the Proverbs 31 woman did not look like Barbie.

ok, so, I've been thinking.
Which I don't let myself do a lot of, since thinking leads to missing and yearning for a year from now, and that puts me into a funk only retail therapy, which I cannot afford, can fix.

But this has been nagging me for days now, so here it goes.

The Proverbs 31 woman. Do we see anything there about her getting up at the butt-crack of dawn to do sit ups, or Pilates, or yoga? Does Scripture show her counting calories or fighting to put on Spanx, or wondering where the extra tire or two around her middle came from? Does she put off grocery shopping or tending to the physical and emotional needs of her children to search the web for the best deal on liposuction or a boob-lift?

I think you can sense that these are hypothetical questions. Although, I have a feeling similar thoughts MIGHT have crossed her mind a time or two (ok, maybe not the liposuction).  But the point is, she was known -put down on paper for all time, for goodness sake!- for better things, and I think that is because she was preoccupied with better things.


You know what I do not see in Song of Salomon, or Proverbs 31, or the plethora of laws and regulations in Scripture? I do not see one about women, wives, and their size. Or how a man can put a wife "away" for being a little saggier, or tired, or bigger than she once was.

I do see, however, laws against unfaithful or impure women.

I do see Salomon, arguably the world's wisest man next to Christ Himself, spouting poetry, POETRY! about how beautiful his wife's neck and eyes and lips and breasts were. And interestingly, nowhere in that entire book does it say she was a 34-24-34. And this was a man who had 700 hundred wives and 300 concubines, and was king, so he could have all the variety and newest models he wanted. And you know what? They were his downfall because for all they could offer in some areas, they were not after the heart of the one true God.


I do see Proverbs 31 praising an industrious, FRUGAL, wise woman. I do see a woman whose reputation for being a paragon of MODESTY, class, godliness, and fairness was well known in the city she lived in. And that those were the reasons her husband was proud to call her "wife." Not because she was eye-candy.


You might be wondering where some of this is coming from. Well, some of it might be coming from a certain date in August that I dread every year now. But I think some of this is coming from God looking into my mind and saying "seriously?" He really knows how to press the buttons.

Yes, I am only going to be 28.
In less than a month.
In 26 days, to be precise.
And yes, this is a big deal, since I used to think 23 was so old my brain literally couldn't conceive of anything older.

And yes, I've spent the last year wondering where my metabolism went, and feeling guilty half the time because I am still several sizes smaller than the average American woman, and still several sizes smaller than I will be once I've finally had children (which is a totally separate issue I am not willing to discuss right now). And yes, I wish I could complain that all my clothes feel tight and I cannot figure out how what I see in the mirror doesn't jive with what I see in my mind's eye (which is Katherine Heigl, if you're wondering). Except I feel small and ungrateful and shallow when I am about to complain about exactly those things.

But I hear people I respect talk about how we women need to be vigilant that we don't "let ourselves go," that we need to try to stay attractive because our men our visual. I think this is true, up to a point, for both sexes. And yes, I think we could all benefit from self control when it comes to lots of stuff, like eating what is bad for us and then complaining about the consequences, or shopping for what we don't need, or allowing our emotions to rule us and wreak havoc on those around us. And I think we should do as many of the little things as we can, like make-up and/or exercise if we're so inclined, or wearing clothes that show we have respect for ourselves and others. I think these are all beneficial and do no harm, as long as they are done in moderation and with the right perspective. But I think having a confident, bright, positive, supportive, encouraging, gee-I'm glad-you're-home-I-Love-you attitude can go a lot further in the long run than some mascara or a the newest fashions.

But we cannot be obsessed with what, honestly, just cannot be!!!  I'm sorry but both sexes could use a little reality check. I don't see a lot of women dissatisfied with their husbands because their hair is thinning, or there is a little extra along the waistline than years ago. I am not one to play the foul card, but I think this is unfair. Just sayin.

So, back to the Lady of Proverbs 31.

She didn't get there by being a work-out-a-holic, or Martha Stewart. She got there by being godly, by actively searching out God's heart. You know how I am sure of this? Because I don't think she could've been all she was cracked up to be if He hadn't helped her to be all those things.


And that's the kind of "fame" I am wishing for. Hoping I can achieve.

Because I don't want people at my memorial remembering me for how well I decorated my house (although, even the Proverbs 31 woman, I think, would've made her house welcoming, peaceful, etc, etc.) or how often I updated the wall paper or throw pillows. I want to be remembered as loving, joyful, peaceful, patient (God help us all when we pray for this!) kind, good, faithful, gentle, and self-controlled.

Though my daydreams very, very often run towards the perfect dinner party, or a knock-em-out-of-their-socks birthday bash, I have been wondering why I've been more preoccupied with those things than with how God wants me to treat His children, or why i am more worried about the rolls in my middle than the sin in my heart.

Why do I worry more about the fact that my roots are coming in and picking the perfect boxed hair color, than whether roots of selfishness, shallowness, jealousy, judgment, are taking root?

Do I actually think that my Creator, MY SAVIOR, Who cannot possibly find anything redeemable in me, Who really should cast me off and burn me as He would something soiled and repugnant...do I really think that He would be more proud of my wardrobe, or my decorating skills, or the myriad of other concerns that mean nothing in His economy? do I really think those things weigh more than my utter humiliation before Him? more than wanting His heart for my own? more than being His grateful servant? that whatever I think I have to offer is worth more to Him than the tears I should use to wash His feet with, tears of gratefulness, humility, brokenness, and stupification that I GET to spend not only eternity, but this life, with Him? do I really think anything else beside my COMPLETE OBEDIENCE to Him is acceptable?


again...I think you can read the hypothetical.

So I challenge you, and myself .

Let us be virtuous wives (Proverbs 31: 10a) Let's ask God for special revelation about what HE thinks this means and how it looks lived out. Let's ask our Father how we can honor Him by living as His daughters.

Let us be conduct ourselves as women "worth more than rubies" (vs 10b). Let's try to remember that we want to hear "well done, good and faithful servant" more than "well done, toned and size 4 with perky breasts and glowing skin."

Let us be trustworthy (vs. 11a) . Let us not tell stories about each other that are not praiseworthy and edifying. Let us not tell tales about our husbands or marriages or kids that do not reflect how we ARE DIFFERENT. Let us tell only stories that show how our unions reflect our union with Christ. (And I gotta give a shout out to the Hubby for pointing this out to me recently).

Let us be hardworking, not idle, and use all our resources wisely, to the benefit of ourselves, our husbands/fathers/brothers/sisters, family, and church body/community (vs. 13-16). Yes, we need to take time for ourselves. Even Christ did so. But let our time be redeemed by service. I pray, for myself the most, that I stop balking when my husband asks for a refill even when I am comfy on the couch, or a myriad of other things that make me think "what would it be like to be served myself?" Let us ask if there was anything Christ held in reserve for Himself, before we ask what we should get in return for anything, or before we hold back love and service in hopes of reciprocation.

Let us be strong in Him, and be honorable (vs.25), and
Let us ask God to show us what wisdom and kindness says, looks like, acts like, thinks, etc, and that He would move us toward those things which please Him (vs. 26).

And let us remember that "charm is deceitful,  and beauty is passing, but a woman who FEARS the Lord, she shall be praised." (vs. 30).

enter unimaginative post name here

Ok, so…

I know it’s been way too long since my last post, and I know you were all checking daily for a new one (right?) but none of you checked in on me in my absence, so you are now in time out. Your second punishment will be that I cram two months worth of happenings and wonderings into this post and then I will leave it on a cliffhanger and then not post for another two months. Well, that is if I can think of a cliff hanger before I finish this.

In my last post I mentioned the struggle I had with my headaches. I think it was that week that I finally had it and decided to try a supplement that I had heard of for years on the radio but thought it too cost prohibitive to give a try (which is actually not true). Let me just say that Jigsaw Magnesium with SRT HAS CHANGED MY LIFE (and no I am not a paid spokesperson…I’d say it for another 6 months supply. I’m totally addicted now- addicted to a pain free existence! But seriously, no, I’m not affiliated with them at all).  I feel like a different person, alive, capable… instead of the walking dead. I cannot tell you how many mornings I have woken up and just said a prayer of thanks to God that finally I have some relief. Even Hubby has said it’s like I’m a different person, and now he wants a divorce because he actually liked me snarky, dependent and offering to do anything for him to rub my shoulders and head (ok, he didn’t really say all that but I think secretly it’s what he is thinking…but not the divorce part.) Now he’s taking advantage because I don’t have an excuse not to rub his shoulders or to cover up for some snotty remark. I’m really having to step up my game now.

It’s almost worth it.

So YAY! for me. Now it’s not the pain I worry about preventing me from being a good mother in the future. It’s just me I have to worry about. Which brings me to another story.

I previously reported that God had provided me with a great job babysitting 3 times a week for a 4 month old.

Yeah, that’s over.

Grandma decided to come live with them and now I am out of a job. I won’t go into the many, many, many days I came home crying because I was so exhausted after 9 hours of watching the baby, who all in all was fine but was extra needy and cranky and the only thing that made him happy was to be in the stroller or chest harness (?), walking and walking and walking, in rain or hell on earth. I won’t detail how I cried because of course this meant that I am going to be the world’s worst mother because I judged a four month old of being too needy and talking about how I should just go have my tubes tied and thinking of all the mommies in my life who make it look so darn easy and fun and they would of course never get mad at a child for anything, and how of course Hubby was going to be Super dad because he is better at everything than I am. It was enough to have me eating anything made of bread and cheese and alcohol for about 6 weeks and now I can’t fit into my jeans (and a few pairs of underwear) and I still can’t afford the subway fare to the gym to work it off.

Thankfully I had made enough to pay off the tickets we bought to go out in July to California, but now I am looking for anything to supplement our less than sufficient refund checks from student loans. I am handling it better than I would have several years ago though. Funny how moving across the country in 6 weeks and not having anything or anyone out here will make a lot of other things seem small in comparison. I’ve joined a website where I’ve made myself available to do dog walking, housekeeping and babysitting. But it’s been two weeks and I’ve only gotten one response which led to an interview which has led to nothing. So we’re looking into ways we can borrow more money because YAY! we just found out that our last student loan refund check comes in January of 2012…a whole 4 months before we have to move back to California and Hubby has to find a job, and the check already doesn’t cover our living expenses for the 4 month period they are supposed to cover now. And we need plane fare and cars and, and, and…

Like I said, I could sooo freak out about all this, but just this once I’m gonna try and sit back and wait to see what God’s gonna pull together for us. Just this once I will not freak out.

I might weep a little in the shower later, but I will NOT freak out.

In other news…

It’s not cold anymore. Not even a little bit, not even cool. It’s 81 degrees in our apartment even though it’s only 75 outside, and the humidity is over 60%. And it’s not even June. So we’re gonna get the air conditioner out of storage tonight because there is no way I am sleeping on a faux leather couch cause Hubby doesn’t want the window open since the birds are practicing their audition for American Idol out there. I woke up this morning feeling like that Senator from the X Men movie who got zapped by that ray and turned into that jelly and then burst into liquid and drained out.  All because when you wait until your married, you don’t know that your spouse’s secret identity is a pottery kiln. And then it’s too late.

I know my posts always run the same pattern: complain, freak out, complain, then admit my life is pretty good considering. I feel like I should erase all that precedes this sentence because there are people missing loved ones in the South because of the tornadoes, and Japan is still in reeling, and lots of people are losing their homes because they can’t find jobs.

But I keep this blog not only to keep you all informed but also as a reminder when I look back at how God does provide, in abundance, not only the things we need but the things we didn’t even know we needed (for instance, Hubby’s grandmother recently passed away and of course we couldn’t afford even one ticket to go home for the funeral. But one of the cousin’s husbands works for an airline and was able to get us 2, count ‘em 2, roundtrip tickets for free so we could be with the family for a couple of days. We both decided that we really needed that “booster shot” of seeing everyone again, even though we hadn’t realized it. How great is our Heavenly Father?!)

So, on the positives, we were able to go home for a couple of days. We were able to get tickets to go out in July. Hubby isn’t losing his mind as much. And God has been blessing us with great sermons from our favorite pastor via podcast and we’re learning and stretching and repenting and growing like we haven’t in years.

So life’s good for us, and even if it wasn’t, I’d still be giving Him glory for all His mercy and grace He gives anew everyday. I’m hoping you’re able to do the same.

So, until July then…well, you know I probably won’t write again until then, unless somebody else decides to talk me up in CVS again or something.

And no I couldn’t think of a cliffhanger. I thought it too cruel to lie and say I’m pregnant because when I write stuff like that I end up getting hate mail from my grandma and then I have to answer in kind and then it escalates and then it's a little mini war. (Just kidding, grandma. I love you!)

yes, I'm still alive

Ok, so I know I left it hanging with the last post about the cruise, yet unfinished. Not that I am assuming all 6 of you are waiting on pins and needles for the rest. That would be awesome, to have that kind of power over peoples minds, but in reality, I know its the smallest of small potatoes.

I've just been very unmotivated, uninspired lately. The cruise was nice in that we got out of NYC, but it wasn't enough of a break. The Husband doesn't believe it was a mistake, as we are super thoughtful about how we spend our meager funds; this was just a "we need to get out of NYC or we may end up killing ourselves or others." So really, we did it for our own good and for the safety of the populace. But it was a quick, not well researched decision, and those are the kinds we hate, hate, hate, and it ended up being a little bit of a deflating experience. So I don't think I want to relive it, even for my faithful 6 followers, most of whom I will have to goad into reading this by pleading and begging on Facebook.

But I digress. It's in my blood.

Unmotivated, uninspired.

Although in the grand scheme of the years I've been dealing with them, they are decreasing, my headaches seem to have decided that instead of visiting frequently, they will gang up on me for a week or so at a time. Which causes me to be frustrated, depleted emotionally and physically, and surly. I try to keep busy, as they are connected to tension in my shoulders and neck, and not staying in one place helps ease that tension; but there is only so much house cleaning you can do in an apartment this small, only so much laundry and grocery shopping. And since it is still pretty freaking cold out here, especially with the unrelenting wind that slices like a samurai sword through even the thickest layers, taking a walk isn't always productive, and it makes me lonely sometimes. And it costs me $5 in subway fare just to go into the city and back, and since it's been lean lately, I can't even afford to go to the gym, even if I got past the mental road blocks and decided to go.

And I think it is hitting both of us that it's only been a year. A YEAR!!! It seems like 12. And we still have about 14 months to go. And I am tired of the cold, but then I remember last summer and the sadistic humidity we had that even the freezer section of the grocery store couldn't fight, and I think, well at least its always pretty warm in the apartment. That doesn't fly in the summer. The only place cool in my apartment is the 6 inches in front of the air conditioner in our bedroom, and while I enjoy the small slice of Manhattan I can see from out window, it looses its luster after about 10 minutes.  So I end up sticking to the couch...literally.

And now it's come to the point where I have to start working. Hopefully the babysitting job will be steady, and I am looking into working for a caterer one of the Husband's co-students worked for. I don't mind; I guess I just don't want to relive the pressure of having to work.  That may sound wimpy, but I hate that pressure, and I LOVE LOVE LOVE being able to work for myself, taking care of us. It could be a hundred times harder and I would still love it.The babysitting is the best because I could use the practice (eventually) its good money, and he's an awesome baby. And the parents are great, too. I just don't know how often they will need my services, and if it will be enough.

And we want to go home for the Husband's break in summer, because we sure as you know what don't want to stay here for two weeks, but the airfare is INSANE (we're talking $1000 for the both of us right now; hoping it goes down soon or I will be looking into selling blood. Hey...that's actually an interesting idea. I wonder what I could get for my eggs. JUST KIDDING  MOM, DAD, MOM-IN-LAW, SIS-IN-LAW, GRANDMA...mostly).

But, as I am trying to be more positive, here are some good things:

we only have 14 more months.

I may be able to work a really great job with a great baby, only a block from a great park where I can walk him in the stroller and take photos and when he's more stable we can play in the grass.

Living lean still means rent is paid, food in fridge, clothes on back, cable TV and a DVR, good health compared to most, and sometimes...sometimes...spending $20 we really shouldn't spend on a cheap Mexican dinner and feeling like young, normal married people. Well, relatively young.

Digital photography doesn't cost a thing and when it warms up, I plan on going on some photography tours of the city.

I have a wonderful, generous, awesome family on both sides. And I am an only child which means even though I am almost 28, I still get spoiled. And I'm grateful for it all the time.

There's a Goodwill Outlet store 10 blocks from my house. I don't have mulah to spend there right now, but $10 bucks will get me 15-20 articles of semi-used clothing. Nothing makes me happier than a great deal.

(Ok, now I feel OK about venting just a little more.)


So...unmotivated, because of pain and pressure and a little anxiety that I shouldn't be wallowing in.

Uninspired because  nothing interesting has happened to me lately.

Unless finding and trying new recipes is interesting to you.

Or how I think of my granny cart and pots and pans as my companions since I spend more time with them than human beings. And how sometimes I talk to them. But they don't talk back so I'm still the safe side of crazy.

Or how the cat is afraid of the TV, even when it's on mute, but not always because that would make too much sense. And she's not on the safe side.

Or my campaign to get my neighbors across the hall evicted. It really is one of those situations where the phrase "It could be worse" doesn't apply.

Or how absurdly happy it makes me that its light until 7pm and soon I won't want to curse the weather gods every time I step out the door.

So, here is this post, to keep you updated. And to give me some room to vent. And be grateful.

Thanks for "listening."

Until next time, mi amigos.
Or-rev-vwa.

hawk on a wire

we had a rainstorm the other day and it rained hard for most of the day. When I woke up I looked outside and saw this hawk chilling out on the telephone pole outside our window. he sat there for several hours and allowed me to get some shots. He flew away later, but for a few hours I felt like I was sharing the storm with someone. I love those kinds of moments.

my bahama psuedo adventure-part one

Ok, so the cruise was…interesting.

First, let me say that we are grateful to have gone, grateful that our flights were uneventful and the weather in Miami and the Bahamas was mild, if a little windy. And we are grateful to have gotten the heck outta New York and our tiny apartment. We might have lost what is left of our minds if we had to stay in for nine days straight. There’s very little to do in NY, in my opinion, when you’ve already done all the tourist stuff.

Interesting began the moment we got into our black car hired to take us to La Guardia Airport. Let me just say that even at 6 am and with no traffic, we shouldn’t have arrived there in under 20 minutes. I think the driver invented “e-ticket rides” and I no longer needed my caffeine energy drink by the time we got to our destination. I’m beginning to think NY taxi drivers are a special breed of maniac.

Of course, since we got there so early, and had already checked in online, all we had to do was drop off our bags and go through security. Which took all of 25 minutes. So while being afraid to miss our flight we left 2 ½ hours early, we ended up spending a little less than two hours at the airport just waiting to board. This is something we hate, seeing as we once got stuck at London’s Heathrow airport for 24 hours, which was miserable. And airports are the least comfortable place to have to wait. Well, I guess maybe jail would be worse. Then it was onto the next portion of mild torture: the flight.

Those of you who know us would probably describe us as, well, irritable, when it comes to noises. Planes are therefore our crucible. I never fly without earplugs because it is inevitable that at least one couple will not get the message that they are not alone and that their partner is not deaf. They think those around them are though, so they continue whatever unimportant, mundane conversation they started in the airport on the plane, sometimes for the entirety of the flight. The husband and I view this travel time differently, I guess, than most. We see it as a time to be considerate, quiet, and keep to ourselves, trying to move as little as possible (which for me is just asking for a nervous breakdown, but I manage to be an adult about it) so as not to disturb those around us. So, of course, we attract those aforementioned couples like magnets. This was no exception.

The two women were not loud, per se, but sitting right behind us, talking about literally nothing, just two hens clucking away because that is woman’s nature (sorry all you feminists, but its true) was just annoying enough to have us dreading the next 2 ½ hours. They obviously didn’t realize that the third person in their row, plus us and the third person in our row, were all trying to get comfortable enough to sleep, and they were becoming increasingly unpopular with those surrounding them. But people like them see only themselves, hear only themselves, care only for themselves. Gratefully, sometime after we actually fell asleep (which was surprising) I woke up to…silence. Amazing, wonderful silence. During our nap the stewardess (oh, excuse me, “flight attendant”) must’ve shown them that there were two seats free. I don’t know where they went, but it was far enough from us that I didn’t care. I wanted to kiss whoever fixed that.

Glad that I wouldn’t have to make a scene on an airplane and be escorted to federal prison for assaulting another passenger, we soon disembarked and soaked in the high seventies weather and strong sun of Miami. Which is where I will leave off for now.

Tune in next time, same blog time, same blog channel.

Ok that was so lame.

there's a downside to looking sane and non-violent

Ok, so I’ve been experiencing a rather annoying phenomenon since moving to New York. No, I’m not adopting an accent or developing a fan page for the Knicks, Yankees or Mets. This has to do with the many, many times I’ve been approached by complete strangers who either decide to unload their life-stories, opinions, advice, or pleas for assistance on me without any discernable reason.

The most recent incident occurred last night at CVS. I was excited to be shopping there because I secretly love drug stores for all the visual stimulation and the spectrum of eccentricities embodied by their patrons.  Plus I had at least ten things I had to get, like hair dye, mascara, eye shadow, moisturizer, and toilet paper (BTW, why does it seem like these expensive “necessities” always run out at the same time? I think they have meetings in the cabinet and discuss strategy). All fun stuff (well, not necessarily the toilet paper, unless you find that exciting), and I had a cornucopia of coupons I had slaved over collecting and matching to what I needed (I ended up saving about $15, so I treated myself to some self-tanning lotion for the cruise. Now I will only be Casper’s slightly darker cousin). 

Anyways, as I was considering the merits of odor-blocking white trash bags with drawstrings over heavy duty black garbage bags with flaps, I was approached by a woman who evidently didn’t speak English. At first all I sensed was a presence to my left, which within the narrow aisles of CVS is just a cue to move out of the person’s way, so i did so. Scooting up closer to the shelves, now face-to-face with the trash bags, I again began my decision making process, when the presence moved closer still, adding a “help me?” to the movement. I look over to the presence and see a woman in a head covering and dress looking at me with a cross between puppy dog eyes and wariness. I didn’t know what to say, so I raised my eyebrows and looked askance at her (FYI, that’s the universal non-verbal translation of “can I help you?”).

“You come with me?”

“Um…sure? Why?”

“I show you.”

“Um…ok….you know I don’t work here, right?”

Nods, gestures for me to follow her. Curiosity gets the better of my sense of self-preservation and hearing my mom say “Don’t accept candy from strangers.”

I follow her into the next aisle, pushing my little granny cart, and she stops and looks at an empty space in the shelves, surrounded by lots of baby diapers and wipes. She looks at me, looks at the empty space, looks back at me, then nods back to the empty space. At this point I’m wondering if I am on that “What would you do?” TV show where they see how people react to certain uncomfortable or controversial situations. Not that that was why I decided to help her, but still.

I try asking her what she needs, and all she does is point to this hook on the shelf that must’ve, at one point, held 99 cent CVS brand wipes, and says “Is gone?”

How do you answer that when it is very clear by the lack of anything hanging on the hook, that, Yes, they’re gone? How that absence didn’t translate, I don’t know.

So I ask her if she wants those wipes, she says yes. I go to the main area of wipes just down the aisle to see if there are any there, which of course there aren’t. Then I wonder if CVS gives rain checks. But how to communicate “rain check” to this woman?  So I somehow motion to her to stay in the aisle while I went to the front to ask. I found an employee on my way and asked him, and he seemed to understand the concept, but was unsure if it applied to all products. So I led him to the aisle where the woman still waited, looking abandoned because she didn’t seem to understand that I was coming back. Once I pointed out the products in question to the employee, I left him to it. And went back to comparing trash bags. Which I didn’t even get there because they didn’t carry Force-Flex.

Why did I find this whole exchange strange? Because this happens a great deal to me. At the gym, people always to want to chat me up (and usually it’s a geriatric who’s fooling himself into thinking doing some weight lifting is going to turn back the clock), despite my headphones and my ultra-determined to work up a sweat facial expressions (which, to be fair, may seem ultra-determined in my mind, but in reality may say “please, come talk to me, I have nothing better to do.”) Or at the Laundromat, the owner tells me about stores that have the best deals; or when I buy a billion Monster drinks from the market I get a questioning look from the clerk. “They’re for my husband. He’s really old and slow and needs all the help he can get.” Yes, I say that, because he’s not there to defend himself. That’s how I roll.

But seriously, what is this about? When I need help getting something from a high shelf, I look to the nearest person who seems tall enough to do the job and sic my puppy-dog eyes on them. Or I just jump up and down trying to reach for it until someone comes to my rescue. I don’t go seeking someone out from the next aisle. I don’t bother people at the gym unless I need help. I may smile and say good-morning if I make eye-contact with someone accidentally, but I try to keep to myself. What is it about me that makes people gravitate to me. I guess I should take it as a compliment that I don’t look insane or violent or mean or drugged out, and I do, and I’m not complaining per se, it’s just weird.

Any of you have this happening in your life?

P.S.
I added more photos to “camera happy.” All of them are already on my FB, so nothing new. This is just for my grandma. What-up grandma? That’s “Hi, Grandma” in our young persons vernacular. Love you!

thoughts for an insomiac

This is what I want to know:

At what point in my life will I stop comparing me to others I perceive as better, in some way, than myself? And I don’t mean that I am having an attack of low self-esteem; in fact, the older I get the less that seems to be a problem, which is great, and one of the reasons why you couldn’t pay me enough to go back to being a teenager, or even an early twenty something. I just mean that there always seems to be a level of something that I want to reach, but didn’t know I hadn’t or even wanted to.

For instance, when will I be as witty as the characters in the movies or books I read? Actually, I think it goes deeper than that. I think about the author of some of the stupid romance novels I can’t seem to kick the habit of, and I wonder, who does this? Who can sit and create not only a plot, and characters with their own personalities, but also their conversations, their idiosyncrasies, their thoughts? And we’re not talking Moby Dick here; we’re talking cheap, write five in a year, run-of-the-mill novels. The only time I can imagine conversations like that is when I am really mad and have time to think about what I would say, how I would say it; then usually I have to scrap my well-rehearsed diatribe because it would be less than profitable if I went with it.

I rarely have a quick retort or droll comeback. I feel as deep as…jeez, this is what I’m talking about. I actually Googled “as deep as” because I couldn’t think of an amusing simile, then I Googled the difference between metaphors, analogies, and similes, to make sure I had the right word. I can’t even come up with my own similes!?! Holy Moly.

(FYI, a simile is a type of metaphor, which is different from an analogy. In case you suddenly find yourself of Jeopardy or something.)

It doesn’t help that the only people who think I’m funny or witty are the females on my mom’s side, and maybe my uncle. Of course my mom thinks I’m hilarious, but then I am an only child and she’s easily amused (you know it’s true, mom). So while I could just take the ego boost and run with it, eventually I have to fess up to the fact that the audience is biased.

It also doesn’t help that I am married to a man who was first in line for Brains, Wit: Its Use and Effective Delivery, Logic, Self-control, and pretty much every other virtue they were handing out. I was probably distracted by something shiny and all I had time for was Tools of Procrastination, How to Work Less and Eat More, Napping, and Klutz: a Step by Step Guide to First Aid- You’re Gonna Need It. There’s not even a competition. Which makes me wonder why do I feel like there needs to be a competition? Can’t I just be happy I have such an amazing, if humbling, husband, and bask in the glow of his brilliance?

If, on the rare occasion, I actually say something that makes my husband laugh, he says “that’s going in your top ten.” But there is no top ten. If we actually wrote them down, you’d see a list with only two lines filled out, because if there are more we can’t remember them, so they must not have been that great to begin with, right?

It’s not just about being funny or witty. I have come to realize I have no sense of style. I will admit that it’s difficult when 99% of the clothes out there show way too much skin to be modest, or are just plain uncomfortable. But I’ve only got a few more years before I’m stuck with the mommy-jeans and shirts with perpetual spit up stains. I want Jennifer Anniston/that mom from “19 and counting,” but I will probably end up with woman who finds joy at the bottom of the Salvation Army bargain bin (FYI: I’m already finding joy at the bottom of the Salvation Army bargain bin). Sigh….

Even when I have an opportunity to be proud of something, it usually only works to make me feel worse that something so mediocre could make me feel accomplished. I replaced our bedroom door knob the other night. I went to Home Depot, picked it out (it was the most simple looking one), removed the old one and by comparing the old and new, installed the new one. And I only locked myself in once.

Why should this cause me to surge with pride? Why should I beam when a new recipe I try comes out OK? Or want to jump for joy when I finally figured out how to come up from the subway station and not be totally disoriented? Or when I take and edit a photo that has probably been done a thousand times over by someone who actually knows what they’re doing?

I don’t know where I am going with all of this. I am not discontent, not unhappy.

I don’t have a witty ending for this one. Just going to send this out into the void and ponder.

Have a good night.

the Sandman must be on sick-leave, cause he sure isn't here...

Ok, so, insomnia attack. The Queen of Naps and Lover of Sleep has counted 347 thousand cotton-clad ruminant quadrupeds (that’s Wikipedia talk for sheep…well the ruminant part; the cotton clad part isn’t very accurate or scientific) and is more awake than when she started. Even the husband had a hard time with the Sandman, and he’s got an early start and a 15 hour day tomorrow.

So I decided to share with you all the things that keep running through my head in among the herd of Ovis aries (sheep again…I love Wikipedia) in hopes that a good mental purging will clear the air and let me get to sleep.

I’ve been reading this series of books about these impossibly creative women, a pastry chef, a photographer, a florist and an organizer who own their own wedding business. And of course I love all those things (well maybe not the baking, but I am growing fond of cooking, am even finding myself drawn to kitchen utensils and cookery like I am to craft supplies) and of course they’re all gorgeous and fit and incredibly successful in everything they do. Why do I read these things? They just set up an incredibly false image of something only .000011% of what real women, and even men, achieve. And gets me wondering why I’m not so witty or motivated or productive. But more on that (possibly) another time…if I’m feeling witty and productive enough.

Anyways, I was brain-wandering about how I want to be the Queen Hostess, the one who has amazing dinner parties with creative cocktails and superb appetizers and delicate magazine-cover-worthy desserts and knock-you-in-the-jaw awesome entrées. Who takes amazing candids of her guests and they all rave about it and can’t wait for another one. I was drooling at the thought of Thanksgiving at our place, and then I was thinking about what kind of buffet (the furniture kind) would look good in the space (then tried really hard not to think of the space since I can’t have the space again for another year and 4 months) and then I was thinking how I want to get a job so I can save up to get a cool buffet and then about how I don’t really want a job because I like not having any responsibility before we start “trying” and then I have a whole lot more responsibility than I ever could handle.

And that’s why I’m not asleep.

Here’s some other images floating around my head like the ones flying around a cartoon character’s head after he gets hit with a frying pan:

This is the most amazing apron ever! Heavenlyhostess.com sure knows how to make me drool. How awesome would this be as my Queen Hostess apron? With a cute cocktail dress? And maybe a beehive hair do? And some gaudy dangly earrings? Ok no beehive, but do you see how my mind is going light speed?

Since we're treating ourselves to a short cruise in the Bahamas, I envision myself shopping on the islands or taking photos looking like this:

but I will settle for something like this:

I need to get a new bathing suit. This is what I imagine myself looking like after 6 weeks 

of cardio and weight training: 

or maybe even 

except, you know, not as bony.

But this is probably what I will end up looking like:

but this is the one I want right now, from Target, if they have it in stock:

oh, and I'll take the tan, too, please.

Ok, I think I am sufficiently tired enough to go to sleep. Thanks for "listening." Oh, and if you want to contribute to making my visions into reality, contact me and I tell you where you can make a donation. No seriously.

.Have a good night, mi amigos. 

cat with death wish

patience with the cat lasted longer than i thought. a whole 2 weeks. then she decided to get all annoying again, and more so. and creepy. now she's locked in the bathroom w/her food b/c Im not in the mood to hear her crunching for 20 minutes, and she WOULD NOT SHUT UP! I dont need her waking up my husband. and IM SICK TO DEATH OF HER HAIR ALL OVER ME! i think I need to go to bed. this really shouldnt be such a big deal.

15 minutes later...

om my...this cat's gotta death wish. seriously. somebody's gonna have to call the ASPCA and PETA cause I'm having a "Mommy Dearest" moment with my cat child. 

and i can't go to bed b/c Im not tired enough to fall asleep and I would just end up tossing and turning and waking up the husband. and I can't go outside cause its almost midnight. and I can't KILL HER. and I've had one of her hairs stuck in the back of my throat and I dont even want to think about how it must've gotten there cause then I'm gonna be OCD about cleaning, and I already mopped and dusted and Clorox wipied everything today and that was a huge chore even though my apartment in so small and I cant get this dang hair outta my throat!!!! arrgggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg!!!

 

PS: if you don't know me personally, please know I would never actually harm the cat, aside from shooting imaginary flaming arrows at her with my mind. There is no need to actually call the ASPCA. I do not need to be on an episode of Animal Precinct. Thank you for your cooperation. 

 PSS:

This is a repost from my Facebook, spur of the moment, and also the reason for the lack of punctuation or any other attention to grammar-please don't judge me for that, too. Don't call the grammar police.

ninja cat with an imagined vendetta

Ok, so why the heck does my husband’s stupid cat like to sit outside the bathroom door while I am in there? It’s more than a little creepy when you open the door and the cat is staring accusingly at you. What’s going through her little pea brain? Is she mad at me because I left her alone? She’s a freakin cat! She should like to be left alone. But no, we have the cat who bounds towards the door like a loopy Labrador whenever he comes home. For me she just looks mildly disgusted. But really, what’s with the hanging out in front of the bathroom?

And I swear she’s trying to make me paranoid. I was getting ready to take a shower, dancing a little to some Black Eyed Peas (please withhold judgment) when the bathroom door jumps and the handle rattles. Frozen in mid I-AM-Freaky-Fergi pose, heart now in throat, I stared uncomprehending at the door. Violently swinging it open I looked for the cat, the usual suspect; she was in the kitchen eating, also as usual. So I imagined it, right? Thirty seconds later it happened again, and she was still in the kitchen, stuffing her fat face, barely taking time to stop and look at me like I was high on catnip.

By then I was thinking, do I beat the cat without evidence? It seemed like something she would do – slam her bovine-like body against the door she’s been loitering in front of all day - just to see what her human’s witless mate would do. How would she have gotten back to the kitchen so fast, though? But the alternative to a ninja cat with an imagined vendetta was scarier: a poltergeist was just not what I needed right then. So my ever rational mind decided it must’ve been the neighbors slamming their front door too hard, again, and making the walls shake. It was either that or freak myself out so bad that I ended up hyperventilating in the shower and drowning in an inch of water.

I still think it was her, though.