Quick aside: I have been coughing like Doc Holliday for about a week and instead of trying to “tough it out” I went to the doctor today like an adult and got a prescription and here’s hoping I actually get some rest. I feel completely fine except for this loud, hacky cough but man I could use some sleep because I am starting to look rough.
Anyway. *Claps Briskly*
We’ve been living here for two years and people keep asking if we’ve made friends with the neighbors. And the quick answer is no. We just don’t see people enough to feel like offering an invitation to socialize on purpose (as opposed to basic elevator chit-chat) with anyone. Plus, I am always afraid that I come across as desperate or weird or clingy when making new friends because I get all excited like a puppy. But that hasn’t stopped me from making up little stories and nicknames for the people I encounter most frequently. So without further ado, here are the Daves I know.*
- Cute Chiropractor Next Door: Sort of a bro-y guy who is very friendly and has a really nice girlfriend and a teeny-tiny dog who Molly has tried to befriend but the dog is not having it. They seem like a nice couple and he always holds the elevator door for me, and I think they wouldn’t be totally weirded out if we asked them to hang out or had a doggy playdate. But he reminds me of the guys I always had crushes on who would flirt with me but then make out with one of my friends and thank me for introducing them.
- Hot Dad: No idea if this guy is actually a dad, but he’s preppy and handsome and a little older and seems like he has nice dishes and matching towels and doesn’t wear too much cologne so yeah OK he’s what you might call “Christen’s type” I guess if we’re putting labels on things. I have a weird not-crush on him where I get bashful when we ride the elevator together but also, you know, HAPPILY MARRIED over here. He always says hi to Molly which I find endearing.
- Perfect Family: The dad is very tall and always dressed in tech exec chic (blazer, nice jeans, good shoes) and the mom is very petite and always in head-to-toe Lulu Lemon and the baby is adorable and never makes a single sound. They seem really happy and into the kid and always offer to ride a different elevator so the stroller doesn’t crowd us, but I always insist we can scoot over. I kind of love them.
- Loud Family: A single mom with three kids (two girls and a boy) who you can hear coming from a mile away. They are just so loud at all times. The boy is fond of making fart noises in the elevator and I have to fight back laughter every single time.
- Date or Daughter Couple Down the Hall: She’s not insanely young, but the guy looks a lot older than she is. The first time I saw them together I quickly assumed she was his daughter and then some body language cues quickly clued me in that that was not the case. He’s always wearing a t-shirt and cargo shorts while she dresses really cute and I can’t tell if he’s clueless or just thinks he’ll look more youthful if he dresses like a 14 year-old boy but it isn’t working. Anyway, they always seem really happy so that’s cool.
*I get that song stuck in my head roughly twice a month. Canadian sketch comedy bits from the 90’s for the win!
I spent last Thursday-Sunday in Chico to help my mom out after her shoulder surgery. The procedure itself went very well and her surgeon (who’s really cute so I’m glad I wore a dress and touched up my lip gloss) is happy about how she’s healing and said it went better than he expected. As much as I’d prefer to visit my parents under less-stressful circumstances, it was nice to get some alone time with them. I mean, I love that Ed gets along well with them and he’s clearly the son-in-law of their dreams, but there was something comforting about being our little three-person comedy troupe like when I was a kid. It didn’t take long for us to slip into old inside jokes and dated pop culture references. And my mom was in rare form, offering up some choice quotes.
- “You look like a Mexican wrestler.” – Upon seeing me in a Tony Moly sheet mask
- “Look, I’m a known entity so fuck you if you don’t like me.” – In response to peer feedback at work
- Dave: “What if use some Grecian formula?” Mom: “What if I Grecian divorce you?”
- “Is he/she a millenial? I fucking hate millenials.” – In response to me telling a story about anyone remotely annoying
- “Are you wearing sunscreen every day? You’re starting to look wrinkled.” – First thing in the goddamn morning, thanks
I really don’t have a point here other than documenting this for any future competency hearings and also to let you all know where I get this sunny disposition from.
This morning I had blood drawn as part of some tests my new doctor ordered just to get a baseline on my health and make sure all systems are functioning. The orders on the labs for today called for an Ovarian Assessment Report, which makes it sound like we’re trying to figure out if they qualify for AP Calculus or something. I have been endlessly amused by this and sure hope they’re good enough to get into a state school.
To add insult to injury (the injury being the fact that I had a NEEDLE in my arm and got a lecture from the phlebotomist that I shouldn’t be afraid of my own blood which is NOT HELPFUL and also I’m 38 so let go of the hope that you’re going to change me, OK?) I couldn’t get the bandage off my arm and had to enlist a very nice coworker to rip it off so now the entire office heard me scream and then burst into hysterical, embarrassed laughter. It’s only Wednesday but I feel like I’ve really given it my all this week in terms of behaving like a toddler.
This week I’m playing a super fun game of “Mentally Ill or Just PMSing?” which means someone needs to take away my ability to make any grown up decisions.
The other night while watching Wheel of Fortune (what? shut up) I screamed, “OH WELL AREN’T YOU SO FUCKING SPECIAL” at a contestant who was talking about mountain climbing so clearly I’m crushing it at this life stuff. I’m also considering selling my ticket to see Beyoncé next Monday (QUEEN BEY) because I feel too old to go out and I don’t fit in with the people I’m going to the concert with (all lovely, all basically 17 years old) but also…Beyoncé. So, I’m trying to put a pin in the temptation to turn lemonade into lemons over here.
My mom was in town for work and stayed with us last night, but it puts this pressure on me to leave the office so I can let her in and, you know, spend time with her. Which I love! But it’s harder to do that now that my job isn’t a strictly 8-5 gig where I can pack up and leave everything behind and can absolutely predict my schedule at all times. I want to spend time with her but also? I kind of need the space during the week to be able to keep growing this career and be perceived as a valued member of the team, not someone who clocks out at 5. It’s like the Cat’s in the Cradle over here and I feel awful.
My newest pet peeve is when I ask about a deadline for a project and I’m told, “Whenever you get to it” or “No rush” so I let projects that do have deadlines take precedence and then someone randomly asks, “Hey, is that done yet? I was hoping to have it today/tomorrow/three days ago.” Just…give me a fucking deadline. You’re not doing anyone favors by trying to be “hey whatever man” when you know you need it by a certain day.
In slightly less unhinged news, I’m starting from zero and on day two of running again. It’s slow but it’s something. I think tomorrow I’m going to suck it up and start the Couch to 5k program just to make sure I don’t injure myself and maintain a sustainable schedule. It’s a little discouraging starting from scratch, but not being able to fit into half my clothes is more frustrating so here we go.
Ed and I have been together just over seven years now, married for five and a half of those. I KNOW. We are surrounded by young colleagues who are getting engaged left and right and it’s really lovely to see how excited they are and sit back and know I will never, ever have to plan another wedding again. Amen.
Anyway, these bright-eyed youngsters sort of look up to us as a couple who is Doing It Right. (High-five, Ed!) And while this is really sweet and flattering I don’t really know what to say when they ask me for my tips and advice for a happy marriage. I mean, first of all, five years isn’t that long and I know we haven’t faced a lot of the rough stuff life is going to throw our way. Although a friend did point out to me we have dealt with a fair amount of bullshit and upheaval in a relatively short time and we haven’t let that kick our asses too hard so maybe we’re on to something? But I still feel weird speaking with any sort of certainty or authority when asked for advice. Do these people not understand what an incurable dork I am? And that I think it’s hilarious to yell “scrotum” when my niece is on the phone with her boyfriend? Pretty sure literally anybody else on the planet is more qualified to give advice on such a major life decision.
The first thing people usually ask is if I like being married, which I do, and they’re always shocked to learn that before meeting Ed I had very little interest in it. Like organized religion or neck tattoos, it seemed to suit other people fine but it wasn’t my jam. My usual answer is, “I like being married to Ed” because for me it’s more about the other person and the quality of our relationship than the institution as a goal in itself. So yeah, I’m a fan, but only under very specific circumstances.
One of Ed’c coworkers asked me during a happy hour outing, quite sincerely and practically ready to take notes, for my advice my advice on a successful marriage. I made some joke about keeping the wine cabinet stocked but then I thought about it for a minute and realized that all my knowledge was based on how Ed and I operate, our values, our personalities. So I told him to ignore advice from other people because if I followed someone else’s plan for a happy relationship my head would spin from all the conflicting bits of wisdom thrown my way over time. He seemed relieved by that, and I hope it gave him some comfort to know you don’t have to have some sort of perfect plan in order to be OK, and it’s probably not super healthy to try to model your relationship after anyone else. There are lots of happily married people out there, but I wouldn’t necessarily be happy with any of them.
So my genius advice was “don’t listen to other people” and now I’m basically relationship Oprah. Where’s my money?
The title of my autobiography.