A Good Place To Start

There are dozens of stories I could share here about my life in college and me finding who I was, but the more I think about it, the more universal that experience is, it wasn’t just my journey. Most people go through it. So even though it was finding jobs and friends and MK and crazy trips and heartache and some insane drama I know not many people have experienced, that stuff can wait for another day. Remind me to tell you the one about the bi polar roommate…

To be really hard-hitting, I know where I want to start. Snippy brought it to my attention in the comments of that last post, calling it the day I became family to her – I can’t even address that whole comment other than to say it heped immensely with everything I’ve been trying to figure out (P.S. Really, you should be reading her blog too, in case you forgot that I reminded you to!)

Once upon a time in Austin, I went out with some really good friends of mine, and a group of their friends I’d never met. There were maybe ten of us. I met this one chick as she burned a hole with a lit cigarette right through the new shirt I’d gotten to go out (warning sign?). It is still one night of fun that stands out in my memory. We quickly bonded with this group of fun high-spirited people and spend a good summer in each other’s company. When the ring leader moved away, she and I remained in touch. She was in college, working, had beyond wealthy parents, and an appetite for working as hard as she played.

It was really my first real girl friend after my first(ASH) and best(SB) friend and roommate moved away, which had such a tough impact on me I thought I’d never survive. Since SB had pretty much been my everything up until then, I foolishly put my everything into DH (for the sake of me trying to be vague and getting annoyed let’s name her “DH”, like, dummyhead!). Everything was fine until she lost her job. Then dropped out of school. Since no one I’d known had ever done that, I had her back. I helped her. I set her up with friends. I almost alienated my dear BIL over her. Things spiraled out of control for her while things went better and better for me. I was graduating, meeting new people, getting promotion after promotion. Getting engaged! Getting a new job! Getting a promotion!

We fell in and out of touch after she moved back in with her parents. Her friends were my friends, always asking “What happened to DH?” Sometimes I knew, sometimes I didn’t. I didn’t see any pattern, just a troubled life. So when she came back into mine, with a job, a new start, I didn’t question it. I always try to build others up.

I invited her to go to the networking events I found and loved. When my job was beyond torture, I could get with people who reminded me why I loved it, why I was good at it, why I wanted to do the right thing. Unfortunately, I became associated with someone who drank, smoked, partied, and went home with others and was gossiped about. I used to feel like I could only blame myself, but the nights I stayed out past my bedtime, away from my fiance, and showed up to work so much worse for the wear, I now see as nights I let myself be persuaded. That is my fault, but DH shares more of the blame than I realized at the time. And I know now it was because she wanted to hurt me, to bring me down. She’d talk me against my friends, my fiance, being a good employee.

It was strange but fine when she announced that she “had to” be my maid of honor for my wedding. I was a sucky wedding planner, knew the trip would be expensive for SB (she had been carefully carving out her own amazing life) and to this day ASH – I really thought you had been in 87 weddings and would like a chance to just sit and enjoy one IN YOUR OWN CLOTHES :). So sure, whatever. I asked KD to be in my wedding party too, and was done. Well, I went to flower places BY MYSELF, arranged music BY MYSELF, and finally got the girls together to pick food, after I found a church and hotel BY MYSELF. There really aren’t that many fond memories of my wedding planning – it was me, on the computer on my lunch break at work, researching until I was so sick of it I just picked something.

Well, that was more backstory than I thought I’d need. To be continued…

Two Buck Chuck

There are things that I like a lot and there are things that I love. Then there are things that I love and don’t mention and there are things I rave about. I wouldn’t say that I’m ashamed of anything that I like, crap – I admitted to wearing press on fingernails. Two Buck Chuck makes the love list and the rave list both.

But my Two Buck Chuck love affair is hard here in Utah, at BB’s house. You see, BB is a wine snob. A smart one – I totally agree with all his tastes and predilections. But I’m also a housewife on a budget. Living in California we purchased Two Buck Chuck by the caseload. It’s perfectly fine to sit by the pool with some chardonnay ON ICE – we don’t have to Keep It Classy all the time.

So lets just keep this hypothetical. If I could get my hands on some Two Buck Chuck in Utah (no idea how I’d do that)  I would drink it unabashedly, say, to celebrate homeownership. And BB would gag, and moan, and be comepletely disgusted. I would savor the watered-down deliciousness of those second hand grapes with glee. He would roll his eyes.

I would try to explain to BB that it must be good if I’m considering name my firstborn Charles Shaw. He is just not having it. Now we live here. He’s going to be bringing his own drinks when he comes over to MY house for dinner, that’s all I can say about that. If I can find some Two Buck Chuck in Utah, of course…

I need a plan. We need to put some Two Buck Chuck in a 50$ bottle and fool him. I’m going to get him, internet.

Secrets Suck

Another thing that I’m not very good at (besides misplacing things occasionally) is keeping secrets. I mean, if you tell me something that certain people shouldn’t know, I won’t tell them. But I will tell MK. And maybe my Mom.

MK is like a package deal. I don’t think you are supposed to keep secrets from your spouse, even if they are that some girl I know has a maxed out credit card (as in, something he has no need to know). If I tell him I get the urge to share out of my system. He’s usually not even listening so it should barely even count.

Unless it’s something super juicy, like, so and so was doing something they shouldn’t have been doing, or is about to make something happen that no one knows about. Then I call Mom too. Again, it seems justifiable to me since she might not even know who this person is, and she’s not going to tell anyone.

So that’s my circle. Anyone out there have a similar circle of trust?

My main problem has nothing to do with being a good friend – I can keep YOUR secrets. My issue is keeping secrets about me. I’m pretty sure I’d try not to tell, but you’d know right after I stopped taking the pill, sold the car, or won the Nobel Peace Prize (haha). In reality you probably don’t even want to know half the things I’m willing to divulge, they’re not always that interesting. But I want to share! I mean, I have a website…that should be the first clue right?

Loser. Of Stuff.

Ever since I was a little girl, I wasn’t very good at taking care of things. My favorite possession of all time, when I was about 11, was a moon watch my Dad bought me at a yard sale. Which I took off and lost I don’t know how long after  I got it. Probably not long. The kicker is I lost it in a house, I’m sure. A house we since moved out of, but no one ever found that missing watch.

It got worse as I got older. Because then you have more stuff. I’ve lost cell phones (not stolen – although that’s happened way too much too) wallets, even whole purses. Money, CDs, movies I’ve lent out, clothes. Sneakers. Coats. Scarves. Books. Remind me of something you’ve gotten me, and I might have lost it.

Getting our things out of storage will be better than Christmas for me – I’ll be rummaging around seeing things and saying, “Oh, great! I was afraid I lost this!”.

MK hates that I lose stuff, especially since he’s been watching me do it for almost 10 years now. He apparently has never lost anything. I’m waiting to write it down the day he does and then remind him once a week for the rest of his life that he is a failure. Because man he knows how to make me feel guilty. My best tactic for getting over losses is to pretend it wasn’t that important. Or to forget it completely – which is pretty easy for my little brain to do.

Take this weekend. I was in a ladies room, with SIL. I was touching up my lipstick. I took the cute little bag that I have to keep the makeup from getting my nice purse messy out of my bag to do so. I then apparently washed my hands and left the bathroom sans makeup bag. And didn’t notice it until we were in the cab heading to another hotel. Boo.

But it was a makeup bag. It had mascara, chapstick, floss, advil, and eyedrops. That’s like 10 bucks worth of stuff. I laughed it off and said, “Oh well”. But MK wouldn’t let it go. It was another thing on a long list of things that if you add 10 bucks to might be somewhere around 500$.

So you know what I decided to do? I remembered the last time I lost something (I think I lost my ID and Debit Card in freaking Vegas during my Bachelorette Party – yes, I just remembered) and I called lost and found. The hotel actually had the bag. And I went and got it. And it had all my crap in it. So I’m off the hook right?

Not even close.

Scuba Steve

MK and his bff MB are learning to Scuba. Sport Chalet offers a crash course that takes a couple all day sessions in the pool and ocean to get the big deal fancy certification. This experience is just taking off this coming weekend and teaching me  few things already…

Like I should not go to Grad School. Because there’s too much good crap on TV. And MK shouldn’t go to Grad School. Because he’s a terrible studier. Always was. He’s in the living room now cramming for his class as late and last minute as he could. And he can’t understand why that would worry me…what with scuba-ing (what’s the correct term there?) being potentially FATAL in my little non-swimmy world.

And I need a hobby. Something that he would say no to, and I just do anyway. At the least appropriate time. He’s been waiting for years to get this going but waits until we’re right in our ‘busy season’ of WTF are we doing with our lives. It would be cute and funny if it weren’t seriously. terrible. timing.

And we need more money. Scuba is probably the most expensive hobby I can think of anyone picking up. I thought skiing was bad – but we’re talking 600$ pieces of metal equipment. Riiiight. Chances are we’re going to end up in a house in a trailer park if he loves Scuba. Because hobbies come first around here.

Oh, and we need another car. I have to take him at 8AM and since it’s all day and I need the car I have to go get him too, unless MB will help cart his butt around. Terrible.

Wonder what my next hobby should be…

Bad Planning

Just decided to do a week of “Bad”s. On a Wednesday. See title. 😉

One thing I’m really not good at is making a plan. Maybe schedule is the word I’m looking for. I used to have post-it’s everywhere at work (anyone?). That was the way to get through the day. MR and I were talking about paper lists. I had one every day. But it never made me a better planner.

I was also famous for saying yes to more than one thing, but never on purpose. That is not the habit of a good planner! A good planner doesn’t double book, right???

Have you realized that it’s almost the end of summer? Especially here in San Diego, that means there are a thousand new super fun things to do in the next three weekends. We’re all trying to cram in the last bits of good times.

But we can’t concentrate on that! We have to decide where to move to! But wait! We have to think about this weekend! And the future! And babies! Just kidding – but you know what I mean.

How do you keep a plan?

There’s the immediate future. And the “Can you?” from a drunk friend at the bar. And the laundry. And your biological clock. It’s just starting to hit us there are a lot of timetables to be on – and we’re not on any of them! There’s still so much we were planning on we haven’t even done yet, and with every move, time is running out…

Bad Marketing

The more I think about what I want to do with myself I think about what I’ve done. I’ve been blogging badly for four years now. It didn’t make me famous. I’ve been running around on the internet looking for ways to think of a next big something. I’ve written books I’m too chicken to show anyone (that’s where all the chicken references come from in case that made no sense).

My sales pitch might be the problem. “Tastes like chicken” might not be the most thoughtful tagline. I’ve been thinking about what to put on my resume for how lazy I’ve been the last three years – I never thought “housewife” could be me until I watched those Bravo shows and realized you don’t need to do crap to be called a “housewife”. We joked about getting business cards- Realtors keep asking MK for one and we both laugh. What we he do with those? Build card towers? It would have his name and email, which is his name. And maybe his phone number, which ironically is also his name.

from toothpastefordinner.com

from toothpastefordinner.com

Can you tagline yourself? What would your tagline be? “Hard worker”? “Mother of 18”? “Boisterous”? “Business oriented with a goal of success and growth in an emerging new media industry”? Tell me in the comments.