A Fistful of First World Woes

I'm not entirely comfortable labeling myself a pessimist.  I'll give you realist. I'm too emotional to ever consider myself pragmatic.  Maybe let's just go with one who is VERY well aware of all the many ways a good thing can go wrong . Splendidly, monumentally, drastically wrong. However, I'd like to think that when push comes to shove, I am naturally inclined to look on the bright side of things. But in all reality, I'm about sick to death of all the damn pushing and shoving.

Seriously.

Also, if I hear one more person use the phrase, "First world problems," I swear on the tears of children from every poverty stricken, war torn nation that ever has and ever will exist, that I will strangle said person to death with a phone cord or some other useless relic of convenience from a time long gone by.

Yes- I am 33, not tied down by husband and children. Free to come and go as I please.

But yes,-I am 33, more than likely going to die alone, and no one will notice until the barking dog annoys the neighbors enough to raise suspicion....which is hopefully before he decides to eat my body because his food bowl has run dry.

Yes- I have multiple degrees and a career that many people would love to have.

But yes- I have enough student loan debt to choke a horse. I envy the gardeners that get to spend their days in the sunshine while people commend the skill with which the grass lines were edged and the corners rounded without err. While I go to work to be berated by teenagers who know all there is to know about all that ever was, and be subtly belittled by coworkers who assume that they are the only ones who do their job well...all the while I wrack my brain for a marketable skill other than teaching or top-less dancing.

Yes- I have a beautiful and comfortable house that I can call my very own.

But yes- I am the owner of a veritable stink bug farm, sick to freaking death of picking weeds and have a mortgage that leaves me with about $2.76 in my checking account at the end of the month.

Yes- I have the entire summer to laze about while paying no mind to work, school deadlines or due dates.

But yes- I have the entire summer to laze about with no paycheck, nowhere to go and nothing to do but ruminate on the aforementioned stinkbug farm and the "SURPRISE!! We rechecked your 2010 tax return and found some discrepancies" notice in the mail.

Yes- I have wonderful parents and siblings who are willing to bend over backward and hijack the moon if I asked them to.

But yes- that underlines the sneaking suspicion that I have managed to become the uncontested F-up of my family.

So how's life as a single American woman with an advanced degree, a great career, a home of her own and an awesome family?

Great! Comparatively speaking....things couldn't be better. Nothing to complain about here....but when the hell has that ever stopped me before?

And contrary to Andy Grammer's peppy encouragement, I'll keep my head wherever I damn please. And my hair is perfectly fine right where it is. Thankyouverymuch.

ASAP

So on the list of things I need asap, these rank near the top. I'd also like stickers that could be applied to t-shirts or foreheads as deemed necessary by me, and me alone.

I'm completely serious. Someone buy these for me, STAT.

...And We're Back!

April? It happened. But quite honestly, it is kind of a blur...and not an exciting blur at that.

Aside from some awesome pastries, (compliments of my cousins new found baking gusto) and nearly hacking my own father to death with a machete, I don't really have much to report. Ergo- the absence of riveting details of my day to day. Bored. To. Tears. Being the ever thoughtful gal that I am, I decided to spare you the task of keeping up with that. You're welcome.

Perhaps the reason that April was funky is that I finally came to the realization that I will not be getting any stamps in my passport this summer. Granted, this probably makes me sound like a bit of a spoiled brat, but I really am sad about it. Ever since I started teaching I have spent the summer gallivanting about, eating my way through, or doing volunteer work in some far-flung foreign country. For some reason, this year I got it in my head that I needed to buy a house. As it turns out,  the mortgage learning curve has taken longer to get ahead of than I planned. There will be no passport travel for the foreseeable future. That thought is equal parts mind numbing and soul crushing.

Ahh well-c'est la vie. I'm sure I'll live....and don't worry, we'll get to pastries and machetes soon. I'm sure you're waiting with baited breath.

Tip your waitresses and try the veal

We buried a friend this weekend. Trouble is, they buried him at the graveyard that I hate the very most. It is seriously one of my least favorite places in this valley. Granted cemeteries are not pleasant places to being with, but they have charm and link us to history. Once the immediate sting wears off, they are really beautiful, sweet places. In fact,  every set of pictures that I have from my travels around the world have at least 50 pics devoted strictly to cemeteries.

The problem that I have with this cemetery is that in the past few years, I have buried about 4 or 5 students at this same location. There hasn't been time for the sting to wear off and the feelings of history, peace and charm to break through.

Pretty sure he was at the poppy fields with his wife and twins. 

However, I did gain a sense that this may have been the perfect place to bury Todd. Knowing that he was the constant joker....and adamant about having a good time, I parked the car and got out, only to see a head stone that read this,

"Happy to be here"

In my head, I am going to think that the deceased actually wanted it to say, "I'm happy to be here. I'll be here for eternity. Tip your waitresses.....and try the veal." But for the sake of space, his family settled with just, "Happy to be here"

When I die, I hope to have the people I left behind still realize that regardless of where my body resides, my spirit remains exactly the way it always has been. And my spirit is freaking hilarious....so I want something clever on my headstone, dammit.

Well hello there....

Determination only takes you so far. 

Well hello there 2:30 am. You suck....and no matter how many reruns of Whale Wars you try to entertain me with, I still hate you.

It Figures

Wasn't exactly what I pictured when I was a kid dreaming about the pot at the end of the rainbow.

Bad Romance

I don't think I am a terribly demanding soul, but there are a few things that I can't deal with.

-Having to turn on the heater on the last day of April.
-Unpainted/chipped toe nails.
-Vacations that require me to pile clothing on rather than strip it off.

and

-The freaking Dodgers losing to Pittsburgh. The Pirates. Seriously.


These are a few of lifes little maladies that I just cannot stand for. I demand that they be remedied, asap. My action plan includes the following things...

-I will throw open the blinds in my classroom and house, then strategically place myself in the sunlight that spills through. While it is freezing outside, the sun is still shining brightly. I'm hoping for some sort of radiant, microwave heating effect. Not really sure if that will work, though. I'm not a scientist, get off my back.

-Me+Sam+3:00pm=pedicure date. Yes, this is my second pedicure in as many weeks, but I kicked the leg of the coffee table. One thing I cannot abide, chipped polish.

-Summer in freaking Africa. I'll bless the rain down in Africa. I'll bless the hell out of that rain.


That leaves me with the last and most vexing problem in my life right now. The Dodgers. Being born and bred in Dodgertown, I have no choice but to bleed blue. I'm Dodger blue, through and through. I think there may be a little bit of Mafia blood running through my veins because we are a wildly loyal bunch. Giving up on the Dodgers would be equivalent to going against the family. And I think we all know how that story ends. I have just as many memories and life lessons learned at the feet of Tommy Lasorda and Vin Scully as I do from my own grandparents. To this day I would still choose a Dodgerdog, crackerjacks and a frozen lemonade over the most sprawling Thanksgiving feast.



But as of late, it seems the bloom is off the rose. The thrill is gone. Maybe I am having a crisis of faith. Maybe I am running out of nostalgia and good memories. Maybe it is the shame of Mannywood. Maybe it is the empty bullpen. Maybe it is the stupid freaking McCourts and all of their bad mojo. But top all of that with a loss to the Pirates...and I am nearly crushed.


I've heard it many times, from may people, that the Dodgers are like that bad boyfriend you know you should break up with but don't. Just when you have had enough, he gives you a glimmer of hope and you decide to give it one more try. Stick with him just a little longer. He's changing, really! For good this time! Yeah- that's exactly what it's like. And that's what has me thinking that I may one day become a battered wife. I've had 31 years of practice thanks to the Dodgers. No one can break your heart like the Boys in Blue can.


But really guys? If you insist on beating me down like the second cutest girl in the trailor park, could you at least hit me where the bruises won't show? I mean really, the Pirates? That's just cruel.

If it's not one thing, it's another. If it's not that, it's the Chinese

Seriously, are the Chinese known for being an emotionally cruel people? Play with this fortune, add whatever ending you want....there is no way it can be done that doesn't dig that 'you will be single forever' dagger deeper.

Just what I wanted with my Mooshu, a little dose of cruel reality.

The Chinese must have been in communication with my mother and/or therapist, or they just have a painfully hard grasp of irony.