The butthole of America

Maybe we were playing Justin Bieber too loud, but we didn't hear it at first. Then we came to a stop in Cleveland rush hour traffic, and rolled the windows down to get some air.

"Do you hear that?"
"Yeah. Is it the car behind us?"
"Uhh... (leans out window)..."
"No. That's us."
"What the hell is it?"

It was metal on metal, a scraping like ten thousand nails on an angry chalkboard. We were 9 hours into the drive, 3 hours from our destination. In the middle of fucking Ohio.

We decided to roll the windows up and pretend like it wasn't happening. It worked for a few minutes, until I noticed the car behind me flashing its brights. She pulled up alongside us on the highway and motioned for us to roll the window down.

"THERE'S SOMETHING DRAGGINGGGG!" She yelled.

I waved our gratitude and decided we couldn't ignore it any longer. We pulled off a random exit into the least shady looking gas station we could find. I put on my big girl panties and scooted under the car like I'd seen K do a hundred times.

Sure as shit, a big metal piece hung down from the belly of my trusty Focus, touching the asphalt.

We Googled a Munro Muffler in the area, and tried to contain the swear words as we drove as slowly as possible. Another lady at a stop light rolled her window down to yell a warning. At this point, it was salt in the wound.

I prepared my gameface as we walked into the lobby of the tire shop. I wasn't about to get taken advantage of in a foreign town, in the middle of godforsaken OHIO. My sister and I had dubbed it the butthole of America for a reason.

Tim was a gentleman, nothing less. He whipped my Focus up onto the lift and we cheered as he tore the metal sheeting from the bottom of my car with reckless macho abandon.

I offered him $20 to thank him, but he wouldn't take it. I was going to hug him, but my sister said don't make it weird.

And so, 45 minutes later, we were back on the road, sans a heat shield. Thank you, Tim--you saved the day. And Ohio, I hate you just a little less now.

Shuffling Boxes

Quitting your job is like a bad breakup. The time between giving your notice and completing your moral obligation of the final weeks is like being separated but still living under the same roof.

You can feel the tension, your mind is elsewhere (on the new job, most likely), and even through the emails you can sense the disconnect between you and the company you're leaving behind.

Thank god I work from home, or this would be like running into each other in the kitchen after filing for divorce.

"Oh... heyyy."
"Hey."
"How are things?"
"Good."
"Great. Well I just wanted to make a tuna sandwich, but I'll leave you alone in here to slice the tension with the knife set you demanded in the settlement."

I can do this. I can do this. Just a few more weeks of sleeping on the futon and silently shuffling boxes out to my car.

I quit my job!

Well kiddies, if you couldn't see through my transparent metaphor of a post, I have officially quit my job! (and gotten a new one.)

I don't normally talk about my job on here for obvious reasons stemming from self-preservation, but this is an exciting transition.

I currently work from home full time, as most of you know, and as awesome as that seems, I tend to go a bit stir crazy most days. Plus, K travels for work quite a bit, which leaves me alone to talk to my cats. And my plants. And yell at Maury for dragging out the DNA results.

So I will be a grown up now, with a grown up job in a real office, working for an AWESOME company. I am super excited!

Also, lots of other exciting things happened this weekend while we were in the mitten: my sister picked a wedding venue/date, I saw a lady get hit by a car, and had some car troubles on the 12-hour drive. This is the stuff good blog posts are made of, people. Stay tuned!

Don't Hate the Player

I have a secret, people. I need to share it with you.

I've got two boyfriends. Two. My life has been a juggling act lately.

One boyfriend lets me stay home in my pajamas, gives me lots of personal space, and doesn't make me wear shoes. He says "hey honey! I've got a great idea. Let's sit down and watch Maury for an hour, and try to guess who is the daddy." He's good like that. But he leaves me alone a lot, and I find that I'm an unhappy girl. Which is why I've sought out boyfriend #2.

Boyfriend #2 is a sophisticated man. He brings me flowers, likes me to dress up in pretty outfits, and holds the promise of free massages over my easily swayed head. He wears a suit, he takes me on nice dates, and he always pays for everything. He makes me feel loved.

When I'm with Boyfriend #1, I feel lonely. It wasn't always like that, we were happy for the first few years. Now, the personal space is great (I'm a very independent woman), but I find I'm dating myself most times. I'm not wowed by Boyfriend #1 anymore, even though we've been together for almost 5 years.

When I'm with Boyfriend #2, I feel excited, passionate, full of life. I feel useful, and happy, and vibrant. But Boyfriend #2 wants me to break up with #1. You see, he's not the polygamist type. And frankly, I'm not handling it well myself either. I hate sneaking around, I feel like I'm lying all the time, and I'm full of anxiety at what road to take.

Boyfriend #2 says he wants to marry me, but only if I leave #1.

So I've been waiting for about three weeks now for that proposal... nervous, anxious, anticipating. I'm terrified of change, but I've just been SO unhappy.

Who will I end up with?!

Sleep-a-sutra

I managed just fine in my twin-sized dorm room bed. It was cozy, in fact, and comfortably housed more than one of us on the rare occassion that a girlfriend was too drunk to walk home alone. (We slept head to foot, don't get crazy now.)

When I got my own apartment, I graduated to a full-sized futon, then my very own queen-sized bed. A real luxury, coming from humble army-cot beginnings.

When I met K, he had the holy grail of beds. A KING. With high count thread sheets and EVERYTHING. (He's a diva for bedding, which is obviously the only reason I stay with him.)

When K works away from home, I have the whole bed to myself. I enjoy the freedom to starfish myself in the middle (if I don't have 3 cats taking up prime real estate on the bed.)

Obviously, while away in his hotel bed, he has adopted the starfish as well. Because lately, THIS has been happening:

Yes. K sleeps like a percent sign, DIAGONALLY across the bed. With his head on MY pillow. Leaving me to curl up in a tiny corner of the bed, laying straight as a pin, because I can't even turn over without falling off of the bed.

What's even better? He is one of those people who sleeps like a rock. You cannot. Wake him. EVER. I've tried everything: gentle nudges, poking him, smothering him with a Carebear... NOTHING WORKS.

One night, I got up to go to the bathroom, gave up and came back to bed on the other side of him, because there was more room.

I love to cuddle, but at this rate--I think I had more room in that army cot of a dorm room bed.

Creepy Baby Overshare

Most of my new mommy friends are extremely tactful in their sharing of new baby photos, and I love seeing their cute faces to discover whether he/she looks more like mommy or daddy.

Hil tweeted this frightening photo of her baby.

But we all have those friends who share 10,000 photos of their babies a day... eating, spitting, sleeping... which is about 9,999 too many.

Thank God for the "hide" feature.

Like Hilary Duff, for example.

Hil, I love you. And your new baby is cute. But THIS picture is just plain creepy. ------->

I'm sure that once I have a child of my own, I will want to share photos of him/her with the whole world. God knows I tweet seventy bajillion photos of my cats. But I think Facebook may benefit from establishing a Quality Control department to filter out especially creepy photos. For the child's own good, of course. Because something tells me that when he grows up, he's not going to be thrilled when Mom breaks this treasure out to share with his very first girlfriend.

If I were a lesbian

If I were a lesbian, there are a series of women that I would leave my husband for.

(I don't know why I'm hypothetically married in this make-believe sapphic encounter, but go with me.)

But they'd have to be stupid hot. I'd be one of the pickiest lesbians ever. Maybe because I AM a girl, and I know what I like. Anyways, here's my list.

Kelly Clarkson has an awesome voice, and I also love that she's not a skinny-minnie, much like myself. Not to mention her first album was the anthem to my recovery from first true heartbreak. I'd totally switch teams for her.

Zooey Deschanel is hot, funny, and wears cute clothes. So we could totally have one closet and both wear the same outfits. (Double bonus!)

Kat Von D - She might be a bit moody (understandable after dating Jesse James), but she's hot too, and being with her would definitely up my street cred. I might have to dye my hair blue or something to keep up with her tatted up style though.

Gabrielle Union - She looked really good in a suit in Ne-Yo's video for Miss Independent. Plus she's sassy. And hot. And she made out with LLCoolJ in Deliver Us From Eva, so it would be like I'm making out with LLCoolJ by the law of deductive argument. Right?

Let's see, who else...

OH. Game changer. Khloe Kardashian! I think she's totally hot, she's got some junk in the trunk (like me) and she'd bring me out of my hetero shell. (I'd be new at this whole lesbian thing, and in need of guidance, okay?!)

So, people, let's hear your lists. Come onnn, I know I can't be the only one!

Choose Your Own Adventure

There is nothing like the fear of change. It's an illusion, really, because everything is changing all the time. We just don't notice, or take the subtleties in stride.

But a big change, one that could change the course of your life, those are scary.

Like the moment I packed up my earthly belongings and moved away from my parents for the first time to go to college.
Or the moment I decided to go backpacking in Europe with a group of strangers.
Or the moment I found out I got the internship at Cosmo, and moved to New York.

The changes you CHOOSE to make are possibly the scariest. Because you hold the power in your hands, you're looking down two roads, unsure of which path to take. You imagine what the outcome will be for each option, but it's blurry in your mind and you have to squint through the fog to see if indeed, the change will improve your life.

And the truth is there are no wrong answers. Just different life paths. Like a choose your own adventure of the very scariest kind.

There's nothing like the feeling of being ALIVE during these transitory times. So contrary to the quiet stalemate of indecision, it feeds your soul, keeps you awake at night, fills you with excitement.

I'm nervous, anxious, excited, hopeful, wishing, grinning, and so incredibly thankful. All wrapped up in moments of throat lumps and heart thumps.

It's vague for a reason, but I won't hold it for long. (Promise.)

How will it all turn out?

I peed in my suitcase.

"Guess what I did last night?"
"What?"
"Peed in my suitcase."

After work Wednesday, me, K, Seestar and brother in law, Johnny Bananas, hopped into my sister's car to begin the grueling 12 hour drive to the mitten state, for JB and Seestar's engagement party--and also to scope out wedding venues for the happy couple.

I managed to make it there and back without taking a driving shift, mainly because I am lazy, and also because I was very busy knitting a scarf in the backseat. (Don't judge me.)

Ring Pops, fo sho!

The party was an epic success, and we all got stupid drunk and ate ring pops until the wee morning hours.

...so successful, in fact, that my brother in law apparently awoke in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and mistook his suitcase for a toilet.

Naturally, my sister lept out of bed to do major damage control when she heard the sound of peeing, repeating "NONONONONONONO stop stop STOP," to which Johnny Bananas replied:

"I'm GOING."

Did I mention we were staying at his mom's house, and we woke her and his stepdad in the ruckus of our return from the bar?

Thank god my second mother in law is the coolest on the planet and we all woke up the next morning to laugh about JB's pee-filled suitcase.

Three loads of laundry later, we were back on the road to NY. I can't WAIT for Johnny Bananas' bachelor party. They better all wear Depends.