Hump Day...but not for Bubba

Happy Wednesday! Pretty quiet in the Fox Den today...Collins is in her high chair, pretty content with gumming down some graham crackers (aka the most amazing snack ever) and making a huge mess all over her face. Bubba is upstairs, hiding under the bed, surely licking the wounds from his overdue neutering today.

I was all for having him neutered when we got him two years ago. But Clayton didn't want to shell out the $150, and thought maybe we would "stud him out." Sounds a little sketchy, but okay. Well we never studded him out, because the little guy has a sexual appetite that rivals Bret Michaels - and if you give a moose a muffin...we all know the story. I didn't want to create a deviant, so we decided not to whore him out - I mean stud him out. I just feel like a mean person. I feel like too much time has passed, and now it's just evil to do that to him. I asked Clayton, "Would YOU want to get neutered?" (Crickets...) "No, seriously, do you want to get neutered - or whatever they call it?"

The subject was quickly changed. I think I'm too sympathetic to the plight of animals. Not that I have ever (purposely) slept in a kennel, or (purposely) eaten my own poop, or (purposely) humped a teddy bear...okay I think the correct term is empathetic. I just hate when Sarah McLachlan starts singing that depressing song and then you see the pictures of abused and neglected animals. It breaks my tender little heart.

Ah. The lump in my throat. It burns.

Speaking of burning, I wonder where Joe Paterno is. I am not sure I believe that ignorance and stupidity buys you a straight ticket to Hell, but it may cost you a couple more lifetimes in Purgatory. However, I do hope that God was taking note of all the RIP JoePa statuses on Facebook - maybe that will speed him up in line at the Golden Arches.

But seriously though, Purgatory would be a great name for a bar. Or detox.

**Addendum: It was just brought to my attention that the Golden Arches is McDonald's. I mistook Golden Arches for Pearly Gates......or did I? Think on that.

The Makeover from Hell

When I think about our Master bedroom/bathroom makeover, I start twitching uncontrollably, I get sweaty, and I can't get "Opposites Attract" by Paula Abdul out of my head - specifially the line, "one step forward, two steps back." She really was a lyrical genius, God rest her soul.

I am trying to be patient, but it really felt a week ago like all was coming together nicely, save for the drywall patch from where we installed a new light fixture in the vanity, but a few inches higher to accomodate the taller mirrors.

Now things have unraveled and I just feel like I'm about ready to torch this joint.

I'm sure most first-time homeowners who undertake a project like this (which requires no demo, no reno, basically is just painting and switching out a freakin light fixture) feel this way during their first project, yes? It's only 10:30 and I'm about to open a bottle of Johnnie Walker red label, and that secret reserve pack of Camels in the console of my Jeep (which is on life support) sounds quite relaxing. I can't imagine that me and the manchild both being absolute nitpickers really helps this process.

I have uncovered several flaws in myself that became quite evident during this process:

1. I am impulsive. It has to be. Done. Now. Not tomorrow. Not when we have a little more money. No. Now. As in yesterday. Now. Oh, Clayton's at work? No problem, the baby's sleeping, I'll just remove a 35 lb mirror from the wall by myself. Because it must be done now. It won't be okay if it's done in 90 minutes when he's home from work. If I wait, the earth's rotation will come to a complete halt and begin moving the opposite direction. I'm a brat.
2. I am impatient. Duh.
3. I am picky. If it's not exactly what I had in mind, I will not compromise. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure that what I want exists only in my mind (a glass shelf that is 8" long and 3" deep, mounts to the wall with minimal hardware visible).
4. I am bitchy. Duh.
5. I am completely overwhelmed.
6. I am either going 100 mph without stopping, or 0 mph and can't start.

All these flaws taken into consideration, I have struck gold with my husband, for I have found really only two major flaws within my husband:
1. He's so tight he squeaks. Actually, that's kind of unfair to say in this situation. He doesn't understand J. Crew but he won't balk at the idea of an $80 light fixture, $150 to change out all the door hardware, hinges, and cabinet hardware, or possibly purchasing a several-hundred dollar ladder. Apparently, the "I'll get on my hands and knees and you can stand on my back" trick is a wee bit white trash.
2. He doesn't read the directions. Exhibit A: caulk.

I could make endless jokes about how he doesn't know how to use his caulk, how we have to remove his caulk because it was too thick and needs to be thinner, etc. but I'm 26. Suffice it to say that he was removing the caulk, then spackling and sanding until ONE AM. Spackling and sanding over what we just painted. ???

We finished painting like 3 days ago. Soooo I guess I'm confused as to why we painted in the first place, if we didn't get it right? I shall try to upload some pictures which illustrate how close we were to being finished - last Friday - and now how our bedroom/bathroom looks like Joplin, Missouri.

Random sidebar: Manchild just put the baby down for a nap. He then runs out to me and says, "I'm just going to play ONE SONG (on Guitar Hero) and then I'll start." Guitar Hero is like crack cocaine for a man. One song? Yeah, right. That's like me saying I'm just going to browse at Target. Fat. Freaking. Chance.

Stage 1 of the makeover: 1-1-12

The vanity area - after I dismantled the huge frameless mirror. Roughly 1-3-12

Painted up to the light fixture that would soon be removed. New mirrors put in place just so that I could feel like progress was being made, and to prevent me from drinking heavily. 1-3-12



Ahh so beautiful, if I do say so myself. The oil-rubbed bronze finish of the mirrors didn't match the satin nickel finish of the cabinet hardware and faucets, so we refinished the mirror frames to match. Yes we are nitpicky. But it does make a difference. There was also a drywall repair patch that needed to be painted, but you can't really see it with the lighting.



New bedding, some new kitschy crap on the ladder shelf, stencil wall has been finished, all is well with the world - until we replace the bedroom furniture with something more modern. I may try to make an upholstered white headboard. 1-13-12

"I thought you were done! I don't wanna play in my high chair while you work! I wanna crawl around and find the electrical sockets that don't have covers!" 1-15-12. This is after Manchild decided that we needed to recaulk the sink and tub.

This morning. FML. The caulking was too thick, so it had to be removed. Then the area that had the caulking removed had to be spackled and sanded. FML.

As of yet unusable bathroom. I love taking showers in Collins's bathroom. She has way better bathtime toys than I do.

Oh, hey shower shit, all over the floor!

Oh hey, all my lovely clothes, heaped into a pile on the floor, because I can't even get into my closet because it's full of paint cans and room makeover supplies. 1-21-12. The sheets are missing because Collins dumped over a bottle of formula on our bed. Yipee!

If this God-forsaken project isn't done by tomorrow, and I mean DONE, I am going to freak out. Living in disarray is now the norm, and I feel like I belong on an episode of Clean House Comes Clean.

A Morning Quickie

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Regarding my last post...

I would just like to point out that the previous post was coming from nowhere other than reflection and acknowledgement of past patterns of behavior, with the hope that I can alter those behavior patterns. I am not depressed, I am not sad. Apparently the "tone" of the post concerned a couple important people in my life, although I was unaware that Times New Roman had a tone. Has there been a sarcasm font this whole time that I was also unaware of?

It was NOT a pity party, not a cry for attention, not a cry for sympathy. It was simply what I previously stated: a reflection of past patterns of behavior, and the hope that I can change those patterns, because if you keep doing what you've been doing, you will keep getting what you have been getting. All I want is to deepen my (many) current friendships and cultivate new meaningful relationships.

I'm glad that so many people gave great feedback, and found something to relate to. I am, however, concerned that so many working professionals lack basic reading comprehension skills.

PEACE.

Living Life on the Superficial Level

There is something very dangerous about a blog. Basically it's like a diary, except that it isn't written in pencil, and with the click of a mouse anyone can access it at any time. You can disclose things that are controversial, things that are potentially harmful, things that could really hurt someone's feelings, all while forgetting that everything that's on the internet is permanent. It will never go away, it will always be available to access. But I guess at the same time, that sort of blind courage is what it takes to reveal yourself on a deeper level.

Personally I have been living my life on a very superficial level. I can count on one hand the number of people who truly know me - people who would probably correctly guess my answer to a variety of questions about me, about my life, about my views and opinions - about things that matter more than being funny, and things that make you think on a deeper level. It's so much easier to be funny than it is to be serious.

I think moving around so much growing up shaped this shell that I have. I remember the pain of getting close enough to someone to call them my "best friend," only to have to move multiple states away and start all over again. It got really difficult to see the value in getting close to anyone over the way it felt having to leave the only person aside from my family who really knew me, and who I really knew at a more meaningful level. On the other hand, it also helped me become more chameleon-like, able to adapt and adjust my personality to fit in, to make friends, and to survive. I deeply envy people who can say without a doubt that they have a best friend. Especially those who can say that even after they get married - that they still have a best friend who they meet up with on Saturday afternoons for coffee and window shopping, cheesy rom-coms, and who they Skype with while watching The Bachelor. I've never had that. Ever. And I want that so badly, but not badly enough to force it. And I think that as much as people say you should marry your best friend, I imagine that there are important aspects of having a female best friend - because no man (maybe a gay man, but I don't know that from experience) can fulfill, no man is wired that way. Just as there are aspects of a man having a male best friend that I can't fulfill because I simply don't get it and I am not biologically wired to understand it.

I've always had lots of friends - lots of good friends, lots of close friends. I mean I had 8 bridesmaids for crying out loud. But I didn't select my bridesmaids based on who knows me best, or who I am closest with. I chose them in a very methodical way: If I could create the perfect woman to be married to Clayton, the perfect woman to love him and support him and balance him out, whose qualities would this woman have? Who should I turn to when I'm lacking in a specific area? If I had these girls' qualities or could channel them in some way, it would make me a better person, the best person I can be. The best wife I can be for Clayton. For example, to be the best wife I can be, I have to channel Kiley's ambition, Courtney's deeply-rooted faith in God, Maggie's sensitivity, Natalie's loyalty and overall sweetness (not a mean bone in that girl's body. Seriously, I have never heard her say a mean thing about anyone) - et cetera et cetera you get the picture.

But to say that any of these girls know my life story, know how I feel about controversial subjects, know if I vote Republican or Democrat and why, know intimate details about me, my past relationships, my current and permanent relationship - to say that anyone knows everything there is to know about me, would be false. No one knows the things that I think about when I'm lying awake at night, unable to sleep. Nobody knows that when I'm upset or crying, having someone hug me or play with my hair makes me feel better than anything. Nobody knows that my favorite thing in the whole world is having someone brush my hair. Nobody knows that when I'm excited about something, I go forward with it at 100 mph and get this rush of adrenaline and inertia that makes stopping completely impossible.

But that's not their fault. Because I don't know any of those things about many, or any of my friends either. It makes me wonder if I'm the only one that holds back. My friendships are so meaningful to me, but I'm beginning to think that my definition of meaningful is much shallower than everyone else's. Does everyone else have a deep meaningful friendship with one another, and I'm the odd man out who stays in the shallow end and never really dives in? Is everyone else treading water in the deep end, while I stay safely in the shallow end, where I can get out quickly if I need to?

I think a lot of it is fear that people won't like what they learn about me if I do let them in. But I don't know why. I've never done anything that bad - I don't know what I'm so afraid of. I've never killed anyone, never purposely hurt anyone physically or emotionally, never had a drug problem, never been to juvee, never been two-faced or backstabbing.

Maybe this is my fault - maybe it's a combination of having a wall up and the utilization of social media to replace actual interpersonal interaction. It's so much easier to write on someone's Facebook wall, or shoot them a tweet, or send them a text message, than it is to pick up the phone and have a conversation - awkward silences and miscues and all. But maybe those awkward silences and miscues ("Sorry, what? No you go ahead!") are what make us relate to one another on a more substantial level. There is so much space between me and, well, everyone.

Having a husband and a child makes it exponentially more difficult. I can't do anything at the drop of a hat - I don't have the freedom (from being a mother) or financial autonomy (from being a wife) to take a girls' trip at the spur of the moment, or go shopping at a moment's notice. I can barely make it out of the house to meet a friend for coffee.

Have I passed the stage in life where it is possible to cultivate a best-friendship? Am I forever stuck with an ongoing dialogue in my head, things that I so desperately want to say to someone who can relate but can't? Am I destined to be self-involved? I don't want to be, but these deeply-rooted patterns are difficult to alter.

But feeling lonely and isolated isn't living. And making a big joke out of everything (my go-to for lightening the mood and preventing things from getting too deep) is getting old.

Being a superficial friend, a friend on the fringe, isn't fulfilling, and I think that's an area of my life that needs to be filled.

I just don't know how to get there.

Now comes the scary part - hitting publish post. Putting myself and my unfunniness out there for the world to see, to ridicule, to judge, or - hopefully - to relate to. I could easily just delete all of this without posting, but that's too easy and too expected of me and my inner 11-year old. But I'm 26 and I'm allowed to own my feelings and my own person.

So here I am, being 26, and being a brave person, jumping feet-first into the deep end.

Coming up with titles for these posts is becoming more difficult each time...

I hope all of the 9 people who read this blog had a fabulous New Year's that wasn't a complete and total let-down. We were all in bed and asleep by 10 pm because all three of us party animals have been suffering from the worst colds known to the history of epidemology; needless to say, between fighting cholera and being on "nonspeaking" terms for a few hours, December 31-January 1 was a slightly rough transition. Everything is fine now, but the manchild found out about a well-concealed, really dumb, and possibly extremely expensive oopsie I made earlier in the month. Let's just say I am a retard and while vacuuming, I got distracted by the volume and glass-shattering pitch of Collins's cries of terror (she hates the vacuum. And the blow dryer. And the treadmill. Which means that not only am I relegated to becoming a fat mess with frizzy hair, but I must also have a messy house as well.) Per usual, once I got Collins under control and breathing into a paper bag, I completely forgot what I was doing. The dog got upstairs and chewed through the vacuum cord.

No, the vacuum was not plugged in. I almost wish it would have been plugged in, just to teach the little bastard a lesson. Hold on a sec - PETA is knocking on my door...I don't seriously mean that, but a little buzz might be good for him. I should have known when there was no activity from him, that he was probably up to something naughty.

I totally suck at being a housewife.

Let's talk about something else that totally sucks - colds in babies. Poor Collins is just seeping snot. It's everywhere, it's places where you wouldn't expect to see snot. And everytime I take a Kleenex to her face she flips out like a MMA fighter, throwing 'bows, kicking, screaming, etc. She's like the girl on Alias. You think that she's a sweet, darling little infant and then all of a sudden she's knocked you out cold and when you finally come to, she's giggling and playing with her toys, her nose covered in dried snot. It's like she's set on keeping it - like it's a friend or something. It reminds me of Chris Griffin and his pimple, on Family Guy.

We went to HomeGoods (aka Mecca) and I tried to wipe her nose and she screamed like she was being night murdered. Everyone looked at me like I was a baby snatcher. "Umm sorry, my kid has an emotional attachment to her dried snot..." Yeah that sounds just as sane.

Whatever.

I need to go set out the frozen chicken breasts to thaw. We have started our annual Post-Holidays Shitty-Tasting Food Diet. Chicken, brown rice, unseasoned vegetables. Day in, day out, until I have one ass instead of two.