When your work involves anything to do with writing computer manuals, you know work’s going to be like scraping your brain with sandpaper. I accept the boredom as inevitable, and appreciate that I’m good at what I do, people mostly leave me alone, and I get paid like a pimp.
Taking those positives, I long ago got used to the constant tscht-tscht against my grey matter.
We’re currently fixing everything that’s wrong with a web site, and my to-do list has gotten out of hand. My boss offered to take about 20 of my 150+ items, so I happily assigned them to her. Mid-way through her fixes, I got an IM:
[16:14] SheBoss: I’m about half-way through the SIRs you gave me, and I have a new appreciation for how boring your job can be.
Kickass.
Not too long ago my nephew announced that God visited him on the playground.
I know some of you just gave that an, “Awww.” I, however, am of the opposite opinion.
Perhaps it’s my being in the South, but I’m now seeing way too much of religion geared toward children that mimics the way Sesame Street hammers the ABCs into their little heads.
Indoctrination via song and story is still indoctrination, and it very much raises my radar when it comes to protecting those kids.
I understand that kids at the boy’s age are coming to grips with the realities of a scary world.
Pets and grandparents die. People lie. Others cheat, steal, and take other unsavory actions.
Their little brains process this world and naturally seek an explanation. For example, child abuse isn’t something the kids can comprehend, but punishment is. And knowing that someone who hurts kids is being dealt with by the biggest and baddest boss out there brings some comfort. It doesn’t explain the actual issue, but it does pacify the need for there to be some right to this wrong.
Since they’ve started attending church, they have been making comments that throw me. Most uncomfortably is that any cross is “where Jesus died”. And, by the way, “Why are there so many crosses on the side of the road?”
Anyway, my anti-indoctrination for kids spiel aside, the kid said something rather funny.
After exclaiming that God visited him on the playground that afternoon, we asked what God had to say.
“God says, ‘Two thumbs up!’”
My convictions aside, it’s hard to argue with that.
[09:38] Me: I have this urge to say nice things to you
[09:38] Me: I must be ovulating
Am I the only one who has a problem with Edible Arrangements? These franchises are popping up all over the place, and they just piss me off. I acknowledge that it’s one of my irrational angers, but I just don’t get it.
They’re bringing fruit. That looks like flowers. To your office.
It’s worse than a stupid cookie-gram.
Sixty dollars! For fruit!
If I’m spending $60 on fruit, it had better be at least four 750ml bottles and fermented.
Other things I irrationally dislike:
Those caveman Geico commercials. Going to concerts. People who use big words to sound smarter. Fanta. Back rubs that don’t involve the Thumbs of Death. Insincere compliments. People who make noise when they kiss. Inconsiderate drivers. Whiskey. Later finding out that he’s got a girlfriend. Dogs. Cheap shoes. Thoughtless presents. Sarah Palin. Unscented candles. Horses. Slow walkers. People who snap their gum. The color green. Bowling, no matter how much I drink. People who can’t take a goddamn joke. People who get pissy when I say goddamn. Being touched on the face. Anything peach-flavored.
When I first got to Texas, it looked like I was going to inherit my sister’s current vehicle, providing her with another that I purchased. I took the initiative to put new tires on what was about to be my car. Things never quite settled on the vehicle swap. I got over it, knowing that the $400 for tires was needed. That was that.
Well, not too long ago, my sister was driving home with the kids when her tire — I kid you not — exploded. A couple of farm kids stopped to assist the single mother on the side of the road at midnight, busting a u-turn to check on her when they heard the blast.
The next day she went to Discount Tire to have them make good on the full warranty, and she was driving off without hassle a mere hour later.
Kudos to the company for their service. I feel it’s safe to say that God also gives them two thumbs up.
7:30. Wake up. For those of you who know me in real life, this is a shock. I’m notoriously anti-mornings. But here I am, pulling myself out of bed, throwing on my workout clothes, brushing my teeth, washing my face, tossing a little caffeine in my gullet, and heading out the door.
7:45. Lift weights. My gym is so frustratingly crowded at all other times that this is the only chance I can get in there and do what I want to do without fighting for space. When it comes to gym-time, I’m in and out, thankyouverymuch. I walk in the door, hit a treadmill for five minutes to get my juices flowing, lift like crazy, walk on the ‘mill for five minutes to keep the juices flowing to my now-pumped muscles, and leave while peeling my shirt off and laying a protective towel on my car’s seat to block the sweat.
8:30. Get ready for the day. I hustle home, throw a protein shake and a fast-burning carb down the hatch, rinse the gym grime off my skin, put on my bikini, and then…
9:00. Work. I manage things. I do things. I help others manage and do things.
10:00. Eat breakfast. Much like how my day is a routine, this meal never differs: four egg whites, two whole eggs, a toasted English muffin (the low cal, high fiber version), and a carb (either fat-free yogurt or a piece of fruit). I scarf this down while checking my daily haunts: Hotmail, Facebook, F My Life, Texts from Last Night, MSN, MyYahoo!, and the Chicago Tribune.
10:15. Work more. Yeah. All of that Internetting and eating doesn’t take long. I don’t dawdle.
11:30. Lounge outside. I grab whatever book or magazine I’m currently working through, and I head to my sun-lit patio. I unhook my top, soak up the rays, and make some vitamin D while not thinking about work, working out, or carb-to-protein ratios.
12:30. Rinse off, then work more. Blah blah blah.
Later. Eat lunch. Like breakfast, this doesn’t differ either: four ounces of turkey, one Flatbread (the low-carb, high fiber version), and a small can of V8. You might wonder how I can stand eating the same thing everyday. The simple answer is that not having to think about these meals outweighs the desire to eat something different. I know this tastes good and meets my nutritional goals, and that’s enough for me.
5:00. Stop working. Run my errands. Go for a walk. Read. Do some more Internetting. Clean my house. Talk with a friend as she’s driving home from work. Whatever happens, happens.
7:15. Head out for a run. The temperature is usually under 100 at this point, so I slather on a ton of sunscreen, don a sports bra and a small pair of shorts, and drive to the Town Lake path or just wander campus. I’m doing a decent job of following an online marathon training program, so I usually do whatever the program tells me to do that day. I don’t listen to music. I just go. And go and go and go. Despite living a life with much solitude, this is my quiet time to ignore the 106 things that are constantly on my mind.
Later. Refuel and shower. I toss back a Slim-fast shake up, and maybe a little Gatorade too. Both of these are in my stomach by time I walk the 50 feet to the shower. I’ve already rinsed off twice today, but this is the one where I break out the soap with the scrub in it, the no-nonsense shampoo, and more than 45 seconds of hot water.
Later. Eat dinner. Sometimes this involves other people, but most of the time it doesn’t. This is pretty much the only meal of the day that changes. But even then, there’s not much variance: lean meat and carbs that only come from vegetables.
Later. Finish out my evening. Log my workouts. Chat with friends on IM. Call my family. Read some more. Again, whatever happens, happens. I check my work email to see if there’s anything the India team needs from me before they start their workday. Then I brush my teeth, wash my face, and head to bed at a respectable hour.
In sum, I live a much simpler life these days. It’s quieter, slower, and more introspective. I won’t go so far to say that it’s better than when I lived in Chicago; it’s just different. I’ve always gone through phases of extreme extraversion and intense introversion. Right now my end of the spectrum is obvious. Sometimes I do get lonely and long for my previous life, but overall this is a nice reprieve.
My favorite clothes don’t get worn. My face rarely sees makeup. I walk slower and talk less. Sunscreen is a necessity.
In the not-too-distant future I’d like to find a balance between where I was and where I am, but for now I’ll revel in the simplicity and comfort of having a routine that encourages healthy living, quiet thoughts, and heading in new directions as they come my way.
Back when I lived in Chicago, you would frequently see me in my ‘work uniform’: a nicely-fitted shirt with my black pencil skirt and a pair of black heels. In the winter, substitute knee-high boots for the sling-backs. When headed for an evening out, I might exchange the skirt for a pair of designer jeans. But really, things stayed about the same. I had that whole sexy librarian thing going on.
To put it mildly, my lifestyle there was a bit more glam than it is now.
My social activities here are more home-oriented: dinner at a friend’s house, BBQs by my pool, lots of time near the lake. With Mission: Six Pack, things have changed there too: minimal booze drinking, plenty of fresh eating, lots of time spent lifting heavy things and running near the above-mentioned lake.
I live a much more settled life, and it’s a good thing for who I am now and what I enjoy doing. Add to it that HOLY CRAP! I’M WEARING THE JEANS I WORE WHEN I WAS SUPER SKINNY AND TWENTY-FOUR YEARS OLD!!!!
There I was, cleaning out my closet, when I rearranged some purses and caught a glimpse of my skinny jeans. My first pair of designer jeans, these are the ones used as a benchmark to make me feel like crap for no longer looking like I looked when I was in my younger years.
Every so often I shimmy my way into the denim, stand in front of a mirror, look at my squeezed-in thighs, and wonder how the heck I’m going to de-sardine myself out of them.
But no more!
With my meanest cowboy face (oh man, my months of blog neglect make that joke so not work…), I reached for the jeans, took a deep breath, and slid them on as I exhaled.
Lo and behold, not only did I not have to hold my breath for fear that I’d pop the button, I also turned around and checked out my butt in a mirror without recoiling in near-30-year-old terror.
There’s no better feeling, even if it involves giving up booze, eating carbs after 5 p.m., and running miles and miles in the Texas evening heat.
Remember back in the day when 101 in 1001 lists were all that? I tabled mine long ago because I found about a year and a half into it that I wasn’t quite the ding-dong I was when I wrote the list. I found myself older, wiser, and completely unwilling to even attempt throwing a back handspring.
Even though I abandoned the list, it’s not like I haven’t been goal-centric or open to trying new things. Not in the least! Heck, my past six months have shown that to not be the case. But now I figure with my life all a-changin’, there’s no time like the present to think of some things I want to knock out in the next few years.
Even if 31-year-old Jo thinks that 29-year-old Jo is a ding-dong, there’s no back handspring anywhere on this list.
In alphabetical order, now:
(001) Fall in love.
(002) File my 2007 taxes. Whoops. Now to catch up and do 2008, 2009, and 2010!
(003) File my 2008 taxes. Whoops, again.
(004) Find a local cause to become involved with.
(005) Finish a crossword puzzle. 06/18/2009 — It was one of those really easy celeb-based ones in a magazine, but it still counts. Done and done!
(006) Finish a NaNoWriMo.
(007) Finish writing one of the books I’ve started writing.
(008) Fly in for Chicago’s Pride weekend (2009). 06/28/2009 — Yay! My boys!
(009) Frame Bit’s cowboy boots photo.
(010) Get and keep a tan. Seriously. Summer 2009 — I kept it up. We’ll see how long it lasts…
(011) Get my hair cut in an actual style. (Bangs don’t count.) 06/02/2009 — Mel at Cut and Co. in Kingwood does good work on those inverted bobs.
(012) Get prescription sunglasses. 05/21/2010 — They’ll be here in a week. Whee!
(013) Give a shampoo mohawk.
(014) Give advice to myself in the past.
(015) Give blood. (05/2010) Done. I’m also now signed up to be a bone marrow donor.
(016) Go ahead and cancel that stupid MySpace account.
(017) Go on a dress-up date.
(018) Go skinny dipping.
(019) Go snorkeling.
(020) Help a stranger. 09/15/2009 — I gave directions to some Chicago tourists on places to shop and eat in the area.
(021) Help someone else make fitness a priority. 05/2010 — A friend has embarked on this for six weeks now, and there’s no sign of shopping. She’s even just started training for a 5k! Yahoo!
(022) Host a swap.
(023) Kiss someone under mistletoe.
(024) Learn how to surf.
(025) Learn how to swim for real.
(026) Learn to drive a motorcycle. 05/2010 — And I was good at it, too!
(027) Learn to drive a stick shift with some proficiency. 12/2010 — Deb forced the issue. It worked!
(028) Learn to play golf.
(029) Live out of the country for at least a month. 01/2011 — I gave it a try and almost friggin’ died. I’m counting it because I know I won’t have medical clearance (or the cajones) to leave the country for a good, long while.
(030) Mail a secret to Post Secret.
(031) Make a career change.
(032) Make it into the news. (Nothing scandalous.)
(033) Make my maa accept her birthday present.
(034) Make S’mores.
(035) Move into non-temporary housing/do something to not feel so displaced. — 11/01/2009 — I have a new place, new furniture, and matching hangers.
(036) Move my homes into a trust, and do some legit estate planning.
(037) Move my parents’ homes into a trust also.
(038) Muscle up: 10 unassisted dips. 06/2010 — Without training, I did more than this the other day.
(039) Muscle up: 10 unassisted pullups/chinups.
(040) Muscle up: 100 pounds bench press. 08/2010 — *flex*
(041) Muscle up: 100 pushups.
(042) Order a singing telegram for a friend.
(043) Organize my childhood photos.
(044) Overdose on blackberries.
(045) Own a car I actually like. 10/08/2009 — I bought a super-cute Honda CRV, and it’s BLUE!
(046) Paint a room purple.
(047) Pet a friendly dog, and make a real effort to not be afraid of him or her. 06/08/2009 — Ollie and I stopped to pet puppies outside PetSmart.
(048) Purchase myself some real jewelry. — 11/21/2009 — I’ve been eyeing/stalking a pair of earrings and a necklace, and I finally spent the cash on it.
(049) Purchase one of those hammered silver Mexican art pieces.
(050) Query Oxygen, Fitness, and Shape magazines for freelance work.
(051) Read 10,000 pages in one year. 10/10/2009 — Done pretty easily, even considering my reading hiatus all summer long.
(052) Read a book on US history.
(053) Refinance my Chicago condo. 01/2011 — I sold it instead!
(054) Remain a CGMC donor. 07/16/2009 — They ask, and I send money.
(055) Remove people from my phone and address book who no longer need to be there.
(056) Restart my science blog.
(057) Ride a helicopter.
(058) Ride a zipline.
(059) Run an 8-minute mile.
(060) Run another race with Catie.
(061) Run another half marathon.
(062) Run with the Olympic torch.
(063) Scare the crap out of myself. 07/28/2009 — I sent an email saying exactly what I thought and felt about a situation. This quite possibly changed the rest of my life. UPDATE: 08/2009 — Ha ha ha ha. Le sigh.
(064) See a volcano.
(065) Send a friend a gift for no reason. 05/2010 — Carla got a box of Chicago goodies.
(066) Send a package to a soldier. 06/2009 — I sent my cousin a package to Iraq. Be safe, Richie!
(067) Send someone flowers. 06/05/2009 — Catie got some ‘Happy Friday’ flowers.
(068) Serve on the board of directors somewhere.
(069) Shoot a gun. 07/31/2009 — Yeah, it was a BB gun. It still counts.
(070) Spend New Year’s Eve somewhere exotic. 01/2011 — I did this, then promptly got so injurred that I took an emergency flight home for a real hospital.
(071) Spend the day at the lake. 07/22/2009 — I met Jenna and the kids at Canyon Lake for the afternoon.
(072) Stand under a waterfall. 01/2011 — The wave counts. I want no part in water for a long time.
(073) Start a book club. (It’s really a drinking club. Just don’t tell anyone’s husbands!)
(074) Straighten my teeth. 06/10/2009 — I got a retainer to straighten up my front four teeth. And insurance covered 80% of it! Yahoo!
(075) Take a last-minute vacation. I do this all the time.
(076) Take a photo in front of the Alamo. 06/06/2009 — Amber, Martin, Grace, Ollie, and I trekked out there.
(077) Take a really tourist-heavy tour in my own city.
(078) Take a self-defense class.
(079) Take a writing workshop.
(080) Take an ASL class.
(081) Take my nephew on vacation. 06/25/2009 — Branden and I flew to Chicago, and we had a great time!
(082) Take my niece on vacation.
(083) Take my niece and nephew somewhere they want to go that I have no interest in. 08/02/2009 — I took the kids to see the second Night at the Museum movie. Meh.
(084) Take photos in a photo booth. 06/09/2009 — I took the kids to Amy’s for ice cream, and they had a booth. We made scary faces, Boy got too close to the camera, I squished their heads together, and we smiled.
(085) Teach GED math classes again. 10/2009 — I tutored someone privately. She was mere points away from passing, which was a 30-point improvement!
(086) Teach gymnastics again.
(087) Throw a kick-ass backyard BBQ.
(088) Throw/give away 101 things that are taking up space. 07/30/2009 — I didn’t count the items, but there was A LOT that I gave and threw away.
(089) Try out for a dance team/company.
(090) Try rock climbing.
(091) Vacation with Uncle Pete and Aunt April.
(092) Visit a winery. 08/2010 — I toured MANY wineries… and got kicked out of one. Whoops!
(093) Visit Catalina Island.
(094) Visit San Francisco. 08/2010 — LOVED!!!
(095) Visit the Caribbean again. 01/2011 — That didn’t go well…
(096) Visit the Grand Canyon. 04/2010 — I took my parents there for their birthdays.
(097) Visit Washington DC.
(098) Watch Kyle play baseball. 06/2011 — Boy played ball in a summer league in my former city.
(099) Wear jeans one size smaller than what I’m in now. 07/2009 — I bought a pair of khaki shorts, wore them a few weeks, then had to buy a size smaller. They aren’t jeans, but they count. UPDATE: 05/2010 — I wear stupidly small jeans these days.
(100) Write a fan letter.
(101) Write a letter to a teacher from before college.
Start date: Friday, June 5, 2009
End date: Thursday, March 2, 2012
For those not hip to the Facebook, your main page lists these ‘feeds’. Feeds contain your friends’ user-defined statuses (“Jo has the neighborhood kid out there mowing her lawn. Totally worth $20.”), any site activity you’ve taken recently (Jo has joined the group “Not turned on by 18-yr-olds who mow your lawn for cut-rate prices.”), and any posted links (Jo suggests “match.com for dates, not trolling the younguns in the neighborhood.”).
As said above, I’m fascinated by them. Because I have more than ten friends, each time I log onto Facebook, there’s something new.
Of my eleven friends, I have a good number from my high school. Like many small Texas towns, many people from here love Jesus. Sure, Sure. Lots of people in all sorts of places love Jesus. Blah blah blah. But these people REALLY love Jesus. As in, they exclaim everything is a product of Jesus’ doing, live in their little church bubbles where everyone agrees with that way, and don’t see how anything about their behavior differs from much of the population.
Now, before I get into the meat of this, I’ll go ahead and say that I don’t care if you love Jesus. I know plenty of nice people who do. However, my Jesus-loving friends do nice things because doing nice things is the right thing to do. These Jesus-loving Facebook friends do nice things because they want to make Jesus happy. I see just as much wrong with this as I do with Dick Cheney talking about torture.
READ: Torture is wrong because it’s wrong; not because it’s not always effective.
That being said, I’m especially drawn to the Jesus-y exclamations on these feeds.
One comment was about a child was turning one, and his mother exclaimed, “Praise the Lord!”
How about, “Happy birthday!” instead? I mean, sure, it’s great you managed not to lose the kid for twelve entire months. But really? You needed Jesus to not screw that up?
Another wrote a blog about how she wants to be more Christ-like. Her primary focus: not kissing strangers.
I cannot make this shit up.
And another was dealing with sick kids who kept re-infecting each other. Instead of shaking her first at viruses and vowing to have her family wash their damn hands, she says, “Satan leave us alone.”
I damn near had a coronary at the absudity.
A friend and I were chatting on IM the other day and discussing what I’d noticed. It reminded me of ‘bible dipping’ from Running with Scissors.
Bible dipping is basically the magic eight ball of divine prophecy. You think of a question, seek guidance from above, and then land your finger on a random page and passage to help answer your inquiry.
The friend was looking for an example, and my pointing yielded interesting results.
Me: Does Matthew smell like cheese?
Me: “and his skin, and his dung”
Me: WOW
Me: This thing really works
Matthew: wow.
Matthew: wow.
Matthew: really wow.
Although uncanny, I’m pretty sure Jesus had nothing to do with this.
I really and truly keep trying to update my blog, only to write something about how much I hate being in transition, not really knowing where things are gonna go. I’m not about to emo out on anyone (bad poetry isn’t my style), so I’ve decided to dedicate this entry to telling you what you’re missing by not following me on Twitter.
Weighed in at the gym: 14 pounds down. I don’t see a difference, but I’ll take it.
As mentioned in the entry from the other day, all I do is work and work out. As further paragraphs in this blog entry will prove, it’s not entirely true; but I do work out on most evenings. Since I haven’t really done anything intentional to lose weight, it’s proving that consistency is key to seeing a change.
Go figure.
In truth, I don’t see that change. But my jeans are telling me it’s true. And my shirts. And my gym clothes. Any my gaping bras, DAMMIT.
When I get down a bit more I’ll consider a large-scale shopping excursion. Until then, I need to find a local, fashionable friend to tell me what to buy. Since leaving Chicago, I’ve resorted back to nothing but plain-colored shirts. At least I’m now wearing them with cute skirts, wedge sandals, and awesome jewelry instead of plain jeans and chunky-heeled boots with silver studs.
Happiness is “Men in Black” on TNT.
I so rarely watch movies (despite what this entry will have you assume), but there are a few that feel like home.
We all know that “Amelie” is every girl’s favorite movie. I found it so absolutely delightful that I left the Dobie theater and walked straight to the record store on the Drag and bought the album. And though I deem it charming and love the story, acting, and soundtrack, my favorite movies are still those with karate and explosions.
Particularly, “Rush Hour” and “Rush Hour 2”.
My TV watching is also along those lines, but it’s not as embarrassing to say that “Burn Notice” is my favorite show.
For the record, I’m looking for a boyfriend with TiVo since “Burn Notice” starts at the beginning of June.
Rascall Flatts and ‘mutton bustin’ were worth my AmEx points.
Right before I moved, I checked my AmEx points and saw that I had roughly a gazillion of them. I planned on getting myself an iPod since everyone else seems to really like theirs. I even went so far to find a faux-boyfriend to load it with music so I wouldn’t have to invest in hard drive space for MP3s or install iTunes.
I loaded up the points page, browsed through the selection, browsed some more, and then hit the browse button even harder, like I meant it. Alas, all they had was a stupid silver iPod. Silver is not purple, so I defiantly didn’t get one.
So instead of buying an iPod to listen to music I don’t even really like, I accumulated even more points.
Then I found myself in Houston and remembered that the rodeo exists and that I love me some boot-scootin’, and I blew all of my points on tickets for my family.
My maa, Jenna, and I saw Rascal Flatts. We liquored my mom up, danced in the aisles, and had an all-around good time — despite the woman next to us smelling like she sprayed herself with every available perfume in Walgreens. With so many rhinestones and big hairdos around, I vowed to amp it up a notch the following week.
The following Wednesday, I took the entire Keena clan (minus my oh-so-studious brother) to see Reba. Forgetting about my broken foot (Did I mention that? No? So, I broke my foot. All is fine now. The end.), I wore boots. Other than the crippling pain, we had a great time. We took the kids to the carnival first, watched the cowboys and cowgirls so their things, then settled in for Reba’s show. For about 20 minutes of the show, my niece and nephew dropped it like it was hot. Then the boy announced he had growing pains in his shins, and the girl was tired. So we left. And went to the carnival again because they apparently weren’t *that* tired. All in all, it was a fantastic night.
A week later, Jenna and I took off by ourselves for Keith Urban. Despite not particularly caring for music, I’ve been to my fair share of shows. Of everything I’ve ever seen, this was the best show I’ve been to. Keith Urban was ah-may-zing. If you ever have the chance to see him, DO IT. It was so much fun.
After that show, Jenna and I got our IDs out and went to the big tent on the other side of the fairgrounds for an adults-only show and dancing. We made friendly with another group of women and danced until they shut the place down.
Besides all the family stuff and partaking in some great entertainment, there was also something called mutton bustin’. My descriptions can’t do it justice, so I’ll leave this topic with this video:
Not only is Boy cuter than the other kids, he’s better at t-ball too.
My time in Houston primarily revolves around my family. After my sister got herself a couple kids, the dynamic at our get-togethers really changed. I actually *gasp* like these people I’m related to.
That being said, I spend A LOT of time with my niece and nephew. I regularly find reason to pick them up in the early evening, take them to run my errands, and stop for dinner before dropping them back at home.
Despite a Facebook page full of reminders that people have similarly-to-my-sister squatted out children since I left this sleepy little town 15 years ago, I’m still shocked when I see someone I previously knew at tee ball practice with their very own 5-yr-olds.
So odd.
But as this area’s header says, my nephew is better than your kid. The end.
Happiness is a half-off diet cherry limeaid.
Do I really need to explain that Sonic has happy hour from 2 until 4 every single day?
Was reminded tonight of just how impeccable a southern man’s manners are.
I have a man friend who whips between being a special someone and a not-so-special someone. It’s one of those things where things could potentially work out really well for smoochin’ and whatnot, but neither of us is willing to move to make it happen. And since neither is willing to do anything, nothing ever happens.
But when the sweet pea comes into town for work, I’m always reminded why my long-standing crush continues.
We have one of those relationships where we can be talking about nothing in particular, then it jumps into way more truth-telling than I’m comfortable doing with anyone else, and then jumps back into safe territory without me even taking a blink.
He touches my inner gooey parts, even if he doesn’t get to touch the outer, more fun gooey parts.
Drunk and at my high school nemesis’ house. She is fucking awesome.
There was a time where I had a very bad boyfriend who did very bad things because he’s a very bad person who should be hurt very badly. One of the things he did was turn me against someone I was acquainted with, and she against me.
Fast-forward 15 years, and I received a Facebook message from her. With a little hesitation, we met up at her house for Indian food and to catch up.
Lo and behold, she’s really, really awesome.
3.5 bottles of wine, some Wii bowling, and whole lot of laughs later, I have a for-real friend.
Grapefruit overload!
My dad came across a foreclosure not too far from their wiped-out house and wanted me to take a look at it with him. He told me about a grapefruit tree in the backyard, so we first stopped at the busted-up house to fashion a PVP pipe for some orb-picking. We walked away with better knowledge about the house’s pier and beam damage and two grocery bags full of the best grapefruit I’ve ever put into my mouth.
The grapefruit were so good, I *might* have gone back for another sack full of breakfast.
In striving to continue to expand my real estate business, I’ve been eyeing Galveston for a good, long while now and have made several trips out to that dirty little island. It’s by no mean one of those beautiful white sand beaches where the blue waves lap at the shoreline, but I’m a little in love with the place.
If I ever settle down there (a distinct possibility), I’ll have to put a grapefruit tree in the yard.
Newsweek: Stress is good for you. Screw you, Newsweek.
For the past several weeks, I’ve been packing for a move to an unknown location. My thoughts on where to land vacillate quite frequently. I’ve finalized my location to Austin’s Hyde Park neighborhood (and will be signing a short-term lease this weekend), but for a while it switched between that, Galveston, Phoenix, a nicer part of Houston, and my ever-present dream of Hawaii.
With exception to Hawaii, those are great places to do the above-mentioned real-estating. I figure if I can land somewhere for a couple months, I can see what there is to see for properties.
That, and there’s a man in Austin who I need to hammer things out with and figure out if it’s a Go or a No-go. But we’re not going to talk about that right now since I don’t mention smoochin’ unless it’s a Go. Do note that I’ve kept my mouth shut for years now.
That being said, there’s been a significant amount of stress in my life. And I don’t care what Newsweek says, I prefer my life stress-free.
Even better: Renters approved, and they want most of my stuff. In Chicago soon-ish to clean things out.
After some donkey in my Chicago building listed her similar unit $50k below market in an attempt to sell it quickly, I put mine on the rental market and got renters immediately. That meant I had to hustle up to Chicago to clean out my place for them to move in.
My very first post-flight encounter with another human was in line to buy a CTA card to ride the train into the city. There was a single line for two machines. Being second in line, when the lady in front of me didn’t have her money out and was fiddling with her purse, I announced that I was going since I sufficiently had my shit together prior to being at the front of the line.
The old bat didn’t like this, exclaimed that she had her money ready, and insisted that I not go before her.
“Fine, you go.”
Under normal circumstances, I’d not be such a sack of crap. In my defense, my flight was at an ungodly hour. And, really, the lady had more than enough time to pull $2.25 out of her purse and position it in-hand to keep others from waiting any longer in the line.
She shuffled forward, putting her first dollar bill in. Then her second. Then she hit vend.
Again, under normal circumstances, I might have said something. Ya know, like, “Note the eye-level signs, lady. The train no longer costs $2. You need to put in another quarter.”
But since she was so insistent that she was ready to roll, I let it go and smirked to myself about how pissed she was about to be when she’d have to stand in line again to add a quarter to her card.
I was done with my transaction just in time to witness her smack her stomach on the turnstile and be told by a not-so-friendly CTA employee that she needed to learn to read signs.
Buuuuuuurn!
The rest of my weekend went pretty well. A friend kept me constant company while I packed everything up. My not-boyfriend and I coordinated his movers to facilitate a mass move with both our items. I had dinner with the gays and learned a new game that’s worth remembering. I had brunch with a couple friends and shared girly talk. I had dinner with the regulars. I had another dinner with another set of regulars. The movers pulled up to take the last of my stuff as I was literally on my way out the door to go to the airport, and it was kinda zen to say goodbye to Chicago.
Miracle of miracles, $62 and no diabetes.
And in final news, the cat indeed doesn’t have diabetes. He’s back to his normal self, and I’m not spending $200 a week in getting him poked and prodded.
Well, apparently Jesse’s started telling the story of Jesse and Jo. If we were Hollywood types, they’d call us Josse.
Alas, we’re not Hollywood types. But his sister and I are. They call us Mo and Jo, and they even have a yogurt chain in Phoenix named after us. Or at least that’s what we’re pretending while holding hands and skipping into a field of daisies while Jesse and her boyfriend “Anew” are holding our abandoned purses.
On that note, this revitalization of my blog comes because Jesse’s tens of readers are clicking over here, and it’s a little sad that the top entry is months old with photos of my oh-so-many purses.
Sidenote: The light blue Kate Spade had to be retired, and I’ve since replaced with a no-name blue-green bag with a zipper, two outer pockets, an inner pocket, and a buckle. *And* I just found a Coach bag in a local consignment store that makes me wiggle my fingers and chant, “I want, I want, I want,” like it’s a really cute baby who’s old enough to sleep through the night and laugh, yet young enough to think I’m it’s momma and love me forever and ever.
Sub-sidenote: Yeah, yeah. I’m a 29-year-old woman. Babies are getting cuter. Got any comments about my change of heart? Kindly keep them to yourself. Thankyouverymuch, jerks.
I’ll let him continue with the story about how we met online, how we met in real life, and how I fulfilled expectations for being a pain in the ass to the exact amount that people (READ: he) will still put up with it because I say enough funny things to make up for it.
All that being said, I truthfully don’t have much else to say. Life in Houston doesn’t give me much to say. I know I’m leaving in the not-too-distant future, so I haven’t been particularly motivated to meet people or do things outside of family matters. All I really do is work out, and I’ve subsequently lost 14 pounds.
Working and working out don’t make for good blog entries.
That, or I want little evidence of my few months spent here.
Either way, that’ll have to do for now. This is at least something to get the purses off the top of the page. More to come later.
