Clever Girl Goes Blog

T minus like 20 hours. Or something. Whatevs.

2008-10-10T09:15:00.001-07:00

Okay, so it's OFFICALLY Crazytown around here.

I'm trying to figure out what bills need to be paid before we leave, whittle my vacation trosseau down to one suitcase (which is REALLY hard because I've been buying stuff since, like, last year), get everything together for the housesitter, AND still go to work and make people beautiful. Well, more beautiful.

Anyhoodle.

But I've got some kickass stuff lined up for you next week, plus the Vacation Recap: Weekend Edition.

So stay tuned!

I'll miss you all very much.

(And when I say very, I might or might not mean that I will probably be having computer withdrawls and need to buy some ridiculously priced wi-fi time. Maybe.)

(Because that's how nerdy I am.)

(And I can't possibly imagine the internet surviving without me for a whole week. Chaos, I tell you.)

Bon voyage, internets! I'll see you when my tanned ass gets back home.

Apparently, I can be bought for $149.

2008-10-08T00:29:00.000-07:00

Hello, internets!

This week is super duper crazy with vacation prep and clients that "OMG I CANNOT wait until you get back, I need my roots done now!!!", but I promise that I will have a real post for you ASAP.

(Or, you know, when I feel like it.)

(I kid, I kid! Real post tomorrow. Today? I dunno. My house is the new Bermuda Triangle. It's Crazytown, yo.)

However, I am forgoing sleep at this very minute in order to tell you a short Hubs story.

Yesterday, Hubs was in the dog house.

I was tired of his Eeyore-y attitude and general crankiness, and I told him so. He said he was sorry, but I know the drill. "I'm sorry" means that he's only kind of sorry, and mainly because he knows I will relentlessly remind him of the many, many ways I've been wronged until he apologizes, and he doesn't want to have to hear it.

(Hubs, while not outwardly devious, has a small streak of something tricky that can only be described as "survival instinct.")

Anyway, I think that he thought about his crabby behavior over the past few days, and maybe, JUST MAYBE, realized that I had a point.

So, to prove his undying and in fact, flourishing love for me, he came home today with a gift. A bribe, if you will.

(Once again, Hubs is not a scientist, but he's no fool. We are about to embark on an ENTIRE WEEK of togetherness with NUMEROUS opportunities for me to corner him and lament about how Eeyore makes a lousy party guest.)

To show his devotion to our marriage, and to shut me up, he bought me this:

Apple iPod nano 8GB

Oh Hubs, how I love thee.

He knew that my old iPod took a crap, and he wanted me to have a new one for our vacation.

Sweet, sweet, manipulative, crafty Hubs. He also knows that if I'm listening to music, I WON'T be TALKING.

Maybe I don't give him enough credit. The man is clearly a genius.

**P.S. Hey readers! Am I on your blogroll? If so, I would really appreciate it if you'd update the link to www.clevergirlgoesblog.com since I recently acquired the domain! Thank you for your continued support of my quest for total world domination. Hugs, Tia.**

All bark, no bite.

2008-10-07T00:06:00.000-07:00

As some of you know, Hubs and I are going on vacation very soon.

(But don't worry, my blog won't be abandoned. I have some tricks up my sleeve.)

(Actually, I very rarely wear sleeves because I choose to believe that Southern California is always a sunny 75 degrees.)

(So let's say I have some tricks down my shirt. It's like keeping cash in your bra. Kind of.)

Hubs and I have only been on one major vacation before this, and that was our honeymoon. Sure, a few weekends here and there, but that doesn't count.

The preparations for our honeymoon were one big blur. I don't remember anything. In fact, I don't really remember anything that happened that entire month. It was a big confusion of tulle, seating charts, and spray tanning.

All I know is one day I woke up, and then people fussed around me for about 5 hours, I got crammed into a big white dress, and suddenly I was in Cancun with more luggage than I needed.

Getting ready for this vacation? Way different. Mainly because I'm in charge. And coherent.

(It's not all it's cracked up to be. Oblivion is highly underrated.)

You've all heard about my husband, yes? Big tall guy, lets me blog about him? He's amazing.

(Amazingly full of hot air.)

Hubs has a tendency to be a bit blustery. He likes to talk loudly. He likes to make a big deal out of things. He gets attitude-y. And sometimes, I don't think he realizes how he comes across.

So I tell him.

(Helper. I am helping.)

(Usually, it only makes him more blustery.)

The bummer about it is this: Sometimes, people's first impression of my husband is his prickly exterior. And that makes him look like a jerk.

I'm trying to fix him. I started with his ailments, then the closet, and I'm working my way towards the ultimate goal, which is his frowny face.

(Clearly, I have no idea why he would EVER be in a bad mood, because after all, he gets to live with me. Lucky, lucky man.)

Hubs works hard. He is a good man. He is kind and sweet; he bakes me a cake for my birthday, showers me with gifts, and loves all of our pets.

But when he gets in a crummy mood, you'd think he had to live in the gutter and french kiss sewer rats while simultaneously changing old people's diapers and donating his paycheck to pedophiles, all while wearing a polyester suit and shoes that pinch.

At those times, NOTHING is right, EVERYTHING is wrong, and I JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND.

At those times, my mother-in-law and I refer to him as Eeyore.

(That is, if Eeyore managed to look sad while also looking as though he wanted to kick Christopher Robin's scrawny ass.)

So my goal on this vacation is for Hubs to not have a single Ass-kicking Eeyore moment.

(It might or might not need to involve lingerie, room service, and lots of alcohol.)

(For him. I'll be sunning myself on a lounge chair, making my Christmas list.)

But seriously. Hubs needs a relaxing vacation. He takes good care of me and our animal babies. And since we're pretty demanding, I'm sure that's a lot of pressure.

(Cuz, you know, filling their food bowls and letting me have my way is pretty hard.)

Hubs and I are looking forward to this time together. This is potentially our last "baby-less" vacation. The next phase in our lives is coming very quickly, and before we start trying for that little bundle of joy, we're having one last hurrah.

So Hubs? Lighten up. You're not fooling anyone with your tough-guy attitude.

Especially someone who has heard your baby-talk conversations with our 5 pound Yorkie.

My magic.

2008-10-04T13:01:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, my friend and I would play make-believe. I'm not exactly sure what the premise of the game was, but every day after school, we would convene by this tree in the school yard, and play.

We each had little trinkets that changed daily, and those were our "magic." Sometimes my magic was a cute pencil eraser, sometimes it was a Barbie shoe; sometimes it was even the sparkly brush that I used to comb My Little Ponies' hair. It didn't really matter. It was all magical to us.

In order to make things happen, we just pointed our magic into the air (or at the specific object, if applicable) and made a little bell-type noise. And that was it, it was done.

I've often thought about those days, and what I would use my magic for now, to create my perfect world. If such a thing exists.

In a perfect world...

...both of my feet would be exactly the same size, that way my kick-ass cork wedges wouldn't always slide off my right heel.

...all L.A. freeways would have a shoulder, because I always need to have a plan in case of disaster. (Seriously, why don't they? HATE.)

...we would all vote NO on Prop 8. Marriage should be for EVERYONE.

...the cats and the dog would never fight or chase each other. And they would learn how to make me a sandwich. Or a steak. You know, to earn their keep.

...there would be no such thing as disease. (Feel your boobs! Go Pink for October!)

...Dylan would come back to 90210.

...Hubs would stop snoring. And let me drive.

...global warming would be abstract, not reality.

...you'd never have to go to the DMV again.

...we would all just get along.

...Ellen would have me on her show to promote my website and a big publishing house would offer me a book deal to turn my blog into a book.

...my cute-butt jeans would fit again. And potentially be too big.

...Loubous would be free. And more comfortable than Uggs.

...no, seriously, WE WOULD ALL JUST GET ALONG.

This is just a partial list. I could go on. I know that there is no such thing as "perfect." Life is fluid and complicated, and times are a-changin'.

Making this list made me feel small, and insignificant. But I know that's not reality, because although I am just one person, at least part of my list reflects the ideals of many. We know what needs to change, whether it's within our own life-bubble, or something that affects the whole world.

I'm willing to put my "perfect world" list out there. I don't play make-believe anymore. I put it in writing for everyone to see, because that makes it real.

This blog is my NEW "magic." I'm pointing it at what I want, and ringing the bell.

Out of the closet.

2008-10-02T00:51:00.000-07:00

Part of growing up is moving out of your parents house and embarking on a life of your own.

It's a really exciting time in a young girl's life because it means you can do things YOUR way. Women are nesters. We like to have our own decor, our own methods of storage, and our own kitchens.

(Even if we don't cook in them.)

I moved out of my mom's house when I was barely 20 years old. Since then, I've lived with boyfriends, husbands, and alone.

(That sounds like a lot, but really, it was just two boyfriends that turned into husbands.)

I loved living alone. I had a pink couch and a queen bed all to myself; I hung vintage Vogue covers on my walls, and I never emptied my dishwasher. I had all the pillows to myself, and no one could tell me not to buy that purple duvet cover. It was heaven.

When you live with someone else, there's compromise. Pink couch gives way to chocolate sectional, Vogue covers to Italian art prints. My stuffed animal collection found it's home in the garage, and his framed fish photos are hidden on the far wall in the guest bedroom.

(He's under the false impression that there will someday be a stuffed marlin hanging in our living room. Naive, silly, sweet man. That will SO never happen.)

Having moved four times in the past seven years, I purge my home on a regular basis. Every year I do the MAJOR closet go-through, where I donate bags and bags of stuff to Goodwill.

(Or, I have a garage sale! See Tia's Ideas on Being Frugal and Fabulous.)

I think the majority of women have things in their closet that they haven't worn in 5+ years. We keep things in there for a couple reasons.

One, we're hoping we'll fit into it again. (These items are usually pants, or that amazing strapless shirt that you spent too much on and only fits you once a year when you have the stomach flu.)

Two, we know we won't ever fit into it again but we like to be reminded that we used to be able to wear it. (I recently got rid of a pair of board shorts that I wore the summer between 8th and 9th grade. Le sigh.)

Whatever the reasons for keeping your unwearable clothes, I don't begrudge anyone for having a stack of them. It's good to have goals.

(But seriously? Those board shorts HAD to go. They were from a time before hips, and they were giving me a complex.)

My husband doesn't feel the same way about cleaning his closets. In fact, he doesn't like to get rid of anything of his. When I asked him to get rid of a few things so I could have a men's selection for the garage sale, he freaked out. It went like this:

ME: (deep in our extra closet, unearthing who knows what) Do you need this sweatshirt? You have another blue one just like it. I've never even seen you wear this.

HUBS: (alarmed) What? What are you doing? Stop touching my stuff!

ME: (cheerfully) I'm getting ready for the garage sale! This closet is full of clothes we never wear.

HUBS: That's my stuff!

**comes into room to investigate**

ME: (patiently) I know. But in the three years we've been together, I've never seen you wear any of this stuff...so I thought...

HUBS: Damn it, Tia! That's a perfectly good sweatshirt!

ME: Right! We could probably get like three bucks for it.

HUBS: It's MINE!

ME: (now realizing he's freaking out, and not being able to resist egging him on) Okay, so I'll put it in the pile.

HUBS: No! Hang that back up!

ME: (innocently) But why? You don't wear it.

HUBS: (bellowing) GET RID OF YOUR OWN STUFF!

ME: I'll just add this jacket too. And I'm pretty sure this shirt doesn't fit you.

HUBS: NOOOO!

I'm not sure why Hubs has such a hard time getting rid of stuff that he barely even knows he has. I mean, the man has never wanted for anything in his life. He's not spoiled, but he certainly wasn't ever deprived. He grew up in a nice upper-middle class neighborhood, in a great house with a family that likes each other and has dinner together on the weekends.

(A rarity these days, I know. We should all be so lucky.)

He never lived by himself. He never ate Spaghetti-0s out of the can because it was cheap or paid his rent with his credit card. He loves to buy gifts for people and is always generous with his money and his time.

But for some reason, he has a hard time parting with possessions. It's like he doesn't think he'll ever get another sweatshirt. Or that he doesn't have 10 hanging in his closet already. It's weird.

Since I am a helper, and I like to help Hubs get over his ailments and idiosyncrasies, I ruthlessly badger him until he caves and lets me do whatever it was that I was planning on doing before he got all bajiggity. See? Helping.

I think the main problem is that Hubs has failed to learn what every woman is born knowing:

If you get rid of stuff, you have room to buy more.

And according to my calculations, Christmas is only 83 days away.

It's all about the Benjamins.

2008-09-30T00:25:00.000-07:00

As I'm sure many of you know, our economy is in the toilet.

(That's what I've heard, anyway. I choose to never watch the news and instead think of shiny rainbows, unicorns, and fuzzy bunnies.)

(Just kidding.)

(But I do like bunnies, rainbows, and unicorns. Clearly.)

I'm making jokes about something that isn't really funny. The last couple years have been hard on a lot of people. Mortgages unpaid, jobs lost, stocks plummeting. It's Crazytown.

Since I work in what is basically a customer service industry, if there are no customers, there is no industry. As a hairstylist, I don't see quite as much revenue lost as estheticians (facialists) and manicurists, but times are tough. For everyone.

This is unfortunate for me, because I am a spender. But in light of the current state of affairs, and the fact that saving a buck never killed anyone, I present you with Tia's Top Five Little Ideas on being Frugal and Fabulous (not necessarily in that order).

It's not for everyone, saving money. It's certainly not for me. But what can you do? "A rainy day" might be coming faster than you think.

(Seriously.)

You can't stop going out to dinner. Think about the poor servers! They need money too! But maybe you can cut down to one night a week. And, you can just order an appetizer with an iced tea. Portions are huge these days, and iced tea refills are free. You still get all the ambiance and the going-out-ness of a restaurant, but your bill will be at least 25% less than if you ordered an entree. And if you're still hungry on the way home? Jack-in-the-Box has $0.99 tacos, and they are GOOD.

It's really nice to donate to charity. More people should do it. However, before you pack up the bag of your castoffs, consider a garage sale. JenBun and I had one a couple weeks ago, and we each made $50 on the stuff we sold. Everything that was left over, we donated. People got our great junk for cheap, we made a little money, and we still gave to charity. Everyone wins.

Pre-purchase a gift card to your favorite coffeehouse. I hate the idea of spending $5 on a cup of coffee, but I do it all the time, so last month I gave myself a coffee limit. I bought a gift card for $50, because I decided that was my coffee limit for the month. If I wanted a coffee, I only used the card. When it ran out, I knew that meant I had to make my coffee at home. I THOUGHT before I BOUGHT, so I ended up spending probably half the amount I'd usually spend in a month. I drank less coffee, which is better for me, and spent less money, which is better for Hubs' blood pressure.

Buy a reusable water bottle. Disposable ones are so last season. I recently bought this bottle (in pink, clearly), and I love it. I carry it with me every day, and I refill it wherever I go. It's amazing how many places have water fountains or water coolers. I took it to the movies the other day, and I was really proud of myself because they charge $4.50 for a bottle of water there. Can we say "highway robbery"? Plus, a reusable bottle is better for you and the environment because most of them are now BPA-free.

Consolidate your bills. This is SO important. I just recently transferred the balances of all of my credit cards onto a low-interest card, and now I feel like I'm really making a dent in my debt. Instead of paying 3 minimum payments with high interest rates, I'm now paying a sizable chunk towards one balance. I really recommend calling your credit card company/companies to see which one will give you the best balance transfer offer. Usually, there are offers available that you don't even know about. It's worth finding out!

I realize that some of these things are probably silly, or obvious, but I think any little way that you can save some money is worth it.

(And when I say "save", I might or might not mean "set aside for shoes.")

We are about to experience a major change in the world. Whichever way it goes, I think it's important to know where you stand, finances included. Trying to avoid the uncertainty of the economy should be a top priority, and that might mean cutting back on a few things here and there.

(Like buying more clothes for the dog. Even though that makes me cry inside.)

But seriously. If you are lucky enough to be financially stable, be grateful but alert. And if you are feeling the strain, it's time to tighten the straps.

Eating at home, movies on TV, and happy hour instead of $10 martinis are good ways to start. Letting things get out of control leads to Top Ramen, polyester, and no internet access.

And really, that's just no way to live.

Regret is the best revenge.

2008-09-28T13:50:00.000-07:00

He didn't show up.

(If you have no idea what I'm talking about, please read this and this.)

(And get with the program already. Geez.)

So needless to say, yesterday was a bit anti-climactic, what with the huge build-up and all. We went to the party, and of course, I looked fabulous.

(In that "These kick-ass jeans and amazing never-before-carried-purse? Oh, I just changed into any old thing when I got off work!" and "My hair? Oh yes, it always looks like this!" kind of way.)

Hubs looked good too. But that's because Hubs is a stud. The man wears clothes well. (Once he let me start picking them, that is.)

We had a good time. It was evident early on that The Big Ex would not be attending, so I could relax and enjoy myself without wondering when he might walk in. It was great to catch up with some old friends that I rarely see, and schmooze with some people I don't know.

All in all, it was a nice night. And Hubs and I didn't drink too much, so we have no regrets this morning.

But, me being me, I can't help but get all introspective.

(One might argue that I have too much time on my hands. I prefer to think that I am just greatly in tune with my feelings. Clearly.)

It was rather alarming for me to realize just how much the possibility of seeing this man from my past would affect my present.

I'm not talking about shoulda coulda woulda. And I'm not talking about regrets. I'm not even talking about nostalgia. I'm talking about ego.

Hubs and I have had a few talks about this in the past couple days. Exes are always tricky, whether they're mine or his.

(For the record? We see his major ex-girlfriend all the time. She goes to a lot of the same weddings, showers, parties, etc that we attend. My ex has always taken a backseat because we don't travel in the same circles very much. Anymore.)

I wanted to make sure Hubs knew how I felt. I'm lucky because we can be totally honest with each other when it comes to things like this. There's no jealousy. Anything that happened before we started dating is abstract.

(There is, of course, teasing. But that's to be expected.)

To be honest with him, I had to be honest with myself, and that's where ego comes in.

It's human nature to care what people think about you. We were "blessed" with self-awareness, so it just comes with the territory. I can accept this.

However, that doesn't mean that I wasn't severely pissed off to discover that I still care what my ex thinks about me. All of them, not just the "big" one. And Hubs' exes, for that matter.

In reality, The Big Ex knows that I am doing just fine without him. Years ago, after our divorce, during one of our rare heart-to-hearts, he told me how proud he was of me, for moving on and doing so well, and that he knew that this is how it was supposed to be. For a man who rarely shares anything more than a pack of cigarettes, that was huge. And I appreciated it, because his opinion mattered to me. Matters.

And I'm not afraid to admit it.

(Pissed off, yes, afraid, no.)

Maybe it's different for women. For the most part, we are the more emotional of the two sexes. More sentimental. We dwell. We rehash. We obsess.

I think the main reason for all of that is insecurity. We want to make sure we've left our mark. We don't want to be just one of many. We want to be the one that got away. The one that you still think about at night, regardless of who is lying next to you. We want to be the relationship that you compare all the others to.

(In a good way, not a Fatal Attraction kind of way.)

And we want this (even though we know it's unrealistic because most guys don't think like that) because we need it to feel better about ourselves. And about how much you meant to us.

I don't flatter myself into thinking that all of my exes still pine for me. I know better. And even though breakups hurt and are awful, they happen for a reason. Because you get past them, and you realize what is important to you in a partner. And most of all? You realize what you don't want, ever again.

Even if you want the best for someone, and you know in your heart the best isn't you? You still want them to remember. Even if you're happier now than you ever were with them, you want them to remember. And any time I see him, I want to look damn good. Because he'll remember.

If you've been loved by me, you don't forget it.

The belated anthem.

2008-09-26T22:15:00.000-07:00

The idea of potentially seeing The Big Ex again has cost me a little sleep. I won't lie.

That's okay, though, because it gave me some extra time to do a bit of soul searching.

(Although, I don't think that losing beauty sleep helped my overall appearance. I'm SO Botox-ing the minute I turn 33, which is my "Botox is okay" age. Before then? Overkill.)

(Really, though, I'm optimistic that by then they will come up with something even better, like something that doesn't involve needles. Or poking me. Maybe a lotion? Or pill?)

Anywho.

So when I'm doing all my thinking, I'm also usually doing something else that doesn't involve a lot of concentration, like driving, or listening to Hubs tell me about Halloween pirate ship he's building in the backyard.

(Seriously? The man decorates the house for the holidays as though we have four children. It's funny. And a little frightening.)

Anyway, I was driving, and thinking, and listening to the radio, and probably talking on my headset, or knitting, or putting on my mascara, or writing the next great American novel, or a bunch of other things I shouldn't be doing while driving...and I heard it.

A song that should've existed 4.5 years ago.

Pink - "So What?"

When you break up with someone, whether it is for the best or not, it's only natural to go through an entire range of emotions.

There is no "right way" to get over someone.

(Except, I've heard, to "get under" someone else. But I punched the dude who told me that in the face. And stole his beer.)

You aren't just sad. You're mad, vengeful, optimistic, spiteful, relieved, nostalgic, and scared. And you're all of those things, in rotation, every minute of the day for days on end until one day you realize that you haven't thought about it in an hour.

And then the next day maybe it's two hours. And from there it gets better. Slowly, but it does.

And while it never goes away all together, it stops defining you.

When this song comes on the radio, I roll down my windows and turn it up.

Suddenly I am 22 again, my whole life is starting over, and I'm excited about what's to come. And I'm not afraid.

Gray area.

2008-09-25T14:35:00.000-07:00

There will potentially be a Big Ex sighting on Saturday.

(I will pause for a moment while the horrific ramifications of that situation are fully absorbed.)

For all of my new readers, let me explain.

The Big Ex is my ex-husband. He has his own label. (Please check it out for more of a back story, and also, in my opinion, some of the most honest posts I've ever written.)

When I was barely 19, The Big Ex and I met at a party. He was almost 20. We started dating immediately, and three drama-filled, rock-starred out, communicationally-challenged years later, we got married. We were both 22 (me, barely, him, almost 23).

It was his idea. I'd like to stress that.

(Not that I wasn't really excited. And happy. It's just that...no one else was. Including him. But more on that later.)

For me, it was the commitment I'd been waiting for. I didn't think about marriage at that point, but I figured that since HE was, it must be okay. And it was something tangible. Something to show he really cared, and that he thought about me when we weren't together. At least that's what I told myself.

(By the way? If you need something to PROVE TO YOU that your boyfriend actually likes you, and that if you dropped off a cliff tomorrow he would notice? It probably shouldn't be a proposal.)

So. We get married. And 5 months later, he wakes up one morning and tells me he doesn't think he wants to be married anymore.

I wasn't surprised. Honestly. I could say that I was, but that would be a lie. We weren't happy. In the 4 year course of our relationship, I think we were only really happy in year 2. The rest was a constant struggle. I was pulling him closer, and he was pulling away.

I can say that now. I can admit it. And the thought of that morning, the morning that the rest of my life changed, doesn't make me sick to my stomach. Anymore.

I don't know the point for me where girl ended and woman/wife began. And I'm not sure when I realized that happily-ever-after has strings attached. But I do know that I am so much stronger than that girl who locked herself in the bathroom of the apartment that we couldn't afford, and cried until she thought she'd break.

We split up. I got my own apartment. I moved quickly, efficiently, and I put my feelings on a shelf. It was sink or swim, and I chose swim. He took my independence as a sign that I was okay with everything.

He had second thoughts.

But they weren't genuine. It's hard, when you spend some of the most formative years of your life with someone, to just cut ties. It was hard for me to give him his space; not to call him in the middle of the night when I cried myself to sleep, not to ask him "Are you SURE this is what you want?" or "Why don't you love me anymore?"

I was desperate not to be "that girl." You know the one. The one who can't take a hint. The one who won't leave him alone. The one he's so glad that he finally got rid of. I couldn't be her. Wouldn't.

Almost one year after we were married, we filed for divorce. I would've liked to file sooner, but we had some loose ends. Six months later it was over, almost before it began.

By the time our divorce was final, we'd been split up for over a year. It seemed, alternately, like a lifetime ago, and then just yesterday. I had a new life, new friends and old ones, and a job that kept me busy.

Six months after my divorce was final, I re-met Hubs. At first, I wasn't sure, but after our first date, I knew that this was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

I argued with myself that this couldn't be moving so fast, that I was a divorcee and that I should know better. I had more baggage than the average 24 year old girl. I wasn't planning on getting married again any time soon.

But I had to trust myself, and my instincts. I knew I couldn't be afraid forever. So I dove in. Six months after we started dating, Hubs proposed. I had been officially divorced for a year. I thought my family and friends would be apprehensive, but everyone just kept telling me the same thing:

"This is going to be so different. You're doing the right thing."

After all of the opposition The Big Ex and I faced, it was so comforting, and refreshing, to have my family behind my decision. And for them to share my happiness.

Hubs and I have been married, as of today, for 1 year, 7 months, and 2 weeks. We have been together for 3 years, 3 months, and 1 week.

I look back on my life during my first marriage and I feel sorry. I feel sorry for myself, and I also feel sorry for The Big Ex, because we didn't know what we were doing. We didn't know how to be married. We didn't know ourselves.

We've seen each other only sporadically since the signing of our divorce papers. I haven't seen him face to face in over two years.

After our separation, there were some unspoken rules that we've both done our best to adhere to. We gave each other custody of our favorite bars, and quietly divided our friends. We've never accidentally run in to each other, save for one occasion two years ago when I wasn't properly informed of his current job.

I can honestly say, that day, that it was nice to see him.

And I think he felt the same way. (You never know with him, though.)

You don't just STOP loving someone, no matter what you say. We grew up in our 4 years together. We loved together. We buried relatives, had pets, quit jobs, and got into debt. We fought, and cried, and yelled, and gave each other the silent treatment. We made mistakes.

If I see him on Saturday, he will be with his new wife, and I will be with my new husband. It will be awkward.

He will be the same man, yet different. Older. Kind. Shy. Distant.

I will look fabulous. (Clearly.)

He will act like nothing happened. I will watch his eyes for a flicker of someone I used to know.

Life is not black and white. It is always shades of gray. (I personally find the gray areas more interesting. But that is probably because I am a sucker for the drama.)

If I see him on Saturday, I will smile. I will be polite, but reserved. I will ask about his family. We will talk like strangers with an elephant in the room. But it will be okay.

After all, I want him to be happy.

Just not as happy as me.

Tia: A cure for what ails you.

2008-09-23T15:52:00.000-07:00

I love my husband.

But the dude has a few issues.

Seriously.

When Hubs and I met, we were barely 24. We used to hang out a lot at this bar right by my work, in the neighborhood in which we grew up. That first night at the bar, my husband seemed like a regular guy. He'd been working hard to rehab this sport fishing boat that his parents had bought, plus working his regular shipyard job, and he was tired a lot. His daily work-wear consisted of scrubby fish shirts and deck boots.

That night at the bar, his hands and arms were beat up and scratched from sanding fiberglass. At 6'3", he towered over me, strong and kind of shy, wearing the same outfit as the rest of the off-duty boat guys: track pants and a hoodie, with a day's growth of stubble and a hat pulled low over his eyes.

I liked it. He was the epitome of a real man. A man that worked with his hands for a living. A man that wasn't afraid to get down and dirty.

(Ahem.)

All of that is true.

Here's what wasn't apparent: Hubs suffers from a not-so-textbook case of hypochondria.

Hypochondria, loosely defined, is a preoccupation with your health, and a tendency to over examine and self-diagnose non-existent problems.

The reason I say that Hubs' particular affliction is non-typical is because he tends to focus on problems that aren't evident, and ignore obvious wounds. Working all day long at his physically demanding job that keeps him in good, strong shape? No problem! Eating something that he's never had before? Not enough sleep, causing a headache? Potential catastrophe.

For example: Hubs comes home from work after a long day of doing whatever it is that he actually does. (I think it has something to do with propellers) We kiss. He is dirty (per usual.) He takes off his shirt and heads to the shower. I notice a large bruise and/or scrape on his back/chest/arm/leg.

ME: Your back/chest/arm/leg is bruised/scraped!

HUBS: Oh. Huh. I dunno. Didn't notice.

(Hubs is a man of few words. Except when he's telling me exactly why I can't buy something. Then he can be a little long winded.)

ME: You should put some ice/a bandage on that!

HUBS: Eh.

(Once again, few words. He does have a tendency to tell the MOST POINTLESS stories ever. I usually have to help him along otherwise people will die of old age before he finishes.)

On the other hand, Hubs has what I like to call "ailments". Ailments are afflictions that Hubs suffers from, stoically (he thinks), frequently, invisibly, and not-so-quietly.

Hubs' ailments usually coincide with whatever is wrong with other people. His mom gets a migraine, so does Hubs. His dad suffers from shoulder pain, Hubs' arm hurts too. My stomach acts up, Hubs is suddenly nauseous.

At first, I was concerned. Should I take him to the doctor? His symptoms were so varied and random, I didn't think our physician would know where to begin. His tiredness? Sore arm/shoulder/wrist/knee/leg? His bad back? His headaches? His upset stomach?

Then, as time went on, I noticed the pattern in his sudden afflictions.

Hubs is a sympathy sufferer.

He doesn't want you to go it alone. Your pain is his pain. And, his might be a little worse. Just ask him.

Like I said, at first I was concerned. And sympathetic.

Three years later, game over. His imaginary ailments are now blog fodder, fair and square.

So you can imagine his chagrin when he had to tell me of his most recent pain: the bike mishap.

In all reality, his injuries from falling off the bike are legit. His right elbow is deeply scraped, and both of his knees are bruised. But by now, he knows me, and he knows about this blog, and so our post-bike-accident conversation went something like this:

HUBS: My arm really hurts.

ME: (not looking up from computer) Mmm hmm.

HUBS: Yeah. It's pretty bad. I mean, yeah.

ME: (peering over computer screen) Oh really?

HUBS: (pretending to be interested in something across the room, not meeting my eyes) Because, you know, the hill was really steep.

ME: (beginning to smirk, figuring I'll take the bait) What happened?

HUBS: (still appearing nonchalant, picking at his sock) Well, I fell off my bike. Didn't I tell you?

ME: (struggling to appear straight-faced) No, you didn't. Are you okay?

HUBS: *sighs* Yeah, of course. My arm and legs are REALLY scraped though. I don't think it helped my shoulder any. I mean, I fell right on it.

ME: (trying to covertly type a few sentences without him noticing, in order to help jog my memory for the writing of this post) I'm sorry.

HUBS: You're totally going to blog about this, aren't you?

ME: No! *laughing snort* Okay, maybe.

The way I figure it is this: Hubs needs me. If it wasn't for me, he'd be an old man with a hip replacement scheduled. I remind him that he is only 27, and that this too shall pass.

(Because it's imaginary.)

AND I get a blog post out of it.

Everybody wins.

(I might win more, though. He mainly just gets made fun of. In a loving way.)

(Clearly.)

Mass hysteria and questions answered.

2008-09-23T10:02:00.000-07:00

I'm really regretting posting about the blog-stealer.

Let me clarify. When I posted, I was angry. Really really angry. I'd found this person the night before, and I couldn't sleep. But I probably should've kept my mouth shut, because I've gotten a rash of emails and comments, and now I feel like it's a bigger mess than it was the beginning.

I am still not going to link to the blog. However, I will say that it is ONE PERSON. And this person is very young, and very new to blogging, and she stole my entire banner, my layout, and the name of my blog. So far. I'm sure she probably didn't even know what she was doing.

But that doesn't mean it's okay. I have a copyright on this blog and all of it's contents.

Some people have asked me various questions in the comments, and I would like to take this time to answer them.

How do you copyright a blog?
I have a copyright through Creative Commons. It is very easy to get, not to mention FREE. You just enter your information and pick which one applies to you, then they give you a button to put on your site. This will protect your rights up to a point. In a perfect world, it should be all the protection you'd need.

Did I violate your copyright? (A general question.)
Probably not. If you directly quote someone, it NEEDS to be cited with the person's name and their URL (linked). My copyright states that you are free to quote me as long as I'm cited, and you cannot change my work, nor can you commercially gain from it. In the blog world, we often take inspiration from others, and I know that other bloggers appreciate a mention when someone is inspired by their ideas. So I like to link. I link to other people all the time. It's a good way to show some love to your fellow bloggers, and they will reciprocate and everyone benefits.

Can I link to your blog?
Yes please do! I really appreciate all of the links. Thank you so much for liking my blog enough to link it on yours. Every spare minute I have, I'm trying to read YOUR blogs, so I can find more blogs to love.

Can I do a post inspired by one of your posts?
Yes, absolutely. Once again, links are appreciated.

How did you do your layout?
I didn't. I hired Delicious Design Studio. They are amazing. They did everything, and installed it. They also own a copyright on all of their material, and so my blog-stealer violated their rights too.

Are you making this up?
No. I wish I was. But I wouldn't do that.

I've had a yucky feeling all day today.

Never in a million years would I want to alienate anyone by having them think that I was passive-aggressively accusing them of anything. That's why I didn't feel like I needed to clarify, because as far as I know, this girl isn't even one of my readers.

The blog stealer has been emailed by me and Delicious Design Studio, and we are hoping to resolve it without any further incident.

I'd like to forget about this now. I'm sorry if I made it into a bigger deal than it needed to be.

And once again, I'm so so sorry for any confusion this caused.

Thanks for reading. I know these last two posts have been icky and lame, and so now we can FINALLY get back to normal.

(Although, normal might not be the correct word for someone who bought THREE Halloween outfits for her dog yesterday. Just sayin'.)

Flattery will get you everywhere. Imitators will be shackled and forced to listen to Kenny G.

2008-09-22T10:29:00.001-07:00

Hi.

I'm mad. We'll get into that in a few. Let's start with something happy.

Thank you, everyone, ONCE AGAIN (seriously, can't say it enough) for all of your attention, comments, compliments, and basic acknowledgement of this blog.

A week and a half ago, I was invisible. Now I have 900+ readers, and it's effing fantastic. I never thought I would get this kind of attention, nor would I get it so quickly. And part of me still can't believe that you like my little blog so much.

(I mean, you know, my mom said I was talented, but this is coming from the same woman who STILL HAS, framed, hanging on her wall, a picture that I drew when I was 4 of a "squirrel" in a "tree". So clearly, she's biased.)

With this new readership comes a little bit of pressure. There's no way it couldn't. But I'm up for the challenge, because I know it will only make me a better writer.

(Or I'll crash and burn. But it will be DOCUMENTED. So that makes it ART, right?)

Anywho.

The best part of this blog, for me, has been to WRITE. Just write. I've never taken a class that could compare to what this blog has only begun to teach me. And I know that some days, I'll hit a homerun and some days I'll get less of a response. And that's okay.

I'd also like to mention that I am flattered beyond belief that so many of you are linking me on your blog. I love it. It's amazing. I've also seen quite a few people inspired by my post about the mix tape, and you've posted about making your own. That's fabulous!

So thank you, for taking time out in your own blog to talk about how you like mine. It's probably the most surreal thing in the world to be reading along and see your name/title in someone else's post. Surreal, and exciting.

(I've managed to put myself in a slightly better mood now, going on and on about how much you guys rock. Seriously, though.)

Here's what's NOT exciting: Stealing my stuff.

I guess I knew it would happen eventually. With the sudden exposure, and the increasing number of readers, it was bound to. But honestly, it made me feel like I got punched in the stomach.

I'm not going to link it. Because I'd like to resolve it without drawing too much attention. But the bottom line is, please don't take something that isn't yours. I've worked hard to make this blog my personal space, and I love to share it with all of you, as long as we can all respect each other.

Not to mention, I have a copyright. Since day one.

(And you should too! Visit www.creativecommons.org for info.)

So. That being said, we'll resume our regularly scheduled programming.

(Which might or might not include shopping for the perfect Halloween costume for my dog, Hubs falling off of his bicycle and wishing he didn't tell me about it, music I wish I'd heard 5 years ago, and the fact that it is Monday brunch time and I HAVEN'T EVEN HAD A COCKTAIL YET because I've been so distracted.)

So stay tuned!

The Art of the Mixed Tape.

2008-09-18T20:52:00.000-07:00

I would like to take just a minute to thank all of my FABULOUS new readers for all of their support. Seriously.

Thank you guys so much for all of your encouraging comments. I'm sorry I can't respond to them all individually (mainly cuz Hubs says I still have to work, and I'm like "Why? I'm famous!") but if you have any specific questions or anything you can always reach me at tiafairy (at) gmail (dot) com. And keep reading!!

Anywho.

If you know me, you know that music has played a HUGE part in my life. In fact, I often associate certain songs with special (good and bad) occasions in my life, as I'm sure many of you do.

The cool thing about that is whenever you hear a specific song, it almost takes you back in time. (Of course, this isn't so great sometimes, like say, when you are hooking up with someone and your "someone else" song comes on. And you start to cry.)

(Not that that has ever happened to me.)

(But try and explain your way out of sudden hysterics caused by a seemingly innocent Misfits song, and you'll see what I mean.)

Recently, my iPod took a crap for like the third time, and I was super bummed because I lost a TON of music that wasn't on my computer. So, I took on the task of making a CD for my car...and booom! Memories galore. I started thinking, what songs would be on my ULTIMATE "mixtape"?

Picking thirteen songs out of the 10,000 songs of your life is not easy.

(Especially when you might or might not have professed your undying love for multiple bands in your young adulthood.)

But I did it. And here they are. And this is why.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow by Judy Garland - Obviously, this is from The Wizard of Oz, which happens to be my mom's favorite movie ever in the history of life. So this song always reminds me of her, because when I was little we would watch it together all the time. (Also? I bought her the DVD when DVDs first came out and it was SIXTY DOLLARS. Now it's probably three bucks. Oh well.)

Tiny Dancer by Elton John. Elton! Best gay ever. I have loved this song for as long as I can remember. I think it's because I used to want to be a ballerina (even though it's about the band's seamstress? but whatever), before I knew that in order to to that you couldn't have boobs, or a butt, or...eat. And you have to start dancing when you are in utero. Clearly, I lack that sort of discipline, and my boobs have served me well in life, so I guess it's okay.

Chapel of Love by The Dixie Cups. My mom used to be an off off off Broadway singer before I was born, and when I was in elementary school, she taught me to harmonize with her in the car by singing this song a cappella. It reminds me of rainy days driving up the coast to visit my grandma. Once I was a little older, she started to use our time trapped in the car together to lecture me about various things. Needless to say, I preferred the singing.

Yellow Ledbetter by Pearl Jam. Pearl Jam is one of my all time favorite bands. In junior high, I had a crush on a boy who reminded me of Eddie Vedder. And no, I have no idea what he's saying in this song. And I don't really care.

Drain You by Nirvana. It was ridiculously hard for me to pick my favorite Nirvana song, as Nirvana is also one of my all time favorite bands. (Much to the dismay of one Ms. JenBun.) Many people say that I don't seem like a Nirvana girl, but make no mistake: in the early nineties, I rocked a flannel with the best of them.

Wasting Time by blink. Notice I didn't add the -182. This song is old old old skool blink, without Travis Barker. This is one of those songs that you listen to when you are young and naive and you think it's what love is like. Then you grow up and realize that you shouldn't be impressed because he's in a band. (Ideally.)

Danny's Song as covered by Me First & the Gimme Gimmes. Man, I love this song. It has a few painful connotations but for the most part it reminds me of dive bars on the Sunset Strip, Denny's at 3 in the morning, photography self-portraits, coffee, cigarettes, tattoos, and driving all night to see a band. And as far as memories go, those aren't so bad.

Fairytale of New York as covered by No Use for a Name. (This is the best quality I could find, but the video is kind of weird.) This song, whether by The Pogues or No Use, is hilarious. Not so hilarious, however, when you start associating it with your relationship. Can we say "sinking ship"?

Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard. As far as I'm concerned, this song needs no explanation. (Mainly because an explanation might or might not involve a time I thought it was a good idea to dance on the bar. How very Coyote Ugly and cliched of me.)

Want You Bad by The Offspring. When Hubs and I first started dating, I used to sing this to him in the car all the time, after going through his 393 CDs of gangsta rap and finding three songs I'd actually listen to. I think it was appropriate for the beginning of our relationship because he was so uber-chivalrous and shy at times, I had to break him out of his shell. (Now I wish he'd get back in. Kidding! Kinda.)

Save Me From Myself by Christina Aguilera. First of all, Christina is A-MAZ-ING. I picked this lesser known song of hers because she wrote it for her husband, and if I was going to write a song for Hubs (and be really sincere and not snarky or sarcastic at all) this would be it. (But that would never happen, because I have what some people like to call a slightly inappropriate personality, so I'll leave Christina to do her thing.) But honestly, when I first heard it, I cried. And that's awesome.

Bless the Broken Road by Rascal Flatts and Carrie Underwood. When my husband is not listening to rap or Frank Sinatra, he likes country music. We picked this song for the first dance at our wedding. Sappy, yes? I don't care. Sometimes, I'm sappy. (But not often, unless it has to do with puppies.)

Trouble by Pink. Because since I'm only occasionally sappy, I'm mostly scrappy.

After looking over my choices, I've discovered that this mix tape is kind of random. But that's okay, because my LIFE has been kind of random. So it fits.

Music can break your heart, and heal it, all in the same chorus.

It's the best and worst boyfriend I've ever had.

If women are from Venus, then men must be from whichever planet encourages farting in public.

2008-09-17T11:50:00.000-07:00

Awhile ago, someone asked me to post about a car trip taken by my husband and myself. Of course, in my typical absentminded (except when I'm a raging control freak, clearly) fashion, I forgot. Sorry!

Let me preface this story with a few facts.

I get car sick. Easily. Ever since I was a little kid. For some reason, it got a little better for a couple years during my early twenties, but I just think that was because I had an overwhelming mix of tobacco, caffeine, rebellion, and angst coursing through my system, and a little vertigo didn't faze me.

I'm pretty sure my husband never actually farted in front of me until AFTER he proposed. Because he's tricky. Of course, that's about the same time that I started wearing sweatpants to bed, so I guess we're even.

I am always right.

Hubs is pretty much a saint. All of my stories about him are based on the 10% of his behavior that makes me want to throw him out the window.

It is hard for me to admit that #4 is true, because it makes me look bad.

Moving on.

I like to drive. When I am not actually driving, I like to tell the person who is what I think they should do next. A lot. It's really fun to ride in the car with me, especially if I don't think you're a good driver. More often than not, you will probably tell me to shut up. But that's okay, I don't mind. I'm fairly used to it.

Because of this, most trips with Hubs start out with me pouting about the fact that he never lets me drive. He will even admit that he doesn't like to drive very much, but that my driving scares him.

I'm not sure why.

I am an excellent driver. I've never had a moving violation or an accident. (I'm knocking on wood. Or the couch. Whatever's closer. There's wood in there somewhere.)

The point is, I'm a backseat driver. I'll admit it. I am firmly convinced that I am saving us every time with my shrieking, pedestrian-watching, and eye-covering. Hubs actually thinks that my hysterics will distract him to the point where it will cause an accident, but I don't think so. I'm helping.

On any long car trip, the only way to assure that one of us will not be tossed out the window into oncoming traffic is if Hubs is driving, and I am drugged. Not kidding. I take motion-sickness medicine. I even carry it with me at all times, that's how easily I get carsick. It sucks. (Unless, of course, I'm driving. Then I'm fine. But see above mentioned: Hubs would rather walk.)

If we are on a car ride and I am not asleep, the conversation usually goes something like this:

***

ME: Watch the road!

HUBS: I am! Stop yelling.

ME: No you're not, you're looking at those boats! How can you be watching the road when your neck is craned to the side?

HUBS: Leave me alone!

ME: That guy is merging! Do you see it? DO YOU SEE IT??!

HUBS: Yes, I see it. *fiddles with the radio*

ME: (screeching) WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

HUBS: Calm down!

ME: (somewhat pacified now that we are not in a pack of cars) Okay. You're right. I'm sorry. Sorry.

HUBS: (turns to look at me) It's okay, you just --

ME: YOU'RE NOT WATCHING THE ROAD!

HUBS: (forced to step firmly on the brakes as the car in front of us slows down, causing me to grab the door handle and duck for cover) Maybe we shouldn't talk right now.

ME: Good idea.

**10 minutes of perfect driving and no talking**

HUBS: (reaching over to take my hand) Do you feel better?

ME: Yeah, I think so...I -- Did you just FART?

HUBS: (looking over at me, grinning) Uh...

ME: WATCH THE ROAD!

***

So there you have it. It's amazing that we can even make it the half mile to the grocery store. (Which, of course, we couldn't without my input. Clearly.)

Marriage is about being tolerant. Hubs and I bug each other, sure. But we're in it for the long haul: car trips, hysterics, flatulence, you name it. We love each other, so we put up with each other's crap. It's all good. And we learn stuff every day.

I've learned the meaning of "for better or for worse." It loosely translates to "it should be our life goal to afford a chauffeur."

It's hip to be square.

2008-09-15T12:43:00.000-07:00

At least, that's what I like to tell myself.

We've discussed how I occasionally get mad at Hubs for acting like an old man, especially when we are in the prime of our lives at the tender young age of twenty-seven?

(I am choosing to forget that the idea of turning twenty-seven very nearly caused me to hyperventilate on a daily basis. Just go with it.)

Turns out, he's not the only one to blame for our increasingly mellow lifestyle. (Of course, I can never admit this to him, because then I might have to apologize for calling him an old man and say I was sorry for all the times I teased him about falling asleep on the couch right after dinner.)

Lately I can't help feeling like I am sliding towards middle age complacency without a single backward glance into the reckless abandon of my youth.

(Apparently, my introspective thoughts are often wordy and dramatic. So what?)

Lately, I'd rather stay at home than go out. I'd rather have a nice dinner with friends than hit some club downtown. I'd rather drink wine than cocktails. I'd rather go to a ballgame or a movie than head to Vegas for the weekend.

I choose to believe that I am maturing into my adult self, and not just becoming some weirdo hermit-type loser.

(Just humor me.)

The thing about getting older is that it just takes more of an event to make you feel like a party, not just the twenty-two year old motivation of "it's Tuesday!". (Although, I was never much of a Tuesday partier. I always preferred Thursdays.)

If I wasn't so paranoid about becoming old and decrepit before my time, I would probably think that the reason that I'm not so desperate to run out and do Jagerbombs is that I am happy with my life. I love my husband, my dog, my cats, and my cozy nights at home.

But since I am paranoid, clearly, my mind goes instead to the fact that I will never get these years back and my youth won't last forever and someday I'll look back and regret not doing more things and I should TAKE ADVANTAGE OF MY FREEDOM!

Or, I could sit in front of my TV after a long day of making people beautiful, kick up my feet, drink some wine, and watch DVR'ed episodes of Gossip Girl, One Tree Hill, and the new 90210.

And suddenly, twenty-seven and settled never looked so good.

The price of fame.

2008-09-14T00:13:00.000-07:00

So.

I was listed as September 12th's "Blog of Note".

(I'll hold for your applause.)

Here's how it happened:

I logged into Blogger, thinking maybe I'd have 1 or 2 comments on my few-days-old post about my maniacal kitties.

I had 98.

So I think to myself "WTF? This must be a mistake." But no, my friends, it wasn't. And I couldn't figure out how I suddenly became so popular (aside from the possibility of my witty and adorable bloggy-ness FINALLY getting the recognition it deserved in some sort of light-up-the-bat-signal kind of way) when three comments down someone mentioned that I was that day's Blog of Note.

Color me surprised.

Now, I have no delusions about the fact that the Blog of Note is most likely randomly selected, and not lovingly handpicked by little old men wearing Santa Claus-esque spectacles and chuckling to themselves at my TV jokes.

So like 40 comments later, I was really enjoying myself. Read, check the box, publish! Thank you for all of your support, new random readers! (Some of you are quite fabulous! Thanks for the emails! I will do my best to respond to everyone.) (And cheers, also, to my old faithfuls, clearly. Yes, all 10 of you.)

But then I learned that fame sometimes deals you a tough hand. It's not for everyone, the spotlight. No sir. Not for the faint of heart. Sometimes, people leave you mean comments.

*gasp shock horror*

(And spammy comments. But those are to be expected.)

I fancy myself a writer. (In my own way. I'm no Sylvia Plath, I realize.) I am my own editor. (Aside from spellcheck, which at times I could just kiss. Especially after a couple glasses of wine on Drunk Mondays.) I am my own publisher. And the internet is my bookstore. Library? Whatever.

Point is? Don't like reading my blog? You can stop anytime. Everyone else? Hope you like what you read. I do it for free.

I do it for me.

For sale: 2 cats. $1 OBO.

2008-09-08T14:14:00.000-07:00

Just kidding.

But seriously.

Remember when Hubs and I got new living room furniture? (Which, until now, I didn't realize was all the way back in NOVEMBER, which makes my "new" couches suddenly not so new. Anywho.)

So we get this new living room furniture, and it's really nice and all, and it's NOT EVEN PAID OFF YET, but...

It's already getting ruined. By the two most incorrigible kitties in the history of the world.

Let me give you some back story on my cats.

I first got my Siamese kitty, Brodie, when I was engaged to The Big Ex. We lived in this quasi-nice townhouse by the beach and we were totally animal crazy. Before moving into our own apartment, we'd lived with his parents for a few months, where there were cats and dogs galore. So of course, we wasted no time adopting a teeny tiny kitty when we got our own place.

At that time, we named all of our pets after rock stars or songs. We had Fat Mike, El Hefe, Liza, Ozzie, and Cleo, to name a few.

Brodie

(named after the lead singer of The Distillers)

Soon after we adopted Brodie, we figured she needed a friend. We were gone all day and she was destructive in her boredom. So we searched high and low for a kitten in the middle of winter. Not an easy task. We finally found a litter for adoption at a local pet store, and we had our pick. I remember thinking to myself when we brought him home "Wow, I SO picked the right cat. This little guy is so mellow!! He'll be a great influence on Brodie."

Spike

(named after the lead singer of Me First & the Gimme Gimmes)

Unfortunately, the next day he started meowing and clawing at the walls, and hasn't stopped since. We realized that he had been neutered the day before, which explained his dopiness at the time of his adoption. I love him anyway, and he did calm Brodie down, but he's a bizarre cat. For sure.

Anyway, that was about 6 years ago. When The Big Ex and I decided to divorce, that was the first thing I said I wanted. The cats. They are like my children. They were the first pets that were ever wholly my responsibility. So when I met Hubs, he took them on (as well as the rest of my charming yet abundant baggage.)

And I know Hubs likes them. Loves them, even. He wasn't a cat person before, but he's semi-converted. He appreciates Brodie's cleverness, and loves Spike's affectionate personality.

Having cats is kind of like having babies mixed with teenagers. They puke, you have to clean it. They poo, you have to clean it. You give orders, they ignore them. You set boundaries, they ignore them. You try to hid things from them (i.e. ribbon & plastic bags), they find them, eat them, and puke. You clean it.

I know that Hubs doesn't love that part of it. He likes to pet them. He likes to play with them. He does not like it when they destroy things.

Needless to say, the cats are not de-clawed. I didn't have the money to de-claw Brodie when she was a kitten, and when Spike was adopted, we actually had to sign papers saying we would never do it. So I never did. I actually think it's pretty inhumane. Convenient, yet inhumane.

That doesn't mean I don't regret not having it done.

Daily.

My cats are not tiny. They weigh 14-15 pounds each. Spike has claws like eagle talons. One time, Brodie jumped off my lap, using my arm as a springboard, and I thought she potentially severed an artery in my wrist. My poor couch is no match for them.

Make no mistake, they have multiple scratching alternatives. There is the incredibly ugly cat tree in the living room, purchased for $100+ and well loved by the feline members of the household. (Hated, however, by moi, cuz it effs up the theme of my living room decor.) There are numerous cardboard circle scratchers, complete with ball-chase rings, and sprinkled liberally with cat nip.

Sure, they'll scratch on those. But they will ALSO scratch on my couch. Primarily when the two-legged members of the household are absent. Because their devil-may-care, down-comforter-lounging, large-amount-of-treat-eating, dog-food-snarfing, private-part-licking, carpet-and-bed-puking lifestyle is SO BAD that they feel like they have to GET BACK AT ME by scratching my PRACTICALLY BRAND NEW AND NOT EVEN PAID FOR couches.

Ungrateful fleabags.

Is it too late to give them back to The Big Ex as a wedding present?

(Just kidding. I actually wrote their custody conditions into our divorce papers. So they're mine for good. Plus, they know too much about me to relinquish custody. Can't have them writing a tell-all book.)

(But damnit, I'm clipping their claws WEEKLY from now on.)

It's like Christmas.

2008-08-28T22:22:00.001-07:00

Is anyone else ridiculously excited about this?

Lacey and Lance dancing together on the new season of Dancing with the Stars? When I heard this, I was so excited I literally squealed. And immediately texted BFF main gay Andrew. (I'm sure he already knew, though. The gays know everything first.)

Yeah, excited doesn't even begin to cover it. Because this season also marks the return of this guy:

Maksim Chmerkovskiy. Le sigh.

Is there a genie I should be thanking somewhere? A fairy godmother/Elton John? (I dunno, it just seems like he would also think this is a good idea.)

Anyway I have to go put my So You Think You Can Dance sweatshirt on and set the DVR.

Get excited, people. The fall line-up is imminent. It's the most wonderful time of the year.

The update.

2008-08-27T13:09:00.000-07:00

Ok, before I start, I realize that there is no excuse for abandoning my blog AGAIN.

But real life has been kinda busy, and my internet time has been spent on other endeavors. Like porn.

(Just kidding. Although, I will admit that I tried to watch the Pam/Tommy Lee sex tape on YouTube the other day, and it was a fruitless effort. I'm probably the last person in the world who hasn't seen it. And I was curious. Sue me.)

So here's what's up:

J Fooz's baby shower is upon us! I know I posted quite a long time ago about J Fooz and her impending bundle of joy, but the countdown is really on. We're having her shower this weekend and it's going to be fabulous, clearly. I love this stuff. People tell me all the time that I should be a party planner. Which would only work if I could just do whatever I wanted and didn't have to listen to the clients and their suggestions. So...probably not.

I'm still going to the gym. Yippee. (Actually, it's been good. I feel more fit. Plus, I like to watch The Nanny while I'm on the elliptical.)

My super kick-ass drama teacher from high school passed away. This lady was so amazing. She was such a great influence on so many of us, and she wrote me the most supportive letters of recommendation when I applied for college. Of course I was sad to hear that she passed but when I went to the memorial, I was touched by how many people's lives she affected. She was very active in local theatre and there was a beautiful service at a theatre downtown. Some of her fellow actors and former students shared memories of her and they played some clips of some of her shows.

The Big Ex is getting remarried. Over the years since we got divorced, I thought about how I would feel if he decided to get married again, so when I heard the news, I was really surprised by my reaction. I really thought it would feel like I got socked in the stomach. But it didn't. It felt like...another lifetime ago, I knew this guy, and now he's getting married. I don't know why. Maybe it's because we've now been apart longer than we were together. Maybe it's because I'm remarried, and my life is worlds apart from what it was then. But overall, I think it's because I can honestly say "I don't wish that was me." It was a good realization. I think I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, and I'm happy. And I wish the same for him. (For the most part.) (And some of that internet time not spent on Blogger might or might not have been spent looking at his wedding registry. Without judgement, of course. Just out of curiosity.) (For the most part.)

Hubs and I had "The Baby Talk". The real one. We had originally said that we would start trying to have a baby while we were on our cruise in October, and I just wanted to make sure we were still on the same page. Here's how the conversation went:

ME: So...we're getting close to baby time! How do you feel? Do you have any concerns?

HUBS: No...do you?

ME: Well...I feel like it's really hard to be 100% ready. I feel like I'm about 75% ready. I think that's pretty good. I'm excited. Scared, but excited. What about you?

HUBS: I'm good. Ready.

ME: Really? No concerns? No questions? You're 100% ready?

HUBS: Well...

ME: (Sensing some epiphany/bonding moment) Yes?

HUBS: I was thinking...what are we going to do with all that stuff in the other room? I should really build some more shelves in the storage room.

ME: That's it?? That's your big concern? Storage?

HUBS: Maybe I could put another rod in the closet, or we could put some stuff in the garage...

ME: I'm going to sleep.

Men. Geez.

So there you have it. The update. And I'm going to really try (again, like a broken record) to post more. Because I missed it.

AND my usual TV watching schedule is resuming shortly, so I'll have lots to talk about.

(You know, the stuff that REALLY matters.)

I love the 80s.

2008-07-28T11:14:00.000-07:00

More specifically, I love the teen movies of the 80s.

Why, you ask? Because they were heavy on the angst and drama.

I must admit, I love me some relationship drama. And sometimes, I kinda miss it.

My marriage to Hubs, while great in numerous aspects, occasionally lacks the intensity and theatrics of my previous relationships. There is arguing, yes. (I mean, we're not called The Bickersons for nothing) And there is passion, too. Admittedly, less intense than when we first started dating, but it's there.

But what there isn't? THE DRAMA.

There is no boom box playing a Peter Gabriel song outside my window at 3 in the morning.

I never coveted him from afar, wishing he'd break up with his girlfriend and notice I was alive, all the while having my family forget my birthday and being annoyed by a nerd.

We never faced family and peer persecution because we were from opposite sides of town, resulting in a traumatic prom experience.

He never paid me to hang out with him and make him cool, and after the whole school found out and shunned him, I realized how much I really liked him.

We never started out as enemies, got to know each other, discovered everything we had in common, and fell in love after spending an afternoon in detention in the school library.

Bottom line is, real life isn't like that.

In real life, when you are in a good relationship, you don't break up five times, yell about how much you hate each other, sleep with your ex, and then get back together and live happily ever after.

In real life, it's not a good relationship if you have to play games and manipulate the other person into things.

(I mean, except when I manipulate Hubs into doing stuff for me, like laundry or other housework. But I am able to do that because he loves me.)

There comes a point where you tire of the games, of the uncertainty, of the instability.

At least, I did.

There comes a point where you just want someone to be real with you. To tell you how they feel, and where you stand with them.

And there comes a point where even a girl who thrives on the drama wants to know that no matter how bad the argument or how angry the man, he's not going anywhere.

Maybe it's not as exciting as a movie, but it's real.

(Plus, who wants to be a teenager again? I mean, sure, 23 is looking pretty good right now, but 17? No thanks.)

(Except I'd really like to still get away with daily wear of glitter eyeliner. Ohwell.)

Reality comes crashing down.

2008-07-22T13:07:00.000-07:00

I started this blog to talk to myself.

I wanted to make sure if I had something to say, it would always be something I'd be comfortable sharing with the world. It helps me make sure my opinions are real, because even in my quasi-anonymity, I'm forced to stand by them when they are in print.

But even in my quest for truthfulness and freedom of expression, the blog can be an escape from reality. In cyber land people live forever (and they also only drink Diet Coke. And if you know where that quote is from, I'll kiss you). They don't die. Their words live on, their pictures remain. Old blogs are abandoned, but not often deleted. Online, you can be anyone you want. You can have a whole separate life.

And you can neglect your real life.

Or vice versa.

I've been spending a lot of time in real life. There are babies to be born, friends to be mourned, and milestones to be celebrated.

In my online life, I choose to be real. More real than I am in person, because I try not to censor myself. In real life, I have to respect the feelings/time/thoughts of others. On this site, it's my world. Visitors welcome, but I run the show.

I hate feeling caught in the middle of real life and blogland. I hate not having enough time for one and favoring the other. I didn't realize how much this blog has meant to me until I didn't have as much time for it.

And I HATE feeling like there are things to say that can't be said. And not even knowing what they are.

I think I need some frozen yogurt. That helps everything. Including writer's block.

I missed my 15 minutes of MTV fame.

2008-07-15T12:06:00.001-07:00

I might or might not have abandoned my blog for two weeks.

I got out of the blog groove, and I'm finding it kind of hard to get back in.

But then last night, inspiration hit, and here I am.

While watching MTV's Engaged and Underage, I realized that I missed my chance. I could've been on this show when I had my first wedding. Damn it!

We would've been the greatest Engaged and Underage couple ever. We had all of the qualifications.

Ridiculously young and naive? Check!

Facing opposition from our well-meaning families? Check!

Dubious means of supporting ourselves? Check!

Numerous break-up type fights? Check!

Low budget "grown up" wedding? Check!

Adamant refusal to acknowledge the potential disaster of the situation? Check!

Tears and hurt feelings abound? Check!

I can't believe I missed out on that situation. If you watch the show, you know you can go to MTV online to see how the couples are doing post-honeymoon. I'd like to nominate the idea of a show that catches up with them a couple years later to see who is still together.

We could take bets.

(Not that I'm pessimistic or anything.)

(Although, I am a big proponent of the starter-husband. Seriously. A must have for the young college coed. Yes, a little awkward post-divorce, but you're a pro the second time around.)

(AND it's fun to joke with Hubs about how I turn 'em and burn 'em. Keeps him on his toes.)

Le sigh. I guess I'll just have to wait for another opportunity to be on TV.

(Maybe Hubs and I could be on Family Feud! Or Deal or No Deal!)

Sucks for you, MTV!!

You have no idea what you missed.