Margo: This Day

Do You Believe in Evolution?

2012-01-09T16:24:00.001-05:00

As of Saturday, I had my final haircut in the saga that was growing out my pixie haircut. We finally caught up with my cut-out ear holes (technical term) and bangs, and I am back to some semblance of a bob. It was been a long year, filled with much aggravation. Every day I woke up not knowing what the mirror would reflect... as those of you who have grown out a super-short hairstyle know, it's a different beast every day. So many layers to reconcile!

So here's the evolution, in some horribly cropped photos.

This was taken immediately after my last 'pixie' trim at an event in New York City, and I was going for tres chic:

Oh, how naive you were...

Then the growth started. I have featured this photo before-- as I love how my growing mullet sticks out the back.

Is this how you smile with your eyes, Tyra?

From here, it just went down hill. I'm surprised my husband didn't go into mourning, as I sure as hell wanted to put black sheets over all the mirrors in the house. When growing out a pixie, one must be ever-aware that front will always be playing catch-up. This is a perfect illustration of what I refer to as, "mom hair." (Also, I decided to start growing my color out too, just for the added fun of having my husband suggest I 'wear a hat' when we go out.)

This is what I call my monotone look, where my hair matches my skin.

Then I went to school in Vermont for the summer where the au-naturale look was totally the norm. So I went without trimming my mullet for an entire summer. And ate organic, read Virginia Woolf, and said things like, "Well, if we look through the lens of a 19th century female..." I came back with a superiority complex, and a horrible shag/mullet:

Fair-trade certified.

So finally, on Saturday, I was able to get enough length to cut off the back of my hair. And then, because the hippie-Vermont-earth-mother part of me has finally gone into hibernation for the winter, I got some blond highlights. As of today, I am a new woman:

Moral of the story? If you don't have a sabbatical to Vermont coming up, or a well-planned coma, growing out a pixie is not for the faint of heart.

The Problem With My Generation...

2012-01-06T14:51:00.002-05:00

So I flicked on the TV today, and they were showing the video of Casey Anthony talking into her web cam, rather incoherently, about herself. You can see it here.

There was a psychologist on, and he was pointing out her narcissism because at no time does she mention her child, or her parents. Then, the psychologist said that it was a common problem for people from her generation to suffer from extreme narcissism, especially with their online presence. (She is 25—I’m 28, so I consider myself of the same generation he is referencing.)

And I felt like I should ask: Does this broad over-generalization and criticism of my generation apply to me? Most social interaction, at least for people my age, is online through Facebook, and lesser so in Twitter, Pinterest, Flickr, and blogs. All these spaces have one thing in common—that the message can be carefully crafted and composed; in many cases, the result is self-promotion. Is our online personas a form of thinly veiled narcissism? When I’m truly honest with myself, I start to see my own narcissistic tendencies—and it scares me.

Take this blog for example! While I write here more as an exercise, and a documentation of my own life that I may one day value, it is public. I enjoy getting comments. I edit myself to be more palatable, chose the best bits of my life to highlight, and downplay (or omit) the less happy ones. I would argue that the ‘me’ you read about here is authentic, if but only a sliver of my true identity.

So, is my generation, accused of chronic narcissism, creating a society that is becoming less altruistic? Sure, we are supposed to love ourselves, but I would argue that this self-promotion is not done out of love of one’s self, but out of deep dependence on the approval of others. But if we are all narcissistic, then can we even expect others to be paying attention?

AND… I think I just fell down the rabbit hole.

As you can see, but the last few posts, I’ve been thinking a lot about how our online presence is shaping our society. And I’ll admit it, I don’t think I could ever bring myself to leave Facebook. I feel like I would completely fall out of so many people’s lives—but then again—that may not be a bad thing. Although, I’m going to make a true effort to be less self-promoting. Post less day-to-day drivel and doesn’t actually matter. Maybe be more entertaining. Or quiet. We’ll see how it shakes out.

Facebook: Ruining Birthday Etiquette Everywhere

2012-01-04T13:03:00.002-05:00

So, my birthday has always been a bit anti-climactic. January 3rd is usually the first day back to school, work, real life, and one usually awakes with the stark realization that the holidays have left them bloated on almond bark and ham, a bit hung-over, and completely broke. No one is usually looking for their next party, complete with a generous portion of birthday cake.

But this isn’t going to be one long complaint about the lackluster celebration involved with my less-than-ideal birthday timing. (Nor will it be one long lecture on saying to someone, ‘it’s for Christmas and your birthday too.’ Although for the record, that is the worst justification ever invented, oh thoughtful relative.)

No, this post is intended to be one long complaint about Facebook Birthday Etiquette.

For example: I received 79 “Happy Birthdays” on Facebook. Impressive, right? I should feel alive and glowing with the overwhelming love of my friends, near and far.

However, we should compare this to the three text messages I received, two e-mails, and four phone calls. (This all includes family, but excludes the in-person Happy Birthdays I received from colleagues and husband.) Oh, and zero birthday cards in the mailbox.

Now those 79 Facebook “Happy Birthdays” are starting to look a little different. I must pose the question to people everywhere, who celebrate the birthdays of their friends and family: Since when is it ok to take 10 seconds (after Facebook TELLS you it’s a person’s birthday) to click a link, then write, “Have a great day!” and be done with it? No phone call, card, email, text, message in a bottle, smoke signal, surprise visit… Or am I totally off-base in my thinking?

Again, this isn’t a complaint. I just want to use this as a compelling illustration of how Facebook is ruining the way we communicate.

I mentioned to a girlfriend that I was tempted to disable my Facebook wall this year, so folks who fall into the category of “Real-Friend-And-Facebook-Friend” would be forced into actual thoughtful interaction with me, the birthday celebrant. I’m perfectly fine with all the people I sat next to in Post-Colonial Lit my sophomore year of college, the people on my co-ed softball team, and various other ‘acquaintances’ to give me the quickie “HBD” on my Facebook wall for all to see. But You? Dear friend who I have shared my inner most fears and secrets with? And You, person I had my pastry chef husband make a special petit four on your last birthday which I hand-delivered to your office?

Et tu, Grandma?

Ok, so maybe this did turn a little bit personal. Don’t worry, folks mentioned above. I still love you. This is clearly my ye-olde-fashioned problem, not yours. Maybe I’m just sad that my day passed with little fanfare from some of the people I love the most.

It’s ok, I understand. You’re bloated on ham and candy, and still a bit hung-over.

28

2012-01-03T16:46:00.001-05:00

Today I'm 28. I always figured 28 would be a monumental number for me: the guy I had a crush on in high school was 28 (one of those love-from-afar things, he didn't know I existed) and I thought he was SO together. With his motorcycle and truck, great hair, house, and awesome part-time job bartending.

Instead of a motorcycle, I have a surfboard-- which is probably just as dangerous considering the shark + clumsy factor.

And instead of a truck, I have a 16 year old Lexus sedan that just rolled into 170,000 miles last weekend. (BUT, she is paid off. Which makes her my glorious debt-free chariot, despite the fact that I look like a Granny behind her golden wheels.)

My hair isn't so great, as I am still suffering the aftermath of a pixie haircut (seriously ladies, think twice before going down that road. It's taken me 13 months, 8 haircuts, and some interesting headband choices to feel comfortable in a public place. Until just a few months ago, I looked like I had been attacked by a dull food processor).

House, well-- I pay half the mortgage on our house, which is probably the most adult-y thing I do. And Terrifying. Because owning a house roots you to so many things: location, neighbors, public transportation, the crippling fear you will lose your job and lose your house and live in your gold Lexus in the Wal-Mart parking lot.

Which brings us to job: At least I'm not bartending! I quickly realized after high school that bartending isn't nearly as glamorous as I thought it was. With four summers of slinging drinks under my belt, I can honestly disapprove when my future children pose this as part of their life plan. I now have a job that pays the bills, and doesn't leave me soaked in Red Bull with sore feet. But it doesn't really fund my dreams. You know, because of my crippling fear of living in a Wal-Mart parking lot. (This isn't a complaint, I'm lucky with a great employer. But in the spirit of self-reflection, I'm being honest...)

So cheers to 28! I have accomplished some, but am looking for possibility. I might just take a chance this year to fund a dream or two. I think 28 will prove to be transformative-- because instead of waiting around for good things to happen, I am going to just start knocking on doors, making lists, and shaking things up a little.

Because you should never, ever shake things up by getting a super-short haircut.

Long Distance Relationshipping

2011-07-17T14:34:00.000-04:00

Skype picture-grab

Okay, yes, being gone from Florida for six weeks during the summer does have its advantages, namely, not melting into a blob of goo in the oppressive heat. Or fighting for a spot on the beach among five hundred thousand out-of-state tourists that insist on dragging all their worldly belongings with them to their beach towel (I once saw a lady knitting on the beach while listening to a boom box the size of a refrigerator. Knitting! Boom Box! IS THIS THE WINTER OF 1988?). Or burning your ass on your leather car seats every time you need to drive somewhere because YES, I may have leather car seats but still cannot afford to have an actual garage, thankyouverymuch.

But it does have its draw-backs. Like trying to keep relationships happy and healthy. See the exhibit above: the two men in my life. Can't you see how forlorn and lost they are? Not pictured: box of kleenex, cd compilation of Celine Dion love songs, and half eaten box of chocolates.

Actually, it's always a challenge keeping a relationship healthy when you are apart for so long. Skype is great, it makes it easier to actually see their face and have visual proof-of-life for the pets. But, it's difficult and I know Schuyler gets frustrated with my hi-jinks. Most days I have to do so much homework that I can usually only give up about 30 minutes for a chat.

It will be nice to get back home. Three weeks from today I'll be back. Not that anyone's counting...

Hello from Mt. Loneliness

2011-07-13T21:16:00.002-04:00

Greetings from a region of the country that still believes in land-line telephones, shuns tv, barely maintains their dirt roads, and where the local bar closes at 9pm. Which means we have to start drinking at 3pm. Compromise!

I can't believe I've been in Vermont for over three weeks. It has been an interesting stay so far. I feel like I have so much to encompass in this message; but, I will stick to three main points:

1. Beer
2. Brrrrrr
3. Bat Shit Crazy

Alliteration! #WinningatbeinganEnglishmajor

First, we must acknowledge the players (roommates) in this farce. There are very few.

Our first cast member is Sarah. Sarah is a PhD candidate from Michigan, but currently lives in New Orleans. She works in international development. She has a horrible infection from Haiti that we refer to as, "her worms." She is usually only conscious long enough to go to class and drink with me. Which makes Sarah possibly one of the most awesome people I have ever met.

Our second cast member is Muir. Muir is a cool cat from Massachusetts, and is also getting a masters in library science. (Which officially makes me the most un-learned person in this cabin. REPRESENT.) Muir is a single dude, and all the ladies be message'n him on BreadNet for dates. Ladies, ladies-- one at a time, please!

Our final cast member: THE SPIDERS. This cabin, it's filled with all sorts of creepy-crawlies. Sarah smashes them with coffee cups, Muir altruistically frees them outside. Me? I leave a bag of open potato chips in the hallway outside my bedroom, to distract them from my supple sleeping flesh.

And back to my three points:

1. Beer

The spoils of a rainy weekend. Beer has become my primary food group. I have been known to skip lunch, in order to drink my calories that evening in Woodchuck, Magic Hat, Harpoon, and Long Trail. We've instituted cocktail hour at the cabin, and it is the highlight of my day.

2. Brrrr

It is COLD IN VERMONT. It is July 13 and I am wearing sweat pants, a sweat shirt, and am huddled under the covers of my bed. One day it got up to 83. Everyone freaked out, and kept saying, "Margo, this must be what Florida is like, right?!" Uh. No. Maybe in March. Come on, you winter folks. If you can survive 30 below zero, and seasonal-affective disorder, you can handle wearing shorts for one stinking day a summer.

3. Bat Shit Crazy

I'm going bat shit crazy because I've completely over-extended myself this summer. I'm taking two very difficult classes (Fiction Writing, where we turn in 34 pages of original fiction in six weeks, and Modernist Comedy that is very heavy on literary criticism: and both are AMAZING), and am working remotely for my job back in Florida. Which basically means I get up at 7am, and work or go to school until 1am. It's definitely taking its toll, and I'm barely coping. See point #1.

Anyway, I hope to post more often. I know this was a little on the negative end, but it really is beautiful up here in the Green Mountains. See below, and imagine me freezing my tookus off behind the camera while everyone slathers on sunscreen and fans themselves.

Echo!

2011-06-03T10:54:00.000-04:00

Anyone out there? Ok, so I haven't posted in a while. I've just been too darn busy!

On June 20 I'll be at back at school, and plan to write while I'm there. So check back in a few weeks for stories, photos, and anecdotes from my Vermont Summer Adventure!

xx

Impulse purchases; or, why single girlfriends are awesome.

2011-02-17T08:26:00.002-05:00

I’m an old married boring lady. But that doesn’t mean I have to be friends with boring people. One of my favorite friends, Marella, lovingly allows me to be live vicariously though her single-girl antics. I love getting together with her for happy hour so she can re-tell her stories of excitement and single-gal intrigue.

Marella is 100% Awesome

I can’t express to you how much I love Marella. She’s from Jersey, she doesn’t take crap from anyone, and she is about as cute as a button. She accompanied me on a trip to South Florida in 2009 that was a disaster of epic proportions, but fed me $20 margaritas at a horrible Ft. Lauderdale beach bar and nursed me back into happiness. If you are in search of Marella, you can bet on finder her at The Ritz in Jax Beach. (The Ritz as in the cracker, not as in ‘I’ll have a glass of your finest Pinot and the duck ragout.’)

One night, a night that involved one too many Pome-tinis at a local watering hole, Marella told me about her friend’s website hawking “Car Pets.” A Car Pet is basically just a piece of shag carpet with two large eyes and pipe-cleaner eyebrows glued to it. You’re supposed to lovingly adhere this “Car Pet” to the dash of your ride, so as to never be alone on your long journeys. Or to have someone to swear to when a jerk in an H2 cuts you off in traffic.

I didn’t remember this “Car Pet” conversation until, five days later, a lovely little box arrived at my doorstep. Apparently, I had ordered one on my Blackberry that night with Marella. Schuyler, I must admit, was not impressed with my ‘purchase.’ I couldn’t bring myself to actually put it in my car, but I found a much more appropriate place for it.

Jammin' on the speaker...

My “Car Pet” now happily resides in my office. He’s my co-pilot in all of my daily tasks, and loving backs me up in all my decisions as his Ramona-eyes stare encouragingly at me all day.

Unfortunately, he must have misconstrued all this eye contact as something more, as he got be a box of chocolates for Valentine’s day.

Be Mine?

Whoa, Car Pet, I think we need to take this relationship down a notch. What would HR think? I can’t have an inter-office relationship. It’s just not professional…

---
Want a “Car Pet”? Sha-zam!

Shaggy Chic

2011-01-31T13:59:00.001-05:00

There is a very good reason I haven’t blogged since December. This reason is very personal, and I have been internally conflicted for nearly two months. You see, I made a very emotional and life changing decision in December, one that I will have to live with for many, many months.

I am in the throes of growing out my pixie cut. And it is terrible. It’s worse than watching The Notebook while listening to Nickelback and being force-fed Zima. WORSE THAN ZIMA.

Don’t remember Zima? Welcome to my high school years:

So many bad decisions started with a Zima.

First, I want to clear a few things up. I knowingly asked for this super-short haircut. I gave my lovely stylist Mandy a portfolio of pictures of Carrie Mulligan and said, “Make me her.” In fact, after the first 16 inches were cut off, I went back five weeks later for my trim and said MANDY! MAKE IT SHORTER! And she did. And then I demanded she take another half an inch off. And then I threw away all my brushes and curling irons and fancy conditioners, and instead invested in some hair wax and a bottle of 2-in1 shampoo/conditioner.

Like all new relationships, it was glorious. I loved showing off my Pixie to friends and family, even though everyone just told me I looked like my mom. Really? I don’t see the resemblance…

I have tiny hair and big cheeks...

Me too!

It took three minutes to get ready in the morning, and I was able to banish my arch-nemesis: the blow-dryer.

But the weeks turned into months, and now it’s been 8 months since my first cut. It is time to break up with my pixie. The truth is… my husband is not to wild about the shortness of my hair. And while I tend to still have a big crush on my hairdo, it’s EXPENSIVE to keep up. My hair grows faster than a Nebraska dandelion (I usually had an inch and a half cut off a MONTH. Hair is only supposed to grow half an inch a month, but not mine. I have bionic, over-achieving hair.) So $48/month for a haircut was really starting to take a toll on my beer money.

How do you grow out a Pixie gracefully? Dr. Google just references Cynthia Nixon a la Sex and the City which, shudder. Is this what I have to live for, Dr. Google? I don’t know if I can suffer the awfulness that is Miranda circa Season 2.

See, even she looks lost. Help me, bad haircut, find my way back home again.

Here is me, mid-mullet:

Goofing off for ztphoto.com

I’m getting the mullet going pretty good in the back, and I’m hoping tonight I will be able to convince my husband to trim it. I know my hair is going to look terrible no matter if I have a professional trim it, or if I do it myself. So I might as well save a few dollars, and let the husband attempt to trim it.

He cuts his own hair, and does a pretty good job.

Wait… uh oh, I think we have the same hair:

I have yet to achieve the perfect sad-face Schuyler smile...

Ahem... Day 5

2010-12-06T11:29:00.000-05:00

Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.

I know ya’ll thought I dropped the ball on this. And I did. However, I’ve made a point in my life recently to follow through more, to keep my house more tidy, my office more organized, and even try to iron my clothes instead of throwing them back in the dryer. I’m attempting to domesticate myself.

Usually I live in a type of slow-motion avalanche. I open my mail between the mailbox and our house, and then leave it in piles on the table next to the door. My bedside table is a collection of water glasses, and most of the drawers in my house are junk drawers. It drives me nuts, but only recently I’ve decided to retrain myself. Time to be an adult.

I blame my mother for this. She is perhaps the neatest, most tidy human on the planet right now. I grew up in a house that didn’t know the meaning of dust. She vacuumed every day. I didn’t even bother making my bed, because even when I did she would re-make it so it had perfect corners and fluffed pillows. I always just figured the water glass next to my bed would make its way be to the kitchen, that laundry came out of the dryer wrinkle-free, and the cruel reality of dusty baseboards never seemed to occur to me.

Mom, can you come live with me? I’ll even buy you a box of Franzia.

But back on track:

Day 5- Something you hope to do in your life.

I’ve thought about this question a lot lately. Quarter-life crisis or something. Kids? Travel? Own my own company?

That all seems so predictable. Don’t get me wrong, it sounds awesome, too. But I don’t know if that’s my hope above all hopes. Sure, I love kiddos. And I’d love to see India, and New Zealand, and Alaska, and Chile. But I think there has got to be something more, something that truly speaks to who I am.

And I think I know what that is. I hope, in my life, to write and publish a book. A book that someone not related to me will buy. It doesn’t have to be a best seller, or go into a second edition, or anything that lofty.

I just would like to write a book. And have it be good enough that a few people might read it.

Unfortunately, all my spare time is now filled with trying to get a handle on the avalanche of my domestication. However, once I’ve mastered organization (or hire a maid) I will start writing my book. I have a story in my head that I plan to tell. And I can’t wait.

Thanksgiving at the Animal House

2010-11-25T19:59:00.000-05:00

There's no denying it, I live in a menagerie. But I'm very thankful for my furry family, and here are some pictures from this gorgeous November afternoon in Florida.

Sir De La Cruz, guardian of the porch, player of the leaves.

He pretty much spends every day laying here, eating lizards and rolling around.

Franklin-Stein Cook, the White Nightmare, Eater of Anything Chewable.

She knows she's the favorite.

Holiday Libation.

A Tid Bit for Now

2010-11-17T11:32:00.001-05:00

The Rules: Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen authors (poets included) who've influenced you and that will always stick with you. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes.

I’m doing this because I’ve been slammed lately and have not had time to post. I’ll resume regular posting next week after I’ve completed two big projects at work. Need further excuses? Did I mention I’ve had to travel to DC, New York, and Philadelphia all within the last two weeks? I am exhausted! (And spoiled.)

1. Willa Cather. Not just because she’s Nebraska’s most celebrated author, but because reading her when I was in Junior High truly opened the door to my love of literature. And One of Ours really is one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking books I’ve ever read.

2. Mark Twain. It may sound cliché, but he’s an all-time favorite. My father read Huckleberry Finn in its entirety to me out loud, and it remains one of my best childhood memories.

3. Barbara Kingsolver. I’ve read all of her books, I devour them. She captures a woman’s voice perfectly.

4. Mary Shelley. Frankenstein is such a terrific and terrifying read. The fact that the woman who wrote it was a political radical, a widowed mother—it’s amazing for the early nineteenth century.

5. Richard Brautigan. Perhaps my most favorite author of all time—I happen to weirdly understand his perspective on America and love.

6. Edgar Allan Poe. Creepy. Brilliant. Poetic. Perfect.

7. Laura Ingalls Wilder. Growing up on the prairie there is nothing more satisfactory than reading the Little House series, identifying with the characters, playing dress up for hours as pioneers, and finding it all very romantic.

8. Bob Hicock. His poetry, while masculine, is so elemental. Every time I read “What Would Freud Say” I spend days revisiting my own poems and wishing them to be more like his.

9. Salman Rushdie. He opened my eyes to magical realism.

10. Kate Chopin. The Awakening is one of my all-time favorite books and one of the first books I read in college that made me want to be an English major.

11. David Sedaris. "The Santa Land Diaries" helped me understand comedic writing. Although some of his stuff isn’t really my bag, I do enjoy most of it.

12. Roald Dahl. Matilda, James and the Giant Peach, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory… all things I cherish from my childhood. That being said I must mention

13. Shel Silverstein. I think I checked out A Light in the Attic and Where the Sidewalk Ends about 20 times from my local library.

14. Margaret Atwood. She's so creepy, and she uses colons more than any other author I know, but I absolutely love her work.

15. F. Scott Fitzgerald. Actually, as much as I love The Great Gatsby and Tender is the Night, I’m equally interested in his tragic personal story.

I'm sure I left off many-- but this is off the cuff. See you next week!

Day 4... and I skipped the weekend.

2010-11-08T09:48:00.000-05:00

Sorry- I skipped the weekend. It was my first whole weekend off in a long time, and so I didn't log onto the computer once! It was so nice. Cleaned the house, made dinner, went out with the girls-- perfect fall weekend!

But now, I'm back!

Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.
Oh man, do I have a flaw. And that flaw?

I like to hold a grudge.

Ok, maybe I don’t like it, so much as, I don’t know how to overcome uncomfortable situations. I’m a pretty agreeable person. I go out of my way for people I care about. So it’s so rare that a situation comes along that calls for forgiveness or a grudge—well, I am sad to admit I’m usually pretty quick to hold a grudge.

Maybe I should have done more bible school on Sundays. Beefed up on my forgiveness.

Some of the grudges that I have to forgive are so old. I still have a hard time being around a particular classmate that made fun of me in the Junior High locker room behind my back. Or my ex-boyfriend’s father who told me I’d never amount to anything.

Or my size 4 jeans that no longer fit. I definitely hold a grudge against those lousy bastards.

But I honestly think that marriage teaches you how to really forgive. Luckily my husband forgives me when I say hurtful things that I don’t mean, and I forgive him when he may be less-than-chivalrous. And that’s how we make it work… through forgiving each other. So Schuyler, thank you for forgiving me for being… well, me. The good, the bad, the ugly, mascara stained crying monster. And Schuyler, I forgive you. It doesn’t matter for what, but I always will.

Day 3: I'm hungry for Indian food

2010-11-05T15:52:00.000-04:00

Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.
I constantly have to forgive myself for many things. I have to remind myself to cut some slack when needed. Even though I know I’m not perfect, I have to forgive myself for this every day.

It’s exhausting.
However, one thing I really must work on forgiving myself for is moving away from my family in Nebraska. I feel guilty all the time for leaving my parents there. We only see each other twice a year, at the most, and I am deeply aware that I’m the one that moved. It was my choice. I don’t see them because I chose this life in Florida. When I’m homesick, it’s only compounded by the nagging sense that I brought it on myself, that it’s all my fault… and that only makes me feel worse.
I left because Nebraska, while amazing in many ways, does not offer much in the way of diversity, differing opinions, or professional opportunity. I think there is something romantic and stoic about living out on the plains during the brutal winters and scorching summers. There is something breathtaking about the blue skies, clean air, and rolling hills that stretch like echoes over the horizon. But before I can settle in to a life so isolated from the world, I need to discover what I would be isolated from. The busy streets of New York and Chicago, the waves of the ocean, the reggae music on Sunday in St. Augustine, the desert of Arizona, and even just discovering Indian food. My god, Indian food. The most amazing food ever invented. And yet, you can’t even buy powdered curry in my hometown grocery store.
So that is how I justify myself for leaving. Now I just need to learn how to forgive it, too.

Day 2:

2010-11-04T12:39:00.000-04:00

Day 02 → Something you love about yourself.

There are several things that I can honestly say I have always loved about myself. That may sound trite, or self-centered, but I'm going to be honest. Unfortunately, that list of things I dislike about myself is a lot longer than the likes-- and it's something I'm trying to work on. But the few things I love I suspect will always remain the same.

First and foremost- I love my sense of humor. I relish laughter, and love to make others laugh. I can be a bit of a jerk about it, though... I only like clever humor. Think Jon Stewart, not Jim Carey. Arrested Development, 30 Rock, Seinfeld... even the reruns make me laugh. I feel like humor allows you to find common ground with almost anyone. And I don't mind making myself the (rather large) butt of my jokes. I really do love the fact that I'm a funny person... or at least I think I am.

There are also a few other things I really love about myself. I love that I have my grandma's hands and tiny, crooked fingers. I love my high cheek bones, despite the fact that it makes purchasing glasses that fit over them next to impossible.

Finally, I love the fact that I can recognize that I'm alive, right now, and have a comfortable life. And that I try to never take that for granted.

30 Days of Truthiness

2010-11-03T15:52:00.002-04:00

Man, I hate when I stop blogging and lose all my readers. I used to get 25 hits a day, and now I’m back down to a piddly four. Hi Sadie!

As with all things in my life, I get side tracked, lose track of time, forget my commitments, and basically just get swept away in a wave of life stuff—like how I came home from work the other night with the goal of cleaning and reading, and opened the door and stepped directly into a pile of dog vomit. Apparently Lulu decided to eat our entire plumeria bush and then redistribute the pieces of it throughout our living room. Too bad she’s so cute that I was only able to be pretend-mad at her, and she knows that I didn’t mean all the nasty things I yelled at her.

I so cute, even when I eat your expensive tropical flowers...

So I’m going attempt to blog for 30 days in a row. I’m going to cheat, too. I’m actually going to use prompts from the 30 Days of Truth. They are as follows:

Day 01 → Something you hate about yourself.

Day 02 → Something you love about yourself.

Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.

Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.

Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.

Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do.

Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living for.

Day 08 → Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.

Day 09 → Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 → Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 → Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 → Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 → A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 → A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 → Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 → Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 → Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 → Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 → (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 → Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 → Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 → Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 → The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 → Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 → What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 → What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 → Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 → A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself

And I’m going to start today!

Day 1: Something I hate about myself.
I typically am very self-loathing in the first place. I don’t know what this stems from. I had a pretty supportive family growing up, and all my teachers were cut from the “you can do it! you are terrific” cloth. So to pick one thing I hate about myself is like picking one color of crayon to color with.

I really dislike my inability to trust my first instinct. I second guess everything, and at this point I don’t even know what my gut is telling me because I’ve ignored it for so long.
So everything with me becomes an ordeal. “What do you want for dinner?” and my response is “What do you want?” because I don’t know what I want. Maybe sushi? Is that ok with you and everyone else in the world? Utterly paralyzed. Maybe it’s because I grew up with a sister who always had to have her opinion known and abided by (Hi, again, Sadie!) and I’ve just grown to do as others wish.
Oh man, this sounds horribly pathetic. I should stop myself.
The next thirty days could be painful. For everyone.

Country Mouse heads to the Big City

2010-11-01T15:51:00.001-04:00

So, through some twisted stroke of fate I ended up being in DC for one day this year, and that day happened to be October 30. I was there for work, but since I’m a type A personality to a debilitating extreme, I cannot bear to fly in somewhere the same day I have a work obligation with dozens of people. I’ve been victim of too many cancelled and delayed flights to play that game of roulette.

I arrived to DC on Friday night, and woke up early Saturday morning. I’m recovering from the ‘ick’ so my energy level wasn’t very high. However, I have never been to DC so I forced myself to get dressed and take the Metro downtown around 10am. I knew the Rally was going on, but I honestly thought it wasn’t going to impact travel or sight seeing. I told myself that once I got downtown I’d take in a museum, maybe peek into the Rally, and then head over to the Portrait Gallery.

My first red flag that I was woefully underprepared for my time in DC was when I was in the hotel lobby waiting for the shuttle to the MetroRail station in Crystal City and noticed all the people making signs. Once on the shuttle, the girl I was sitting next to was dressed as Flo from the Progressive commercials, complete with a bump-it in her hair. She was delightful, and gave me a piece of gum. (After I started chewing it I literally screamed in my head ‘OMG I JUST ATE CANDY FROM A STRANGER… A STRANGER IN A COSTUME’ and was traumatized for a good hour.) Once at the Metro station I had to wait in line for 30 minutes to even get a pass. Once we were herded onto the Blue Line, it was like being a sardine tin. We couldn’t get anyone on the train at all the stops. Apparently, it was a new record.

So I abandoned my plan. I decided if I already put up with this much malarkey… I had to see what at the fuss was about. Once at the Smithsonian stop I got off with the herd and just followed them like a good little sheep. It was 11:55am.I was late to the party, but was still able to get on the Mall. This is where I was:

Highs: The Roots AND Cat Stevens? I’m not going to lie, I was singing to Peace Train like a crazy hippie that had lost her generation. Also a high- the signs were clever and hilarious.

Everyone was very polite- I actually heard one exchange between a Rally protester holding an offensive sign and an attendee who said in a normal voice, “I respect your opinion even though I disagree with it.” I didn’t hear any yelling except for “TURN IT UP” because we were so far back we could barely hear what was going on. Which brings me to

Lows: In fact, at about 1:45 I decided I had enough of struggling to see and hear, and went back to my game plan of seeing as many museums as possible before heading to work. And I did just that. It was a terrific fall day to be a tourist.

Today-- poetry

2010-10-24T13:52:00.000-04:00

A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. -- Robert Frost

Today is Sunday, all our house guests have just departed-- some back to Palm Coast, others off to Iraq-- and I have the house to myself. I think it's time to dig out some poetry.

Back Tracking...

2010-10-22T11:46:00.002-04:00

Yesterday we celebrated Thanksgiving with Schuyler’s family. I know it’s mid-October, but his brother who resides in Japan happens to be home. And while I think we should have celebrated with sushi, that idea didn’t seem to build any momentum.

So I partook in the eating of turkey, potatoes, and pumpkin roll. And ice cream. And maybe a buttermilk biscuit.

And some brie.

And a beer.

Now I’m off to my weekly weight watcher weigh-in. This is going to be painful. I just hope I’m not over my starting weight… as I did lose 3.2 pounds already. However, the turkey itself weighted 15 pounds… divided by 6 guests… uh oh.

Defined.

2010-10-20T16:25:00.001-04:00

Hi. My name is Margo, and I have short hair. The general consensus is I look better with long hair.

I like it short. And obnoxiously blond.

My clothing style is non-existent. I buy most of it from the sale rack at Marshalls. The shirt I'm wearing today I actually fished out of the trash a few years ago, after my roommate threw it away. I smelled it thoroughly, and I don't think it's been involved in anything disgusting or incriminating.

Most of my jewelry has been liberated from my mother's jewelry box and made by my grandmother. I have a serious obsession with turquoise.

I love portraits. I love to take pictures of faces and expressions. I can never seem to take a great landscape photo. There needs to be a living subject. Or maybe I'm just full of crap.

I used to read a lot, but now I don't. I hate that about myself.

I smile when I talk on the phone, even when I'm sad. And use hand gestures.

People constantly remind me not to be another person's doormat; however, every time I take a stand I only make enemies. I can't figure it out.

I eat and drink to excess, over-exert myself to the brink of collapse while exercising or playing sports, and must always win. I want it all, but don't believe I deserve it.

I'm just trying to figure it all out...

The Wrong Side

2010-09-21T16:48:00.002-04:00

Today I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. For the past week my ankle has been so sore when I get out of bed I hobble and wobble over the cold tile floor like a geriatric. Just my right ankle. I haven’t figured out the source of this pain, as it quickly dissipates. Maybe, since I’m driving a stick-shift vehicle now, the extra pedal-pushing has aggrivated something? Or maybe I sleep on it wrong? But I doubt that would occur night after night.

So I try to cheer myself up. This inevitably is done in two ways. Either I 1) put on my favorite red 4 inch pumps that are the perfect shade of red. Not the trampy-vampy-fire-engine red. But a vibrant red that someone would have painted their child’s wagon in the 50’s. A red that has just a hint of orange in it. The same red as my father’s beloved BMW motorcycle that we rode to Seattle when I was twelve.

Or option 2): I drink an entire pot of coffee in hopes that my caffeine high will have me whistling “Life is a Highway” on my way to work.

The red shoes usually work a little better than the coffee. I opted for the red shoes today, but they are faltering. My ankle hurts in them, and this persistent headache could probably use a little caffeine.

Tonight I will go to bed knowing the “wrong side of the bed” seems to be taking over the entire bed. It’s no longer an excuse. I need to find a cure that doesn’t involve red shoes.

Requests are Underrated!

2010-09-13T10:04:00.001-04:00

As requested by the most certainly not-underrated, but never overrated (because that would be impossible), in my opinion fabulous-rated Ellie: a list of things that I think are totally underrated. Get ready to be weirded out.

Nebraska (obviously).
Fresca. No calories, carbonated within an inch of its life, and delicious.
Amadeus. Best movie ever.
Rachel Maddow. Total Girl Crush on her.
Drum solos.
Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me! on NPR. And Carl Kasell. <3 <3 <3
Hot dogs. Specifically, Hebrew Nationals served with kraut and hot mustard.
Cats.
Overalls. They have massive amounts of pockets , protect your shirt, and you never have to worry about exposing your BC. Paging Anna Wintour: bring ‘em back.
Psychics.
Avocados. They get a false bad rap because of their cholesterol.
Bill Murray. He should be in every movie.
Fashion from the 20’s.

There's more, so much more. But I should stop for the day. What do you consider underrated?

It all catches up with us, sometimes when we least expect it.

2010-09-12T21:30:00.000-04:00

Recently I've been feeling... adrift. It snuck up on me one day while I was in the grocery isle, inspecting labels for high fructose corn syrup, red dye #40, and aspartame. In a single moment I went from Margo: young professional, great sense of humor, gregarious, outgoing, carefree, happy, grounded to something dull, dark, and upset.

I guess the inertia of the year has finally gotten the best of me. Making tea in my kitchen this evening I was lamenting the fact that I had to heat the water in the microwave. I immediately thought of the teapot at my parent's house and all the cups of lemon zinger with honey I made on cold winter nights and smiled... and then got so upset. Knowing those moments are forever gone, with the house. Burned and pushed in a hole.

We own our Florida house. Yet, this place doesn't quite feel like home. And the farm I always thought of as home is gone.

It's not just the fire that's got me down. It's just the unbearable heaviness of all that is expected of me. It's my fault, I let people have these expectations. Just for once, I would like to be the one who isn't coordinating, responsible, and smiling. For once I would like to relax, and remember who I really am. I feel like I've lost touch with that girl. I used to like that girl. The person I am today? Well, I don't even know her well enough to know if I like her.

So, I forgot (now with added hate)

2010-09-10T10:26:00.000-04:00

I can't believe I forgot to add the Harold and Maude Soundtrack by Cat Stevens in my previous post! What a bummer. I was sitting at my desk working away while listening to Pandora and "If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out" came on and immediately reminded me of what a musical genious Cat Stevens is. Even if he is now "Yusef." Sighh, you will always be the pre-Islam Cat Stevens to me. I remember going through this phase after I graduated from college where I was listening to his music a lot, and bought several of my friends copies of Harold and Maude... and how supremely dissapointed I was when their response was, "Meh."

Well, Meh to you all. Here's a list of all things I think are completely overrated that you probably love:

Anything on MTV, especially Snooki
Books by Nicholas Sparks
Nickleback... I would rather drink hot garbage juice than listen to Nickelback
Speaking of hot garbage juice... Zaxbys. Gross.
Acoustic covers of rocks songs
Movies starring Jim Carey made after Dumb and Dumber (and yes that includes Eternal Sunshine)
Folksy language
Harley Davidson paraphernalia

If you agree with the above list, then may I suggest watching Harold and Maude? And we just might become best friends forever.

15 Albums

2010-09-06T15:15:00.000-04:00

The rules: Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen albums you've heard that will always stick with you. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes.

Wildflowers by Tom Petty

Rumors by Fleetwood Mac

When the Pawn by Fiona Apple

The Very Best of Nina Simone by Nina Simone

S.C.I.E.N.C.E. by Incubus

Back in Black by AC/DC

By the Way by Red Hot Chili Peppers (although Schuyler insists their earlier stuff is much better.)

Tapestry by Carol King

The Will to Live by Ben Harper

Some Devil by Dave Matthews

Come Away with Me by Norah Jones

Love is Hell by Ryan Adams

Tupelo Honey by Van Morrison

Wild Like Children by Tilly and the Wall

Plague Park by Handsome Furs

Happy Labor Day!

I'm watching you...

2010-08-30T16:50:00.001-04:00

I see you sleeping on the leather sofa. With your untrimmed leather-distroying nails. And you know why I don't tattle to Schuyler, the authoritatian father figure that does all the 'punishing' in our house?

Because you don't tattle when I eat all his candy, even when he asks where it goes I just shrug. "I don't know honey, I'm sure you ate it while watching It's Always Sunny last week."

I like being in cahoots with you, Frank.

Nebraska and back in 7 days

2010-08-25T15:47:00.000-04:00

I just returned from a terrific trip back home to Nebraska. It really couldn’t have gone much better- the weather was perfect, we had a spectacular lighting show roll across the plains, and I got a nice break from the Florida heat. We went camping, to the drive in, took a midnight drive through the countryside in Kim’s ’72 Pontiac convertible, I threw a baby shower with Jess, got to see a bunch of folks, and even had a wedding reception.
Here are some shots from this great trip!

Olivia and I at my wedding reception

Don't throw the baby out with the bathwater!

Mesmerized by the miracle of soap water inflated with air

Willis McGillis- his legs are longer than mine

Walking has never been so fun!

Dog Days of Summer...

2010-08-13T14:58:00.001-04:00

Ok, so my last post was a little bit of a rant. I almost immediately regretted putting it up, but I'm going to leave it there. I don't really like censoring myself, even if it was a momentary rant.

--

Last night Schuyler and I had a spontaneous date. We're your typical old married couple- which means we fight over who has to pay for dinner the one night of the month we're too lazy to cook, or all our dishes are dirty, and decide to hit the Mexican place on the beach. The idea of going on a real life date that involves wearing high heels and actual tickets to something, and staying out past 10 pm seems almost as foreign as chimichurri. What is chimichurri, anyway? It sounds yummy. Is it even food?

After work we hit up Casa Maria for some Dos Equis and spinach quesadillas. Then, we shocked the hell out of one another by going home, SHOWERING, putting on an honest-to-god dress from Anthropologie I bought months ago and haven't even worn yet, and headed out with the dogs to a free concert in the Plaze de la Constitution.

Why didn't you pack me a picnic?

Why you guys sitting down? Lets play in the grass!

It was a lovely time. The only downfall is that neither Schuyler or myself realized what a small French Bulldog puppy does to seemingly normal people. People were coming up taking pictures of our dogs, small children were holding them, following us around, and one woman made us pose the dogs for her cell phone camera. They ended up running us out of there after about an hour. Oh well, it was still a nice evening that involved fancy shoes and Mexican food. This girl is happy.

I could be on NCIS

2010-08-12T08:31:00.000-04:00

So, I am completely annoyed by a Facebook phenomenon. It shouldn't be somethign that annoys me, but it does. I can't explain way, except that every time I detect it going on I roll my eyes, suck in a breath, and then slowly exhale while whispering, "You aren't fooling anyone, honey."

Because I am smart and posses the skills to deduce and interpret intimations. In fact, it's so obvious I think my dog could figure it out and she doesn't posess the mental capacity to know that cat poop is not a nutritious snack.

I could immediately blow the cover off this thinly veiled secret in the comments section, but I don't. Guess I'm just a super mature person who will only passive-agressively write about it in hypothetical terms on my blog that no one reads.

So for all those girlfriends of mine who are in the early stages of being knocked up, which is actually quite a few because I'm in my mid-twenties, stop posting how sick you feel, how exhausted you are, or just random declarations about how exciting the future is but golly gee, I can't tell you why just yet. Proceeded by multiple smiley faces, or cryptic messages from your closest friends who are already in on the secret.

Uh, I think I've figured it out. Guess all those years of watching Carmen San Diego really paid off-- I am super sleuth.

And yeah, I get it. Babys! Are! Exciting! Mazel Tov. However, the 'big announcement' will be a lot more authentic if you haven't already tipped everyone off.

Betty Crock-of-Crap

2010-08-11T09:16:00.002-04:00

Schuyler and I both work fulltime. Usually each of us log 50+ hours a week. For me, many times these hours are spent on the road and in hotel rooms.

This results in many things, but most predominantly a perpetually messy house, messy car, overdue bills, and a refrigerator sparsely populated with frozen veggie burgers, eggs, and soy milk. And I love to cook, I just don’t have the energy most days for anything more complicated than an omelet.

It’s complicated even more by the fact that Schuyler works at 4am, and I don’t work until 8am. So our sleep schedules don’t quite match. He also has weekdays off, where I’m off on the weekends. We’ve been trying to work it out so he takes a nap after work until I get home so we can have dinner together and go to bed at the same time. But it’s still difficult. We’re both usually so exhausted that we spend our evenings playing with the dogs, catching up on the news (IE: Bravo Reality Programming), reading, and only washing the necessary laundry.

Am I doing something wrong? When I walk into other people’s houses, people that are just as busy as us, and their houses are squeaky clean, dinner is on the stove, I become jealous. Sometimes I wonder where they hide their piles of dirty laundry? Where do they put the junk mail? How is there no dust on the back of their TV? I’m convinced everyone has a maid but me. I still have my suitcase from my last work trip laying in the middle of my bedroom floor, open, and half unpacked.

Perhaps it’s just me. I will cop to being the kid that always had the messy locker, the disorganized trapper-keeper in school. If it’s just me—someone please send me your tips on running a household. I think I’m deficient in the “housewife” gene. In fact, some days I contemplate throwing away almost all of our belongings because that would make it so much easier to keep things clean. Or maybe it’s because our house is far too big for us. It is, after all, just the two of us in a 3 bedroom, 2 bath home. I sometimes go weeks without stepping foot into the other two bedrooms.

Am I alone in my desperation? Is there a support group I can join? Sloppy Housewives Anonymous??

Hi, remember me?

2010-08-09T13:18:00.001-04:00

This summer it has been such a challenge for me to keep up with my blog. I've been really busy with work, I devoted myself to doing yoga for 60 days in a row, and I've been traveling. It is truly my intention to start posting more regularly. My 60 day yoga challenge was over on Friday, and though I still plan on doing yoga 4-5 times a week, it should be with less intensity.

Let me start by saying that yoga has completely changed my life. It has been such a salvation for me. Before I started the challenge I was anxiety-ridden, scattered, and emotionally charged. I was desperate for something to help. I tried giving up caffeine and alcohol, running, going to a chiropractor, going to bed at the same time, et cetera. Then I discovered the power of yoga. Now, I've been practicing yoga off and on for the past 4 years. But to devote yourself to the practice, to learn from each pose and breath-- it released something inside. I'm a much happier person.

Also? I'm a much stronger person. Seriously, these guns (formerly known as my arms) are out of control. In 60 days I went from not being able to do a balancing half moon to now being able to accomplish advanced postures like one-leg flying crow, eight-angle balance, firefly, and now I'm working toward peacock. What a joy. Also? Don't mess with me. I will annhilate you.

I've also been traveling. I was up in New England last weekend for a clam and lobster boil where I successfully deconstructed and consumed a 1.5 pound lobster. Then last week I was in St. Petersburg, FL for another event, which was fun. I was downtown cursing the traffic during a Rays game, but still a great trip. Next week I'm off to Nebraska with Schuyler to meet Sadie and Olivia for a trip back home. It should be great-- I'm so excited to see everyone! My parents just purchased a new house, and we'll get to see our new "home."

Speaking of my parents, it's their 30 year wedding anniversary today. Or their "pearl" anniversary. Which I find fitting, because my name means "a pearl." I hope they spend all day thinking about their little pearl of a daughter and how lucky they are to have such gifted, beautiful, talented spawn. Actually, I think they are spending the day at work. Borrrring. Typical Nebraska couple for you.

I think about what it takes to stay married for 30 years. It takes more than just love. Love is the easy part. It takes compromise, fortitude, and basically just a whole lotta guts. My grandmother always used to say, "Divorce is easy. Staying together, that's the hard part." So I admire my parents today, not only for the fact that after 30 years they still love each other (no small feat), but that they were able to stick it out through thick at thin without eating each other alive. It's something I learn from every day.

Summer is happening! Just a quick update before I go run in the sprinklers...

2010-07-23T15:45:00.000-04:00

Ok, so I haven’t updated in a frillion years. I’m sorry. My Outlook calendar is so crammed it looks like the final minutes of a game of Tetris.

So my last post I promised a picture of my hair. Well, the truth is, I don’t have a very good one. I actually really like my short hair and it looks good. It’s just- well- the pictures I take of myself using my Blackberry are just so pathetic. I pride myself in relentlessly making fun of folks that take pictures of themselves using their cell phones and point-and-shoots. I don’t want to be one of those people. But, I guess I promised- so here is a picture:

I really started to like it once I got over the fact that HOLY COW I really do look just like my mother. It was really creepy at first, especially since my husband said, “Hello Linda” when I showed him my hair for the first time. (No, it wasn’t like that cute iPhone commercial. My situation was more like the blooper real from that commercial where you could see the actually shock smeared all over his face.)

Also, I’m on day 47 or something crazy on my 30-turned-to-60 day yoga challenge. May I brag shamelessly for a minute:

This is Eka Pada Galavasa: One leg flying crow. It’s a considerably advanced posture. Next posture I’m learning is called an 8-angle bend arm balance. I hope to have it mastered by Day 60.

Also! Two last updates. Meet Franklin Finn Cook.

And for the grand finale? Iggy came home! All is right with the world.

A long time gone... some long hair soon-to-be-gone

2010-06-30T14:54:00.000-04:00

So two weeks since my last post. Wow. About that. I was... eaten by wolves? Won a free trip to Tahiti? Forgot to pay my Comcast bill?

None of the above. I've just been extremely busy. Things that have been occupying me: today is day 24 of 30 in my yoga challenge (that was recently extended to a 60 day challenge), work, the never-ending bathroom shower remodel, chasing after Iggy in the back yard (still no success in apprehending him), and OH YEAH, I threw my neck out two days ago.

How did I accomplish a feat usually only mastered by geriatrics? It went something like this: 7:00am and I pull up to my house after a particularly hard yoga practice (think lots of side-plank, warrior 3, and one of these)and notice a very emaciated Iggy was hanging out on our front porch. I hadn't seen him in WEEKS. Of course, he wouldn't come to me and ran under our front porch so I go barreling into our house yelling for Schuyler to WAKE UP WAKE UP IGGY IS OUTSIDE WAKE UP. And then? I slip and fall flat on my back like I was clotheslined. On the tile floor. I was all loosey goosey from yoga, so I felt fine and got right up. Little did I know, that night my neck would seize up like a vice grip. And now I have a heating pad and move around like King Tut crossed with Frankenstein. Well, not the real Frankenstein from Mary Shelley's novel because he was extremely nimble. But the Frankenstein that was protrayed on TV, like Uncle Lurch or the Frankeberries mascot.

So now folks at work are calling me neckbrace Barbie. Which brings me to my second point-- in a matter of hours I will no longer resemble Barbie. (Yes, people tell me often that I remind them of Barbie. It's not the body, I'm 5'4'' and an apple-bottom. It's just the bleach blond hair.) So yes, the blond Barbie hair is being chopped off tonight. I'm donating it to the Gulf Coast, although I'm still way behind my sister who actually donates all the dog fur from every single dog she grooms to the Gulf Coast.

Here's my before picture... nevermind the heat pad stuck to my neck.

Stay tuned for the after.

Iggy: Misunderstood and Missing

2010-06-15T16:18:00.000-04:00

So tragedy struck our household a few weeks ago. Schuyler’s beloved cat Iggy was sanctimoniously thrown outside by our former roommates, and has yet to return. You see we have an inside cat with outside privileges, De La Cruz, and an inside cat only, Iggy. Mostly due to the fact that De La Cruz likes to hunt lizards under our front porch and lay in the sun. Iggy, on the other hand, was adopted later in life, and has a distinct aversion to the outside world. He has never once tried to run outside when we’ve left the door propped open while carrying groceries. In fact, if someone opened the front door he was more likely to run and hide under our bed. We made this clear to our roommates: the long haired one goes out, and the one without the tail doesn’t. But, we thought to ourselves, Iggy doesn’t go near the door, is terrified of the outdoors, so this is a moot point.

Now, I will admit- Iggy was not the friendliest cat. Sometimes he peed on the extra-fuzzy rugs in our house because they reminded him of grass. He didn’t have a tail so he was the dingleberry king and I was always chasing after him with a Kleenex. He drooled. He wasn’t affectionate. He didn’t come when you called him. He was over all a class-A curmudgeon.

But he was Schuyler’s curmudgeon. And a grumpy cat is no reason to throw him outside because he wandered into your room. But none-the-less, he got the boot while we weren’t home. And since Iggy is a quiet hider, we didn’t notice he was gone until the next day.

We spotted him under the neighbor’s garage, but he ran away from us. He hasn’t come to our front door. We’ve canvassed the neighborhood and put up fliers. We’ve called the shelters. We will continue calling the shelters.

This was all the end of May. We haven’t had an Iggy sighting in weeks. We are coming to grips that he might be gone, and it breaks my heart to know wherever he is, if he’s still alive he’s terrified and hungry. And if he’s not still alive… well I just can’t live with that thought. Because he was a good cat. He slept in my elbow at night. He licked Schuyler’s chin after showers. He regularly punched Lulu in the face when she was acting like a lunatic--but never used his claws. He would cry at the door if we were giving De La Cruz a bath, knowing his housemate was miserable. He was an old soul.

Goodbye, Igglesworth. Iggy pot pie. Biggles. I’m so sorry we weren’t able to protect you from the big, bad world after all.

Christmas 2009

Yoga today keeps the psychiatrist away...

2010-06-09T13:13:00.001-04:00

Ah Yoga. You teach me so much.

I’m in the middle of my 30 day yoga challenge with my fabulous friend and yogi Meghan—which I will probably not blog much about until it’s over. (I’m keeping an old-fashioned real life paper journal on the experience instead.) Meghan’s friend (and my new friend- very exciting to make new friends when you live in a town as small as the one I do) Cat is also joining us in the challenge. Because the three of us have very different work schedules (Meghan teaches random yoga classes, I work the typical 8-5er, and Cat is a dolphin trainer at a remote location) so far the hardest part of this challenge is finding a time for the three of us to get together. That means this morning we had to do yoga at 5:45am.

Roll your eyes all you want—this is the best part: we did it on the beach facing East, watching the sun come up over the water. We were hoping to see the dolphins and sharks feed, but they were pretty quiet this morning.

Laying on the sand, under the perfectly clear blue sky, listening to the water lap at the shore interspersed with Meghan’s soft-spoke instructions, I was thinking of all the things yoga has taught me.

Patience: Sometimes you just have to learn how to breath. Something pisses me off I need to learn to back down, let the anger wash over me, and then recover. Same goes for sadness, frustration, and just becoming overwhelmed by unexpected situations that challenge my patience. Dirga Pranayama (three part yoga breath) has taught me how to breathe deeply and with purpose. Focusing on this breath everything slows down and I (maybe only momentarily) have found my patience.

Balance: Balance takes hard work. Finding balance in my life has been very trying: balance between work, my husband, friends, hobbies, and just myself. I am struggling to find the most rewarding balance of these things. Just like in Ardha Chandrasana (Balancing Half Moon) which I cannot find my balance. I’ve been working on it really hard… but I think it’s my mental imbalance (perhaps paired with weak abdominal muscles) that keeps me wobbling out of this just as I turn my head to the sky. I’m working hard on this posture this week…

Strength: Strength is in many ways a labor. The first time I tried Bakasana (Crow) I face planted into a pile of pillows (thank goodness they were there or I may have broken my nose!) But I keep working on it, and now I have the shoulder strength to hold myself up. When I feel weak at work, or at home I have to remind myself that I need to face my fears so that I can become stronger than them. (I am, consequentially, facing all my fears of inverted poses and making progress.)

Thank you for all your lessons, yoga. Namaste.

The Shoe Memoirs: Pleasure and Pain

2010-06-06T18:23:00.002-04:00

Confession: I wear a size 10 shoe. That's the biggest size they make without having to go to the Big and Tall department. It is not easy being a mere 5'4'' tall and wearing a shoe that will fit a lady Avatar. Also, I have to be careful when choosing my shoes-- a round toe flat is my absolute worst enemy giving me what I affectionately refer to as "toad foot."

Amid all this anguish and shame I feel for my mammoth feet I must admit: I'm addicted to shoes. I could spend hours on Endless just looking at all the gorgeous pumps, boots, wedges, slingback, and even sneakers.

Recently I had to move all the shoes in my closet into another room due to some remodeling. I had a nice long moment to reminisce among my friends. And I decided to introduce you to some of the special ones-- the ones that were with me during the best, and the ugliest, times of my life.

The first friend I'd like to introduce you to are my gold peep-toe wedges.

I purchased these shoes on Amazon.com for my sister's wedding. I specifically chose them for their rubber sole-- I was going to be standing for 10 hours so comfort was my prime objective.
Unfortunately- these shoes are not comfortable. I spent most of my sister's wedding reception drunkenly stumbling around the dance floor barefoot. Luckily she got married at some place called "The Black Stallion" in a town of 800 people in rural Nebraska. My barefeet went unnoticed.

And perhaps it is because my feet went unnoticed that I chalked that evening up to "AMAZING SUCCESS." (I was still on my high of catching the bouquet in front of my then-boyfriend, and quite convinced he took it as a sign to buy me a diamond ring.) I didn't make a mental note that these shoes were akin to wearing a colony of fire ants. So, when New Years Eve came around a few months later I cracked out my gold wedges with a sassy black dress. And then walked the 1.2 miles to the bar with Schuyler. By the time I got there I figured I would just drink the pain of my quarter-sized blisters away. When several Sierra Nevada's failed to take the throbbing edge off, we decided to walk back home so I could change my shoes.

Me: Schuyler, give me your socks.
Schuyler gives me his socks, which I put on. Now I'm walking down the street in a short black dress, gold shoes, and brown tube socks.
Me: This doesn't help, my feet still hurt.
Schuyler: Stop being a drama queen, your feet don't hurt that much.
I take off my shoes, and much to my relief, walk in his socks that provided the much needed protection from the sidewalk while alleviating the pressure of my blisters.
Schuyler: THOSE ARE MY BEST SOCKS. STOP IT YOU ARE RUINING THEM.
(Insert scene where I may or may not have thrown Schuyler's socks into a drainage ditch.)

Needless to say, I made it home. Barefoot. Without socks. And that was the worst New Years Eve ever. Lesson learned: don't let your boyfriend buy $20 socks. You'd think they were made of bald eagle feathers dipped in platinum.

So why, you may ask, do I still own these little hate chambers? Simple: when Schuyler wants to go out and I don't, I just get dressed and be sure to put these bad boys on. With a look of terror in his eyes he'll say, "Mmmm... maybe we should just stay in."

BLAH. BLAAAAH.

2010-06-03T16:44:00.000-04:00

I had a hilarious roommate in college that would yell "BLAAHHH" in your face if you asked her about something she didn't want to talk about.

Well, BLAH.

I must admit, I slipped down the rabbit hole last week. I think having roommates, my house being under construction/a mess, Schuyler changing jobs, the exhaustion of a Spring filled with a frillion hours of work , planning a wedding, my parent's house/my childhood house burning down along with all my pictures and memories, and one of my very best friends from high school passing away suddenly last week-- everything bore down on me suddenly like a vice grip.

I broke down.

I told Schuyler I was depressed. It was the first step.

Just saying it made me feel not quite so alone. And now... I can start working through it all.

But really, I just want to yell BLAH in everyone's face.

When a vacation is too short...

2010-05-27T15:09:00.001-04:00

Do you ever play mind games with yourself?

Perhaps I should elaborate with an example.

Do you ever look forward for something for a very long time, experience it, and then for the days and weeks after go, “4 days ago I was doing that amazing thing and now I’m just stuck at work, boo hoo” or “2 weeks ago today I was having the best time ever at that really amazing place and now I’m folding laundry… wah.”

I’m stuck in that mind game right now. It happens to me when the amount of awesome in my life isn’t enough to compensate for the amount of mundane, mind-numbing ordinary routine. Routine is nice- I love routine! But I also like to escape it long enough to go, “boy I will look forward to getting back into my routine.” If my length of escape- be it vacation, a long weekend, or a business trip- isn’t long enough to make me long for your routine then I will fall into some horrible nostalgic purgatory.

This is where I find myself. In typical bone-head fashion, I schedule a five day round trip out to Phoenix to see my sister. Considering the bulk of the first and last days were spent on excruciatingly long airplane rides, it really was only 3 days of relaxation.

Totally not enough. Now I’m nostalgic about the fact that LAST WEEK AT THIS VERY MINUTE I was eating caprese salad at Pita Jungle with my sister and her friends. And tomorrow I will probably be reminiscing about the Roseanne marathon I watched with my sister while eating junk food. Sigh. Life is so cruel.
--
And yes, my idea of vacation does include Roseanne marathons.
DJ: Mom, I want fish sticks for dinner.
Roseanne: Well it’s nice to know you have a dream!

Peek-a-boo-rrito

2010-05-24T15:15:00.001-04:00

Hi. No post for 10 days? Yeah, I was on vacation. I didn’t feel the need to tell you because, let’s face it, I don’t even tell my mom or my husband when I’ve planned trips. I love calling my parents and playing, “GUESS WHERE I AM?” For some reason they aren’t too fond of that game. I usually am packing my suitcase before I remember to tell Schuyler, “Oh yeah… I have to go to New York for work on Thursday.”

I’m not very good at putting people in the loop. Unless we’re referring to gossip. Then I’m great at putting EVERYONE in the loop.

I was in Phoenix visiting my 10 month old niece, my sister, and brother in law. And eating authentic Mexican food. And applying sunscreen. Wait, that last sentence was a lie. I didn’t leave the comfort of the air conditioning for a moment. Hiking is for suckers. I used to live in Phoenix, I’ve seen it all and experienced enough unrelenting heat to last a lifetime. Now please excuse me while I play with the adorable baby and inhale a burrito.

Adorable baby:

Almost as adorable burrito:

"I" before "E" except after, wait, you forgot the "C" idiots...

2010-05-14T16:46:00.002-04:00

I find myself annoyed with every little thing recently. It probably has nothing to do with the fact that after only being married for three months we are going through a major bathroom renovation that causes me to brush my teeth in the kitchen sink (gross). Or the fact that we have roommates, albeit temporary, that cramp my walking-around-the-living-room–in-my–skivvies-while-watching-Ghost-Hunters-and-drinking–straight-from –the-orange-juice-carton style. Now I have to cover up, watch more respectable channels where the ghost ratio is practically zero, and use a cup. A CUP. I despise running the dishwasher so I try to keep my cup usage around one wine glass per day.

Anyway, so you can imagine my annoyance when at the gas station yesterday, armed with only my debit card and an empty gas tank I see this:

Sorry, Gas Station Employee, not even close. In fact, I bet my spellchecker wouldn’t even recognize what “inconviniene” is supposed to be. It sounds like a blood disorder to me, “I would love to go swimming with you guys, but I can’t because the pressure changes aggrivate my Inconviniene and my eyes and ears start to bleed.” There would be the Inconveniene Foundation and people would have to wear yellow and purple polka dot awareness ribbons because all other colors have been taken.

GAH. Luckily I was able to coax my car to the next gas station down. And luckily this gas station sold beer. And, my friends, you don’t need a cup to drink a can of Miller Lite!

Five Foods; or Practicality and the Beast

2010-05-12T19:55:00.002-04:00

Tonight while cooking dinner (BLT's with avocado and waffle fries... and lettuce from the garden) I started to think about my five favorite foods.

Something you should know about me: I'm way too practical. Painfully practical. It literally paralyzes me sometimes, especially when occasions call for spontaneity. Like last time I went to the lake with my sister, her and her husband decided that it would be fun to jump off the cliffs. So I should react, "YA SOUNDS LIKE FUN," but instead I chew my nails and mutter, "umm... that's probably against some sort of local law, we're totally going to get arrested." So they whoop and holler and jump of the cliffs doing jolly cannon balls and I'm stuck in the boat guarding our case of Keystone Light and watching out for the Beach Patrol. I am so the life of the party.

Anyway, back to the five foods and my practicality. I was trying to choose foods that would both be delicious to eat and also balanced in nutrition. I came up with avocados, cheddar cheese, almonds, black beans and rice, and pickles. Why pickles? Because they are my favorite. But only dill. The bread and butter pickles are disgusting and need to be banned by the FDA on grounds of making me gag.

So I decided I needed Schuyler's opinion on this very important matter.

Me: Hey honey, if you only could eat five foods the rest of your life, what would they be?

Schuyler: Stares at The Daily Show... "what honey?"

Me: I said, if you only could eat five foods the rest of your life, what would they be?

Schuyler: Um... Pub Sub!!!

Defined as: A sub sandwich from Publix Supermarket

Margo: You have four more.

Schuyler: Salisbury steak and... MEXICAN.

Margo: You can't just pick the entire Mexican menu. You can pick a burrito. Or a taco or enchilada. You can't just claim anything with a tortilla or salsa as one food.

Schuyler: Ignoring me. Candy and broccoli and cheese casserole.

Margo: So let me get this straight- your five foods are Publix sandwiches, salisbury steak, everything that can be defined as "Mexican" and "candy" and broccoli and cheese casserole?

Schuyler: Smiles, returns gaze to Jon Stewart.

This drives the practical side of me crazy. And I'm pretty sure the broccoli and cheese is just a fluke, I made it for dinner on Sunday and it must still be on his palatial memory. I'm pretty sure he'll be asking me later tonight to remove it for pizza or brown sugar pop tarts. Although he may be grouping pop tarts in with candy.

Obviously if we only have five foods to live on together, we might only be able to agree on "all things Mexican" and that is breaking the rules and thus I'm completely uncomfortable with that compromise.

How about you? What are your five foods?

Update: He just added pumpkin pie. He informed me that he gets five PLUS dessert, and candy doesn't count as dessert.

Crash and burn...

2010-05-07T17:02:00.000-04:00

So, I made it a full 48 hours on my fast. And then Schuyler and I got in the car and drove 4 hours to his grandmother's wake and funeral... and there were massive amounts of food and I promised Schuyler that if we were eating a meal with his family I would eat because his family is all from Michigan and if I explained that I was on a detoxification fast they would all think I was a crazy woman that needs to eat some fried chicken to put some meat on my bones.

By golly, I love midwesterners.

So I had a piece of vegetarian pizza and a glass of water and was thinking, ya know, this isn't so bad. Then we went to the bar with his family... and I may have had a Guinness or three. And a shot of tequila. It was Cinco de Mayo and we were sad. The alcohol was pretty-much the only logical answer to our ailments.

And then, because they are beloved midwesterners, there was a huge pot-luck spread of food at church after the service. I tried to stick to fruit salad and veggies, but I had to sample (read: snarf) some potato salad and ham. Hello, midwestern-style church food in Florida-- I couldn't pass it up. I felt so at home.

Anyway, I'm invited to a BBQ at my friend's beach condo on Saturday, so this fast is on hold until then. I have still remained committed to not eating sugar or caffeine though. And this caffeine withdrawl is so bad I had to google my symptoms to make sure I didn't have rabies. I have a really bad headache and now my whole body aches (could have something to do with the 9 hours I spent driving in heavy Orlando/Tampa traffic the past two days).

I might have rabies, though. This headache means business and they just caught two raccoons in an area close to my house that have rabies. It was on the front page of the paper today. And my cat likes to spend lots of time outside, probably chilling with the racoons. And when he comes in at night sometimes he licks me and now I'm probably infected with rabies. Great.

Day 1: The Day of the Headache

2010-05-04T18:36:00.000-04:00

I really didn't think the headache would be so bad. It started to precipitate around 11am, and by 12 when I went home for my lunch break I spent the entire hour sleeping on the couch to escape the pain.

Now it's 6:30pm and I'm seriously contemplating two scenarios: making an entire pot of coffee and dunking oreos in it or going to bed. I think I'm going to go to bed.

Today I had nothing but a mango, some carrot sticks, and a cup of brown rice. And a wholllllleeee lotta lemon water.

And full disclosure: a few moments ago I had a fork full of Schuyler's cheesecake because PLEASE GOD MAKE THE SUGAR WITHDRAWALS GO AWAY. I'm not proud of myself. Not one bit.

Off to bed. I'm going to try to post tomorrow and Thursday, but I have to go out of town for some personal stuff. See ya'll Friday. If my head hasn't imploded yet.

A week of cleansing...

2010-05-03T20:18:00.000-04:00

So I made it. I'm alive. My feet are swollen, I'm sunburned, and I can't remember what day it is, but I'm alive.

Unfortunately, I have severely neglected my well-being these last few days weeks. In fact, I've basically been living on coffee, pizza from the gas station across the street from my office, and microwave popcorn. Throw in a sprinkling of powdered sugar donuts and late night glasses of cabernet and you have my diet. I think Kirstie Alley endorses it.

So starting tonight at midnight I'm starting a 7 day cleanse. Not the "Master Cleanse" that involves drinking massive amounts of water with lemon, maple syrup, and cayenne pepper. I'm just doing a simple detoxification with involves only drinking water with lemon in it, and only eating raw fruit and veggies. I will allow myself a bowl of brown rice a day if I can't bear the echoing aches of my stomach. But I'm cutting out protein, dairy, refined sugar, and processed foods. I suspect the caffeine withdrawal will crush my soul by Wednesday.

Also, I hope to lose 5 pounds. Or 15.

I also vow to post from my calorie-deprived state every day. I suspect it will read like Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas only with more drooling and crying.

Captain's Log: Day 24

2010-04-28T18:10:00.000-04:00

It's the longest week in the longest month of the year for me. Between now and Sunday afternoon I'm soley responsible for 12 events at work.

Ugliest picture of me ever. For your own twisted enjoyment.

You could plant a crop of sweet corn in those forehead wrinkles.

As a co-worker would point out-- I'm still vertical. It's the small accomplishments at this point, really.

See you on the flip side. Wish me luck.... WOOOSHHHH!

As promised... monkeys french braiding each other's hair

2010-04-25T19:47:00.000-04:00

Or something cuter. Like my prodigy Lulu playing with me in the backyard.

I am having an existential crisis. Is it better to partake in the absurdity of fetch or the carnal delight from eating weeds? Both will only act as a distraction from the naked meaninglessness of the world.

Obviously, I choose fetch. And it is so very satisfying.

SOMEBODY IS GOING TO THROW MY STICK IIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!

I can have my fetch and eat my weeds, too. Take that Kierkegaard! Although the weeds... they taste like poo.

Spring has Sprung

2010-04-24T18:32:00.001-04:00

The garden is popping! Chinese cabbage is almost ready.

Even the weeds are pretty.

When I first moved to Florida I hated Bottle Brush, but now I really like it. Our tree is currently covered in these weird red fuzzy flowers.

Ahh, it's a comfort to have this growing just outside my bedroom window.

Stay tuned... tomorrow I have another photo-post of Lu playing in the backyard. It's cuter than two monkeys french braiding each others hair.

The Opposite of Dorian Gray

2010-04-21T18:21:00.002-04:00

I've been going into work early. REALLY EARLY.

How early, you ask? Well, the other day the alarm went off at 1:50am. Mostly because Schuyler had to be at work at 3am to work the bakers shift, but I figured I'm up- what the hey, I might as well go to work.

For the record, I am aware of how crazy the previous paragraph makes me sound. Thanks for the judgement, folks. What can I say, I'm a morning person.

So by the time 8am rolls around, I'm hungry. No, wait. STARVING. My brain is telling me it's lunch time- and where the hell is its burrito? So I've started running out to the bagel store to get my 8am lunch on when I go to work early. Yesterday I walk in, wearing a shirt with my alma mater's logo on it, and the woman behind the counter asks me how finals are going.

"JUST GREAT THANK YOU. I MIGHT GET AN 'A' IN ACCOUNTING IF I ACE THE NEXT TEST!"

Because if she thinks I'm young enough to be a college student, do you think I'm going to correct her? No, I'm going to let her continue to believe I am that young. I will also continue to pretend I am the type of person who takes accounting in college. (I avoided classes that had tests. You can BS your way through a 10 page paper... you can't BS your way through numbers or science-y stuff. I learned that lesson in high school.)

So I've been walking around on my 'I look like a college student' high today. And then it takes a turn for the worse. You see, this morning a security guard where I'm employed (a college) tells me that he can't believe I work there. When I questioned why, he said, "Because when I was first hired I saw you and said, 'that girl looks 14! There is no way she goes to college here!' And then I realized that you worked here, and was even more shocked."

14. One-Four. As in, two years before legal driving age. As in a year before I got my first kiss. Now I'm walking around with my shoulders back, kinda stomping around hoping to portray a little authority.

Because being 22 is awesome- what with all the in-shape body parts and freedom and traveling and parties and all-nighters and none of the emotional baggage of adulthood. But being 14? Well that territory just comes with a 10pm curfew, oily skin, and a whole lot of crying after school.

While I was out... PHOTO MONTAGE OMG

2010-04-17T14:32:00.001-04:00

So while I was out of the blogosphere getting a breath of fresh air and perspective and blah dee blah blah a lot happened.
I should catch you up on that. Because while some of it was horrible... a lot of it was really terrific. Let's see, when I left off before my break I was obsessing about my 26th birthday. Oh, little grasshopper, how blind you were. Here's a play-by-play of the exhausting, exciting, omg will it ever end beginning to 2010 that went undocumented by your hyperbolic friend Margo.

We last left off and I was planning to fly home to Nebraska and meet my sister and neice for Christmas/my dad's 60th birthday. Then a monster snow storm decided to take a giant dump on the center of the country and my flight was cancelled. So Christmas/birthday came via a brown UPS box.

Of course I thought this was the most haneous thing to happen to me. Then life has a way of smacking you upside the head with 100 pounds of perspective. On January 2nd, a day before my birthday, my dad called to tell me their house, and my childhood home, had burned down the night before. Luckily no one had been hurt, bud I did lose all my pictures, handmade quilts and bookshelves from my grandparents, and hundreds of other things I kept in my room. Luckily, they are just things. I still have my family, and that's all that matters.

Needless to say my birthday went by practically unnoticed by me, or anyone else. However, I had some fantastic girlfriends whisk me away a few weekends later to Savannah for a bachelorette weekend filled with shopping, eating sushi and greek food, way too many bay breezes, dancing at a place called "Bar Bar" and... wait, that's where it kinda gets fuzzy for me.

When I got home I realized that my free-spirited cat, De La Cruz, had gotten out of the house and into a brawl with one of the flea infested neighborhood ~~rats~~ stray cats. In the next 18 hours his face swelled to the size of a softball and thanks to an emergency visit to the vet that ended in surgery I now no longer have any money in my savings account! Thanks Cruz, I hope you know how to replace the brakes on my car. To make matters worse, a week after that he itched his stitches so violently that he broke his face back open. On my bed. With new sheets. Ungrateful cat.

And then I got promoted 4 days before my wedding and a co-worked punk'd my office.

Oh yeah- then I married this guy...

and had a lot of fun celebrating.

Note: When you go on your honeymoon, don't get the stomach flu. I was more intimate with the toilet than anything else. I did manage to go hiking one morning when my stomach was tricking me into thinking I was better. Also? Vermont is my new favorite place, even with all the puking.

Then Schuyler got a new job, but had a 2 week vacation between old and new jobs. So after 3.5 years of begging he finally appeased my desires: he grew a beard. And it was hawt. Then he shaved it into a My-Name-Is-Earl-handlebar. That was not quite so hawt.

And that gets us here. To the present. I'm not going to lie, the first part of 2010 has been a bit of a test for me. I'm trying to keep it all together, but I'm exhausted. I'm hoping this summer will prove to be deliciously relaxing. Front porch- you are calling my name. I'll bring the beer.

Your Friday Zen

2010-04-16T11:03:00.000-04:00

(Picture courtesy of The Surf Station)

This picture was taken today at my local beach. It has offered me a little perspective on this hectic day. I can't wait until May and I can start doing Saturday morning yoga on the beach with Sunshine, Yoga, and Pancakes proceeded by a stop at the local farmers market.

Until then I'm going to "om" my way through this day from the comfort of my computer desk. Le sigh.

Behind the 8 Ball...

2010-04-12T18:36:00.000-04:00

I've always loved that idiom. I don't know why, I'm not a huge fan of pool. But I can't think of a better way to describe my life right now.

Busy with work, it's taking such a toll on everything else in my life. I attend book club and sheepishly announce that not only have I not read the book, I didn't even buy it. Basically I'm here for the free wine and food. Also? May I take a nap in the corner while you discuss symbolism?

The only clothes I wash are my work clothes and underwear because jeans? I haven't worn those in weeks because that would mean I have some free time. Even now as I write this tirade from the comfort of my own couch I'm wearing my work garb and have Microsoft Exchange open. And maybe a spreadsheet or two.

I love my job, I do, and that's why I've sacrificed every moment of my day to it. (That, and I know that this is the 'busy season' and come mid-may I'll be back to normality.) But it has made me into a boring zombie, and for that I am resentful.
Which leads me to this: does anyone know any good relaxation techniques that doesn't involve taking a bath (my bathroom is under construction right now and I doubt I'll be able to find my zen peace there) or drinking heavily?

I'm open to suggestions.

Signed,
Zombie Margo

The Brick Wall

2010-04-09T17:31:00.002-04:00

... I've hit it.

But I want to post a little something in celebration of Friday, the best damn day of the week. Unfortunately I don't have the emotional or mental capacity to write anything of note, and my physical strength if fading fast.

So I leave you with something I discovered last week. I went on a mission to find some correspondence papers for the late Richard Brautigan, one of my favorite authors. So I leave you with two of his letters. I wish I had a friend that would send me little thoughts like this... maybe I should buy a type writer and start sending some myself.

Tokyo,
April 9, 1984

Dear Greg,

I hope your guts are OK, but I don't know why you got an operation. What's wrong with standard Oklahoma treatment: an intertube? Can't see no trout out this window. Always look on the bright side, if your gut operation backfires, which they often do, you can use yourself as bait.

Thinkin' real hard about the big boy,
Richard

--

Pine Creek, Montana
January 11, 1983

Dear Bruce,

I'll be in California next week. This means with any luck at all we won't see each other, but I will try your fucking "secret" telephone number.

I'm trying to figure out if you owe me lunch or I owe you lunch... There's nothing to do up here in Montana, so I can think about it all day.

Thinking about lunch,
Richard

Courtesy of brautigan.net

Ladies, join my rant...

2010-04-05T20:35:00.001-04:00

When I was planning my wedding I signed up for a few online tools. I mostly wanted to see budget breakdowns, trends, how to save money in several areas, et cetera. So I signed up for an account on The Knot.

Then the e-mails began. Day after day. Wedding countdowns. Trunk sales for wedding dresses. Catering tips. Oy. It was terrible. I had them ruled straight to the trash can because I couldn't handle the "82 Day Until Your Wedding: Have you picked out your embossed napkins yet?" Do I look like the type of girl that has special napkins at my wedding? I was lucky I remembered to order flowers.

Where was I? Oh yeah. So now that I'm married I've started getting new emails. These are even more insipid than The Knot ones coming from some place called The Nest. They are entitled, "Keeping your Diet in Check," and "Am I Unreasonable? | Not Into Sex | Favorite Dessert Recipes."

THOSE ARE REAL TITLES.

I guess this "Nest" place is the Knot's big, overbearing married sister. You know, the one that is constantly on a diet, unreasonable (thus making her husband miserable), eats its feelings, and is obviously not into sex. At first I was mildly amused at their obviously misguided characterization of the newly married woman. It's title is a not-so-subtle allusion to "Nesting" aka, making a perfect house and filling it with lots of beautiful babies. You know-- the only thing a woman is cut out for once she has successfully achieved her gold merit "marriage" badge.

But today... today The Nest went hysterically over the top. See if you can spot it!

For your convenience, I have a closer look for you:

I couldn't resist. I opened it... and I quote, "Lately, everywhere we turn, there's another article warning us about the dangers of too much masturbation."

I even went further, and clicked for the full story. They cite the "article" that is warning us married ladies of the horrors of an overzealous husband as it appears in the ~~very scientific and medically renowned~~ publication known as Cosmo Magazine.

The fear-mongering that is The Nest, playing to the insecurities of newly-married women-- or even worse their PERCEIVED insecurities of a newly-married women-- is really grossing me out.

If they really wanted to help me they'd send me an article on how to file a joint tax return after a decade of filing as a single person. Or the pros and pitfalls of having a joint checking account. I might want to read those. How to get the best mortgage rates and negotiate a great price on a new car or house.

But that would be far too helpful. Better to play to a woman's insecurities about her sexual prowess, her weight, her ability to "please her man" in the kitchen and in the bedroom. And I'm taking it personally, on behalf of newlywed women everywhere.

PS I know my last point was about a meal that would please your man... but that was in a jesting spirit. I'm afraid that The Nest is very much serious about its messages.

Love Slop

2010-04-04T21:54:00.001-04:00

My mother has always told me that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I always thought that sentiment was a little down-home for me and, if anything, oversimplifying the whole game of love. I mean, if it were true wouldn't Martha Stewart be on the cover of Maxim and be beating men off with a wooden spoon?

Oh, wow, that sounded bad. I meant, beating them away from her with a wooden spoon.

However, I have come across a dish so "manly" and so satisfyingly meaty, that every time I make it Schuyler grunts in joy, tells me that I'm an 'amazing woman,' and practically licks his plate clean. It almost seems a complete shame to not share it, because it's so simple.

Warning: Totally 100% not vegetarian or diet friendly. Thus only adding to how mouth watering delicious it is.

Pepper Steak aka Love Slop

4-5 cube steaks (see, this recipe is classy already!)
2 cups flour
2 T chili powder
1 T garlic salt
2T black pepper
1 egg
3/4 cup milk
1 green pepper, chopped
3 stalks celery, chopped
2 carrots, chopped
1 large can whole tomatoes
1 small can crushed tomatoes

Combine the egg and milk and beat with fork. On a plate mix together flour, chili powder, pepper, and salt. Dip cube steaks into egg mixture, and then coat with flour mixture. Brown over medium-high heat using vegetable oil. You do not have to cook them through, just brown them. (About 3 minutes each side.)
In a large saucepan, place browned steak. Cover with tomatoes, celery, and green pepper. Steam carrots in microwave for a few minutes before adding to the saucepan (or they'll never cook in time.) Cover with a lid and cook for 45 minutes.

While cooking, make your favorite recipe for mashed potatoes. Schuyler prefers the garlic instant ones (sacrilege!) but I like to make mine homemade with butter, milk, and a smidge of sour cream.

When the 45 minutes has passed, scoop a generous portion of potatoes on a plate. Put a cube steak on top of the potatoes and smother the whole thing with tomato-vegetable sauce. I usually put two cube steaks on the plate because Schuyler eats like he has a hollow leg.

I know it sounds like a weird mess. But I promise, it will make you grunt with joy it is so good. And your man will probably offer to do the dishes AND rub your back.

Two points for you, mom. I must give my mother credit-- it is her recipe. Maybe that's how she's been married for 30 years...

Let them eat cake!

2010-03-31T17:39:00.001-04:00

To answer Jessica’s question: Yes.

Yes, we have leftover cake.

Let me preface this with the fact that Schuyler and I are not sentimental people. I don’t have any movie stubs from our first dates, or pressed rose petals from flowers he has given me. I didn’t buy yearbooks in high school and Schuyler didn’t walk at his high school graduation. I’m giving my wedding dress to a charity. It’s a sickness… I’m like the opposite of an over-zealous scrap-booker. You know the ones with the tiny stickers of shopping bags and price tags and construction paper cut-out zig zags to commemorate something ridiculous like their first trip to Mall of America.

Scrapbooks are creepy.

Back to the cake though.

YES, we have leftover cake. The cake that Schuyler and I lovingly constructed in our kitchen at 2 am the night before our wedding. We still have the top tier, to be exact. It’s wrapped up and in my freezer next to the waffle fries and cube steaks.

Are we saving it for our first anniversary like a nice traditional couple? To be enjoyed with a glass of champagne and our ‘paper’ themed gifts (BETTER BE COLD HARD CASH, HONEY)?

No. We just had the top tier left over. We’ll probably end up eating it some night after dinner when the sweet tooth strikes and we realize we’re fresh out of brown sugar poptarts and leftover Christmas candy canes.

But oh, wasn’t the cake beautiful? With its vanilla layers held together with butter cream and lemon curd all covered in smooth, perfect fondant? It was served with a side of fresh strawberries and lavender syrup. Mmmm…nommy.

Maybe I’ll have a slice tonight.

Perk of getting married?

2010-03-30T19:53:00.000-04:00

Schuyler and I had roughly four cases of beer left over. Not just Bud Light (although we did have a good 2 cases of that left, too). No-- Sierra Nevada, Mad Hatter, Harpoon, Big Foot, and some delicious "home brew" we made over New Years.

Getting married has proven very advantageous for our refridgerator.

An unexpected come-back tour...

2010-03-29T14:57:00.002-04:00

I'm practically like the Rolling Stones.

Well... without the drugs and groupies. You can't have it all, I suppose.

And so I make my tentative return to the blogging sphere. This time as a married woman (more on that later), a wiser woman, and a woman that just truly missed writing on a weekly basis.

I may be a little cautious at first—so forgive me if I am not as candid as usual. I need to ease back into things.

Over the next few days and weeks I hope to cover several things that have been ongoing in the time that has lapsed since I last ‘blogged’:
1. My parents, how they are doing, and a big thanks to all those who reached out to them
2. Getting hitched
3. …then getting the stomach flu on our Vermont honeymoon (now lovingly referred to as my Peptomoon)
4. Tiling our bathrooms and bedrooms (the home improvements are never done, unfortunately for my sanity)
5. Obligatory and unbearably adorable pictures of Lulu

It’s so good to be back. I know all of you missed me, please stop sending muffin baskets and flowers. Seriously, I hate muffins. Note: The only things that adequately bribe me are free puppies, airline tickets to Hawaii, and coupons for free burritos. Preferably Chipotle burritos, but any burrito will suffice I suppose.

xoxoxo

The 10th Anniversary of Y2K

2009-12-22T11:08:00.004-05:00

I was in the car with Schuyler this morning and all the sudden I got hit with a lightening bolt of insight and excitedly proclaimed, "Can you ba-leeve it's been 10 years since Y2K?" He looked at me like I was out of my mind and continued to talk about blah blah baking yule logs at the bakery. (By the way, if you are in the North Florida area, you absolutely MUST try out The Bakery by Opus 39. I know the baker. He's totally cute, and his secret ingredient is not actually love, but high quality dark chocolate.)

Ten years since Y2K. Also, ten years since my sweet 16 (January 3). I think I'm going to throw myself a sweet-16 themed birthday party this year, in hopes of someone taking a hint and getting me a new car. (I'm looking at you, dad.) 1999 was such a magical time. Worrying about if the world was going to end a mere three days before I turned 16 just seemed, like, totally unfare dude. While everyone was stocking up on batteries and water, I was all "HEY. Stock up on BIRTHDAY PRESENTS. I want jean skirts and the platform Sketchers with pink stripes, by the way. Or new Dr. Martins boots, that would be, like, totally awesome. And the Eagle-Eye Cherry CD. And a bottle of peach schnaaps."

Ok, so maybe 1999 wasn't exactly magical. But I lived through it, dignity more or less intact, and now it's 10 years later. And I so totally could buy those Sketchers for myself now, and play the Eagle-Eye Cherry album on my iPod, and buy my own peach schnaaps. So I think my 16 year old self would congratulate me on a job well done. Bravo, Margo. You still will never be homecoming queen, though. Sorry to break it to you.

Also, I made this because I have waaaaaay too much time on my hands. It's from my 2009 statuses on Facebook. Obviously, I think minutiae is charming.

These are the Days of Our Lives... A Pathetic Soundtrack

2009-12-18T16:54:00.001-05:00

So I’ve been wanting to do a lame music post for weeks. And I am the first one to groan when I click on one of my favorite blogs and someone has done a music post. I can’t stand them… and yet, here we are. Sorry folks, Christmas is a season for quiet suffering and biting your tongue! (And gaining 10 pounds in 8 days, like I did last year. That’s gotta be a world record. I blame the hazelnut Kaluha spiked hot chocolate I made out of half and half.)

Here’s a list of all the songs that flash me back to the glory days of youth… and angst… and learning to French kiss.

1989
George Harrison’s cover of “I’ve Got My Mind Set On You” To this very day, it reminds me of one of my first memories as a child. (Watching my dad play pool at the bar while I played the juke box.*) I heard it at the gas station pump this weekend and literally danced while pumping my gas.
1996
Spice Girls “Wannabe.” I was obsessed with Ginger Spice.
1997
Hanson “MMMBop.” O.EM.GEEE. I AM MARRYING TAYLOR. 8th grade hormones convinced me I truly was going to marry him. Or at least French kiss him.
1998
The Rolling Stones “Wild Horses.” What can I say other than I discovered my father’s record player. Coolness? Check. Friends? Ummm… what is the opposite of ‘check’? Oh yeah, crying to oneself on the bus ride home every day.
1999
Macy Gray “I Try.” French kissing music for really awkward, slobbery first-time smooching.
2000
The entire Tom Petty album “Wildflowers.” Also, probably the soundtrack to my first beer, my first cigarette, and my first hangover. No other album brings me back to high school like this one.
2001
AC/DC’s “Money Talks.” I used to play it in my car driving to the golf course before tournaments. And you know what? I WON ALL THE TOURNAMENTS THAT YEAR. So judge away, but I’ll keep my faux-gold medals, thankyouverymuch.
2002
Incubus “Stellar” always brings me right back to being 18. Speaking of 2002, that was also the year I discovered Fiona Apple and was all, “hello lover, where have you been all my teenage life?”
2003**
Red Hot Chili Peppers “Can’t Stop.” Actually, the entire “By the Way” album. I still, for the record, listen to it.
2004
Definitely the year of Ben Harper and Ryan Adams. Although I never had the constitution to be a stoner, emotionally I was totally toked.
2006
Nelly Furtado’s “Forca” and Frou Frou/Imogen Heap. 2006 was my year of being single and moving multiple times between the east and west coast, listening to music, and trying to get my head straight.
2007
Coco Rosie “Noah’s Ark.” Schuyler played that song like crazy when we first started dating. It was also his Myspace song and I listened to it while I lurked all over his page before we started dating. Stalking can be romantic, too.
2009
And here we are today. Who knows what songs I will remember when I look back on this year. A year of becoming engaged, going back to graduate school, and all sorts of highs and lows. I didn’t really listen to as much music this year. I think, probably, I didn’t need as emotionally as I once did. Maybe I’m finally getting it together.

*It was totally the daytime and I got Shirley Temple’s. The bar was fun! (Still is!)
** Disclaimer: I would be remiss not to mention that also during this time frame I was totally into Missy Elliot, Nelly, Usher, Justin Timberlake and basically any and all booty shaking music. I definitely would shake it like a Polaroid picture, drop it like it’s hot, and other dance moves that would make my father lock me up and throw away the key.

Random Abandon

2009-12-16T19:26:00.004-05:00

Because today was filled with way too much wassail, sugar cookies, and emotional goodbyes at work, I don't feel like I can string together a coherent blog. What with a story arch and comical timing. Nope. So here are some random tidbits for this Wednesday evening.

I totally just saw a Suave ad featuring Dooce posing all breezy and punky and other Suave adverbs. In what parallel universe do I now exist in where bloggers are in photo ads? There is a line somewhere that has been crossed. I like to hide behind my laptop, in my beer stained pijamas, thankyouverymuch. (Cause you know, Suave is just can't wait to get a load of my greasy hair in its next ad:
Fucking cat. He thinks his hair is better than mine and just popped into the picture. Interloper.)

Also, I haven't gotten one damn Christmas card this year. NOT ONE. Last year I got at least 10. I just spent a small fortune sending a frillion cards to everyone I've ever bumped into in the Taco Bell line. (What can I say, Bean Burritos get me in the friend making spirit.) I'm so suspcious that the mailperson is stealing my Christmas cards. Either that or everyone hates me this year. Well GO ON AND HATE ME. Until you get my thoughtful Christmas card and then you can just marinate in guilt alllllll holiday season. Jerks.

Finally, Tiger Woods. I think when his father was programming him to be a robo-golfer, he used language that can easily be miscontrued. Bump and run? Check. Length? Check. Flop shot? Check? Getting it in the hole? Check. See, he's just been programmed with ambiguous language. Silly golf robot.

*** UPDATE ***
Yeah, so I checked the mail over lunch and I totally had a pile of Christmas cards. Sorry for calling you all jerks! I'm sure you'd expect nothing less from me. I still suspect the mailperson is holding out on me though-- I haven't gotten my Plainview paper in WEEKS. I think he's secretly obsessed with reading my hometown news. Especially the "Around Town" section, where people talk about who came over dinner and what was served. Man, Nebraskans really love hashbrown casserole.

(It's true. I totally love that hot mess of potato, cheese, more cheese, and cream of mushroom soup.)

This update has gone on far enough.

*** End Update ***

The Good, The Bad, and the Kenny Chesney

2009-12-13T20:30:00.004-05:00

So B and I were talking the other day about dating. We were pontificating on whether it is better to have one or two really serious, long-term relationships (her situation) or have lots of really bad dates/boyfriends before finding the right man (my situation).

There is the argument that going on some really bad first dates could give you a little bit more appreciation for the good guys when they come along (you know, during an eclipse of the moon at the vernal equinox is I believe the frequency).

And so I decided to share with her my number one all-time worst blind date. And I've had a lot, it was liking picking the worst song on a Nick Lachey CD. They are all so bad.

I was living in Phoenix with my sister, and my co-worker Jenna said she just had to set me up with her best friend. I wasn't really looking to be set up, but I'm as curious as a kitty cat and said yes. Jenna was really cute and funny, so I figured her best friend had to be just as fabulous as she. So on a Friday after work I get dressed up and drive over to this guys house to meet (lets call him) Josh*, Jenna, and Jenna's fiance. I pull up and yes, I'm immediately (shallowly) impressed with his house. Well, the exterior that is. As soon as I walk in, I notice there is definitely a country-western motif (I think the mounted deer head and denim sofa gave it away) and a Kenny Chesney concert DVD being played on the big screen TV. Bleh. Men who listen to Kenny Chesney are inferior life forms, as far as I'm concerned. Kenny was made for female fans, and female fans only.

Then Josh shakes my hand, we say hello, and I notice he's wearing exactly what Kenny Chesney is wearing in this concert DVD. Baseball cap with a severely shaped rim, puka-shell necklace, tight t-shirt**, jeans. And he reeks like he bathed in cologne, heck, he was completely pickled in Aqua di Gio.

So I await the ice-breaking conversation, and weigh the believability of telling him my IBS had flaired up and I should leave. His ice breaker? "Hey, do you like Kenny Chesney?" And because I'm a huge asshole I, of course, say, "Absolutely not," complete with eye roll. Am nicest lady ever.

Awkward silence. I go in search of Jenna. I tell her I should probably go. She makes me feel bad for being so shallow, and I decide to stay. I don't know why. If anything is a dealbreaker for me, it's most definitely Kenny Chesney idolization.

We head to the bar, Jenna and her fiance in the front seat, me and Josh in the back. He obviously wants me to sit in the middle, and I'm practically hugging the door. He keeps moving over, and by the time we get to the bar he's sitting in the middle and I'm smashed against the window. There is nothing sexier than a man riding bitch in the back of a Pontiac Sunfire.

Once there Josh offers to buy me a drink. I let him, because I might as well get a free drink out of this trainwreck. There is some music playing at the bar, and he wants me to dance with him. I politely decline. He then says to me, "How many drinks do I have to buy you before you'll dance with me." In his teeny-tiny brain, which clearly isn't working correctly, probably from Aqua di Gio poisoning, he is thinking that all girls are more fun when they are drunk. And I just can't perpetuate that stereotype... even if it may be true... sometimes... in my case. But pfft, whatever, he totally doesn't know that about me and HOW DARE HE ASSUME.

I fake a phone call where my sister tells me that there is an emergency (first and only time I've ever done this, please stay away from me bad karma) and leave. It practically ruined my relationship with Jenna. I honestly thought she must have some sort of mental problem to claim this, this... dude as her best friend. Maybe her frontal lobe was injured in a tragic sledding accident, and she doesn't like to talk about it. Who knows. We aren't friends anymore. I hope she stays away from sleds in the future.

So bad dates like this definitely make me appreciate my current relationship even more. Luckily my lovely Schuyler doesn't even know who Kenny Chesney is, only wears cologne one spritz at a time, and doesn't own a single corny t-shirt. He also doesn't ask me how many beers he has to buy me to get me to dance... and for the record, it's 2 beers to dance, 4 beers to dance and sing ridiculously, and 6 beers to break out the moon walk. And he hasn't dumped me for it yet.

*I can't even remember the guys name. I blame post-traumatic stress disorder.
** His shirt said, "I smile because I don't know what's going on."

I'm so random, I give myself headaches

2009-12-10T16:28:00.002-05:00

I'm fully aware my last post was about The Office and now I'm waxing poetic. My former high school English teacher gave me this and I immediately fell in love with it.

Sigh, I need to start writing things other than blogs about my dog's heavy panting. But then again, I hardly get any complaints about being crass. It must be my superpower.

So here's a poem about longing. And longing is one of the most distinctive, beautiful, and melancholy blessings of enduring the human experience.

Flight Night by George Bilgere

I am doing laps at night, alone
In the indoor pool. Outside
It is snowing, but I am warm
And weightless, suspended and out
Of time like a fly in amber.

She is thousands of miles
From here, and miles above me,
Ghosting the stratosphere,
Heading from New York to London.
Though it is late, even
At that height, I know her light
Is on, her window a square
Of gold as she reads mysteries
Above the Atlantic. I watch

The line of black tile on the pool’s
Floor, leading me down the lane.
If she looks down by moonlight,
Under a clear sky, she will see
Black water. She will see me
Swimming distantly, moving far
From shore, suspended with her
In flight through the wide gulf
As we swim toward land together.

Tuesday is sponsored by Dunder Mifflin

2009-12-08T21:22:00.012-05:00

I love Tuesday nights. And my reason is really lame.

Really, really lame.

Are you ready for this? I love Tuesday nights because TBS runs six episodes back-to-back of my 4^th most favorite TV show: The Office. (3^rd favorite: Arrested Development, 2^nd favorite: The Daily Show, 1^st: Seinfeld. Honorable mentions go to: Will and Grace, Sex and the City, Weeds, and House. Yes, I like TV. It’s a disease. Like venereal disease, only slightly more socially acceptable.)

So every Tuesday night I indulge in reruns of The Office. The best ones are before Pam and Jim hook up and its filled with Dwight pranks and sexual tension. My favorite Dwight prank is when Jim dresses up as Dwight. Ohhhhh Jim. Sigh.

No really. I love you and your squidgy hair.

So today, I worked from 8 until 7pm. I get home, have a nice homemade DiGiorno pizza, put my paint stained yoga pants on, and curl up with The Office.

I am fully aware of the fact that I’m 25 and I should be out doing things that require I wear real pants. I should be going out for cocktails and then maybe catching a show, getting ID’d and confused for a college student. (You know I just realized that the girl who’s ID I used throughout college just turned 33. Now I feel really old. Quick, someone get me a Zima.)

But I’m 25 and my highlight of my Tuesday is my fictional friends Jim, Pam, Dwight, and Michael. I’ve compiled my friends forever montage:

Pam totally wants to braid my hair and tell me about her Braxton Hicks contractions. I reciprocate by giving her a pedicure and telling her my secret ingredient in my world famous Mexican bean salad.Michael, I know you are just misunderstood. Someday, you will win an Emmy. You can put it next to your Dundee on your mantle. MOSE DID WHAT?!?!Phyllis I really want to like you. But then you go make a face like that. Like Kevin just farted. And Kevin is my favorite. So Phyllis, I'm afraid we can't be friends.Hi Jim. I like your hair. You've become a real crumb-bum this season, but in the past you were great. I don't like you as co-manager. I think you should be demoted so you play more pranks on Dwight.Kelly Kapoor is my second favorite. She doesn't get nearly enough screen time. I need an entire episode devoted to Kelly's life. Maybe her and Andy get into a huge fight over who is the best a cappella singer. And it divides the office, and it's like war of the office worlds. That would be a gooooood episode. Dear NBC, Please make me a writer. Someone needs to give Kelly more screen time.

The only person who I didn't get a picture of myself- in SIX EPISODES- was Kevin. My favorite. Ohhhh how I love Kevin. He doesn't get nearly enough screen time, either. In a perfect world, we'd have a whole show just about Kevin. In fact, I'll leave you with some parting Kevin wisdom. "If someone gives you 10,000 to 1 on anything, you take it. If John Mellencamp ever wins an Oscar, I am going to be a very rich dude."

Never a Southern Girl, only a Girl that Lives in the South

2009-12-07T11:28:00.001-05:00

Crescent Beach Ramp

So I spent the weekend in Atlanta.

No matter how hard I try, I just don’t really like Atlanta. Or, really, Georgia, for that matter. Come to think of it, I really don’t care too much for the South. That whole “Southern Hospitality” is a bunch of bull, have you ever come into close contact with an escalated Gator fan drunk on Keystone Light on game day? Their petulance for all humans not draped in blue and orange is scary.

Why then, do I choose to live here? (Aside from the fact that I love fried pickles…) Well, I have come up with two reasons.
1)Beach
2) Warmth

Because while I was in Atlanta freezing my buns off, among all the Florida and Alabama fans for the SEC game this weekend, I was ruminating on the question of why in holy hell would anyone choose to live in the South. I don’t really find the accent too charming, and I was tired of people yelling “Gator bait!” in my general direction. I think the cold clouded my cognitive thinking abilities, because at that point I was almost ready to fly home and announce to Schuyler, “We are moving back to Nebraska. I can’t take one more College football season here. Let alone, if one more person serves me tea with enough sugar in it to give me type 2 diabetes I am going to scream.”

Then I actually flew home and realized the whole reason why I put up with this ‘culture’ (if you can get away with calling it that) is the simple fact that I love the ocean and warm weather (I’m not wearing a coat or socks today, I win.). And California and Hawaii are too expensive.

So until global warming turns Nebraska into a semi-tropical location and the ice caps melt, thus giving Nebraska a coastal boarder, looks like I’m stuck putting up with the locals here in Florida.

Hey, it could be worse. I could be living in Atlanta.

Guacamole is next to Godliness

2009-12-03T18:55:00.005-05:00

So I've made it no secret that I'm dieting in anticipation of my very holy wedding day where perhaps only my grandmother actually believes I will be losing my virginity. Oh who am I kidding, she knows the jig is up. I think I tried hiding my sinful ways from them but then my Grandma Zautke showed up at my 21st birthday party and I'm pretty sure she saw me take several shots and I may or may not have had her sign my puke bucket I was carrying around.

Sidenote: My friend Kim gave me an icecream bucket on my 21st birthday for people to sign as my puke bucket. Fact: puke buckets are very handy on the one night of the year you don't have to buy your own drinks or have to drive, even if I missed and in fact puked in the truck on the way home. Fact: I woke up the next day and upon inspecting all the signatures I screamed, "MY EX BOYFRIEND WAS AT MY PARTY? (WHO DOESN'T EVEN DRINK AND HATES ME FOR BREAKING UP WITH HIM VIA EMAIL BECAUSE I AM A JERK AND I HATE CONFRONTATION.) BECAUSE HERE IS HIS SIGNATURE." Yup, in fact, I don't remember half the people who signed my bucket. I am a role model for so many 20 year olds.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Guacamole. mmmmm. Guacamole.

So just a few minutes ago I decided to make a big bowl of the delicious green bliss. I had four ripe avacados attracting fruit flies on my kitchen counter, and I know what those fruit flies were thinking: add lemon juice and onion to these fruits now, woman. And I always listen to the intuition of insects. Like how flies always try to swarm in the house right before a big storm comes in, or fleas try to hitch a ride into the house on my dog right before the first freeze of the year. They know. Their survival instincts are strong.

So I whipped up some survival guacamole and then stood in the kitchen, eating it in huge scoopfuls off of tortilla chips. I had one hand putting a chip in my mouth while the other hand is fumbling through the chip bag for a non-broken chip for optimal scooping just as soon as I swallowed. My phone even rang and I was all, "No one is taking me away from this moment of triumph," because it was only a matter of moments before Schuyler got home and then I would have to... share. Shudder.

Luckily, I stopped myself before total guacamole anhilation. The force is strong within me. Then, in a fit of guilt I googled how many calories an avocado has in it. I figure I have eating anywhere from one to three tonight. 250 calories a piece.

Goodbye, wedding dress. It was nice knowing you.

And let it be known: I have no regrets.

Wishing for snow...

2009-12-02T08:05:00.004-05:00

Bleh. That's all I can really say. It doesn't feel like the holidays without some cold weather and snow. Waking up in the middle of the night to walk the dog in pajama shorts and a t shirt and not being cold really doesn't make sense for me in December.

What also doesn't make sense is the randomness of existing. Yesterday I found out that my dad's boss of over 30 years died in a car crash. She was 59. My dad works for a small company in rural Nebraska, and without an owner we don't know what this means for the future. But for now it's hard to worry about whether or not my father will be losing his job. Because his boss will be deeply missed by my community back at home. She has three kids, and multiple grandchildren. It's shocking and hard to believe.

My dad is also 59. I'll be going home in three weeks to help him celebrate his 60th birthday, along with my sister and her daughter.

I find myself wishing for snow, wishing for the holidays of my childhood, the safeness of memory. My mother always used to imitate Dorothy Gale from the Wizard of Oz by saying, "People come and go so quickly around here." And it's truer now with every year that I live.

So when I go home in a few weeks I'll be wishing for snow, and the quiet is creates when it envelopes the flat hills and sparse trees of Nebraska. My hope will be to savor and appreciate every snowy moment.

A very bloated four day weekend...

2009-11-29T21:10:00.004-05:00

Too. Much. Food. And I didn't even have a bite of turkey! I did, I'm afraid, eat enough potatoes to make it a very holly-jolly-Christmas for some potato farmers in Idaho. I also had three slices of pecan pie, two bottles of Pinot, and an entire vegetarian pizza over the course of the weekend.

I did, however, have a wake up call. In the form of picking up my wedding dress. The good news? I could gain a good 30 pounds in my bra and it would still fit. The bad news? The ass section looks like sausage casing. Let me tell you, it's every little girls dream to take their wedding gown to the alterations lady and say, "Take the bra in a good 9 inches, and take the ass out 3." Ahh, the blessings of being a pear shape.

Now it's Sunday night and I'm trying to decide. Decide if I need to attempt to take off 10 pounds during the Christmas season in order to save $50 in alterations. I hate the fact that I let society dictate how I feel about my body. I'm in great shape. I'm strong and flexible thanks to years of sports growing up and yoga classes. I eat healthy (except on any holidays, obviously. I gave that pecan pie the business.) Yet, because I'm not a perfect size 2, I mentally berate myself. I've declared carbohydrates The Enemy. Since when should anyone be afraid of pasta?

As far as I'm concerned, pasta is scarier than a Sarah Palin book signing. (I'm sorry, my Italian friends, for comparing pasta to Sarah Palin.) I blame society for my neurosis. And you know what? I want to thank Thanksgiving for allowing me to let down my guard for a few minutes to eat without shame. Thank you Thanksgiving, it's a damn shame you only come around once a year.

Things I am thankful for, and things that can suck it.

2009-11-25T10:54:00.003-05:00

Via picasa.

As it is nearly Thanksgiving, I thought I would list the things I am thankful for. But for full disclosure, I also felt it necessary to list the things that can also suck it. It’s equally important to list those. (Also I have a red wine and roasted garlic soup hangover today from the Girls Thanksgiving Soiree last night, so I’m not going to be very succinct.)

Things That Can Suck It
1. Leggings. But I guess I’ve already addressed that this month.
2. Twitter. I quit you Twitter. You are dead to me.
3. Project Runway moving to Lifetime. No thanks! I’d rather watch The Real Housewives on Bravo. TV really needs more hair extensions and chardonnay fueled feuds if you ask me.
4. Chicken. So what if I don’t eat chicken? People look at me like I just announced that I have leprosy and like to cuddle. I didn’t know chicken was such a hot button issue.
5. Pandora for shutting you off after 40 hours. What a jip. I need my Cat Power station to get me through the long work days.

Things That I am Thankful For
1. Olivia, my niece and future rocket scientist/model/novelist, coming into my life this year. What a ball of cute squishy baby!
2. Speaking of cute, have you met my dog? Yes, I’m thankful for that worthless, gassy, slobbering, hunk of stinky bulldog.
3. Discovering the closest thing to nirvana: Stoneyfield Farms Chocolate Underground yogurt. Bliss in a snack-sized cup.
4. Yoga and all its benefits to my body and soul.
5. Schuyler and the fact that he appreciates me in all my fart jokes, awkwardness, and ridiculous behavior. That, and he encourages drinking homebrew beer on the front porch.
6. Ladies Book Club. The LBC is just what the doctor ordered. (If the doctor was into drinking and eating too much, pretending to read books, and gossip.)
7. Family and friends. I am thankful for all the wonderful people who chose to be in my life! Happy Thanksgiving!

Extreme Blog Makeover

2009-11-23T19:41:00.002-05:00

This here bloggity blog is so fresh and clean now. Enjoy!

I've got Grumpitude today...

2009-11-23T10:55:00.004-05:00

LThis weekend I shampooed the carpets. And can I just say, I love renting a carpet shampooer from Winn Dixie. It usually has some dirty water left in it, and hairs from an unidetified creature stuck to the bottom. Perhaps they used this to clean a chicken coop? I often shudder to think the stuff the shampooer has sucked up from the carpets of strangers. Spilled wine? Muddy water? Urine? The list goes sharply downhill from there. It is often an exercise in denial, renting a Rug Doctor from the Winn Dixie.

So I sacrificed Saturday to the carpet gods, and Sunday I sacrificed to the "putting shit back" gods. Those are the worst gods, too. I returned the Rug Doctor, surveyed my pristine carpets, and just as I was to sign in relief I realized that I had two box springs, two matresses, desks, side tables, end tables, chairs, rugs, lamps, YOU NAME IT just chilling on the hardwood floors in my livingroom and kitchen. I did contemplate leaving it all there. Just living with empty bedrooms and a cluttered livingroom... It would have been so much easier. And hey, if I rented a Rug Doctor, I could certainly crawl back in my denial bubble and just forget about the clutter like I forgot about the all the strangers' dog urine the machine has cleaned up.

But that didn't happen. And lo and behold, all the sudden it's Monday. And I have a clean, clutter-free house. But I'm not home to enjoy it. Oh nooo. Because, I'm back at work. I hope my cats appreciate the clean house.

Exhibit A: Having my Sunday coffee in the kitchen whilst sitting in an office chair. Behind me the mattresses leaning against the entertainment center. Lulu is clearly not impressed.

Leggings PSA: Just Say No. Like drugs, only more visually disturbing.

2009-11-18T20:45:00.004-05:00

I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a fashionista. I grew up in Nebraska on a farm. When I moved into the dorm my Freshman year of college I unpacked a laundry basket full of denim skirts, Sketcher shoes, and tank tops with shelf bras. Much to the horror of my new roommates. Need proof?

However, there is a very disturbing trend that has continued to perpetuate itself and its making me go all Nina Garcia up in here. Since when are leggings ok? They are like tube tops, only for your legs. They are perhaps the only part of pants you can get for $8 at Target. Do you want everyone to know you are wearing $8 pants? Have some pride. Plus, if I'm covering up my cellulite, I don't know if I would trust $8 worth of jersey cotton. That is a gamble I'm not quite prepared to lose.

But it gets worse. How? How could it possible get worse? You ask. Well, I will tell you how. You top your $8 fancy jersey glorified tube socks with a shirt that keenly resembles a potato sack. Exhibit A:

Essentially, and stop me if I'm wrong here Clinton and Stacey, you don't define a waist line. In fact, you've eliminated all your womanly curves and become a walking ice cream cone. See the resemblence? (Imagine the ice cream being addicted to Red Bull and just out of rehab, that will help.)

(Also, must I point out that this is Lindsay Lohan in January of 2008. So 1) it's over people, and 2) who in their right mind wants to dress like Lindsay Lohan?)

Ice cream cones are so hot this year. Jah.

So please stop assaulting my eyes with this. And I'm not the only person who feels this way. The LBC (Ladies Book Club) took a vote, and we declared a leggings embargo. As club parlimentarian, I feel it is my civic duty to attempt to put an end to this jersey cotton fiasco. It may be the fabric of our lives, but I doubt Eli Whitney would approve of the cotton gin leading to this debauchary.

I feel like I know you, Part Deuce (unfortunately)

2009-11-18T12:09:00.003-05:00

I have never really taken up causes on this blog. Usually I like to write about my idiocy, how cute my dog is, and how I manage to be an all-around blogging equivalent of a klutz.

However, I do want to mention that a wonderful blogger named Anissa had a stroke yesterday and is in ICU. She in part one of my favorite websites, AimingLow, and is truly one of the funniest writers/bloggers on the interwebs. You can click here to see how you can help her family, or you can just say a prayer for her today. She has three beautiful children and a husband who need her to hang in there.

I feel like I know you

2009-11-17T10:35:00.002-05:00

If you’re like me, when I find a blog that I like, I usually check out the writers blogroll. Funny people probably follow funny people. I mean, all the people I have on mine I think are fantastic and amazing and move over Dooce, we’re going to take over! Oh wait, I’m following Dooce. Can I join your blogger gang? I’m great with hyperbole! Is anyone listening to me right now? Echo-o-o-o-o!

So through some clicking and reading and more clicking I stumbled across what is now one of my favorite blogs: The Spohrs Are Multiplying. The author, Heather, has been through a lot in the past six months. Her beautiful, perfect daughter Madeline was born in 2007 at 28 weeks gestation. In April of this year, Madeline passed away. Last week Maddie would have been two years old. This month is Prematurity Awareness Month, and today is Preemie Awareness Day. Over 500,000 babies are born premature every year. The families of these babies watch as their children fight for life, and at times, I’m sure, they feel helpless.

Head over the Heather’s blog if you want to learn more about Maddie’s story. Or click on the badge below if you can help in any way you can.

Romance is delicious, like Taco Bell

2009-11-13T15:27:00.003-05:00

There comes a time in a relationship when the meaning of romance changes. There is a real evolution when it comes to love. I remember the “golden years” of my courtship with Schuyler. The flowers for no reason, the surprise dinner dates and fancy restaurants, the carrot cake he baked for our first Valentine’s Day because he knew that carrot cake is my favorite.

Now, well, romance has taken on a different light. Gone are the days of flowers, pastries, and dinners that involve cloth napkins and wine lists. For example, last weekend Schuyler took me on a date. We went to see the Dracula play in Orange Park. The plan was to go to a nice Mexican place before the play. Well, due to the accident on I-295, we were running short of time. So my man treated me to Taco Bell and a package of Sour Patch Kids from Publix. At least dinner represented all the major food groups: meat, cheese, and sugar. Nutritional and romantic!

Or like last night when I drunkenly tipped over my friend’s Mountain Dew as I was stumbling out of her car. Schuyler mopped it up with Taco Bell napkins, allowing me to run into the house to go to the bathroom. It was a dire bladder situation. It looked like I was smuggling a cantaloupe in my pants. Turns out, I was just carrying around 5 beers and a gordita.

Why does Taco Bell always show up in my stories? Sweet refried bean nectar of life. Arriba!

Perhaps the most romantic thing Schuyler does? He scoops the kitty litter box. Without being asked. And let me pose this: which would you prefer? Some delicate pink roses on your kitchen table (which my cats will surely chew on, thus ruining them in about 4 hours) or a de-biscuited, minty-fresh litter box?

Call me old fashioned, but I’m going with the clean litter box.

Namaste

2009-11-12T13:40:00.002-05:00

And just when I thought I didn’t have anything to write about! Miss B posted a list of 5 random things that make her happy and challenged her readership to do the same. I love this idea, and here are my five things (with #5 being the same as B’s):

1. Sunday Brunch with Schuyler
2. Cooking dinner in a clean house
3. Evening walks with Schuyler and Lulu
4. Yoga, currently: Dhanurasana, and Dandayamana – Dhanurasana (Bow Pose and Standing Bow Pulling Pose) but in the past my other favorites are Ardha – Matsyendrasana (Spine Twisting Pose), Eka Pada Rajakapotasana (Pidgeon Pose) and, of course, Yoga Mudra
5. The LBC (ladies book club)

And the sign said long haired freaky people need not apply...

2009-11-11T11:37:00.004-05:00

Ok. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve been a horrible blogger this week. I’ve been sooo fracking busy with work, life, and planning a wedding. Oh yeah, the wedding. Still don’t have a catering menu. Still don’t have flowers ordered. Still don’t have a notary. Still don’t have invitations. All I have right now is a dress on order, shoes, and a truckload of family coming into town. Sounds like a party to me!

So I took a picture of my desk at work because I think it reveals a lot about my life right now.

- At first glimpse it is nothing but chaos. Feng shui packed his bags and left a few weeks ago, and since then I live in squalor.
- My atomic apple germ blaster hand sanitizer helps me avoid Swine Flu while smelling deliciously like Apple Pucker. Now I think everyone who comes in my office thinks I drink appletinis for lunch. Mmmmm, appletinis...
- The picture of the cat is actually a postcard that Schuyler sent me in Asheville. His apparent misery totally cheers me up.
- The paper to the right of my computer is the bill for my next six months of car insurance. Can’t WAIT to pay that. I guess Lulu gets generic Kibble this month.
- My Bikram yoga sticker has a woman doing a perfect standing bow pulling pose on it. It reminds me every day that I should go to yoga or work out or I will never fit in my wedding dress and thus I will not get married and die alone, cold and wet like that cat in the postcard.
- Markers, pens, scissors, oh my! Tools of the trade my friends.
- Lists. Everywhere there are lists. And signs… uh oh, I feel a music montage coming on!

Growing Old; or, Why Bagels Are Not The Answer

2009-11-04T16:29:00.003-05:00

So lately I’ve been pondering my age and the fact that come January 3rd I’ll be on the south end of 30 and gaining fast. Which I’m actually totally cool with, in the grand scheme of things. Theoretically I’m ok with getting older. I’m cool with cheaper car insurance, not getting ID checked at bars, being able to get a tattoo whenever I want (wherever I want.) I’m even cool with being one of those hip old moms that have to find their reading glasses in order to read the formula container and constantly gets asked if I’m the kid’s ‘granny.’ That’s fine with me because just about the time I get my driver’s license taken away for being old and senile, my kid should be 16 and can drive me to bingo.

However, there is one thing I’m sooo no ok with. And that, my friends, is my metabolism. I was one of those kids that in high school could eat a Big Mac, fries, regular coke, and a McFlurry and not gain a pound. Even in college I sustained myself of $1 bagel day at the college coffee shop. I would have an everything bagel with cheddar garlic cream cheese (heaven!) for breakfast about 3-4 days a week. And AND then go back and have another one for lunch.

Today folks? Well today a bagel would be my worst enemy. I take one look at a bagel and think about how it’s 600 calories even without the cheese and that it’s all carbs that will metabolize into sugar that I won’t burn and it will then affix itself directly onto my rapidly expanding ass. Or my under arms—I’ve notices those are getting a little wobbly lately. And it’s not like college, where I could just walk 18 holes of golf three days a week and be all, “I’ll have extra cream cheese on my bagel today.”

No. Nooooo. Today I have to cut out enjoyable foods from my diet (including pasta, bread, potoes, ALCOHOL) and replace my 2 hours of evening TV with grunting at yoga or the gym or to a Jillian-bitchface-Michaels DVD.

Four more years until 30. Forever more years on a diet. Unless flabby-chic becomes a trend. Quick, someone get me Anna Wintour’s number!

While I'm Out...

2009-11-03T13:29:00.003-05:00

So I’m so busy and crazy this week, that I don’t really have much to say in this space that would be entertaining. I could go on and on about work stuff and how carbs are ruining my life, but I won’t. Instead, I’ll point you to some of my favorite interweb postings. Enjoy.

Ridiculously funny review of the Twilight book series.

Hilarious (and slightly groady) story on Barefoot Foodie’s blog that I have read at least twice and still LOL and wince at the same time.

I’m also just become a huge fan of Sociological Images. It’s chalk full of food for thought about gender, race, America, behaviors, et cetera. I could spend hours there reading the archives. A sample of it here.

Take your Cymbalta before reading!

2009-10-29T16:13:00.001-04:00

I got to thinking about what an uncomfortable person I am. I am uncomfortable about 82% of the day, the other 18% being when I’m in REM sleep if I’m not dreaming about walking around Wayne State College naked. (It’s a recurring dream, and no, I have no idea why I keep having it.)

I used to think my awkward uncomfortable, slightly anxious feelings stemmed from low self esteem or too much caffeine in the mornings. But now I just realize that it’s probably genetic. It’s very likely I was born with a worried look on my face, thinking, “I sure hope this placenta doesn’t make me look fat. This is just awkward for everyone involved. Quick mom, cross your legs!” See? I can make any situation more awkward than necessary. Most people don’t realize that for several hours a day I am dying inside with “OMG DOOOOOM!” feelings.

To clarify, or rather, prove that I don’t have a mental illness and this is just, in fact, something that is perfectly normal (for me) I’ve compiled a list of my the Top 6 Things That Make Me Squirm/Die Inside. (Why 6? Because the theme of this here post is ‘awkward’)

6. Driving with a passenger. The entire time I am worried they are think I’m driving like a wussy, or that I’m trying to kill them by running through a yellow light. I hate driving with people.

5. Singing. But that’s just common sense because have you heard me sing? It’s like Scuttle on The Little Mermaid. Only worse.

4. Burps. I like to burp. Often, I forget this around people who I should probably not burp in front of. By the time I remember, it’s already too late.

3. My underwear at the gym. It never fails, I wear the riders with the heather yoga pants and HELLO WEDGIE. CAN YOU SEE MY WEDGIE? Question: what is more socially acceptable? Walking around with a visible wedgie or picking the wedgie? Hmmm…

2. Telling people that my favorite band is Fleetwood Mac, my favorite movie is The Wizard of Oz tied with What About Bob, and that my favorite TV show is still Seinfeld. Usually it is met with a look that says, “Let me introduce you to something I call ‘the new millennium’…”

1. Making friends. I fail at small talk. I’m queen of awkward pauses. I am also keenly aware of not wanting to make anyone feel as awkward as I do—so I’ll most likely smile and nod when some psychopath talks about how the government is going to take away our guns, or that the Gators will always be superior to the Huskers or that Kenny Chesney is the greatest musical genius of our time. When I’m really thinking, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”, I just smile and nod a tiny bit in a acknowledgement that they are talking and I am, in fact, still listening. Then I go home and siggggghhh while asking myself, “Why do I continue to try to make friends while living in Florida?”

And then I go to sleep and dream about running around naked at Wayne State College. Oh, the humanity.

Photo Essay: This Day in Photos

2009-10-27T11:49:00.009-04:00

Sometimes a photo is worth a thousand words. A week of my life in photos.

Schuyler calls this my "Nebraska Tuxedo." Ironically, they both are Husker-issued. I wear my mis-matched greys while cleaning the house.

Perk of living with a chef: sometimes you come home to a meal that is not only delicious, but artfully plated. And look at the size of those grilled shrimp!

We brewed beer this week. A Pale Ale is in the Ale Pail. No really, we did brew a Pale Ale. It was done fermenting yesterday, and will be bottled today.

Iggy finally lets me take his picture while watching The Office.

Late afternoon light in the living room captures life perfectly.

What We Choose To See...

2009-10-26T17:00:00.003-04:00

Living in America is a lot like living in a bubble. We have clean water, food to the point that obesity is an epidemic, hundreds of TV channels, and a 'starter' home a 2 bedroom condo with a traditional family home being over 1,500 square feet.

Turn on CNN.com and you might get hours of uniterrupted coverage of the Michael Jackson death, missing balloon boys, and interviews with Jon Gosselin. If you watch the scrolling marquee at the bottom you might catch a few talking points of international news. Maybe.

So what's going on in Afghanistan? I mean, we currently have hundreds of thousands of troops over there, right? The War on Terror is now seven years old, thousands have died, but America-- we just keep updating our Facebook status on the minutae of our lives. "I totally bought wedding shoes today." And I did. And, shamefully, I usually spend way too much time blogging about such stuff.

The Big Picture posted this link today of a photo essay on the current state of Afghanistan. It's one of the only places on the net I've found pictures of what's going on over there.

Today has been one full of perspective.

As Spotted on King Street

2009-10-26T10:54:00.004-04:00

I love Sundays. This Sunday started at 7:30 when Schuyler put Lulu in bed to wake me up with her excited snorting and licking. We decided to splurge and go out for brunch at Georgie’s Diner. Why do we keep going there? I have no clue. The coffee tastes like it was made at a truck stop. You know- that weird dirt flavor that is slightly reminiscent to cigarette butts and chicory. The food is pretty decent, but it’s also hard to screw up eggs and sausage. Although I thought it was hard to screw up coffee—so perhaps anything is possible.

After rolling out of Georgies we decided to head to Target for some random essentials before heading home. And that’s when I saw it. A blast from Nebraska past. Behold:

I'll tell you where the heck Wall Drug is! It's only the second most awesome place in South Dakota. (First most awesome? Evan's Plunge.) Billed as "America's Biggest Roadside Attraction," Wall Drug is an institution. Hundreds, if not thousands of signs alert interstate travelers that You Are Now 542 Miles from Wall Drug South Dakota! It builds suspense like M. Night Shyamalan in one of his better movies. What the heck is Wall Drug? Is it a large pharmacy? A wall around some mythical dragon?

Turn out, it’s the world’s largest general store that sells knick knacks like dream catchers, Black Hills Gold, beaded Native American wares, and souvenir spoons, mugs, key chains, and bumper stickers. My sister LOVES Wall Drug. We always had to stop there on our way to the Black Hills for summer vacation.

I highly recommend a summer vacation to the Black Hills. After you’ve seen Mt. Rushmore and taken the plunge at Evan’s Plunge, do yourself a favor: go to Wall Drug. You don’t even need your GPS, the signs will lead you there.

Also. God is AWESOME.

Trick or Treat Weekend

2009-10-23T15:28:00.003-04:00

Dude! It’s totally Friday. What’s even better? It’s a Friday where I don’t have to work, not one drop, on the weekend. Fa la la la la, la la la laaaaaa! Oh wait, that’s Christmas. Whatever. A real two day weekend is right up there with Christmas for me right now. In celebration I believe I will take three naps, read one book, and clean the house.

Ahhh… I live life on the wild side.

In other news, it’s almost Halloween and I’m pretty excited to have the cute little trick-or-treaters come knock on our door this year. Last year a little 18 month old boy dressed as a cowboy came to the door with his mom and older brother. When I opened the door he saw Lulu in the living room and came running into the house squeeling at the dog. It was quite possibly one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen in my life. I hope he stops by again this year. I’ve bought some delicious candy: Tootsie pops, Pull n’ Peels, Jolly Ranchers, and Twizzlers to give the kids.

It seems like just yesterday my sister and I were the ones Trick or Treating. We always went as a team: a witch and a cat; a beekeeper and a killer bee; Raggedy Ann and Andy (yes, we made my sister be Andy!). This year she will be dressing up her own little one for Halloween.

Time goes by too quickly… I better be sure to make this full-sized weekend count.

Chips and Salsa

2009-10-21T16:55:00.004-04:00

Hello Kittens. Yes, I’ve been on a blogging hiatus. Mostly because I spend my free time watching Comedy Central, Googling my favorite fictional characters, and eating tortilla chips taken directly from the bag and dipped into an open jar of salsa. You know, the usually post-5pm shenanigans.

However, I did take a break from Comedy Central long enough to change out of my sweatpants and into jeans to attend LBC (Ladies Book Club)** on Friday night. (Where they served chips and salsa out of an actual bowl. Fancy!) This book club was especially awesome due to the fact that Holly hired a Tarot Card reader. It went with our theme because the book we read was Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. You know, in honor of the most holiest of holidays: Halloween.

It was amazing and I am curious if my reading will come true. Strangely enough, they have been coming true thus far. However, there is one very specific card that I hope does not come true, as these were only 2-3 week projections. The reader assured me that it could not pertain to me, it could pertain to a “very close friend.” And that card is “The Crib.” Not as in MTV Cribs and I’ll be moving into a sweet house with 9 flat screen TVs, two swimming pools, and a cabana boy. But as in a baby crib. I looked at the woman all, “THAT IS SO NOT FUNNY,” and she reminded me that it could be someone close to me. THANKFULLY, one of my fertile married friends is expecting a wee bundle of joy- so I’m just going to project that ole Crib card right onto her, close my eyes, plug my ears, and go “lalalalalala.”

** Contrary to the stereotype of most ladies-only book clubs, we are not crazy cat ladies who enjoy knitting and Murder She Wrote marathons. We are most-likely the most amazing book club ever formed. We read great books, drink delicious 2-for-1 Winn Dixie wine, and laugh mercilessly at one another. Face it, you’re so jealous of my book club.

4 months and counting!

2009-10-16T11:15:00.005-04:00

I had dinner with Liz last night. I’m pretty sure all I did was talk about the wedding. This is me, being a bad friend.

Although, I am in full-on wedding mode. It’s in four months (yipes!) and so it’s time to start cooking.

Here’s what I’ve cooked up:

Flowers

(From GreenWeddingShoes.com)

Invites

Song… and I’m so not kidding on this one.

For the Funny Pages

2009-10-13T20:19:00.004-04:00

Ok, so I should probably apologize for the crybabyness of the last post. For the record, I don't think you need meds or repression to be fully happy. Usually I'm living proof of that. But this week has challenged me as a person... and I'm hoping to prove that I have some bonifide character to rise up. You know, that stuff my dad always told me I was building when he made me stack fire wood or do the dishes or come home at my curfew. Like Calvin says, Pretty convenient how every time I build character, [Dad] saves a couple hundred dollars.

Thankfully I will be saved by the bell. I will be getting my fortune read by a tarot card reader on Friday. Maybe she will hold the answers to my life's many questions. Mannnny mannnnny questions.

Juxtaposition

2009-10-12T15:59:00.006-04:00

Today has been one of those rare bad days that falls into the realm of Things I Don’t Blog About. Which is hard because, let’s face it, if I can’t blog about the crap in life- what is the point of having a blog? To talk about happy endings and fluffy bunnies? Boring! Bring on the complaints and teeth-gnashing and self-deprecation.

But hey- that’s just me.

So since I’m all wound up and tied into knots of the Stuff Ye Shall Not Blog, I’m going to distract you (and myself) with some fluffy endings and happy bunnies or whatever that shit is that people write about when they’ve found the right meds to block out all that nasty real world and settle into a nice bowl of repression.

Engagement pictures! Here are a few of my favorites—to see the rest you will have to see on Facebook—should you be so inclined.

Classic Schuyler!

Nature!

Coquina walls of an old slave house.

Lurve was made for you and me.

Last picture of the day so figured I could ruin the dress!

The post where I try to gain some perspective... spoiler alert: FAIL

2009-10-08T08:49:00.002-04:00

We all remember Bonkers, right?
Well that little SOB is back. He’s back, only this time he’s in the LEFT eye. He’s such a severe sty that he woke me up at 4am last night. I stumbled into the bathroom, turned on the light (that burned my eyes like a thousand angry suns) to only look into the mirror and see Bonkers reincarnate.

And I seriously considered calling in because of this sty. Honestly, I’d love nothing more than to take a double dose of Tylenol, put a hot towel over my face, and watch 8 hours of A Baby Story on TLC as I simultaneously recoil in horror. (I saw a woman on that show last week who was pregnant with triplets and her stretch marks are still haunting me. I want to send her a muffin basket and a bottle of nice Tequila to cheer her up. Seriously. That POOR WOMAN. Also, PLEASE GOD I DO NOT EVER WANT TRIPLETS MY SKIN IS WEAK AND CANNOT TAKE THE STRETCHING!) (Also, just to clarify, no I’m not pregnant.)

So I guess I’m just going to suck it up (or in) because it could be worse. I’m only stuck with The Second Coming of Bonkers. Some people have to deal with stretch marks caused by three ungrateful triplets who will eventually turn into three ungrateful teenagers who want things like food, and designer jeans, and drivers licenses. The horror.

Peas and Pudding

2009-10-06T14:40:00.001-04:00

I hate one day weekends. Two weekends ago was a one day weekend and now this weekend is going to be a one day weekend. And the weekend after that? ONE DAY.

Not at all fair. Especially when you don’t make overtime and comp time is illegal. It’s like someone telling you to eat your peas and you’re all “I don’t like peas, but they are a necessary evil so I will eat them because afterwards I get chocolate pudding*.” And then after you finish your bowl of disgusting peas they make you eat ANOTHER bowl of peas. And you’re all, “But I already ate my peas, so where’s my pudding asshole?” And they are all “Eat them if you want your pudding.” And so you eat ANOTHER bowl of peas and guess what? After all those peas you only get a half-eaten, luke-warm bowl of Tapioca pudding**. And that is entirely unfair.

Obviously I’ve taken this metaphor way too far. And now I’m hungry for chocolate pudding.

In that vein! THE SHRED UPDATE! (I bet ya’ll thought I had given up since I haven’t been updating. Well you, my fatalist friend, would be wrong.)

So for me? Well, I have only lost ½ a pound on the Shred. This is day 17 and I’ve only lost ½ a pound! It’s not fair. But, I’m pretty sure that I’ve lost several inches and gotten much more tone. And since muscle weighs more than fat, I’m going to bask in my dilusions. I am master of Level 2, so I will be moving on the Level 3 next week.

The not-so-silent partner? She has lost 9 pounds so far. She is obviously kicking my ass at this whole ‘shred’ thing. Go Sadie!

*Chocolate pudding is soooo Saturday night.
**Tapioca is definitely a Sunday.

Sunshine, Yoga, and Pancakes

2009-10-05T14:56:00.004-04:00

(Image via Prevention.com)
So Saturday was my first official day attending Sunshine, Yoga, and Pancakes. I’ve been getting private yoga lessons from the ‘ringleader’, Meghan, for a while now. But, for some reason, probably work or a hangover, or a lack of motivation has kept me from actually attending the Saturday morning session.

This Saturday, however, I attended. And it was SO GREAT! This is how it goes: Meghan teaches a yoga class on the sand. The Sun Salutation series was pretty challenging and I felt like I got a legitimate workout. Just when the sun started to bake and my inner monologue was going, “ok ok… my muscles are starting to shake” the yoga lesson was over and we took a nice long swim in the ocean. And I did something I never do. That is, I swam out past where I can no longer touch—past the end of St. Augustine Pier. I KNOW, how badass can I be? Pretty badass. Living here I’m constantly reminded of why people don’t move away. Yes, Florida is backwards and kind of infuriating at times… but man- it’s beaches and weather just make it worthwhile. So what if I live in the land of hanging chads and confederate flag bumper stickers. I have an ocean and a palm tree in my back yard. Take that, Nebraska.

BUT, it gets better. To top it all off—we went to Meghan’s house where she made blackberry, oatmeal, and pear pancakes. If I can channel Rachel Zoe for a moment: I DIE. I DIE for blackberry, oatmeal, pear pancakes.

So, I think this Sunshine, Yoga, and Pancakes is about the coolest new thing I’ve done in St. Augustine in a long time. It’s the little things like this that make the crappy things (which seem to be piling up lately round these parts) much, much more bearable.

FML and other quandries of being 25...

2009-10-01T16:38:00.000-04:00

Signs you are getting old and are no longer in the ‘hip’ generation of young folks:

1) Having to look up “fml” on the urban dictionary today. Some of my friends were using this acronym in their Facebook updates and I was like, “Free Monica Lewinsky”? “Fussy Monkey Lips”? “Friday More Liquor”? Ohhhh Fuck My Life. FML. Then I was all FML I’m getting old!
2) I recently turned my nose up after being offered a shot, and caught myself thinking ‘who drinks shots anymore’… and then I stopped and slapped myself.
3) I don’t know what channels MTV or VH1 are on.
4) Getting up early on Sundays to “enjoy the morning” before life takes over is something I look forward to.
5) Forget fast cars or great dinner plans: having a clean house is a total turn-on.

I could go on. But this list has gotten far too disgusting. I’m ashamed of myself. I am hitting my quarter-life crisis. Quick, someone buy me a shot!

Hello, October

2009-09-30T15:49:00.002-04:00

I'm so glad tomorrow marks the first day of October. I've always loved October. As a small child it meant picking pumpkins out of our garden and carving them with mom and dad. My dad helping us carve scary faces while my mom roasted the seeds in the oven.

October in Nebraska is perfection. The temperature plunges into the 50's, making sweaters and jeans a necessity. The leaves change color and crunch underfoot. In high school October meant football games on Friday night (boy chasing/watching! swoon!) followed by golf meets on Saturday morning. State golf was always in October, which meant an all-expense paid trip to the illustrious and exotic "Grand Island" in south central Nebraska. It was neither 'grand' nor an 'island' but it did have a Holiday Inn Express with an indoor swimming pool. That was the king of swank for me back then! (Who am I kidding, it still is!)

For some reason I've been nostalgic for Fall back at home... In fact, last night I woke up tremendously homesick. I think it had something to do with the windows being open, but I woke up longing for the last few rounds of golf at the Plainview Country Club before the snow set in. The Husker games in Lincoln and the Plainview Pirate football games wrapped in a fleece blanket clutching a cup of hot chocolate. The excitement of youth in those shortening days and lengthening nights that promised adventure and little bit of trouble.

Now seems as good a time to mention it: I am visiting home December 26 through the 30th. It will be short. It will be good. Lavernivus is turning 60 on the 27th.

Until then, I will enjoy the bittersweet emotions of fall from afar.

Up To Date

2009-09-29T11:14:00.002-04:00

So many updates!! I’m going to try to keep this brief, though, because my hands are swollen from the 18 holes of golf I played yesterday (at TPC bow chicka wow wow). These hands are not used to that anymore. I’m such a pussywillow!
So! The weekend! Look at the amazing weather I had out at the beach on Saturday morning complete with a double rainbow. What a great way to kick off a weekend. Gotta love surfing in 80 degree water and 75 degree air.
Then I spent the rest of the weekend putting up fence posts in the backyard with Schuyler, painting the living room, and just general working around the house. I currently have 160 pounds of concrete mix in the trunk of my car. The work is not yet done and I’m beat.

However, that doesn’t mean that I don’t have a ‘shred’ update. And the fact that I graduated to Level 2 (cue Rocky music) and the jumping portions of Level 2 have me rattling the rafters in the house. Schuyler says I look like I’m flailing around like an epileptic stork. I would have to agree. I did weigh myself this morning and I’m back to my original starting weight. So I still have 7 pounds to lose. And I haven’t had a carb in a week. Ok, I take that back. I had a cookie yesterday after my round of golf. Although I convinced myself that I had earned it.

Perhaps this is why I never lose weight. I can always qualify my splurges. I should put this to practical use and become a lawyer. A big FAT lawyer. One that can afford painters and carpenters. Ahh, the dream…

Happy Adoption Day, Lulu!

2009-09-24T15:09:00.004-04:00

One year ago today we adopted a twee little 6lb French Bulldog. She was 10 weeks old and just.too.CUTE.
Since then we've had quite the rollercoast ride with our little nugget. Massive vet bills, jokes about her being "SpewLu" because of her unfortunate digestive system.

But Lulu really is one of the lights of my life. She's so funny, well-behaved, friendly, playful, and above all- sweet hearted.

Happy Adoption Day Lulu. I love you!

Plague day five, Shred day three

2009-09-23T11:21:00.000-04:00

I love coming down with a sinus infection! It’s so fun! Oh and why am I winking at you? That’s just my sty. His name is Bonkers. He causes me much physical and emotional pain.

As my sister told me today, I am a hot mess. That would be true. However, I’m not letting my hot mess-ness get in the way of the 30 Day Shred. I managed to do my workout yesterday after spending all day in bed. I think the meds started kicking in last night, so I quickly did the Level 1 for the second day.

I will get to my third round tonight.

So far? No progress has been made unless you count the all-over tenderness in my body. In fact, according to my scale this morning I’ve gained two pounds since Monday. But my scale is a little temperamental, and I did have brownies for dinner last night. (I swear, it was the only thing that sounded good. And I’m siiiiickkkk. I get what I want when I’m sick, right?) I think I’m just retaining a little water, so I’m not going to weigh myself again for another week.

I took some super-sweet before pictures, too. The big reveal will be October 21st. If all goes to plan, I will be greasing myself up and going as The Incredible Hulk for Halloween I plan on being so shredded.

Oh, and on a side note, Schuyler referred to this experiment as the “Squish” yesterday. He said, “so are you going to Squish today or do you feel to sick?” And I looked at him like, Oh lawdy he’s made up a new word for foolin’ around. I figured all the eye winking Bonkers the Sty has made me do, he thought I was coming on to him. After a weird look he pointed at my hand weights and said, “that Squish or Squash or whatever you and your sister are doing.” Ha. Ha. Haaaaaaaa. Boys are so weird.

Pounds Lost: +2 (UG)
Number of times I’ve told Jillian to go F herself: 8

30 Day Shred

2009-09-21T10:42:00.001-04:00

Hello All. I am announcing structure to this weblog that is usually filled with random rantings about my weird life. The randomness is now gone. I am now blogging to document my highs and very low lows, my triumphs and my failures… of the 30 Day Shred.

I have a silent partner in this quest, but I don’t know if she wants me documenting her struggles along with mine. So we’ll just refer to her as “Silent Partner.” The Silent Partner has already done her Level 1 workout today and we both have had the same reaction: HOLY SHIT. Seriously, I always pictured myself someone who is in pretty good shape (hey, I can run an 8 minute mile ya’ll.) But. Uh. No. This made me so dizzy it was ridiculous. It made the my Silent Partner up chuck. This better get easier… something tells me it only gets harder. However my motivation is the wedding dress I ordered this weekend, and paid for (no refunds, sucker!) and the fact that it might be a hair too small. We don’t know, the sample I tried on was a size 12 which was like wearing a potato sack. So the size I ordered was off my measurements which, HA, indicated that my bust is a size zero and the rest of me is- well, much more than a size zero. So we ordered a size in between my butt size and my bust size. Thus- I need to reduce my butt in order to not pay $100+ for alterations. Or something. We’ll see. It doesn’t get in until January. I have lots of time to obsess over it.

I’m trying to decide if I’m going to post my start weight for all the internets to enjoy or if I’m just going to say that my target weight loss is 7 pounds.

For now, I’m going to stick with the 7 pounds.

*Update: Silent Partner just said I could reveal her identity. It’s my sister! She just had a baby! Let’s all look at the cute wittle baby:

Not just Top Ramen...

2009-09-17T16:23:00.002-04:00

Pearls of wisdom I have gained from living with a chef:

Slice back and forth, do not chop. Chopping gives a girl a dull blade.
Chef’s have special band-aids. They are blue. The blue makes them easy to find when they fall into the food.

Let’s all take a moment to shudder after that last one.

Cookies don’t cook right if you’re too impatient to wait for the oven to heat up. Patience is rewarded, fatty!
Any recipe that calls for “crushed corn flakes” or “mini marshmallows” will not be taken seriously. (Thus voiding the legitimacy of roughly 87% of all the recipes protected and cherished by my extended family.)
Butter really is better.
I now know what the following terms and jargon mean: amuse bouche, stodge, 86’d, frisee, torchon, in the weeds, mise en place. Granted, you can learn and hear these words by watching Top Chef or reading No Reservations. However—who actually gets to use them in daily conversation? That’d be me!
When mixing large quantities, use your hands. It’s way more affective, AND fun.
Reducing a recipe that makes 15 dozen sugar cookies in a recipe that makes ‘just enough cookies for a small family gathering’ takes MAJOR math skills. And perhaps a metric converter application for your iPhone.

I would like to thank Mr. Cook for giving me all the tools to decipher an episode of Top Chef, order off an impossible menu, and keep the crushed cornflakes out of my recipes.

Sorry, Kelloggs.

Milk Crate Jungle

2009-09-16T13:25:00.003-04:00

So. The backyard. It all started like this…

Once upon a time a boy wanted to start a heirloom tomato patch in Florida. Unfortunately, the Florida soil cannot sustain a tomato plant. The PH is all wrong, or something. So, the always intrepid boy acquires some milk crates, lines them with garbage bags, and fills those bags with nice store-bought potting soil along with tomato fertilizer. However, thanks to Google searches, we found out that to avoid having tomato-eating bugs destroy our future crop, the milk crates should be elevated off the acidy-useless-non-fertile-bug-filled Florida soil.

Hmm. What could we use? Something free. Something we have a lot of… hmm.

Ah. Beer bottles from the recycling bin. The narrow end gets hammered into the ground with a rubber mallet, and the flat top supports one corner of a milk crate.

We have 24 tomato plants. That is 24 milk crates. Multiplied by 4 beer bottles to hold up each crate equals: 94. That’s 4 cases of beer. So when Schuyler gets testy with me and says, “You need to chip in more around here,” I just point to the beer bottles. Because 94 divided by 2 is 47, and that's 47 instances of me 'chipping in.'

And they all lived happily ever after.

Because I promised...

2009-09-15T11:15:00.003-04:00

After I posted the video of Lulu panting a lung up after playing 'stick' I got several requests to post a video of her actually playing stick. I suspect most of you think I'm lying about my little dog's ability to chase a stick, what with her legs being 3 inches long and her head taking up 67% of her body mass. Behold Lulu's addictiong to her doggy-crack, aka "the stick."

* You may want to watch it with the volume turned way down. Our neighbor was chipping a stump or chain sawing a tree or something godawful loud.
** OMG, a post about the contents of our backyard to follow, ya'll. It totally takes an entire post to explain the ways and means and... is that a milk crate held up by beer bottles? To which I have to say HEY, at least they are Sierra Nevada bottles and not PBR or Coors. We do draw the line somewhere.
*** My backyard is totally freaking you out right now, right? You really want to know what the deal is with the milk crates-- don't you? MYSTERY!

We actually do eventually throw the stick for her. This is just much more entertaining. She's got a great vertical, but no landing skillz yo.

Duuuude

2009-09-14T13:33:00.003-04:00

Oh me oh my. I cannot believe I haven’t posted in almost a week. For shame, Margo.

So since we’ve last met here on the blawg, I have had quiet the week. Let’s see… our house is nearly finished! All that is left to do is dust the drywall particles off of everything (no small task) and paint the ceiling. I think we’re going to wait until next weekend to attempt both of those feats of strength. Right now we’re pretty tapped out in the home-improvement category.

I have, however, compiled a list of reasons why September is now on the up and up.
1.) The Daily Show will have new episodes starting this week. FINALLY. Life is so much sweeter when narrated by Jon Stewart.

2.) We are harvesting tomatoes by the bucket in the back yard. Although, I did manage to waste a good 15 of them during the salsa incident last Saturday. (Note: If you plan on making salsa, don’t put in the seasoning packet your future mother in law gives you from her last trip to New Mexico if the packet does not list the ingredients. My taste buds are still dead, and I had to throw out an entire pot of salsa. And New Mexico, what do you season your salsa with? Gun powder and battery acid?)

3.) The ridiculous (on my part) night out last weekend with the Ladies. I haven’t had a (non-book club) girls night out in forever! (Oh, man, I just re-read that sentence and hoo boy do I sound LAME.) I’m pretty sure I decided to finish everyone’s beers at the end of the night. I blame my father and his silly “waste not, want not” mantra of my childhood. Still, it was so much fun. Thanks Love, B for coordinating!

4.) YOGA. Duuuude. One of my college friends totally gives me yoga classes at her house. So I don’t have to sit in a row of 30 sweaty strangers. Famazing!

5.) New fall BOOKS. I’ve had a recent epiphany about how I spend my free time. I spend a lot of it watching TV or reading junk online about people I do not know. Last time I was in Yoga, Meghan said something along the lines of, “Let go of everything that doesn’t affect you.” Oh wow, I realized that I carry so much emotional ‘stuff’ around that does not affect my life. I LET it affect my life. So I’m working on working on myself. That means more books (I just ordered The Road and Republican Gomorrah on Amazon for like ½ price. I totally heart Amazon. I also ordered Jillian Michael’s 30 Day Shred. Don’t judge me.) I hope to turn off the TV after my Jon Stewart fix at the 7pm rerun time, and get some reading in. I will try to become a minority in America, that is, know more about real culture and less about pop culture. I think The Real Housewives have started to rot my brain and I must reclaim it before it turns into compost.

Have a great Monday, ya’ll. I’m going to resist watching The Rachel Zoe project with all my might this evening. Wish me luck!