Meanwhile, in the Hallway

A short story about a silly fight. Because if you don't find enjoyment in the details of ridiculous, petty arguments...you're taking life far too seriously. Come back at midnight after half a bottle of wine and an entire row of Oreos. Better yet, go immerse yourself in Seinfeld reruns.


So. Last night.

I went to the trouble of fixing yet ANOTHER new recipe. The third one this week (huge for me). Each of which included only the freshest ingredients, a minimum of 3 pans on the stove at all times, and a whole slew of chef-y terms and tricks I had to learn on the fly.

Such as garlic clove. Thank God Ron stepped in and informed me that a clove of garlic is just a piece of that lumpy white thing you buy in the produce section. Pretty sure I was ready to mince 3 of those -- 24 cloves -- for one recipe. With the skin on.


Anyway. So Ron's out running while I'm reading and measuring and stirring and boiling and baking. And I'm super proud of myself because I've got everything all cleaned up and put away and the finished product is already in the oven before he returns. Plus I remembered the garlic bread. And I made salads and put them in the refrigerator to chill.

Basically I was a fully-functioning machine. One that probably should have quit while she was ahead.

But oh no. Instead I decided to go the last mile and spruce up the apartment while we waited for the Tortellini Spinach Bake in Creamy Lemon Sauce to finish baking.

So I step over Ron stretching on the floor about 15 times as I dust the coffee and end tables. (Mild annoyance building) Then I grab the vacuum cleaner and begin vacuuming the hallway. 

Meanwhile, Ron stands up and walks down the hallway, presumably to the bathroom to take a shower.

And I'm vacuuming, in my usual fashion. Forward, up the hallway. Then backward, down the hallway. As I'm walking (flying, in Ron's opinion) backward down the hallway I'm not paying any attention to potential roadblocks...because seriously...who gets in the way of a cleaning machine... and I ram straight into Ron.

It startles both of us. I glance back to see him hunched over in the middle of the hallway taking off his socks. The vacuum is still on, so we're yelling over the noise.

Me: Hey! Get out of the way! What the hell are you doing?


Ron: TAKING OFF MY SOCKS!

Me: Why are you taking your socks off in the hallway? Who takes their socks off in the hallway?!

Ron: Last time I looked you were way up there! (points to the living room) How was I supposed to know you'd come running back here! There was no warning! No back-up beeping or anything!

Me: (ranting as I resume vacuuming, moving forward to the living room and gesturing wildly with the hand that's not holding the handle) It doesn't matter! Why would you take off your socks in the hallway!

Ron unplugs my vacuum cleaner.

Silence.

He gives me his Oh shit I'm in for it look as I stare him down with my You're totally f*ckin in for it look.

Because I mean, here I am, being like the ultimate wifey, and he has the AUDACITY to take his socks off in the hallway and then UNPLUG my vacuum cleaner.

So I drop the handle and walk out the door, slamming it behind me. I hear Ron walk into the bathroom and slam the door as well.

I wasn't so angry I wanted to leave. I was just annoyed enough pretend. Plus there was a print off with the definition of heart disease sitting in the stairwell that apparently no one in our building wanted to claim or pick up for the past two weeks, so I took the opportunity to finally walk it to the dumpster.

Then I march back in, back down the hallway, and swing open the bathroom door before marching into the bedroom and opening the window so the cold air would mess up his hot shower.

He mutters something from behind the curtain, but I can't decipher it over the sound of the vacuum. I finish the living room and he's still showering, so I signal a semi-truce by shutting the bathroom door and closing the window.

As I'm retrieving our meal from the oven, Ron walks in the kitchen.

Ron: You know, unplugging the vacuum isn't the most offensive thing in the world. And why can't I take my socks off in the hallway?

Me: First of all, it's RUDE. Don't ever mess with my vacuum. Second, it doesn't make sense! You either take them off in the bedroom and put them in the hamper, or take them off in the bathroom, before you take your shower. The hallway is neither of those places. The hallway, is a thoroughfare. A highway. You don't stop on a highway.

Ron: You don't reverse on a highway either, yet there you were.

Damnit. I couldn't help but laugh. Point Ron.

 The pasta was good, by the way. Although I'll probably use a little less cayenne pepper next time. That crap is POTENT!

 

Wedding Will & Wont's: Part 1

So while I'm over here sitting on my hands, avoiding any wedding-related decisions that require cash until I've paid off every god-forsaken penny of my credit debt....

 
I've decided to compile a list of Wedding Will & Wont's.

Not to be confused with Wedding Do & Don'ts. I'm not implying our choices are the right choices. 

It's just that in the overwhelming world of weddings, there are about 178349067837205 things a girl with 2.5 years to plan can consider. Therefore in an effort to kill time, reduce stress, and avoid regrets....I'm going to spend the rest of 2013 weeding through traditions and deciding what what to include and what to leave out.

Therefore, without any further ado...

Item 1 in a series of Stuff We Will or Won't Do:


1. We won't have a bouquet or garter toss.

First of all, NO. I am not the least bit interested in having Ron stick his hand up my dress in front of God, our grandparents, coworkers, coaches, friends, and extended family. 

Pass. 

 

Second, it might just be me but something about wearing a garter makes me feel like a hooker. I don't want to feel like a hooker on my wedding day.

And third, let's be serious. When you wait 9 years and 11 months to tie the knot....chances are 98% of your friends are already married. And 60% of those married already have kids. Which means the pre-toss dance floor will be sparsely filled with one or two totally hammered single adults and a handful of kindergartners running around like Tasmanian devils on crack.  

 
Right. Okay. I hear you. What's a good party without at least one hilariously awkward moment? I totally agree.

But having been a hammered unhitched ogre standing amid a bunch of tiny humans, harassed until humiliated on multiple occasions....

I'm going to vote that the awkward moment take place elsewhere. Perhaps within a special closing speech given by one of Ron's crazy groomsmen. 


Instead, we will go with a relatively new tradition that I adore. The Marriage Dance. All the married couples gather on the dance floor for one slow dance. During the song, the DJ announces various milestones such as 5 years.

If you've been married less than 5 years, you have to sit down. This continues until the end of the song, when only the bride and groom and the oldest couple remain. Sweet and meaningful, right?

I mean if we're going to ostracize the singles, I'd rather do it by honoring the old married couples than making them stand in the middle of the dance floor and fight for a bouquet or garter. 


Next Week: Cake in Yo Face. Will we or won't we? 

Little Letters

Dear Fiancé,

This week we made a pact to someday fund a Chinese panda exhibit and the purchase of a baby polar bear for the Indianapolis Zoo.

I love our big, unique dreams. 

*~*~*~*~*


Dear Vacation,

Please hurry. I need a time out. And a balcony garden.

*~*~*~*~*


Dear Facebook, 

Sorry for whining so much lately. I get a little freaked out when my running goes from hero to zero a relatively short time frame. First I think it's anemia. And then my thyroid. And then a figment of my spazzed out imagination. Like....are these symptoms real? Or are they just appearing because I read about them on WebMD?

Penicillin FTW. I hope.

 











*~*~*~*~*


Dear Lo-Carb Monster Energy, 

Way to underwhelm me. I want my 2 bucks back. 

*~*~*~*~*

Dear Little Boy who scooted right up next to my chair during storytime, and quietly put your tiny hand in mine,

Your sweetness slayed me.

*~*~*~*~*


Dear Preschool Class who pretended not to notice when I cried during the welcome song,

I'm sorry I kept my head down as we stomped our feet together, we stomped our feet together, we stomped our feet together...because it's fun to do -- rather than looking out and making silly faces at you. I was exhausted and frustrated and for some reason your usual over-the-top huggy lovey welcome made me cry. So I sat down, took a deep breath and started the song...and immediately began to cry again. So I hid my face. Afraid to look up. I thought you might want answers, and I might have to leave the room to compose myself. But when the song was over and I lifted my head I saw 27 sets of concerned little eyes, but 27 silent little mouths. 

You are compassionate and wise beyond your years little ones. Thank you. 

  
*~*~*~*~*

Dear Dr. Frederick, 
 
Someday, we will have sweet little ones of our own. Just not nine months from now. And praise Jesus for that! I mean we could swing if it we had to....but I'd prefer to not think of my child as an accidental blessing.

Little Letters concept originated from this awesome blog.

Let's Hear it for the Boys

Let's Hear it for the Boys



Who made good choices.

Who grew into men.

With sharp minds and big hearts and eyes on bright futures.
Whose hopes and dreams don't revolve around material things.

Let's hear it for those men. Real men. Good men.
Who put friends and family on the same shelf as self, if not higher.

Who like to have fun, but make sure their work is done first.
And know when to stop before things get reckless.

Who bring a whole new meaning to the term gold-digging.
One that has absolutely nothing to do with money.


Cheers to those sought after specimens this weekend. ;)


*And to the women who give it their best.
But are ultimately smart (and courageous) enough
To walk away, when staying feels more like settling.

Lyrics Here.

Letters:: Bridesmaid Wrap-Up

Dear Fiance,

I have 10 bridesmaids.

When I say that out loud, most people gasp or laugh or tell me to rethink my decision. But not you. Because you know how much they mean to me, and how integral they have been in making me the kind of woman you want to marry.

So you never complain when I say I'll be home late because I'm meeting the girls for yogurt. Or I'll be gone all Saturday afternoon, checking out a new winery. Because you recognize I don't need yogurt. Or heaven knows any more wine. I need them. On random weeknights and every 5th Saturday and on December 6th, 2014. Standing beside me in an overwhelming display of beauty, and significance.

Not every man would get that, but you do. Thank you.

xo
Me



Ps. Yeah I know, sometimes you're just glad to have me out of your hair for a few hours. ;) But there are weeks, occasionally months, when it seems like all we've been doing is running in opposite directions. I know you'd rather I stay in, yet you still see me to the door with a guilt trip-less Have fun, be careful...see you in a little bit. Those are the moments I appreciate so much. When I can walk away feeling very loved, and understood.



*~*~*


Dear Mom,

When I started dating, you told me to hold on to my girlfriends. You said I should always make time for them, no matter how head over heels I may be for a boy, because they will love and support me in ways that he can't.

You were right.

Yeah I'm gonna go ahead and say that again, on behalf of my arrogant young adult self who often rolled her eyes and ignored your hard-earned advice: You were right. 



*~*~*


Dear Bridesmaids,

One more thing. I'm going to need you all to dye your hair gray (to match the color scheme), fake bake until you're the exact color of a Dorito, and buy brand new MAC make-up in shades of silver just for my Big Day. Okay? Good.

Sincerely,
Kidding

#NotABridezilla

Monday Funday

Also known as, Pinterest's Got Jokes.
Also known as, I got to work 30 minutes early.

Midwest

Face I make when someone doesn't answer my phone call. 

This would be Ron and our dog.

That was my last day of grad school. 

Sole Sisters: Abby

Sole Sisters: Shay

Sole Sisters: LeAnn
Sole Sisters: Miranda
Sole Sisters: Elaine
Sole Sisters Introduction
The First Five

One of the most beautiful qualities
of true friendship is to understand
and to be understood. 

Seneca

  It is an insane world
but in it there is one sanity, 
the loyalty of old friends. 
Stehen Boyd  

And then there was one.

I saved Abby (Adragna) Nieten for last because of all my Sole Sisters, she's the most like me. And if there's one recurring theme in all the college girl blogs, it's that I think pretty highly of myself. Therefore, I've clearly saved the best for last.

Kidding. I mean, of course Abby is awesome. But I don't rank any one friend higher than the others. They're all equally special to me, for different reasons. Hence these tributes. Besides, Abby is most like me. Not exactly like me. 

And thank goodness for that.

 









If you've been following these blogs, you know which wolf I fed in college. If you know Abby, you know she's always chosen the opposite.

Also I drink way more wine, curse 100,000 times more often, and spend as diligently as she saves.

Still, in many ways we are sisters from another mister.

Abby & I are

Introspective. Philosophical. We love words. Particularly the cleverly woven together kind, that swirl and twirl through the pages of a book or the lyrics of a song, telling stories that inspire, and stretch perceptions.

We look for meaning in the small things, the big things, the in-between things. 


We think. 



And think 

                       and think  
                                                        
                                                    and think.




So much that we're sometimes regarded as the quiet ones, the ones who rarely speak.


 

But if our mouths are silent, it's because our brains are busy. Analyzing. Formulating. Desperately searching for the perfect way to express ourselves. Which can be an excruciatingly difficult task when you understand the value and power of language, selected carefully.

And that quest for linguistic excellence, spills over into everything we do. Our Type A personalities make us neat freaks and organizational divas and leave us perpetually unsatisfied. Because it's nearly impossible for us to live up to the visions we create in our overactive heads. Each time we get close to the bar...we can't resist raising it even higher.

The burden of idealism weighs heavy on our shoulders.

And all that endless scrutinizing can lead us to be a bit more introverted than most.

But by no means are we antisocial. 


Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things

We may never be known as the social butterflies of the group, but we are crazy passionate about our people. We carry our friends and family in our hearts with fierce devotion. 




A story. 

In college, Abby developed an injury that lingered and nagged and kept her sidelined far longer than what seemed fair.

It was frustrating, not just because she loves to run, but because runners are obsessed with time. Like we might as well have our batwatches (Coach Casey's name for them) permanently glued to our wrists. We use them frequently to record races, workouts, and heart rates. And in a sport where seconds count, weeks and months are monumental. So we cautiously plan each season of training in hopes of realizing our dreams before our glory days are gone.

Because we are oh-so-keenly aware that we only have a finite amount of time before our bodies won't be capable of chasing new PRs (personal records). Which makes each youthful minute spent on the bench, a grumpy one.


For example, when I fractured my pelvis? I checked out of the sport completely. I didn't want to go to meets or view results or visit my favorite running websites because it felt like punishment. Like being a kid at a birthday party, forced to sit at the adult table and listen to diaper discussions while all your friends got to whack the paper mache donkey and inhale massive pieces of cake.


No thank you.
  

Granted, my injury came after college. So I wasn't pouting in my dorm room while the team practiced. I was closing my eyes, crossing my arms and kicking the dashboard when Ron & I drove past Carroll Stadium.

Still. Looking back, it's a safe bet that if I had been in college...I would have been a sorry excuse for a team player. Attending practice and meets, but spreading more misery than cheer by being a big fat sulker.

Which brings me back to Abby.

At the time of her injury, I had more sympathy than empathy. Yet I wouldn't have blamed her a bit if she wanted to hole up while she healed. There have been plenty of UIndy athletes before, during, and after her that did just that.

But she didn't. She showed up. Every day. Standing on the side of the track in all sorts of temperamental Indiana weather. Logging splits and cleaning up Gatorade cups and cheering us on. 

She didn't whine or pout or make it about her. She wasn't obligated to be there. But she came anyway, out of love and loyalty to us. Her team. Her people.

You wouldn't believe how much that meant to us. What a difference it made, just having her there. She may not have scored any points while she was injured, but the motivation we gained from her supportive presence definitely lead to faster times and better races.
 
  



So.

My final bridesmaid, my last and possibly favorite reminder:


Show up. 


Before this lesson from Abby, I thought I knew all there was to know about love and loyalty. I fancied myself somewhat of an expert in sweet surprises and grand gestures and fiery speeches delivered in shout-y tones because Oh Girrrrrrl no she DIDN'T! UhUh. No. I don't think so. Let me handle this. I got your back.


Which is all fine and good. Thoughtful gifts are nice. Threats (You break her heart, I'll break your face! And your tibia! And your momma's tibia!) make for great laughs 5 years later. But Abby taught me that you don't always have to put on a show. Sometimes the most powerful way you can demonstrate your devotion to others is to simply show up.

Even when things aren't going your way. Even when your shit is far from together and you're a crazy hot mess of a mom/wife with food in her hair, a run in her hose, and blush on just one cheek.

At the end of the day, it's not about being an all-star. It doesn't matter if you're firing on all domestic cylinders....cooking a 5-star meal in 3-inch heels with a happy baby strapped to your chest, or stalled out and backing up traffic while the mac and cheese burns and kids scream.  

What matters is making every effort to get to that spelling bee, or midweek date lunch, and be present for your kids and your husband. 


Being their 6th man kind of fan.

  
Never forgetting, that successful friendships and families aren't perfect. But they are consistently there for each other.   



Love you whorebag. Thanks for always showing up. (And responding to my e-mails, ha:)

*****

  

 Step 'n Stride last Fall.

Vintage Wine Fest last Summer

Matt + Michelle's wedding last Spring

Abby's Wedding

LeAnn's Wedding

Shay's Wedding

Mir's Bachelorette Party

My 23rd Birthday, I think. 
All the Sole Sisters but Elaine!

Girls Vacation 2008

Hanging out in Ft. Wayne, visiting LeAnn

Track Conference 2007

XC 06

Abby's 21st