Wednesday, 29 August 2012

Day 10 - Hubby is TOTES ADORBS

Hey, so, do you guys remember my 100 day blog challenge

Me neither.

I started it nearly one year ago. 

Nice, I know. 

But I've come back to it tonight, and I'm expected to tell you about someone or something I am proud of. 

Well goll-ey me, I am proud of Hubby. 

Not only did he recently;

a) play guitar at his brother's wedding (AHmazing);
b) start bossing around managing a couple of guys at work; and,
c) listen to my whining do some vacuuming, grass cutting, laundry washing, AND grocery shopping (commendable, no?) ...

But he is also entirely TOTES. ADORBS. 

Last night, for example, Hubby was considering potential lunch recipes.  He brought me to hysterical laughter when his characteristic confused sideways head-tilt, hair-scratch, and face-scrunch reminded so much of Pa-in-law that I wanted to immediately call Ma-in-law.  Only it was 8:40 and I suspected she'd be sleeping. 

In another example, despite the fact that Hubby bought $300 worth of groceries tonight (PUKE), he was most excited about his purchase of several pieces of glass tupperware (tupperware isn't glass I suppose, but fuck off). 

Glass tupperware is something I've wanted for a very long time (I'm a boring old lady, I know, but fuck off), so naturally I was moderately interested.  Hubby, though, sat on the floor like a kid a Christmas unpacking his new acquisition. 

Hubby: "It's a good brand too!"

Me: "How do you know?"

Hubby: "Because I researched."

Yes, he really said that.  And yes, I burst into laughter. 


These are only a few recent examples of Hubby's adorability.  I'll be sure to re-read this next time he pisses me off.   

Wednesday, 22 August 2012

Fuck, I'm nearly out of my twenties.


If you've been reading my crap for a while, you know I've gone through a transformation of late. 

It seems to have started with my Asshole Depression last year - which taught me to get a grip, take care of myself, and acknowledge reality. 

I also found some dark humour that I didn't know I had.  And my dear friend LB describes me as a recovering people pleaser.  I don't really give a shit anymore.  I have less shame, more strength, and I'm more comfortable in my own skin - even if my skin is fatter than it once was.

All of these new things can be attributed, in a twisted sort of way, to losing my path and then having to find a new one - essentially, it all goes back to failing

That, and, that normal process of growing. the. fuck. up.  Age and wisdom and all that  jazz. 

Let's be clear.  I've always been a 40 year old at heart.  I go to bed early.  I've had Hubby since I was 17 and we've had a house in the suburbs since we were 24.  I like Fleetwood Mac.  I take stay-cations. 

But the last couple of years have been a growing process for me.  An improvement, I think. A new paradigm altogether, in which I see, act, and face my life differently than I used to.  And I like this new me.   

Which is why I ADORE that my aunt, uncle, and young cousins saw this book and immediately thought of me. 

Fuck! I'm in my twenties.
By Emma Koenig.
Buy it here

This book is a perfect representation of the shift in my world view.

For example, cursing -slash- hating things:


I still take this approach.  Although maybe you could add a "this" and "that" and "you" to follow each of those fucks. 

Biting off more than I can chew:


Ugh.  I was SO like this in my teens and twenties.  I was a superhero.  Not anymore.  My Asshole Depression fixed that RIGHT up.  Now?  Weekends and evenings are precious, I don't always feel like leaving the house, and work can wait.   

PRESSURE:


Extremely applicable in my 20s.  Now, at 28, I've chilled out a bit.  Or at least I'm able to acknowledge when I'm freaking out, so I can fucking DO SOMETHING about it. 

Regrets:


This one I'm working on.  It does seem rather impossible, doesn't it?  To hate so many things about yourself and your choices so early in life?  Although I have lightened up on the self-judgement, it's still there.  Lingering...

Oh, hysterical meltdowns are aplenty:


This is more like me NOW.  I used to ignore the potential for a breakdown, whereas now I not only anticipate and expect a breakdown, but I plan my lunches around it.

The classic "waiting for life to start" syndrome:

 
 
I'm still figuring this out.  Am I encroaching on THIRTY YEARS OLD?! That CANNOT be.  I'm still such a childish asshole. 
 
And the related "David After the Dentist Confusion" syndrome:
 
 
 
I've been known to have some less than lucid moments of "where the fuck am I, what the fuck happened, and how the fuck did I get here."  Haven't we all?
 
And finally, people are pretending:
 
 

 
This took me a while to figure out, but I've got it covered now.  It's no longer a question.  The 28-year-old me knows that, yes, people are pretending.  Everyone is confused, annoyed, self-conscious, and messed the eff up. 
 
And if your response to that is "No, not me! Everything is great!" then you're in denial. 
 
The trick is knowing that just because you're confused, annoyed, self-conscious, and messed the eff up, this doesn't make you UNHAPPY, necessarily. 
 
Just own it. Face your crap, be honest with yourself and others, never assume you know everything, and it'll be a lot easier to live.  Promise.  
 
 


Tuesday, 14 August 2012

I mostly just drank wine with a sticky face.


Cottage! Cottage cottage cottage! We went to the cottage!

K, so we don't have a cottage, but my best friend A does. Well, her family does. So every year for her birthday, all her friends pile into their cars and drive out to the lake.

And that's just what Hubby and I did this past weekend.  It all started on Saturday morning.

7:00 - Hubby and I wake up.

7:45 - Hubby starts shouting because WE HAVE TO LEAVE AT 8:00

8:15 - I get out of bed.

9:30 - Hubby starts shouting because he's done all the packing and all I've done is NOTHING.

9:45 - I vaccuum. 

9:55 - We leave.

10:01 - While Hubby is pumping gas, I offer to get him a coffee. I ask him what size but then I decide he only needs a small. He asks for medium. I say small. He says medium. I leave. The guy next to us laughs.

10:04 - I emerge with two small coffees. Both are the perfect size.

10:05 - Hubby admits that he bought too many bags of ice as we try to jam it all into our coolers. I remind Hubby that there are two refrigerators at the cottage. And two freezers.

10:06 - We realize that Hubby forgot the chicken. And the dip.

11:06 - We stop at a small town grocery store. We buy chicken and dip. And birthday candles.

12:07 - We arrive at the cottage. We want to make sandwiches. We realize that Hubby forgot to buy bread.

12:08 - The sun comes out and the alcohol begins to flow.

Best.  Cottage.  Ever. 

Sometime before sunset -  People play bocci ball. I drink wine. People play noodle wars. I drink wine. People swim and play ladder golf. I drink wine and beer. People make me dinner. I eat it. And I drink wine.

Noodle wars.
Sometime after sunset -  I make s'mores with Caramilk bars. My face gets really sticky. Someone tries to stuff a million marshmallows into someone else's mouth. I drink wine. Some other people play euchre. I drink wine. Hubby plays guitar while I shout requests in his direction. We sing. I drink wine, I think, although my memory is a little sketchy. I light candles in cupcakes and we all sing Happy Birthday. My face gets sticky again.

Later -  Hubby and I go to bed. Other people try to blame Hubby for annoying erratic iPod selections, even though he's asleep. Hubby's friend threatens to come into our room and "stramroll" Hubby. I know he won't dare because he fears me like the wrath of god. As he should. Hubby's friend abandons his threat, as predicted, adding "Laugh it up Marianna" as he walks away from our door.

Sometime after sunrise - Hubby and I get up. Hubby sits by the water.  I clean the cupcakes, cups, bottles, and gross guacamole off the picnic table. It takes too long.  I read my book for several hours in between breakfast and game  playing watching.

Later - We avoid rain repeatedly and finally give up and go inside. My friend does a puzzle. I start to help her until until I get annoyed.

Around 4:00 - Hubby and I drive home. We see a giant rainbow. 





Wednesday, 8 August 2012

Mothers are like robots. Really smart robots.

I was walking through the mall tonight, on my way to my car after my bus ride home, and I came to the elevator.

Don't judge me. I was wearing a narrow skirt, so taking the stairs would have meant certain death.

And awkward walking.

And I'm a lazy bum.

Anyway... walking to car, waiting for elevator.

And then a mom approached with her cute toddler son.

She reached across and took some hand sanitizer from a dispenser hanging next to the elevator. She wiped her hands and then wiped her son's hands.

And then I stared and stared.

I pass that elevator on a daily friggin' basis and never, not once, have I ever noticed that damn hand sanitizer dispenser thingie hanging on the wall.

Which made me think that mothers can probably spot those things a mile away. Like tunnel vision, zeroing in on it. They probably have their eyes trained to pick out every possible opportunity to clean their child.

Either that or I'm a sick pig who never washes her hands.

But I'm hoping it's the mother thing.

Friday, 3 August 2012

I'm a golf pro. Deal with it.

I went golfing tonight.  And by "golfing" I mean "sitting in the cart and drinking beer while Hubby and our friends golfed" because I don't golf. 

How people could voluntarily expose themselves to utter frustration and pain by trying to use a long stick to hit a tiny little ball hundreds of metres down a giant green field, I will NEVER understand. 

So instead, I volunteered to drive the cart.  And get the beers. 

Here.  I drew it for you. 

This is Hubby and our friends teeing off. 
That pink ball is Hubby's. 
Just kidding. 
But that is him wearing his aviators. 
Except he shoots all wonky.  A righty lefty. 


And this is me.  In my cart.  Supervising. 

Then I took some pictures. 
Boredom was setting in. 
It had been one hole. 

Me, running to catch the beer cart. 
WAIT! HELP ME!
Me, drinking my beer, paying no attention whatsoever to the golfers. 


Me, tweeting. 
Telling stories about that time Hubby tried to fake out his buddies while driving the cart. 
Except he faked too far and ended up driving the fucking thing into the waterhole. 
Apparently the best part was his popping up shouting "HELP ME!" to his buddies.
So they could help him yank the cart out of the lake. 
Nice one, Hubby.



Me, hunting for long-lost golf balls. 
Just for the pure thrill of it. 
And constantly being reminded to stay out of the line of fire of people actually playing golf on the golf course. 

The four of us eating dinner.
Hubby stewing a bit about his game. 
Me trying to ignore all golf talk entirely. 

And apparently we all became zombies.