On doing the laundry....

I hate doing laundry. Hate it. In fact, when I got married, that was one of the first chores that we ultimately decided would be primarily my husband's chore (did you catch that? MY husband. MINE). He sort of used it as a bit of a bargaining chip for further chore divvying and, rightly so, continues to use it as such. I really hate doing laundry that much.

He's good at it too. Sort, separates, folds, the works. Only once has he botched something of mine, but I've since clarified the specific items of my clothing that cannot go in the dryer. There are certain things I have that just have to be air-dried.

Sweaters must be air dried (and then tumbled to soften them up again). Denim is the same.
Pricy undergarments never end up in the dryer.
Sweatshirts and sweatpants, in order to maintain the integrity of the length and softness I require, must also be line dried.

But, naturally, all the clothes must first be washed and clean. I mean, what's the point of airing out dirty laundry?

It's stinky and it makes you look rather foolish. Nobody wants to see your filthy clothes out on the line or hanging over your balcony. It's gross (thank you, Billy Bush).

It makes no sense, right?

Even more foolish would be to take someone else's dirty laundry and air that out all on your own. Frankly, if you have no idea where my laundry is kept or how often I clean it or even when laundry day is in my house, why would you even bother to march into my home and air out my laundry? You have no idea if it's clean or dirty. In fact, some of it may be stained and I may be waiting for the Tide pen to do it's magic. It takes time to clean out stains and you have no idea how long I might have been trying to get rid of the stain or how close I'm getting. Or some of my laundry might be in piles so that I can get rid of all the things I no longer want or need in my life (I purge quite a lot anyhow).

So if someone were to just waltz on into my house, uninvited, and grab whatever laundry they wanted in order to air it out, they might be royally fucking some things up.

My point?

If you want to air your own laundry on your own line, that's fine and I'm okay with it.
But don't drag my laundry into your mess.

I've had roommate before and we've combined laundry. It never really ends well. Socks get mismatched and shirts misplaced. In short, once you get laundry all mixed together, it's really hard to un-mix it. So why even start?

On strengths and weaknesses....

We all have our strengths.

Mine typically lie in the grammatical arenas and occasionally in the creative. I'm a pretty good singer. I do well in the kitchen (especially when I'm baking). When I really feel like it, I can clean a house like you wouldn't believe. I'm a financial mastermind (just ask my husband) and I can plan the hell out of any vacation you want.

My shortcomings are many, I assure you. But the one that really tends to boggle the mind (or bottle it, if you're an Anchorman) is my total lack of mathematical skills whatsoever. I rely really heavily on my fingers, calculators, and Microsoft Excel to make sure that every number in my life adds up correctly.
So what do I do when I spill coffee on the one calculator I have at the office?

Divide by zero, of course!

And in a normal world, where doing this would result in black holes, my calculator now tells me that not only is this possible, but that the answer to any math problem I give it is 3, somehow by default.

So I began asking the calculator other questions.

335 + 50 = 387.50
The 6 key now pulls 00
It has decided that I simply do not need to use the number 9 anymore
Clearing the calculator results in a negative number of your choosing.
And pressing the = key is nothing short of disastrous. 123456 x 6 = 914.494591678

So here's what I can conclude from all of this.
I am not supposed to do math. Ever.

On moving past the hate....

So the last few days have been a bit of a nightmare for me. It's an ongoing process that I'm trying desperately to move though, as quickly as is possible and responsible.

There are things that I want to say, things that keep me awake at night. But I'm trying to put all of that out of my mind. It's just not worth it. The anger and hatred is only really affecting me and eating me alive so I choose to (try to) push past that.

I have a box of sh*t that I no longer deem worthy of being in my home. Much of it will get broken in a final fit of rage. Some will be given away. And still some will hopefully sell well on Craigslist.

Yesterday was the most painful day yet. Fortunately, I had two lovely women recommend the following two songs to me:


Comfortably Numb (Pink Floyd)

Hello?
Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone home?
Come on, Come on, Come on, now,
I hear you're feeling down.
Well, I can ease your pain
Get you on your feet again.
Relax.
I'll need some information first.
Just the basic facts.
Can you show me where it hurts?
There is no pain you are receding
A distant ship's smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying.
When I was a child I had a FEVER My hands felt just like two balloons.
Now I've got that feeling once again
I can't explain, you would not understand
This is not how I am.
I have become comfortably numb.
O.K.
Just a little pin prick.
There'll be no more aaaaaaaaah!
But you may feel a little sick.
Can you stand up?
I do believe it's working, good.
That'll keep you going through the show
Come on it's time to go.
There is no pain you are receding
A distant ship's smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying.
When I was a child
I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child is grown,
The dream is gone.
but I have become comfortably numb.


Details In The Fabric (Jason Mraz)

Calm down
Deep breaths
And get yourself dressed instead
Of running around
And pulling all your threads saying
Breaking yourself up

If it's a broken part, replace it
But, if it's a broken heart then brace it
If it's a broken heart then face it

And hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
Hold your own
Know your own name
And go your own way

And everything will be fine
Everything will be fine
Mmmhmm

Hang on
Help is on the way
Stay strong
I'm doing everything

Are the details in the fabric
Are the things that make you panic
Are your thoughts results of static cling?

Are the things that make you blow
Hell, no reason, go on and scream
If you're shocked it's just the fault
Of faulty manufacturing.

Yeah everything will be fine
Everything in no time at all
Everything

Hold your own
And know your name
And go your own way

Are the details in the fabric

(Hold your own, know your name)
Are the things that make you panic
Are your thoughts results of static cling?

(Go your own way)

Are the details in the fabric (Hold your own, know your name)
Are the things that make you panic (Go your own way)
Is it Mother Nature's sewing machine?

Are the things that make you blow (Hold your own, know your name)
Hell no reason go on and scream
If you're shocked it's just the fault (Go your own way)
Of faulty manufacturing

Everything will be fine
Everything in no time at all
Hearts will hold



And another of my own choosing:

Down To The River To Pray (Alison Krauss)

As I went down to the river to pray
Studyin about that good ol' way
And who shall wear the starry crown?
Good Lord show me the way!

O sisters let's go down
Lets go down, Come on down
O sisters lets go down
Down in the river to pray

As I went down in the river to pray
Studyin about that good ol way
And who shall wear the robe & crown
Good Lord show me the way

O brothers lets go down
Let's go down, Come on down
O brothers lets go down
Down in the river to pray

As I went down in the river to pray
Studyin about that good ol way
And who shall wear the star and crown?
Good lord show me the way

O fathers lets go down
Let's go down, Come on down
O fathers lets go down
Down in the river to pray

As I went down in the river to pray
Studying about that good ol way
And who shall wear th robe and crown
Good Lord show me the way

O mothers lets go down
Come on down, don't you wanna go down?
O Mothers lets go down
Down in the river to pray

As I went down in the river to pray
Studyin about that good ol' way
And who shall wear the star and crown?
Good Lord show me the way

O sinners lets go down
Lets go down, come on down
O sinners lets go down
Down in the river to pray

As I went down in the river to pray
Studyin about that good ol way
And who shall wear the Robe and crown?
Good Lord show me the way


Music is a huge part of who I am. I'm a terrible lyricist and an even worse songwriter so I use others work as an outlet for myself. It's not nearly as cathartic as calling her names or wishing hateful things or breaking stuff or crying or a million other things I could do to release, but it's far more productive to just listen to music and sing along.


So that's what I'm choosing to do at this point. And I'm throwing in a healthy dose of Owl City because, let's be honest, how can you not feel good when you listen to that techno pop silliness?

On hatred and betrayal....

Possibly the heaviest post to date. And this blog dates back quite a way.

I have been asking myself (and the larger Twitter/Facebook community, somewhat rhetorically) how to deal with hate. I've never experienced it before though I've probably said the word a lot. I mean, I hate mushrooms.

But hating mushrooms isn't emotionally, mentally, physically, or spiritually toxic.

Pure, unadulterated hatred, however, is.

But when you've been so betrayed that it knocks the wind out of you and causes you to just stand there, staring, it's hard to know what else to feel. It's hard to know what to trust.

I keep thinking horrible (and somewhat insane) thoughts. I go over and over in my head things I'd like to say.

But none of this really accomplishes anything. Anger, after all, is a secondary emotion. One that needs to be addressed and dealt with, but secondary nonetheless.

I feel anger because I've been betrayed. I've been lied to. I've been hurt in unforgivable ways.

And because I've never been truly betrayed before, I'm not sure what to feel or how to react. So hate is where I'm stuck right now.

On unexplained cravings....

There comes a time in every person's day when a craving hits. Totally inexplicable, these cravings.

I have them from time to time. And by that, I mean approximately once an hour, typically while I'm at the office.

I wish I could say that I crave the things I truly love...baby carrots, celery, cucumbers, green apples (of the Granny Smith variety), bananas, raspberries, strawberries. My word, I love produce. I mean, I LOVE produce. There is no way to describe my affinty for all things fresh and totally unhampered by all the things I truly hate...trans-fat, empty calories, complex carbs, and most especially, high fructose corn syrup (or, as I like to call it, The Devil's Syrup).

I have oft been described as a yuppie hippie. I wash my laundry in cold water, I almost always have my car in neutral coming down the hill from my office, I buy local, I support sustainable agriculture, blah blah blah. But it's the HFCS that tends to really throw people. I mean, I really really hate it. So much so, that if you were to look inside my fridge or pantry, you'd be hard-pressed to find much in there with the Devil's Syrup in it.

So what does this have to do with my cravings?

A lot.

Because I crave candy.

Excessively.

And the biggest facilitator of my cravings? Laffy Taffy.

Anyone want to guess what the first listed ingredient is?

Gross.

On career mapping....

People with Blue interests like activities that allow them to be creative. This can be through more traditional visual arts, writing or musical pursuits although not limited to these. The creativity is often expressed in thinking of new ideas or strategies that can have a broad range of applications. Blue interests often like thinking about the future and planning for long term benefits. Hobbies include: performing or listening to music, attending theater, story telling, journaling, decorative arts, painting. Career choice often are: Editor, Journalist, Teacher, Strategic Planner, Consultant, Performing Arts, Marketing, Communications, Research and Development.


People with Yellow strengths are good at managing details and creating sophisticated processes that allow them to get complex work done. Once a game plan has been put in place, it is implemented. Their decisions are based on facts and carefully reasoned. When working with other people, they are fair and democratic and always can be counted on to deliver what they commit to.







so there's that...

On knowing my follies....

I know I talk about stressing out a lot, probably more than is really necessary.

But in talking with a friend over the weekend, I discovered something that I don't think I knew before: I get stressed about not being stressed.

That's kind of a messed up way to live life, don't you think?

I've been working on my undergrad since 1999. For people who hate math as much as I do, that means I'm starting my eleventh year of school. Which mean, officially, I've been in school for a grand total of 25 years. Non-stop. Well, okay, I took a break for one semester while I got married and there was a little dicking around when I took worthless classes at community college, but I've been learning stuff for 25 years. And what's weird is that since I've never known my life without school, I'm not quite sure what to do with my life when I do take a break, forced or not.

Take the last six weeks. I had six weeks or 42 days or 504 hours to do, quite simply, nothing. So what did I do? I jammed that full of 11 holiday parties, one visit to the symphony, and baked nearly 600 cookies. I apparently don't know how to slow down.

It's almost like, in order for me to feel like I'm accomplishing something, I have to feel stressed out. It's totally unnecessary and I'm fully aware of that. The problem is that I'm not sure how to fix it. Honestly, for the next 50 weeks, I have to live in a constant state of stress and I'm okay with that. It's the "after that" that I'm worried about.

I told my friend that it's as if I get stressed if I don't have something to be stressed about. "There must be something that I'm forgetting to do!" I told her. But that's not at all the case. I live my life in 15-minute increments -- another folly, I know -- but in doing so, it's very rare that I forget something. I have four calendars that are actively used. It's not like it's really possible for me to forget something (I say, sheepishly).

However, I did make a bit of a pact to myself in an effort to alleviate some of the stress I put on myself, intentionally or otherwise. If I'm asked to do something and I decline said invitation, that's the end of it. I won't allow myself to feel guilty for missing an event or party. I won't feel as if I'm letting someone down for not accepting an invitation out.

Because let's be honest: When you combine Type A with People Pleaser with Constant Stress Box, the results could be disastrous. Unfortunately, I am all of those things.

On behaving badly....

Ever have those moments when you just feel like behaving poorly because, for some indescribable reason, you think it'll make you feel better?

I do this from time to time.

When I'm stuck in traffic (especially in one, very specific area of my city), being angry at the world makes me feel better. I call people names and swear, all from the confines of my vehicle. There is nothing about being in that area that makes me feel "right" so being angry feels not only good, but natural.

Snarky is another behavior that I sometimes like to exhibit. I find myself getting snarky and crappy most often in online discussions and forums. More often than not, topics are related to either politics or religion (and when the two topics combine, WATCH OUT!). World issues is another topic that brings out the snark in me. I'll be the first to admit that I don't know everything there is to know about anything (except the television show, Friends), but I've got a good handle on facts, what I believe, and why I believe those things, so it's fun for me to get involved in those types of rather-heated discussions. Snarky also comes out when I've been hurt or somehow wronged. I mostly just want to get shitty. It's in those moments that I have to be really careful and aware of my propensity for this behavior because, frankly, it's pointless.

Being melancholy (read: emo) is another one that I've been known to display. This is, by far, the most inexplicable of all my poor behaviors. I really have no reason to be "woe-is-me" and yet, from time to time, it just feels good. However, I've said it before and I'll say it again: at some point (at several points, really) in everyone's lives, two situations occur: 1) your life, your situation, your problems are undeniably the most important and the world is allowed to revolve around you for the moment; and 2) someone else's issues are more important for the moment. I could probably prattle on for pages about this behavior of mine, but I won't.

But it all does beg the question: why, if I know these are crummy behaviors, do I continue to exhibit them from time to time?

On shapes and indelibility....

I think that as we get older, we all look back and consider all the choices we've made and things we've done and sort of ponder how all of those things have shaped who we are. We all want to believe that we come to where we are currently of our own accord and while that's probably true most of the time, do we ever stop to think about why we do certain things we do?

Why do I listen to a certain type of music or a specific band? Why do I write my cursive "a" and "g" that way? Why do I say that phrase? Why do I wear the style of clothes that I do? Why do I love that one movie?

If I really thought about it, I could probably pin each of those things back to a specific person. Maybe even a specific time in my life. I'd be hard pressed to find many of those people still in my life actively (most are mere memories by now), but things I learned from them tend to stick around.

Sure, my family has impacted my behaviors and attitudes in an infinite number of ways, but substantial portions of my life prove the saying that "no person can cross the path of your destiny without leaving a mark on it forever..."

We all have former lovers, grade school best friends, teachers and professors, relgious leaders, random acquaintances, even famous actors/writers/philosophers that we know have marked our lives somewhat indelibly. So it does become a more than a little true that once you've come into contact with someone and spent some amount of time with them, chances are very good that your "destiny" will be forever marked by them and theirs by you.

I wonder, then, why I hear of people getting wound around the axle when their current spouse/lover/best friend makes some remark that unintentionally hearkens back to a former life. Is it really impossible to delete a past whatever from one's being? Take my husband for example. He was married to another woman before me. He exhibits behaviors and probably says and does things that he did when he was married to her. I mean, they were together for nigh on five years. It would be practically miraculous if he never exposed to me that part of his life. She left a mark on his life. I have boyfriends from the past that have left marks on my life. Is it all that odd? Is it even bad?

Life is almost entirely wrapped up in being in constant contact with another person. So how would it be possible to deny that people shape who we are? I think we might all like to believe that we've become the person we are at this very moment based entirely on our own choices, of our own free will. But the reality is, people have shaped who I am in the same way I have probably shaped another person.

On working to live...or vice versa...

Some of us live to work. Others work to live.

I was asked the other day what my ideal job would be. What would I do if I could do anything in the entire world? What is my dream job? Naturally, what comes to my head facetiously is, "Can you get paid for sleeping, watching movies, reading, and trying on wedding gowns? 'Cause I'd like to do that!" But the "real" answer is that I'd like to work for a publishing house, doing initial read-throughs of all sorts of books. I suppose then, yes, there is a job out there where I get to read all day long and get paid for it. The person that asked me that same question would like to be a pilot, one of those fancy-schmany corporate gigs where you get to fly people to Europe or the Bahamas and sit there for a week until the client decides they need or want to go somewhere else. Yeah, you can get paid to do that, too.

The problem with both of those jobs is that it involves a lot of grunt work, essentially being someone's bitch for X number of years before maybe getting into the actual line of work intended.

It's like Andie in The Devil Wears Prada. She wanted to write, but had to be somebody's lackey just get in the door of a publication. I mean, it's hard, thankless work. I'm sure it pays off, but at 30 years old, is that something I'm willing to do? I'm not sure.

And I've always been one of those people that works to live. I work so that I can get paid and have, do, or experience anything I want to (usually this manifests itself in traveling). I'm pretty koo-koo town about savings and having that necessary, but evil cushion for those "just in case" moments. And it's come in handy (like when I unexpectedly had to drop $500 on new tires in one fell swoop). But I'm not sure I'd put it past me to blow it all on traveling. Admittedly, I'm a somewhat worldly person. I like having "things"...I like my electronics and kitchen gadgets/appliances and jewelry and whatever. I like to have fun things. So yeah, having a job benefits the life I currently lead.

But what if the job I had was the life I wanted to lead?

I recently read Ivanka Trump's book, The Trump Card, and found myself both baffled and impressed that someone my age had found passion and fulfillment in a JOB. A JOB, for crying out loud! This is a woman who wakes up every morning and (apparently) is delirious with joy that she gets to go to the office. Okay, now granted, she seems to do a LOT of world traveling for said job and she makes a crap-load of cash doing it, but it's still a job. And she shows up at the office at 6am, ready to rock and roll for the next 10 - 12 hours and couldn't be happier doing it. SHE GOES IN ON WEEKENDS!

What if I had a job that made me so deliriously happy that I actually pined for full inboxes and phones ringing at all hours? What if sitting at my desk for ten hours a day was really, truly, and honestly the most exciting and useful way for me to spend my time?

How many of us live in that world? I have a friend that appeared to live there for a while and with her new job, she very well might still be living in that world. But her situation also begs another question: can doing what you're passionate about also provide a decent salary?

I had a professor once tell me, "Do what makes you happy." That's all well and good, but what if what makes me happy ends up making me miserable because the salary blows?

I honestly wonder if it's even possible to live to work and work to live, all at the same time...

On hitting a wall...

Sometimes it pays to exist in a constant (or nearly constant) state of drama.

I'm making this new effort to write more "article" style blogs in an attempt to just try something different and see where it takes me. I call it "writing Carrie Bradshaw style." You know, daily/weekly/bi-weekly/whatever articles on whatever happens to pop into my head, using my life as muse. The problem is that my life and Carrie's life are in pretty stark contrast. For one, I'm real and she's not. Another, she's single (or was, until last summer) and I'm not. She has drama and, for the most part, I don't.

So this poses a bit of a problem for me. My life is a somewhat terrible muse. What am I going to write about? My dogs? Chores? Work? Boring, lame, and a bad idea, respectively

Certainly, being single and dealing with the issues of dating (or not) provides far more entertainment. At least, it would seem.

There are ideas I've been flirting with, but nothing seems all the interesting to me right now.

Things like:
Giving and taking advice
Full-time work + full-time school (but that poor, dead horse...I just keep kicking him!)
Having babies

I'm just out of ideas for the time being. But am more than open to suggestion.

On being complete...

We all have our ideas of what "completion" means. We've all probably completed something, some task or goal, somewhere along the course of our lives.

Some have completed undergrad, master's work, doctorate programs. Some complete projects, big and small, even daily to-do lists. Races, chores, papers, getting ready for a night out, dinner, reading a book. We've all completed something...many things, in fact.

But what does it mean to complete a person?

You know, like that line from Jerry Maguire: You complete me.

What the hell does that mean?

I've always been pretty adamant about never saying that someone "completes" me. That assumes that I was somehow un-whole or broken, missing a piece, before that person came along. I've long preferred the term "complement" in a phrase such as the one above. People are, indeed, complementary to each other.

Humanity is its own perfect accessory, really.

I have friends that are like the best pair of shoes I've ever had...stable, supportive, and sexy.
Some are like the perfect handbag...holding things I need with pockets to hold little nuggets of advice when I ask.
There are those friends that are my best jackets...I feel warm and comfortable with them, like going outside and about my life would be silly without them.
I have necklace & earrning friends...the ones that hug me when I need it and listen when I'm desperate.

My life would be far less sparkly, interesting, fashionable, or fun without any one of my friends.

So back to this "completion" issue.

I think I might be starting to think differently about that word as it relates to humanity.

I said to a friend the other day, "I can't do life without him." [Him obviously referring to my husband]

So I wonder...was I somehow more incomplete before I found him? Before he found me? Or maybe when we started dating, doing life together, got married, a new version of myself emerged. A version that, without my husband, would be incomplete and miserable. Humans, I believe, are meant to be in relationship, friendship or romantic, it doesn't matter. I believe that it's inherent in us to want to be with other people, to want to share our experiences and hurts, failures and triumphs.

I think that might answer my own question. Yes, I was incomplete before my husband. But I would also be incomplete without friends, family, humanity.

On hating my body....

It's been a year since I started my weight loss adventures.

Here was my goal: lose 15lbs by April 20, 2009 in order to look amazing in "the Britney outfit."
I started 'round about this time last year.

Here were my tools: WeightWatchers online and Jillian Michaels 30DayShred (as well as some 10K training thrown in for good measure).

I hit my goal the day I left for Vegas which was THE single most exciting day of the year, thus far.

So what do I hate about my body now? After all that work?

Two things:

1. I get these insane cramps in my toes and the balls of my feet that are painful enough to bring tears. In fact, I just got one. I was wandering around our house in circles. My husband, enjoying a cigar in the balmy 46F evening, looked at my confusedly and came inside to ask what, exactly, I was doing. "My foot hurts," was the only reply I could come up with. Mercifully, the cramp (this time) didn't come in the middle of the night. There's nothing worse than waking up at 2am with one of these horrifying cramps trying to walk the cramp off without waking anyone up. Oh my lord. I don't even want to think about it.
   
   
2. My popping jaw. What the hell is that about? Maybe it's related to stress. Maybe it's because my spine is out of alignment. Whatever the case, I don't care. I just wish it would stop. Oh, the agony when I'm trying to eat a friggin' frosted mini-wheat and can't quite get my jaw unlocked enough to crunch down. Seriously. It hurts. And I hate it.
   

So there's that. I still have a poochy tummy. I still chew my cuticles (which I am trying to quit). There are plenty of things "wrong," but those are the two things that I hate...and basically cannot control. Dammit.

On headcolds and misery...

At what point during the course of a cold does wine serve as a better medication that Robittuson?

I think I have found that point.

My nose is jammed full of nasty. I can't really hear that well. My head [still] feels like it's in a vice. Lips chapped. Coughing and sneezing are incessant.

Yeah, I full on have a cold.

My husband has patiently been feeding me Dayquil, Nyquil, Gatorade, and chicken soup for two days. Hangover from NYE? Hardly. I'm pretty sure I got hit by a truck the other night. At least, that's how I feel.

So after depleting our supply of Dayquil, I have started in on the Aleve and Robittuson. I can take up to 6 doses in one 24-hour period. Something tells me that's not going to do much good.

And out came the pizza and reisling. I can't really breathe which means I can't really taste much of anything, but damn. That pizza was amazing. All four slices of it. And the wine is going down really smoothly.

I still cannot use my nose for anything other the "schnucking" and breathing out my mouth is both disgusting and painful.

But the wine seems to be working its magic.