Upgrade for my residence

Mr. Obama and his large, fancy tax credits have pushed the fiance and I into house hunting. He’ll be moving to my small-ish college town this spring, and we figured that finding a decent starter home in between wedding showers and wedding planning might spice up our already packed schedule. If all goes as planned, my stress levels will be racketing up to mach five.

I’ve watched more than my fair share of HGTV, and have a (perhaps) overdone list of “must haves” which is obviously not in line AT ALL with our budget. I went to see house #1 last week and may have gotten carried away talking about knocking down walls and adding new pedestal sinks. Please, creating an open floor plan a few weeks before your wedding is a sure-fire way to marital bliss right?

We’re going out with the realtor on Saturday to see all that this depressed housing market and shitty economy can offer.

Things to Ignore:

The Bachelor. But. I. Just. Can’t.

I even read the spoilers, which of course made me want to watch all the more. Given that tonight is the finale, there will be overwhelming amounts of over-emotional girls. There will be overdone romantic speeches. There may even be prom dresses involved. I hate all those things, yet I have the DVR recording every minute, just in case I miss some of the disaster.

Oh look, I’m back

Six short months later, and I’ve remembered my own blog address.

Updates:

Residence - Bloomington. Left, Indy moved back to my hometown for a job. This leads me to…… Employment – Employed. I have a real job, with real benefits, like a real grown-up. Plus, I like this job. Marital Status – Engaged. After what I believed to be a break-in at my apartment, my boyfriend proposed. I’ve asked him several times if he’d like to reconsider, but my ring is so sparkly that I can’t remain focused long enough to hear his response. Getting married in August ‘09.

 Let’s see if I can maintain any semblance of committment to this blog.

Relationship Advice

In the name of this post, I’ll share the best advice I’ve adopted and heard in regards to relationships:

1. My own personal standard: “Never date a boy who can’t chop his own firewood.” This immediately eliminates all men too weak to swing an ax, too city-bred to believe there are anything but gas fireplaces, and essentially all men who regularly get manicures. In my book, fresh linen pants, fine jewelry and intense hair products are accessories to take on a Carnival cruise, not the accoutrements of a man.

2. From my mother: “The good things get worse, and the bad things, they just get worse too.” True of most friendships, relationships, parents, and every picture of me from high school. People don’t become more flexible with time – we shockingly become more rigid, more narrow-minded and more set in our ways. If the things you love about another are their jokes, their smarts and their hairline, you must prepare yourself to be sitting, 20 years from now, next to a balding man telling stupid, pointless jokes for the 357th time. When my boyfriend sits behind the wheel of a car, he turns from an ordinarily articulate man, into someone whose vocabulary ranges from FUCK to FUCKING ASSHOLE. Will this trait suddenly, if ever, improve? Hell no. It may be possible that his inability to function with other drivers on the road or in the vicinity will someday impair him such that he is unable to even get into the driver’s seat. This folks, is what I’m praying for.

3. From my boyfriend: “She’s like the participant ribbon of trophy wives.” If your lifelong dream is to gain a title in front of your name (rather than any letters following), forgo any and all job responsibilities for the remainder of your days and look forever young and hot while doing it, you should really talk to my mom. JUST KIDDING MOM. But yes, if this is in fact your life plan – live it up, do it right and bring a shred of honesty to it. The last thing you want is for someone who hears of you to determine that you bring nothing (no money, power, fame, spelling skills) to the relationship and yet be told that you are additionally, not trophy wife material. Lift the boobs, buy the red convertible and get in the gym, because if nothing else, you must redeem yourself through your looks.

Just waiting on the tsunami

When I was 15, our barn burnt to the ground in a blaze of glory. The scene was one from out of Backdraft, and when it was over, there was nothing left. Earlier this year, we had a chimney fire at our lake house, which destroyed a substantial part of the upstairs and roof areas. Nothing says fun like a northern Michigan spring break, coupled with a little house fire to top off the excitement. Back at home, we had an earthquake in April. Nothing serious, hardly any damage – just a little rattling which woke me up in the middle of the night. Then, to cover yet another natural disaster, God sent a flood to wipe out my dad’s office this weekend. Somehow, we missed the memo and failed to get our ark built in time.

 The office is outside the flood plain, and still had over 24 inches of water standing in the office and shop areas. Outside the flood plain also means no insurance, which translates into devastation and a really ticked off parent. So for now, we sit and wait, to see if ole GW will send us some federal fast cash for the cleanup. In the meantime, I might have to get my hands dirty and sandbag for the next rainstorm coming tonight.

There are many things to be thankful for, and certainly that no one has been injured in any of these small disasters is one of them. We’ll see just how strong my family, built by the steel business, will be this week.

Things to Ignore:

Any weather forecast. While attending a baseball game last night might have appeared to be a good idea based on the foresight of the weather forecast, we bore the brunt of thunderstorms from the second inning on. Given how awesome my hair looks when spattered with rain, I loved every single minute of the game. Nothing like “storms will be clearing until later in the weekend” to give you that false sense of security required for an outdoor event. An outdoor wedding weekend awaits us in two weeks (on the lovely, humid Ohio river no less), and I’m packing everything from my fanciest bathing suit to my most glamorous foul weather gear, just in case.

 

Things to Ignore:

Tract homes.

A billboard on the highway says, “Homes you can tell apart.” I sincerely like this ad tactic, but find it sad that it’s even necessary at all. When driving through a neighborhood featuring only five color schemes and three home designs, doesn’t it just scream, STREETS OF GOLD? Ah, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. How in the heck will tiny Johnny know his friendly yellow home from the exact same one down the street with the lovely meth lab in the kitchen?

One exhausting holiday weekend….

Regardless of what I do on any given weekend to entertain and enrich my lovely dog, she always has WAY MORE FUN with my Dad. “Papa” is bordering on psycho-obsessed with Banner (the pup) who he kidnaps (fine, babysits) at any opportunity. My father and Banner typically embark on weekends full of adventure at the lake, and both return so exhausted that they can’t wag their tails.

Recovering from my weekend and trip to the Indy 500 took a few hours on my Memorial day nursing a little hangover. Banner’s recovery from three days at the lake will last all week – and I’m not complaining.

Damn the XM

This winter I purchased a shiny new XM radio for my boyfriend’s birthday gift. The obvious beauty of “plug and play” assembly was completely lost on two lawyers, so we had to make a call to customer service before receiving any semblance of a signal.  Of course, the customer service rep sold the boy on buying a second radio for a mere $6.99 (easy sell) – and VOILA, I get my own radio from Steve as part of his birthday present. This girls, is what I call crafty gift-giving.

The ultimate power of satellite radio is its mass of channels, which I’m convinced must support a Jimmy-Buffett-only station out there somewhere which I have yet to find. NOTE: This is where I admit that I have NO grasp whatsoever on the current music scene, even though I’m not overly old and live next to a live music venue downtown. When “Panic at the Disco” was playing earlier this week, I wasn’t surprised that I had no clue who they were, but was a little shocked when one of my bar review speakers had tickets. I still maintain that I’m cool.

So today, in the car, I heard a catchy, summer pop-type song and turned the radio up. Given how gorgeous the day was and how good I look driving with the windows down, the song just seemed like a perfect May moment waiting to happen. Summer pop music is like chick-lit (which obviously is my favorite): girl meets boy, boy is smitten by her long, skinny legs, the end.

So imagine my surprise and subsequent self-loathing when my XM radio tells me that the song artist is MILEY CYRUS. This girl is Britney Spears waiting to happen and I’m all, bopping along to the beat. I got out of the car and hated myself a little bit – and then considered how I previously (secretly) loved Ashlee Simpson’s CD and then denied it all over town during college (duh).

My XM radio has now forced me into liking Miley Cyrus, but I’ve decided to blame it on how jealous I am of her long, skinny legs instead.

Rather gross, but wanted

I’m talking about those Ped Egg devices, the ones which are sold on high quality paid programming. It somehow, magically perhaps, removes all the uber-nasty, rough spots on your feet. Given that my feet look rather 80-years-old-without-a-pedicure at times, this sounds like the BEST INVESTMENT EVER. Except that you have to order it off the TV, which is a little low for a preppy girl like me. However, they are offering a bonus Ped Egg for the price of one (what the hell would you do with two personal foot shavers??)  Who doesn’t dream of sitting side by side with your best pal, rubbing away crusty foot crap with your pair of Ped Eggs?

Yes, this is slightly disgusting - but I’m still terribly intrigued.

UPDATE: Sarah, a careful consumer, has alerted me that the Ped Eggs are available at Bed, Bath and Beyond. Coupled with all those damn 20% off tickets they send by mail, there’s no stopping me now.