Holy Flying Birthday Cake, Batman!

It has been a few days, and I should apologize. Since last time we spoke, I have aged one year. Yes, that makes me officially one year closer to 30. Not that I'm counting or anything.
It is becoming a tradition that I don't get to spend my birthday in the place that I call home. My birthday falls in the early-to-middle of college spring semesters, making it nearly impossible to find the time to drive the 400 miles from my alma mater's campus to my hometown. So I'd have lovely birthdays with my girlfriends, which nearly always included a trip to an ice cream venue. (Yes, in February. This is one of those things that both Beardface and I feel strongly about; ice cream is an appropriate snack - or meal - at any time of day or any season of the year.)
As I got to know my college friends better and better, campus felt like home, and during my junior year abroad, I felt a tug to return to Virginia (not my native New Jersey) for birthday celebrations. That plan was thwarted, and I ended up working a late shift at the pub on my 21st birthday. (I should mention, that night wasn't all bad, though. Most of the customers heard it was my birthday from my manager, so they kept buying me drinks to have after work or another night. Later that week I came back with a few friends and had several pints of beer :D )
Anyway. My 22nd birthday was mildly lackluster, having had work from 7:30-9:30 in the morning, then class til 5, and work again from 8-10pm, I was just happy to have time to sit down at the end of that day.
So this year I had been looking forward to a real birthday. The kind where you get flowers and a cake and your tone deaf friends and family sing to you. And I was so close.
But then my work had to foil my plans (oh what a world, what a world!) I spent my birthday in Boston, and I basically demanded that Beardface find himself a way to get here for the weekend. Knowing his aptitude with finding things on the internet, I knew this would not be an issue, and I really wanted him to put forth the effort, showing he wanted to see me.
I can be amazingly insecure sometimes, despite how obvious it is that Beardface does, indeed, want to see me and spend time with me.
I should give you a bit of a proper background about things before I discuss this weekend. For all of you considering marriage and anticipating it, it is a wonderful covenant between husband and wife (and God, of course!), but it does take work! Life is fulfilling and both parties are happy only if they both use some serious elbow grease (a phrase stolen from my ever-eloquent mother to mean "hard-work"). The first year of marriage is tougher for some people than for others, and so far, I don't think ours is very rough, though I have not gotten a general survey of the first 7 weeks from the hubby. Most couples, though, will find themselves fighting over the dumbest things: how to do laundry, when to feed the fish, whether Catholic churches are pretty, I mean ANYTHING. I realize I have always had a bit of an argumentative nature, but this is not serving me well in my marriage. Poor Beardface is a calm, quiet, and pensive soul very willing to sacrifice things for me, while when things don't go my way, I find myself blaming him in my head and often reprimanding him for our communication breakdowns.
This happened during our weekend together. And it shouldn't have.
I picked up Beardface from the airport, and immediately brought him to Wendy's to feed him. The little Italian woman in me says that if I don't feed my husband, I am a bad wife. Luckily I can buy him chili and a cheeseburger for under $5 to shut up that little Italian woman.
Now, there was some substantial forethought put into Beardface's arrival on his part. He had showered, shaved, dressed spiffily, brought a gift, and cake his sister had given him to decorate and bring to me. I did not know one could fly with birthday cake in their carry-on, but apparently the TSA is pro-cake. They just got a gold star in my book.
I had done my part in setting up a day for us to spend together. I had picked out spots to have lunch and meet a friend of mine, go see some things he'd love, and have a nice dinner in the city. Well, travelling for several hours made Beardface very tired, and mildly ill on Saturday. He stuck it out for treck to visit my friend in Cambridge, but when we got back to the hotel in the early afternoon, he expressed his desire to just lay down for a little while. We both napped for a few hours, before I woke up and began poking him. I required a feeding, and I wanted him to join me. He wasn't up for eating, but definitely for a walk. At this, my inner five-year-old emerged. "How could he do this to me on my birthday? All I wanted was to go out for a nice dinner? Why can't he just suck it up, sit across from me at some cute little trattoria and eat some pasta?" (Let me interject and say that I am not always this selfish, I was just having a particularly bad day for this type of thought.)
One long conversation and several kisses through tears yesterday, we ordered food in (from an Italian place, might I add) and watched the Big Bang Theory (it's like comfort food to us, I swear).
Marriages take work. And you don't always get what you want, nor what you expected. But sacrifice and compromise will bring your night to a satisfying close. I'm amazed sometimes (ok, all the time) at how patient Beardface is with me. I have moments where I am ridiculous and just plain mean, but he is still patient, and he still listens. I'm working on it, Beardface; I promise. I'm really glad you're patient with me.

Goals and How to Manage Them

So you've all heard this a million times: people need to have goals in order to feel like their life has a focus.
Like many other people my age, I have been a student nearly all of my conscious life. I entered preschool at 4, and I've been through elementary, middle, and high school. I went directly from high school to college. There were no gaps, therefore there was nothing to really have to think about. My life was set out and planned in front of me. My goals were set for me by teachers, professors, and parents.
Once I graduated, though, life changed a bit. I have some short term goals at work, but I find them mildly unsatisfying. I doubt I'm alone in this. Although I do enjoy my job, and I see its importance, I find it difficult to thrive entirely on the growth in my career for personal satisfaction.
That is why I am going to be taken on a new project, if you will. I have always dabbled in running, and in high school and college I found that it was a great stress reliever. I have continued to run since I've graduated, though I have had little structure in that portion of my life. This is where my discussion of goals comes in.
Currently I run about a 10 minute mile on an average day. I hope to shave time off of my mile over a period of time. Of course I have yet to clock my fastest mile. Once I do I can begin to figure out an appropriate time goal. I have quite a bit to figure out. But for now, I'm glad I have a goal!

Little Mrs. in Big Pond

So, I'd been dreading this day for weeks. Perhaps months. I knew it was coming, and I would be powerless to stop it. There was nothing in my power that would prevent this event.
I am training for work. In Boston. Over 13 hours drive from my husband. Two flights, in fact, from him.
Now usually, I'm not that emotional. At least not outwardly. Beardface has his moments, I will admit. He tends to be a bit weepier than I. But last night it seemed we were both weepy. There was a little bit of tension in our little one bedroom apartment. Even Leonard and Sheldon were swimming cautiously.
Let me pause for a moment to say that, yes, my husband and I have named our two betta fish after our beloved characters on the Big Bang Theory. This show was truly what brought us to realize we like each other. On our first date (and I use the word "date" loosely to mean hang out in my college dorm to play guitar hero and watch TV), Beardface pulled out Big Bang Theory, saying I would probably like it because I studied physics. For those of you who do not know, the show is based on two physicists (and their two friends, an Indian physicist and a Jewish engineer) living in LA and their nerdy adventures. They'll spout physics formulas some shows, and show reverence to the great Dr. Spoc on others. I, am a physics nerd. Beardface, a sci fi geek. This show is what our children will be like. ::shivers::
Anyway. There was a little bit of tension in the apartment. Beardface, who had been suffering from a headache, excused himself to bed early. I couldn't help but follow him, seeing his sad face as he skulked into the bathroom to brush his teeth.
Now, we have an interesting way of dealing with our differences. Neither of us is all that great at communication. When there is a miscommunication or confusion between the two of us, usually I get silent and slightly bitter, Beardface gets slightly timid. Then, I confront him with the issue. He explains to me his silent thoughts that he never told me, and I explain the millions of crazy steps that my brain goes through. Then we end up kissing and, well, making up.
Except last night, I ended up in tears with Beardface spooning me. It was wonderful. And I'll miss it.
Tonight is the first night I have to spend alone. Wish me luck.

Is it just me, or are there tons of people in the world that like to proclaim that they are something they clearly are not? Or perhaps these people claim to have a distaste for and don't do something they are actually doing on a regular basis.
Everyone can think of someone in their life that has this chronic position. There is that seemingly friendly person that frowns upon gossip, but yet talks about everyone they know behind their back. They suck you in, and by the time you become their friend, you find yourself wondering what they say about you to others.
Then there is the very organized, type-A person who says how they don't like to micromanage things and like to delegate tasks and take life as it comes. You inevitable will discover that this person needs to know every detail of everything that goes on in their vicinity otherwise they feel they have lost control.
Then there is the person who claims to never cry in public and says they are ashamed to express how they truly feel to anyone. You will find them pouring their heart out to anyone willing to listen.
Why do people constantly do this? Is it that we are afraid people won't like what we really are? Or do we actually detest certain aspects of our own person? Maybe these are things we don't see in ourselves but hate in other people. This, to me, seems the most likely of the cases. We deny the fact that we have negative traits to the point that we don't even notice we have them anymore.
Case in Point: I am that type A, super-organized, super-in-control person. I often feel I have to know exactly what is going on in my home, at work, and in my life. I would get upset when I didn't know what to expect. I felt I lost control. It took a loving husband to point this out to me. I cannot be everywhere at once and cannot do everything at once (apparently).
I say this only to point out a simple fact: recognizing the problem is the first step to recovery. Since having been exposed to this weakness of mine, I am able to catch myself before I get to angry over such issues. If I begin to feel that things are out of control and I can't fix them, I can take a deep breath and give them up to whom they belong. :)

Early Mornings, Early Evenings

It's amazing how simple things can really change your life. Take, for instance, your breakfast cereal. If you are accustomed to eating a bowl of Lucky Charms every morning, then suddenly switch to Raisin Bran, your body will have some adjusting to do. The lack of sugar may give you headaches at first, but the increase in fiber content will have you intestines thanking you in no time (quite literally, sometimes).
Well I've recently found that changing my sleeping schedule has dramatically changed my productivity levels. I was once accustomed to working an 8-5 job, coming home, going for a run, showering, eating, then hitting the couch. I now work a 7:30-4 job (who needs an hour for lunch anyway?), and find time run, shower, do dishes, clean up around the house, read, and even stop by my husband's job to say hello and get some face time in before I hit the hay.
Now don't get me wrong, getting up at 5:30 in the morning can be quite daunting. The first few days I wasn't sure I'd be able to function. But giving myself an hour and a half to gain consciousness and normal bodily function helped me to be able to leave at 7am to get the work (not a long commute, just a HUGE parking lot and a few entrance procedures). I've found that to my surprise, and much to my husband's disgruntlement, I am a morning person. For now, this does not bode well for us; he works the second shift at a college across town, and he typically gets home around 12:30 or 1am to find me fast asleep in bed. He'll wake me for a few minutes to say goodnight, and usually I am neither coherent, nor very responsive. In the mornings when I'm chipper, I find him grunting and refusing to open his eyes when he reaches over to kiss me "Good Morning".
I have never heard good things about this idea of husband and wife having opposing schedules, but surprisingly, it works for us. Since my husband does not work Wednesday or Friday nights, nor at all on the weekends, we get two nights a week and a full weekend to spend time together. By the time Wednesday rolls around, we crave each other. We want so badly to lay in each others' arms and rub noses like crazy, lovey Eskimos. THIS, my friends, is most definitely the benefit to having a different schedule as your spouse.
You both find yourselves wanting sex more, and when you do find time for it, you savor it. Although, this could be because we've only been married a month. But hey, it's working.

Bet you can't guess what I do

I've nearly had my first full week at my new job, and unfortunately I can't really say what it is that I do. Upon entering my workplace on the first day, I found out that saying nearly anything would be a breach of security for not only the facility, but for the department I work in, which could jeopardize my position. Therefore, I tell people I have a cool job that gave me lab goggles. (Which is true!)
This did get me thinking, though: what could people dream up that I really do? I feel a bit like Robert DeNiro in Meet the Parents, though luckily I don't have to fake as a florist; I can say that I work for the US government. What I cannot say, though, is my position title, nor my job description, nor what type of facility I work at.
If I had heard someone say that to me a few years ago, I would have assumed they worked in some Area 51-esque place dissecting aliens (which, by the way, does sound like a highly entertaining job). For all my friends and family know, I could be torturing prisoners of war in a small cabin in the middle of Virginia. Or I could be growing genetically mutated plants like Audrey 2 that feed on human blood. Or I could be developing waves that can transmit signals several lightyears away. How would anyone know the difference.
Strangely enough, having a "secret" job gives me a bit of a cool factor. I love that I have to tell people "No, I cannot tell you what it is that I do, but I like my job so far".
I doubt I have very many readers just yet, but if you're out there, and you have a job you can't tell other people about, leave me a comment. I'd love to hear about it.