As I sit and gradually go blinder from staring at a computer screen, I search my brain and motivation for one more ounce of "oomph." I seem to be out of oomph, but I do have plenty of cynicism stocked in the back. Working 40 hours a week, teaching two online classes (one just wrapped up this week, thank God), and teaching for the University...hello, my bologna has a first name, and it's E-X-H-A-U-S-T-E-D. Never mind cooking, painting the house, and planning a wedding.
I know that there are some of you women out there who have like, energy jet-packed breasts, and you can just go-go-go-go and you're, like, super motivated about everything you do. If you're one of those super motivated happy 24/7 go-getters. Please, don't talk to me...unless it's to refer me to your dealer.
It's clear from the wrinkles under my eyes that I'm aging at mach speed. Despite being only 28.5 (marathon woman) years old, I look like I'm 150. "Excuse me, ma'am, can I see your ID?" Seriously? Just count the rings below my eyes and multiply by 4. Heaven forbid a student ask me my age. My planned response is, "Old enough to die from stress." I have three jobs and I rake in less than $40k annually. Did I mention I have two degrees? Thank God for Sean and the Jeep and the cats.
That is something that kind of cheeses my goat about Americans. How in the Hell can you not find a job you lazy worthless fart-monkeys? If I can find three jobs, your sorry camel-toe flaunting butt can find at least one. Seriously, the economy needs to improve so I can get a raise. Oh...wow, the word really does revolve around me. Wait...was that my first bridezilla moment? Awe...someone take a picture.
Oh, you didn't know I was getting married? Yep...October 8. Then Italy. I wish I never had to return to the crumbling U.S. of A. Yeah, I'm getting married...I'm just so busy working that I keep forgetting I get to plan a wedding, too. Jeepers and funking fun! (Yes, I meant to write 'funking.') So, the countdown is building up to the wedding, not my pending attempted suffocation via chloroform and pinot grigio.
What's left for the wedding? Glad you asked!
Bustle my own gown
Print wedding programs
Seriously, figure out the decorations
Reserve / pay for tables for wedding
Order table cloths and runners
Get ring cleaned
Get letter from parents saying I can get married to Sean at Catholic church
Bag almonds
Finish paying for a lot of stuff
Finish selecting music for reception
Finish selecting music for church
Scream
Scream louder
Hyperventilate
Cry about not getting any help
Get hair cut
And I'm low maintenance.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Toot, Toot, Jeep, Jeep
Blazing down the road along a craggy mountain-side coastline...sapphire blue mingles with shades of sulfur and white foam as I speed by in my* (*our, whatever) Jeep Wrangler, my hair whipping in whisps out of my pony tail, and every driver on the road in their crappy Sebrings jealous as Hell.... (In the longest run-on since Joyce ever! (said the fragment. Still a fragment. Still a fragment. D'oh!)
This is what I think of when driving my Jeep. Even that time in the Bruno's parking lot when I had the e-brake on and couldn't figure out why 2nd gear felt soooo sluggish and syrupy (until I figured it out, obviously). ...That was today.
I think about it even when all I'm doing is passing an X-Terra or chilling behind a jacked up Honda Accord that's about to turn without signalling into The Grove at the University (go back to Mississippi, you no-driving, son of a bitch!...no really, according to his tag, he was from Mississippi).
The Jeep is beautiful. It's like Belle, the cat. It's my baby, Man. It's the thing that makes me forget that at some point, I'm supposed to be slinging hash and learning a foreign language as I go to scrape by while staying somewhere random. (All right, given my antisocial tendencies, I would never be able to "stay somewhere random" as I have a freakish preference for my personal time.) Still, the Jeep makes me feel like its a holiday every time I get in! Even when I'm motoring to work.
Today was the first day in for ages where I haven't "had" (mind, no one has to do anything) to run errands during lunch in lieu of consuming precious calories or just (perish the thought) relax.
No, no, I suffer from American-itis. Even the Italians know we have it according to Liz Gilbert's friends in Eat, Pray, Love. They recognize the weight of the American guilt for when we're not busy. We're ashamed of ourselves when we're not productive or getting something done. God forbid you take a day off without having at least one gold star to put on your "Do Work" chart. It's a freaking illness, Man!
I totally see it. My mom is a glowing example of Americanitis. She worked out of high school, went to college, earned a PhD with babies while teaching, then taught for 27 years. She promptly felt ashamed of being lazy after retiring and opened her own store (well, after she independently sold Avon/killed herself for a couple of years).
Based on the fact that only 45% or some nonsense like that pay taxes, I just assumed this disease was localized to my nuclear family. Nooope. It's a national epidemic. Americans are ironically the hardest working laziest SOBs on Earth. We work ourselves to the grit until we have nothing left to offer, then we collapse in a poop-pile where we recover by marinating into our couches, smoking and drinking whatever is within reach, and eating sugary or salty chemicals out of a paper bag. Delicious.
I recognize my genetic tendency toward Americanitis. What's worse, is I'm already experiencing the onset of this debilitating disorder. Today, during lunch, when I didn't have anything "to do," I was confronted by confusion and fear. What will I do with myself without obligation? I can't enjoy myself outside of pre-scheduled, quarantined pleasure-periods. That would be downright...nice. Perhaps I could take a walk in the 90+ degree heat. Yes, that would be positive for my body and it would fulfill the delicate "to do" criteria. With no groceries to get and little money to spend on "junk," it was hard to determine how to waste my lunch hour.
I did indeed waste it. I feel ashamed, but at the same time, I feel angry. How dare you, America? How dare you work me too many hours and underpay me, and then make me feel guilty about possibly relaxing on my lunch hour? You bastards! Honestly, if lunch were an hour or two longer, I would go home, thus using twice as much gas, thus pumping additional funds into the economy. I digress.
We should adopt a European model...not just for our workdays (shorter, fewer, longer lunches = more productivity, more money spent by citizens) but for our legitimate relaxation, too.
Only on days "off" do I eat two or three times a day. I want to be Italian every day. I want to spend hours lazing over a meal while reading or staring at scenery or pondering life. I want to not worry about stuff or feel bad if I got nothing done when in my own house. Thankfully, I have learned to do these things when out of town.
And, the Jeep helps me do them in town (and thus a way to tie in this random, rambling, running theme). The Jeep helps me relax. It takes me away (without mentally singing a Natasha Beningfield or whatever her name is song). Perhaps one day, we'll live in a country where citizens can relax without shame. Where they don't take their work home or make their home work. Where lunch is a meal and not a marathon. Where we have time to run our errands without bursting into tears at the super market line because it's late and we're tired and we just want to go home! Please! (I have felt this way more times than I would care to recall when having had to stop on the way home from work.)
I pledge allegiance to the Jeep and all that it represents....
This is what I think of when driving my Jeep. Even that time in the Bruno's parking lot when I had the e-brake on and couldn't figure out why 2nd gear felt soooo sluggish and syrupy (until I figured it out, obviously). ...That was today.
I think about it even when all I'm doing is passing an X-Terra or chilling behind a jacked up Honda Accord that's about to turn without signalling into The Grove at the University (go back to Mississippi, you no-driving, son of a bitch!...no really, according to his tag, he was from Mississippi).
The Jeep is beautiful. It's like Belle, the cat. It's my baby, Man. It's the thing that makes me forget that at some point, I'm supposed to be slinging hash and learning a foreign language as I go to scrape by while staying somewhere random. (All right, given my antisocial tendencies, I would never be able to "stay somewhere random" as I have a freakish preference for my personal time.) Still, the Jeep makes me feel like its a holiday every time I get in! Even when I'm motoring to work.
Today was the first day in for ages where I haven't "had" (mind, no one has to do anything) to run errands during lunch in lieu of consuming precious calories or just (perish the thought) relax.
No, no, I suffer from American-itis. Even the Italians know we have it according to Liz Gilbert's friends in Eat, Pray, Love. They recognize the weight of the American guilt for when we're not busy. We're ashamed of ourselves when we're not productive or getting something done. God forbid you take a day off without having at least one gold star to put on your "Do Work" chart. It's a freaking illness, Man!
I totally see it. My mom is a glowing example of Americanitis. She worked out of high school, went to college, earned a PhD with babies while teaching, then taught for 27 years. She promptly felt ashamed of being lazy after retiring and opened her own store (well, after she independently sold Avon/killed herself for a couple of years).
Based on the fact that only 45% or some nonsense like that pay taxes, I just assumed this disease was localized to my nuclear family. Nooope. It's a national epidemic. Americans are ironically the hardest working laziest SOBs on Earth. We work ourselves to the grit until we have nothing left to offer, then we collapse in a poop-pile where we recover by marinating into our couches, smoking and drinking whatever is within reach, and eating sugary or salty chemicals out of a paper bag. Delicious.
I recognize my genetic tendency toward Americanitis. What's worse, is I'm already experiencing the onset of this debilitating disorder. Today, during lunch, when I didn't have anything "to do," I was confronted by confusion and fear. What will I do with myself without obligation? I can't enjoy myself outside of pre-scheduled, quarantined pleasure-periods. That would be downright...nice. Perhaps I could take a walk in the 90+ degree heat. Yes, that would be positive for my body and it would fulfill the delicate "to do" criteria. With no groceries to get and little money to spend on "junk," it was hard to determine how to waste my lunch hour.
I did indeed waste it. I feel ashamed, but at the same time, I feel angry. How dare you, America? How dare you work me too many hours and underpay me, and then make me feel guilty about possibly relaxing on my lunch hour? You bastards! Honestly, if lunch were an hour or two longer, I would go home, thus using twice as much gas, thus pumping additional funds into the economy. I digress.
We should adopt a European model...not just for our workdays (shorter, fewer, longer lunches = more productivity, more money spent by citizens) but for our legitimate relaxation, too.
Only on days "off" do I eat two or three times a day. I want to be Italian every day. I want to spend hours lazing over a meal while reading or staring at scenery or pondering life. I want to not worry about stuff or feel bad if I got nothing done when in my own house. Thankfully, I have learned to do these things when out of town.
And, the Jeep helps me do them in town (and thus a way to tie in this random, rambling, running theme). The Jeep helps me relax. It takes me away (without mentally singing a Natasha Beningfield or whatever her name is song). Perhaps one day, we'll live in a country where citizens can relax without shame. Where they don't take their work home or make their home work. Where lunch is a meal and not a marathon. Where we have time to run our errands without bursting into tears at the super market line because it's late and we're tired and we just want to go home! Please! (I have felt this way more times than I would care to recall when having had to stop on the way home from work.)
I pledge allegiance to the Jeep and all that it represents....
Monday, June 6, 2011
Low Maintenance My Fanny --And, We're Back
I've had more near-panic attacks and secretly wished my bottle of Glaceau Snob Water would turn into something from the Terlato vineyards more times than I care to remember since the last time I've updated this blog...on October 20 of last year.
Okay, so here's a flash in the pan of life since then.
--The Mister was deployed, so I hit 'pause' on wedding planning shy of a few moments of hysterics regarding where to have the reception.
--Divine intervention...the Saturday after The Mister returned from The Sandbox, we found a reception site. Thank. God.
--Plans are now in tact for a wedding on 10/8 (the perfect number according to Eat, Pray, Love) and a honeymoon in Italy after (I'm already mooning over the prospect of it)
While my busy mind has been preoccupied working and planning a wedding, less busy minds and hands have been preoccupied planning the MHS 2001 high school reunion (similar to a wedding in many ways)...our first 10-year reunion. Awe.
I list each planned activity along with my interest level and the reason for said interest level...
Tour of high school on Saturday morning of reunion
1
I have two days off each week. I live in the city where I attended high school. I have not opted to tour the high school in 10 years. Why would I do so now with 200 perfect strangers?
Pep rally at high school on Saturday morning of reunion
3
I skipped (most) pep rallies in high school. The score was a 3 because I'm marginally curious to see if the C/O 2001 cheerleaders will be leading cheers/wearing old uniforms at age of 28 w/ all of the "fun" of aging (i.e., stretch marks, cellulite, etc.). It would be like a nostalgic train wreck as skirts that short should be prohibited by law after the age of 22.
Dinner at hotel with former classmates
7 dropped to 0
The cost of dinner is $75. The menu consists of designer meat and little else. Beverages must be purchased separately. Furthermore, there will be no one who will or might attend the reunion who I am just oh-so-excited to run into and "catch up" with. We didn't do it on Facebook, why would we do it now? I can assure you, these people feel the same way about me. There isn't one kid from AP English going, "I hope that delightful Amy Brown shows up! I haven't seen her in years!" What will really happen (if anyone remembers my existence), "Where's the girl with the back brace?" For $75 per person, the incredible and disturbingly sexy Mister and I could have a really nice dinner somewhere (drinks included).
Slide show at some point during the evening
-20,000
I do not pilfer people's photos on Facebook (and yes, I'm "friends" on FB with the majority of the people I knew in high school. Why would I want to pay $75 ($150 if the Mister goes) to have someone else push the clicker on photos of classmates' pasts lives when I could do it at home for free (drinks included)?
I'm not trying to be negative. I'm happy that all of the cool kids from high school who have fond memories that they'd like to relive with long-lost friends have this opportunity. There's just nothing about this party that's for me. Maybe I've squashed some memories of people and events from high school...who knows? Maybe I'd have a great time if I went. The thing is, I'm not a betting woman. Seventy-five bucks is a lot of swag to put down on -19,996 odds. I could buy shoes with that money. Or go to dinner with my Mister...possibly to celebrate finding a reception site? Odds of the latter two suggestions being a good time? Positive 20,000+.
Hmmm...
(Yes, the provocation behind mentioning the reunion would be the fact that the former MHS C/O 2001 class president who is organizing this fun-like-a-frozen-fishstick affair keeps sending menacing e-mails reminding people to pay lest the reunion be canceled. I understand some people are forgetful or just plain stupid. I know this because I work in higher education both as faculty and as staff and constantly fear for the great likelihood that humanity will soon be sustaining itself on an advancement level akin to clubbing a giant cat to cook over a fire. So, a weekly reminder for some is expected.
Here is where our former little Commandress in Chief needs to do a little math, though.... There is a 100% chance that at least 75% or more of the people who haven't paid by this point are not going to shart out the moolah for the reunion at the last minute. Why? Because they're not going. Hmm...I wonder if clicking "not attending" on Facebook is an option. Either way, I'll be happy (though somewhat less entertained) when the menacing high school reunion e-mails stop coming. I guess this does give me insight into the "excitement" and pedestrian events that will be planned in the next 10, 20, 30, 40, 50 years and so on.... :)
With love...(for my Mister!)
Okay, so here's a flash in the pan of life since then.
--The Mister was deployed, so I hit 'pause' on wedding planning shy of a few moments of hysterics regarding where to have the reception.
--Divine intervention...the Saturday after The Mister returned from The Sandbox, we found a reception site. Thank. God.
--Plans are now in tact for a wedding on 10/8 (the perfect number according to Eat, Pray, Love) and a honeymoon in Italy after (I'm already mooning over the prospect of it)
While my busy mind has been preoccupied working and planning a wedding, less busy minds and hands have been preoccupied planning the MHS 2001 high school reunion (similar to a wedding in many ways)...our first 10-year reunion. Awe.
I list each planned activity along with my interest level and the reason for said interest level...
Tour of high school on Saturday morning of reunion
1
I have two days off each week. I live in the city where I attended high school. I have not opted to tour the high school in 10 years. Why would I do so now with 200 perfect strangers?
Pep rally at high school on Saturday morning of reunion
3
I skipped (most) pep rallies in high school. The score was a 3 because I'm marginally curious to see if the C/O 2001 cheerleaders will be leading cheers/wearing old uniforms at age of 28 w/ all of the "fun" of aging (i.e., stretch marks, cellulite, etc.). It would be like a nostalgic train wreck as skirts that short should be prohibited by law after the age of 22.
Dinner at hotel with former classmates
7 dropped to 0
The cost of dinner is $75. The menu consists of designer meat and little else. Beverages must be purchased separately. Furthermore, there will be no one who will or might attend the reunion who I am just oh-so-excited to run into and "catch up" with. We didn't do it on Facebook, why would we do it now? I can assure you, these people feel the same way about me. There isn't one kid from AP English going, "I hope that delightful Amy Brown shows up! I haven't seen her in years!" What will really happen (if anyone remembers my existence), "Where's the girl with the back brace?" For $75 per person, the incredible and disturbingly sexy Mister and I could have a really nice dinner somewhere (drinks included).
Slide show at some point during the evening
-20,000
I do not pilfer people's photos on Facebook (and yes, I'm "friends" on FB with the majority of the people I knew in high school. Why would I want to pay $75 ($150 if the Mister goes) to have someone else push the clicker on photos of classmates' pasts lives when I could do it at home for free (drinks included)?
I'm not trying to be negative. I'm happy that all of the cool kids from high school who have fond memories that they'd like to relive with long-lost friends have this opportunity. There's just nothing about this party that's for me. Maybe I've squashed some memories of people and events from high school...who knows? Maybe I'd have a great time if I went. The thing is, I'm not a betting woman. Seventy-five bucks is a lot of swag to put down on -19,996 odds. I could buy shoes with that money. Or go to dinner with my Mister...possibly to celebrate finding a reception site? Odds of the latter two suggestions being a good time? Positive 20,000+.
Hmmm...
(Yes, the provocation behind mentioning the reunion would be the fact that the former MHS C/O 2001 class president who is organizing this fun-like-a-frozen-fishstick affair keeps sending menacing e-mails reminding people to pay lest the reunion be canceled. I understand some people are forgetful or just plain stupid. I know this because I work in higher education both as faculty and as staff and constantly fear for the great likelihood that humanity will soon be sustaining itself on an advancement level akin to clubbing a giant cat to cook over a fire. So, a weekly reminder for some is expected.
Here is where our former little Commandress in Chief needs to do a little math, though.... There is a 100% chance that at least 75% or more of the people who haven't paid by this point are not going to shart out the moolah for the reunion at the last minute. Why? Because they're not going. Hmm...I wonder if clicking "not attending" on Facebook is an option. Either way, I'll be happy (though somewhat less entertained) when the menacing high school reunion e-mails stop coming. I guess this does give me insight into the "excitement" and pedestrian events that will be planned in the next 10, 20, 30, 40, 50 years and so on.... :)
With love...(for my Mister!)
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