Summertime Movingtime

I realize I have forgotten to mention this at all, but Beardface and I are moving. Well, we sort of already moved, but not officially.

I am writing you from our mattress, sitting on the floor of our current apartment with very little (read a kitchen table) of our furniture here with us. Why, you ask? Necessity, of course!

As soon as I started work with the government, I knew we would be able to afford a larger place; the apartment we currently live in is around 400 sq ft, and although it is clean and fairly modern, it just isn't enough space for two people. We tried to make it work with creative furniture configuration, but nothing really helped the fact that we simply didn't have enough space for all of our stuff. So about May I started to get the itch that I wanted to move NOW. Please keep in mind that our lease in the current apartment doesn't actually run out until August, so this was a bit risky.

We found a cute little house in the same neighborhood as my alma mater, which thrilled me. It is a much nicer neighborhood where more people own their homes and are more likely to take good care of them. Plus, the house is about 900 sq ft; it would be HUGE to us. We fell in love with it (ok, I fell in love with the kitchen and wanted it) and wanted to move in July 1st. We got it cleared with our current landlord and handed in our deposit.

It wasn't more than a few weeks later that I remembered I had to travel to Connecticut for work that week. Believe me, I was fairly confused as to why I was traveling at all for work the week before the Fourth of July, thereby cutting my holiday weekend short, but I had to do what I had to do.

My husband and I were then left with only two options: 1. He could move all of our things without me, and I'd get back and be living in a new house. or 2. We could move all of our big things and Beardface could live with the bare necessities (did you just picture Baloo?) for a few days while I was gone. Although the first option appealed to me quite a bit, I had to be the good wife and decent human being to go with option two.

So this morning, after several weeks of putting our things into boxes and recruiting a small, but efficient army of our friends and family we moved our things in. As exhausting as it was, it went by fairly quickly and without any major issues. Although it was warm, we all survived.

Now all we have to do is put everything away. I say that as if it's easy.

As our friendly volunteers were leaving, though, one of our friend informed us that he and his parents would be moving within the next month or two. And that's not just a small apartment; it's a large house! Heat, moving trucks, boxes, part two. I'm so excited.

Scared Silly

Have you all seen that movie "The Fourth Kind"? It is creepus.

It is another one of those thriller movies made like "The Blair Witch Project"; it used "real" footage to prove that alien encounters were happening at an alarmingly high rate in a particular town in Alaska. For clarification, I do not readily believe in aliens or any other lifeforms on other planets, but to be honest, there is something about the crappy quality of homemade video evidence that makes me want to believe whatever I see. Maybe I'm too gullible.

Whatever it is, I am going to have a hard time sleeping tonight, even though I ran 3.5 miles this morning (yea!) and did a little strength workout while making dinner. I guess I could just read until I fall asleep. I am currently delving into The Fellowship of the Ring by Tolkein. It's one of my husband's favorite books, and I feel I owe it to him to get through it. I'm about half way, and it's honestly not all that bad.

For now, though, I am beat. I'm going to hit the hay because we both have to pack tomorrow. It's going to be a busy weekend, what with us moving and then me going on TDY for a few days starting Monday.

In Bed Before 7? You Don't Say!

It has been one of those days, and everyone reading this knows what I mean. I woke up feeling slightly hazy, and no matter what I did all day I couldn't shake the fuzz on my brain. Yup, one of those days.

I went for my 3.5 mi run this morning, which I will admit terrified me. I left the house just before 5am, and it was obviously still dark. Last night I had used this to figure out a nice route to incorporate the extra half mile that I usually don't run in the mornings. Well, I picked a few new streets on this route that happen to have very little nighttime lighting. And for those of you who have never been up before the sun comes up, 5 am is basically nighttime for all intents and purposes. Anyway, here I am, phone-less, iPod-less, key-less, even, running down unfamiliar roads in the dark. It's no wonder my husband wants to buy me a road tag. (A road tag is basically an identification bracelet, anklet, or shoelace attachment for runners in case of an emergency.) The poor Beard probably thinks I'll be kidnapped.

But I digress. Back to my brain fuzz.

I had my usual cup of coffee at work, and I got cracking into my computer training early. As a government intern, I am required to do an irritatingly large amount of computer training in order to become certified and useful to the U.S. Government as soon as possible; my strategy has been to knock it out in the mornings, then roam the plant in the afternoon when I'd rather be taking a nap.

At about 0715 I sat down in front of a training module on government acquisition (doesn't get more thrilling than that, does it?) and got to work. By about 0800, I had lost all attention in what I was doing and wanted to just go home.

This pattern stayed with me all day, even when a few of us left the plant for "official U.S. government business". Usually I'm thrilled when I can leave the plant during the day, if only for a short while like it was today. This afternoon, though, I felt like I couldn't concentrate on walking straight, let alone be excited to be outside.

I managed to get home in one piece and cook some coconut shrimp for dinner (my absolute favorite summer dish), and now I'm in bed. I have a wonderful husband that cleaned up after dinner and gave me a cup of tea so I could sit under the covers and send my thoughts into cyberspace. I'm hoping for sanity and brain clarity tomorrow. Oh well.

How Do You Take the Heat?

Most sane human beings eat cold delicious things in the heat. Ice cream, ice pops, salads, fruit, and other cool treats adorned your plate today if your weather was anything like it was in central Virginia.

But as I type this I'm sipping some peppermint tea. Hot peppermint tea. And what was for dinner? Grilled cheese and tomato soup.

You have to understand how Mondays work around here. I usually have to wake up early to take care of dishes and other random chores, not to mention I'm already exhausted from my long run the day before. (If you're wondering, my long run on Sunday as only 4.5 miles, but it was about 87 degrees, so I thought I was going to collapse from heat exhaustion by about mile 2.)

My husband had a long day at work (which he always does in the summer; it gives him Fridays off :-D). We both are usually out of the house for a solid 12 hours on a work day between our short commute, my 9 hour work day, his 10 hour work day, then going to the gym. But typically we greet each other with smiles and happy kisses and things.

Well this afternoon I got to the gym a bit later than normal, hoping I'd still be working out by the time Beardface got there. I finished my strength workout and was killing time on the rowing machine (yup, you like that) when Beardface slunk his way up the stairs and over to where I was. It literally looked like someone shot his childhood dog. The poor man had a look of despair on his face, as if nothing had gone right today, and nothing ever would.

I knew I had finished the last of our milk earlier, so there was no hope for the cream of chicken soup that I had in the cabinet. I made up my mind there that I'd head to the grocery store as soon as I got home. In true southern style I threw on flip-flops, jeans with paint stains, and a tank top and headed to get a gallon of milk and 2 cans of Campbell's Tomato Soup (or Beardface Cureall, as I like to call it). I got home and got to work slicing the bread and making the grilled cheese sandwiches.

When Beardface moseyed out of the bedroom and into the kitchen I saw a hint of a smile, and after talking about our days, I got him to laugh. Just remembering it makes me smile.

So whatever it is you do on your nasty hot days, I bet it's not what we do. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. It's good for your soul.

A Butt Kicker of a Week

I don't know what it was about this week, but I am beat! And it's only Thursday! I haven't felt like any of my workouts have been too terrible (today was a 3 mile run and a strength routine), but I guess it's all just wearing down on me. I am so ready for the weekend.

Speaking of the weekend. Guess what Beard and I are doing this weekend? No, not Disneyland. No, not camping. Even cooler. We're going to the lake! :-)

For clarification, we aren't like your everyday average Virginians who enjoy all sorts of crazy things at the beach. People fish, go boating, go hiking, and just do crazy lake specific things. All of these things seem cool, I guess, if you're the kind of person who has a Virginia Tech sticker on your F-150. But if you're regular folk like my husband and I, the lake is really the closest beach you have.

Boy do I miss the beach. I grew up so close to the beach that my mother would take us kids at least once a week from Memorial Day through Labor Day. I was what you would call a "Water Baby". Moving down to central VA has moved me about 4 hours drive from the Atlantic ocean, and that depresses me a little. Mostly just in summer. You know, when the sun is beating on your face and it's so bright outside you can barely open your eyes. Little beads of sweat form on your back as soon as you step outside. That's when I think "Man, I could use some Jersey Shore right now". (Aside: when I refer to the Jersey Shore, I mean a gloriously beautiful National Park called Sandy Hook, not the dirty trashy Sleez-side Heights that has been the setting for a recent reality television show.)

What do you like to do best in the summer? Those of you not near a coast, what kind of summer-y activities get you excited for the hot months?

How I Know I've Been Living in Virginia Too Long...

...I went to the grocery store today in stretchy pants. Ew.

Pure Satisfaction

A few months ago, my mother was rummaging through her basement as my husband and I were getting ready to leave for home. Home is a seven hour drive from my mother's house, and neither of us were in a mood to look through my mom's junk to find things we may want to take home. But leave it to my mother: every time you go to her house, she has some old piece of junk, either a dresser or a lamp, or a fish tank, or some old clothes, that she is just dying for you to have. I've come to the conclusion that my mother is honestly just too lazy to have a garage sale. Instead, she pawns all over her crap on her children. We really are unsuspecting victims.

In this particular instance, my mother brought out this:

Apparently this mirror was my Uncle's, and when he passed away, my mother asked for it for me. She thought I would love the bright colors and that it would be fun in Beardface's and my apartment. Oh how wrong she was. I was fairly horrified at the sight of this thing, and I couldn't think of what would make it look more normal. Until it hit me: I can remove the paint and stain it. Oh how beautiful it will be!

And that's what I did. Beard came with me to Lowes, and we picked out all the necessary supplies: sandpaper, paintbrushes, gloves, stain, and polyurethane. I was all set.

That day I got to sanding, and, let me tell you, sanding paint off is no easy task. Especially since whoever painted this particularly hideous artifact painted several coats of several different colors all over it. I had a lot of work to do.

Almost a month later of working on this beast over weekends when I could drag it outside to sand it, the project was complete:

Yup. The mirror is finished. And it honestly looks like something I'll hang in my house. I've got a few more projects around the house that I'd like to do this to (like the coffee table you see the corner of on the right side of the picture). Once we move (July 1st!!!) I'll be getting my hands dirty with some more projects.

It's amazing how something old and gross can become something so simple and pretty.

Trying Something New

As you all know, I had a pretty rough week. It was really hard to get enough sleep when my body just didn't want to sleep when I needed it to. So I'm supposed to be having a restful weekend so I can get back to work on Monday refreshed. What do I decide to do on my restful weekend?

Make lots of bread. :-)

I had to make our regular sandwich bread anyway, so I figured while I'm already kneading things, I might as well try some baguettes.

Our regular sandwich bread is a delicious and easy recipe that I found on The Fresh Loaf. That website, by the way, is my go to for any bread, rolls, or other delicious rising baked goods. I've done that recipe several times by now, so I can nearly do it with my eyes closed. I got that all baked last night, so I'd have time this morning for...

The baguettes.

(Did I hear you say mmm?)

Baguettes have to be, hands down, my absolute favorite type of bread. They have a crusty outside and a soft, chewy inside, and are absolutely made to go with some chopped tomato salad (Recipe to follow). This is the recipe I'm using for the whole wheat baguettes. I'm not sure how it will turn out because it usually takes me a few tries with a bread recipe to get it to where it tastes lovely. Either way, it's a very exciting prospect. :-)

As far as running, yesterday was a rest day (boring, but necessary), and today I've got 30 minutes of cross-training on my schedule. Beardface and I don't usually go to the gym on Saturdays, but I may have to today, whether he'll come along or not. I know 30 minutes of walking isn't going to cut it, but 30 minutes on the rowing machine might. ;-) Tomorrow is a 4 mile run, so I'm all kinds of excited. Can you see me wiggling my behind through the screen? Thought so.

Chopped Tomato Salad (Makes 4 servings)

2 cups chopped tomatoes, any kind

1 tbsp olive oil

salt, to taste

1/2 tsp black pepper

5-6 leaves fresh basil

1 clove of garlic

Pick any kind of tomatoes that you like. I love cherry tomatoes because I only have to cut them in have to make them bite-sized, and they are very sweet. If you are a roma tomato kind of person, use those. I wouldn't suggest using beefsteak tomatoes simply because they tend to have the least flavor.

Chop the tomatoes into bite-sized pieces, and chop the garlic as fine as you can. Put both into a bowl with salt and pepper. Drizzle the olive oil over it, then stir. Rip the basil leaves into small pieces and add to your mixture and give it a light toss.

Serving Suggestions: I have been known to eat this straight, by itself, but it can go well with some great bread. My parents used to refer to this salad as "Dippity Do's" because it called for a good piece of baguette to be dipped in the juice left by the tomatoes and olive oil. You could also serve it over some toasted bread (not sliced Wonder bread toasted, but real bread, toasted in the oven). That would look more like bruschetta.

Enjoy!

Sleepyface

I could have told you at 3pm yesterday that this morning was going to be rough. Oh boy and it was.

I know there have to be more people out there get antsy when they're tired. Well, I'd only been in work about 3 hours before I felt like I couldn't pay attention to anything. I don't want to make the outrageous claim that I have ADD or that I need some kind of medication for this. No. I need some regular sleep hours for this.

I didn't anticipate how difficult it would be to go to sleep as soon as I get home from work and to still wake up at the same time as if I was working first shift. Seriously, that's nearly impossible. I'm just very thankful that today is the last day I have to work this crazy shift (for now). (Fun Fact: When you work for the U.S. government you get all sorts of silly benefits you didn't know were available, like an alternate work schedule. I work four 9's and a 4. Jealous?)

Anyway, last night Beard and I got into a little spat over cell phone plans. We are both really looking forward to being on the same cellphone provider, but we have slightly different ideas of what is necessary as far as phone usage. I have a very conservative view of our money (don't spend it all if you don't have to), whereas as my husband can sometimes have a more liberal view of it (if we have it, why not spend it?). You can see where the problem starts.

The argument got a little heated, since we were both absolutely beat, and of course we didn't get to sleep until way after we both had hoped.

Which left me this morning with 3 miles to run, strength training to do, 2 dinners and one lunch to make, and a box to pack.

Dinners, check.

Lunch, check.

Exercise, check.

That box, oh boy I'll get that sucker after work.

A Busy Morning

Unfortunately, I'm about ready to get dressed and run out the door to work. Why, you ask? Because I spent the morning prepping and freezing fresh produce from our co-op! Plug www.sausserfarms.com ;-)

Check out our spread:

Running on Empty

This week at work I've been training with the two second shift QAS's (Quality Assurance Specialists). Luckily, I don't have to work second shift with them (1500-00300), but I did have to shift my schedule around to have enough time to learn from them. So I'm stuck work 1130-2100 this week. Not the greatest shift to work when you normally lay down in bed around 2100.

(Please excuse the military time. I'm so used to it that I think in it nowadays.)

Yesterday felt great, honestly. I got up, had time to prepare dinner and put it into two containers, one for me to take to work, and one to leave in the fridge for Beardface. I felt very accomplished, and I still managed to get to work on-time, and while I was still alert. My shift itself wasn't terrible, either. Since my job involves a lot of walking around, it's hard to get very sleepy. I had intended to hop right into bed when I got home, but my husband, the sweet man he is, had lit all the candles in the house and had run a hot shower for me, with some company, of course ;) Clearly getting to bed was the furthest thing from my mind when I saw that.

This morning, I had high hopes of waking up at normal time (0450) and going for a run before Beardface was showered and ready for breakfast. Of course this did not happen. I smacked my phone at 0450 and just lied in bed until my husband's alarm went off. We got up together, but I was still a bit of a zombie. I had to pack him lunch and make breakfast for us. By the time he left, I may have been fairly responsive, but I'm not sure.

I did run my 3 miles this morning, but not until about 0700. It was strange to run in daylight, but I welcomed the sun on my face. I was a little slow-going at first, considering this was my first run back since my 10K. Tomorrow I've got a 2 mile run scheduled, and I'm hoping to try to get that done before breakfast. I've got my fingers crossed.

The First is Always the Easiest

The Virginia Ten-Miler is probably the most famous race in our area. People come from around the globe (or so the website claims) to run the historic, hilly course.

I'll admit, I've always had my eye on the Ten-Miler for a running goal. It is famed to be one of the most difficult races of its distance in the country because of all the hills along the course, and no, I've never particularly trained to run hills, but oh well.

So I'm arming myself to prep for this terrifying but awesome race. I've got a 12 week training schedule for a half-marathon (which is 13.1 miles, but I figure training for a longer distance will help me with speed), and I've got a few weeks leeway to work on hills. I'm running the Ten-Miler this September. Yea... :)

This morning was the first day of my training schedule, and I bounded out of bed this morning to check the distance I get to run today. To my dismay, Mondays, for the entire 12 weeks, are stretch and strengthen. Did you hear me groan? Because I definitely just did. I understand that rest is important, and that strong, well-stretched muscles run better, but it is just far too boring and easy to to a strength workout and stretch.

I know I'm cuing all yoga and pilates lovers to attack me right now, so I'll go ahead and concede that strength workouts can be difficult. But I have never found a strength workout to be anywhere near as difficult as running 10 miles. (Yea, what do you have to say about that, yogis?)

Tomorrow at least I have a 3 mile run scheduled (for very early in the am. YES!). The first two weeks look fairly boring, but I know I have to suffer through them.

Lord, help me to find the patience to take the baby steps necessary to build up my endurance.

A New Twist

I was having dinner with a friend from church yesterday, and during our conversation she made me realize something that I'd never thought of before: I could (and should) be running for charity.

I doubt she knew that what she said really triggered something significant in my heart, but I do have to thank her for it.

I do spend an awful lot of time running. I run anywhere between 15 and 25 miles each week, which usually means I spend almost 3 1/2 hours of my free time pounding pavement. When you consider that 40 hours of my week are dedicated to work, and another 56 hours are dedicated to sleeping, I'm left with about 5% of my "free" time that I choose to spend running.

I used to really enjoy running road races, just for the fun of it. I've done my fair share of 5Ks, and now I have two 10Ks under my belt.

I do think, though, that it's time to put this activity to good use. I've done some research on ways to use my running as a way to raise funds for charities, and I have several options in front of me:

1. Run charity races exclusively. These usually cost about the same as any other road race, and the proceeds go to one charity or another. I ran a 5K for Autism Awareness a few years back, and my hard-earned $20 went towards Autism research. This is definitely a viable option, but charity races are not as frequent, nor are they as popular as regular old road and trail races.

2. Pick a charity for each race and ask friends and family to donate. This sounds like an awesome idea on the surface, until you realize that my friends and family would have to trust me a heck of a lot to just hand me some money for my running in a race. It would in no way be official, and may creep some people out. Including myself.

3. Become a St. Jude's Hero. This option sounds like the best to me, so far. St. Jude offers a program for runners, walkers, and bikers to raise money for St. Jude's Children's Hospital. For a relatively small sign-up fee, St. Jude hooks you up with a fundraising site and some training information. I would be able to run any race I'd like, and I would just advertise to friends and family that they can donate on this particular website to sponsor me. It sounds slightly awkward ("please give money to this charity because I'm running this race"), but I feel because it is a known charity and an official program, it is less likely to raise any flags.

I definitely still have some thinking to do on this topic. If there are any other options out there, drop me a line. I'd love to hear how others turn their running into fundraising for charities.

I'll keep you all updated on my training progress and what is going on with everything.

Races and the Bare Truth

This morning was successful.

(That was for all of you sitting on the edge of your chairs waiting to hear how my 10k went.)

It was definitely warmer than anyone had expected; the temperature was about 85 degrees at 9am. This made the run quite a bit more difficult. Not to mention the hills. Oh boy were those killer.

I ended up finishing in at 82 minutes.

Yes, that sounds terrible slow, even to me, but keep in mind the conditions. Most everyone was running at a significantly slower pace this morning, so I was still satisfied with my slower than usual time.

My 10k isn't really what I wanted to talk about today, though. I had a more substantial topic in mind.

For the last 7 or 8 years or so, I have carefully developed a very unhealthy response to stress and fatigue: I overeat. When I say I overeat, I mean to the point of feeling very stuffed and often almost sick. When there is something that upsets me or frustrates me, I will sit in the kitchen for an hour or so, walking back and forth between the table and the refrigerator, consuming 1,000 calories or more in that time.

I know that I'm not the only one who experiences this, and I know it is a fairly common disorder. It is difficult to come to terms with, and even more difficult to deal with.

Today, because of being tired, I found myself weak. And I gave into my stress response.

I intend to work through this with prayer and careful planning of meals and things. If anyone has any other suggestions, feel free to leave them.

I'm sorry that I haven't delved much into the emotion behind this response, but I feel it is the action itself that I would really like to stop.

Running and Nerves

It has been a few days since I've been on here, and honestly, it's been a busy few days.

Between work and church and trying to keep the apartment in order, the hubby and I have a lot to do, and we still try to get to bed by 9 or 9:30!

I am feeling a bit nervous, today, so I wanted to blog about it.

Tomorrow I'll be running a trail 10K, which is a new experience for me. I've run a 10K before, but it was a road race. Trails are very different. There are all sorts of little dips and hills in the trail, plus tree roots, rocks, and living creatures. On the road, I am honestly only accustomed to dodging an occasional car.

I'm also a bit out of training due to a medical incident last week. I was given the okay by my doctor to run the race, but I haven't been doing enough running to really feel confident.

So I haven't run today, in order to rest up for tomorrow. I'm hoping I'll run the whole thing without stopping to walk. I'm shooting to finish in an hour. Wish me luck!

Devotions

I usually have my own reactions to stress: I'll cry or have sweets or just zone out. But when larger crises hit, I usually don't deal very well.

Last night my husband and I had to deal with what I would say is the most difficult situation we have come across in our marriage so far. Of course we both cried and held each other for a while. I need the reassurance that my husband is and will always be there for me, and I know he likes comforting me and wrapping his arms around me for protection.

This morning, though, I had a new reaction to this tragedy. After breakfast, I picked up my bible, and my husband sat with me as we both continued through our usual devotions. We prayed together, asking for clarity in our situation, then opened our separate bibles and read from where we were.

I happened to be just finishing 1Kings and starting 2Kings. Elijah advises the kings of Judah and Israel to heed God's commandments in the end of 1Kings, then he is taken to heaven in a whirlwind in the beginning of 2Kings. His abilities are transferred to the prophet Elisha.

One story in particular struck in reading about the prophet Elisha: There was a woman with an old husband who didn't yet have any children. Elisha told her that God would give her a son in a year. She was confused about how this was possible, but trusted Elisha's prophesy. She did give birth to a son about a year later, and when the son was a toddler, he grew sick and died. Upset, the mother brought her son to Elisha, who brought the child to life with his staff.

Despite what else may go on in our lives, God has a plan, and he has promises he will keep. I'm trying to keep that in mind for this week.

Flowers

Beardface and I volunteered to make dinner tomorrow night for our small group.

(For those of you not in the loop, a small group is like a bible study but with more fellowship and friendship.)

I sent Beardface to go buy some fish for dinner at the local grocery store. We had several minutes of conversation before he left to break him down on what kind of fish to get. Then he gets to the grocery store, and he has a hard time finding what it is I asked him to get. So Beardface calls me, while he is in the freezer section of the grocery store; we have several minutes more of conversation about how to find this fish that I wanted.

Meanwhile, I'm at home with Swedish meatballs on the stove. I'm stirring noodles and anxiously waiting for him to come home, when Beardface walks into the door with the perfect fish and some flowers!

I can't say what these flowers were for, but they were absolutely sweet and very pretty. :-)

Surviving the Kids

Well I barely survived my first Sunday with the kiddies. I made a narrow escape with little more than chewed up animal crackers on my shoulders. I'm too exhausted to update more.

More to come.

An Unusual Position

Recently I've taken a position serving at my church. I had several options to choose from: ushering, making coffee or breakfast, directing traffic in the parking lot, etc. Did I choose any of these fairly less than social activities? Absolutely not.

For the next few months, I will be watching my fellow church-goers babies while they attend service. For those of you who attend a church that does not have this service, you may be reading this thinking, "Wow, that's awesome. There aren't any screaming babies in the middle of the sermon." This is exactly why our church provides the service.

But, I have very little experience with children at all. In fact, allow me to document here:

Age 13 - My cousin has a baby boy. He is adorable and cute and cuddly, so I decided to touch his head. He screams. I refuse to touch babies for years.

Age 15 - I get a job as a camp counselor for snooty rich kids. I am in charge of 20 8 year old boys and girls. I nearly shoot myself after work each day.

I have no other real substantial contact with children again. Seriously. No one small enough or not for long enough to warrant a short description here.

So, I will be watching people's children on Sunday. I'm not worried I won't do well, I'm just worried I'll bore the kids. But their toddlers, so I suppose small things amuse them. Hopefully I'll be ok.

Did You Leave Your Baggage at the Airport?

I can get fairly cocky at times, most especially when dealing with a certain few topics: science, logic, and levelheadedness. I pride myself in my ability to think logically and clearly despite stressful situations. Whether or not I actually have this ability is completely up for debate.

The past few days have been a bit strange in the Beardface household. I have been mildly hormonal and a bit over-emotional, which can terrify my husband at times and frustrate him at others.

My biggest weakness, though:

Jumping to conclusions.

Without going too deep into my childhood and all the wonderment that it entailed, I will tell you that I am accustomed to being wrong. All the time. If something happens, it was always my fault. After years of this kind of treatment, I really did absorb some of these thoughts into my own psyche. So much so that it has become a part of my personality. I find myself constantly apologizing for things that I either have not done or have no control of.

This fantastic trait has now weasled it's way into my marriage. When my husband and I are having a disagreement, I automatically assume I am at fault and apologize (which is usually followed by a small dissertation on why I am a moron for doing what I did). I'm blessed to have a husband that does not take this at face value. Rather he has forbidden me from putting myself down in his presence and from apologizing for inane things.

What it boils down to is this:

I had thought that growing up, I was handling everything I was dealt. I was told that for my situation, I was a very stable young lady, and I should be proud of my level head. This may be true, but my past was not without its consequences. And as much as I hate to admit it, these consequences have begun to affect my marriage.

Do you bring baggage into your relationship/marriage? How so? Do you notice its effect on you and your significant other?

The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, you know.

Hormones

I would like to state here that I am normally a very rational human being. Most days.

Today, this was not the case.

Beardface and I carpool to work, and as a carpooling couple, we have to work together in the mornings to get our things ready and get out the door on time. It is quite like a magical synchronized swimming routine:

I get up silly early to run in the pre-dawn darkness, while my husband slowly rolls out of bed. By the time I'm back, he is either showered or still in there, which means I start my own shower or jump in with him (score!).

Then there is this 15-20 blurr that includes dressing and putting on deodorant and things. I honestly am never sure how this gets done in the morning, but it does.

When we are both dressed and fairly presentable, we sit down to breakfast together. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, you can still be at work by 7am and sit down to a wholesome breakfast. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

This morning in particular, after breakfast I had a few last minute things to put into our respective lunch bags, allowing Beardface the time to go brush his teeth. (Aside: My husband is one of those strange people that cannot brush his teeth before breakfast. I refuse to see the logic in this, but as his wife, I am willing to overlook it.)

Anyway, as I finish putting things together in the lunch, I peek to see if Beardface is around because I was going to slip a note into his lunchbag. When I look around the corner what do I see? My husband is on Facebook. Annoyed, clearly, I ask him (not so gently) to go brush his teeth. He grumbles and does so.

The entire ride to work there is some serious tension. I think he is angry with me, and he thinks I am angry with him. It is all sorts of out of wack.

When I get to work, I immediately e-mail Beardy to call a truce. At lunchtime I check my e-mail again. No response. So I call him. Voicemail. Then towards the end of the day I check e-mail again. No response. No phone call. I e-mail him one last time.

On the way to pick him up after work I text something sarcastic asking if he wants me to pick him up, and the poor man is confused.

I had quite literally worked myself into a frenzy enough that I was blazingly angry at him for not having tried to contact me at all during the day.

Hormones.

Competition and Fish-Fries

Do you have a friend that you absolutely cannot stand because they seem to always one-up you? Your cat can fetch, well theirs can speak on command. You bought a 2 bedroom house, well their house has 3 bedrooms and a wrap-around porch. You broke your arm playing basketball as a kid, well they lost their kidney in a rough game of ultimate frisbee.

I hate these people, too. Usually. But I find myself doing acting in this way toward my husband often. He will tell me about something from "back home" (the midwest), and I immediately have to top it with something oh-so-much cooler that's in New Jersey. Or I'll just rationalize that what he claims is so awesome is actually not that special at all.

I am careful not to do this with his accomplishments. I would never belittle my husbands efforts at work, school, in church, etc. In fact I remind Beardface regularly that I think he is the strongest, smartest, and most wonderful man on Earth. Why, then, do I feel the need to cut down everything he has seen or experienced before me?

I think on some level I feel rejected when he does that. As if everything we do together cannot hold a candle to all the awesome things he has done in his life before me. It makes me feel boring and like a bit of a homebody.

I know I'll feel better once I lay that feeling down and just listen to what my husband has to say. It's a place to get to; I know. But in the meantime, I'll be pumping up Jersey's image in my household.

Man, I Feel Like a Woman

Tonight's blog will be short and sweet, but I feel this is an important moment in my life that I have to share.

Beardface has some friends over tonight; they're playing video games and computer things. You know, the usual. I had left to go grocery shopping just as his friends pulled up, so I can only assume that my husband offered them something to drink and eat.

I returned home, put away the groceries, and started on my weekend tradition: making bread. I warmed up some dinner for Beardface and I, offering some to his friends of course. When I set my husband's dinner down at his computer desk, I noticed one of his friends was using a coaster for his glass.

I am not sure whose idea that was, Beardface's or his friend's, but that was honestly the first time I've truly felt like the woman of my own household. Someone cared enough about my furniture (albeit a hand-me-down coffee table) to use a coaster. It really is the little things in life, isn't it?

A Little Deeper Today

In most parts of my life, I am very well controlled. I have self-control about working and exercising and finances and all of that. There is a particular part of my life (which, no, I am not going to share with you all, in which I have a difficult time exercising self-control.

It's a difficult beast to tackle, sometimes. You think you really have a grasp on it, but then something throws you a curve ball, and all of a sudden you've lost your grip.

That happened today, and it wasn't the first time in recent weeks.

Tonight I'm praying 1 Peter 6-9:

"Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.

Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that your brothers throughout the world are undergoing the same kind of sufferings."

Really Arizona?

In light of the new bill passed in the state of Arizona, I would like to comment on our country's ever-changing policy on immigrants.

First, for those of you who do not know, the state of Arizona has passed through a bill mandating that any immigrants carry their naturalization papers or green cards on them at all times. If an immigrant is caught without his or her papers, he or she is subject to arrest and detainment. In 90 days, it will be a misdemeanor to be an immigrant not carrying immigration papers in the state of Arizona. This law also leaves much of its practice subject to the judgment of the Arizona police force. An officer may detain any individual he or she suspects of being an illegal immigrant at any time, simply based on physical characteristics.

The vast majority of immigrants in the state of Arizona are of Hispanic origins (mainly from Mexico). This law seems as though it is giving the Arizona police force permission to harass at will the state's Hispanic population.

My question is this:

When did the United States of America become intolerant to immigrants?

We are a country founded for enterprise and religious freedom, and over 96% of the United States current population are born into families of immigrant origins. Even those individuals who can trace their heritage as far back as a family member on the Mayflower are of immigrant origins.

America was a haven to refugees from many countries and hard-working citizens from across the globe who sought a better quality of life. Europeans and Asians came when their countries were suffering a famine or at war. Many South Americans came seeking safer conditions and a higher standard of living. Why now are we trying to stop the immigration of people from an impoverished country?

On a personal note, I know many Mexican immigrants, both legal and illegal. I noticed one thing they almost all had in common: a strong work ethic. These Hispanic immigrants risk their lives to enter into a country of hope only to work 70-80 hours a week doing back-breaking work for less than minimum wage. They hope to save up enough money to send back to their families in Mexico, usually. Others hope to be able to bring their families to America.

How is this any different than the immigration of the Irish and the Italians during the end of the 19th century? Did the men not come first, seeking jobs and hard work? Did they not send for their families later, or send their paychecks home?

The United States has a lot of pride in its "Melting Pot" heritage. We celebrate the Italians, the Irish, the Germans, the Scottish, the Japanese, the Native Americans, etc. Why, then, can we not celebrate the Hispanic cultures?

Yonder

If I hear this word once more at work, I'm throwing something. How difficult is it to say "Over there"???

Belly Noises

So tonight's little blurb will be short and sweet. Who else is seriously irritated by other people's stomachs making noises?

I hate it. It makes my skin crawl, literally. When I hear those rumbles and strange gurgles coming out of people's bellies, I want to yell at them to drink a glass of water or eat something.

sigh

Sports Pride and Insanity

I have to vent about this. Really, I do.

For anyone who has ever spent much time in the state of Virginia, you may have noticed that an uncommonly large number of cars are sporting vanity plates, or license plates with numbers and letters of the particle owner's choosing. This is for the simple fact that vanity plates are much less expensive in the state of Virginia than they are in other states across the country. (Believe me, I was even pleasantly surprised to see the low price of vanity plates, but decided against them since I had nothing worthwhile to imprint on the back of my vehicle. Vanity license plates should be a fairly big decision. I understand it is nothing compared to the purchase of your first home or naming your children, but consider this: every individual that sees your car sees your license plates. They may or may not judge you based on what you have chosen to put on them.

Now, when the cost of something is low, it's availability is higher, yes? I have never taken an economics course, but this sounds likely enough to be true. So vanity plates in this state are available and feasible for nearly everyone, including those with an annoyingly strong love for the Virginia Tech Hokies.

So what I see when I drive around town are license plates like "Hokie Fan", Hokie Fan1", or "HOKIES". It isn't bad enough that maroon and orange litter our city (which for reference is not where V. Tech is located, but now the fans have to proclaim their love in my face from the back of their vehicle.

I feel there is nothing I can do to stop this, so I suffer in silence. But so help me, next time I renew my license, I may just get "HOKIE H8R".

A Runner's Personal Safety

I love to run. Truly I do. Many people do not love to run but do so anyway because they think it will make them skinny and sexy. I am not skinny, but I still love to run. Go figure.

I love to run so much that I wake up before 5 am every weekday morning to go for a jog before work. To some, this may sound like insanity. Rest assured, my sanity is fully intact.

Since I was about 15 years old, I have tried to run first thing in the morning at least five days a week. It really helps me to feel accomplished and just good about myself. I grew up in a more urban setting than I am currently living, but never felt that my safety was at risk.

According to Beardface, I had been wrong all along. We had a discussion today about pepper spray and handheld knives for safety purposes, and I expressed that I felt I'd never be able to purposefully hurt someone. Even out of defense.

My husband was very upset with this. This is a matter of safety! he insisted. He worries about me, and would feel better if I'd carry something with me on a run.

Now.

Like I said, I've been running nearly every morning for the past several years, and it has always been just me and the road. And sometimes my i-Pod. But never anything dangerous.

What if I stab myself or spray myself??? What then will I do??

Dilemmas.

Cinco de Mayo

Cinco de Mayo is the greatest American holiday, and no one can convince me otherwise.

Who doesn't love arroz con pollo, chips and salsa, and coronas with lime?

Seriously.

Tonight

It was a great night tonight, but now I'm exhausted. It's great to know that I have girls I can rely on, put my trust in, and will help me to become a better person right here in town. :-)

But I'm exhausted. For now, it's bedtime.

Gnight!

Guys' Night

I'm learning that sometimes in order to be a good wife, I have to just let loose and not care about what goes. I just need to let my husband do the things he wants to do. Other times, it's more appropriate for me to do with him what he really enjoys.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Although I am not the biggest fan of science fiction movies, tonight we are watching Star Wars: A New Hope. Apparently this as necessary to my existence as a human being. I have watched and enjoyed Episodes 1 through 3, but Beardface insists that Episodes 4 through 6 surpass the more recent Star Wars movies in all aspects.

So over pizza bagels and broccoli with cheese dip (clearly a compromise meal) I sit in my husband's arms and enjoy Harrison Ford in his finest 2 hours. I will admit, I am enjoying this, most especially because Jabba the Hut is a great imitation of Vito Corleone from the Godfather Movies.

In other news, and good news at that, we will be moving in July! Beardface and I got accepted to rent a small house near my alma mater on the other side of town. I'm so excited to have 2 whole bedrooms and a much bigger kitchen, plus a sun room and a front and back yard. It isn't much lawn, but it's enough for me to plant a few things and enjoy laying on the front lawn watching stars. I can't wait!

Soup Revelations

What do you think of when you think of pea soup?

So many people remember the scene in the movie The Exorcist when the young girl, while possessed, spews pea soup all over a couple of priests and her mother. Her head is spinning while green mush is shooting from her mouth, and it is quite possibly one of the most disturbing scenes in movie history.

I, on the other hand, have a different disturbing reference for pea soup. When I was younger, my father would sometimes make pea soup for dinner. And not just pea soup; ham and pea soup. Now, my father is very old world Italian, so putting some chunks of cooked ham into his soup wasn't enough. He had to purchase some shank of pig with the bone in it and boil it with his pea soup. Imagine for me, please, a green, mushy liquid with a pig's leg bone floating in it. Gross, right? Yea, I never touched the stuff.

Well, unbeknown to me, Beardface actually likes pea soup. Strange, I thought, for a man who isn't so big on veggies, but I figured I'd give it a shot.

I bought some dried split peas and followed a good old AB recipe (AB is my affectionate term for the Food Network chef Alton Brown). Honestly, it turned out delicous. Albeit gross to look at in the bowl, this soup was pretty darn tasty! It had a little bit of kick to it with curry powder and things.

My life, now has been changed. Pea soup is a friend in my kitchen, and in my belly. :-)

Learning to Listen to God in Strange Places

There is something that I've learned about myself that has taken me ages to come to terms with:

I have a hard time relaxing.

No matter how tired or sick or injured I may be, I always find myself itching to go on a run, cook something, clean something, or just be productive in general. It really is nearly impossible for me to just sit down and take a break.

Don't get me wrong; if I need to take a nap, I do. About once every few weeks or so I'll come home and pass out for about an hour. But I'll still spring out of bed like a kangaroo once I'm awake, looking for things to do.

So why am I talking about this now?

Yesterday I had to go to an eye exam for work to test how much laser exposure I've had. (For the record, I could have told them none). Part of this exam included taking a photograph of my macula, or the back of my eye, and in order to do this properly my eyes had to be dilated.

I thought nothing of it when the technician put drops in my eyes and directed me back to the waiting room for about 15 minutes to let the drops work. I picked up the book I had with me and began reading. Within 3 minutes, my vision began to blur. Within 5 minutes I was putting on and taking off my glasses to check my vision.

When I went back in to see the optometrist I asked her about the quick and noticeable change in my vision. She assured me that it was perfectly normal. Then, get this she said:

"It forces us to take a break."

Did I heed this advice? Absolutely not. I went home, with very little vision, to finish some laundry, do dishes, and clean up in general. Then within an hour or so I was heading to the gym. I went to bed last night just completely worn out and exhausted.

I paid for it mostly today, though. I worked a short day this morning and still found myself nodding off while reading my training manuals. I didn't realize it until later, but whether she knew it or not, that particular optometrist gave me some great advice, and I'd like to think she was the voice of God for me yesterday.

Working diligently is great most of the time, but I need to rest up sometimes. I have to keep this in mind.

Forgetfulness and Busy Lives

I have to apologize for not updating this in so long.

Married life can be busy, especially when your in-laws live down the street from you.

To give you a recap of the last several weeks that you all missed out on:

Beardface and I made a trip up to NJ for my sister's wedding reception. It was a beautiful party, she looked beautiful, and her husband actually wore a tie (a grand feat for a man with his casual style of dress). This particular trip was not without snide comments from my mother, of course, but I was lucky. My mom's sister came up from Florida for the occasion, and as able to "tame" my mother, so to speak.

I have decided to register for a 10K nearby in June. I've already started training for it by running 3 miles every morning, plus another 3+ in the afternoon and strength training twice a week. I've changed my eating habits a bit and hope to lose some weight because of all this. It is MUCH easier to run fast when you are lighter. Plus it kills two birds with one stone on my goals list.

Finally, I'll be updating this daily. I intend to make it a regular part of my routine so I don't forget to do it. Check back for amusing updates!

Old Yeller Didn't Live Inside

I was the recipient of some very sad news this evening. My sister's beloved dog (read "son") Tiny is losing his battle with lymphoma.
It was a few months ago that I received a text message from my sister describing a lump she found on her dog's neck. Her and her (now) husband had it checked out, and the test results were sobering. Tiny had stage four cancer, and my sister was told he had about six weeks to live.
Tiny has survived at least three months, now, blowing past the vet's deadline for his life. But my mother called me this evening to tell me he was losing weight quickly and hadn't eaten in days. It is clear Tiny does not have very long to live.
My sister and I have this one thing in common: we are both animal lovers, most specifically pet lovers. I began to cry. For Tiny, for my sister, for myself. I hate the thought of pets suffering and dying and I hate losing them even more.
Beardface was the good husband: he comforted and consoled me, but he did not understand. I knew he hadn't had a dog growing up, and stated this fact as proof that he could not possibly understand the love one can have for a loving dog. He cited his grandmother's dog, a fat, furry collie mix that roamed outdoors on his grandparents' farm, where he grew up. Naturally, I had to call shenanigans. Real dogs, I defined, do not live outside. To which Beardface replied:
Old Yeller never lived inside.
I married a smart allec.

Beans and Domesticity

I am about to admit a very dark and frightening secret from my past. Now all of you hold on to your seats, cover your children's ears, and prepare yourselves.
A long, long time ago in a state far, far away...
I was a vegetarian.
Yes, I was a tofu-loving, salad-munching, tree-hugging vegetarian. I will also be vulnerable enough to say that I do still enjoy tofu, I love salads, and I've been known to hug trees.
Now, as a vegetarian, I became a connoisseur of protein sources alternative to meat products. Beans were definitely my favorite. I love black beans, white beans, lima beans, refried beans, kidney beans. ALL OF THEM. I will carefully select my bean choice in foods to make the texture and taste perfect.
Why do I go into this detail you ask?
Yesterday, the hubby and I were out for lunch at a Mexican restaurant. I was ordering my burrito and blindly requested black beans. Beardface gave me a concerned look. "Why not pinto beans, Sweetie?" I thought for a moment. I'd never considered the idea. To me, Mexican food always means black beans. I mean practically every good southwestern or Mexican food chain or original restaurant serves the most beautiful salad you've ever seen, complete with sour cream, cheese, peppers, jalapenos, chicken, and black beans. Glorious black beans.
"I don't like black beans; they're crunchy. Wouldn't they taste weird in your burrito?" Beardface inquired. "No, not really. They have texture," I answered him in my best retort. "But the pinto beans would be softer. They're squishier."
And there you have it, folks. My husband's basis for all the foods he eats: texture.
But the crazy little bearded man is right. I feel the softer "squishier" pinto beans would offer my burrito a texture more similar to that of my favorite fast food burrito, Taco Bell.
I have learned this: sometimes when you look at things in too much detail, you're missing the simpler pleasures in life.

As for my goals:
Ran/exercised today.
Didn't bite nails.
Scripture to be read before bed.
Book in progress.
Herb garden started. :-)
Kissed husband. :-D

So we had one of those talks last night.
By we, I am referring to Beardface and I.
And by one of those talks, I mean a conversation in which you both tell the other how you've really been feeling.
My being on TDY (which is official government jargon for Tour of DutY, or just travel) has really had a strong effect on the two of us. We don't have children yet, neither do we have any real pets. Now for those of you paying attention you may think "Hey! You've got Leonard and Sheldon. What gives?!" I hardly consider two betta fish real pets. We cannot snuggle with them, nor do we have to somehow remove their waste products on a regular basis. Therefore, they are "sort of" pets.
Back to my point, though. Without pets or children, my husband and I have really come to rely on each other for company, for support, for love, etc. This is what a marriage should be; I understand that. The unfortunate part is that the both of us rely a lot on our physical connection. I am not simply talking about our sexual connection, though that is a lovely part of it ;) I am speaking more about the fact that we just feel safer and more at ease when our other half is around.
To give you a better idea of what I'm talking about, I'll give you an example. I've been staying at a hotel in the Boston area for nearly three weeks now, and I have not slept more than five hours a night any night I've been here, except for the weekend that Beardface came to visit. Is that a coincidence? I doubt it. I have grown accustomed to having my feet rest underneath his legs and my head on his chest with his arm around me. This is how I can fall asleep. Try as I might to recreate this position with the plethora of pillows given to me by the hotel, I still found myself waking up every few hours.
But tonight is my last night alone in the hotel.
Tonight is Beardface's last night alone in our bed.
There is only one run, one shower, one dinner, one breakfast, and two flights between me and my husband.
Goals Accomplished Today: successfully did not curse
successfully did not bite nails
blogged
read a news article
about to run

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain.

Ok. I would like you to pay attention to something, and it's not the man behind the curtain. I've added a new list to the left portion of my log. Many of you have heard of this phenomenon in which a person creates a list of 101 goals they would like to complete in 1001 days. As I had stated in Goals and How to Manage Them (see hyperlink), I felt the need to create a goal for myself. I had mentioned attempting to run a faster mile. Although that is a noble goal, and one I should strive for, this 101 goals in 1001 days phenomenon made me squeal with joy.
I felt as though I was in college again. I had to make a list of goals, organize them by category select a start date, and now I have a deadline! My nerdy self is smiling.
I intend to start my 1001 days tomorrow, March 10, 2010. I realize this is an awkward day, but in the words of the great third president of the United States, Thomas Jefferson: "Never put off until tomorrow what you could do today." Or in my case, don't put off until next week, next month, or next year what you could start tomorrow.
So far:
Goals completed: 0
Days Left: 1001

Pick up the Pace, Grandma!

So many people make it a point to lecture others on timeliness. Being late for something is wasting everyone's time, they say. What I say to them is, where are these people, and can they please give their collective speech to those in charge of my training??
As a semi-military organization, I can't tell you how many times I have heard that it is essential to be on time for everything. And they mean EVERYTHING. I've heard horror stories that if you are late to conferences, the speaker will call you down to the front of the auditorium at the end of a particular lecture to inform you that you are to be on time to everything in our agency.
Now, given this lecture, I have been particularly on time to every little training session I've had. I have not been late for excuse of getting a drink, emptying my bladder. Nothing.
Now here is my beef:
We have had several "guest speakers" for different training sessions, and although all of them start their lectures on time, none of them have ended on time. Take, for example, yesterday. I was sitting in a class that was intended to last 1 hour, but instead went on for 2 1/2 hours. When did this become acceptable?? What if there was a meeting or another training session following this particular one? Luckily, there was not, but this woman cut into our precious cubicle time to get our weekly assignments done.
I began to think: why could all of these highly ranking employees in a semi-military organization not realize that they are exceeding their allotted time for a training session? The answer, I have decided, is that none of these people are qualified to teach or train. Although I have watched several computer training modules plauding the greatness of a quality training program, it seems as though this agency has decided to simply select knowledgeable individuals and ask them to convey their knowledge to new employees. Though this seems like it would be a great idea, in fact, it is not. Actually, a person completely ignorant of the topic but well-trained in teaching techniques would probably do a better job.
I find myself dozing off, playing with my pen, doodling, etc. during each class. And I am definitely not the only one. Just today I heard the beginnings of a snore in during our training session.
I am pleading with all companies who employ elaborate training programs: Train your instructors on how to train. Your future employees will thank you.

The Magic of Internet

As a member of the millenial generation (a useless term I learned today that is used to describe a group of people born within 20 years of each other), I am supposed to be attached to my technological devices and the internet. Am I? Probably. Do I think it is necessarily a bad thing? Not so much.
My small dilemma with traveling to see my family in New Jersey was resolved with the use of the internet. After several hours of researching flight and train ticket prices and times, using countless minutes of precious agency time while I should've been watching training videos, an idea hit me: I could drive to New Jersey. I've had enough encounters with rental car companies to know that whatever prices they advertise on their websites are very very low estimates of the actual cost of renting a vehicle. BUT with everything figured into the equation, including the under 25 fee, renting a car for the few days turned out to be less expensive than flying or taking a train. Plus, it is infinitely more fun.
So needless to say, with information at my fingertips, I was able to make a prudent decision.
Later in the evening, Beardface and I google-chatted with each other, and he was about to make dinner. The poor soul is still not yet confident in his pasta-making skills (a few more years of marriage to this Italian girl will cure that, hopefully), so I was able to instruct him on how to make epic macaroni and cheese. Via webcam.
Yes folks, my husband happily donned my apron and took instruction from me via webcam to whip up his supper.
As a side note: Ladies, if you have not seen your husband, boyfriend, fiance, etc in an apron, suggest he wear one sometime. It is truly amusing, most especially if he is particularly proud of his masculinity, as Beardface so often is. I would never, though, share pictures of this phenomena. I do want to still sleep in my own bed and receive flowers and things. Angering the Beardface would not be conducive to this.

Also, please note: Today is hump day. In oh so many respects. The middle of the week, and the middle of my training session in Boston. 8 days til I go home.

Nerves and Reality

I agreed to go to my parents' for this weekend. My sister's bridal shower is on Thursday, and I have to find a way to get down to New Jersey from Boston without the use of a car and spending less than $300.
This is a cause for some stress for me. I'd rather be spending the money to go home. My family can really make me nervous sometimes.
I love my sister, though. So I'm going. Wish me luck.

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.

Snowed In

Beardface and I live in Virginia. A SOUTHERN state. We reside approximately 3 hours drive south of the Mason-Dixon line. Yet, today was the second time in about a month that we were completely snowed in.
Both being native northerners (he from Wisconsin, and I from New Jersey) we scoff at the frightened southerners when they predict snow. Winters around here used to go like this:
Weather man predicts snow (1-2 inches). People in our city panic. They buy the grocery stores out of bread, eggs, and milk, and many schools and businesses call for delayed openings and closings. We'd all wake up in the morning to either a light dusting or no snow, giving the city children a snow-free day off. This was a pattern we both had grown accustomed to living in this city for a few years.
Well, for whatever reason, this winter we have already survived a storm carrying 14 inches of snow, and today's was near 10 inches of snow. Though these sound like meager amounts of snow to those from the Midwest or places like Buffalo, NY, in our city, this amount of snow can be completely debilitating. There are not enough city plows to cover all of the streets, and local officials have switched from traditional rock salt to a saline solution. (Yes, you read that correctly. The local government decided contact solution would be effective in clearing snow from the roads in 20 degree weather. It's too bad saline solution freezing near 25 degrees.)
So needless to say, Beardface and I prepared ourselves to shovel, taking turns clearing out our portion of the driveway, and part of our neighbors.
Since we hadn't gotten a chance to go grocery shopping, I opted to bake my own bread. It was sickenly easy for how delicious it tastes, though it is time consuming.
We've got our fingers crossed for clear roads for tomorrow. Until then, though, I have to marvel at the amount of snow we've gotten (and there's call for more next weekend!). So much for global warming.

Betta fish and birthday cakes

Tomorrow is my husband's birthday, and I have to say that I feel very well prepared for this event. His family wants to celebrate together tomorrow, so on Saturday I'm going to let him sleep in, play guitar, maybe take him to his parents to play some XBOX, then take him out to a movie he's been wanted to see. I'm pretty stoked. Plus I got him a gift that I know he's wanted since he moved in to the apartment.
I do have the pleasure of baking some kind of goodie for him. Some cake or other deliciousness. I am not quite sure what to make yet, but again, I am prepared for this.
What I am not prepared for, though, is the care and keeping of our two new betta fish. When I lived in the apartment alone I had two betta fish in one tank with a divider. (This is perfectly safe, by the way, just so long as the fish cannot touch each other, there are no negative effects). About a month or so after acquiring these fish, one looked decidedly lazy and lethargic. He wouldn't swim and make bubbles like his neighbor. Needless to say I was not surprised to find him belly up one day when I got home from work.
It was his neighbor's death that really upset me. I was in the habit of turning off the heat in my apartment when going to bed. This, apparently, is a terrible idea. One Friday this past December I turned the heat off as I left for work. As I was leaving work, snow was falling in larger quantities than I had seen it down in Virginia in a long time. My husband and I went out with some friends from work, and by the time we got out, the whole city was covered in a blanket of white.
Now most cities that get regular amounts of snow are aware that plowing is necessary for the city and its residents to remain functional. That is not true for the city in which we live. No plows or salt truckers were seen the entire weekend. Knowing this would be the case, I stayed at my then fiance's house, in case I couldn't get out of the apartment. By the time the roads were clear enough to drive on (Sunday morning), my apartment had reached 45 degrees Farenheit, and the poor lone Betta had frozen his little fins off.
And so today we acquired two new Bettas, my husband promising that he would be there to help take care of them. I'm terrified of killing more innocent animals for the sake of having pretty things to swim around. I've got my fingers crossed. Wish me luck!

Nearly Employed

I don't know how some women do this. They stay home all day, every day, every week, while their husbands go to work. I found things to do to occupy my time for the few weeks that I was home unemployed, but now that the apartment is sparkling, I've baked cookies and bread with the cranberries from our wedding centerpieces, and I've done laundry twice in a week, I find there isn't much to do that will keep me interested.
I'll be working at a nuclear facility just outside of town this coming week, and I couldn't be more excited.
On that topic, I do have a bit of a rant. Please note the spelling of the word nuclear. N-U-C-L-E-A-R. Not N-U-C-U-L-A-R. I can't begin to tell you how many people are fascinated to hear that I'll be working in the "nucular" field and that it's a great company that I'll be working for. To me, this seems like a flaw with the American education system. The word nuclear is phonetically spelled; you sound it out exactly how it looks. Nuclear. Adding an extra "u" sound between the "c" and the "l" just makes me want to ignore the rest of what the person has to say. Though, I suppose it is a common enough mistake. Some notables utilizing this flawed pronunciation include my mother and former president Jimmy Carter (who, interestingly enough, was himself a nuclear engineer before becoming president).
I suppose I find things like this bother me quite a bit. I am a Yankee (northerner) living in Virginia, which in my opinion has one of the most offensive accents to my ears. My husband (who grew up in Wisconsin) and I find ourselves confused at the locals' pronunciation of some words. For example, it is nearly impossible to tell if the person standing next to you in the line at the bank is asking you for a pen or a pin; the two words sound nearly identical.
Also, the addition of syllables has begun to grate on me. I was taught mail was a one syllable word. The "a" and "i" form a diphthong, thereby creating a new vowel sound that only the two of them could make. I've heard my neighbor say she was going down to check her "MAY-ul". Honestly, is proper English pronunciation that difficult to grasp? After all, Virginians have been a part of the union since 1787 and have been speaking English since near 1607.
I apologize for the rant, but like I said, it is out of boredom that I rant. Life will be more interesting soon. Until next time.

Newly Married and Getting into the Swing of Life

As a virgin to the blogging world, let me say that these things are much easier to start up than I could have imagined. I'm glad, because complicated computer tasks can sometimes overwhelm me.
For now, blog posts will be mildly boring, and I apologize. My husband and I were just married on January 8, and flew back from our honeymoon in Palm Springs this past Saturday.
I know some may think "a wedding in January? are you insane??" The answer to that question is yes, very. But not because we had a winter wedding. I will post up a few pictures of our wedding to show how beautiful it really was. Yes, it was chilly taking pictures, but no one was sweaty and gross (as one would be in so much dress in July or August). We used black and white, with accents of red, and most of the flowers were red and white roses. It was absolutely gorgeous. AND on a small budget. If there is anyone struggling to plan a wedding with little funds, please feel free to ask me any questions. I found some great money saving tips for almost every part of the wedding.
The honeymoon was fabulous. Warm, sunny, and dry. Palm Springs is an oasis in the desert, which has vastly different landscape from what this Jersey girl is used to. Of course no adventure of ours would be complete without some mild injury. I've been sporting a second degree burn on my leg which I received from the muffler of the moped we rented. We were hoping to avoid the large cost involved with renting a car while under 25 years of age, and we did. The moped was a great alternative. The passenger should NEVER step off the side with the muffler while the moped is running. Those are warm.
After cleaning and bandaging the wound; I've been going about my daily life, putting away wedding gifts and setting up our tiny but cozy apartment. Might I say, one of the neatest gifts we've gotten was a Keurig coffee machine. It makes single cups of coffee or hot chocolate, and they have several brands you can purchase, as well as empty cups that you can fill with your own grinds. This was ideal for us, as I am a caffeine hound, and my husband drinks the occasional hot chocolate but rarely ever coffee.
Finally, for today, I'm going to leave one piece of great advice for new brides that I heard from a friend: When wrapping the top of your wedding cake (to save for your first anniversary) refrigerate it first, to harden the frosting, the wrap the cake in several layers of plastic wrap, then either place it back in its box or wrap it in wax paper, then tin foil. Finally, place a ribbon or some other decoration (for us, the little bells we asked our guests to ring to get us to kiss) on the wrapped cake. This way you will know what it is and won't accidentally open it thinking it is leftover lasagna or something like that. Opening your cake top before one year will result in gross cake on your first anniversary. And nobody likes gross cake.