of Falling Book Tour

(Note: I was contacted a couple of months ago and asked if I would be willing to read and review a new collection of short stories by Catherine Brady, entitled The Mechanics of Falling.  Because I was intrigued by the description and will do just about anything for a free book, I immediately accepted and here we are today!)

Generally speaking, short stories aren't really my bag when it comes to reading for pleasure.  Often they either feel too rushed or too long and I don't feel as connected to the characters as I do when I spend 300 pages of a novel with them.  I had my reservations when I began reading The Mechanics of Falling, and I could not have been more pleased to discover that these short stories completely broke through my prejudices and made me fall in love.

Brady won the 2002 Flannery O'Connor Award for Short Fiction, an award that seems completely apropos as O'Connor is one of the few short story writers that I will actively go out of my way to read.  I would also compare her style to Joyce Carol Oates--perhaps not embodying the gritty tone that Oates often trends towards, but in the way that her stories stay with you even after you have read the last sentence, and you find yourself reading the last few paragraphs again, looking for that something that will bring you some sense of closure.  The writing is stunningly beautiful in its subtle symbolism and metaphor, and there are so many lines that are almost shocking in their wisdom and stark truth.

The description on the bookjacket begins, "In all our lives, there are moments when the seemingly fixed coordinates of our existence abruptly give way... Brady's brilliant new collection, set in and around San Francisco, explore such moments.  The characters... share a fundamental predicament, the struggle to name and embrace some faith that can break their fall."  It is that feeling of giving way, of falling, that remains vividly in the reader's soul long after the book is closed.  The end of each story feels like the beginning of a freefall--a feeling that can be exhilirating or terrifying, and often inevitable.

"When the pond became clotted with algae scum a few years ago, the channel from the creek slowly filling in, Nna had accepted this next small loss, the pond growing murky the way her memories of summers here as a child had silted up over time." From Much Have I Traveled, p. 162

"From somewhere below them, there's a thud as a carpenter hammers at the wall, and Laurel flinches.  She cannot get used to the construction noise, the sound of blows raining down as men rebuild her house.  The gods have poor aim too.  There are only these bungled missives that may or may not encode ruin." From Seven Remedies, p. 188

To purchase The Mechanics of Falling, please visit Amazon or Powells.com.

To read some of Catherine Brady's insight into her writing and stories, you can visit the following links:

Guest Post on First Books

Interview with Liz Saint John for ALICE 97.3

interview with Ann Ryles, published online at The Rumpus.net

T.G.I... Wait, I Just Said That

(Edit:  As an aside, why does Google Reader hate me so much lately?  My posts have been taking 4-5 hours to show up in recent weeks, but this particular post was published over 12 hours ago and Reader has yet to pick it up.  Is anyone else having this issue, or is even Google deciding that my entries are too mundane for publication??)

This week... happened.

I think I've just kind of given up, accepted that I am hugely boring, and come to terms with the fact that I can no longer scrape together enough interesting material to blog more than once a week.  It's not a conscious decision, it's just...I've kind of lost the plot.  I don't know what to say other than variations the following:

This morning I woke up at a time that I consider to be the middle of the night.  I went to work for a couple of hours where I attempted to keep grade schoolers from committing any sort of illegal or life threatening activities.  Then I came home and ate/took a nap/watched tv/folded laundry until it was time to go back to work.  Then I came home, ate, watched tv, and will go to bed around 9:30.  10:30 if I am feeling particularly energetic.

Can you imagine anything more dull?  And can you imagine that more than once a week?  If I'm being entirely honest with myself, I'm not even narcissistic enough to believe that I'm in any way interesting enough for even a weekly post, but I'm just not quite ready to put this horse out to pasture yet.

So, here I am.

Super bummed that Alexis Grace went home last night.  Still trying to figure out if I love Megan Corkery (who seems to have changed her name?) or if I find her affected and irritating.  My feelings on this change daily.

I went to the dentist today for the first time in over two years, and was astounded to discover how much dental hygienists have in common with Billy Mays.  I suppose I was just sheltered by Air Force dentists who weren't forced to make a buck shilling xylitol based products, Sonicare toothbrushes, and at home bleaching kits, but crap.  Just massacre my teeth and gums for the agreed upon fee and let me out of there.  I did at least get some free gum samples.

Colby left yesterday for a five to six week school in Oklahoma.  I never thought that I would be jealous of that fact, but it was sunny and in the 70s there today, while Washington is still firmly in winter's grip and the rest of March is projected to look something like this:

I want to cry on a near daily basis.  I blame poor parenting and rain clouds.

My dinner tonight consisted of a single serving package of pepper jack Tillamook cheese, a bowl of Golden Grahams, and a buttered english muffin.  If I die of malnutrition or depression during the next five weeks, I am blaming the Air Force.

I can't even believe I am hitting "save" on this steaming crap pile of a post.  But, alas, I am.

Much Needed Perspective

I was still feeling like a grumpy puss throughout Friday, and despite the copious amounts of wine I drank on Friday night when we went out to dinner with friends, I was still in a dour mood when Saturday rolled around.  I was stewing about all of the injustices inflicted upon me by the world--you know, no trip abroad, a husband who clearly doesn't give a hoot about me, the cold, dreary weather.  We decided to head up to Seattle to see Lucy at the Pacific Science Center, before she left Seattle for the next leg of her American tour, and then go out to dinner with friends.

On the way to the city, I pulled out a piece of gum, casually tossed the wrapper into the console of Colby's car, and became infuriated when he snapped at me to please not just throw my garbage in his car.  I mean, sure, I was the one who threw the garbage, but who was HE to talk to ME that way?  Never mind the fact that I had probably rolled my eyes at least four times at him throughout the course of the day and made a few not so nicely phrased comments myself.  We finished the rest of the long, construction extended drive in silence, each glowering out our respective portions of windshield.

We got the the science center, and slowly began to thaw as first we were forced to talk to each other to figure out how to get to the museum from our parking garage and eventually ended up engaged in a friendly game of mancala.  The rest of our stay was relaxed, and we finally got our chance to enter the small, dark room that housed the bones of Lucy and an artists rendition of what she may have looked like.

I stood over the glass case, staring down at the brittle, ivory colored remains of a creature that lived millions of years ago.  A mammal somewhere between an animal and a human, a 3 foot 6 inch skeleton of a female who was on the cusp of an entirely new species.  A creature who had lived her life, died under unknown circumstances, and was now on display for her ancestors 3.2 million years down the road.  Something about that moment gave me a catch in the back of my throat.

Our lives are truly so insignificant.  In the grand scheme of things, who are we really but self-important beings that lucked out by being at the top of the food chain, here for maybe 80 years if we're lucky and then gone.  In the blink of the eye as far as the earth is concerned.  It's easy to think that our small worries and sadnesses, celebrations and happy moments, grudges and angers can change the course of the universe, but in reality, life goes on every day, whether we're happy or sad, angry or joyful, and it is our choice in each moment of our lives to choose our attitude.  To choose our paths.

In 3.2 million years the world will never know or care if you were a millionaire or a pauper, if you had a happy life or a sad life, if you were alone or surrounded by people you love.  If we are anything to them we will be bones, fossils, relics of an ancient time, a mere stepping stone in the timeline of the past.

After spending time with Lucy, Colby and I went out for drinks while waiting for our friends to arrive in the city.  I downed a rasbperry lemon drop and then told Colby that lately I'd been feeling he hadn't really been registering many of my hopes and desires if they didn't affect him directly, or if he didn't feel that they deserved the same amount of importance I did.  I told him that I was still hurt that he had forgotten the talent show, that it came as a surprise to him every time I mentioned a trip this summer, or a vacation in France next year.  It all came rushing out, some of the things I had been feeling, I didn't even realize until that moment.  We sat together, quietly sharing a plate of garlic fries, both thinking about the things that I had said.

Yesterday, I woke up in an empty bed.  I came downstairs, bleary eyed and still a little tired, to find a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts waiting for me on the counter.  I took a glazed with chocolate frosting and sat down next to Colby on the couch.  "July 14-August 22," he said, as I took my first bite.  "I put my name in the leave books for the whole time since I wasn't sure when you'd want to go.  I can always give some of it back."  We started looking at airfare later that morning.

Life is what you make of it.  In 3.2 million years, not a single person will care that I spent two weeks in the Northeast in the summer of 2009, but while we spent those few minutes together remarking on the fact that the fares were cheaper than we expected, to me, it felt like the most important moment in the world.

Hope

Just about everyone, myself included, likes to blog about the good things in life, particularly when they're in a happy, loving marriage or committed relationship.  I like to get all mushy, and sometimes banging out some sappy, heartfelt blog post is just a really fun way to spend a Friday morning.  But the thing of it is, sometimes being married can be kind of hard.  I know!!  Big shocker!

I'm not even talking about in the big ways that you always hear about in those stories about why the divorce rate is so high.  Like, obviously money issues can cause problems.  You want five kids, he was thinking more like one kid and some new golf clubs.  That stuff can certainly have an impact on a relationship, but I'm talking about the little things.

Like, you want to set the thermostat at 72 because you both make a decent wage and can probably afford to pay the gas bill, but he wants to keep it at 68 because he's kind of miserly and wears a lot of fleece.  So, you compromise and set it at 70, but no one is ever really happy about a compromise, so you both make disparaging comments about the other's temperature preference from time to time.  Or maybe you like the feel of crisply, tightly tucked sheets when you climb into bed at night, and he's more of a "tornado just hit the house, leaving the bed intact but rumpled" kind of a guy.  So you keep your side tucked in and he kicks the sheets out on his side, which SEEMS like it should work, but in reality, every morning the entire bed looks suspiciously more like the tornado situation, and it is POSSIBLE that one time you actually cried, because seriously, is having the sheets tucked in really THAT HORRIBLE??

And then of course, maybe I--I mean, YOU--want to get a third dog, so you kind of joke about it all the time, but in a way that makes it pretty clear that you're not actually joking, and then he's like "the yard is too small, and you aren't the one that picks up the poop, anyway."  Then, completely by accident you stumble across an adoption listing featuring this adorable, Fraggle-like face:

So, you kind of once more jokingly bring up that whole crazy third dog idea, and you're once more kind of jokingly shot down.  And then you get seriously sad, and you think guiltily to yourself that if you weren't married and didn't have to make joint decisions, you'd just get the damn dog.  And then you realize that you're a horrible person, and obviously being married and having someone else to pick up the poop of the two dogs you're already lucky enough to have and to share your life with is about a million percent better than getting a third dog.  But you still obsess about the dang Fraggle dog and pray that someone else out there will adopt her and give her the love she deserves, and then you just hope that the dreams about Hope go away some time soon.

Because really, what kind of moron has multiple dreams about a dog she's never met anyway?  Not me, that's for sure...

Confessions Pt 2

Welcome to another round of brutally honest, potentially inappropriate thoughts that been circulating in my head recently.  No topic is safe from the wanderings of my little feather brain.

* Our Christmas tree is still up.  Oh yes, it is.  And I have no plans to take it down any time soon.  Not because I am feeling particularly festive, but because I am lazy.  And we have a lot of ornaments on that damn tree.

* I am horrified at the state of parenting and children's behavior in general these days.  I know that makes me a bitter sixty-five-year-old man, but I don't care.  My generation was far from perfect, and I was a bit sheltered as a child, but I honestly don't think that as a whole we were nearly as dreadful as children AS A WHOLE these days.

* I find Ryan Seacrest mysteriously hot this season.  He seems somehow more mature and dignified.  We'll see how long that lasts before the frosted tips and shiny shirts make their come back.

* On a somewhat related note, I haven't been as excited about an American Idol contestant as I am about Alexis Grace in a very long time.  Maybe ever.  This is interesting since I wasn't even planning to watch American Idol this season.  If she makes it to the finals, there is a 57% chance that I might make an actual effort and text in a vote.

* I can't remember the last time I thoroughly cleaned our bathroom.  There is a layer of hairspray and makeup about an inch thick on the counters, and my sink looks like a Jackson Pollack painting.

* Even though know that I drastically cut the number of blogs I read a few months ago and am no longer a terribly consistent commenter, sometimes I get a little sad that I don't get the same number of comments I used to get.  Then I remember that there are far greater problems in the world (see: state of bathroom above), and I get over it.  Until I get a little sad again.

* This has absolutely zero bearing on the amount of my love for Colby, but I would really love to get some fabulous sparkly jewelry from him on romantic holidays.

* I am seriously, hopelessly addicted to Facebook and at a slightly lesser level, Twitter.  As such, I am giving up both for Lent.  Jesus is probably rolling his eyes, like, "I fasted in the desert for 40 days and this twit is worried about her ability to stay away from social networking sites for 46?" but in a nicer way, of course, because he is Jesus.  I have had multiple friends contact me, worried that they will never hear from me again, but have no fear, I will still be blogging and emailing.  But still probably not ever answering my phone.