Middle aged Lady

When I looked around my weight sculpting class at the gym the other day I realized something: I have become a middle aged woman. I'm no longer the 24 year old party girl. I'm 35 and I have reached that middle aged woman status in my life.

I looked at the other women in the class: All women in their 30's and 40's, (keep in mind these are LA women), most of them are blond, toned and fit. I looked at the teacher; a beautiful black male dancer in his late 40's, flamboyant and fabulous. He was telling one of his slightly crude yet hilarious jokes and we all laughed. Suddenly I caught a glimpse of myself: finally fit again, blond (with dark roots), laughing at fabulous gay Marvin's jokes, and there it was- I am now a middle aged lady. Whats even weirder? I friggen love it!

I love that I am finally in shape and actually know what I should be eating and wearing instead of trying the latest trends. I love that at 35 I have pretty much figured out how to wear my hair, and that if I pee when I laugh I don't really care. What I really love is that I don't have to try and be cool anymore, I'm just me. I have arrived at middle age and guess what? Its rad. I can see the stereotype of the fabulous gay teacher at the gym teaching all the middle aged moms, but whatever. I love Marvin, I love his crude jokes, I love how when he teaches us how to tone our butts he says things like "just think of George Clooney ladies as you raise those glutes, are you ready for George to stare at your ass?".

That's the thing about being a middle aged lady, you don't care anymore about who's watching or how cute you look while doing whatever it is you have to do. I'm married, I have a son, I don't have to be the cute young thing in the room anymore, the pressure is gone and it feels great.

Lets be clear: my vanity isn't gone- lets not get crazy. I still need to look good, but see that's also a part of the middle aged lady club-we care about our appearance we just don't care what you think about our appearance, and that's where the liberation begins. I know exactly what angle I look best in photos, where to place my fat upper arms so they don't look like marshmallows. I know how to tilt my head so my chin doesn't disappear into my neck, and when I walk into a room I don't have to be the hottest thing in it, because I'm not 22 and everyone knows it, and its ok with me.

This new found freedom has had a great effect on my life. I am now able to do a great many things I wasn't able to do before: like talk to people I used to get nervous around. I'm also lucky enough to have my career, so its not like I need to impress anyone there either, I can just be free to be me. I'm not the young- just- out- of- college -woman trying to climb the latter anymore, I'm fine with where I am at.

What it all boils down to is this:

I really don't give a flying fuck. If you don't think I'm thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough or funny enough- it doesn't matter. I'm a middle aged lady, and the thing that us middle aged ladies know the best is: time flies, and most likely we'll forget what it was we were supposed to be upset about because who can even remember a half hour ago and who the hell cares anyway?

The Ex

Well, it was bound to happen someday, in a city of only 4 million people.... last Sunday I ran into my ex-boyfriend on the street while out shopping with Toddler and Husband.

You know the one, the Ex who I was with for 6 years before I met Husband, the one who I haven't seen in about 3 years since "the incident". The Ex who went through AA, and on his stepping stone process stepped on my head by telling me he had been sleeping with my best friend for the past 5 years. That lovable Ex who after our separation ended up working in the porn industry, only to become some big wig who started a whole new type of porn, ya know; girls with blue hair having sex....

As far as run ins go, broken down into a point system- 10 being the best, I feel pretty good about it:

My outfit was decent = 4 (even though it was a Sunday and I was caught off guard, so add an extra point there = 5)

My hair was a little crazy = 2

I didn't have a spec of make up on = 1

...8 out of 10 not so bad...

However, The Family really represented: Husband for some unknown reason had thrown on a nice sweater before leaving the house and Toddler was in my favorite outfit of his.

We stood on the corner the three of us, a picturesque image if you will; Husband and I both with lattes in hand, Husband (wearing the sweater) pushing Toddler in the stroller. We were waiting for the light to change when Ex Boyfriend appeared out of nowhere, as if he had been standing there the whole time I lived in this town and I hadn't noticed before. He looked at me and smiled "Hi". what's even stranger is how casual I was about the whole thing. I looked over at him as if just running into a neighbor while out on a Sunday stroll, instead of an ex boyfriend I hadn't spoken too since he announced step 8 of the program over the phone. He said he had appreciated the person he was with me the most, and that after our break up he had become a totally despicable human being consuming endless amounts of drugs and sleeping with inappropriate women. He may not have said that exactly, but you get the gist...

After the run in Husband commended me: "you were really amazing!". Was I? I knew my voice was calm, I knew that I hadn't throat punched The Ex, I knew that it didn't really seem like that big of a deal at the moment. It actually seemed kind of normal to be honest. We chatted, he told me he wasn't working in porn anymore, wasn't living in the house he had bought, was looking for a place to live, and was now working at a dub house. It appeared quitting drugs had done some changes on him.

I was struck by a few things while talking with him:

1. How nice he was, there was no weird bragging like he used to do. He was actually a nice thoughtful person with nice things to say.

2. How genuinely happy he was to see not only me, but Husband and Toddler as well, like he had just run into old friends on the street...and

3. how very much like an old gay Queen he had become...

Now I say this with wonder, respect and curiosity. It was hard for me to get over his interesting mannerisms: The hands whipping flamboyantly through the air, the odd speech pattern, the pitch of his voice. I tried to decipher: has he always been like this and I just never noticed before? or was this something new? Best Friend # 1 generously offered upon hearing my story that maybe I was taping into his softer, nicer side. Could this be a new softer version of this man humbled by excess, coming out in a Queenish lilting vibe? Was I reading him wrong or was this the man he had always been and I had never seen it before?

Its hard to say, but my mind was boggled. To not have ever noticed these apparent glaringly obvious personalty traits before was eating away at me. I questioned Husband:

"Did he seem different to you?"

To which Husband responded helpfully:

"I don't know babe, I've always thought he was a weird guy"

The bottom line was Queen or not; it was working for him, and I suddenly liked him so much better then I had in years. If this was the real version or softer side of this man, the true person inside after the drugs and endless years of editing close up shots of Vajayjays, then I rejoiced for him! This newer 2.0 version of The Ex, was the better version as far as I was concerned and I was happy to see the transformation.

Where is your Mother?

Last weekend I took Toddler to the park. He drove his little blue car while I pushed him along. Let me explain that I was also utterly exhausted and the only reason I took Toddler to the park to begin with was that I was hoping that the fresh air and the exercise might wake me up. Seeing that there is really is no other option then to be awake while Toddler is awake. It was one of those days where sweatpants and an incredibly large sweatshirt were the only clothes I could even consider putting on. Toddler and I had a nice time. He is still getting his legs used to walking, he often resembles and a drunken Frankenstein trying to traverse the land. He also seemed stumped as to why there were wood chips on the ground and kept picking the pieces of wood off his hands each time he fell down like: "how the hell did that get there?" He picked the wood chips off his palms flummoxed each time it would happen again.

We went on the swings and down the slide, we even went face to face on the spring loaded duck and elephant chairs-mine apparently having a lot more "spring" in it due to the weight limit then his, as I bounded forward almost touching my ducks bill to the wood chipped ground as I rode the thing like a bear on a tricycle. We'd made our second circle around the playground when I noticed two kids playing with Toddlers car, which we had parked near the swings.

It was an older girl and her little brother. The girl was about 7 and the brother was probably about 5. The girl was pushing the brother in Toddlers car. It seemed harmless enough, Toddler and I were still playing and planned on doing another round on the slides. Then I noticed that sister was really pushing little brother pretty fast in the car and that I wasn't sure how long they would be staying inside the park the rate they were going in the thing. I collected Toddler and walked quickly over to them.

"Hey!" I said casually, holding Toddler on my hip, "that's our car, but you can play with it as long as you stay around here". They paused and stared at me with wide eyes, then continued to play. "Good" I thought "that went well, what a great example I am " I thought congratulating myself -"cheerful, diplomatic, generous even". Toddler and I then went over to the swings, to be close to the car, yet with a safe 'trusting' distance. As I pushed Toddler on the swing I noticed that even with his mild temperament he seemed to be very distracted that the kids were playing with his car. I figured "its probably time to go anyway' we should wrap it up".

"hey guys" I called over cheerfully. "its time for us to go now!". The kids continued to play. I walked closer, maybe they didn't hear me "OK!" I said a little louder, "its time for us to go now! We need our car!" I smiled with a cheerfulness I wasn't quite feeling. They stopped their game and looked at me, both smiling as they stood on the other side of a concrete picnic table. The boys legs crunched up into the car, the girl with her hands on the handle. I stepped closer to them, Toddler on my hip. The girl smiled at me manically and pushed Little brother to the opposite side of the table. I tried going the other way toward them and she went the opposite way smiling at me the whole time. I tried again thinking this couldn't be happening, she wasn't deliberately going the opposite way? I tried again and her smile grew as she moved away from me like some Laurel and Hardy movie. We went back and forth around this table, each time I stepped one way she would step the other way, grinning like some demented clown. "It's time for us to go, we need our car back! " I said loudly, this time hearing the desperation in my voice. This kid had me by the balls and she knew it. I couldn't chase them, not only would it be ridiculous, but I was carrying Toddler who weighs a solid 30 pounds. Upon hearing me ask for the third time if I could get the car back, the brother and sister jerks laughed and kept playing. I wanted to scream, but I realized that wasn't gonna help my cause of looking like a moron. I stopped in my tracks realizing quickly that this was a game for them and by going around this table- they were winning. The girl stopped on the other side mirroring me, tilted her head and then smiled a wide grin. I paused for a long moment considering my options, I had to out smart them if I wanted to get Toddlers car back. Suddenly it hit me: "where's your Mother?" I said loudly in my deepest voice. "Is that her over there?" I pointed to a group of women in the distance. suddenly the boys face went serious, clearly the jig was up. He looked up at the sister waiting for her next move. "No" the girl said grinning, "she's over there" and pointed to a woman standing by a cart. "OK" I said knowingly. "Maybe I'll have to go talk to her". The boy looked up at his sister alarmed. I seized my moment as they paused in fear, to attack. I quickly walked over to them and grabbed the handle of the car with my free hand. The boy immediately got out of the car not wanting to push his luck any further. I held fast onto the handle trying to balance Toddler and negotiate him into the seat. Toddler looked at the kids with an innocent smile of excitement, like here was his chance to get to play with them. I had a good grip on the car when the girl jumped back into the seat pushing past Toddler saying loudly "My turn!". I blocked her, with a death grip on the car handle with one hand and Toddler now hanging like a sack under the other arm, I held fast filled with rage and determination. I stopped myself from throat punching this kid as I said in my deepest dog training voice "IT IS NOT YOUR TURN, IT IS TIME TO GOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!". I plopped smiling Toddler into the seat and took off in anger down the street.

Here's the thing-kids are rotten, most of em genuinely are. I have known this fact since I was a kid myself, but Toddler has instilled in me over the last year a love and kindness toward all children that I never had before. I now cry at those sappy commercials that have kids or puppies, because in each child I now see my sons sweet little face. Not these kids though- I have never wanted to clock a kid as much as I wanted to clock that girl as she smiled at me with each step she took away with my sons car.

Never again will I be the pushover at the park, who assumes all kids are as sweet as my kid. I now rightly know that they are all assholes.

Teen Mom

Something huge happened this weekend, and I mean big, really big- try not to be jealous....I got carded at the Trader Joe's on Sunday while buying our weekly groceries with Baby and Husband.

It wasn't one of those 'we card everyone, so show us your ID even if your ninety' kind of cardings. This was "I'm sorry mam, but I really have to card you, you look young" kind of cardings. I of course levitated about two feet off the floor, got a huge grin on my face and sweetly said "of course you can!!! I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND!!!" a little too enthusiastically. Completely uncaring about the fact that I didn't actually have ID on me, and was using Husbands bank card to pay since my purse was in the car. Or how it kind of turned into a little bit of a hassle, since Baby was bored in line and Husband had been just about to step out to try and entertain baby with the fountain in the flower section when this all went down. Husband had to step in hand Baby over to me and pay for our groceries (and two bottles of wine). I was suddenly transported back to another time. I'm 35, I've been able to buy alcohol for many many years now, so it felt so strange to be in this place again. I flashed on my older boyfriend when I was in my early 20s and how I couldn't even go to his rock bands shows at bars cause I was too young to get in.

I also wondered what this alternate 20 year old (me) life looked like from the outside. There I was holding Baby and buying groceries with Husband. I knew why I got carded. To be honest I was wearing jeans, a T shirt and a hooded sweatshirt that a teenager would wear. I recently had my roots done, so my hair is platinum, my bangs are very short and I was wearing no make up at all. In all aspects I wasn't dressed much differently then when I actually used to be 20, which is not necessarily appropriate at age 35. I also tend to look younger on the weekends when I'm being a Mom because I spend the entire time rolling around the floor with Husband and Baby and can't wear anything that won't withstand food, snot, hairballs or a good wrestling match. I wondered about this alternate Me's life and what this Checker saw: there I was age 20 with a 16 month old Baby and a Husband buying me wine-would I still be in college? Or would having Baby have stopped all that? Would I be working at some dead end job at the mall now part time? This alternate me was really fascinating. I spent the entire car ride home pondering this other universe.

Of course when we entered the car I quickly exclaimed to Husband:

"Hello not quite 21 yet!! Did you hear that!!!! " To which he replied

"uh yeah I was the one who had to pay- how irritating was that? That Checker is so annoying, does she not see us in there every week?..."

"No no no, not important, focus! She thought I was 20!!!!!!"

"oh yea, and then that women ahead of us in line could you believe her? what was she thinking? I couldn't believe how long it took her to pay, it was taking forever..."

Clearly Husband was not understanding the gravity of this moment. I spent the rest of our afternoon wondering about alternate 20 year old me, what my life was like, who I would hang with out, what we did for fun.... and then suddenly I realized: Yuck, I don't want to be 20. It sounded awful.

By the time we got home I was really happy to be 35... but what I was really happy about was being 35 and looking like I was 20.

what goes around...

At the age of 35 I have reached that point in my career where I have come full circle in my small industry to see my past haunt me...why age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill in two stories.....

story #1

A long time ago I worked at my first job making those general mistakes one makes when one is young and stupid. Like wearing really short skirts and inappropriate outfits to work, acting annoyed when asked to do menial tasks, and dating the boss's 19 year old son.

At 24 I was recently broken up after a long term relationship and single for the first time. I made the poor decision of dating the VP of the companies borderline manic depressive, drug addicted, immature son. Not only was I working with him at the time, but he also still lived at home with the VP. To be fair, in my mind I wasn't technically dating him; I never considered him my boyfriend, and always felt free to do as I pleased, I cannot say the same was true for him. I did none the the less date him on and off for about 3 years without really openly admitting this to anyone, as far as I was concerned I was single. The VP was known to be a few things: flamboyant, irrational, emotional with a fierce temper. I personally never had a problem with VP myself and can honestly say I was always done right by. The VP not only had the son working there but also a daughter who was my age, as well as an ex- spouse. These are things that happen in my industry: inappropriate nepotism is common place.

Needless to say, my relationship with the son did not end well. It became a long winded emotional albatross for many months afterward. Although I had what I consider a wonderful phrase with the VP's son, I realize now that he was in many ways a stepping stone to who I am presently, he was never going to be the person I wanted to be with.

Here's what happens in a small industry: years later I would be married with child when I would become VP's daughters boss. At first this feels strange (there are more stories here that I'll have to go into at another time) but then the feeling passes as I realize she wants as little to do with me as I with her. She also happens to oddly be an excellent employee. She begins to date and become serious with a supervisor. This supervisor one day asks me if I would hire the VP's daughters parent-and no this is not a riddle, he actually asked me if I would hire VP...

supervisor: would you be opposed to working with VP again?

me: um,...well, not exactly...

What I wised I could say to supervisor, which I did not say, because I was busy being diplomatic and appropriate, was this:

"Are you fucking kidding me?! First off this person was the VP of the company I used to work for when I was a mere peon, and you are now asking me to hire this person as a peon with me as their boss?! Secondly you have just informed me that clearly this person is desperate for work which alone seems vastly private considering the fact of my history with this persons daughter whom I continue to work with.... and thirdly, oh yes lets not forget the most important part of this: I may or may not have had sex in this persons bed while they were on vacation, and lets not forget that when I broke up with this persons son he then threatened to kill himself.... so the answer here would have to be "no, I don't think I would consider working with VP again at this time".

What I did say was: "I'm not quite certain this will work out at this time, I would have to approach my boss with this question as we are not currently hiring for this position".

story #2

One day a new employee came into my office to be introduced to me. I had heard his name floating around that he was looking for a job. I had worked with him before and knew him to be a good employee. I hadn't seen or thought about him in years. When he walked into my office his face turned red as I stood up to shake his hand. Suddenly, I remembered that the last time I saw him was at his house where I had done a line of coke for the first time with him and some friends.

I flashed back to his dark apartment where he lived alone. I was there with Best Friend number 1 and two dudes we were hanging out with. God only knows why we were there. It was the first and last time I would be at his apartment. We had snorted a line after drinking beer all night at his house after work. The guys teaching me what to do, how to to use a dollar bill as a straw, how to use some water so my nose wouldn't dry out. I was wearing a short jean skirt that one of the guys kept jokingly lifting up like we were in lower school and then laughing. We went to a party afterward at this weird house with a giant art installation in the front yard shaped like a uterus. I used the bathroom high as balls wondering if the space was where the person lived or worked. I remember sitting on the toilet flummoxed by the question and trying to lean out the tiny bathroom and read the books stacked on the floor to figure out if someone actually lived in this space or merely used it as their personal art office.

"Don't forget all the cats" Best Friend number one reminds me when I retell her this story. "what cats ?" I ask "You don't remember how at his house we kept talking about how he had all these stray cats in his yard that were pissing all over the place? It was like the main topic of conversation the whole night".

I realize standing there in my office that this is why his face is red, because he is remembering this same night. We smile, and he laughs nervously and we shake hands as if we have never met before and then both awkwardly say at the same time "oh we used to work together". He then walks around my office and says "Wow, your office is really big and your hair is blonde?'" and I think to myself...' jesus christ I've come a long way...'

Skinny Jeans

So I've lost 17 pounds. This sounds like a lot, and its great, but there is a lot more to loose. After Baby was born and I went back to work I lost my will. I went into survival mode and said "fuck this man! There is no way I can exercise and work and take care of Baby- are you kidding me?!" After a year of this attitude the clouds parted, work got easier, Baby got easier and it was time to get back in the saddle of the treadmill again.

A lot of my time off from the gym was spent thinking about the gym, and how it was all going to work its way out- so to speak. At first when I had gone back to work I tried getting up at 6am to work out, then get Baby up and so on. However, the first night Baby decided not to sleep through the night ruined all that. Baby is an amazing sleeper, I'm not going to lie- I have it good and I know this. There was just no way I was getting up any earlier then I had to, to work out. I'm not a morning person and just because I'm a mom doesn't change this fact. There are things that change after childbirth, and there are things that don't. The fact that I hate everyone and everything in the morning did not change.

So after my year of thought, I realized that joining the gym in my work building and working out at lunch would do the trick. Low and behold it worked! I actually made it work, and I actually enjoy going since its not at the end of the day when I am exhausted, I'm not taking any time away from my family, and its not in the dreaded morning time. The only thing I miss out on is my girl time at lunch, but Best Friend number 1 now lives down the street so we carpool and I have also made it a point to have girls nights at least once a week to see Best Friend number 2 and Best Friend number 3. Not to mention Good Friend Boss has also now joined the gym so I get to pal around with her and lament about the Gym to someone which is like a bonus!

But lets get real here- rainbows and butterflies aside: loosing weight sucks a bag of dicks. Before I was pregnant I had gotten down to a size 8. Now for me being 6 feet tall this is like a Christmas miracle, like turning water into wine. I have never been a fat girl, but I have never been a small girl either. I'm tall, big, a curvy woman- so a size 2 is never gonna be my life, like not ever. But a size 8?! This was like heaven for me and all because I had finally after all the years of going up and down on the scale figured it out. I figured out the food and the exercise and I managed to actually enjoy my life also, meaning: I wasn't throwing up, starving myself or being unreasonable. I was just a fit person who ate healthy. Then I got pregnant and yada yada you know the rest. Sooo I know after all these years what it takes to become that size 8 again. I know that you don't just magically get there with no work. You get there with a hellava lot of work and then once you are there, you relax because the metabolism is working again and the body is lookin' hot and having wine and cookies on the weekend doesn't even effect you because you 'got this'.

However, getting to this weight nirvana is like a slow unicycle ride up a graded hillside in the snow. Here's what it means for me:

5 to 6 day a week workouts lasting at least an hour long, which consist of cardio and weights. Cardio being either hour long spin classes, running on the tread mill or the boring, grueling eliptical machine. Doing weights every other day. Constantly pushing myself to the next level and not getting lazy about it by sticking to the same routine, it means mixing it up and looking for the next challenge. It means 1600 calories or less a day, 7 days a week- no cheating until the weight is off. It means eating six small boring meals a day- and where the exercise has to change regularly to keep weight coming off, the food is the exact opposite and needs to stay mind numbingly boring sameness day in and day out. It means preparing meals at home and being constantly prepared during the week. Having to compromise during the weekends. It means if Husband wants to go to In-n-out on the weekend that I have to get a protein style burger which consists of a single meat patty between two sheets of ice berg lettuce, no fries. It means always being on top of the grocery lists and knowing there is food in the house. Making sure that if there is a meal eaten out that its a salad and not the good kind with candied walnuts and blue cheese dressing, but the boring salads with a lot of dreaded greens. It means no cake at office parties, no enchiladas at work lunches, it quite frankly means : I hate you if you are eating anything remotely that looks like it might taste good.

Now I know all this, and this is why I put it off for a year. The stress of having a new baby and being a first time Mom meant to me that I got to eat. I didn't have the time or the money to shop, I couldn't go out with friends, I barely had time to take a good crap so I got to eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted and I stopped caring. I didn't have to figure out my next workout or my next meal. I could just relax when I had the time to sit still, and that was my way of giving myself a break after giving birth: a little back on the back-'you did it you had a child!' Unfortunately now, I am paying it back full time.

Oddly its not as hard as it seems. I am a slave to routine, and by slave I mean a joyful S&M slave and not someone chained against their will. I enjoy routine and the mediation it brings to my life, it helps me feel secure. I like knowing what is coming next. so I do well with it and once I work out the bugs it goes pretty smoothly for me. I've always been an all or nothing kind of girl anyway.

So Ive lost 17 pounds in two months and I still have another 27 to go before I reach that size 8 again, seeing as how I didn't loose any of that Baby weight like I was supposed to after giving birth. Instead I just lost the basket ball in my stomach and kept the rest. its a long road but I am determined to get there. I will be wearing my skinny jeans again by the end of this year!

Baby I like it

Marriage is hard. Being with someone for seven years is difficult. Raising a child with someone is exhausting, and for all these reasons you end up kind of hating your spouse most of the time.

Here's my theory on why: when you are young and going through adolescents and even young adulthood, you go through many fazes of hating yourself. Then one day you get older and you stop hating yourself because you think "Hey, I'm kinda cool, I like me, scratch that -I LOVE ME!" For me this happened at around age 27. What usually follows this discovery that you are indeed not only a worthy human being, but even perhaps quite lovable is that you suddenly meet someone who also thinks this about you. Which is exactly what happened to me with Husband. Within a month of saying out loud to myself "Wow I'm pretty great, I can be single forever, cause I know how awesome I am and won't settle for some lame ass guy that doesn't see that" that's when Husband appeared literally on my door step. But Let's face it, we all need someone to hate, that's why we have George Bush and the Ku Klux Klan: focal points that we can hate on-you've got to hate someone. Therefore after seven years instead of hating myself, since I am too old and smart for that now, all my hate has transferred onto Husband.

Like any transferred self hatred it comes and goes. I don't always hate Husband, in fact sometimes I think to myself "huh, I really like him-weird". There are days though, where I really hate him. I'm not too big a person to admit this, in fact I think its normal in any good marriage or union of two people after 7 years. Hate is kind of a safety net in marriage, it gives you a place to go when everything else in your life is running smoothly. Things wouldn't feel right in the world if I didn't most of the time hate Husband for something or other.

So that being said there are also days when I forget that Husband used to be 25 and that I used to be 27 and that we used to have the most fun anyone could ever have together. I forget this, especially during the week days when I am tired, and Husband is tired, and I would rather sit in the living room and watch The Vampire Diaries on the Big TV then listen to him tell me about his day, and then one day something changes....

In the New Year Husband and I implemented 'Date Night' every other weekend. We decided it didn't matter what we did-even if we just went to dinner- we would be guaranteed a babysitter for that night for at least a couple hours to go out and enjoy the awesomeness of being adults without a child in tow. This is new for us, usually Date Nights were few and far between and would get lost in the shuffle of life and never really happen that often, but not this year! This was scheduled, and on the calendar- come hell or high water there would be a date every other Saturday God Damn it!

Our first date night I figured we would just go to dinner, it would be mellow, our usual stand by for going out. However this time, Husband surprised me by planning a night at a piano bar with his work friends. At first I was hesitant "eh it'll be lame" then I became non committal "whatever, at least I'm going out". As the night got closer and closer I felt more and more like I didn't really feel like going. I just wanted to maybe go to a nice dinner, but to bar with people I didn't know? Yuck! It sounded exhausting.

The night arrived and Husband had a whole plan laid out: we would drive to his friends house (a couple I actually know and quite enjoy) then we would take a cab together to first have dinner and then meet the rest of the group at the bar. Alright, Husband gets points for the fact that its all planned and I get to just go along, maybe this could be alright after all. Nanny showed up at the appointed time Husband had requested, and then, we were off!

Husband was in a great mood, cheerful, pleasant- the work week safely behind him. I thought: Huh, this is kinda fun"...still hesitant, I wasn't going to count my chickens before they hatched and get excited. Then Husband pumped up the radio to this cheesy music station that plays all top 40- which is very unlike him and began singing along to all the songs. "I love this station!" he called over the music smiling at me. "You do?" I asked confused, this was shocking to me. Husband normally only likes indie rock and kind of stick closer to his favorite bands. I on the other hand not only love our indie music that we share in common, but have an almost obsessive love for crappy pop music too. So I was shocked to find out that Husband would even know to listen to this radio station. "yeah its great!" Husband exclaimed. Then without warning 'Baby I like it' by Enrique Iglesias came on. Even with my intense crappy pop obsession I am waaaaay too cool to like Enrique Iglesias, however this last summer he had come on to my morning show that I watch every day and I found myself dancing along to this stupid song. I had it stuck in my head for the rest of the day and found when I heard it again that I really liked it despite myself. Embarrassed about this discovery I kept my love to myself not even buying the song to work out to. To my great surprise, Husband turned the volume up and started singing along in a loud falsetto. I laughed shocked Husband seemed to know all the words and said sheepishly "I kind of like this song". "Are you kidding?" Husband exclaimed "This song is awesome!" and continues to sing all the words loudly as we pull into our friends driveway. He turns it up again and we both sing in high pitched whines "Baaaaaaby I liiiiike it!"

Its hard to explain the feeling when you rediscover that the person you are with at the moment is a kindred spirit, especially someone you spend most of time slogging through the difficult patches of life with. There is a certain point when you go through enough of the daily grind with someone that you wonder: is there any fun left to be had here? and then.... 'Baby I like it' comes on and you begin a whole new romance with the person you have spent the last year of your life changing diapers and chasing down a screaming toddler with.

Suffice it to say, we spent the rest of the evening drunk, happy and dancing with friends to all the music that we love, and love to hate. At the end of the night we went home, sent Nanny on her way and crept into our office where we shut the door and pumped up "Baby I like it" on the computer, where we danced wildly around the room one last time before crashing into bed.

Death by Mothball

Hello New Year! I'm back! I'm here. It was almost like I died I have been blog-less for so long, except not like that at all, but you know what I mean. I started the new year with work , exercise and diet. As you may know this deadly combination will suck all the joy from your life and what you are left with is sleep, work and household chores because you are too tired to even care about anything else. However, I am starting to get used to my 5 day a week work outs during my lunch hour and I am now resurfacing mentally once more.

so we didn't go to Oregon. That's it. That's all I will say about that as of now, because at this point in time the reasons are not funny enough yet to go into detail about, but with some time and space there may be some funny yet to discuss at a later date.

So, back to the important stuff. Two days ago there was a Great Smell in our hallway. When I say 'Great' I don't mean awesome, I mean large. The Great smell was difficult to diagnose. If you know me at all, you know that I have a major smell situation happening in my life. I can smell everything in intense waves and can easily tell you what the source of the smell is immediately, I am 98% accurate most times. This smell was hard for me to decipher, it smelled chemical, oily, deathly and yet, familiar- hard to put my finger on. I also cannot tolerate a bad smell, it needs to be figured out and dealt with immediately. Therefore when The Great Smell happened I was obviously irked.

Husband could also not identify The Great Smell, and being Husband with smells didn't seem to care one way or the other, which I find mind boggling! Smells OFFEND me. How could he be so blaze?! I made sure that the smell was not penetrating Babies room, or our bedroom as we slept, because this is the type of thing that will keep me up at night, literally worrying about what it could be. Will it kill us? Will it make us retarded? will the house explode? vaguely in the back of mind I recall telling signs of toxicity levels that will indicate onset sudden death, things like: blue fingernails! coughing blood! feeling dizzy or faint! I creep into babies room and made sure that he was still breathing. For the first time I was grateful that our bedroom is so drafty and thanked our crappy louver windows for letting in so much fresh outside air! Husband was clearly un-alarmed by The Great Smell lurking in the hallway and went to bed as usual.

Meanwhile I lay in bed that night wondering what it could be. I got up and creep around the house which I am prone to do at night if I hear a weird noise, and realized The Great Smell was coming from our creepy basement door-the smell seems to be hallway and basement door centric to which I deduce that obviously something has died in the basement, or the dead body I have always imagined down there has been uprooted by the recent rains and we will soon realize that we are living in a real life poltergeist house. I retreat back to the bedroom trying to formulate a plan. Husband snores idly in bed next to me and all I can think is how can he just lay there when we have a smell crisis on our hands!

Lets be clear: the source of many smells in our house come from the basement, or as I fondly refer to it "a place where child molesters might go to die". Our creepy basement smells like death on a good day. It consists of old wooden steps that go down into a dark dirt hole where we keep things we don't want but can't throw away. I am so fearful of this place, that when I have to go down there I leave the door wide open and turn all the lights on. I do a safe jog quickly up and down the steps for fear I will accidentally be trapped in this tomb if I linger too long. we actually keep the door locked with a special key that's how serious the basement is. Nanny won't even go in there at all. We had thoughtfully suggested that we keep the mop at the top of the stairs as a convenient place to be able to retrieve it. Nanny silently refused this placement by shaking her head and frowning and then in broken English explained "I no like, I put mop outside" where the mop now lives next to the house ever since.

Day 2 of The Great Smell started to make me mad. If Nanny wasn't such a Nazi about cleanliness and so sensitive herself to smell, I might not have even gone to work due to the fear of Baby being subjected to The Great Smell all day. Luckily for me the first thing Nanny did upon entering the house was squinch up her nose and announce that she would be opening all the windows immediately. I knew Baby would be safe on The Sarges watch. By the time I had gotten home from work that night the house reeked and I had had it! It was time to take back my house from the looming enemy of The Great Smell. With Baby on my hip I marched over to Husband and declared that I would be calling Landlord! "oh Jesus" Husband said rolling his eyes, "well I'm not dealing with him". He then took his dinner plate and went into the bedroom and closed the door. I yelled through the door self importantly after him: "I will be dealing with this!" Baby and I were on a mission. "for Gods sake" Husband adds through the door "Don't tell him you think something died down there, then he'll never come over". Good point. it happens to be a fact that our basement is a place where animals go to die. It may even be used in our neighborhood as a formal animal morgue for all we know. Husbands right, its not breaking news if something "died" down there, Landlord will just say in his casual Texas drawl"yeh, I guess you'll just have to wait it out".

I knew Baby and I needed to be smart about this, we couldn't just say 'anything' to get this problem solved, we had to be clever. While Baby negotiated how my chandelier earring worked by tugging harder every minute on my ear, I texted Landlord. I wrote that there was a "strange smell" in the house, that I was "concerned" about. He swiftly texted back asking "does it smell like gas?". It was obviously not gas, I'm not an idiot, but I also knew that my lackadaisical charming Landlord would call it an evening if I didn't put some merrit behind the issue, so I wrote: "I don't thiiiink so, but maybe??" . I hate to admit it, but I will use the dumb blonde approach when I need to, to get what I want from time to time. It worked because immediately Landlord responded "be right over!"

Baby and I stood watch and awaited Landlords arrival. When Landlord showed up two minutes later to survey the situation, it was clear that he could smell The Great Smell however, similar to Husband he seemed un-alarmed by this clearly hazardous situation. His first question was "where's Husband?". Translation: "you have a Husband why don't you make him go down to the basement and figure out what is causing the death scent?" again I played dumb, as if the question was merely factual and not intended to question the validity of my predicament: "he's getting ready for bed" I lied. With this Landlord made the executive decision that he would need to go into the basement to investigate further. I helped promote this idea by throwing out "maybe its something coming from the heater??" knowing this would concern a Landlord. He took the bait and asked for the basement key. I quickly busied myself with walking to and fro with baby acting as if there was important work to be done, and therefore I would not be able to perch at the top of the basement steps or worse have to go down into basement with Landlord.

After about 7 minutes, which seemed like a million years Landlord emerged "well.." He stated factually "its what I thought..." A dead body! I almost exclaimed, "there's a box of Moth balls that someone has torn open next to the water heater and the smell is coming up through the stairs". Huh? Then with his usual 'come what may' disinterest he shrugged, as if to say "someone should really clean that up". As if we had gone down there and opened the fresh box for kicks and it all just got out of hand. Then he helpfully added "you should probably crack a window in here". and that was that. problem solved. Its only a-toxic-bug -killing-banned from use- hazardous to your health- emitting unexplained from your basement poisonous gas that you have lived with for two days-nothing to worry about!

In all honesty, knowing for me is 90 percent of any solution, so I was actually mildly calmed by this information. However, doing research today at work one of the first things it says is "do not have fumes around infants- could be fatal!". While I flaffed about afterward, putting baby to bed consumed with thoughts that clearly we would have to put Baby in a special needs class when he reached school age now since all his brain cells were obviously destroyed by the killer moth balls Husband was going up and down the basement stairs cleaning and getting rid of the death balls without even being asked.

The bigger question is: how did they get down there? and who mysteriously opened this box obviously trying to kill us? it will unfortunately remain a mystery for now...