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Ain’t that a Kick in the Head

WordPress, which is the platform I use to modify this blog and host my site, has this thing it calls “Freshly Pressed.”  In case you’re unfamiliar, it’s basically a list of highlighted posts from WordPress blogs that, when chosen, get published on the Freshly Pressed page for a day or so.

The cool thing about getting Freshly Pressed is that it can bring thousands of new readers to your site — readers who, with literally millions of blogs to peruse throughout a particularly unproductive work day, often refer to the Freshly Pressed page for the lucky picks the WordPress editors choose to highlight.

Needless to say, ever since I became aware of the phenomenon, I’ve been anxiously awaiting the day when I, too, would get Freshly Pressed and my new wealth of fame and readership would finally — finally — justify why I ever started this thing in the first place.  After all, I wanted to be a writer.  A surefire sign that I was on the right aspiration path would be to get pressed.  That’s what happened to Catherine.  And Nate.  It happened to Kat twice.  So it was perfectly reasonable to think it would one day happen to me as well.

Right?

So I waited.

Maybe it would be one of my food posts.

Okay, so I’m not a cook per se and definitely didn’t create the recipes, but if I don’t share the joys of an orgasm panini with the world, who will?

Maybe it would be one of my DIY home improvement posts.

Laying Backsplash Tiles

Okay, so I’m not the first person to tile a backsplash, but this might very well be the only place where, among the slew of detailed, step-by-step how-to photos, you can also see photos of my husband’s butt and learn why the word “caulk” is a homophone.

If it wasn’t going to be any of those things, then it would definitely be a post about one of my trips.  Who doesn’t love reading about vacations to Hawaii or 2-month trips to Costa Rica?

Apparently the WordPress editors, that’s who.

Wait — that’s not right.  I’ve seen Freshly Pressed blogs on each of those topics, including one almost exactly like my (and Erin’s) post about waterfall rapelling.

My post about waterfall rappelling.

Freshly Pressed post about waterfall rappelling.

So apparently they just don’t like my posts about these topics.

I honestly thought for sure one of my posts about Spain might get pressed.  I mean, I realize there wasn’t much writing involved, but I still have some highlights of the trip I’d like to share now that I’m home, and I somehow just knew the editors had my blog on a “watch” list, just waiting for the right post to press and finally give me some sense of validation.

Then, today happened.

I went to the Freshly Pressed home page and saw it — a post someone wrote about their recent trip to the South of Spain.

You have GOT to be kidding me.

It made me want to chuck my computer out the window.

It made me want to punch the wall.

It made me want to cry.

It made me want to quit the blog.

I realize this is a huge show of weakness on my part.  I mean, I didn’t start the blog for anyone else, so why do I suddenly care if many people read it?

Then it hit me:  I care because this is what I want to do.  Write.

I decided while on the trip to Spain that I would attempt to get a “real” job upon our return.  Not a “career” job, but something with a steady paycheck that I could manage while still trying to do the writing thing.  But still, in the back of my mind, I had this dream that some sign would intervene — one of those epiphanies you read about where some lucky person is handed a clue that tells him — beyond all reasonable doubt — that he’s doing the right thing.

The problem is, I was so intent on looking for affirmation that I failed to accept the obvious signs that maybe I’m not doing the right thing.

Or, maybe I’m concentrating my efforts on the wrong thing.

Or, maybe signs are bullshit.

I don’t know.

But I do know that persistence and grit will only get you so far.  After all, continuously spinning the tires will often dig a deeper rut.

So.  I’m not quitting the blog.  Not even close.

But this is my renewed commitment to myself to try some new venues on the path to becoming an actual writer.  You know, like maybe sending some pitches in to various publications.  Freelancing for other blogs/writing projects.  Starting up a rejection pile.  Things people who actually make a living in the industry actually do.

I know — there’s going to be work involved.

I can’t believe it either.

Here are some more Spain pictures if you’re one of those people (like me) who actually likes looking at other peoples’ vacation pictures:

Graffiti near Becca and Brad’s apartment.

Malaga from above.

Malaga market.

Old juxtaposed with the new.

Malaga store window.

Ferry ride with our hosts, Brad and Becca.

Ibiza City.

Lights.

How Spain said goodbye through an airport window.

See more Spain photos here, here, here, and here.

I Have People Pods.

Not pod people.

But people pods.

You know — different groups of people with whom you identify in different parts of your life.

Except for me, it’s like… extreme.

There’s the “home” people — My husband, current neighbors, and basically anyone who knows me in my nightmarishly perfect suburban ‘hood.  I make dinners and attend cookouts and swap garage codes and recipes and repair man referrals.

There’s the work people — that eclectic group of bar coworkers whom I can’t help but love for their individual quirks, stories, and there-IS-no-such-thing-as-sexual-harassment-when-you-work-in-a-restaurant attitudes.  And that last part is true.  Except when it’s not.  And unless you’ve never worked in a bar/restaurant, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

There’s the old work people — you know, that “real” job I had back before I flipped my sh*t and decided that a 2 month trip to Costa Rica and a savory bar stint were far better alternatives to a gray cubicle and a steady paycheck.  My old work people are awesome, too.  (I’m nothing if not consistently fortunate in finding fantastic people with whom to bitch about work.)

And also a plethora or other old, old work people.  It’s kind of ridiculous how many jobs I’ve held.

My family — immediate, extended, and those through marriage. With divorces and marriages and relocations, I’d say my family makes up several different pods.  Even the members of my immediate family — mom, dad, sister, brother — each live in a different state.  But those are the people who, while they’re less familiar than my current coworkers with the person I am today, will always remember who I was back when I had braces and wore scrunchies and bought my first training bra.  They knew me before I was… me.

And my college friends, from 2 different colleges.  I still keep in touch with many.  The first set knew me when I was trying to “find myself” and was full of hope, ambition, and Everclear.  The second set knew me as the non-traditional older student — the studious one who preferred wine over Everclear and was there for the degree, more than anything else.

My Costa Rica people.  Only for a little while, they were mine.  I won’t forget them.

Military friends.

Online friends.

High school friends.

High school job friends.

Friends of friends.

And each set — each pod — sees me a little differently.  I’m still me — always me.  But the context changes from person to person, place to place.

I can’t decide which view of myself — from various pod perspectives — I like best.

Do you have all these pods, or am I alone here?  Do yours blend together or stay fairly separate?  I’ll admit it weirds me out when people from polar pods overlap — work with family, past with present.  I worry that they’ll catch on to the fact that I’m not always the same, and I might have to choose which person I want to be.

And that just seems so… permanent.

It’s 4:16 a.m. and I can’t remember why I started writing this post.  Anyway.  I hope I made a point.

It’s Almost Like Going Back In Time

We did something crazy yesterday.

Outlandish.

Wild.

(No, we already went skydiving last year.)

(And I already quit my great-paying job to make hot sauce and rappel water falls in Costa Rica.)

So what could possibly be next?

Bungee jumping?  Bull riding?  Hang Gliding?

While I’d love to try all those things (except maybe the bull riding), what we did yesterday was much, much scarier.

We cancelled our satellite t.v. service.

GASP!

I know!

That’s so… un-American of us.

Fortunately, since Justin is in the Air Force, that negates any other seemingly un-American things we do.

We’ve been talking about quitting t.v. for years — even before our income was cut in half.  And I’ll admit that while the decrease in funds played a role in cancelling the service, the real fact of the matter is that when we took a good hard look at our lifestyle, we realized that television was one huge distraction preventing us from doing things we either need to get done or truly enjoy.

Like house projects.

And reading.

And… you know… talking to each other.

Television had become the symbol of lethargy in our house — the reason to not take the dogs for a walk on a lovely evening, or the reason to not quite start building that desk for the office.

So.

Before you completely panic on our behalf, it’s important for you to know that we won’t be cut off completely from the world of sitcoms and movies and… what was that last thing?  Oh yeah, world news.  We haven’t chucked the plasma into the dumpster, we haven’t cancelled our Netflix subscription, and we haven’t traded our tennis shoes for moccasins or started growing out our body hair.  It’s just that from now on, we’re going to have to work a little harder for the distractions, concentrating our efforts on the things we really want to see — downloading the latest Dexter episodes from illegal sites and watching marathons of My So Called Life from Netflix on the weekends.

We might cave and get an antenna so I can still watch the news in the morning.

Honestly?  The thing I think I’ll miss the most is cranking up a mood-dependent satellite music station while I cook or paint a room or clean the house.  Sure, I can still use the free online radio stations, but there’s something about surround sound that makes work seem just a little more… vibrant.

But no longer sitting down to a smorgasbord of commercial-free DVR’d movies and sitcoms for hours on end?

I think I’ll get used to it.

After all, not one person laying on his deathbed ever said,

“Man… I wish I’d watched more t.v.”

P.S.  I think I’m addicted to Pinterest.  In case you missed it yesterday, I’m sending (what seems to be limitless) invites to anyone who wants to join up.  Just go to yesterday’s post and leave a comment telling me you want an invitation.  It’s seriously organizing all of the clutter IN MY HEAD and I’m pretty sure it could finally be the answer to either multiple orgasms or world peace. I’ll let you know.

Flibbety Jibbitz

Truth time.

How many of you are just working whatever job you happened to fall into in order to pay the bills, but you’re still secretly holding out hope that you’re about to stumble across your multi-million dollar idea that initially seems kind of lame but everyone else loves for some reason, like post-it notes and drink umbrellas and those fugly decorative things designed to bedazzle the swiss cheese holes of even fuglier Crocs (seriously — that stay-at-home mom sold her idea for $10 million to the Croc people).

And, once that happens, you’ll be able to retire and your life will finally — finally — start?

**Imagine me sheepishly raising my hand right now**

Some of these ideas were slowly cultivated, researched, and marketed, while others were lightning strike strokes of random luck — the exact opposite of stepping out your front door, tripping on a crack in the sidewalk, and knocking out your two front teeth.  All because you wanted to get your mail.

But for the most part, they all have one thing in common:  they are all products or services that are playful, interesting, and have a broad range of appeal.

However, there are certain niche businesses who undoubtedly generate respectable sums of money while providing goods or services that are… shall we say… less than respectable.

(Or are they actually incredibly respectable because they’re so mind-bogglingly disrespectable — unrespectable? — repugnant?? — that it almost makes them look genius?  Almost.)

The idea:  A couple of days ago I read about a man named Bart Centre, who started a company in 2009 called Eternal Earth-bound Pets, which offers a pet rescue and fostering service to Christians who might be whisked up to Heaven in the event of a Rapture.

The genius:  Centre has built a network of 44 pre-screened atheist animal lovers who have the means and desire to rescue pets from the abandoned homes of the Saved.  In guaranteeing that his caretakers are atheists, true-believing Christians can rest easy, knowing their beloved pets will be well cared for in the hands of those who are destined for Hell.

The twist:  Following the website’s compelling tag-line (“The next best thing to pet salvation in a Post Rapture World“), is an intro paragraph that reads… well… more than a little patronizing:

You’ve committed your life to Jesus. You know you’re saved.  But when the Rapture comes what’s to become of your loving pets who are left behind?   Eternal Earth-Bound Pets takes that burden off your mind.

Then there’s all the businessy stuff, followed by the terms.  Centre charges a whopping $135 for the first pet ($20 for all subsequent pets), guaranteeing rescue for up to 10 years from the date of payment.  The article states that Centre is now servicing 259 clients, and at $135 a pop, that comes to almost $35,000!!  (*Note:  Until the recent May 21st Rapture estimation, the business had been charging $110, so he hasn’t made quite that much.  Yet.)

The question:  Is this okay?  Regardless of what you believe, is it ethically responsible for a man to blatantly poke fun at another person’s religion and then make money off of the very beliefs he mocks?

In my opinion, the answer is a surprising, yes.

Because in the end, whether he’s mocking or not, he really is providing a service — peace of mind to those who believe, and a little humor to those who don’t.

And just like a Jibbitzed Croc hole, how could it be wrong when it feels so right?

The End of the World as We Know It

I really don’t have much to say through the foggy haze of my sleep-deprived mind, but 2 things:

1)  Why, why — when he knows I have a job that keeps me up half the night on the weekends and he’s been a bartender himself, would my neighbor decide that 8:00 a.m. is an appropriate time to use a chain saw?

It kind of makes me hate the suburbs.

2)  Did you know that Fayetteville, NC, approximately 20 minutes away from where I live, is where the American Humanist Association is apparently planning a 2-day extravaganza with over 175,000 attendees to celebrate what they expect to be the failure of the prediction that the world will end tonight?

All I can say is if the world doesn’t end tonight, it should be one Hell heck of a party.

The Rapture is predicted to happen at 6:00.  I’m supposed to be at the bar to work at 6:00.

Honestly?  I can’t say I’ll be too bummed if I don’t make it.

P.S.  How much you wanna bet that my ex-counselor won’t be attending the Atheist party?

I Still Can’t Remember How to Write. But at Least I Have Pictures.

*If you don’t want to read this post in its entirety, which is completely understandable, you might at least want to skip to the end for an announcement.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Have you ever had a weekend that’s so utterly fantastic that you just can’t stand for it to be over?  And the beauty is that it was so great, you didn’t even waste any time worrying about the fact that it would eventually end.  Every millisecond was spent in blissful enjoyment – in the here and now – and not an ounce was wasted on worry or dread over its impending end.

Now that it’s over and I’m coming down from the high, I feel less sad and more satiated.

Dare I say?

Content.

Did you know that it’s constant worry that does that to us?  Worrying about the future and longing for happy times of the past takes our lives away, bit by bit, making us forget to just sit back and enjoy the ride.

I blame my recent lack of living in the present for the faint lines across my forehead and shadows beneath my eyes.

But the good news is that my eye crinkles can be blamed on laughter.

So I’m not a total loss.

And this weekend, I did enjoy the ride.  Thoroughly.  Friday was as relaxed as it gets, with nothing more than eating and dog-walking on the agenda:

Breakfast sausage casserole.  Recipe to come.

When it’s hot outside, we all could use a dip in the lake.

Saturday was Justin’s graduation day, and it was filled with wonderful friends and amazing food.

And wine.  Lots of wine:

I whisper-yelled, “Justin!” and they both turned around.  Guess which one’s mine?

Beautiful mother-to-be, Alaina.

My favorite would-be brother-in-law, Dirk.  And not just because he picked a great bottle of wine to go with lunch.

The Nice Guy, from Inside the Nice Guy doing his thang.

The Wine doing its thang.

The Street doing its thang.

Later that night, the steak also did its thang.  Mostly to my thighs.

(Dirk and Alaina bought a cow awhile back.  Then they brought like half of it – in the form of three 800 lb. steaks – to our house for dinner.)

Besides wrinkles from worry and crows’ feet from laughter, I’m sure I’ll have a few more lines to blame on my own stupidity for going to the beach and forgetting sunscreen the sun.  Due to a family emergency, Catherine wasn’t able to meet us at the lake yesterday.  We were bummed, but we reasoned that we are in a coastal state, and it’d be a shame for Matthew to make it this far without seeing the Atlantic Ocean.

So we grabbed a few necessities – towels, bathing suits, sunglasses, and of course cameras, completely neglecting the most obvious of beach-going accoutrements for pasty white Midwesterners, which is sunscreen.

(And kids, when it comes to sun safety, I don’t like to play.  No, I don’t find it amusing that I have a bow-shaped burn line on my back from the tie on my bathing suit top, nor do I find it amusing that I could die from melanoma. Fortunately, we all know I won’t have to worry about bow-shaped tan lines in Spain.  Only burned nipples.  Which might, admittedly, be worse.  So it’s safe to say I won’t be forgetting the sunscreen there.)

Aside from our lobster-like appearance, our impromptu trip to the coast inspired the elusive joy that travel-on-a-whim never fails to make me feel.  I was reminded that I don’t always need to fly far to experience a life less ordinary.

What is it about the beach, anyway?  I mean, it’s hot and dirty and I always end up with little sand mosaics embedded into my skin and we won’t even talk about the other pitfalls of sand ending up in places sand really shouldn’t be, but still we go and we complain about the crowds and we dig in the sand and we crisp in the sun just to experience that wash of awe when we realize we’ve gone as far as we can possibly go without a little help.

Or a yacht.

In a couple of weeks, I’ll be on the other side of that water.

Crazy, huh?

Speaking of crazy, Domestiphobia reached a milestone recently.  A milestone I plan to celebrate later this afternoon.  So.  If you’ve made it this far in this post, you probably, definitely, for sure want to check back later today for something I’ve never done before.

I realize I started this post by telling you to live in the present and not worry about the future, but you should probably forget all that because this is something to get excited about.

It’s a Beautiful Morning

I know I’ve been kind of MIA lately.

And I’m sorry for that.

But I have an excuse.  See, first there were 2 days of painting.

Then a day of cleaning and grocery shopping.

So basically, it was 3 days of a domestiphobe’s worst nightmare.

And now?

Now we have a house guest.  And contrary to how most people feel about house guests, I feel like I can finally relax.

Want to know what a leisurely Friday morning looks like to a couple of bloggers?

Yeah.  It’s not too shabby.

Matthew (from Inside the Nice Guy) is here for Justin’s college graduation this weekend.  So we knew each other way before our blogging days.  In fact, I met them both on the same day – exactly 8 years ago on May 20th.

Today will be relaxing.  Filled with eating, dog walking (when it’s not raining), movie watching (the boys are seeing Thor while I sit blissfully through some brainless chick flick), more eating, and occasional drinking (coffee and orange juice included).

Saturday is graduation day.  Friends are coming to celebrate with us, and it should be another excellent day filled with wonderful food and even wonderfuller (yes that’s a word according to me) people.

Then on Sunday, we’re meeting up with another blogging friend, Catherine, from Simply Solo, at her family’s infamous lake house.  We’ve never met in person, but if she’s half as cool as she seems on her blog and Facebook, we’re in for a good time.

I’d love to write more, but when you bring two self-proclaimed geeks (who also happen to be lifelong friends) together in the same kitchen, it gets hard to type over the constant buzz of laptop movie trailers and George Lucas analyses.

But you won’t find me complaining.  Right now I’m surrounded by close friends, delicious food, and excellent coffee.

It’s pretty much the way life should be.

What? There was a Wedding?

This morning I was groggy.

My eyes were full of crusties, my hair resembled a bird’s nest, and my mouth tasted like socks — the stinky, cotton, gym kind — not the silky, expensive, suit kind.

Attractive, no?

It wasn’t until I managed to fumble my way to the kitchen, fix a pot of coffee, and pour the first, steamy sips down my parched throat that I actually managed to have a coherent thought.

And this is where I’ll admit — though definitely not for the first time — that I’m a bit of a freak.

My first thought of this April 29th morning was, I wonder what the weather is supposed to be like today.

GASP!

I realize this makes me somewhat of an anomaly among 99.9% of the U.S. female population.  You see, not only was my first thought not, I can’t wait to turn on the t.v. so I can finally see Kate’s dress, or, Now that William’s no longer on the market, I’m going to have to cancel my plans of creating a “chance” meeting where we’ll fall madly in love and he’ll dump that British commoner for a real American princess and I’ll finally have my fairy tale just like Cinderella and OMG WHY, William?!  WHY?

Not even close.

In fact, I actually forgot the whole thing was supposed to happen last night.  I arrived home from work rather late, and didn’t get home until around the time when true fans of the royals were throwing back shots of espresso and sticking toothpicks under their eyelids.  I didn’t think to turn the television on then, either.  Instead, I caught up on some blog reading, wrote some ideas in my notebook, washed my face, crawled under the covers, fell into a coma, and apparently sucked on my feet all night.

I know.  How un-American of me to forget about a British royal wedding!

I really don’t even feel like a girl right now.

There must be something wrong with me.

It wasn’t until I turned on the television to catch the morning weather report and was instead accosted by replay after replay after replay of that dry, tight-lipped kiss (though I imagine they must have been pretty nervous with only like a billion people watching) on the balcony of Buckingham Palace (yes, I even had to Google where the kiss took place) when I realized I missed it.

Huh.

For what it’s worth, yes, I do agree with the media that Kate’s dress was very pretty.  Yes, it definitely was a grand event.  Yes, I do hope they live happily ever after.

Now, can we get back to the actual news?

Well apparently the newlyweds haven’t revealed where they’re honeymooning yet.

So, no.  No we can’t.

On a less sardonic note, I have a busy weekend and week(s) ahead.  Another late night serving alcohol tonight, a day drinking wine tomorrow at a pottery festival in Sanford (I know, so delightfully “towny,” right?), a Saturday night free Everclear concert at the Dogwood Festival in Fayetteville (Jo Dee Messina is performing tonight for all you country fans), work again on Sunday, girlie party event on Monday, painting the living room and trim during the week, hopefully working on some more office projects, and overall getting ready for Justin’s upcoming college graduation and a visit from a dear friend (and fellow blogger), which I will tell you about soon.  Oh, and I’m also planning a baby shower and a trip to Spain.

I’m kind of exhausted just thinking about it.

But I have to admit that it’s nice to feel busy.

I should have a lot to post about in the coming weeks, so stay tuned!

The Storm’s Movin’ In

Okay, so I’m trying really hard to not be that girl.

You know, that girl who freaks out when bad weather presents and I’m home alone with a couple of mutts and there’s no basement and I live behind a trailer park.

I’ve never been that girl before.  I mean, I’m a military spouse.  We’re built Ford tough.  And we’re used to being alone.  But those storms from a couple of weeks ago and then the ones that blew through Alabama last night and are currently swirling in the skies overhead kind of made me realize how much we’re all just sitting here all vulnerable and exposed like those little moles that pop out of the holes in that game at the fair and we’re just hoping we don’t get whacked on the head with a rubber mallet.

Or a tornado.

The tall, skinny pine trees in my back yard look like giant blades of grass blowing around in the wind.

There’s no rain, and that somehow makes it a little scarier.

We’ve been told the storms have weakened significantly since their run through Alabama, and we shouldn’t expect to see anything that we saw before.

But the thing is, before is still now.

I took these photos from a moving vehicle a couple of days ago:

Sanford Lowes

Yep, that’s our Lowe’s Home Improvement store.

Lowe’s again.

Huge trees just snapped.

This used to be a nice little neighborhood.

Wow.

Nature is powerful and awesome.

And sometimes it wants to make sure we remember that.

The rain is here.

Something just hit my window.

I think I’ll go hide in the closet now.

Why don’t we have basements here??

Mad Housewife My Ass

I asked Justin the other day if he would buy me a bottle of wine (or six) when he stopped at the store to pick up stuff to make this.

So, imagine my surprise when I opened the refrigerator door to find this:

What.  The.  Hell.

He thought it was funny.

You know, because I kind of am a mad housewife.

For those of you who watch Sex and the City (the shows, not the crappy movies), remember when Charlotte’s husband got her a cutout of a cardboard baby as a “joke” when they found out she couldn’t have kids of her own?

Yeah.  It’s kind of like that.

I mean… I can’t imagine why he saw this and thought of me.

It’s not like there’s a resemblance.

*The best part is what the bottle says on the back: “Somewhere near the cool shadows of the laundry room.  Past the litter box and between the plastic yard toys.  This is your time.  Time to enjoy a moment to yourself.  A moment without the madness.  The dishes can wait.  Dinner be damned.”

YES!  Why make dinner when you can have WINE instead?