Those girls…the long and winding two weeks…there and back

A couple of years ago while working for a non-profit,  I was responsible for interviewing talented and skilled people to teach the students in our programs.  I interviewed all sorts of people but none made quite the impact as we will call her Lucy Lopan.

This woman walks in, mid-twenties, wearing the kind of perfume that engulfs a space and lingers long after she has left the room.  Her long hair was perfectly flowing in large waves of black that matched her outfit.  She had the kind of makeup on that covers every single pore and enough layers of eye shadow, blush and lipstick that an hour long power wash would not scrape the surface.  She was pretty…the kind of girl that you see working up and down the aisles of Sephora.

The interview was conducted by me and I had a —-oh wait— how could I forget the most important part.  She had fake lashes- the kind that look like they could be natural but are long enough to be noticeably unnatural.  Okay- so my coworker and I interview this woman.  Lucy Lopan leaves her card with her perfect photoshopped pic and walks out.  For the next ten minutes my coworker goes on and on about her.  And I let a thought slip out of my mouth- the kind of thought that you know should only be shared with your closest, bestest girl friends-not with your coworker man-child.   “I’ve always wanted to be one of those girls…”

The moment it came out of my mouth I cringed.  Loud obnoxious laughter followed.  Embarrassing, loud obnoxious laughter.  Challenge accepted.

For the next two weeks, I pulled out the big guns.  I’ve always had a love for makeup and have spent way to much money at Laura Mercier counter at Saks…and the Nars counters…and Kiehl’s because what’s the point of all that color is your skin is grody.   I digress.

Now I’ve always worn a full face of makeup but never to the max…not like those girls.  So I pulled it all out: bronzers, highlighters, tight-line, eyeliners.  I must have added like ten new products to my already expanse make up routine.  And then I topped it all off with a nice pair of eyelashes.  Yes, for two weeks this became my ritual.  Oh and I invested in this amazing volumizer.  I had the face and the hair…I became one of those girls.

How did I feel?  I loved the look but the work was too much and let’s face it- I worked for a non-proft working with inner city youth-the look was a bit much.  And the lashes everyday?  The truth is I have pretty nice lashes as it is.  I did struggle every morning to put them on, however, the last day I wore them, I put them on like a boss.

Every thing was going great till casual Friday.   I can not remember what I wore, but I remember feel great about the way I turned out.  A group of us went out for lunch to a local cafe, mind you two weeks have gone by and I am basking (not just cause of the bronzer) in my new look.  The coworker from the interview puts his hand to my face as I am about to take a bite of my sandwich, “Are you still wearing the fake lashes?”  All eyes on me.

I sit there in silence for what felt like thirty minutes, even though it was probably only a few seconds, “Yeah, and?”  I was horrified and a bit surprised that everyone seemed to have grown accustomed the new me.  Then everyone started asking questions about the lashes- “Do they hurt?” “How long does it take?” Blah, blah, blah.

That was the topic for the rest of lunch.  And that was the end of that.

I still have an unopened pack of lashes in my makeup drawer and stare at it fondly from time to time. I dream of taking them out on the town, maybe shopping for toiletries at Target or dinner at Whole Foods.  Sometimes I imagine that we are running through a waterfall and run out drenched they intact.  But it must remain a dream, at least for now.  Maybe I’ll bust them out on our wedding anniversary.  Or maybe they make an appearance at Sunday brunch. All I know is that I must not let that girl die- she had fun shellac face and all.

Puppy Bowl what? Kitty Bowl?- No, maybe that’s a Pitbull song.

Okay- so we are doing this…we are actually going to watch the Super Bowl.  Or at least start watching it once dinner is ready.  In high school I mostly watched the big game for the commercials.  This was important because the next day everyone would surely be talking about the funny beer commercials, dogs, etc.  But as college came and went I stopped watching.

So today…in a few minutes, we will sit down with football appropriate food and watch men run around throwing a pig-skinned projectile.  I will ask a billion questions and Matthew will answer them, happy because i am taking an interest in something that he enjoys…(can you say wife of the year…).

For a couple of years I have heard of this thing called a Puppy Bowl.  And today as I was scrolling through Facebook updates- I noticed several friends are excited about watching this particular event.  Genius, I say, genius.  Aim for that demographic that has zero interest in the Super bowl or those witty commercials. 

Now I prepare myself…getting in old Grey’s Anatomy reruns.  Estrogen-ing up!

My week as a cat-napper. Or how I learned the bad things my overactive imagination is capable of doing all on its own.

Earlier this week I realized the dark twisted turn that my life took, when I decided to adopt Magnifico, the stray cat that wandered onto my porch. As it turns out, Magnifico is really Tigger and all her little friends are actually her siblings. They are my neighbors rescue cats. My neighbor has been sweet enough to let me continue to interact with them, however, I have ended the relationship with Magnifico. I feel lied and betrayed. Okay the truth is I feel ridiculous for assuming the worst and creating this elaborate story that made my husband feel bad for me and let me “adopt” this cat.  My heart is healing and moving on. I need a dog.

Yogi bear…yoga hair

One of the most difficult things for me to do is try a new physical activity in public.  i hate feeling silly and i swear that everyone has stopped what they are doing to stare at me.  I remember the first time my trainer had me try a burpee I said to her- oh it must be humbling experience day.

The truth is no matter how embarrassed or difficult the physical activity, I usually end up happy and excited about defeating it.  As self conscious as I am about my chubby body- endorphins kick in and I’m okay.

Today I was able to experience one of these challenging, uncomfortable moments.  And to add a little bit of flare, I was surrounded by mirrors.

Matthew has back issues, chronic back pain. His doctor suggested yoga or Pilates as a form of exercise.  Our gym offers yoga classes three times a week. We decided on Saturday but ran late and opted hiking instead.

This afternoon we walked into the studio.  The instructor noticed right away that we were new. I’m not sure what gave it away. It could have been the soft tummies we are both carrying or the whatthefuckarewedoing looks in our eyes.  She was nice and polite.

And so we began. She had us stretching, finding our core, our place, listening to our breathe and taking off our socks. Seriously, I really have to stare at my I un-pedicured toes. Not far. I’m here to relax.

Mirrors surrounded us and I kept focusing on the instructor. I felt like I was actually completing the poses, that is till I glanced up at the mirror. How could something that felt so right look oh so wrong?

We survived class and will definitely be back. I in the meantime will be looking for a tent or a snuggy that I can wear to class.  Or I could just wait six months before looking in the mirror (in class).

Magnifico. And other things inspired by Queen.

This is about to become a post about cats. In all actuality it is a post about cats-not the musical. I have been a cat person most of my life. There have been a few dogs in life (both literally and metaphorically) but for the most part I have remained a loyal cat person.

So as I approach my mid thirties, and my biological clock starts ticking like its overtime during nba finals, I now begin to want to take care of things, nurture things, make things my own. Here enters Magnifco.

A week ago I spotted Magnifico attacking some garbage bags full of food that I had left on the porch. These bags were filled with  food that was in the fridge the night electricity was out.  I noticed right away that she seemed quite too skinny for her tall lanky body.  After pleading my case for the billionth time that day, Matthew caved and okay’d me to feed her.

Fast forward to yesterday. I have some how managed in the span of a week to turn our home into the Heaviside lair. Last night a cat climbed up our door and was dangling from the window. Another tried to run inside as soon as I opened the door. Then there is the orange cat that pretends to be cute and adorable but I am pretty sure is out to get the other cats.

The problem is that we already have two feisty yet pansy ass indoor cats. Seriously, our indoor cats are all talk. Matthew and I are certain that they are plotting our death, but they would never last in the great outdoors. The weather alone is enough to send them running inside.  Now to make things worse we have pack of streets cats calling our porch home.

The end result. I have had to cut down how often I feed Magnifico. And I have to stand there and watch her eat to ensure that the others cats do not attack her. Seriously, there are like four freaking Macavity’s on our porch.   So I’ve concluded two things:

1. Magnifico is a pushover, much like my other cats.  (This used to be a prerequisite for any man I ever dated.  Thank God, I married a man.)

2.   We need to have kids.

in the mean time, we are preparing to adopt a dog. Bruce shall be his name.

Junkie, junkie love

I grew up watching novelas (spanish soaps).  Dinner was followed by two to three hours of cheesy, dramatic, love tales.  Each novela much more intense than the other.  It was common knowledge that the six o’clock soap was good, the seven o’clock soap better and the eight o’clock soap…THE BEST.  By no means did we ever run errands after 7:00 p.m. as this would only put us at risk of missing the best soap of all!!!

From a very young age I became obsessed with falling in love.  I wanted the moment of recognition when two people realize that they are meant to be together and the music changes into a dramatic, intense melody.  I wanted those drawn out declarations of love where my favorite two favorite actors would admit that they have loved each other from the moment they met, that their hearts were meant to beat as one and that they would never ever again spend another moment apart (ugh smother much…).  From the age of five I wanted to fall in love.

And so I did many, many times.  My favorite part of every relationship consisted of the first two weeks to a month- when all those falling in love feelings are there: the constant thinking about each other, the long phone calls that begin in the evening and last late into the night, the wanting to spend every moment together.   That was my favorite part of a relationship and I found it comforting that in each relationship that feeling felt exactly the same.  It was like watching a Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan romcom- you know what to expect and yet you are still delightfully excited.  It was a predictable falling in love.

I began dating 18 years ago (I hate when you get to that age when you can say that things happened more than ten years ago).  A few boyfriends, some really bad mistakes and one ex-husband later and I am still obsessed with falling in love.  Except now I am in love,  completely in love in a way that does not mirror any of my other relationships.  Yes, yes i know, everyone says it, “I’ve never felt this way before…” but the truth is I really haven’t.  My feelings for each person before were the exact same feelings- but this time, it’s so unreal and unknown and completely scary (in an absolutely wonderful way).  And those feelings have lasted well beyond the first two weeks- we have been together for fifteen months and married for nine and my heart still stops when I see him walk in a room or he sends an “I love you” text.

So what does all this mean- It means that now romantic comedies seem so mediocre and I can not watch novelas. The truth is I have not tried to watch a novela- and there is enough drama that I may just give it a shot.  But romantic comedies do nothing for me.  And believe me I have tried.  Matthew has been dragged to so many chick flicks in the time we have been together and has seen me disappointed time and time again.

The romantic comedy was once fuel for my hopelessromaticism.  It motivated me to believe that at any moment, I could get my Gucci heal stuck in a crack on a street, have a dumpster roll towards me and some hot looking doctor would rescue me.  The romcom made my believe that true love could be conquered by all at the top of the Empire State building.  And then I fell in love. And shit got real.

My rose colored glasses were broke and I could no longer relate to this genre of film.  I thought of this earlier this evening as I was watching the Biggest Loser on hulu.  I sat there crying my eyes out and could not recall the last time I cried during a romcom.  It has been months.  Has falling in love broken me from the deep desires of watching chick flicks.  I definitely need to work through this stuff out.  Chick flicks were such a part of my life before…what now?

What now?

New Year’s Resolution No. 2568490320- Learn to be more proactive; instead of reactive.

During lunch…

Matthew: You and I are reactive people. Not proactive people.

Me: Why do you say that?

Matthew: We don’t work out to stay in shape. We work out because we got fat.

The events of yesterday evening were the kind that make people question what they are doing with their lives.  They make people ask themselves, why did I marry this person.  They make people weak, angry and defensive and blamers. Yes, blamers.

As we pulled into the drive way, we notice the lights were all off in the house. I confirmed with Matthew that we did indeed leave them on this morning.  Then we walked inside.  I flipped a light switch. Nothing.   I turned to Matthew, “They turned the lights off.”

I quickly searched the cabinets  for candles because if you know me, I am terrified of the dark.  Seriously. I will hall ass down the hallway to the nearest light switch if I wake up in the middle of the night.

Matthew called the energy company. We had not received a bill in a over a month or a disconnection notice. WTF?!?! How could they just do that?

Billing was closed. And nothing could be done till the morning. We light candles eat dinner and I hear Matthew upset. I kept telling him everything would be fine. What’s a few hours without electricity?  I was not trying to comfort him, I was really okay with it.

This made me think about my previous marriage.  If this incident had occurred back then, all hell would have broken loose. I would have blamed my ex-husband, screamed that I wanted a divorce for the 100th time that week.  And I would have packed my bags and stayed with my parents.

Not this time. The truth is we slacked off. We have not made time to look at bills the last month.  We have both been so busy with other things that we did not make this a priority. Forward to today at noon when we had the conversation at the beginning of this blog. We agreed, we make too much money for this to happen. And we need to be proactive about bills and not assume that the other person took care of it. Sometimes, I think we are too busy being in love that we forget to be responsible grown-ups.

As a side note- earlier yesterday I had been super grumpy and moody.  I was crying at lunch about not knowing what to do with my life. Matthew was sure it was his fault I was unhappy. Ugh so much drama! By 9:00 pm, I had perspective.  Silly woman, you married your bff. Calm down.

All wonderful, relationship growth aside- it was interesting living in third world conditions for ten hours.  Things got real, real fast. First of all, I had no idea we owned that many candles. Second of all, i spent most of the evening terrified we were going to burn the house down. I stayed awake as long as I could just so that I would not forget to turn off the lights. I can not explain how terrifying it was to have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night without lights.  I wore my big girl panties well, walked quickly through the hallway, walked quickly into the bathroom making sure not to look at the mirror at all while washing my hands.  At one point one the cats scared me. I could have sworn she was a giant rat. God, I hope it wasn’t a rat.

As I write this, Matthew plays Halo 4.

So in an attempt to turn things around, we decided to go to the gym early this morning.  Seeing as I would not be able to blow dry my hair at home, we decided to shower and change at the gym.  In an effort to lose all this happily in love marriage weight, I started this 12 week fitness challenge from The Sweaty Betties http://thesweatybetties.com/
. I am on week 1 Day #2 and I love it.  It is definitely a great workout.  Fifteen minutes later, I was drenched in sweat. Matthew decided to try it out. He did well, except for his criticism of my squats.

This week has been intense. I would like to think that I have grown as a person and as spouse.  This weekend will be filled with board games and budgeting.

Friday, I welcome with you open arms.  For real, hold me closer tiny dance.

 

 

Lunes, lunes, lunes maloso

Today was both amazing and difficult.

I slept maybe three hours last night.  My mind was filled with a gazillion different thoughts and a desire to write chapters upon chapters of To-Do-Lists.  However, my exhaustion and a bought of lazyitosis kept me from getting out of bed, walking to the living room and retrieving paper and a writing utensil.  So instead, I stayed in bed and simply kept thinking.

Lack of sleep and I do not go very well together.  Needless to say, this morning required some extra special crack.  I pull into the Starbucks and inquire about the bold of the day.  All I kept thinking was “please don’t say Christmas blend. God in heaven please don’t let it be.”  Over the intercom I hear, “Komodo Dragon.”  Holy Mother of Abraham Lincoln!!!  After two months of having to hear “Thanksgiving/Christmas blend” the Gods looked down on me and said, “Here my child drink of this, your second favorite coffee ever (Casi Cielo is my absolute favorite. That is the sweet nectar of the Gods.  It’s been rumored that they use actual Cherub tears in the blend).

I’m on my way to work, singing along to my “Songs for melancholic chaotic week” mix Cd (lots of Mumford & Sons, one Lumineers song and The Pretenders).  And it hits me- I’m on complete and total autopilot.  It’s as if I had never been on vacation. I am completely going through the mentions with my work life.  There was no excitement to be back and see all the different students or co-workers.

During lunch, Matthew and I met up. We eat lunch together almost every day, unless one of us has a working lunch meeting that we can not get out of no matter what.  We work about 15 minutes away from each other, so most day’s we have maybe 20 minutes to eat and then we are on our way.  It has become this obsession that we have lunch together.  I think it might have something to do with the fact that we were not the greatest of spouses in our previous marriages so now we try extra hard to make time for each other.  At first, I thought the driving back and forth might be too much but honestly, now my day is incomplete with out our lunch time.  It’s a great way to re-energize and focus for the rest of the day.

Matthew was so excited about his Monday. He was going on and on about the great meeting he had and all the positive progress he made in just a few short hours.  As he was speaking, I found myself feeling completely jealous and angry.  He is happy in his job.  And I am not. And the worst part is that I just started this job four months ago.  It isn’t a horrible place.  I work for an amazing district.  Everyone around me is super nice and supportive and kind.  And I do not dislike what I do but I am not happy- not Matthew happy about it.

In Matthew’s voice, I could hear so much passion and an excitement to get back to work- an excitement that I have not felt in years at a place of employment.  Later in the afternoon, we were texting back and forth and Matthew asked me what we are going to do about finding something that I love to do.  I have thought about this all afternoon and I think I am going to challenge myself.

From now, or maybe from tomorrow morning till the end of February, I will:

• Give myself kudos- identify five of my best talents/skills (Being a Master of Bad ass-ery, you would think, I’d have everything figured out).
• Research different careers based on those skills. Narrow down the list to two.
• Create Steps 1-3 for moving me in that direction.

Now I’m giving myself a month and half.  I get way to distracted to give myself a deadline of January 31st.

Did I just give myself homework? Wish me luck.

Tuesday- You better be nice because Monday kicked my ass.

Monday’s aftermath.

 

Don’ttouchmymustache.

Last night hours before the Phase 10 fiasco we had a minature golf double date. The place was super cute, dark with black lights everywhere. The decor definitely screamed Monster Golf (the name fit it well).

During the second to last hole- an impossible one I might add- some young kid randomly walked up to the dj booth to ask a trivia question for a prize. The question: Is a shark a fish or a mammal?  First of all, I can not believe that was a question but hey some people may not really know right?  The young kid, said that we had to walk up to the booth to give the answer.  So I took two steps and claimed my prize- a super cute mustache. 

I thought about donning it during the rest of the game- the entire last hole but decided against it.  I have big plans for this ‘stache.  The possibilities are endless.  Seriously.

En fin…tomorrow is Monday. Vacay is over.   I wish everyone a splendid Monday.  Kick ass and take names.

“Little Miss, little miss, little miss can’t be wrong…” or in this case Mr.

Today is a day full of sorrow and melancholy.  In 16 hours my vacation will be over and I will be thrust back into the reality of normal 9 to 6 life.  Don’t get me wrong, my normal life is not bad at all.  I am fortunate enough to LOVE my job.  Goodbye sleeping in past seven.  Goodbye trash TV.  Goodbye lounging in pj’s all day.  You have been good to me.

Last night we had some friends over.  And we began to play phase ten. It blows my mind how intense card games can actually be.  Things became heated and Matthew and I ended up disagreeing on a move.  The details are irrelevant but as a result I decided to bow out of the game. 

Now- I love to win.   Nothing makes me happier than to kick everyone’s ass at a anything.  However, I am a firm believer in being fair.  And if things are not fair then I would just much rather step out before I begin to act like I had just recently been exposed to gamma rays.  Unfortunately, my bowing out was considered throwing a fit.  Fine, I’ll take it. Maybe I was being a little pansy but eh.  Whatevs.

What I found fascinating is the need to be right. What is it in us that makes us want to be right so bad that nothing else matters?  We will stop at no length- even hurt someone’s feeling publicly just so that we can be right…

In the end, it turns out I was right.  Of course. Of course.