Monday, December 31, 2012

Obligatory New Years blah blah...

It's 8 hours and 7 minutes to 2013.

I don't feel any closer to having a family now than I did when I started this blog in January.

And that's okay.

I think.

Our family will begin when it's ready to begin. Any sooner than that and... well... I don't know.

I'll be honest, there I moments when I feel like we wasted the year. That we should be closer to what we wanted by now.

And there are other moments when I think about sleeping in, spontaneous vacations, quiet nights in and fun nights out when the only thing we had to worry about was walking the dog, and I'm kind of okay with it.

2012 may have been the last full year of my life where I had moments without guilt of taking time for myself.

Or, you know, maybe not.

If there's anything I've learned over my short life, it's that as soon as you think you've got it all planned out, the universe stops in just to remind you that there is something bigger going on than your cute little plans.

Nice try, though.

So, I guess 2013 will show what's up when it's ready to.

I'll just be here, you know, waiting.

And, as always, but especially now, it's hip to be square, kids.

I Hate My Birthday

Unless I'm on the Tweeters or hiding behind my computer screen, I am the opposite of an attention whore. I am a "sit behind my desk and work and everyone else can have the credit" whore.

A whore of a different color, if you will.

I didn't want to have a first dance at my wedding. I directed shows and hated being in them in school. I was always a better coach than I was anything else. I am a behind-the-scenes girl.

So birthdays are kind of a "meh" thing for me to begin with. I don't mind getting older, I just don't really want everyone to, you know, pay attention to me.

Yes, I understand that I am probably the only person in the world who feels this way, but that's cool. I've always been different. Ask my dad about how we used to watch "ER" together when I was 8 years old. I started out weird, and I plan on remaining that way.

Anyway, on top of not liking the attention, my birthdays in past years have sucked major donkey balls. I was born on December 29th, so everyone is either out of town with family or just tired from being around so many freaking people for the past month. My friends are never available, and I love going out to dinner with my family, but it isn't exactly different from the status quo. Oh, and I dare you to have someone sing to me at the restaurant. I will spontaneously burst in to tears.

It started probably 10 years ago when my brother decided to take my dad car shopping for him on my birthday. My teenage self was all like "WHAT?!"

Fast forward a few years to when the same brother was in town over my birthday again and made the whole family cry by being a douche.

Then the next year when there was something else that made me cry.

And then the next year when my husband pouted through my entire birthday because he didn't like his Christmas presents.

And then the next year when he did the same thing. Cue the tears.

Yeah, fuck that shit. Birthdays are crap.

Anyway, this year I got the birthday of my dreams, and all it took was the DEATH FLU.

I was knocked on my butt (and I'm still kind of on my butt) with this icky gross flu of never-ending-ness. It started the night before my birthday. On my birthday, I was well enough to go out to lunch, come home, go to the Coach Store with my hubs and get a new bag (well, c'mon....) and have cake. Other than that, I was sleeping. No one bothered me. No one made half-assed attempts to take me out for drinks. I got text messages instead of phone calls.


So, uh, thanks, DEATH FLU, for, like, giving me an awesome, semi-vomitty birthday that passed without spectacle. You're (kind of) a pal.

And, as always, it's hip to be square (and flu-ish?), kids.

Saturday, December 29, 2012

This Crazy Community

When I started this crazy little thing called blog, I thought that I would write and people would hang on my every word just by the virtue of their existence.

Okay, not really.

I thought my friends would read what I wrote and say "Oh yeah. She's being cranky again." and that's about as far as it would get. As I got more comfortable with the things that I was writing, I wanted more people to read them. I have a more than full-time job, so my time to spend marketing and making connections was limited. I went to Twitter thinking that I would post some links and probably get bored with it pretty quickly.

That didn't happen.

I'm a Tweeting fiend. I never thought I would want to spend so much time talking to relative strangers considering how much of an introvert I am in the real world, but some of these strangers have become good friends. It's a beautiful community of people who just want to not suck at life, and who appreciate the encouragement from Joe Schmo from Tupelo who they've never seen in reality.

Through my Twitter meanderings, I came across this strong group of brilliant women who work together to solve parenting issues, bitch about the day-to-day and swap recipes and horror stories. I don't really fit in because of the lack of offspring, but they have welcomed me anyway and offered support when I needed it. It seems like everyone I've met knows everyone else I've met, and they're all equally as awesome.

There is a point here, I assure you.

On Friday, December 14th, one of our own, with the rest of the nation, felt the hurt of terrible loss. Victoria (@Vdog) had her sense of safety violated, her family ripped apart and her heart broken. We were hurting as a nation, but in that dark time, I was amazed at how quickly a string of people from all over the country came together to, well, get shit done. Anything she needed, this community was on. 

Things like this: JetBlue Letters. Things like major companies responding to single tweets and offering her whatever she needed or like PayPal responding to tweets for help with donations. When someone bought the domain name in the name of her nephew, some communication with GoDaddy got that fixed right up, and then they purchased the domain name for her and transferred it directly to her. Her friends and followers shared links to PayPal accounts and foundations that were set up for Sandy Hook victims and their families. 

We worked together. We hurt together. From across the country, we cried together. 

If you had told me this silly little character-limited social media site would offer so much heart, I never would have believed you. 

Even in the face of this horrible tragedy that we will never recover from, there is kindness. There is kindness from relative strangers who quickly became family. 

For that, I am so, so thankful. 

If you want to help out the family of Noah Pozner, one of the 26 children slain at Sandy Hook and nephew of Victoria, you can do it at You can also use the hashtag #LoveForNoah on Twitter. If you have any questions about how you can help, feel free to contact me, and I'll get you in touch with the right people. 

And, as always, it hip to be square, kids. 

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Every year. The same conversation.

Every year around this time, I have the same conversation with my mother.

Mom: "What do you want to do for your birthday?"

Me: "Nothing."

Mom: "So, what do you want to do?"

Me: "Nothing. Birthdays are stupid."

Mom: "So you want to go out to dinner?"

Me: "No."

Mom: "Okay. You pick the place."


Sigh. As always, it's hip to be square (and grumpy!), kids. 

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Do The Bigger Action

Look, I have shit to do. Always. I don't have days without a list of stuff that needs to get done. Ever. There are days when I choose not to do the things, but they're always staring me in the face screaming "DO ME!"

Yeah, I know how that sounded.

Anyway, the sheer number of things that I have to do to run a business and a house and a blog and a Twitter and other things makes me, well, forgetful. I am always multitasking, and sometimes I'm completely on autopilot. This means that I will do things and not remember if I did them. It's always little things like turning off the straightening iron or closing the garage, but I have had to drive home many, many times because I don't remember if I did them. Ninety nine percent of the time, I did complete them, but there is that one percent chance that my house is going to burn down because I left the straightening iron on after my husband has told me a thousand times to turn it off and he's going to be so pissed and he's going to be right about getting one with an automatic shut off instead of the one that I have that straightens my hair so well and FREAKOUT. 

Anyway, I had to find a solution to this because I got tired of going back and checking things all the time. It has gotten way, way better in the last several months because I have made a concerted effort to implement a new way of handling things that uses my very tactile nature. 

I call it "Doing The Bigger Action". It's not perfect, but it has reduced my anxiety and increased the lengeth of time that a tank of gas lasts because I'm not driving home so much. 

It's pretty simple. If there is a way to make something a short process instead of a quick movement, I do it the biggest way possible. For instance, instead of just turning off the straightener, I turn it off, unplug it, and wrap the cord up. It takes a little bit longer, but I have to focus on doing it, and therefore am more likely to remember it being done. When I lock the door when I leave the house, I ring the doorbell because that makes the dog bark. I remember the dog barking and know I locked the door. When locking my car in a parking lot, I hit the button 5 times because I will definitely hear the beep more than once and know it's locked. The things that I do take extra time, but it is so much less time than my neurotic checking used to take, that I come out ahead. 

And, you know, reducing the number of chances I have to burn the house down is always a plus (according to my husband). Meanwhile, I get to keep my beloved straightening iron that turns my frizzy mess into manageable prettiness. I cannot seem to make the husband understand that a good straightening iron is something to be cherished. You cannot just buy a new one. It's an irreplaceable relationship.

But that, my friends, is another post all together.

As always, it's hip to be square (and thorough!), kids. 

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