Pelted.

I feel like I'm on the receiving end of this today.

To conclude this miserable Monday rant, let me address the culprits directly:

TO MY BOSS...  Communicate. It is what Jesus wants you to do.
TO MY TUMMY... Shake this lurgy thing you have going on, so I can go back to eating in peace.
TO UTAH's CLIMATE...Get some moisture in your air so I can blink without feeling like I've been wandering the Gobi Desert for a year without eyedrops.
TO MY FINGERNAILS...Stop chipping the day after I paint you.
TO MY CO-WORKER...Actually sign up to be on call so I don't have to work 15 hours of overtime every week to cover your ass.
TO UTAH HOME-HUNTERS...Stop snatching up the gorgeous, rightly-priced home my hubby and I get excited about before we even have a chance to put an offer down.
TO SASHA, MY IPHONE...Stop vibrating for no reason and closing out of my apps because you are PMSing.
TO DAYLIGHT SAVINGS....Fuck you.

An Evening of the Best Husband Ever

Good Morning pals.
I've gotten a few emails in previous months inquiring about my health issues (which, unfortunately, is often the subject of my posts. Well, it has been. But God willing, those posts will continue to thin out in the future), and how my husband handles it, and generally about our relationship.
Which, yes, can be taken as nosy and inappropriate, but when you share snippets of your personal life online, sparks interest, and I won't hesitate to give you all a sneak peek, as I (well, WE) have nothing to hide!

My husband is marvelous.  He is simultaneously patient, and unhesitant to call me out on my shit (if I'm overreacting, he flat out tells me Texas-style to "simmer down". Which is reassuring somehow).
He is romantic and cuddly and at least once a day grabs my hand and squeezes it 3 times, which is our secret signal (if we're at work together, or somewhere we can't really speak) for "I Love You." 
We are each other's best friend and confidant, and have wonderful conversations constantly and share our dreams and all that good stuff that people somehow deem cheesy.  IT IS NOT.
Actually, it is important in a relationship. It is crucial.

Anyhow, our relationship is solid.

But I've been having a difficult time lately.
I'm still recovering from surgery, and live in a constant fear of having an allergic reaction to the new metal plate they put in my jaw, like I did to the metal implants.  I can't really have the plate removed, as it is holding my broken jaw together.
But I've been having some symptoms that are like those I got with the initial allergy, like headaches and fatigue, and all of a sudden my skin started breaking out like mad.
So this sent me into a tizz, but Eli just insisted it is stress from work.

Because work has been awful. My boss is not giving me the resources she has given everyone else in my department, but she expects me to keep up anyway.
I am a Team Lead, so I have more responsibility, and that is enough stress in itself.
I was proactive about preventing the situation that is now going on, and she reassured me the worst would not happen (it has), and I have gone to her several times a day for the last week requesting various minor changes that would provide incredible help for me and my team, and in the end the whole department.  She says "yes, of course", but whenever she agrees to something or says it WILL happen (particularly immediately), it is a guarantee that it will NOT happen.
It really sucks and I hate to complain about it, but when I am working 14 hour days and basically living breathing and sleeping work (all I dream about at night is work. UGH!), I feel like I get a break.

So last night, we left work, and I started to have a bit of an anxiety attack and started blubbering.
Both because of the work stress, and my underlying worry that I am going to have a metal allergy again. 
We got home and I started unpacking my laptop to continue with my work (after working a 9 hour shift already), and Eli said "NO."
I looked at him, confused, and he said "you need a break before you go back to work.  This is a marathon, not a sprint. You can't handle any more."
Then he drew me a steaming hot bath with a bomb in it from Lush, and plenty of bubbles.  He heated up a little vase of sake for me, and pushed me into the bathroom. "NO WORK ALLOWED!"

I sunk into the rose-scented bubbles and breathed deep for the first time in days. 
I felt like the toxic air in my lungs cleared out and I was able to stop thinking about work.
It was bliss, lying there in the steam with blossoms floating around my body and relaxation seeping into my pores.  I started doing that whole sighing-out-loud thing. 

When I got out of my hour bath, he had my favorite Domino's pizza waiting for me (spicy Italian sausage and green peppers).  I doused it in crushed red pepper, which is the best thing ever, and gorged myself. 

And then, I went back to work.

And whilst working, he fiddled with the damn router so I could talk to my best friend via FaceTime.

So there you have it--- a sneak peek into an evening with my husband, the greatest.

Spackle and Paint

We spent this weekend painting a new house.
Not ours, sadly.
We have HOUSE FEVER! I've heard about Spring Fever and Baby Fever and at times experienced both of them, but even on their most intense peaks, neither of these compare to HOUSE FEVER.

House Feverlures you onto the Internet late at night or early in the morning to search forlocal listings.
It leaves your head spinning when you drive through a beautiful neighborhoodthinking I want to live here.
It makes you dream of tree-lined streets and your own washer and dryer.
You can’t even go into a furniture store or a cute boutique with homedecorations without having a heart attack for want of buying all of theseamazing things to display in your non-existent home.
It saps all desire to clean and organize your current shit hole of anapartment, because you think what is thepoint? We don’t own this place and, God Willing, will be out of it in a fewseasons.  I hate it. 
It makes your stomach ache whenever you see people out and about with theirdogs, because you desperately want a dog, but you have no yard yet for thedog.  And so the dog must wait.  As must the new couches, coffee table,nightstand, and bed frame you need. Because you don’t yet know what your house will be like and howeverything will fit, and what the color scheme will be.

It is atorturous limbo, House Fever.

And we onlyexacerbated ours this weekend with our painting party.

Peoplecomplain about painting their houses, but truth be told it isn’t bad.  The easiest part of painting is…painting.
It is the rest—getting the furniture moved/covered, picking the colors, tapingeverything thing off that is exhausting and tedious.
The painting part is strangely relaxing and almost meditative, once you get inthe zone. 
All that exists is you and the brush and the delightful color that was chosen,and that corner that needs to be coated and smoothed out.
I love it.
Nearly the whole family chipped in, and we had a delightful time eating pizzaon the floor (no kitchen table/chairs yet), listening to oldies and 80s rock(only the best), and chattering away happily.

On Sunday ournephews and niece came right from church and my niece Emma, seeing my spacklingaway (I was the only one who knew how to do this well, and I am an AMAZINGSPACKLER), immediately wanted to help.
Which was funny, considering her brothers plopped on the couch withiPads/Kindles/other gadgets and totally zoned out.
And here is this little girl in her Sunday velveteen asking me to teach her howto spackle.  I was pretty stoked,especially because this reminded me of myself when I was a little girl, followingmy handyman dad around the house and learning all sorts of things (which is whyI was indispensable, if I may say so myself, in this weekend’s home remodelingadventure).  We share a middle name, soit was kismet.
Her dad is not entirely in the picture—her parents are divorced and I’m not hisbiggest fan, and he isn’t the sort of person to teach her these things that endup being useful later on.  So hell yes, Iwas going to teach her to spackle and sand, among other things.

Taking a break to watch the opening song of Beauty and the Beast!

We threw anold tank top of Eli’s on over her dress, just in case, and went to work withour color-changing putty, filling all the holes in the downstairs rooms.
She was marvelous at picking out the dings, cleaning them out, filling withputty, and scraping it off.
The putty was bright pink and changed to white when dry, and we giggled as wespread it across the wall, observing just how much it looks like frosting.  I set her straight on the TOXIC-DON’T-PUT-IT-NEAR-YOUR-FACEpart of spackling, and she never questioned it. Although it appeared time-consuming at first for me to teach her, andthe others probably thought I was nuts showing a  6 year old girl how to spackle, she caught onquickly and actually became a great helper! She cut my work time in half,allowing me to chip in with the painting earlier than I thought.

It was pouring rain outside all day (the fresh kind that smells SO good) and somehow that made painting indoors all the better. I usually despise Sundays, but something about the productivity of this one, that is evidenced by the ache in your arms, felt good. 

I can't wait for it to rain again.

But even more, I can't wait to find a house.

February is a Trashy Illiterate Redneck.

Hey everyone, have you heard? Have you seen?

It is MARCH!

That awful February, full of snow and mud and more snow and snow mold and inversion, darkness, depression, animosity, and not nearly enough cupcakes, is OVER.
This is better than New Year's.
It is actually warmer and bluer outside.

EVERYONE DANCE.

 

They say March comes in like a lion, and leaves like a lamb.

I say CHEERS TO LIONS! I could use some more lion in my life.  And lambs are okay by me too.
As long as they don't have anything to do with February.

(Which they don't.  February is kind of the uneducated, illiterate, redneck of a month that wants to be cool but just doesn't get it. Especially allusions and metaphors.  It thinks it can polish itself up with the whole Valentine's bullshit, but that is some cheap attempt at fake class. And February HATES crossword puzzles. Do you see why we don't get along?)

March, on the other hand, is the super chill guy that can befriend anyone, and knows the best bars in every town in Western America, and always has the latest slang phrases from Ukraine. 
March has edgy jokes that aren't racist, holds the doors open for ladies, doesn't believe in vegetarianism, and always has his fridge stocked with good beer. And he believes in sharing.
He listens to Styx and parties on Thursdays and doesn't have anything bad to say about anyone.

 

So welcome March.  Sit back, kick your feet up, pop open a Guinness. We're glad you're here.
Stay awhile?