Things That Make Me Go UGH!

Confession: I have been one grumpy asshole lately. Little things have been setting me off and making me want to drop kick everything and everyone around me. I'm sure this has nothing to do with the week of the month that is upon me or my Holy-Shit-Have-I-Even-Taken-A-Break-To-Pee-Today Schedule, but I am--as of this moment--officially on vacation for the next 6 days. (Not 7, because I'm dumb and booked a 12 hour day next Friday--YAY!) So it's time to buck the hell up. But first, here is a list of five things that always--not just this week--piss me off. (More than five things routinely piss me off, but, hell, there are only 24 hours in a day. I can't be sitting here typing for all of them.) ENJOY!

--Mispronouncing the H in words. It makes me cringe. When people say Herb instead of --erb. And then when the same people say --uman instead of Human. (Mom, I'm only slightly talking about you. Other people do it too.) I think it should be labeled as some sort of disorder. In fact, mispronouncing things in general pisses me off. We have a county in Kentucky called McCREARY. People around me say McQUERY. I silently scream in my head every time.

--Poor grammar. This is a biggie for me. I will correct your ass in a second. Even if I barely know you. Subject/verb agreement is a basic concept, and I firmly believe if you haven't grasped it, you should be pushed back to kindergarten and forced to repeat every grade Billy Madison-style. I also will cringe when people misuse -ly. If you don't know if you are misusing it, look it up! I once purchased $80 worth of Grammar Girl's books to prove I know everything about grammar just to learn more. And if you wonder if you're getting your grammar right, you should too. It honestly is one of my biggest pet peeves.

--Inappropriate responses to email or text. I don't mean like you say:
"Hey can I visit Thursday?"
And they say "F*** you, Mother F***er!" or "Only if you're naked."
I mean like you say, "I can visit either Thursday or Friday. Which is better?"
And they say, "Sounds great!"
Ummm, no. Answer the damn question.
I always want to reply "Read that one more time and try again."  
It also drives me crazy when you send an email with more than one question, and someone responds with an answer to only the first or last question.
Like "Hey, I am coming Thursday. Do you want me to bring that cardigan for? Also, I'm getting McDonald's, what would you like me to get you? And would you like fries with that?" 
And they reply "Fries sound great! See you soon!" 
So, just as punishment, I am going to get McDonald's for me and eat my damn fries in front of you until you learn how to read an entire email or text.
I'm busy too. We all are. But you can take half a second and read an email, so that your response is appropriate.

--Inappropriate usage of quotes. Dear God, this makes me want to unfriend people on facebook daily. You only put quotes around actual quotes and when you're being ironic. Like if I said for the next week I'm going to "work hard." Because I'm on vacation, the work I'm referring to is putting the wine glass to my mouth. But when people post on facebook and say last night's concert was really "great" and you're an "amazing" singer, it makes me wonder if the concert was shit and the singer sounded like a dead moose. Because if it actually was great, don't use those f*cking quotes.

--Adding an s to words that don't need it. If you know me, you've probably heard me rant about this before. And I have often wondered if this is exclusively an Owensboro thing or if it is found 'round the world. But for a fact, people around here put an s on almost everything. Stores, restaurant names, bands, you name it, they're adding an s. We have a band in town called The Usual. (Like 'what will you have?' 'I'll have The Usual.') The people of Owensboro call them: The Usuals. They aren't the Wiggles, people! We have a restaurant called Shogun. No s. People say Shoguns. And then they'll say "Oh, it shows ownership." Bullshit!! Shogun is not a person!! And Kentucky has a basketball team called...THE KENTUCKY BISONS. C'mon, people, bison is plural!! That's like saying ChineseS. And my all-time, biggest ugh-inducer is when people say Krogers. When they tell me they went to Krogers to get it, I like to say "how many?" and when they look at me dumbfounded, I say "How many Krogers did you have to go to?"

There ya go, friends. Five of the biggest things that piss me off. So watch your words, or you might just get drop-kicked!

Best Blog Project Ever!

Joel just had the best idea he's ever had. No!--before you ask--he didn't propose.

He told me that, for my blog, and for the betterment of my future, I should make a list of 100 things you can't get away with in your 30's, and do one of those things each day of the last 100 days of my 20's.

Gang, this countdown starts in exactly 66 days (do the math, that means a mere 166 days until I'm 30), so I have to get cracking on this project.

I love this idea, so I have taken to the internet to get sample lists of the last 100 things to do in my 20's. Once I compile the list, I will share it with you here, and then complete one thing on the list every day until I reach 30.

Then I'm working on a sweet list of all the things my 20's have taught me. And maybe I'll learn some lessons whilst doing the last 100 things I can get away with as a 20-something!

Opinions are Like Assholes: I'm Surrounded by Them

So, it's a Presidential Election Year. (For the record, I hate when people say it's an election year. Note: every year is an election year, just not a presidential election year.)

But because we are a mere 63 days from the day we'll all (18 and older, only, please) vote for our choice for the next President of the US of A, people's opinions have kicked into high gear. As a rule, I rarely discuss politics or religion with people I'm not super, super familiar with (like we can talk about it and even if we disagree and think each other are idiots, you'll still love me and I still love you). I think it's silly when people get into heated debates over touchy topics as if there's some possible way that one party is going to say, "You know what?? You're right. I've been wrong all along. I'll change my opinions and beliefs on the double!" Mostly it's going to end in uncomfortable silence, a punch in the face, or a riot on the streets of Chicago. (Don't even get me started on politics and facebook. SUCH a huge pet peeve of mine!) I always think it best that we leave these opinions to the voting booth, the almighty use of our dollars, and who we pray to, meditate to, or pretend doesn't exist.

Unfortunately not everyone else is of this mindset, and lately, those people have gravitated toward me. Over the past month or so, I have found myself in far too many uncomfortable conversations where people are chronicling their political beliefs to me, in the stupid assumption that I agree, and better yet, even care. I do keep a close eye on politics and do have strong beliefs myself (those of which, you'll never learn from my blog, because I don't do that shit). Many of these uncomfortable situations have passed without note, where I politely nod my head while I'm making my mental grocery list, and the belief-sprewer goes on and on, until I can gracefully change the subject or act like I am having a f*cking heart attack, so they'd shut up and leave me alone.

But one incident in particular absolutely infuriated me, and I still haven't quite been able to shake it. I was at a school working with students when a substitute teacher asked me how the political change or lack of change might affect students' money for college. I immediately saw that this was simply an opportunity for her to pretend to listen to what I had to say and then tell me what she thought (because I care so much I can't sleep at night). To avoid this inevitable ridiculousness, I said, "Who knows?" shrugged, and tried to walk away. However, she caught me in her web of bullsh*t beliefs and had me standing there nodding and trying not to have a panic attack, while she began to tell me of the media-induced lies that she subscribes to. Besides trying to inch myself away toe by toe without her noticing, it wasn't too harmful, until she vomited up the most insane line I've ever heard uttered in public: "And what really makes me mad is when blacks and whites get married."

At this very moment, my face flushed, my fists clenched, and I felt a strong urge to put two fingers on her forehead, push it back as hard as I could, and say, "Hey b*tch, it's f*cking 2012. Maybe you should step your dumbass beliefs into this century." Instead, I interrupted her mid-sentence, mumbled something about being there to do work that I should get back to, and walked away, avoiding her at all costs for the rest of the time I was there.

Newsflash: This is my nephew. Notice anything progressive and awesome about this guy?

He happens to be biracial. His mother is black. His father is white. And all three of them are amazing.

So, during this political season, no matter your opinion, please keep in mind that other people may not agree with you. You don't know them and what their life situation is. As you ramble on about the right to have abortions, they may be struggling to conceive a wanted child of their own. As you complain about people who take advantage of government funding, they may have just reluctantly applied for unemployment benefits. And they may have the most awesome, beautiful, perfect little angel of a nephew who was created by two people that you just said should never have been able to marry. And when in doubt: keep your opinions to yourself.

I Thought I Should Tell You...

I almost had a panic attack this weekend. For reals. It was the strangest thing, but it's true. Near panic attack. 

Here's the scene. Joel and I decided to be ultra lazy on Saturday and do absolutely nothing but lie in bed and watch Netflix. However, after a long day of lounging and sleeping, we decided to go have dinner. We were in Nashville, so it was not a problem that we'd decided to eat at 9:30, and we could walk to a multitude of restaurants. So we got dressed and began our journey of deciding where to eat.

I'm terrible at making decisions. I've told you this before. And, because Joel and I are both pretty agreeable, despite the tons of restaurants near our condo, we consistently go to the same three. But we wanted something different, so we go about our usual "It doesn't matter to me, what do you want?" "I don't know, what do you want?" banter. After walking in and out of two other restaurants to judge the crowd, band, and atmosphere (and $12 cover charge to walk in to one of them), Joel made the executive decision to eat at Virago. This is a REALLY nice sushi restaurant in Nashville, and I was happy to get to try something new.

The minute we walked up to the restaurant and got carded to even walk in, I started to feel a little off. There were three super-model tall girls teetering on six inch heels in front of us, and it took us ten minutes to walk slowly behind them as they scooted up to the hostess stand and pondered where they'd like to sit. Another hostess immediately helped us to our table. Unfortunately, we couldn't sit down because there was a man leaning into our booth pouring over some game on the television that was situated directly to the right of our table. After asking him several times to move, he finally got out of our way, and we sat down. At this point, my heart rate was rising, and I was starting to get a bit shaky.

I noticed almost as soon as we sat down that the music at the bar--which was again, directly to the right of our table, not separated by anything but other guests--was extremely loud. As we settled into our seats, it seemed to get even louder. Our server approached our table and handed us menus. She asked us if we would like still (I don't even know if that's spelled correctly, because I've never heard it asked like that!) water with our dinner. Having no f***ing clue what she was talking about, I look to Joel for a little help. He raises his eyebrows at me, being a gentleman, expecting the lady to answer first. As my face grew incredibly red, I meekly asked, "what's that mean?" The server sighed and said, "bottled water." Oh, sh*t, I wanted to say, you should have said that the first time. I nodded my head and said please, relieved. She then asked Joel, who trumped me by ordering a sparkling water, then looked back to me and said, "have you decided?" Decided, I thought. I haven't even looked at the menu! "About your water..." she continued. "Yes," I sighed, thinking I had already answered this question. "Bottled. Please." I answered.

After this ridiculousness, I begin to look at the menu, which I can barely see because it's so dark and try to read the words. The music boomed in my ears even louder. I glanced up and looked around at the seemingly thousands of people in this restaurant. Suddenly, it got really hot all around me. The words on my menu seemed to blur, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. My heart was pounding, and I was shaking.

Catching my eye, Joel looked at me and said, "Um....are you okay?!?!" "No," I mustered. "I think I'm going to have a panic attack. I don't understand. This has never happened before." "Was it the bottled water question," he laughed. I tried to eek out a laugh, but couldn't think of anything other than not passing out in the middle of this very fancy restaurant. He handed me a magazine we'd been carrying and told me to read it, as a distraction to how I was feeling, while he got the hostess. He came back moments later, telling me he'd negotiated a new table for us in a room away from the crowd and thumping music.

Moments later, feeling much better, I was trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. Nothing, seriously, nothing has ever happened to me like this before. I can pretty much handle myself in any situation. But I can't explain Saturday night. As we left the restaurant hours later, with full bellies and some good memories, I remarked to Joel, "I think I know what it is." He glanced down at me inquisitively. "If they could have turned down the damn music and turned some lights on, I would have been fine," I said. "In short, I'm getting f***ing old."

Battleground: Kitchen

Friends, Family, People Who Don't Actually Know Me But Read My Blog--

I have just returned from battle. And, of course, by battle, I mean the kitchen. I'm sure I've mentioned here once or twice that I don't cook. Not only do I not really know how to cook, but I really don't enjoy it. I don't like reading recipes, I don't like reading about people who cook, and I don't like the look on Joel's face when I try to cook, collapse into a fit of tears when I realize the eggs are sticking to damn pan again, those were our last three eggs, and now what the hell are we going to eat for breakfast because I've been told I'm only allowed to spend $200 on groceries once a week!!

What the kitchen looks like after I cook

However, my busy season at work is officially upon us, and when I'm really busy at work, I like to make a meal that will last us several days. When I get home around 8 or 9 from a long day of work, the last thing I want to do is open the refrigerator 600 times hoping that a meal will mysteriously appear or make Joel cook for the 5th time this week or order pizza again. I do have a few easy dinners in my repertoire, and they all consist of throwing a bunch of sh*t into a casserole dish, putting it in the oven for an hour, and hoping to God that I remembered all of the ingredients, didn't burn in, and that it tastes somewhat decent. Joel is a good man and has never complained about anything I've attempted to cook so I'm guessing I'm not a complete train wreck when I do try.

What my lasagna should look like (fingers crossed)

Except her cleavage is better.

I say that, but the outcome is usually better than the journey. The journey is train wreck after train wreck. Tonight, I made Portabella Lasagna. (I think I got this recipe from Jamie, so I gotta give credit where credit is due!) We try not to eat carbs in our house (I SAID TRY), so I use portabella mushroom instead of noodles. It's quite delicious. But, of course, I didn't get all the right ingredients. I mean I did, just not enough. So I threw some cream cheese in there with the ricotta. That's about the same family, right? Also, I'm not smart enough to just buy the damn pre-made spaghetti sauce, so in an attempt to make my own, I made the most gigantic mess ever, splattered red sauce all over my new shirt, burned my fingers (sticking your fingers into the sauce is not an effective way to test heat), and my mouth (also, tasting the sauce mid-heat isn't a great idea). 

Alas, I finally slopped it all together and threw it in the oven before ruining it too much. Then I got the idea to use the leftover stuff to make mini lasagnas in muffin tins. So I start to prepare those and realize that the leftover sauce was gone because a--I ate most of it, and b--CD walked into the room and ate the rest (I may or may not have given him the pan thinking it'd be easier to clean after he licked it). At that point, I had no choice but to eat the remaining cheese mixture too. (It had egg in it, but it was an organic, free range, grass fed egg, so surely I can't get too sick.) So here's hoping the lasagna doesn't get burned or dropped before Joel gets home, and I even did the dishes and cleaned my mess. I am becoming a f*cking domestic goddess before my own eyes!

If You Type, the Words Will Come

So romantic

So, I've essentially abandoned my blog in the past week. Not because my life hasn't been it's usual crazy and ridiculous self, but because every time I sit down to write, the words won't come. I can't think of anything funny or poetic or uplifting. (I can think of some pretty badass complaining, but thought I wouldn't burden you with that--well, not entirely--I'm definitely going to complain a lot a bit in this post. I am still me, after all.) However, people continue to read my post-less blog, so I'm back. Hoping the words will flow out of me like the wine has been flowing out of the bottle and into my mouth lately. (Seriously. Someone in our house has broken almost every wine glass we own, so we've taken to drinking it straight from the bottle. Stop that judging immediately. We have hard jobs.)

What's been going on in my life lately:

--Joel surprised me with having BOTH of our cars detailed! As someone who spends 90% of their time in the car, this was like Christmas. And to quote him exactly, "No more melted peanut butter!" It's like having two new cars. Now I drive around judging people with messy cars. This is, until mine is messy again in like 2.5 days, then I'll judge myself.

This is the best way to deal with teenage boys.

--Joel has planned two date nights in the last week. One was a steak dinner at the farm and the other was a fish fry. They were both amazing, unexpected, and exactly what I need after the long hours I've been working.

--I've been working like a dog. (Although my dog effectively does no work at all, so I don't really understand that phrase.)

--We had my three younger brothers out to the farm Sunday to work a little and play a lot and get on my nerves a bit. They brought four of their friends. In total, it was seven teenage boys spending the day with us. This is what I learned:
        ---Never have seven boys.
        ---I am a cougar to my brothers' friends.
        ---I kinda like it.
        ---I'm not sure how to handle my brothers as    
       pubescent teenagers (arm pit hair was tough, sex talk
       is tougher, wondering how my 12 year old brother got
                                                                            kinda hot is just plain gross).
        ---And never take 7 boys to Subway for lunch unless you planned on dropping almost $100 in
            under ten minutes. There is not an ounce of exaggeration in there. I swear.

--Joel's friends came out after my brothers left. I almost prefer the teenagers. One of his friends admitted to being dumb but making up for it by being really loud. Truer words were never spoken.

Hunka hunka burning ridiculous

--I had to work the Kentucky State Fair. If you've done this for my company before, you know how terribly miserable it is. Someone on our staff was, for some crazy reason, excited about this. I won't name names but her initials are D-E-E. I remarked within the first five minutes of being at the state fair that there is not one single piece of redemption about coming to and working the fair. (I was later proven wrong.) I had to park 10 miles away, walk in the heat, and search the huge exhibit hall for my booth. I had to wear khakis--if you know me, you know this was torture enough. I saw Elvis impersonators, a kid eating a book mark, people getting temporary tattoos on their faces, dogs in strollers (my dog is spoiled, but this is simply beyond me. They have FOUR legs to our two. Surely they don't need to be pushed around.), and fat people who'd eaten other fat people for lunch. I was in sure and utter pissed-off mode until... ICE CREAM MUFFIN SUNDAE came into my life. I had searched out a healthy option of a salad for dinner ($19.50 for a salad and water--that's reasonable) and decided to treat myself. So I politely asked for one scoop of cookies and cream ice cream. The sweet (as in blood sugar, not personality) girl behind the counter suggested I get an ice cream muffin sundae. I nodded, mesmerized at her amazing sales ability. This was a double chocolate chip muffin that had been warmed to perfection and cut down the middle, then stuffed with two huge scoops of cookies and cream ice, and covered with hot fudge, whipped cream, and nuts. I ate that shit like a champ!  And it must have triggered the fat girl inside me trying to get out because I have thought about that dessert like it is a long lost lover ever since. I have stayed up at night wondering what my life would be like if that were in it every day, if I had never thrown away the last few bites, if I had decided that I needed those types of food in my life long-term. I will never forget that sundae, and there's a part of me that will always wonder, "Did it love me as much as I loved it?"

--I had to stay in a damn hotel room. Again, if you know me, you know how I despise hotel rooms, but this was worse. I got the last room in the inn, and it was a smoking room. You heard right. I had to suffer for 6 full hours what a room smells like when it has been smoked in for the past 15 years. I was irrationally pissed off and angry all night. I snapped at the hotel clerk. I threw a huge fit in the middle of the night. I screamed for no apparent reason. And I woke up stuffy and puffy and miserable. Damn you, Hampton Inn in Louisville, you just wait til I get that customer satisfaction survey!!




--Leslie and I have perfected the art of the after-work drink. There's nothing more relaxing than having a glass of wine or cold beer to unwind after being subjected to working at the state fair for far too long and a smoky hotel room. Or even a long days' work. And, girls, an after-work drink is just what the doctor ordered. (And by doctor I mean someone who has a bachelor's degree in psychology and quit her Master's program when they fired my favorite professor. I totally showed them.)

Please, sir, may I have another

--I got a big dose of birth control at Kroger. Not like, I waited in line to get a depo shot, but like I saw what it's like to go shopping with several children in tow. And it ain't pretty. I went right after school released, and I'm guessing Moms had decided to shop for dinner or whatever Moms shop for at that time that day. All moms of small children in Owensboro were in Kroger that day. And they were all checking out at the same time as me. I saw mothers who clearly much rather punch their kid in the face than say yes to another pack of gum. I saw mothers scream at the lady behind them in line for encouraging their children to stick out their tongue. I saw moms start to tear up when they realized one of their four children had peed their pants again (apparently for the second time that day). I saw Casis who almost had a panic attack because all of the squealing and screaming and crying and yelling was making her heart want to jump out of her chest and cram itself into one of the sixty screaming mouths around her. Then I strolled, with my $200 worth of groceries that included nothing with a cartoon character on it, out of the store, got into my clean car, and came home to my quiet house. Then I thought to myself, "if Joel so much as looks at me tonight, the answer is no."

--I finally had a bit of time to do some cleaning and realized we have 18 loads of laundry that need to be done. EIGHTEEN. Pause--I just remembered I need to switch a load over.--Okay I'm back. Granted, it has probably been about two weeks since I've done more than just necessity laundry (we both have a lot of clothes, there are rarely loads of necessity laundry done.), and we brought home sheets and blankets from the farm. BUT STILL. 18 loads?!? The only thing that, in my mind, can explain this is that when we're gone, CD dresses up in our clothes to solidify himself as a human instead of a dog. And, in that case, he needs to start doing human things like laundry. But this 18 load shit ain't gonna fly. I have a full-time job. I don't have time for that.

--Today, I get to go pick my little man up from school, and we're going to go play at the farm. He's not so little anymore, and in fact, turns 8 on Monday, but he still wants to and asks to come stay the night with his aunt. And, for that, all of these other things are worthwhile. If he wants, I'll even do his laundry.

This Week in News

I've been really bad about posting at regular intervals lately, and that's because every year, about this time, my job takes over my life. Then I'm so utterly and ridiculously exhausted at the end of every day that I can't bring myself to think of something clever to write for my blog. But never fear, I keep a list of funny things that happen in my phone, so that I can give you semi-weekly run-downs of what's going on. (Because you care so much.)

This week in news:

This guy has earhole issues too.

--I have an ear hole infection. You read that right. Not an ear infection, an ear HOLE infection. You see, I have a couple of pairs of earrings that, when I wear them, make my ears develop these nasty sores all around my earring holes. Then, these nasty things start to bleed at completely inopportune times making it look as if I have some sort of ebola-type virus. I typically don't realize one lobe is gushing blood until I touch it and come back with a handful of blood or feel blood streaming down my neck or someone yells, "OH MY GOD, YOU'VE BEEN SHOT IN THE FACE!!" Once I realize I have this infection again, I stop wearing earrings, but fear that people are staring at my earholes wondering if that's a beautiful shiny ruby stud or, in fact, oh yup, she's bleeding everywhere. I once realized this blood-letting was happening while on the phone with my mom (and I suddenly couldn't hear her, because my phone was covered in blood) while walking through Kroger. I made her talk to me until I left the store, because I was afraid I'd be asked to leave for not following blood-born pathogens procedures. Luckily, this is starting to heal and now it is a mere red dot that people are beginning to wonder if it's just a cute mole on my ear lobe. (Yup, it's totally blood.)

--I had lunch with Dee and made her answer a million questions about her big news. She's already put it on facebook, so I'll share it with the blogosphere. Our Dee is expecting baby number two!! Yay!!!! The jury is still out as to whether the baby is Patrick's or mine. (I know what my money's on.)

I framed it.

--I purchased an US Weekly so I can stare at Kourtney Kardashian's new baby. I can only hope mine and Dee's little bundle will be just as cute!

--I have been preparing for Baby Shower Bonanza that's happening this Saturday. I have another pal that is also preg, and we will be celebrating her new baby by throwing a very classy baby shower Saturday evening (we're bringing beer, people, this sh*t's on!). I didn't realize how much preparation goes into showering a baby, but apparently it's a lot, because I've been doing my thang like crazy, and I'm only one of four hostesses. This is going to be the Baby Shower of the Century. I am panicking slightly on what to wear to any evening bambino bath. Someone give me some hints!

--I stole a candle from TJ Maxx. On accident! I found this super cute purse/work bag/suitcase combo that I had to have because it's cute enough to carry as my purse but big enough to stuff all my work stuff, two days worth of snacks, and a clean change of undies into, and it was on sale for $15. So I grabbed it. I went on about my shopping ($95...oops!) and paid for everything. This morning, when I changed over the stuff from my old purse to this new one, I realized there was a candle inside the purse!

This candle is HOT!

I gasped, realizing I'm a thief!! I mean, I didn't put the candle in there, but I walked out with it without paying for it. Granted, it's a stinky blue ugly teardrop candle that was on sale for $1!!! But it's still thievery! I'm guessing they couldn't sell that ugly thing and decided they'd have to give it away. I'm the lucky owner. Awesome.

--I napped, b*tches. Napped!!! Two days in a row. It was awesome. Admittedly, it's why I didn't blog. But today, I pulled myself away from my third nap to write a post. But those two were amazing. It's a lost art. I'd bring it back, but...

Let me just move this sh*t over for you
so you can sit down.

--I've been visiting each of my schools in each of my ten counties. I'm about five counties in and...my calendar is completely booked until Christmas. Honestly. I made some rules last year about scheduling my work stuff and wanted to uphold them this year. They were: I will not work more than two evenings a week. I will not schedule more than two events in one day. I will take one day a week as an office day or comp day, if I need it. I have currently broken all of them. On multiple occasions. Luckily, I left time off for our vacations in September, October, and December (I guess November will be a weekend trip). BUT I didn't leave time off for a birthday trip in February! So there's some rearranging to be done next semester. But this semester? All I can do is stare at my calendar and cry.

It feels like just yesterday.

--My boss observed me today. Now, she mostly got to watch me walk into schools and say, "Remember me? I can't do anything for you until after Christmas, but you can call me if you have questions." But it always used to make me nervous when she'd observe me. Like she was trying to trip me up on something. Now I'm pretty happy when she rides along. I made sure to rid my car of all beer cans, wine bottles (true story--but it was full!), and underwear (one pair of mine, one pair of Joel's, one bra, to be exact) before she came out, but it was all smooth sailing. In fact, I had a really, really great day with her!

--I loved Joel a little bit stronger. I can't explain it, but there's something that pulls me closer to him every once in a while. It makes me know that this is where I need to be. Sometimes I just need to squeeze him! And that may be because...

--I met Joel one year ago yesterday. Yes, I'm freaking sappy enough to remember that. But I will never ever forget the first moment I saw him. I knew I needed him in my life. Now, it would be another month before Joel wised up and realized I was the bomb dot com, and he needed me in his life and that he really hated grocery shopping and laundry anyway and that if I pay attention to this girl, she will do that for me for the rest of my life, but... Today was the big first meeting. I sent a sweet card, because that's what I do. He said, "oh, it's been a year?" and turned on the Daily Show.

I win the effing gold at being 30!

--Today is the official SIX MONTH mark before my 30th birthday. I think it means it's my half birthday or some sh*t, so I'm having a glass of wine in mourning celebration. I gotta tell you, the closer we get the more I freak out. I mean, it's cute to be 29, it's exciting to be in your 20's...and it's coming to a f***ing end sooner than I want it to. I have never struggled with getting older, but I am losing it a little. I'm just not sure I want to be THIRTY. It's so...different...from 29. But, today my boss told me that women hit their stride in their 30's and that I need to view it is as the beginning of my stride. (That's my boss, people. Have I mentioned I love my freaking job?) So, watch out world, I'm hitting my damn stride. And you thought it couldn't get any better?!?!?