Skills: I Have Them (Not Really)

You know what I’m really good at?  Like, exceedingly?  Writing blog posts in my head while in the shower (stop picturing me naked) or while I’m driving, and then intending to write for realsies here and sitting in front of my screen all slack-jawed and durrrrr and then I end up looking up eye makeup tutorials on YouTube.  I’m also really good at half-writing posts and letting them sit there for months until I go through my drafts and am all, “OH SHIT!  I should finish these!” and then I end up basically pulling in bits of various half-posts into a slapped together bullet point mess like the one you’re about to read.  See what I did there?  Your mind: it is blown.*

  • My family often treats me like an amusing mental patient – despite My Very Grown-up Life and Responsibilities (ie we have an accountant and our refrigerator isn’t solely comprised of beer and mustard) – and sometimes I wonder why.  And then I re-read the ridiculously long email I sent my parents regarding caring for Molly for 36 hours and realize “Oh yes, this is why.”  I haven’t received a response from my mother yet, but I am anticipating something along the lines of “You know how I managed not to kill you or the menagerie of pets we have had in this house?” and “You are crazy.”
  • So, we’re off to Napa this weekend (hence the need for a Molly-sitter) and I could not be more excited.  Wine tasting!  A trip out of town and away from the pull of errands and chores!  Delicious food!  WINE!  In figuring out what to wear I decided my main criteria should be “comfortable” and “hides wine stains” because who are we kidding?  I can try to look like Kate Middleton all I want, but when you get down to it, I’m the girl who walks through the grocery store going to town on sample ribs with sauce all over my face.
  • I need to get crack-a-lackin’ on Ed’s 40th birthday party.  I’m sure a better wife would have already booked a fabulous venue and caterer with a cool theme and letterpress invitations but at this point I’m thinking taco truck, booze, and good friends and we’ll call it good.  I have found some great ideas on Pinterest but honestly?  I’m overwhelmed.  Mama needs to rein shit in.
  • My doctor has instructed me to take prenatal vitamins (totally not pregnant!) and they make me feel like garbage.  I mean, I assume it’s them because literally nothing else about my eating, drinking, etc routine has changed and I usually feel gross soon after I take one.  Is this normal?  Just an issue with a particular brand?  While I feel good about the fact that any future spawn won’t have a pinhead, I am annoyed that science has perfected boner pills but this makes me barfy.  Not cool, Science.  Of course, I do wash them down with wine which I am guessing is not encouraged?
Hope your short work week is off to an excellent start, Interweb.

*Heh.  Blown.


It’s Really Hard to be This Deep

We went to see The Descendants tonight, knowing it would be a little heavier than either of us was in the mood for, but the pull of Clooney is strong so we went.   And I was surprised at how it affected me.

  • First of all, it made me miss my grandparents in a way I didn’t anticipate at all.  I haven’t spent much time in Hawaii, and it caught me off guard at how simply seeing bits of Waikiki beach made me ache for them in a way that usually only happens during holidays and when I hear Tony Bennett or when I’m sick or at the race track.  Ed and I have been talking about potential vacation plans for the year and as we left the theater I turned to him and said, “I really want to go to Hawaii with you” and he got it.
  • Second, I realized we need to get our shit together and put together an estate plan.  At the very least, we need powers of attorney for financial and health care in case GOD FORBID KNOCK ON WOOD something were to happen one of us.  And so help me there will be a clause in there that says someone is to maintain my roots, eyebrows, and apply lip balm (acceptable brands and colors will be specified, but odds are anything found in my purse would suffice) because I am not going down all haggard-like.  Fuck that shit in the ass.
  • Third: who in hell cheats on Clooney with the guy who played Shaggy in the live-action Scooby Doo movies?  If that’s the kind of world we live in, there’s no hope for the future.

It really was a great movie; sweet and realistic and funny and lacking in sentimentality while acknowledging that life is fragile and weird and rarely black-and-white.  And, you know…Clooney.

Phone It In Phriday (See What I Did There?)

I don’t want to leave my previous depressing-ass post up, but can’t get it together and write something more substantial so you get this little A to Z About Me.  YOU ARE SO LUCKY.  I copied this from the HILARIOUS Jive Turkey.  If you’re not reading her, you are missing out.

On to the main event!

A. Age: 34
B. Bed size: Queen, although I think a King will be in our future if Molly is going to continue to hang out there

C. Chore that you hate: Cleaning the bathrooms.  It’s the fucking worst.  Give me laundry or vacuuming or dusting but DON’T MAKE ME GET UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL WITH THE TOILET.

D. Dogs: Our sweet Molly is pretty much the center of our lives, sad as that may sound.  And while I adore her, I still haven’t given up on one day adding a French bulldog to our home.

E. Essential start to your day: Coffee 

F. Favorite colour: Orange

G. Gold or Silver: Silver
H. Height: 5’3″

I. Instruments you play: Steering wheel drums.

J. Job title: Based on this week, “Office Scapegoat/Whipping Girl”

K. Kids: None that I know of

L. Live: Chico, CA

M. Mother’s name: Francine

N. Nicknames: Chris or Girl Chris are probably the least horrifying, but Evan calls me Sissy and my parents all have various nicknames/terms of endearment for me that end up on birthday cards

O. Overnight hospital stays: Tonsillectomy at age 6

P. Pet peeves: People who are unaware of the space they occupy in public.

Q. Quote from a movie: I find that I quote really highbrow stuff from Billy Madison or Sixteen Candles on the regular (my parents are understandably proud), but you want me to choose a favorite?  What is this?  Sophie’s Choice? 

R. Right or left handed: Right
S. Siblings: One much younger brother from another mother, the famous Bubba

U. Underwear: Yes, I believe in it

V. Vegetable(s) you hate: I don’t really HATE any vegetables but I am weird about how they must be prepared

W. What makes you run late: Snooze button or inability to just wear the first thing I put on without putting on at least two other outfits before returning to the original

X. X-Rays you’ve had: Head, after passing out in the Sacramento airport and hitting my head on the tile floor

Y. Yummy food that you make: Oatmeal cranberry cookies, coq au vin, risotto

Z. Zoo animal:  Monkeys, although after seeing Rise of the Planet of the Apes I know they are gunning for us

You Say It’s Your Birthday

Another birthday has come and gone; I turned 34 on Sunday and I’m a little surprised and dismayed by how it’s affecting me.  I’m not prone to bouts of “I’m so oolldddd and going to die soooonnn” and have little patience for people who do.  But here I am, all woe-is-me and basically behaving like a walking cliche wrapped in a Cathy cartoon.

Maybe it’s because my doctor’s warning that I better get crack-a-lackin’ soon if I want to have a kid (although I am not actually cleared to start trying so this was a bit confusing, but I try to make it a policy not to argue with someone who has a flashlight up my vag) has been echoing in my head for almost a month.  Maybe it’s because I’m not really thrilled with my life career-wise.  Maybe I’m just a neurotic whore.  Whatever the reason, it’s clear that I need to make some changes before I fall down the rabbit hole of full-on depression (or at the very least terminal bitterness).

Existential crisis aside, it was a lovely birthday weekend with the perfect mix of social time, alone time, aand time with my hot husband who spoils my undeserving ass with dinner and champagne and surprises.  Unromantic as this may sound, he took my car to be washed and detailed while I got my hair did  and came home and glued myself to Downton Abbey and OHMYHELL it was the best thing anyone has done for me that I could actually discuss in public.  So you can see why I might feel like kind of a dick for not being perfectly content (not that I am UNGRATEFUL).  It’s like I’m looking for reasons to be sad and you know who does that?  Someone I’d like to punch in the face.

Jesus, I feel like this post should be accompanied by some sort of sad trombone/Debbie Downer sound effect, but I know the more I try to suppress this or put on a happy face or disappear and isolate myself until this passes, the worse I’ll feel.  So here’s hoping I can turn this around quick-like.

Am I the only one who has gone through this?  Any ideas on how to ease up on myself?