The pile of boxes in the corner

People, it’s time to face the inevitable: I have got to start thinking about moving, because (supposedly) we close on the house 3 weeks from today. I’ve started to make a pile of packing materials in a corner of the apartment, none of which have anything packed in them because I just cannot make myself do it quite yet.

The reasons are twofold: I still don’t think I have quite come to terms with the fact that we actually bought a house that we are actually going to move into and I will be leaveing the neighborhood where I’ve spent the last 6 years. Am I excited about this? Completely, utterly, totally. Have I quite grasped it? No. And I have a feeling that for the first four weeks or so I will feel like I am playing house- at someone else’s house.

The other reason? I am in a bit of denial over the physical task of moving, yet again. In the 5-plus years Casey and I have been together, there have been 11 moves between the two of us. I inwardly cringe to think how much stuff we actually have to move now with our accumulated junk (although the good news of moving 20 miles away is you really don’t have to do that much packing, you just throw clothes in the back seat of the Bug).

But the solace in this move is for the first time in my adult life, I am moving into a place with no expiration date. In college (and after), you know you are living there for a year and then up and leaving. It’s quite liberating to realize I have no clue when we are moving again, but odds are I have more than a year (oh please, oh please) to call this place home.

Frozen assets

Hey gals!
Remember that conversation we had like a year ago about how they don't heat the bathroom at work, which was causing major health concerns? And how, I would wait so long to avoid sitting on the freezing toilet that I'd practically be doing a grown-up version of the kiddie "potty dance" at my desk?

Well, guess what? Now that it's decided not to get above freezing any day this week and was 22 degrees when I got to work this morning, guess how cold that glacial-like porcelain seat in the unheated bathroom is? AS COLD AS WHEN HELL FREEZES OVER. Glad we had this chat. Again.

a few steps closer...

Okay, pending yet a few more things, we've bought the house! It's so incredibly exciting and scary and whole heap of other things, but more than anything, it's a huge new step. More to come...

How I know what polybutylene means

Thank goodness my husband loves me so much, because I have been a drama queen this week. No, not in a girly way complaining about how he is ditching me for two weeks for Kenya (which he is, but since he has to do emergency comms training in the middle of Africa, I’m not going to bewail too much), but about PIPES. Yeh, polybutylene piping, which is all over our prospective new house and I have worked myself into a tizzy over it.

Apparently, polybutylene was the “pipe of the future… future…. future” when they installed it in the house, but in the last 20 years they have discovered that it has a delightful habit of spontaneously combusting. And the plumbing in the house runs through the attic, which given said spontaneous behavior could mean a big mess in a big hurry. So naturally I want it replaced before it spontaneously combusts over my brand new dining hutch, and so far its not looking favorable. I’m usually pretty level-headed, but this has honest to the plumbing gods gotten me so stressed out that I am just plain pathetic, and I need it to be over- fixed or not- so that I can stop having heart palpitations every 10 minutes. Bottom line is today (while at work no less) we have to decide whether or not to spend the cash to fix or walk away from the whole thing. New arch enemy in life: polybutylene. Good news is John & Kate are now off the hook.

Headed for the burbs?

God is a comedian. A week ago, I was ready to throw in the proverbial real estate towel and hibernate for the winter in my cozy apartment. There were no houses out there. I checked Redfin incessantly and annoyingly often. Before our tour last weekend, I turned to Casey and said, “This could be a real stinker. I’m scratching the bottom of the barrel with these listings.”

A week later, pending paperwork and inspection, we’ve almost bought a house. And one I didn’t even see in all my real estate stalking and one that was just so inexplicably cute and homey that, even though it’s not the type of house I thought I wanted, it’s not in the area we started looking, I turned to Casey and said, “Done.” See? God definitely likes to throw curve balls.

That’s not to say I don’t have some trepidation about moving out of the area I’ve lived in (and loved) for the past 6 years, it will be weird. (Expect a few last minute posts on that as I bewail the loss of Caffe Ladro 2 minutes away and downtown a whopping 10. But we have a YARD people, and 2 FULL baths that I might actually feel are clean enough to soak in, so…) Getting to work will be tougher and when something breaks I can’t call the landlord and my gosh, we will have practically no fun money for a while. But more than that, I’m excited to start this phase of our lives, to have space to make our own and to continue to try and figure out what God has in store for us (Who I’m not convinced is finished with his punch line yet.) For now, just perhaps it’s a cute green house in Kent.

The Hunt

How do you know what house is the right house? Some people have told me they have walked into one and have just known, other say that no matter where you end up, you make it home. I'm beginning to be a big believer in the latter. I'm not sure there are many situations life where you just know, maybe you have a good feeling, you feel led by God, whatever, but I don't think I have ever been 100 percent sure about anything, not even my lunch burrito (pork or chicken?). At some point, you make a choice and you live with it, some times it turns out to be a terrific choice, a fine one, or a horrible one, but that is just part of living.

All this to say- I'm very torn with house hunting. There are two houses that have some wonderful features, a few things that bug us and are in completely different parts of town- Rainier Beach and then in Kent. Those of you who know Seattle, know the word Rainier is usually not a good connotation and while the house is in a really cute area, the areas that surround it are not the best. And the other is near a lake (big plus) and walking trails but is farther south and this Seattle-ite is having a slight panic attack at living outside my beloved city (in the suburbs! Will people still come see us?)

So I go back and through between the two, each new piece of info (New roof! Bad schools! Park! Drug deals in park?) swaying me a different direction. The thought still lingers that there may be something else out there, but that will always be true and I do think that wherever we are it will be home, it would just be so nice to love my home.

Murky Waters

I need a guidebook. I do apologize for being so lax in my blogging (Honestly, it’s a blog called The Newlywed Game and I can’t even blog about my 1st anniversary??? One sentence version: this has been the most incredible year of my life. Done) but the real estate search has taken over all my spare time, some work time and sleeping time. I now stalk Redfin for a living.

It’s not as though we are in a big hurry to move or close on a house, I just have this need not to miss THE house because I didn’t look hard enough. Case in point: I recently hunted out a house on a Thursday when it came on the market, by the time we saw it on Saturday, it was gone. And it was the first place that felt like it could have been home and it was slightly heartbreaking. I’m learning that even after all the work to find THE house (yes it does have to be in caps, thank you very much), the journey is just beginning: offers, money, inspectors and it’s all very overwhelming and surreal. And guess what? Talking about money is fun. Oh wait, no it’s not. It’s really, really not.

And thinking about spending THAT much money, you had better hope you like the darn house. And then we’re back where we started, trying to find THE house. Back to my stalker tendencies, I do promise to be more cheery next time (when we GET THE house!)

Real estate lurker

Can't blog, too busy stalking Redfin.

This brain is full. Please try again later.

Wow, sorry to have been such an MIA blogger, but things have been busy because: we have re-entered the real estate world.

And home loans and finding a realtor and cruising listings (All.The.Time.) in addition to working is exhausting and most of the time it feels like my head is going to explode from all the information, consideration and advice I keep jamming into my brain.

But I'm excited about the possibility of having our own place (please come visit me even though we are looking in the south end! It's cool there, really) but also slightly petrified because I'm starting to realize that sometime in the last couple of years, I became a grown-up and I did not see that coming. Part of me wants to embrace it (remember as a kid when all you wanted was to grow-up? I got my wish) or do something rebellious like tattooing a tramp stamp on my lower back in order to try and recapture my youth. (Kidding of course. Except for maybe a "My man is better than your man" tatty. That would be classy.)

In all seriousness, prayer is much appreciated and kind thoughts as well as make a pretty big leap forward.

Post-Vacation Haze

Coupled with pre-vacay ADD, I now have post-vacation fog brain in which my mind refuses to wrap itself back around work. Ninety-percent of the time, I’m pretty happy working full-time, it gives me some purpose, I like the people I work with and seriously what would I do with myself all day? (Although you might get a few more blogs out of me, that’s for sure). But all it takes is a vacation for me to decide that lying around on the couch all day sitting on my soon-to-be ginormous backside eating bon bons wouldn’t be the worst way to go in life. There are several distinct phases to get to such an outrageous statement:

Stage 1, morning after return: “Why is it so early? I’m going to go back to sleep and then by the time I get up Mom will have cinnamon rolls done and I crawl out and eat them in my sweatpants with Julie & Julia…. Mmmm. CRIKEY! I have to go back to work today and there are NO MORE CINNAMON ROLLS AND NONE OF MY WORK PANTS WILL FIT RIGHT NOW. Sigh.”

Stage 2, mid-morning after return: “He wants me to file all the what? What is he talking about? Did I miss something while I was gone? I don’t want to, can I say no? Oh right, no I can’t because this is my JOB. DRAT.”

Stage 3, noon after return: “All I have for lunch is a pimento loaf and mayonnaise sandwich I found in the back of the fridge. I miss buffets.”

Stage 4, mid-afternoon after return: “I miss mid-afternoon naps too.”

Stage 5, way too late to be at work still, day after return: “HOW MANY HOURS A DAY AM I SUPPOSED TO WORK? 10? Have I always done this? Why don’t I remember how long a day this is? Why am I still here? Maybe all that sun addled my brain a bit.”

Stage 6, evening day after return: “Have finally reached the comfortable recesses of the big green couch with Flight of the Conchords on DVD and my bon bons; am not going back.”

Pre-Vacation ADD

Tell me if this ever happens to you too: it's 3 days until I leave for a glorious sunny vacation on the houseboat in Idaho and my attention span for work is pretty much gone. Here is how my train of thought goes:

"Let's see here, I have until the 11th to finish that writing piece, so I should probably get working on it. OH WAIT, I'll need to turn that in before I leave on vacation because I won't be here on the 11th because I'LL BE ON VACATION, SQUUUEAALLL! Oh man, I should probably find a bathing suit that fits, and see what the weather is supposed to be like. Do you think they'll let me wear my cowboy boots with the steel-toed shoes on the plane or are those considered a weapon? I mean, I guess I could hurt someone with them but I certainly wouldn't. Maybe I should just pack them instead, but are they going to fit in my carry on bag? Maybe I can borrow a bag from someone. Does Casey have a bag that doesn't look all boy-like? He could really use a new bag, I think that other one is broken, plus maybe a new pair of pants. Shoot, I need to iron those dress pants before I go too. Not that packing pants in August really sounds necessary but as a chronic over-packer I don't understand that kind of logic. Why bring 2 when you can bring 6 pairs and have options? It's like having a moving closet. Oohh, wait wouldn't that be cool, a moving closet? I could just pull it over to the bathroom in the morning and pick out my outfit, and then drag it back into the bedroom later in the day! It'd probably be really heavy though with all my stuff in it, maybe if I vaccuum packed my clothes, it would work...."

And which point the phone rings at work, causing me to jump in my chair and realize I have no idea where I am for a minute or how much time has past that I've just been sitting at my desk at lollygagging. I mean, what have I been doing?

"Oh yeh, that's right, I'm going on vacation. SQUUEAAL! I should start packing, I wonder........"

Heat Wave

Fair warning: if you are one of those people whose response to our Northwest heat wave has been: “It’s always this hot in Texas, in fact it’s even hotter, so stop complaining,” you should stop reading right now, cause you ain’t going to like what’s coming. Because. It’s. So. Freakin’. Hot. People. And I am going to complain until I collapse on the floor of my apartment with heat stroke because I don’t live in Texas, in fact I chose not to live there for this very reason, I don’t want to deal with 100-degree plus weather, umm ever. I live in Seattle because I like the rain, my jeans and sweaters and my morning lattes, not sweating while sitting in the apartment, getting burned by my car interior and instantly sticking to the leather chair every time I happen brush by it. In fact, the only thing running through my brain right now is that this post has to end prematurely although the material here is endless because of the laptop/heater on my lap that I am ready to chuck out the window at this moment to get away from it.

iWork

It amuses how everyone has taken to putting “i” in front of product names, therefore obviously making it cooler. Every time I go into a Brookstone or a Sharper Image, there is a plethora of iPillows and iStereos, which I think are supposed to make me go like this, “Oh, an iPillow, this must be so much cooler than a regular pillow because it’s got an “I” in front of it, just like my iPod and iPhone are so cool. I have to have it!” When in fact I am paying $40 extra bucks for a regular pillow.

The reason I bring it up is because every stinking day I have work with the phone system at the office that is trying way too hard to be hip. When the phone rings you have to options, to press the “Answer” button or the “iDivert” button, which places the call straight into your voicemail. This presents numerous, slightly annoyed questions to pop into my head:

1. Um, why is not also iAnswer? Was there some sort of patent pending for some ridiculous board game called iAnswer where you have to recite the alphabet backwards in Hebrew while standing on your head so you couldn’t use it? Or they ran out of funds and could only spring for one iPhrase so they flipped a coin and iDivert won?

2. Also, phone system, do you realize that as the mere means by which people call to yell at me for not getting their subscription, you cannot nor never will be cool to me?

3. Why can I do super, extra spiffy things like iDivert people but not keep people on hold for more than a minute before you promptly hang up on them? Maybe you should have spent some of your patent money from claiming iDivert phrase on that fun little function instead, hmm?

4. I can also only assume you were made and programmed in some country where caller ID is some mythical and wondrous function that only comes on a day when you have impressed Santa Claus with your holiness and comes and goes on whim, am I right? Well apparently today the jolly bearded man in the big red suit is very, very pissed at me.

5.If I were to whack said iDivert button with my keyboard over lack of caller ID frustration, what would it be called then? iBreak? No, that one is taken too? Darn it. What about iHateyou? It has a certain ring to it…

6. Why are trying so hard to get me to like you? Do you have low self-esteem, did you maker not give you enough love in your childhood, or just want to fit in with the popular iPhones? How sad, good luck with that…

Before the movie begins....

I adore my husband, because he takes me to see chick flicks on Wednesday nights (“The Proposal” was adorable by the way) but also because we have conversations like this:

Kate: “Sigh, I just love Sandra Bullock.”

Casey. “Meh.”

Kate: “Really? Why not? She’s so cute.”

Casey: “Universal truth: for some inexplicable reason girls all love Sandra Bullock. Guys do not. This also applies to Julia Roberts and Meg Ryan.”

Kate: “But, why? They’re adorable.”

Casey: “Eww, no. They are not cute, Sandra’s definitely had a nose job. Why do you like them?”

Kate: “Because they’re real, ya know? I can relate to them. I could be them. Megan Fox, I can’t be her.”

Casey: “Thank goodness, she looks like a tranny.”

Five seconds later…

Kate: “Who would you have play you in a movie about your life?”

Casey: “Ummm…. Ethan Hawke maybe?”

Kate: “Oh my gosh, you are so much hotter than Ethan Hawke. No.”

Casey: “Not hot, huh?”

Kate: “No. Plus he cheated on his wife.”

Casey: “Who then?”

Kate: “Ryan Reynolds could play you. Both funny, tall… it could work.”

Casey (thinks about it for a second): “That’d be okay. Why, who would you have play you?”

Kate: “Rachel McAdams.”

Casey: “She doesn’t look anything like you!”

Kate: “Yes, she does. She’s white like me and short.”

Casey: “No, she’s blond and tall!”

Kate: “Are we talking about the same person?”

Casey: “I think Natalie Portman would be better.”

Kate: “Eww, no.”

Casey: “Why not?”

Kate: “Because I don’t think she’s all that nice, she kind of has that Ivy League snooty thing going. I couldn’t be friends with her.”

Casey: “You don’t know that! She seems nice…. Is part of your stipulation that they play you be that you could be friends with them?”

Kate: “Yes. Rachel and I could be friends, I’m sure of it. She’d be the type of friend that would totally stick up for you and be a good shopping partner. Natalie and I could never be friends, I mean she’d be nice to your face but then I bet she’d say bitchy things behind your back.”

Casey: “I’m confused.”

Kate: “Oooh, or Anne Hathaway! We could definitely be friends!”

Casey: When does the movie start?”

Minor victory

I ate half of the cupcake and threw the rest of away. I realize that it would have been better to not have eaten any of it, but c'mon people, baby steps here....

Cupcake frosting

Confession time: I've gained 10 pounds since the wedding. Which I am NOT happy about, not because I really care about the number on the scale, but because I can longer fit into my favorite pair of jeans and I am not (repeat: am not) about the submit to the utter pain-in-the-butt shopping trip that is trying to finding a new pair of jeans that aren't too long, are the right color and don't make my hips look twice as wide as normal. (Ladies, you know what I'm talking about right?)

I do admit that right after the wedding I let myself take a break from working out and eating better in some sort of adverse reaction to not having to fit into a specific white dress anymore (hoorah!) but my short break has turned into a 9-month hiatus. And as glorious as the eat-whatever-I-want privileges have been, I do miss feeling pretty good about myself and my body. (Note: I said pretty good, I've never really loved it, but up until the last 2 months I've been pretty okay with how I looked.) But between stressful work days that leave me too exhausted to work out and way too much sugar intake because of said-stress, I've decided that starting today, I have to get back on the horse and work out (I really have no excuse, I have a FREE gym membership through work) and start to eat better.

That was until I spent the morning slowly licking the frosting off a cupcake at my desk, trying to avoid eating it (guess what is going to happen at, oh about 3 p.m. today when I have my normal afternoon crash... bye, bye cupcake.) So starting tomorrow, really, honestly, truly I am going to start getting back into tip top shape. Hopefully.

(As we can see from cupcake frosting encounter, avoiding food is going to be an issue, so if anyone knows of any fabulous work-outs you should probably let me know so I can burn off a few of these frosting calories.)

Why I should NEVER take days off of work....

... because when you spend your morning working on your book at El Diablo while sipping on a Cafe con Leche and having brunch with your sister; your afternoon perusing the racks at Target, planning out dinner and dessert and hanging art in the apartment, you start to think about never. working. again. Stupid money.

On The Other Side Of The Fence

Yesterday, I went to a bridal shower, the first wedding-type thing-a-ma-bob I have been to since my whole wedding hoopla (apparently I am only using my made-up words in my post today. Good luck readers!) Anywho, I found myself clustered up with two of my friends from church, who both happened to be married, and we spent most of the shower gabbing about what we should have registered for when we got married, what our husbands are good about doing around the house (I haven’t done laundry since we got married. It’s okay, I’d hate me too if I were you) and telling the bride-to-be what an awesome mixing bowl and our electric mixer she picked out.

Next to us, sat a very newly-engaged gal who was pretty quiet most of the afternoon, listening to us talk away, until finally she let out a giggle and said, “ You are all… such… wives!” and then proceeded to take tips from us on wedding planning and life after wedding.

I obviously know I am a wife, I was in fact at my own wedding, but I had this odd moment where I realized that I have crossed over the fence and have gone to “the other side of the pasture” so to speak, where kitchen appliances become very exciting, we are now Matrons of Honor in weddings ( I almost passed out a couple of months ago when Marla asked me to be that….my immediate response, “Yes, if I don’t have to be called THAT, how old am I?”) and the next big life events in the future are houses and gulp, babies. And I just sort of sat there and thought, “Huh. This is new,” never before having been in the position of being considered wiser in the ways of marriage than, well just about anyone (well, maybe wiser that weird guy Carrot Top, because really what could THAT guy know about what it takes to have a successful marriage?? His hair is the color of Oscar Meyer Weiner packaging and he wears eyeliner for crying out loud.)

Have a lovely Monday and let me know if you need any unsolicited advice about china patterns, stain removers and great kitchen gadgets, I believe I am a bona-fide wife now.

Before and After

As promised earlier today, here are the before pics of the dining area in the apartment.

Sad dining room, before:


Happy, very Seattle-centric dining room, after:


I'm super happy with the way it turned out!

DIY Project 2.0

Poor Casey: his wife got yet another "bee in her bonnet" this weekend, and decided to redecorate the eating area in the apartment. Pics and details to come as soon as I find my camera cord to upload. Hope your Monday is sunny!

Kate

Things My Husband Has Taught Me About Marriage

Since we have been married, Casey has developed a delightful little habit of trying to pants me when I wear my sweatpants around the house. That's right, I said "pants" as in the juvenile habit boys adopt on the playground to humiliate (or perhaps flirt with depending on who you ask) some poor pig-tailed little girl to try to make her cry.

One of the first weeks we were married, I tried to get up off the couch and Casey tried to stop me by grabbing my sweats and in what he views as a wonderful turn of events, discovered that the elastic band that makes sweatpants oh-so-wonderful has a lot of stretch to it and my pants ended up around my ankles in 1.2 seconds flat. Ever since, I've had to guard my backside and jet off the couch as quickly as possible to avoid this drafty fate, but more often than not, he gets that glint in his eye and he beats me to it.

Not five minutes ago, he grabbed my sweats as I got up to get my laptop and bemoaned in a most pathetic fashion:

"WWWHHHHYYY DO YOU DOOOOOO THAT????????"

To which he calmly replied, "What? Don't you know? That's what people do when they get married. It's because I love you that I pants you."

Regardless of the fact that he is totally full of CRAP, maybe he is in indeed still flirting with me after 7 months of marriage and 3 years of dating, so slightly appeased, I am now back on the couch but you can bet your butt (pun totally intended) I'm not getting back up again unless the house catches fire and even then, I'm waiting until he's out the door and my pants are safely secured before leaping up.

It's a bird, it's a plane... it's a bear?

There is a black bear loose in the city and has been spotted in Magnolia, Ballard and then Shoreline today as animal control has tried to track it down. I know bears are extremely dangerous, your kids probably shouldn't play outside at the moment and yadda yadda yadda but every time I hear about a new bear sighting I almost collapse into giggles because I get this mental picture of a bear in disguise hanging out at Cupcake Royale in Ballard trying to hide out from the authorities:

Please be my friend

{To my blog-ladies: below follows my new experiment in which I try to get people to join my book club. So far, we have one member, myself, although I don't think it is time to bemoan my lack of friends since I haven't actually sent this email out yet, but still. One. I have a general idea of who checks in here, but sadly I don't have your emails or you live too far away to come, which really bums me out because I am pretty sure that Mallory and Erin would be the best people EVER to have in a book club. But Seattlites, please shoot me an email (kate.calamusa@gmail.com) if you would like to take pity on me and join my semi-literary excuse to get to eat dessert or at the very least give me an ego boost by telling me that at least one other person will join, really.}


Re: Book Club

Hello lovely ladies in my life,

I have a proposal for you all: I have a deep, deep longing to be in a book club (perhaps its my voracious appetite for literature, perhaps it's just an excuse to get together with other women to chat or most likely an excuse to make a dessert) and am contemplating starting one of my own.

I'm thinking about keeping this simple: we meet at my place once a month (or once every two months! Or three! Or six!) to chat books and eat dessert. The format is pretty simple: each member picks out a a couple of books at our first planning meeting and we pick books for the year- whether they are serious, humorous, sassy or political. When your pick comes up, you lead an informal discussion on the book. If you can't make it one month, you skip it and come the next, or come even if you didn't finish the book and we'll fill you in.

So, here comes the crucial question: are you interested? Chime in if you are and I'll see if there is enough interest (it'll be fun, really!) and we'll pick out a day to get started, maybe a mid-week 7 p.m. gathering. This is most definitely not an exclusive invite either, if you have friends who might be interested, pass this along!

All the best,

Kate

The (un)Real World

I never understand people who claim they have never cried while reading a book. I mean, I believe that they're telling me the truth, I just don't relate to that idea. I'm a notorious crier at movies (I started crying in the opening credits of The Notebook just because I knew what was coming) but when I read books, I get completely lost in them, so absorbed that I laugh and cry right along with the characters, going right into what is commonly known among family as "The Kate Zone," emerging days later a little confused at what year it is and where I am.

Last night Casey decided to watch a man movie so I crawled into bed with my latest book about the French court at Versailles under one of the King Louis (side note: France, there are male names other than Louis. Try a 1,001 Baby Names. Honestly.) It was starting out fantastically, my little peasant heroine fell in love with a courtier who in turn fell in love with her and built her this beautiful chateau and was going to marry her and it was going oh so well. Until Augustine the courtier decided to not only cheat on her but leave my lovely heroine destitute and heartbroken. The fact that I was sobbing during the heart-wrenching scene is a given but I was truly mad at him as well. I crawled out of the bed to grab more tissues, muttering to Augustine about what a genuine d-bag he was, how could you do that Marguerite, was it because she was a peasant? DON'T YOU KNOW THAT TRUE LOVE ONLY COMES AROUND ONCE IN A WHILE YOU IDIOT ? Casey, momentarily distracted from Max Payne, called out to me as I went back to bed, "Did you just mutter something about someone being a bastard???"

I woke up this morning genuinely mad at the entire male race (probably a good thing that my husband was still asleep or my wrath might have landed on an unsuspecting victim) and only after about 12 hours away from the book have I been able to calm down enough to not send death glares at every man that crosses my path.

TMI

Sometimes it really doesn't pay to be friendly.

When strangers at coffee shops or on the phone at work ask me how I am, I always say, "Great. And how are you?" It's always surprising to me how many baristas and check-out people look totally shocked that someone would ask them this question (which might say something about our self-absorbed society, but that is a whole other post) and I admit I always feel cheerier after having a pleasant little exchange on the wonder that is Friday with my barista at Ladro.

This morning I was ready earlier than usual and decided to pop over the Fremont bridge for a change of pace and stop in PCC to grab a latte, sandwich and salad. The sun was shining, the water was beautiful, did I mention it was Friday? I was in an extra-special friendly mood, so as I waltzed up to the espresso counter and smiled at the gal behind it. "Hi," she said flatly. "How are you today?" I shot back a "Wonderful, how are you?"

"You don't want to know," she said, walking slowly over to me. A bit thrown off, I stammered, "I'm sorry."

"I really have to pee."

I just looked at her trying to think of what to say. I'm sorry? Do you want to go now and I'll wait? I don't think was really the answer I was going for?

"And its starting to burn."

Um, yeh.

How does one respond to that kind of statement? I began to seriously regret not only starting a conversation with this woman but also have her prepare my precious morning latte. I sputtered out another, "I'm sorry, that's no fun" while pretending to be throughly involved with searching through my purse for some mythical object that was apparently, very, very important to me because I spent the next few minutes with my head in my bag trying to find it.

She finally, after what felt like 2 years, handed me my latte, and I backed away slowly with a feeble, "Well hope you have a great day" and practically sprinted out to my car.

The dreaded D-E-N-T-I-S-T

From: Mom
To: Kate and Kelsey
Subject: I'm cranky


"I'm cranky because.....I did one of those things we are supposed to do as a responsible adult. I went to the dentist-who by the way is not who makes me cranky, it's his lovely hygienist who by Webster's definition is an expert in hygiene.

Well, I beg to differ. First of all this one is a LOUD mouth breather and I can get a whiff of the garlic french fries she had for lunch even through her mask. And so help me, I understand what "turn toward me and turn away from me" means, I do not need hand signals and a congratulatory "VERY GOOD" every time I get it right. I was so tempted to clamp down on those annoying gesturing fingers it was all I could do to conform to the expected behavior.

And really, doesn't someone look at the size of ones giant hands and decide that they will not fit into the average sized persons mouth? I mean jockeys have to be a certain size as do astronauts, elevator operators, race car drivers, and cubicle workers-OK maybe I've gone too far but I'm telling you all I could think of was the Seinfeld episode where he dated the pretty blond with ginormous digits. And did anyone explain to her that the little vibrating wand was meant to polish the teeth-not the gums, lips and sides of the inner cheeks and the little suction apparatus was meant to remove the excess saliva not spray it all over my face and neck. Thank you Lord she had given me sunglasses or I'd have spit in my eyes as well.

And quite honestly I go to the dentist to update my lying abilities. "Yes I floss everyday and ALWAYS wear my night guard and would NEVER dream of eating a lemon or ice cubes with my pearly whites. I am so glad you think my oral hygiene is much improved over last time because I've made a serious lifestyle change in that department so I can get another VERY GOOD from you every 6 months," not so I can try to answer the same personal questions you ask me every time I come here while your ginormous hands are in my mouth and my jaw is aching. Now I know Kelsey my darling has experienced this same routine so will have sympathy for me - and by the way she wanted to know how your architect studies were going?

Okay now I feel much better having aired my displeasure and have another 6 months before I have to endure it again or try to explain to our very nice dentist why I want my records transferred.

Love to you -I'm off to take some advil and have pudding for dinner. MOM"



This is precisely why I haven't been to a dentist in two years. My teeth can just rot.

MIA Katie Bug

Oh bloggy people, I miss you. I have been a terrible, no good, very bad blogger lately. I'm very tempted to whine for several paragraphs about how busy I have been, but you've all heard that one before, right? About how the job takes over all your waking hours, your apartment hasn't been cleaned in weeks, you find a piece of cracker stuck in your hair after spending the evening working on the couch only to realize that it was a cracker you ate yesterday and it possibly could have been lodged in there all day? No, not that one?...well this is awkward. I better be going then.



(Promise to get caught up soon, really.)

Ode to a taco truck

I've always been slightly culinary-obsessed. Holly, I blame my mother for this too. Hence, I am always, always on the search for the perfect something- the perfect mac and cheese (hello Beecher's in the Market), the perfect latte (actually not in Seattle but Full City in Eugene- just 9 day until I get one. It's a good thing my parent's don't know this is the only reason I go visit. Oh wait, they read this blog.... I love you too?) and capping off the longest sentence in the world, the perfect taco.

And peps, I'm very serious about my tacos. I am in a perpetual state of searching for the best Mexican food in the city and I'm hardly ever satisfied (Carta de Oaxaca in Ballard comes close for the real deal). I am a Mexican food junkie, in fact one of the reasons I knew the hubby was the real deal was I found out he could eat Mexican as often as I can and loved it just as much, and I thought, okay I could spend my life with this guy.

But I digress from my point which is HOLY MOLE I just had an awesome taco. (Yeh, I feel the need to share. Again, culinary obsessed.) We have a taco truck down the street from work which in industrial SODO is my saving grace on crazy busy days and I trotted down this afternoon to get my normal veggie burrito. I ordered (perhaps another reason for my ode is that the nice gentleman charge me $1 less because I am one of the "regulars"), grabbed the bag and headed back to work. When I got back to my desk, I didn't have a burrito but 4 carnita tacos with onions and cilantro. Boy howdy, I thought I had died and gone to heaven after the first bite.

I probably have the worst breath ever from the onions and I feel like I ought to warn co-workers before they come by my desk so they don't faint from the stink, but man was that worth it. That was like pork-and-cilantro-induced-utopia, unbutton-your-now-too-tight-pants-afterwards good.

Taco truck, how I love thee.

When all else fails, you can always talk about the weather...

Okay, I don't want sound like a Grumpy Gus, but dudes its March 9th and its snowing AGAIN! I don't know when I've ever wanted spring so badly, in fact I want it so much that I wore a short-sleeve shirt today (the whole wishful thinking and all) with my skirt and tights and now I am freezing my ass off watching it snow out the window. Big gargantuan sigh.

In other, less icy news, I don't believe I have shared a little tidbit with y'all and it may explain why I've gone missing the last few weeks: I got a promotion at work and am now the Assistant Editor for this little magazine I've grown to so dearly love. It's taken me two weeks to come down from cloud 9 (at least there wasn't any snow up there, sheesh) Anyways, I'm busier than I have ever been at work, but couldn't be happier about it. Like all good things, it happened in the oddest way, and I can only say God had a hand in it. (If you want to the full scoop, I'll tell you over coffee, it's a long one.)

Happy Monday and here's to wishful thoughts about skirts, sun and editing paradise,
K

Newlywed Status

I'm not quite sure how long you get to keep the "newlywed" title. I had always thought that you could get away with that one for a couple of years at least. I fully intend to, mostly because I don't want to have to think up a new name for my blog (the horror), but also it is such an incredibly fun stage and I want to make it last as long as possible. Every once and a while you see those couples who have been married for 20 years that still tickle and laugh and are completely in love. And when you have to watch those couples its disgusting, to be one of those couples is A-MAZ-ING.

However, there does seem to be an argument that you can only call yourself a newlywed for a few short weeks which came up at work yesterday around the lunch table. The gals were talking about how long they knew their significant others before they got married and a co-worker turned to me and asked, "So how long have you been married now?"

"Five months."

"Well you are almost still a newlywed then huh?"

And I thought, "ALMOST? Woman, I still have the nail polish on my toes from the pedicure I got the week before my wedding." Which to me either means I seriously need to pay more attention to my grooming or I can definitely still count myself among the newlywed. I vote for the latter. Perhaps once that last remnant of mauve polish flakes off, I'll reconsider but for now I'm keeping my title.

Alright ladies, opinion time: How long can you call yourself a newlywed?

Ta-da!

Every once and a while I get what I like to call, "a bee in my bonnet," usually encompassing some sort of crazy-hairbrained idea that turns into a major craft project. During the last year it was designing and making the programs for the wedding, which if you read my bride blog, you know was a major undertaking including cut fingers, tears, glue stuck in my hair that I had to cut out and a weekend-long design-a-thon in which I watched every Jane Austen movie ever made (ah, the single life.)

Last weekend, I caught another bug and poor Casey got drug to every fabric store in Seattle on my quest to build a headboard for our bed. I didn't really want to spend the money to buy a whole bed frame, so thank you Better Homes & Gardens, here is my baby.


Of course, there was a staple-in-the-finger incident, and two fingers super-glued together but all in all, perhaps one of my most successful projects ever.

The magazine industry....

Sometimes I get mad that Lauren Weisberger beat me to the punch with The Devil Wears Prada because I could write a shockingly similar account based off my job. Some days.

A "Hair-y" Issue

I don’t know about you, but hair salons make me extremely self-conscious. Maybe it’s all the mirrors, maybe its because I can see my hair at every angle and I never realized there was a piece of popcorn stuck in it or maybe its because I always feel the need to explain myself. Because let’s face it, by the time I actually manage to find the time to schedule an appointment, my hair is usually completely out of control and when greeted by the perfectly coifed receptionist, comparatively I look like The Shaggy Dog. And as I sit in the chair, I always feel the need to come up with an excuse of why my hair looks so bad, usually plopping into the seat with a “Man, it’s windy out there!” or “ I was in a rush this morning, I didn’t have time to dry it” while tossling my hair so the stylist can’t really tell how bad it is. I realize that the perfect solution to this dilemma would be to actually do my hair, but when you have an appointment at 11 am on Saturday, who’s really going to take all the time to fix their hair when someone will fix it for you in a couple of hours? Not me.

All this to say, that I was invited to attend the grand opening of a new salon last night and I was having a bad hair day, as in I was seriously P.O.ed at my head. (Side note: of course today I am having great hair. I did everything the same and it looks a million times better than yesterday.) I ended up working late on some writing pieces (another side note: when I write, I tend to play with my hair while thinking, turning the bangs into a major greaseball by 5 p.m.) and then ran to the party, which was of course full of the most perfectly-coifed, well-manicured, amazingly-colored women ever- of course all standing at about 6 feet as well. And I thought: I have entered the world of the Glamazons and I have very bad hair today.

If it hadn’t been for the appetizers and swag bag, I would have bolted right out of there but I don’t need my self-esteem for an hour if there are crab cakes involved.

Home Sweet Home? Home Sweet Condo? Home Sweet Apartment?

We have been dabbling with the idea of buying a place for a while now. We actually started looking while we were engaged but I had to take a hiatus for that whole wedding thing that was going on and keeping me oh so busy. But now that we have been married for a few months, we are revisiting the topic again and people, it is so hard to know what to do.

Pros: Owning our own place would built equity, we could make a place our own, we could really settle down and stay in one place for a while, the prices are lowest they have been in almost a decade, etc.

Cons: Being strapped into a mortgage is kind of scary, the economy isn't particularly stable at the moment and if one of our companies shut down we would be in BIG trouble, home loans are harder to attain, we really would need to fairly certain we weren't going to up and move in a year, etc.

And everyone we ask has a different opinion: "It's a fantastic time to buy!" "It's the worst time to buy EVER!" Newspapers and news reels tell the same conflicting story and most of our conversations end with us looking at each other, shrugging our shoulders and saying, "I dunno."

But as confusing as the entire decision is, we have come to a conclusion of where this mythical home could possibly be: in sleepy, seaside Des Moines. Every time we go out exploring the different burbs, we somehow end up in Des Moines. Last week, we went to explore Georgetown (Seriously underwhelmed by that one. Next!) and somehow we end up 20 miles away in Des Moines. Again. It's quiet, on the water and seems very family-friendly. On our last trip, I counted 3 baby strollers and two dog-walkers on one street. I love it there, but the question remains, is now the right time and is it the right place? It means the leaving the city, which is bitter sweet for me- I get tired of the lack of parking, the crazy traffic and the sirens, but I also love downtown movies, living within 2 miles of a Tom Douglas restaurant and the awesome shopping.

Suffice it to say, if someone all-knowing and all-powerful (hmm... I know this guy I think, he's awesome) could hit us over the head with a clear-cut sign we would really appreciate it. And if the Mariners could win the pennant that would wonderful as well.

25 Things...

Fine, I give in. I have been tagged to about 25 of the “25 Random Things” thread on Facebook but haven’t done one yet, well mostly because I wouldn’t even know how to post a note on Facebook, whom to tag and it would just end stressing me out. I’m what you call an “Old School” Facebook gal- I never add any of these new-fangled applications because every time I try to I end up confused and wondering how I joined the Biology Rocks! group. Long story short: it’s too complicated for an old lady like me and I would much rather put up on my blog- duh (that’s how you know I’m old school, I just said duh). Okay, here goes:

1. I have a square-inch wide patch of skin on both of my hips that I can’t feel. When I was younger I did gymnastics and apparently all that time leaning on the uneven bars permanently deadened the nerves in the area. It’s like having a teeny, tiny epidural right there, you can ram a pencil into for all I care, I won’t feel it.

2. When I was a little kid, I apparently wanted to grow up to be, and I quote, “ A Chinese lady who makes noodles.” And apparently when my mother tried to break it to me that while I could certainly make noodles, it was physically impossible for me to become Chinese I threw a world-class fit.

3. I wish life was one big giant musical. Seriously.

4. I also really wish I could sing (in my big giant life musical).

5. I have secret ambitions to write a book.

6. The only reason I joined the newspaper in college was because I thought the editor was cute. Good thing I end up marrying him.

7. I just decided in the last year that I like chocolate. Before my 22nd birthday, couldn’t stand the stuff but then apparently estrogen kicked in, I became a woman and I can’t get enough chocolate.

8. I don’t like cats. I usually make the excuse that its because I’m allergic but its really because when they stare at you they have this look in their eyes like they are plotting your death. It creeps me out.

9. When I have to go somewhere, I always go over all the different route options in my mind and decide what the most efficient way would be (gas, then bank, that way I don’t have to go back over the bridge). I also do this when I go to the hospital or the mall; I walk through the route in my mind ahead of time. I call this being “strategic”. Casey calls it being “anal”.

10. I loved Carl Winslow from the show “Family Matters” when I was a little kid. I thought he was awesome and so funny when he freaked out. I loved him so much that for Christmas I asked for an African-American baby doll-aptly named Carl of course. (Even funnier was that my sister Kelsey had one named after Edgar Martinez the baseball player. We were special kids.)

11. Lime Tostito chips, Taco Bell, Big Sexy Hair Spray, Sex and the City, Jalisco Restaurant, The Bachelor, 80’s attire and The Notebook always, always remind me of 5th Hill.

12. Speaking of hair spray, I llllllooovvve big hair. There is a Southern debutante within me that screams “More hairspray! Tease it more” every morning. It’s a constant battle to control this woman.

13. I grew up on Seattle Mariners baseball. My dad has season tickets for years and weekends were spent driving back and forth between Eugene and Seattle for games. I once had lunch with Alex Rodriguez (before the whole Madonna thing, eww), was there for Game 5 of the ’95 AL West Series and every picture I can find of myself between the 4th and 5th grade I am wearing the same thing: my Tasmanian Devil converse tennis shoes, jeans and my gray Mariners sweatshirt.

14. You’d never believe it NOW, but at one point in my life I was actually pretty athletic. One glorious year, I beat Sol Rexius in a footrace (if you are from Eugene you know this is BIG deal) and did more pull-ups than all the boys in my class for the Presidential Fitness Challenge. That was when I peaked. I was eight.

15. I want to apply to be on The Amazing Race TV show. I tell this people and they always laugh, and then I’m stuck sitting there twiddling my fingers because I’M SERIOUS. I’m trying to talk the hubby into let me quit my day job so I can concentrate on applying.

16. Oh, I’ve watched every season and I would kick some serious butt. Just so you know.

17. I’m left-handed, left-footed (soccer), bat left-handed, throw left-handed, but play tennis right-handed. Don’t ask, I’m not sure why either.

18. Two things can cure a bad day: Target and a bean and cheese burrito. Every time.

19. I have a polite phone voice that is much higher-pitched than my normal speaking voice. But it is reserved just for people I work with, who call into work, people at the insurance office and when I order takeout.

20. I also have a fake laugh to go along with these conversations. Nothing like my real laugh, much louder and more obnoxious with an occasional guffaw thrown in.

21. I seriously overestimate how much food we can eat and inevitably we have to eat off the same leftovers for a week and a half because I made a bathtub full of soup for two people.

22. How many more of these things do I have to come up with? Three? Oy vey….. I say oy vey a lot. #22 done.

23. I still drive my red bug, the one and only car I have driven since getting my driver’s license. He and I have a history and I will drive it until it literally falls apart. I love that car.

24. I sing in the car. Very loud and off-key. And if I catch people looking at me, it just makes me want to sing louder.

25. I eat popcorn for meals. I also count coffee as a food group and because I am so nutrition-savvy, I get 2-3 servings a day.

Hold It...... Hold It......

Apparently, the building management for our office has decided to cut back in these harsh economic times and not heat the bathroom on our floor. Heck I am all for conservation and saving a buck or two, but it causing some serious health risks because it so blasted cold in there (and to be frank sitting on the seat is like sitting on a block of ice. Oh and remember without pants on too) that I keep waiting until I have pee so bad that I'm sure my bladder is going to explode before braving the Artic-like conditions.

This cannot be good for me.

One week. A whole lotta change.

I was cruising through the blogroll this morning (glad you made it to Aussie safe and sound E! Happy 6 months Mallory and Jared!) and I happened to glance to the right to look at my most recent entry- and just stopped and shook my head. Despite being written a mere week and a half ago, the sentiments and ideas already seem extremely outdated in the wake of the last week.

A week ago today, I was ready to leave this job behind. And then three people got laid off. Then seven at the corporate office, including my position. And then two more. And then the job I was so ready to ditch became vitally important and all I wanted to do was to keep this job. Desperately. Maybe because the old adage is indeed true, you don't know what you've got until it's gone (or dangled in front of you). Or just maybe finding another job is this economy scares the bejeezes out of me (that's really much more likely.) But right now, I just want to sit my butt in this chair, claim it as my own and keep getting paid while I scheme up my next job idea (Can I write cookbooks without becoming a famous chef first? I don't want to start my restaurant or have cooking show, I just want to book deal. Anyone interested?) I may indeed want to leave this job but I want to leave on my own terms, not someone else's. (I realize that really isn't what you SHOULD say, but I'm all about being honest here. That's just how I feel.)

Needless to say it was an incredibly emotional week- ironically, the people laid off were my favorites, just great, honest, hard-working people who I am praying for now because I know it's been really rough on them.

Here's to hoping this Monday is considerably better than the last.

Time for a change?

I'm having a quarter life crisis. It's not like a mid-life crisis- I'm not freaking out about my hair going gray or having lost my youthful good looks (which I don't have to begin with so I anticipate that one to be very easy one day) but I have hit a different crisis nonetheless: I'm starting to wonder if I made a wrong move back in college.

I enjoyed my journalism classes, I love to write but to be honest why I wanted to be in the magazine industry is beginning to be overshadowed by the feeling that I should have gone with my first love: teaching.

Becoming a teacher was always the "plan" growing up. I decided I wanted to teach the 3rd grade, when I was in about, oh the 3rd grade. I counseled at camp, babysat, and worked at the church nursery. Then when I was 16, a couple of friends and I took up teaching a 1st grade Sunday School class. I thought it would be glorious. It was hard. Guess what? Six year-olds can be tough, they don't have much of an attention span and a few of them could have cared less about this guy Jesus we kept talking about. And guess what? Sixteen year-olds (including myself, ahem) can be tough too and I got frustrated and figured that teaching wasn't for me because I wasn't patient enough.( I look back on that now and just wince. Of course I wasn't patient enough. I was sixteen, I could barely pay attention outside of movies and pep rallies. Sermons at church seemed endless. I can only hope that the last decade has taught me a little something about the virtue and if nothing else, dealing with staff members complaining about Sharpie marks on their chairs and not socking them in the face is a testament to this fact.) And that was the end of my teaching aspirations and a few years later, my writing bug had taken hold and I end up in the journalism program, which I really did love.

As you may noticed from the last few posts (or as Casey put it the other day,"I read your angry blog today." Yeesh) things have not been going great at work. Two years after graduation, I am still a glorified receptionist. Now don't get me wrong, I am more than willing to pay my dues but I am starting to wonder if I have a hit a proverbial wall, stuck in a spot that is very good for the company (a receptionist/office manager/writer/web editor at a very small salary) and not very good for me. I'm beat down, I'm angry and I am really tired of being take advantage of.

But perhaps maybe the most discouraging of all, I miss making a difference, I miss feeling like what I am doing matters. I miss watching children's eyes light up when they "get it". I miss having a purpose outside of directing phone calls. I want to serve God and I wonder if maybe he is calling me to do something else. Or maybe I just want to escape this situation and do something I really love. And man, I do love kids.

So there it is, my mid-20's crisis- to teach or not to teach? To hang on to the magazine dream or finally, finally let that one go? A part of me wants to wipe the slate clean and start over, to do something that I was maybe too scared to do 6 years ago. The other still desperately wants to be an editor at Seattle magazine. We'll see, but in the meantime, I am praying that God will give a clear-cut sign either way even if I have to wait for it, though it may test my newfound patience. All the more fitting because if I am going teach I'll probably need even more of that one.

A Love Letter

I realize that for a blog named "The Newlywed Game" I haven't spoken much about my newlywed status but today that's going to change peps. Today, Casey and I celebrate four months of wedded bliss. And I mean that, bliss. I suppose the most cynical of people would declare we are still in the honeymoon phase, and perhaps we are. But I never have been more fulfilled, more content and more ecstatically excited about life than I have in my four months with Casey.

We've learned a lot about each other in the last couple of months, which after dating for nearly 4 years, you would think we would know all there is to know, but I continue to be surprised and delighted with the man I married. And to be honest I expected the transition into living together to have a few bumps in it but it has been very smooth, full of laughter as we have observed each other's quirks. (I'm allowed to say this because on our date this weekend I asked him, " You know we haven't had any real fights since we got married. Did you kind of expect there would be more of a transition and that it might be tougher?" He looked up and gave me a sheepish grin and said, "Is it okay if I say yes?")

Yes, I am sure we are still getting the hang of this thing called marriage and it won't always be this easy but every day I am amazed at how I love my husband more each morning than I did the morning before- even when he's grumpy and sleepy in the early morning and, like this A.M., does especially funny things like yell at his alarm clock "ALARM OF SATAN!" as he turns it off.

This is my, albeit very public, love letter to him. Thank you for loving me unconditionally, for challenging me and always supporting my hair-brained ideas (Friday: "I want to learn how to make a cheesecake!" Sunday: "Let's move to Latin America so I can quit my job!" Monday: "I'm going to become a teacher so that I get MLK Day off!") I love you and can't wait to see where life takes us.

Your wife

A break from the insanity

Okay fine, I don't have any more excuses for being so deplorably absent from my blog. First it was the office move prep that kept me busy, and then we were out of town for the holidays and finally, the new office is trying to kill me and rob me of my sanity. But by what I believe has to be divine intervention to get me to slow down for a second, I have come down with a nasty cold that has me sounding like a frog as my head threatens to implode. So, since I was ordered to go home today by my boss because I think she got tired of me trying to rasp out words and coughing all over the place, I have been given the much-needed time back to catch up on my blog.

And of course, I'm not really sure what to say. I admit it, my job is officially kicking my ass at the moment. Those of you who know me well know that I am a creature of habit, I don't particularly enjoy change. I like it to come gradually and not surprise me with something life-altering out of left field. As much as the office moving isn't exactly earth-shattering it has been enough change to have me feeling all off-kilter. I drive to work now after being a faithful bus rider for three years. I don't get to go by my old coffee shop in the market anymore where they knew my name and knew what I would order before I got to the counter. I have to learn new coding systems, keys and alarm codes. The part I like best about my job- the writing and editing- is on hiatus until I can get the office up and running.

I know, I know, I can hear you all grumbling now, and if you are actually still reading this, I'm actually impressed. But I just feel as if I am in a little glass snow globe that someone decided to shake up a bit. I'm still rooted in place, but there are all sorts of stuff flying around in the air I am trying to reorganize all over again- someone has thrown off "my groove" and it is exhausting trying to get back into again. Maybe its a little post-holiday let-down, maybe its the fact that its still blasted cold here or maybe just because I have a frog voice, but at the moment it seems like every ounce of energy is going towards this job (which most of you has never been my dream career, but rather the way to work into the dream job and what is okay for now) instead of things I love- my husband, my friends, writing, blogging. And as you can imagine, I don't like it.

I don't know what I need to fix it either. I mean I know I need this whole office move to be done with it, but I could use a swift kick in the pants at the moment to get myself going again. Any volunteers?