Road Trips: Yay! Murder Parks!

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I know I said I don’t make New Year’s resolutions, but one of my goals has been to get out and explore more of our area. I wanted to break out of my normal routine and go beyond the usual “hang outs” — Wal*Mart and Fred Meyer (but sometimes we get all crazy and go to Yoke’s or Safeway).

Last weekend, Hubby and I found ourselves without plans. He didn’t want to sit in front of the TV all day and I couldn’t play Dance Central because I dropped it a little too low trying to five star a Missy Elliot song without realizing that my body is kind of going all geriatric on me. I was faced with the options of taking a break from getting my freak on or pricing out a new hip. New hips are expensive, so I chose to chill until I could walk up the stairs without using the bannister as a support.

I suggested we drive somewhere. Anywhere. Somewhere where we don’t normally go. He wanted to go buy an appliance. I won and, a few minutes later, we were packed into the car with Powerade, Red Bull, some unbelievably stale Skittles.

We drove east, looking at fields and old barns and farmhouses scattered along the countryside. When I was a kid, I can remember my dad taking me on drives and telling me stories about the land and the people who used to live there. That was years ago, though, and my memory rarely retains things for long periods (like 5, maybe 10 minutes MAX). I filled the silence by asking important questions like.

“How do people live out here?”

“Do they even get internet out this far? Like real internet. Not dialup.”

“Do you think they get cell phone reception?”

“What happens if someone has a heart attack…or gets attacked by rabid rock chucks or bitten by a cult of Amish zombies? Wouldn’t it take a long time for police or ambulances to reach them? That just seems incredibly dangerous.”

Obviously, I’m not completely a city girl or I wouldn’t know the difference between a rock chuck and wood chuck.

This is a wood chuck. Wood chucks are funny and star in Geico comercials.

My life is a spiraling abyss of empty, black nothingness. I like pancakes.

This is a rock chuck. Rock chucks are suicidal and throw themselves at oncoming cars in front of my in laws’ house.

Sad pants.

Which leads us to our (previously undetermined) destination: The Whitman Murder Park Mission.

If you want a history lesson, you can click on the link (it’s actually a really interesting story). If you want a simplified (but mostly accurate) overview with commentary, keep reading.

The park is located at the site of a former mission (no way hu?) established by white pioneer religicals (Marcus and Narcissa Whitman) during the whole “save the savages” movement of the 1800’s. Because their motives were mostly altruistic, I won’t hate on the culturally imperialistic d-baggery. They built a community among the local Native American tribes and served as a low-end B&B for other pioneers passing through the area.

A shitton of pioneers. All at the same time.

Soooo, what happens when you put a crapload of people in tight quarters? It’s much like working in an office during flu season. Contagion! Disease! Pestilence! Instead of the flu, it was measles. When the white people caught it, they recovered. When the Indians caught it, they died. And got really, really pissed off (well, the families of the ones that died. Not the dead – although I imagine they weren’t singing “Kumbaya” in the astral plane). Because they didn’t have an established legal system in which they could sue the britches off the missionaries (not that they had much) to compensate for their pain and suffering, they did the next best thing: retaliate. They shot the Whitmans and several other people at the mission.

Like I said, that’s an oversimplified and mostly true story.

So, yeah, we day tripped to a massacre site – but it was in the name of history so it wasn’t that weird. Actually, the weird part was that Hubby and I both came here for elementary school field trips, yet we had never really thought it was a little strange that so many schools in this area shipped their classes to a crime scene in the name of education.

What were they teaching us? Do not eff with Indians? They will eff your shiz up, yo! It could’ve been a subliminal anti-gambling message. Or maybe it was just Washington State history? Whatever.

It seems weird to me now.

(Of course I’m being snarky here. I get why they brought us to the site – because it has really cool history about pioneers and the founding of our state. Very little of it is about “the end.” Still weird.)

Anyway, it was a blistering cold afternoon, but Hubby and I powered around the park like tourists and not people who live 45 minutes away and had already been there twice.

The Oregon Trail. (Well, sort of. I'm pretty sure this road was made by four-wheelers, but it was WHERE the trail used to be. It counts).

The Hill. I don't need to say anything else to anyone who has been there (especially as a fat kid -- like Hubby and I both were in elementary school). If you haven't been there, it's a steep hill you have to walk up to get to the memorial marker.

On your way up The Hill, you pass by several graves. This was an actual marker, but most of the graves were unmarked and they don't really know who is buried in them. This would be an inappropriate moment for a "your mom" joke... Right?

The Hubby playing a frozen version of himself with the monument in the distance. Up The Hill. OK, I'm not going to lie, I made him stop for a picture because I needed a break.

The monument (and a photographer). At the top of The Hill. We made it!

Overlooking the site of the former mission with an artist rendering of how it used to look.

Me standing in the exact spot Dr. Whitman died (I believe it was in a den). I wasn't sure if smiling was appropriate in the picture, but my serious face just looks mean. I tried not to look too cheery.

Me standing in the exact spot where Narcissa Whitman died (right outside the house). Once again, trying not to look too cheery. Also, please note my work boots are full of awesome.

Victory Dance Central

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As I said in my last post, I decided to get a Kinect for our X-Box for my birthday present. Hubby and I had been looking at them a few days before, but decided we shouldn’t spend the money  – plus, we were getting ready for our New Year’s Eve party and I knew we’d be in the house all but 2 minutes and I’d be hearing, “I just want to set it up!”…”I’m just tuning it!”…”I just want to see what this game is like”…”I just want to download this ONE game”…”FIVE MORE MINUTES! I ALMOST BEAT THIS LEVEL!”

And all I’d be playing was a rousing game of Clean The Casa. By myself.

But, as we were driving home from my birthday lunch with some dinero burning a hole through my wallet, I revisited the Kinect idea. It might be fun and something Hubby and I could play together (since he rejects my frequent requests to play super cool “vintage” games like Scrabble and Rummy). At the very least, it would encourage me to move around and could help relieve some of the back pain I’ve been having (I think all my stress and tension manifests itself in areas that were injured in an accident several years ago).

Generally, I’m not a big video game person. There are too many buttons and, apparently, my fingers are not coordinated. I hit B when I should hit C, down and right when I’m supposed to hit down, down, right, right, up, down, and pretty soon my characters are running around in circles shooting at their teammates.

Oh, I didn’t know I could kill you. Oops. My bad.

Or I end up lagging behind and getting jumped by baddies or whatever and then people have to come back and save me. I guess you could call me that annoying little sister that always wants to be included in games but always holds everyone up.

Once, I tried to play World of Warcraft. In a game that people can become so obsessed with they forget to eat or take care of their children, I lasted about 10 minutes. I never figured out how to get out of the building I was stuck in. Plus, I learned you can’t cast magic missile and that was really all I wanted to do anyway.

So, we get the Kinect and buy the second sports game because it had tennis and, well, I kicked @$$ at Wii tennis a few years ago. I like winning.

In general, I’m not very coordinated. It’s not that I’m uncoordinated, I just think my body is too technologically advanced for this world. It thinks it lives in the future where humans can defy the laws of physics and walk through solids – such as walls – with ease. Yes, I’m that advanced.

Since the Kinect doesn’t use controllers and requires a radius free of primitive solid obstacles, we make a good team. It took me a couple minutes to figure out how to navigate the menus (mostly because I’ve really only used the Xbox to play movies on Netflix), but it was surprisingly easy once I got over the fact that I looked like I was trying to communicate with spirits on the other side of the screen like in Poltergeist.

Carol Anne….don’t go into the light!!!

I wasn’t a huge fan of the Adventures game it came with because it was easy – and because, as far as I could tell, the game was more about good ol’ family fun than WINNING.

Wait!? If we’re playing together as a team, then how can I beat you? THIS IS BULL$H!T!

This is when it came out. That’s when this came out.

This chick right here? Yeah, I’m a wee bit competitive — at least when playing something I can win. That’s an important distinction to point out. For example, I’ve lost more than 10 straight games of pool and never gave a crap because it requires precision and controlled, calculated moves — pretty much the antithesis of my natural abilities (which are imprecision and dramatic, bad@$$ flailing).

Kinect Sports – because it allowed for some hardcore victory dancing and basking in the glory of my WIN – was much better.

I win. I win! I WIN!!! I FREAKING WIN! HAHAH! YOU LOSE! I WIN! I WIN!

*does booty dance*

*does victory lap around the couch*

*eats victory cookie*

*finishes with more enthusiastic booty dancing*

“OK? Ready to play again!?”

Except Hubby stopped wanting to compete against me. Which, you know, I totally understand how it must be pretty embarrassing for him to look all kinds of ridiculous and loser-like while I’m gleefully flinging myself about the room like Ed MacMahon had just rang our doorbell. (That and his demanding work and gym schedule means he doesn’t have a lot of time for getting his @$$ handed to him – but whatever. I know the truth. We all know the truth.)

I started playing against the game’s opponents, but I quickly realized competing just wasn’t as rewarding without having a real person to beat. I mean, a tennis match or two is fun, but it begins to feel a little monotonous and pointless. Especially when no one is around to see your victory dance.

I Love the 90s

Does this not look like the face of a dance prodigy? Or maybe a baby hooker?

I needed something that had more variety when played in single-player mode – something that I could challenge myself. And then it hit me (because good ideas are apparently thugs): I need a dancing game! It would be perfect (and an awesome workout). I used to take dance lessons only a decade (or two) ago. Obviously, I was a naturally-skilled dancer. It should all come back to me.

I bought Dance Central 2 because it was awesome included Lady GaGa’s “Bad Romance.”

True, I’d played it at Hubby’s work’s barbeque a few months ago and couldn’t figure out which leg to move where and was schooled by prettymuch every middle-aged guy at the party – but that was just the beer dancing! And…we were outside on grass and the dance floor was uneven and damp so I couldn’t get my footing and I’m sure the calibration was off on the machine and the screen was so far away I could BARELY see it…

Sighs.

Apparently that wasn’t it. It took about 30 seconds of playing (I wouldn’t necessarily call it dancing) when I realized a decade (or two) of doing no more than prom dancing (and other “club” dancing which was inspired by shots of vodka, rum, tequila and some mystery fruity drinks bought for me) was enough to beat down my groove.

I was no longer that little girl with sick dance moves and totally whorish makeup.

I sucked.

And I was out of breath.

And I was probably going to die right there on the floor (which Jennifer Lopez predicted, I just never listened because you can’t trust a woman that marries Marc Anthony).

But I had three things: hope (that I could get better), a dose of reality (I am REALLY out of shape) and fun (despite the fact I looked like I was trying to fend off a swarm of kamikaze moths WHILE having a seizure).

Either way, I’m addicted. And sore.

Happy New Year! Now, Tell Me Why I Suck!

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I didn’t finish the reverb/resound challenge for 2011 and I’m OK with that. It wasn’t that I just forgot about it or “gave up” (well, maybe gave up a little), but I felt that it was becoming more of a pain in the @$$ trying to think up things to make fun of reflect on and was actually keeping me from more rewarding activities.

Like playing Dance Central 2 for Kinect (you’ve never really experienced true enlightenment until you’ve flailed yourself around the living room to Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back”).

Panda and Me

Yes, that's my Panda Bear. No, he doesn't smell like Axe and douchebag.

New Years was wonderful. We had a sizable group of friends – many of which I don’t see often – over for a New Year’s Eve pajama party. No, we’re not talking about a sexy pajama party. That’s reserved for people in their early 20s in awesome clubs drinking glow-in-the-dark martinis bought by hot, exotic strangers. And by “awesome” club I actually mean place with a ton of sweaty drunk people all trying to get some strange. And when I say “exotic strangers” I mean some college frat boy-looking dude that reeks of Axe and douchebag.

We played pool and Apples to Apples (well, one game of Apples to Apples that took more than an hour to finish since it was a large group of intoxicated people who celebrated each round with “SMOKE BREAK!” or getting up to make another drink). A few of us were up until about 4 a.m., which is like days in old people years…

…especially since, at midnight, I officially transitioned into being one year older – no longer 26 but two-seven. 27. Yes.

Actually it wasn’t a huge deal. Turning 26, now that was an epic crisis. I was hella pissy when FEMA refused to send disaster relief in the wake of my catastrophic event.  Yes, no matter what the Mayans said, I was certain that turning “closer to 30 than to 20” was basically the end of the world. Turning 26 to 27? Meh. It was just another year.

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. I’ve always thought any day of the year is as good of day as any to commit to making a change in your life that will stick maybe three or four weeks before you realize that sitting on the couch and watching The Biggest Loser is a worthy substitute for the gym. But I did make one change. I started seeing a psychologist (the timing had nothing to do with a New Year’s resolution and everything to do with switching from my balls insurance to my husband’s slightly less balls insurance that happens to have excellent behavioral health coverage).

Although I’ve been going to a counseling center for a couple years now, I basically just have a nurse that tells me, “How are your meds working?” and “Do you need any more meds?” Normally I’d say that’s a pretty freakin’ sweet doctor, but medication is more treating the symptoms, not the cause and, with the infertility stuff throwing my life for a loop, I really needed someone to talk to (I briefly saw a counselor at the same place as my meds person and just wasn’t feeling it. Plus he gave me some stupid homework assignment to write down my feelings every 5 seconds. Yeah, that worked out because I’m totally capable of remembering things. He should’ve known when I would forget our appointments).

I chose a pyschologist the same way most people do, surfing through the insurance site’s listings of in-network doctors and picking the one with the least weird name (more proof that people who bestow dumbass names on their kids are setting them up for failure).

I was a little nervous when she said she prefers patients to make payments in cash. Why? Does she like throw all the cash on her bed and roll around in it? I guess if I had paid for a big, expensive degree and now was making bank, I’d do that too. Or maybe this is some shady, under-the-table “psychologist” evading the IRS. Possibly. At worst, it could be a front for a black market organ-selling ring Although, if that were the case, she wouldn’t really care if I was paying with cash, card or kidney.

Anyway, the office was small but looked official. No one was at the desk when I walked in, but I figured that was normal for a smaller practice (there were a couple other doctors in the same office), although it made me a little nervous that the female version of the unibomber was sitting in the waiting room. But, you know, crazies aren’t unexpected at these places. At least she wasn’t rocking back and forth mumbling about conspiracies and underwear-stealing pants sprites.

The psychologist seemed nice. In her opening speech, she talked about her credentials, what we were going to do in our first visit and said that she would determine if she was the best person to help me in this situation.

Panic.

OMG! What if she doesn’t like me!? How rejected am I going to feel if my psychologist dumps me?

She asked the general questions like “What do you feel like you need to improve on?” (a polite way of asking “WTF is wrong with you?”) and “What do you want to get out of these sessions?”

Those questions seem easy enough, right? Except for I’m totally stumped.

I want to suck less.

“Uhmmmm…I want to be able to better cope with difficult situations, I guess. I want to be…uhm….like…more confident. And…like…I guess maybe I want to connect with people better.”

Connect with people? Omg. Did you really just say that? Am I seeing a shrink or networking?

The conversation continued for another hour and several hundred “uhhs” and “umms” because, for the most part, I am not cool with showing emotions. I can do it here in writing (sometimes) and, after a few years with Hubby I can do it in front of him (again, sometimes). But other people? Out of the question. Emotions make you weak and then you cry and you make everyone feel all awkward. I fear the awkward.

Snarking is my weapon of choice for preventing and disarming potentially awkward situations. It’s my way for coping and understanding. I admitted that maybe it might be useful for me to learn how to go into an emotional situation without having to snark my way out of it. But I made it clear that my snark is who I am and I will never give that up.

SNARK

It’s kind of like in Braveheart when Mel Gibson’s character says, “You can take our lives, but you will never take our snark!”

(Actually, I’m not 100 percent sure that’s what Mel Gibson’s character said. When I was a kid, my parents wouldn’t let me watch Braveheart because it was too violent. Now, as an adult, I don’t let myself watch it because Mel Gibson is a douchestool.)

Anyway, she seemed to take my snarks too literally and I began to worry my stonewall “Everything is fine” attitude was going to make her think I didn’t need to talk to anyone and she would reject me so I tried to muster some sort of sappy, emotional reflections. The words felt forced and awkward.

Later that night, I asked Hubby, “What’s wrong with me? What do you think I need to work on?”

Every husband’s dream, right? A free pass to honestly tell your wife all her malfunctions – and have it not come back to bite you in the @$$ (probably). Sadly, his answer was full of all that self-reflective psychologist bull$h!t

“What do you think you need to work on?”

You @$$! You’re my husband, not my shrink!

NOW TELL ME WHY I SUCK!!!

Maybe I should work on the self-esteem thing?

 

 

Forgiveness (Reverb – Dec. 28)

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December 28
Forgiveness - What one thing do you need to forgive yourself for this year?

I would like to forgive myself for not always saying, thinking, or feeling the “right” things.

I would like to forgive myself for misplacing my keys…in the front door…overnight (it could happen to anyone, I just seem to be particularly susceptible to such occurrences).

I would like to forgive myself for relying too much on auto spell check and forgetting how to spell some words (like susceptible and occurrence).

I would like to forgive myself for not figuring out how to make sugar cookies that don’t taste like @$$. Maybe sugar cookies just suck?  Maybe that’s why people typically cover them in frosting? I’m going to continue thinking this (and stick to peanut butter and chocolate chip varieties).

I would like to forgive myself for a lot of things, but mostly I would like to forgive myself for not being perfect. I know that sounds cliché, but I seriously spend more time wrapped up in analyzing, worrying, and critiquing the things I do than I spend actually doing them…

…like not being able to write a thrilling conclusion to this post.

The end.

Encouragement, Author!, Meaning, Somebody Has To Say It, Miss (Reverb – Dec. 23-27)

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I thought it would be cool to post these backwards with the most recent prompt first. How cool is that?

December 27
Encouragement: How were you encouraged in 2011?

Encouragement can be found in many ways. Some may find encouragement through the support of a close friend or family while others may hear it (or feel it) in an inspirational quote, book or song. To some, it could even come from an unexpected place and in such a subtle and unassuming way that they will only recognize it as a “sign.”

I’ve yet to see the face of Jesus in a Twinkie, but I did find encouragement in a completely unexpected place last weekend. Our friends were over playing pool and, after a few beers, the conversation turned to the topic of infertility. Normally I try to dodge the subject (especially when people are drinking) because even the most good-intentioned comments can easily become hurtful. But it’s different with these friends. They may not know exactly what we’re going through, but they know us and have built up a relationship – a trust – with us that we feel comfortable letting our guard down (and believe me, that’s not an easy thing to do).

The conversation that night, however, ventured down a rather precarious path when male friend began assuring us that God has a plan for everyone. Hubby and I both knew he only had the best intentions – to give us hope and understanding of our situation – but that type of sentiment really only works when the person you’re saying it to is religious (and even then, when they are going through a hardship, it’s a conclusion that they really need to come to themselves). Hubby is the type of person that usually lets things slide, but you could tell this had struck a nerve. He responded that it’s hard to believe “God’s plan” would include things like a toddler dying in an accident or allowing people to breed that should not be having kids when good people like us can’t.

I think all parties realized this (and religion in general) wasn’t something that needed to be debated and I believe it was female friend or I (or both) that interjected. The subject was dropped and I think we all went away with the conclusion of “agree to disagree.”

After they’d gone home, I found myself thinking about what male friend said. But I wasn’t angry or frustrated or even bothered by a comment (especially considering that it is on my list of Top 10 Worst “Best” Advice Given To Infertiles) (do I sense a blog post?). In a way he may or may not have intended, it actually made sense. We navigate the journey through life through a series of decisions based on the choices we are given. Decisions as minor as sleeping in for an extra 5 minutes or as major as changing careers provide us with new choices we must make. In turn, the outcomes of these choices branch out into even more possible choices and outcomes (and so on). Some people may choose to think of these decisions and outcomes as based on things like karma or fate, guided or predetermined by a divine being, or simply a series of random occurrences that have no real meaning. It doesn’t really matter what force propels us down these paths, the point is there are many, not just one – and we don’t know for sure where any of them will take us.

I’ve been so caught up in worrying about each individual pathway and whether or not it will be traversable, I’ve lost sight of the fact that many more will reveal themselves as we navigate toward our goal. And that goal is not to get pregnant, it’s to become parents.

His words ended up giving me more encouragement then I’ve had in a long time.

As I told Hubby later that night, “We’re going to be parents someday; we just don’t know how it will happen yet.”

 

December 26
Author! – Share with us the title and inside jacket cover of the book you’d most like to write.

(technically this is a December 27 post, but I didn’t have one for December 26 and figured I’d use this)

Since I’d like to avoid finding a bat’s head in my bed (or, at the very least, receiving cease and desist letters), my title shouldn’t include the words “crazy train.” Maybe Awe-some or Prettymuch since those are prettymuch my awesome go-to words? Perhaps Kind of Sort of Maybe I Don’t Know given my indecisiveness? Inside the jacket would be blank. Actually, the pages would probably be blank, too. I tend to procrastinate writing projects.

December 25
Meaning: What’s the meaning of Christmas for you? Why?

I’ve already answered this on one of the previous prompts, but I didn’t see any other prompt for December 25 that interested me. So, here it is again: spending time with family. Why? Because it’s awesome.

 

December 24
Somebody Has to Say It…

People, please stop prefacing criticisms with “I’m sorry, but…” or “No offense, but…” when you’re not really sorry or regretful of the statement you’re making. Many people – especially women – seem to be infected with the “sorry butts” and it is contagious. I know because I catch myself doing it too (when I notice, I try to rephrase in a way that doesn’t make me want to rip out my own vocal cords).

There are places for it. When you are genuinely sorry for someone for the most part, as in “I’m sorry, but she kind of deserved her fiancé breaking off the engagement after she slept with his brother” is often more appropriate it than “I’m sorry, but it looks like her cosmetic surgeon operated blindfolded with an ugly stick.” I guess you could be genuinely sorry for the person in the second example, but it’s a statement I’d think would be reserved for someone you don’t particularly like.

December 23
Prompt: Who did you miss?

I really miss my family and friends from where I used to live. It’s only an hour and a half away, but it’s been really hard for us to get away because we’ve been so busy this year, our work schedules and then not having anywhere for our dogs – which we’ve determined are worse than kids because most of the time you can take them with you. It’s prettymuch never acceptable to show up with 300 lb of dumb dog or find someone to babysit (or doggysit).

I miss hanging out with them. I miss going shopping and lunches with my sister, karaoke with my cousin, and just general hanging out with all of them – some of which have moved away now. I miss nights at Bert’s pub with our fabulous trivia team, The Flying Vadge (and, yes, we had a signature hand sign). I don’t think we ever won, but after beers, glasses of wine, and pitchers of sangria, it didn’t really matter.

I miss seeing my niece grow up. It seems every time I get to see her she’s grown so much. Visiting at Christmas, she was so excited to see me and even wanted me to help read her a bedtime story. I wish I could be around to be the “cool aunt” more.

I miss my mom. I especially miss my mom. We’ve always been close and are eerily alike (the good, the bad, and the ugly). Every time I see her there’s something new going on in her life and I’m like, “Hu? When did that happen?”

The feeling of loneliness struck me especially hard in the past few months. Not that I think any of them would necessarily relate to or understand what I’m going through, but I know they’d be supportive and able to take my mind off of it. I wish I could tell my mom because moms are supposed to make things better. I know she can’t, but I can’t help feel that I need her. I can’t say it, though. It’s not something that just comes up in passing conversation, “Hey, how are you?”  “Oh, good, but my husband’s morphology and motility is low so your chance of grandchildren is virtually nonexistent without expensive procedures. Want to loan me thousands of dollars?”

Lists, Tradition, Giving or Receiving (Resonate 11 – Dec. 20-22)

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Catching up on my Resonate 11. Go team!!!

December 20

Lists: Do you make lists? Do you like to cross them off a list physically or do you put them in your iPhone or Blackberry? Do they work? If not, what will you do to make them work in 2012?

In short: yes. A lengthier response: hell yes.

I make lists. I make lists to make lists. After I make a list, I determine the best way to categorize each item and proof, adding notes or clarifications when necessary. One of my greatest neurotic list making habits is for grocery shopping. For this, items are organized by departments and put in order depending on the layout of the store. Under each item, any applicable coupons are listed and indicate what type of coupon it is, what amount it is for and any stipulations or limits. Then I end with the final price per unit.

Example:
MEAT
Jenni-O Ground Turkey
STORE COUPON $3.99/ea LIMIT 2
MANUFACTURERS COUPON $2 off
= FINAL PRICE $1.99/ea

That may make me look like an extreme couponer – I’m not. I actually don’t think I save more than a few dollars per trip (although I did manage about 50% savings once).  I’m just incredibly forgetful and ADD, so if I don’t have a precise game plan, I end up forgetting items and, instead, come home with six bags of Doritos, a block of Gouda and some overripe bananas (because when I see those, it means BANANA BREAD). Then, later on in the night, Hubby asks, “What’s for dinner?” And apparently gouda Dorito nachos and banana bread isn’t his thing.

I make other lists (and color coded spreadsheets for things like Christmas gifts), but that’s the major one.

As for where I put these lists, they’re mostly scrawled on notepads (or, my favorite at work, the back of scrap paper). My “reporter handwriting” is barely legible to most, so it’s kind of cool — like I have my own secret code that no one knows. My grocery list, however, is done on my computer and then emailed to my phone. I’ve walked out of the house without my list before, but I don’t even go to the bathroom without my phone.

December 21

Tradition: What are your traditions of Christmas? Or Hanukkah, if that’s what you celebrate. Is there one thing that spans generations or your family or just in your life?

My family celebrates on Christmas Eve and then, for the kids, Santa comes on Christmas Day. Christmas Eve for us means spending time together, playing board games, and (as a kid) opening presents. I don’t have a big family – they’re not particularly close, live far away, and celebrate with their spouses families – so, it’s been a small gathering with just me, my parents (until they separated), and my sister. Since then, we’ve added our spouses and my nice, Mia, to the gang).

For us, Christmas time is more about having a relaxing evening with loved ones, not trying to entertain a slew of distant relatives you maybe see once a year or listening to your stubborn aunt’s political tirade, which inevitably ends with someone getting pissy and storming off (probably aforementioned aunt).

Imagine what would happen if they drank.

Since I’ve been married, I’ve added a second celebration to my holiday traditions. Unfortunately, they also get together on Christmas Eve (although usually earlier in the day – so, technically, Christmas Eve day). Their celebration is much like my side of the family’s, although they do a bigger dinner and don’t play board games.

Aside from rushing between the two events, desperately wishing we had Santa’s sleigh (and a bottle of tequila)(you can’t get a DUI from operating an airborne sleigh pulled by flying reindeer –right?), Hubby and I have only a few “traditions” of our own. We put up lights and get a Christmas tree the weekend after Thanksgiving (lights went up earlier this year because we worried about snow – and, go figure, it snowed the weekend we put them up and then went on to be a record setting December for low-precipitation). We also do stockings for our dogs and each other.

December 22

Giving or Receiving?: When I was in fourth grade, our teacher asked us to write down whether it was better to give or receive and our reasons why. Depending on anyone’s particular situation the answer could be different. With the holidays now upon us, what’s more important to you? [p.s. Did you get your Christmas shopping done?]

At risk of being candycaned by a squadron of Santa’s Special Forces elves, I’ll have to say “neither.”

*Gasp*

Isn’t it always better to give than receive? I mean, unless you’re a terrible person who hates things like Christmas, joy, the first two Home Alone movies (after that you can hate all you want).

For me, the holidays aren’t for giving or receiving – they’re about spending time and making memories with loved ones. And I swear I’m not saying that to give myself an excuse for sorting my Amazon search results by price (low to high) when shopping for presents this year. Ok, so I’m a little cheap – but I fully expect people shopping for me to buy cheap-a stuff, too.

Honestly, I’d rather not exchange gifts at all – at least not between the adults. What is the point? How silly is it that we spend  time racking our brains trying to figure out what someone wants – either grilling family members, guessing, or developing some serious psychic skills, because getting someone to tell you what they want is right up there on the impossibility scale with separating Alec Baldwin from his Words With Friends.

Ask someone what they want and they’ll tell you, “Oh, I don’t want anything.”

Which is great. In fact, it would be awesome — if it weren’t a trap! In gift giving families (you know who you are – these rules are usually pre-determined), it doesn’t matter if someone says they don’t want anything and you say the same thing. They will get you something and, trust me, you do not want that awkward moment when the kids excitedly organize everyone’s presents to see who has the most…and SURPRISE it’s you.

Oooh, I thought we weren’t doing presents? Uh, thaaaank you? 

Always assume they’re doing presents. Always.

Hubby and I don’t really do Christmas presents for each other. We have joint bank accounts and it seems silly to take our money and make some attempt to buy something we guess the other will like when we could just go out and pick out stuff we actually like with that same money.

Until this year, Hubby’s family were the only ones we had to worry about buying for as mine didn’t exchange gifts (aside from kids – and until last year, there weren’t any). But, this year, my mom decided we would (with a $20ish limit). Ahkay. Hmm.

I have to say, I’m not totally thrilled with the idea. I thought, “Oh, yay! More people to buy for and I have no idea what they want.” Thankfully, my family is as straight forward as I am and actually gave me ideas. It made my job a lot easier. I knew what to search for on Amazon.

So, after my tirade against presents…

Have I finished all my shopping?

Prettymuch. I’m done with all my shopping. There are a few items I couldn’t find online and Hubby said he’d take care of them. Well, actually, I wanted to take care of them last weekend but he didn’t want to and told me not to worry about it, that he would figure it out. I quizzed him on who we had and hadn’t bought for yet, and he got like a B, so I emailed him the full list and I guess tomorrow we shall see!

My Mad Wrapping Skills

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It’s no secret that I suck at wrapping presents. Christmas presents. Birthday presents. Outdoor National Intercourse Day Presents (May 8, in case you’re feeling especially giving in 2012).

It doesn’t matter the reason, give me a gift and a roll of ridiculously thin, colorful paper, ribbons, bows, and tissue paper and I will find a way to make it look like a three year old was left unattended in Hallmark. Of course, if I were three, I’d at least have people lying to me, telling me what a “good job” I did and assume I’d eventually develop enough brain function and coordination to do better.

I didn’t.

If I’m lucky, people will just ignore it, or be too drunk to realize that it looks like a rather festively wrapped turd, or the kids, foaming at the mouth with Christmas spirit (PRESENTS! FREAKING PRESENTS! GIMME PRESENTS!), will rip off the paper without giving it much chance for scrutiny.

But that does not usually happen. At best, I’ll get a sympathetic look and someone will ask me if Hubby wrapped the presents. Providing he’s out of ear shot, I’ll roll my eyes and snark, “Obviously! I mean, how could you possibly think that I – with all my talents and female anatomy – could wrap something so carelessly?”

If he’s within earshot, though, my cover is blown.

“No, she did.”

And, for my troubles, I think I’ll get a glass of wine. Do you have any larger glasses? Maybe something you’ve brought back from Vegas or maybe just the bottle and a funnel?

Sometimes I begin a wrapping project with unnatural ambition. I get crazy ideas. I think about ribbons and bows and little dangly things that I could hang off the side. I think, “Maybe this is the time I’ll give a $h!t.” I make that initial cut (with my dull scissors that are used on everything)…and I realize my straight path from one side to the other has seriously malfunctioned. It’s borderline triangular. I even bought the kind of paper with gridlines, but apparently I need something more hardcore to guide my way – like Rudolph or Chuck Norris.

Even at that point, though, I hold out hope I can turn it around. I think, “Maybe I can salvage this. We can rebuild it. Better. Stronger. Faster.”

OK, alternatively, less craptastic.

As I try to fold the ends into symmetrical triangle-ish thingies, I have a moment of clarity:

Screw this. No one even cares about stupid freaking wrapping paper anyway. It’s the gift that counts.

Why don’t I get bags, you might be asking? Because bags are for wimps. And my tissue paper ends up looking like balls. Specifically, wrinkly old man balls.

My mad imagery skills make baby monkeys cry.

Specifically this one.

This monkey is silently shedding a tear.
So, maybe my presents aren’t going to win me a Martha Stewart of the Year award – but they’re wrapped.

Presenty Goodness

The reason some of them don’t have bows is because I didn’t have any matching ones. Yes, non-matching bows drives me crazy. Crappy wrapping does not.)

(Also: Thought about kicking them around a bit and tearing the wrapping and telling people they were wrapped with the “grunge” look. That’s cool. Don’t they know?)

And they were all purchased on Amazon so I didn’t have to leave my house. Or put on pants.

When I get feeling bad about myself, I remember: I may not be able to wrap presents, but I can sure wrap the $h!t out of a Boxer (with garland).

Merry Tankmas!

 

Time and Frustration (Resonate11 – Dec. 18-19)

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December 18

Time: Did time move quickly or slow for you this year? Was there ever a moment where you felt you blinked and the year was half over? When was that? What were the circumstances? Do you believe there’s some truth in thinking in currency of time as opposed to money? 

The year seemed to go by at marathon speed. That’s not unusual. I’d say the past three years have gone by faster than I’d like. Why? Well, we’re chronic “do-ers.” We always have some sort of project going on (although we’ve been taking a little break at the new house – we’ll see how long that lasts).

I used to view that as a bad thing, but I now see that have accomplished a lot and bonded over the projects (however frustrating they can be). It’s just what we do and, even though we’ve had moments where we sat in a pile of drywall, Googling how to fix something we just realized wasn’t going to work, it actually feels good when we work through the problem and find success in the end.

It says a lot about our relationship, too.

I’m not sure if I know how to answer the last question regarding the thought of the currency of time as opposed to money… I don’t really think about that. I don’t think they’re interchangeable, at least not for us. I suppose it might be different if one of us was the type of person that is addicted to climbing the career ladder, whose goal is to make more money at the cost of time with their family or even starting a family. We’re just not like that. We believe there is a place for both and, as long as they’re balanced, it’s not something that we can compare.

 December 19

Frustration: What was one of the biggest frustrations you had this year? What will you do to deal with it in 2012? Or, will you even have to?

I’m tired of saying “infertility.” I feel like a broken record, but I have to face the fact that it’s the biggest challenge and source of frustration that we’re dealing with now and will deal with for God knows how long.

What are we going to do about it? The short answer: We don’t know. I mean, we have an idea and understand what the “natural” (doctor-assisted) progression of things will be — two or three rounds of IUI and then the big IVF (or I-V-EFF). But that’s just the general idea if we don’t succeed. You never know. And we’re trying on our own in the meantime because, really, why not? The thing is, we have a lot of BIG decisions to make and they’re not something we can decide until we get to that point. It will depend on emotions — dealing with the let down after failed procedures. How much can we do? It will depend on cost — how much do we want to spend on this? It will depend on logistics — the nearest IVF clinic is two hours away. How can we manage that? At some point, if we’re not successful, we’re going to have to stop. When will that be? I don’t know. But that’s the questions we will have to face at some point.

Confession: I didn’t want this to become an “infertility blog” (or a “infertility resound/reverb”), but I’m resigning myself to the fact I don’t have much of a choice. I blog about my life (the good, the bad, and the most awesomely awkward) and unfortunately my life is not something I have a lot of control over. Not to mention that this is not only a major issue in my life right now, it’s something that takes a lot of my time and energy, requires a lot of commitment and requires a significant lifestyle change. It’s like training for a marathon, but with more sex, drugs, and needles. Throw in some Mötley Crüe and it’d be a party 1986 style.

Community and Loathing (Reverb11 – Dec. 16-17)

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December 16

A Community I Love - Online & IRL we’re all part of a multitude of communities.  Tell us about one that moves you. [Prompt from GeekinHard]

And cue the “Move it Move it” song to start blasting through my head.

This is an easy question for me (maybe because I’m not a member of many communities), but my Twitter friends or community are what moves me the most. For many, it’s hard to imagine how an online community consisting mostly of strangers communicating in thoughts of 140 characters or less could be so rewarding, but it works.

Let’s face it: we’re all pretty busy. I don’t always have the time to sit down and write long e-mails, read blogs, and I’d rather cut my own bangs than have a phone conversation lasting more than 60 seconds. I do find time to do those things, but there’s no guarantee when I’ll get around to it (most likely after I have 250 unread blog posts in my Google Reader). In the meantime, Twitter allows me to keep up with people in short but frequent doses.

Through my years on Twitter, I’ve met some amazing people – some of them have actually become “IRL” friends, too. Unlike Facebook, which seems to be a place to reunite (stalk) people you used to know, Twitter is a place where you can somewhat anonymously get to know new people who share your interests.

 

December 17

Loathing - Who or what do you loathe and how have you expressed that in 2011? [Prompt from GeekinHard]

Loathing is something I’ve felt all too often in this last part of 2011. To many, I think it may have seemed that I loathed a lot of people or things, but it wasn’t that way. No. It boiled down to loathing our own situation. The fact that it wasn’t fair, that people have it so easy, that we aren’t deserving of this. I loathe the fact that we are broken and we don’t have a choice in it. I loathe feeling helpless and not being in control of my own life.

I still loathe those things. I don’t foresee that changing in the near future — it’s not something you can just “quit” feeling — but I do think it will get better.

How did I express it? Screaming, crying, apathy, sarcasm, ignorance, seclusion – I could go on, but that’s the gist.

Seclusion, by far, has been one of my most popular methods of dealing with these emotions – and it’s probably the most affective. It’s also one of the most difficult to explain to people I’m close to.

No, I’m sorry. I can’t go to your party. I’m busy washing my hair and loathing tonight.

Ok, so that’s not really the logic, but you get what I’m saying. Hubby has even gone as far as making up reasons why I haven’t been at events because, firstly, it’s hard to explain, and, secondly, to protect me from judgments or assumptions made by others who may not understand. Worse, they may assign emotions to me that just aren’t true (the biggest one has been jealousy – especially if I haven’t wanted to be around someone who is pregnant it’s because I’m jealous). 

Jealousy.

That’s a word I loathe.

I get it. I mean, it makes sense, right? Someone has something that everyone knows I can’t have. How can I not be jealous? Maybe in some ways I am, but it’s not over any particular situation. What makes jealousy especially offensive to me, though, is that it takes my pain and attributes it to being caused by someone. Like if they weren’t around, it wouldn’t be an issue. No. My pain is caused by something that is a constant factor in my life. Most of the times that I’m depressed or sad or crying, it’s by myself. It can be triggered by something as little as someone I barely know posting ultrasound photos on Facebook or some happy couples in a pregnancy test advertisement on TV (does anyone else just wish it would come out negative? Like HAHA! TAKE THAT! But I suppose that wouldn’t make a very good ad for the product). No one sees that. I don’t want them to see that. Sometimes I’m more sensitive. It’s random. Things that didn’t bother me one day will have me in tears the next and things I nearly had a break down over, I will say “meh” and shrug. (The good news is that I’m doing remarkably better at working through these things and being able to deal with more)

Listen, I get how people would think that I’m “the J word.” It isn’t a stretch to assume that – especially when I avoid baby centered events like I avoid those petitioners outside Wal*Mart (best excuse when confronted: “I’m sorry, I live out of state and am just here visiting a friend”). I do it because…there are just things I can’t do yet. Sometimes it’s because I worry about losing it in front of people or being trapped in the situation and not being able to get out. Sometimes I just don’t want to spend my free time being miserable. Worse, sometimes I worry that I will say snap and say something I don’t mean (actually, I probably do mean it, but I shouldn’t say it). Imagine it like this: picture you are The Biggest Loser and are having dinner at Applebees with your incredibly skinny model friends to celebrate the fact that they can eat whatever they want and NEVER get fat. You spend what seems like hours listening to them talk about how they just look at a treadmill and they drop 5 pounds (it’s SOOO EASY) as they shovel deep fried mozzarella sticks in their mouths. You do your best to smile, saying things like, “Yaaay. So happy for you skinny bitches. No, I love this lettuce leaf I’m eating. Mmmm.” Then comes dessert. One of them, who may or may not know you struggle with weight and now your diet only consists of gerbil food, casually asks “Are you sure you don’t want any cheesecake?” Snap. You punch her in her bony face yelling: “OMFG! DO YOU THINK I WANT CHEESECAKE? OF COURSE I WANT FREAKING CHEESECAKE. BUT I CAN’T HAVE ANY…NOW SHUT YOUR FACE!” Then you spend half an hour on the bathroom floor crying and drinking mini bottles of vodka you stored in your purse “for emergencies.”

That’s (more or less) what I worry about happening at, say, a baby shower.

I think I want to go make a cheesecake now.

 

Things (Resonate11 – Dec. 15)

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Things: Many people believe that things are not important, so whether things or something more grand, what are the three most important things in your life right now?

Freedom, Jack Daniels, and living STD-free since ‘93.

Actually, no. I mean, I think freedom is important. After all, without freedom, I wouldn’t be able to do things like vote and wear my pajamas in the frozen foods aisle at Wal*Mart. But not the Jack thing. I hate Jack Daniels. Hate it. I can’t explain it better than this: it makes me feel like I’m being suffocated by the stench of 30 years of raging alcoholism.

And, well, that last part about STDs was just thrown in because it sounded good. Not that it isn’t important – it totally is – but, in the grand scheme of life, it doesn’t strike me as something I should brag about.

Honestly, the real list is just a regurgitation of yesterday’s list of things I’m grateful for. At the risk of sounding like a broken record…

My Hubby is important to me. Without him, I would probably be on the fast track to becoming a bitter, old,  crazy dog lady. Plus, I wouldn’t have anyone to eat sushi with or laugh at me when I say the word “bone.”

My friends and family are important to me – and even (at times) make me look kind of normal. They’re kind of talented like that.

Our fur kids are important to me, even though they have bad breath and are constantly all up in my sh!t. I like to believe it’s because they love me and not because they’re trying to steal my Lucky Charms (or whatever I happen to be eating at the moment).