So I've come to accept that I shall be 30 this December, and right now, I'm ok with it. 30's a big deal, afterall. Not quite like 40 or even 50, but a big deal nonetheless. It's like "real" adulthood. I feel like anyone in their 20's still has that "I'm an ignorant dumbass when it comes to this stuff" card in their pocket, and it's legit to pull it out every now and then at opportune times : buying a car all by yourself without a co-signer, setting up (or maybe not setting up) an IRA or retirement fund, doing your own taxes, hemming your own clothes. Whatever. But 30. It's like the gig is up, and you're either a full grown, fully functional adult or a brainless twerp who doesn't know where the hell he is in life. I'm lucky in that, I am in a job that I feel like I'm meant to be in. And I'm married to a great man (don't worry, I've gotten over the wrath I had a blog or two ago) whose knowledge in many things makes up for my lack of. I'm happy and content with my life now, and I hope to have a baby in the next year or two.
And even though on paper 30 looks old, I know it's not. I mean, Drew Barrymore is 30 something and she looks great. I'd never think of her as old. Some good friends of mine are in their 30's, and they certainly don't seem old. I think my biggest two worries are: 1) I'll FEEL old. 2) I'll be expected to have knowledge about crap I know nothing about. Let's be honest - I've got no clue what it takes to buy a house. I mean, I know the basics & some terminology (mortgage, ARM vs. FRM, equity, escrow) but I have no idea what else that entails. I know nothing about how to cook a Thanksgiving turkey - I can't even make homemade biscuits. I dont' know how to "rip" stuff to or off of a computer. I have no idea in the world who I'm voting for in Nov (DONT' YOU DARE SEND ME YOUR PROPAGANDA, PLEASE!!) I feel like there is tons of stuff I should have learned by now that I haven't, and that somehow, I'll still be seen as a little girl.
Which is something I struggle with a lot, and I include struggling with myself in that. I fight myself on a daily basis to assert the fact that I am a grown up. I'm a woman, not a girl. I have to tell myself that everyone else sees me as a grown woman, why can't you see yourself that way? I still feel like a 14 year old when I have to speak with my principal or even some of my parents. Uggh!!! WTH???? I really thought I would have outgrown this by now. If anyone else out there is struggling with this type of inferiority complex, feel free to comment.
So, I end this with a tribute, of sorts. To my 20's : they were fun, they were turbulent, they were drama riddled. They were the best of times, the worst of times, and everything in between. Here's the girl I was, the woman I am, and all that I hope to be.
Cheers.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Pump up the Jam - skating rink style
I'm listening to one of those cable music stations - the good ones, not like crappy VH1. This one is dedicated to one of the best decades of music ever. Yes, folks, I mean the 90's. It's the best station to listen to for a few reasons.
1) I know most, if not all , of the songs played & can thus sing them all shamelessly.
2) It's that weird mix of pop, rock, grunge, pseudo-Techno, ballads, and alternative that helped define a better part of me. Seriously- what memory comes to your mind when you hear Pearl Jam's "Jeremy" ?
My father-in-law is coming to visit this weekend, and his timing is perfect. I say that with sarcasm dripping at the corners. My long range plans are due tomorrow, but they won't be turned in simply because I'm not finished and I refuse to kill myself over them. I am having to clean our pig sty of an apartment by myself since dear husband is working his last night shift rotation for the next six weeks. I have lesson plans for next week that need to be completed (I would like to do them now & not have to worry about them over the weekend, but oh well). I'm going to have a crap ton of papers to grade. I need to buy a new shower curtain liner because the one in the guest bathroom is pretty skanky looking, plus I need to buy a few groceries for Saturday morning breakfast. ... the list goes on.
I was looking forward to having a weekend with Matthew all to myself now that he can start keeping a normal sleeping schedule. But - that is not to be. Don't get me wrong, I love my FiL. He's a great guy- funny, generous, very unpretentious. Though it does bother me that his wife (my stepMiL) hasn't come down here except for our wedding two years ago. I asked Matthew if she was coming and he said, "Probably not. If she did, they'd be staying in a hotel and not with us." Which kind of hurt my feelings a little bit. We seem to get along great, and she's never been anything but kind to me, but I can't help but feel sort of - oh, I don't know- inferior or something. But instead of overanalyzing it, I'll consider it her loss and assume that it's because of her OCD that she is not coming down. Who knows the real reason.
So, back to the 90's music. I mentioned it because I am currently in the process of cleaning my apartment and excellent 90's music seemed to be the action soundtrack that I needed to motivate me. I can totally vacuum the entire house if I can do it to LL Cool J's "Round the Way Girl". Couldn't you??
1) I know most, if not all , of the songs played & can thus sing them all shamelessly.
2) It's that weird mix of pop, rock, grunge, pseudo-Techno, ballads, and alternative that helped define a better part of me. Seriously- what memory comes to your mind when you hear Pearl Jam's "Jeremy" ?
My father-in-law is coming to visit this weekend, and his timing is perfect. I say that with sarcasm dripping at the corners. My long range plans are due tomorrow, but they won't be turned in simply because I'm not finished and I refuse to kill myself over them. I am having to clean our pig sty of an apartment by myself since dear husband is working his last night shift rotation for the next six weeks. I have lesson plans for next week that need to be completed (I would like to do them now & not have to worry about them over the weekend, but oh well). I'm going to have a crap ton of papers to grade. I need to buy a new shower curtain liner because the one in the guest bathroom is pretty skanky looking, plus I need to buy a few groceries for Saturday morning breakfast. ... the list goes on.
I was looking forward to having a weekend with Matthew all to myself now that he can start keeping a normal sleeping schedule. But - that is not to be. Don't get me wrong, I love my FiL. He's a great guy- funny, generous, very unpretentious. Though it does bother me that his wife (my stepMiL) hasn't come down here except for our wedding two years ago. I asked Matthew if she was coming and he said, "Probably not. If she did, they'd be staying in a hotel and not with us." Which kind of hurt my feelings a little bit. We seem to get along great, and she's never been anything but kind to me, but I can't help but feel sort of - oh, I don't know- inferior or something. But instead of overanalyzing it, I'll consider it her loss and assume that it's because of her OCD that she is not coming down. Who knows the real reason.
So, back to the 90's music. I mentioned it because I am currently in the process of cleaning my apartment and excellent 90's music seemed to be the action soundtrack that I needed to motivate me. I can totally vacuum the entire house if I can do it to LL Cool J's "Round the Way Girl". Couldn't you??
Friday, September 5, 2008
The List of Sisyphus
I chose the title of this post because it best represents how I feel : a list of things to do that, when accomplished, only repeat themselves, causing one to live the "hamster wheel" existence of running towards a goal that will never actually be yours. I have many, many lists in my head. Lists of things I need to do for school this week. Lists of books I need to read to help me with said school. Lists of things I need to clean/ dump/ reorganize/ buy/ salvage/ replace. Lists of places I want to go one day. Lists of names for my future children (closely followed by Lists of names NOT to name my children- more on that later). Lists of future Christmas gifts. Lists of books I want to read. Lists of exercises & regimens & recipes & diets that I really should do / follow/ cook /eat. Lists of topics to talk about. I have lists of lists. Listing is my nature - I really do like doing it. It makes me feel like my goals & objectives are attainable; afterall , they are right there on paper, in my hands. But I'm not going to write down every single thing in my brain. First of all - can you imagine how much paper that would be? Second of all, there's no way I would remember what list has what. Oh sure, the list of "Books to Read" seems pretty easy, but what if I put a book down that someone says "Oh, you have to read it!" and then, months later, I look at that title and say "What the hell is this? Am I supposed to read this? " Really, that book should have been on the list "Recommended Books to Read" followed by a catalogue of who recommended it & a brief summary. So, you can see my conundrum here. No list of lists for me.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Today's Rail
Second post, but not same as the first. The first was "Hello- not sure I belong here." This one is "I've got to say this to someone or something, whether someone reads this or not."
Please let it be known that I love my husband. I adore him, and would do anything in this world for him. I trust him implicitly, I believe in him, and enjoy making a life with him. But today, he sucks. He's sucked for a while. When we're around others, he's so sweet & funny. But if it's just he & I, the jaws all of a sudden wire shut, and all I get are mono syllabic answers to things like, "How was your day?", "Your shoulder feeling better?" "Would you rather have chicken or pork for dinner tonight?". Ok, the last one would get a longer response, but still as bland as the others. And that's not the only thing. He doesn't ask how my day was. He leaves the dishes in the sink as if they are waiting for only me to do them, he points out all the weird little things I do that I know are weird & follows it up with a sweeping statement like "I was just making an observation." Well, thanks. I almost flew under the radar just then but luckily, you kept that from happening.
Mostly though, I think the shittiest thing of all - at least I think it is- is that I get the feeling, impression, vibe (whatever you wanna call it) that the problem here is me. Like today, I came home from work to him cooking dinner, and obviously frustrated about something. I later found out he had screwed up the sauce to the meat and had to redo it, thus expanding dinner time by 20 minutes or so. So, I enter the apt & smell everything cooking, drop my load of crap on the floor, and say "Hey, honey!"
"hey"
"How are ya?"
"fine"
"Smells good!"
"thanks"
"You allright?"
"yep"
"Need help with anything?" "nope"
I know you're pissed just reading this, right? Ok - whatever. I continue about my "decompression" time by immediately dislodging my shoes, changing clothes, and petting the dogs, who by this time are throwing thier world famous "We're Orphan Dogs" eyes at anyone in a 3 mile radius. Blang! Thud! stir, stir, scrape. Slam! I continue ignoring, and decide that Facebooking in the next room would be a nicer, quieter escape. Not 3 minutes in and -- "dinner's ready". So, up I go & fix my plate & start to eat. In silence. Why? Because he's in a bad mood and - as I carefully think ahead of previous scenarios of this kind- what would the outcome be if I tried to start conversation? Similar to the aforementioned one that makes me want to shove lit cigarettes in my eyes. So, I eat my broccoli in quiet, & watch what I can of "King of Queens" or whatever was on .
"you're dying to ask me something, aren't you?"
"No, not really. I could tell you were not in the best mood ever & just decided that you probably wouldn't want to talk. And to be honest, I was sort of waiting to see if you would ask me how my day was sometimes. "
" i do ask you how your day was . sometimes. "
" I know. "
"i mean, you gotta know i'm not gonna talk much when i just got out of bed."
" I know."
And the silence continued until the newsstory about a local car dealer who (ironically) died in a car accident came up, then he asked if I had heard of it. I nicely volunteered to make his lunch for work tonight, and did the dishes because that's the rule (whoever cooks, the other does the dishes - not a bad rule, per se). And there was quite a stack of them. So while I'm slinging butter knives and spatulas and sauce pans around, I'm stewing the whole time. Why should I HAVE to know that ? Why is it always me that has to adjust to him? If I make an "observation" about him, then I'm being a bitch or he'll say "thanks for telling me" in a snotty, condescending way. I HAVE to understand that he deals with his anger or frustration by yelling & slamming stuff and that's how it is. But if I do the exact same thing, suddenly I'm acting ridiculous over something simple.
He complains that I never tell him how I really feel, but to be honest, I don't want to. I mean, it's just an invitation to a never ending argument between 2 defensive people who have issues left over from their respective upbringings.
OOoh! And I just thought of this. I am, apparently, not to be trusted on my own with the following items or I'll damage them forever beyond repair (not his EXACT words, mind you): the large kitchen knife on the glass cutting board ( I'll dull it by my constant hacking on the glass), the gear shift pedal in his truck (I'll wear it out because I was taught to push it in when I brake), the Teflon pans (I'll scratch them up by stirring or cooking with metal utensils). I'm sure I'll think of others as soon as I post this, but these will suffice. I mean, WTF?? I managed to live on my own for 26 years - quite successfully, I might add- doing all of these things, and never once did something completely crap out on me because of it.
Well, I needed to say that. I still do, actually. So,I think I need to make a date with my husband to "talk". And I need to be honest and forthright. I've been told I have good customer service- perhaps that will work in my favor here? I shouldn't be anxious or worried - he's my husband, my partner, my equal. He wants to know how I feel, and I said I would work on it & try to do better. So here I go. And I should make a list of the 3 most important things that are weighing on me right now. I suppose my rant about the knife & gear shift can wait for another time.
Please let it be known that I love my husband. I adore him, and would do anything in this world for him. I trust him implicitly, I believe in him, and enjoy making a life with him. But today, he sucks. He's sucked for a while. When we're around others, he's so sweet & funny. But if it's just he & I, the jaws all of a sudden wire shut, and all I get are mono syllabic answers to things like, "How was your day?", "Your shoulder feeling better?" "Would you rather have chicken or pork for dinner tonight?". Ok, the last one would get a longer response, but still as bland as the others. And that's not the only thing. He doesn't ask how my day was. He leaves the dishes in the sink as if they are waiting for only me to do them, he points out all the weird little things I do that I know are weird & follows it up with a sweeping statement like "I was just making an observation." Well, thanks. I almost flew under the radar just then but luckily, you kept that from happening.
Mostly though, I think the shittiest thing of all - at least I think it is- is that I get the feeling, impression, vibe (whatever you wanna call it) that the problem here is me. Like today, I came home from work to him cooking dinner, and obviously frustrated about something. I later found out he had screwed up the sauce to the meat and had to redo it, thus expanding dinner time by 20 minutes or so. So, I enter the apt & smell everything cooking, drop my load of crap on the floor, and say "Hey, honey!"
"hey"
"How are ya?"
"fine"
"Smells good!"
"thanks"
"You allright?"
"yep"
"Need help with anything?" "nope"
I know you're pissed just reading this, right? Ok - whatever. I continue about my "decompression" time by immediately dislodging my shoes, changing clothes, and petting the dogs, who by this time are throwing thier world famous "We're Orphan Dogs" eyes at anyone in a 3 mile radius. Blang! Thud! stir, stir, scrape. Slam! I continue ignoring, and decide that Facebooking in the next room would be a nicer, quieter escape. Not 3 minutes in and -- "dinner's ready". So, up I go & fix my plate & start to eat. In silence. Why? Because he's in a bad mood and - as I carefully think ahead of previous scenarios of this kind- what would the outcome be if I tried to start conversation? Similar to the aforementioned one that makes me want to shove lit cigarettes in my eyes. So, I eat my broccoli in quiet, & watch what I can of "King of Queens" or whatever was on .
"you're dying to ask me something, aren't you?"
"No, not really. I could tell you were not in the best mood ever & just decided that you probably wouldn't want to talk. And to be honest, I was sort of waiting to see if you would ask me how my day was sometimes. "
" i do ask you how your day was . sometimes. "
" I know. "
"i mean, you gotta know i'm not gonna talk much when i just got out of bed."
" I know."
And the silence continued until the newsstory about a local car dealer who (ironically) died in a car accident came up, then he asked if I had heard of it. I nicely volunteered to make his lunch for work tonight, and did the dishes because that's the rule (whoever cooks, the other does the dishes - not a bad rule, per se). And there was quite a stack of them. So while I'm slinging butter knives and spatulas and sauce pans around, I'm stewing the whole time. Why should I HAVE to know that ? Why is it always me that has to adjust to him? If I make an "observation" about him, then I'm being a bitch or he'll say "thanks for telling me" in a snotty, condescending way. I HAVE to understand that he deals with his anger or frustration by yelling & slamming stuff and that's how it is. But if I do the exact same thing, suddenly I'm acting ridiculous over something simple.
He complains that I never tell him how I really feel, but to be honest, I don't want to. I mean, it's just an invitation to a never ending argument between 2 defensive people who have issues left over from their respective upbringings.
OOoh! And I just thought of this. I am, apparently, not to be trusted on my own with the following items or I'll damage them forever beyond repair (not his EXACT words, mind you): the large kitchen knife on the glass cutting board ( I'll dull it by my constant hacking on the glass), the gear shift pedal in his truck (I'll wear it out because I was taught to push it in when I brake), the Teflon pans (I'll scratch them up by stirring or cooking with metal utensils). I'm sure I'll think of others as soon as I post this, but these will suffice. I mean, WTF?? I managed to live on my own for 26 years - quite successfully, I might add- doing all of these things, and never once did something completely crap out on me because of it.
Well, I needed to say that. I still do, actually. So,I think I need to make a date with my husband to "talk". And I need to be honest and forthright. I've been told I have good customer service- perhaps that will work in my favor here? I shouldn't be anxious or worried - he's my husband, my partner, my equal. He wants to know how I feel, and I said I would work on it & try to do better. So here I go. And I should make a list of the 3 most important things that are weighing on me right now. I suppose my rant about the knife & gear shift can wait for another time.
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