17 Reasons Why... I'm Married?

So I was browsing through my Facebook feed, prepping for a wicked nap. But then I came across an article about being undateable, and it enraged me. So much so that I couldn't nap. According to Ashley Fern, "being single in your twenties is currently some sort of epidemic that comes without explanation." What. The. Fuck.

Being single is totes cool. If anyone tells you otherwise, fuck them. But that doesn't mean being non-single is uncool. At all. Especially when your seventeen reasons for being single totally fucking suck. Fern says her reasons are "possibly satirical." What the fuck does that even mean? Either they are satirical, or they aren't! You can't have it both fucking ways. Satire and no satire may be one of the only true binaries in existence.

So here are Fern's seventeen reasons... except instead of making me undateable, they make me fucking awesome and/or my husband fucking awesome:

1. I'd rather stay in than go out. I binge watch Netflix with my husband. Sometimes I binge watch it by myself. How scandalous!

2. I'm old, so I hardly ever go out. But when I do, I PARTY. And you know who is semi-cool with it? My hubster. Why? Because he's not a fucking dick. The semi is only there because he loves me, and he doesn't want me to have a hangover because hangovers suck donkey balls.

3. Fern says she is undateable because she doesn't want to meet your family. Dude. That just means you're like everyone else in the world. I love my in-laws, but I wasn't exactly "Yay! Jeff, I want to meet your family! They're going to love me and my weirdness and my cursing and all my other baggage!" 

4. I wasn't excited to introduce Jeff to my family. It's no that I'm ashamed of my family, but we have our quirks. So again, just like every other human being, I was nervous about Jeff meeting my family. Why? Because families are weird. They interrogate the hell out your new mate. Granted it's to ensure he or she is truly worthy of joining the family and its unique but cool weirdness.

5. Fern says she can't commit to what she wants for lunch which therefore means she should be alone. Major fucking slippery slope. I can commit to what I want for lunch because I order the same fucking thing... if you can get me to commit to a restaurant. I still got married though. Committing to Jeff and committing to food are super different. Life partner does not equal (is not even similar to) food. This is where Jeff being awesome comes into play-- he puts up with my indecisiveness!

6. I love having the bed all to myself. But we own cats so it's never going to happen. BUT. Fern wants the bed all to herself so she can use half of it for sleep and half of it for laundry. Get a chair for that shit. If you have a bed all to yourself, enjoy the fuck out of it. Don't sully it with laundry! Seriously. That's why people started putting fucking chairs in their bedrooms. For unfolded laundry!

7. I love my best friend (What up, bestie?!). But that never stopped me from dating. Seriously. I don't get this one. How can you love your best friend so much that you have no more room for romantic love? Satire or not, this one makes no fucking sense.

8. I don't tolerate bullshit. Why would anyone tolerate bullshit? I know dating can be filled with bullshit, but that's why you dump assholes and bitches, and marry the good ones, a la Jeff. Also, if, like Fern, you think understanding and patience are bullshit concepts, you're a moron who's handing out your own brand of bullshit. Or we just took a giant U-turn into Fern satire.

9. Sometimes I'd rather hang out with my guy friends. My bestie is a dude. Most of my friends have been/are dudes. Why? I have no idea, but it's not because there's less drama. Guys are some of the most dramatic creatures I've met-- which to Fern's credit, she kind of admits, but then she says, "Boyfriends who let the girl wear the pants in the relationship can be even worse." Dude. It's not 19-fucking-50 anymore. Also, who's to say the people reading your article/blog-thing want a man. Maybe they date chicks.

10. I have trust issues. And Jeff understands that about me because he's awesomesauce.

11. I have an unhealthy relationship with Netflix. I believe this was covered in the first reason. Why we must repeat it, I don't know. But we did. So who cares that I watch a shit ton of Netflix? Jeff doesn't care. He teases me, but we pay for it. So I'm going to fucking use it.

11a. Fern didn't have an 11a, but my God, she has shitty reasons for not dating, and it's really fucking grating on my nerves.

12. Fern's after-work schedule doesn't allow for a relationship. I don't get it. You had time to write a shitty fucking article about being undateable. I think you have time to date.

13. Fern may have finally figured out how to be slightly satirical. Romantic notions make her want to vomit, but she also bitches about wanting someone tall, dark, and handsome. So either she's going for satire at this point, or she's really fucking confused. P.S. I don't like traditional romance so you actually can be dateable and only want a big ass bag of chocolate for Valentine's Day even though you hate Valentine's Day because it's stupid and made-up.

14. Fern likes her pint of ice cream sans man. Fuck that. I will cuddle with Jeff while eating ice cream that he so kindly picked up for me because I was feeling sad. It's nice to have a husband who knowingly lets you eat your feelings while cuddling with you and watching Netflix.

15. Again, it's not 19-fucking-50. You don't have to be great at cooking and cleaning, Fern! Our bed hasn't been made in days. So there!

16. Fern wants a relationship so she can have free lunches. What-the-fuck-ever.

17. Fern says she's too picky. No fucking shit. I just... fuck it.

The point is, Fern doesn't fully understand satire. Or dating. Or how much glorifying the single life enrages me (glorifying marriage also enrages me because it's just fucking life).

Call Me Potato Head

It's come to my attention that my post evoked sadness in people. Some people felt sorry for me. Please know this was not my intent. I was not seeking a pity party. If it makes you feel sad or feel sad for me, that's fine. I just need you to know that my intent was not some self-loathing-please-feel-sorry-for-me blog. Rather, it was me speaking out against what people think I SHOULD be doing with MY life despite their lack of knowledge of what it's actually like to be me and live as me.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You know those metaphorical bubbles that surround each of us? Mine isn't very large, partially because I'm a tiny person, but mostly because I'm not ashamed of who I am, what I do, etc. I mean, I recently took one of those quizzes circulating Facebook...

My response? I laughed because it's kind of true, especially when I'm online. You see, computer mediated communication has a disinhibition effect, Basically, I say shit I might not say in person. Most of what I say online, I would actually say if I were standing right next to you. Depending on who you are, I might not say what I'm about to say. Thank God for computer-mediated communication (do blogs count?) because your desire for me to birth a child needs to fucking stop. 

Yeah. I typed it. And you read it. 

Don't get me wrong. I want to have a baby. And it's not some far off in the distance thing either. I even remember the exact moment I realized I was ready. I was watching fucking Twilight (whatever the last one is called). I was sitting in a fucking movie theater, watching a fucking stupid cinematic (ha!) rendition of a ridiculous "book" that I stupidly like when I realized I was mentally ready to have baby. There was some husband gazing involved in all of that, but it's hard for me to get over the fact that I had such an important revelation during fucking Twilight.  

All of that was more than a year ago. I'm not pregnant. We aren't trying (I really hate that word. Blah!). Why? We (really just me) are not financially ready to have a baby. Literally. No one is ever financially ready to have a child. Kids are fucking expensive. And I also shamefully accept help paying for my bills. I don't want the money, but not taking it would be irresponsible. And if you think this is all bull shit. Think again. The people who want me to have babies the most would turn on me if I actually had said babies because I'd be just another person shamelessly sucking off the teat of the government. Except! My mom wouldn't let that happen because she's just like that. And this is why someday I plan to repay her with a condominium. At least I hope-- I hope I have the money to do so, and I hope she actually let's me do it. She's one of the most selfless and understanding people I know.  

But anyway.

I know what you're thinking. I have a job. I could apply for another job. Yeah. Been there done that. I, a well-educated chick with an advanced degree, applied for bank gigs, secretarial gigs, state gigs, any gig other than fast-food and prostitution (is there an application process for that?). I even applied at Menard's, and they wouldn't hire me! I worked at Lowe's Home Improvement for fucking years, and I knew a former employee of the very Menard's I applied. Nothing. 

So I continue to teach part-time at a local community college. I quite like it minus the fact that I can't provide for my family in the ways I want to provide (I seriously make what equates to about minimum wage, and I don't even have job security since I work on semester to semester contract basis*). I can't even justify having a baby. So every time you tell me we should have a baby, a little part of me dies inside because I feel guilty and ashamed. But mostly I feel sad. I have a wonderful husband, and I know he'd make a great father. He even wants to be a dad, like yesterday. 

So the next time you tell me I should have a kid, remember you're not jut expressing your desires, you're also stabbing and twisting a knife deep inside my soul. I can't have what I want, and I remind myself every damn day. Society reminds every damn day, especially since I'm slowly but surely creeping along to thirty. So I don't fucking care what you want. If you so desperately want me to birth a child for you, buy the fucking diapers, the fucking food. You may also want to save up for possible complications related to my size and my pre-existing health conditions as well as college tuition. And, oh, by the way, do you have money for my student loans and car insurance? No? Then shut the fuck up.

* I refuse to break it down because it makes me more sad, and you can Google it anyway. I make somewhere in between all those numbers they throw around. 

Obligatory New Year's Post

I'm not one for New Year's resolutions or even New Year's Eve celebrations. But with everything that's happened this past year, I feel the need to post something tinged with resolution... I'll call them goals or plans or maybe just hopeful happenings.

As I said, quite a bit has occurred this past year: I recovered from one injury only to be plagued by another; we celebrated our (you remember Jeff, right? I don't talk about him much on here) third wedding anniversary; my doctor pushed statin medication AGAIN; we got a new cat; I read seventeen books (I'm rather proud!); we said goodbye to cable; we welcomed and said goodbye to others... there's more, but I won't bore you with it all.

So what do I plan to do next year? What do I hope occurs? To make it easy on you, the reader, and myself, the writer, I'm just going create a list. I'm not holding myself to any of it. I've learned not to set myself up for failure, and creating a list of things to do in the new year... for me, it spells failure. So don't hold me to my list. P.S. These "items" are in no particular order other than what occurred to me as I wrote.

1. I want to start working out and eating more healthily again. For me, the two go hand in hand. If I can't workout... well, hello, Mr. Pibb and chocolate ice cream! So it is my hope to slowly but surely get back into the swing of things, even if that means using my Wii Fit. I'd love to jump back on the treadmill, but if I've learned anything from 2012's meniscus sprain and this year's hip bursitis, I need to ease back into exercise because my body isn't as malleable as it was in my teens. Once the workouts become regular and relatively pain-free so to will the ingesting of fruits and veggies. Strawberry season will also help!

I know this goal/plan may seem ridiculously cliche, but being healthy is important. It's especially important when I consider my own and family medical history. It's not about weight or looks. It's about living life to the fullest, feeling great, and living long and well with the one's I love.

2. I hope to complete a rough draft of my scholarly article.

3. I need to learn to let things go. It's trite but necessary. Holding on too tightly to life's and people's bullshit, that at the end of the day doesn't make a difference in the grand scheme of things, is toxic. I'd like to think I've gotten better at this as the years have progressed, but I know there's still room for improvement. My mom would totally agree. I mean, I'm still struggling to shrug off the whole Duck Dynasty snafu-- not what Phil Robertson said, but how those I know and care about reacted to what he said etc. I shouldn't care, but I do care.

4. I plan to read twenty books in 2014. I hit 17 this year so why not 20 next year? First on my list: Dust by Hugh Howey; second on my list: MaddAddam by Margret Atwood. After that I've got 120 to pick from according to my Goodreads account!

That's pretty much it. I could add other items (something about hiking or improving my craft... or getting that next tattoo!), but why "hold" myself to too strict a list? If I need to do them or improve upon them, I should just do it.

Here's hoping.

Having Cats Is Kind of Like Having Kids...

Cats require far less maintenance than human children, but they certainly seem to have similar qualities. For instance, Maggie may not want anything to do with me, but as soon as I get on the phone, she's bounding toward me trying to "talk" to whoever (usually my mom) is on the other end of the phone. Now that we have two cats, the similarities are even more striking. Sharing is a HUGE deal. Maggie doesn't like sharing. Although I think she's made a secret deal with Purrcy-- "I'll let you live in my house if you let me eat your food. Don't worry. You can have my food." Why on Earth she wants to eat his less expensive kitten food... the mysteries of cat children. Despite their sharing issues, I'm glad to say our house is a happier one since the last time I posted about our new addition.

Maggie seems to be warming up to Purrcy... slowly. At least it's something. I think things would be a lot easier if they would actually "listen" to each other. Purrcy is only seven months old, and he's used to being around other kittens and cats. All he wants to do is play with Maggie. He follows her around like she's a rock star (she kind of is!). Maggie doesn't see it like that though. She's like the teenage version of my brother who got super annoyed because all I wanted to do was hang out with him (P.S. My brother was and is amazing. He did hang out with me a lot, but I could be a rather annoying little sister, especially when he was trying to hang out with his friends). Of course, I never understood why he didn't want to hang out or play games with me. Purrcy is like that younger version of myself. His Maggie-butt-sniffing is essentially equivalent to me following my brother around asking non-stop questions. And Maggie's hissing is my brother doing whatever he did to get me to leave him alone (I don't remember what he did to get me to stop pestering him... hmmm.).

I think my ability to compare situations is a sign of hope. Someday soon Maggie will finally realize Purrcy is following her not because he's annoying but because he thinks she's the bees knees. And someday Purrcy will realize he just needs to give Maggie a little space. Either way, I love these two furballs. Maggie will always be my gal (even if she only begrudgingly takes part in photo shoots)!

And Purrcy is keeping me young and on my toes.  He even has a hint of mischievousness in that cute little napping smile! "I'm totally going to chew on her new Sperry's!*"

Lord help me when I actually start popping out human babies! For now, these two will do!

*I originally typed new shoes, but just as I was finishing up this post, he actually started chewing on my brand new Sperry's. A string is a string with this kid. 

Grieving and a Girl who Loves Mr. Pibb

Grieving is a funny thing. That might sound ridiculous, but it's true.

My grandma has been in and out of the hospital for several weeks, maybe longer. Right now, she's not my grandma. She's just a vessel for sickness who only looks like my grandma. Somewhere inside is the Grandma Darling I know-- the one who held me as a baby, ate cabbage with my mom and Aunts while I dipped slices of hot dog into mashed potatoes, the one who makes the world's best Angel Food Cake, the one and only Bingo master, and the one filled with wisdom and a capacity to deliver a hug like no one else.

So why is grieving so funny? After all, that last paragraph is rather heart-wrenching.

Well, upon hearing about the latest turn of events with my Grandma, I pulled into a drive-thru at a nearby Fazolis-- they have the best Mr. Pibb in town. I really needed one... I think I might be addicted, literally. Elizabeth (Yes, that's how often I go there--I know their names, and they know me.) opened the window, and sweetly said, "I was told to give you this for free." I thanked her, drove off... and I lost it. A free Mr. Pibb sent me over the edge. Mind you, I was on the verge before the free Mr. Pibb, but the smallest gesture turned me into a ball of tears and snot. I'm sure it all would have eventually came out, but like I said grieving is a funny thing. The smallest thing can trigger a breakdown, even a free Mr. Pibb in a yellow Styrofoam cup.

The best part about all of this? If Grandma Darling could hear (or comprehend-- they say morphine is good stuff) this story, she would smile, laugh, and, as always, say something wise.

Maggie's Out... Julie's It's The Almost Weekend Words of Wisdom

In 7 days and about 3 hours I'll be twenty-five years old (I may not look it or act it, but that's okay!). I may not be that old or wise, but you'd be amazed at what you learn in the few years after leaving high school. So what have we thus far?

1.
Life lessons are not always pleasant. In fact, you're not going to like this first one. It is perhaps one of the worst life lessons: your mom (and maybe even your dad) is almost always right. You love her, but does she always have to be right? Yep.

She'll tell you not to move in with your best friend or go through whatever cockamamie plan you cook up, but you'll do it anyway. If you're like me, you move in with your best friend, you fight over when to pay the bills, he starts dating a very messy girl who uses your dishes and doesn't wash them, and pretty soon you don't have a best friend.

Now, the worst part is, your mom was right. The second worst part is no matter how many times you read this you will concoct a stupid plan, your mom will let you go through with it, and about two years later you'll ask her why she let you do it, and she will say something like this: "Well, you were going to do it anyway. I figured I'd let you learn the hard way." That's right. She will pull the learning-from-your-mistakes-card. Just remember, it's all because she loves you. I promise.

2.
Only pierce your earlobes. The other ones usually get infected. I mean it! Don't be like me. A man had to remove one of my ear piercings with a pair of needle nose pliers.

3.
This one's four-fold, incredibly important, and a little (maybe a lot) complicated.

If you're like me, your parents made you participate in some sport or activity as a child. My mom signed me up for gymnastics because I thought Shannon Miller was the coolest chick ever. I'm sure there was more logic to her choice, but that's not what's important. You see, I spent about ten or so years doing gymnastics with the coolest man ever: Leroy. When I joined team, my mom made me do tumbling (she had her reasons which again are not important) instead of all around. I was devastated. She totally crushed my Olympic dreams. But alas, I tumbled for a great seven years, and in those years I learned more than I ever thought possible...*

a. Some of you have probably heard this before: don't wear a hair-tie on your wrist. I missed out on a epic tumbling win because of a hair-tie. Neither Leroy nor I have ever forgotten this. We probably never will. So, seriously, don't wear a hair-tie unless it's in your hair.

b. Now, I'm not sure of Leroy remembers this one or not... if he ever reads this he'll probably yell at me because this was almost as devastating as the hair-tie incident. It was the night before a national qualifier, and I was craving a bowl of ice cream. I had my ice cream, but only after I dropped the entire gallon on my foot. Miraculously, I only hurt my toe, but you wouldn't believe what a difference a toe makes. My toe hurt, but I still tumbled, mighty well I must say. But the judges said my foot wasn't turned enough to be considered a double full. I still don't believe them, but nonetheless, it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't dropped the gallon of ice cream on my foot.

So, if you want ice cream the night before a meet, for the love of tumbling, have someone else get it for you.

c. Keep some tissue you in your gym bag. When I get angry, I cry. So, when I had a bad warm-up session before a meet, I cried. Do you know what happens when you cry? Your nose gets stuffy... mix that with tumbling, and you end up with snot coming out of your nose while you're trying to make a perfect pass down the strip. Thankfully, I caught my snot, and I even stuck my pass (and that almost never happened!)! Now, this might be funny, but it's totally gross. If I'd had some tissue to blow my nose, I would have been snot and embarrassment free.

d. You learn a lot from Leroy, tumbling, and gymnastics. After dropping a gallon of ice cream on your foot, you know not to do it the next day. However, there are things you learn but don't quite understand until several weeks, months, or years later. Whether you're a tumbler or an all-arounder, you aren't just learning how to do crazy flips and tricks--you're learning life lessons.

Before we can understand the life lessons learned from hanging out with Leroy, you need a back story.

I remember the day I quit tumbling team. I remember where I was sitting, where Leroy was sitting. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done--I loved tumbling, and I loved Leroy. I'd dedicated my life to this wonderful sport, and I had no choice but to give it up. I never told anyone the real reason I quit, at least not until recently.

I was an advanced tumbler, and my favorite first pass was a barani, whip, full, full, front. Unfortunately, a year before I quit team, I lost my full and my double-full. I never re-gained my full, and I was forced to get my double-back ready for competition. I'd worked on it for years, but never too seriously. I finally had it ready, and then one day I got lost. We all get lost in the air... it just happens sometimes. So, I tried again, got lost again, and somehow managed to bite my knee. I still have the little tooth-mark shaped scar. I was almost seventeen, and I had no idea why I was falling apart. It was as if I was regressing.

Only now do I understand what happened. My body had changed. I was growing up, and my brain didn't know how to adjust my skill set to my new body. Some people's brain and new bodies learn to communicate, but mine never did. So, after a year of not having a full and constantly worrying my brain would say double-full or layout, and my body would just keep turning, losing my double-back was the last straw. It was too mentally taxing. So, what is the life lesson? Well, it's a bit complicated, but I'll try to sum it up as best as I can...

There is life after tumbling. In fact, as I said before, tumbling and gymnastics aren't just about how well you can flip or do a beam routine. You learn self-discipline, you learn how to be independent, you learn to never give up, and you learn there is a difference between giving up and knowing what's best for you.

I didn't give up or quit. I did what was best for me--rather than go insane or continue to hurt myself, I took the discipline, the independence, and the positive attitude I gained from tumbling and spending time with Leroy and applied to other parts of my life.

I finished high school at the top of my class, I completed a Bachelor's degree and a Master's degree, and now I'm a part-time instructor at a community college. However, life isn't perfect. I suffer from clinical depression, fibromyalgia, and I've already started to develop osteoarthritis. None of this makes life easy, and it certainly doesn't help my search and desire for a full-time job. I cannot let any of this stop me though. No matter how hard it is to get out of bed, I don't give up. I find a way to get out of bed and continue on with life because despite my health issues and trouble finding a job, I love life--I love my part-time job, I have a wonderful family, I love my husband who ever so gracefully puts up with my idiosyncrasies, and most of all I think of what my mom and Leroy would tell me.

For years Leroy told me to stay positive and never give up, and my mom continues to remind me of this. In fact, she says life never gives you an obstacle you can't overcome, and the toughest ones usually make you a stronger, more resilient person. So, as Leroy recently told me, stay positive, work hard, and something good will happen. It may not be when you want it, but eventually it will happen. You just have to be patient. 

So, every time Leroy yells at you or asks to see your report card, remember he's not being mean. He's just preparing you for life.

*These life lessons apply regardless of your sport or activity.