Things I Hate.....

Things I Hate.....About being 30-something

1. I'm no longer 20-something


2. Sleeping until noon is no longer allowed or even possible. I seem to be slipping into that old people habit of getting up earlier and earlier as I get older. My mother? She gets up at like 5am, and actually DOES stuff.


3. Physical aliments no longer go away within a few days, they linger.


4. I've had physical issues that required surgery to correct. And just to warn you, a gall bladder is actually a good thing, not a useless thing. Not to go into detail here but with gall bladder pizza or fried food=non-issue. Non-gall bladder=quick stepped trip to the bathroom. Just sayin.


5. My absolute horror at the possibility that I may no longer be able to handle wearing heels, of any kind. 2 yrs ago I very badly sprained my ankle, I had to go to rehab(side note here, every time I hear the word rehab I think of that song by Amy Winehouse and I always hear the word rehab like how she sings it in the song followed by the "no,no,no.") Anyway, almost a year to the day later I sprained it again. It seemed to heal fine this time, but now, as I try to wear my favoritest boots, I end the day limping and dying to remove my favoritest boots to get relief. My ankle is swollen and stiff and my knee is all jacked up too. And it's not just the boots, it's any heel, and apparently any height heel as well. Seriously, I just got into heels at the age of 25, this is so not cool.


6. My gray hair is spreading across my head. Yes, I've had it since I was in my 20's, it was kind of a cute thing then. Now? Now it's just kind of Telling, you know what I mean? Hair maintenance isn't just because I like highlights, it's now NECESSARY maintenance.
7. Going out means having to drive home which means a drinking limit. That is probably a good thing, because I just can't handle the adult beverages like I used to. Plus, when add to #2, hangovers are real extra bitchy.

What the Hell?

Things that I just don't understand:

• On the way home the other day, a full sized pick-up truck with CAMOUFLAGED SEAT covers. Because the poor animals can see and smell the truck, but the inside is lost in a swirl of camo. Sneaky humans!
• Why gas is $2.89 on the way to work, but is $2.85 a mere 8 hours later. I propose that we apply the same theory they have at department stores, if it goes on sale within the next 30 days, I get a refund for the difference. Ok, maybe make it 12 hrs, but you get my meaning.
• Why if I order french fries through the drive-thru I have ASK for ketchup. It's not like we are in England and people use vinegar or ketchup. Just give me the damned ketchup.
• Why if you Super Size your meal you try to fool yourself by still ordering a Diet. Yeah, that's a life saver.
• Why you don't pull the fuck over when you see the flashing lights of a ambulance, police or fire vehicle. We all know you are the same people who will sue the city because said rescue vehicle took too long to reach your sorry ass if you were the one waiting to be saved.
• Why people wait until the VERY LAST second to pull out of the merge lane into regular traffic, doing, of course, LESS than the posted speed limit. Or wait until the VERY LAST INCH to merge when 4 miles back the bright orange construction sign told you the lane would be ending, in 4 miles. So the rest of us have to STOP because some lame brain decided to let you in.
• Why don't people don't wash their hands after using the bathroom. SERIOUSLY, wash your damn HANDS!

Bridal Brain

Bridal Brain is very much the same as Pregnant Brain, as in you can't remember anything, the simplest tasks become overly tasking, and your emotions are over the top and flipping out. I am experiencing this enmass. See here, here, here, here, and finally, here. Looking at that line-up there, is making me a little crazy. Anyway, I can't remember shit. 5 days in a row I've forgotten to bring a box of Kleenex to work, and I've been suffering from allergies for like a month and ran out of Kleenex like 2 weeks ago. So really, I should be totally motivated to remember a box of stinking Kleenex in the morning. I've taken a box and set it out somewhere I would see it and remember to grab it, um, yeah.

I went looking at invitation this weekend with my mom, and I almost cried in the store over a little saying about God and marriage or something, obviously since I'm telling you exactly what it said, it really hit home. Not. And I'm not even that religious, really. As I read the multitude of sayings to pick from, I got misty on so many occasions; I had to get a water to rehydrate. Now I've never considered myself a crier, but dang if the water works haven't just been always ready at a moment's notice lately. I've also never really considered myself a lacey and poufy kinda a girl either, and I'm glad to say after spending 2 hrs looking at invites, that that still holds true, however, I did find that I'm not all hip and contemporary either. When a co-worker brought in an invite to show me, I fell in love with a certain enclosure , but when I went to look at it again, I found that it just didn't cut it for me anymore. I want the parchment paper with aged edges and raised print type. Who knew? But no doves, or Cali lilies or ribbon or any of that crap. Just nice and simple and straight to the point.

Speaking of crap. F and I went to a Bridal Show this weekend. O.M.G. I felt like we were all cattle in the shute on our way to be slaughtered. I filled out so many cards with my wedding date, name, address, e-mail and phone number that I started forgetting who I was. DJ, limos, cakes, sexy bachelorette party ideas, photographers, vacations; I signed up for free stuff, to win stuff to get more junk mail stuff. After filling out about twenty of these (this was early in the game, but not early enough) F says to me, We should have brought those return address labels and stuck those on here. So there's a tip to all of you who think you HAVE TO GO (really, you don't) to a Bridal show, save your fingers, bring a sticker. I feel even more overwhelmed then I did before we went. Although F was a total trooper carrying the bags and crap, not free crap, just brochure crap, for 2 hrs all over the massive cattle slaughter. And women, we do get bitchy and pushy over a bite size piece of cake, let me tell you. One of the booths was life insurance where F picked up a huge yard stick. But since F isn't always aware of his surroundings, he almost took out me, and several other people with said yard stick; I took it from him only to have to give it back so I didn't use it to beat back some cake line jumping bitches.



If anyone has ever gotten anything useful out of attending one of these things, please share, because the best part of the "Show" was how quickly we got out of the parking lot.

Cleaver?.....Cleaver?......Cleaver?

Where is June Cleaver when you need her? All prefect hair, pearls and pies? I am not, NOT June Cleaver, not Betty Crocker, I align more with Mr Jiffy Mix. I'm not saying I can't cook, I in fact CAN COOK, but ever since F has come into my life, I've become a bumbling fool in the kitchen. I over cook, I under cook, and last night, I set ablaze. Mind you, I never thought that I was the kind of woman who believed being a good cook was important in getting and keeping a man. If you don't like it, go make something else, that has been my motto. But with F? I'm all, Do you like it Ward? Would like like more pie Ward? Is it tender enough Ward? Would you like me to warm it up for you Ward? Can I feed you Ward? Ok, maybe not that last one, but you get my meaning. When it comes to cooking for F, I get all June-ish. I want it all to be wonderful so he can boast to his friends, "DH, she cooks a mean meal." As things are now? I think he's afraid to invite people over for dinner in case I give them all e-coli. I grabbed a few apples yesterday and decided I was going to make my man a homemade, with love, dessert. He was tired and hungry when he called with still an hour drive home ahead of him. I started scrounging in the freezer for something to cook and came across the steaks we stock piled back in July. Good sized, enough left over for lunch, PREFECT. Let's fast forward to me throwing said steaks onto the nice hot grill. I turned it down and headed back into the house to make my lovely dessert. I'm pealing away at the apples and think to myself, I should go check on the steaks. I look out the window to see smoke, lots and lots of black smoke. I run out the door, and see flames. I'm not talking the little flare-up flames, I'm talking full on, burn the garage down, blow-up the gas grill kind of flames. The ENTIRE INSIDE OF THE GRILL WAS ON FIRE. Those prefect steaks? CHARCOAL. It took a good 10mins for the flames to die down. The wooden brush used to clean the grill, burned. It was setting on the grille's side burner(not turned on). That's how far out of the grill the flames were reaching. When I told F, he said, "cool." When I showed him the steaks that were burned but still raw, "No big deal. don't worry about it." He ate the steak(after I nuked it), said he couldn't have burned them better himself, said they were good.

I didn't burn the dessert, which he loved.

But I did set the hot pad on fire getting it out of the oven.

Again? Really?

These whacked dreams had better stop after the wedding, or I will have to start living a Valley of the Dolls kinda lifestyle. And I've noticed, they all occur early in the morning, like shortly before the alarm goes off. It makes me tired, it makes me cranky and it makes me doubt my sanity. Dreams are meant to be your subconscious working through things you can't or won't face during the day. This one I just had? Oh, so totally. There is a back story here, I'll give you the highlights. About 5 years ago we got a new employee. Male. We hit it off, immediately. Problem? Oh, just a tad little issue of him being MARRIED. He's tall, handsome, funny as hell, sarcastic, older(but not like, fatherly) and horribly insightful. A deadly combo. Of course the more we hung out together, the more people talked. And I'll admit it, there were feelings there, on my side at least. I had a huge crush on him. But I knew he was married, and that was a line I was unwilling to cross. Anyway, last year we had a bit of a falling out. And we've not been nearly as chummy as we were before. We barely speak. We've tried to pick things back up, to be friendly again, but it's just not there anymore. Our dialogue always seems kinda forced. Which is probably good, considering F came into the picture shortly before all this went down. (side bar, F feels that my Co-Worker Crush had feelings for me, but that's a whole another Blog topic.) Ok, so back on Topic here, last night, or early this morning, I had a vivid dream involving CWC. He was in the kitchen at work, washing his dishes and I walked up, put my hand on his arm and started to say, "I'm so glad to see a man cleaning up after himself."(Kind of a joke between him and I, he always washes his own dishes at work) but before I could finish he whirls around and clutches me into a utterly suffocating bear hug. At first I'm embarrassed by this display, then I start to freak out because I literally CAN. NOT. BREATH. I fight my way out of his hug, my face red with the effort and the anger, and try to run off to my cube. He grabs my arm and pulls me back towards him and plants a VERY passionate kiss on me. At first, I was all, "FINALLY I get to experience his kiss". But then I became horrified. Angry that he would do something like that, I shove him off with great force and I think I may have called him an asshole, I'm not sure, things are cloudy after I remove myself from his lip-lock. What the hell? Seriously, WHAT. THE. HELL? As I type this, I'm kinda angry for letting it happen. For approaching him in the first place. Granted, it was just a dream, but what bothers me the most? I enjoyed his (dream) kiss, and felt relief at finally getting to experience. As fleeting as that feeling was, it still bothers me. Like maybe I shouldn't have had that feeling at all. I know that's what it is. I feel guilty about liking a dream kiss.

Damned Catholic upbringing.

If you Dream It, You Can...Do It???

So I had a rather disturbing dream this morning. I cheated on F. With a guy my college friend used as a booty call in college, and maybe even after. Handsome college football player with a heart of gold and a baby-momma. The point is, in the dream, I said, "I can't, I'm engaged!" But everyone kept telling to go ahead and do it. And even more disturbing, as I write this several hours later, I can't remember if I cheated on him or not! I think maybe I did, because my brain keeps telling me it was good, the cheating sex. Remember that episode of Friends where Phoebe is pissed off at Ross because of something he did in a dream? Yeah, it's like that. Am I a cheater because I may have cheated in a dream? And, well, kind of really liked it?
And I have done the same thing Phoebe has done, been pissed off at someone for something they did in a dream. I wake up really ticked off. It puts me in a pissy mood all day.

Poor F, he's marrying a crazy person.

Hearing Aid

In Church this weekend, F and I sat close to the back because, well, that's where we sit. Growing up, Church was a place of best behavior. No laughing, no talking after the services has already started, that kind of thing. Nowadays, expecting your child to sit quietly for an hour is apparently beyond a parent's control. I know I was taken out during the service to have my tush smack a few times before the lesson was driven home. I have some patients for children and their fidgeting. What I have NO TOLERANCE for is the Adults who talk throughout the service. To me, this is disrespectful beyond belief. Sitting behind us this particular time was a grandmother, her daughter and the daughter's 2 sons. Their loud whispers were annoying before the service started, but were downright unacceptable after the Church had been called to order. I overheard bits and pieces of their conversation through the hour. The mother and daughter: "whisper whisper whisper DIARRHEA (seriously? in church we're having this kind of conversation? F informed me he heard diarrhea of the mouth, but still people, COME ON!)whisper whisper AND THIS ONE DIDN'T HURT LIKE THE OTHER ONE("one" what I wondered?) WHEN I WOKE UP THIS MORNING whisper whisper whisper. And the sons: whisper whisper YOU'RE SICK whisper whisper LOOK AT HER, SHE'S whisper whisper whisper(ok, I've judged people's outfits etc in church, but I highly doubt 2 teenage boys were discussing the proper length of a mini -skirt) whisper whisper whisper. SHUT UP!!!! For GOD'S SAKE, SHUT YOUR MOUTH YOU DISRESPECTFUL TWIT! That's what I wanted to scream at them. But I didn't, because I was raised right. I just showed my disgust by sighing loudly. Also, you know what people always say about a serial killer, "He was such a quiet boy, always so clean and tidy." Well I saw 2 future receivers of that comment in this same Church service. Pretty blond mom, good looking, although a tad uptight, dad have 2 blond haired boys. It was their outfits that made me shudder. The boys were dressed identically, and no, they weren't twins, in plaid button down shirts, blue dress short, white socks with black patten leather shoes. That combo, it just freaked me out. Something about the overtly tidy white socks and black shoes. Dad kept leaning over with his arm around the youngest shoulders, whispering in his ear. The kids just had that Children of Corn look about them and all I could think is they are going to be rapist when they grow up. A tag team of creepy brothers wrecking havoc on white bread suburbia. We need to stop going to that church.
On an equally "Things I don't need to hear" level, F and I had a yard sale to finance the remodel of our family room. People will tell you the most intimate details of their lives, holy goodness. An elderly couple visited our yard sale where the lady prattled on about the "lovely (1960 styled) pots and pans that would look so lovely on your table when you entertain." The men were discussing the computer so she and I went on to discuss some furniture we were selling, one of which was a bed. The elderly lady, 75 to be exact, turns to me and bitterly whispers, "After 47 years of marriage we have our own rooms. That's the way things end up. And I'll tell you another thing. He (she jerks her head towards her adorable little husband) had prostate surgery awhile ago and I'll tell you this, I went to the hospital with a husband,and I came home with a brother(she nearly spat). The doctors, oh they SAID everything would be fine after 3 months. THAT hasn't happen. I'm just telling you this, because people never tell you these things."

Um, yeah, there's a reason they don't tell you! T.M.I.!!!!!!