Wisdom Teeth Part 1

Zach gets his wisdom teeth yanked out tomorrow. I'm considerably more nervous than he is, which considering that no one is going to be yanking anything out of my head, really is ridiculous.

Mostly I'm terrified of being the sole person in charge of the well being of another human being. Where if something bad happens, its all my fault. I'm so very much not a nurturer. This is why we don't have kids - well my crippling fear, selfishness, and lack of funds. I also hate the unknown. And I really don't know what to expect. I'm also not sure how we're going to get home, what with having no car and me not totally understanding cabs. We actually have to venture out of the district into suburb land, which should be exciting.

I've been running around all anxious like for most of the week. Just a note - the internet is stupid and generic and unhelpful. Gee, he should eat soft food and might be a little loopy? How insightful. We have the fridge stocked with the makings for several smoothies as well as copious amounts of applesauce, yogurt and gelato. I'm still convinced he's going to starve to death under my neglectful care. He totally would too. Have I mentioned that Zach can be a bit of a martyr? If something is wrong, he'll just kind of sit there and look pathetic, but never actually say anything. Which means I'm going to be in hyper "do you need anything? No really. Just ask. Ask man, ask!"mode.

Tomorrow is going to be super fun. And yes, I should be eliciting more sympathy towards the person actually having surgery - but if he wants sympathy from the internet, he can write his own blog.

Help! I'm trapped in an elevator and I can't get out

I'm not sure how it happened, but I now spend all of my time listening to elevator music. Well, not counting the time I spend listening to Lady Gaga, which is an admittedly odd contrast. It's bad people. It all started with enjoying that Jon Schmidt Viva la Vida/Love story mashup. Next thing I know I have a Jon Schmidt station on Pandora that's playing every waking non-class hour.  Some of it is nice respectable piano music - not terribly amazing, but not the musical equivalent of Thomas Kinkaid or anything horrendous like that. On the other hand, a few days ago I heard a piece where the piano was accompanying the sound of surf and seagulls. And I almost liked it.

Yesterday I was just disgusted with myself  and decided I was going to listen to some real music with powercords and suggestive lyrics. I really enjoyed it for the first 20 minutes or so, and then I just got tired from all of the effort I had to extend. Paying attention to the lyrics, interplay between the instruments, key changes and what not was just to much for me.

I ultimately compromised with xylophone versions of Queen songs designed for infants whose parents refuse to let go of their hipper ways. Saddly, it did make me feel better. Apparently I'm turning into a grandma who's afraid of loud noises and upsettingly carnal guitar riffs. I want you all to promise me that if I start sounding like my Mom* and railing about how most pop/rock music is evil and did you know that AC/DC stands for anti-Christ devil child (Mom wasn't that up to date on the evil bands), that you'll strap me in a chair with quality music blasting until I come to my senses (preferably in a non-clockwork orange sort of a way). Thanks in advance.



*Mom, I love you dearly, and you did introduce me to the greatness of the Beatles as a child, for which I'll always be grateful. But that AC/DC thing is ridiculous.

Financial Facts

Fact 1: Using Mint.com can greatly aid one in creating a budget, tracking spending and otherwise taking steps towards fiscal responsibility and adulthood.

Fact 2: Changing the budget settings every time you go over budget - supposedly because the old budgeted amount "wasn't realistic, but really because the big red numbers make me feel bad - defeats most of the benefits of having a budget to begin with.

(I wish I was one of those bloggers who can be wonderfuly real, even when its a little less than pretty, but I can't quite shake free the urge to paint a perfect picture of my life. So I'm compromising in parentheses. In reality we're fairly frugal - we live off of about $22,000 a year + the little we have in savings ((granted that 20gs is all student loan money, so I'm not sure how fiscally wonderful that figure is)) - which given that rent on the shoebox is about $14,000 a year and DC is an expensive city is reasonably impressive. Using Mint has been a nice way to get a better handle on what we spend on what and try to reduce our student debt load, but given how low our non-rent budget is, there is only so much to do. I'm trying to be better, I really am. But I like clothes, going out occasionally, decorating the shoebox so its less shoeboxy and what not. I don't want to be in hideous debt forever, and I'm really grateful that its all debt from student loans, not credit cards, but its so hard to remember the future in the now. And I'm not above tweaking the numbers when its unavoidable so I can feel a little better about it all. It's cheating, but some days metaphorically sticking my fingers in my ears and going "lalalala" is oh so necessary)

The passive-aggressive candle

In general Zach and I have a wonderful, open marriage full of communication and angels singing dulcet praises of our love. One major exception to this is the passive-aggresive candle.

We have a little silver toned rack that sits over our toilet. It's not the fanciest thing, but it's a nice way of getting some extra storage space for various hygiene related doodads. And one candle. One maddening candle.

Every single time I walk into the bathroom I can immediately tell if Zach has been in there recently. Every time he comes in he moves the candle from where it belongs. I think the candle is much better suited to the second shelf, where it can sit in a nice neat little wood tray where its supported and corralled. For some reason, Zach thinks the candle should precariously balance on the top shelf, where it sits on this little flimsy wire rack that I just know it is going to come crashing down from. So every time I go into the bathroom, that candle is the first thing I see, and I am compelled to fix it before attending to other business.

We've never actually mentioned the candle to each other. When its out of sight we like to just pretend that it doesn't exist, silently mocking us as it shuffles about. Really, it's just not a big enough deal to actually talk about. I'll fight over things that actually matter, but I'm not wasting a perfectly good evening over a candle. It's just our little, silent battle. I think we're both convinced that if we just keep doing this, the other person will eventually wear down and adjust to our superior candle arranging skills.

Zach, if you're reading this I just want you to know that I will go to my grave moving that candle. I'm not backing down, so give it up buddy. That candle is mine.

TV Addiction

After a long day of law school, sometimes it just feels oh so good to curl up and veg in front of a screen. And thanks to Netflix on demand, my advanced piracy skills, and my geekish urge to buy giant DVD box sets, I have a bit of a tendency to find a half way decent or at least trashily entertainingly show and devote huge swaths of time to watching every last second of it.

So far I have wasted far too many hours of my life watching every episode ever of :

30 Rock

Angel

Battlestar Gallactica

Better Off Ted

Big Bang Theory

Bones

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Burn Notice

Castle

Community
Dexter

Dead Like Me

Dollhouse

Firefly

Gilmore Girls

Glee

Gossip Girl

Heroes

How I Met Your Mother

Mad Men

Merlin

Modern Family

Parks and Recreation

Pushing Daisies

Sanctuary

Sex and the City

Stargate

Stargate - Atlantis

The Office

True Blood

United States of Tara

Veronica Mars

For those of you at home, that's a total of approximately 31 series. Not counting any series that I've seen significant amounts of, but not quite all. And it's entirely possible that I've forgotten one or two. Granted, some of these are still on the air and only on their first or second season, but it's still an overly huge amount.

This may explain why I barely understand what an easement is, or what rule of 11 of civil procedure actually means, but I can easily explain various complex love triangles and vampire mythologies with ease.

Oh, and as to the point of this post - I'm running out of new shows to binge on. Any suggestions?

Facebook is impeding my stalking

I'm probably way behind the times, but facebook recently redid their privacy settings. I am not thrilled. Not because I'm concerned that the new standards will make me more vulnerable, quite the opposite in fact. You see, there are a few people on facebook that I like to see whats going on with them, but I don't know them well enough to friend without seeming creepy (yes I do appreciate the irony). Some of them are people I kind of know, or spouses of people I know, or just people that I've found fun to peek in on from time to time. I don't wander over everyday, but when I'm bored or curious or something, its nice to have a few stalwarts that usually have something worth looking at (or making fun of). And now I find myself blocked from that simple joy.

Of course, given that these are hightened privacy standards, I suppose that is kind of the point. At least I still have my blogs, well at least the ones that haven't gone private yet. Really, what is the world coming to when people will no longer air the intimate details of their lives for the amusement of strangers?

The Annual Hair Massacre

About once a year I start to get bored and dissatisfied with my hair. It's not so much that I think its bad, its just dull and ordinary. I just itch to do something different. Inevitably I do something stupid. Different, sure, but stupid none the less.

4 years ago I convinced myself to go to the Beauty School on Provo and get my hair cut in a chin length, flipped out do. I then learned that soccer mom chic and my chipmunk cheeks are not the best combo.

3 years ago I had learned my lesson about drastic cuts and decided now was the time to experiment with color.  I headed off to the discount mall salon with visions of auburn. I came back with dark blue-black Morticia Adams hair. After a long weekend with patient roommates, a bottle of dye stripper and a box of grocery store dye and my hair managed to go down to a somewhat less horrible shade of really dark burgundy brown.

2 years ago I was in bride head mode, which had some other insanity inducing side effects, but gratefully left my hair alone. So alone that I neglected to get it cut at all, and ended up with some gnarly split ends. Given the alternatives, I probably made the right choice.

Last year I hacked off a good six inches of perfectly good hair in an act of sensless insanity by myself in my bathroom. I've mostly recovered, but I still cringe when I spot the scissors that did the deed.

It's that time of year again. According to the schedule, at any momeny now I'm bound to decide that now is the time to give bangs a try or see if blonde could possibly suit me. So far I've managed to retrain myself, but the urge is getting stronger, and I'm not sure how much longer I can last. I just hope this year I can learn from the past, find a decent stylist and avoid a massacre. I have visions of lovely long layers and maybe even finding a better way to deal with my natural curls/waves then flat ironing them into submission. Here's hoping, and if anyone out there has amazing suggestions, I am more than willing to let the blame fall onto your shoulders.