Clueless

I am going to Bonnaroo with Zac and his friends in June.  This is not somewhere I'd normally head to, but, with Zac being here-there-and-everywhere, I figured it would be as good of an opportunity as any to spend extra time with him.

Oh yeah, and Paul McCartney + Mumford & Sons sold me.

But, he and his friends have probably the most godawfulworstthingimagineable outfits planned.  Awful.

Here's our conversation, after he told me of the ridiculous outfits they have planned:

Clueless. He's clueless I tell you.  As if, even for this ridiculous event, I would want to be seen in neon anything.  This kid is dreaming.  I know Michelle's got my back on this one.

In any event, what does one wear to a festival in Tennessee in the summer?

Teamwork: A Rant

Please keep with me here, this has been building.

Honestly, this is what happens when you google teamwork.
Corporate America must be the worst.  Can you imagine seeing this image
in a serious situation? Like on your WORK document? Jesus.

Teamwork is oh-so-easy.  You know why?  Because it's flipping easier to help a group than it is to specifically only help 2 or 3 people and skip around the others.  Just help everyone in one big ol' swing of the arm.  What could take you all of 15 seconds will end up taking the next person 1 minute, and the next person 4 minutes, if we all just keep ignoring the problem because "we didn't cause it."  

Like, this one time I went to the express checkout at my grocery store on a Friday night.  I had a small basket and when I emptied it, I went to put it in with the other baskets under the conveyor belt.  Unfortunately, someone had put their basket away incorrectly, making it impossible for the baskets to stack neatly.  Now, you may say "but Kim, you're so Type A and OCD and slightly crazy anyway," but to you I say "shut it."  Because you know what?  It took me 3 seconds to fix the last person's basket and then add my own, rather than shoving my own in and creating a bigger mess that some poor 16 year old sap will have to untangle later.

An older gentleman came up behind me in line and said that I "must be a mother" when he saw me fix the baskets.  FIRST OF ALL BRO-THAT AIN'T RIGHT!  THAT. AIN'T. RIGHT.  Never have I felt the need put on all neon crop tops and lace shorts and look like a ridiculous person as much as that moment.  I AM NOT A MOTHER GODDAMN IT.  I AM A RESPONSIBLE CITIZEN.  I'm just trying to make life easier for some kid so he doesn't get stuck untangling baskets for 3 hours because some douchenozzle didn't put his basket away right and then 40 other lazy-a's expounded upon his f-up.  I'm just trying to put good forth into the world.  It's flipping community-level teamwork.  Let's all get on it.    

All I'm saying is that, if you're wearing this outfit,
probably no one will think you're a mom.
Also, I would never wear this outfit.

Here's what I'm saying.  You approach a sink of dishes.  There's plenty in there, some stuff from dinner last night, an empty coffee mug, your breakfast cereal bowl and the dish you just put in.  Now, what makes more sense?  Fishing around all the other dirty dishes to extract and clean only your own, or, just doing all of them, because hey, when was the last time I actually cleaned a whole sink of dishes?

Now, you approach a dirty kitchen.  Not really dirty, just some crumbs on the counter from whatever happened while you were still in bed.  You obviously need to make your lunch and don't want these estranged crumbs in your zone.  Now, what makes more sense? Cleaning the whole counter down quickly, even though you don't know where these crumbs originated, or shoving all of these crumbs to another part of the counter so that your sandwich zone is crumb free?

Now, you go to the grocery store and you are done unloading your cart into your car.  What could you possibly do with this cart?  Hint, hint: there are corrals.  And yes, it's a 30 second walk to the corral and you'll have to push that weird metal cart over the uneven pavement the whole. way. there. but what happens if you just leave it?  I guess the lost parking spot, or the extra time that poor grocery store kid has to spend outside isn't really your problem anyway.  YOU BOUGHT ICE CREAM AND ITS MELTING. 

Now, really, all I'm saying is this.  When something really isn't that hard for you to do, and doing it helps out the greater whole (your roommates, your community, your fellow grocery shoppers), why not just do it?  

Evidence That I'm Neurotic

You guys.

Anxiety is real, and it's definitely something that people deal with.  Some people (like me) are lucky to have it in a crippling, stop-major-life-events, sort of way.  More so than just "ohmiGOD you guysssss, you're stressing me ouuuut" kind of way.  Kind of in a "I have definitely said aloud most of the things below and thoroughly made a jackass of myself" kind of way.  Jackass to friends, relatives, strangers, etc.  Sometimes, I don't even say these things, I just totally let it dictate my behavior, and then I just appear like a jackass, closing my eyes and humming softly to avoid hearing the exorcism of Emily Rose on TV.  Normal, right?  

I'm sharing with you today truths that you may already know, but that I have learned about from others despite my anxious mind.  This is meant, obviously, to be humorous.  I've suffered through all of these in such a crippling way, it's only good to look at it (when I'm in a non-anxious state) and laugh.

And have you laugh with me.  With.  WITH YOU GUYS.

here

When the power comes back on after a power outage, the house will not burn down due to a power surge through the TV/lamp/computer that was left on.

A locked door cannot unlock itself.  Once it's locked, if no one has come through that door, it will remain locked.  No need to check 387 times!

Burglars do not typically hide in places such as under tables, inside of closets, behind shower curtains, in Ringo's giant crate, or in lesser-used rooms.  (Still not sure I believe this one...)

Massive Wall of ICE?!?!

Preparing (or not preparing) for a storm does not actually affect the path of said storm nor  does it affect the likelihood that said storm will affect your town.

Just because a person you love left your presence under less than ideal circumstances does not mean that their life is now in mortal danger.

If you ask someone to do something, you will not make them do it faster by checking to see if it's completed 386 times throughout the day.

found

Actually hearing or *shudder* watching that preview for a terrifying horror film will not increase the chances of a serial-murderer slash possessed demon slash monster finding and killing slash possessing slash monstering you.  

And that, my friends, is a quick glimpse into my neurosis.

Day 16.

Your lot in life.

There were a few things that I could have talked about for this #blogeverydayinMay prompt.  I had a sassy little post about my anxiety ready, another (gut-reaction) post that dealt with finances, but I keep coming back to this.

My lot in life is the absolute shittiest luck.  Absolute.  And yes, profanities so necessary.  The phrase "when it rains, it pours" is so descriptive of my fate/luck/lot in life that I don't even know where to begin.

Evidence A: I started this whole blog over my crappy luck/unruly fate.

Evidence B: Plagued again this week!

The thing about this lot is that it can be so difficult to remain positive when there seems to be endless setbacks.  When one major setback is coupled with at least 2 more.  I know that soon, it will be better.  I know that positive changes are happening.  But, it's so hard to look forward to an amazing apartment in August when I'll have a transient couch-crashing (with dog!) life for the two months leading up to that.  It's hard to even focus on packing when your dog requires 3 visits to the vet and daily vet phone updates for over a week.  

The thing about this "lot" in life is that all of these consequences that I face are usually a direct result of other people's choices, or at the very least, would happen regardless of any choice that I made.  I mean, you could argue that I choose the people I keep around me and therefore when they make awful decisions that make my life difficult, it is an indirect result of my choice.  I suppose that's valid.  By often times, this lot is a result of nonchoice whatsoever (my parents skipping my graduation from college, my dog getting ill while Zac's away, my car getting totaled, etc.).  It's hard to find silver linings when every practical useful ounce of my body is dedicated to making it through these messes with as much grace and as little passive aggressive backlash (my unfortunate specialty) as possible.

So what am I doing?  Clearly, the "start a blog" didn't help all that much (though I love you all!!!, it's just not helping my overall get-my-shit-togetherness).  But recently, Rachel pinned this pin which is from here, but here originally.

And that really got me thinking...that I don't have to be what has happened to me.  Revolutionary.  So much of my current identity is wrapped up in all of these negatives that just fall into my lap.  And maybe it's obvious, and maybe it's making you laugh at even the thought of it, but I've just decided to embrace that I am what I choose to be.  I am a result of the choices that I make.  The quote (or rather, my brain-mashed paraphrase of it) followed me for days...it would pop into my mind while I was driving, while I was walking Ringo, while I was getting ready for bed.  Finally, on Sunday, after another whopping round of amazing, plan affecting news hit me square in the face, I decided to hobble this together:

Please excuse the poor staging, poor grammar, poor everything, as you know, I'm packing and mentally occupied and all.  One day I'll hobble together a better, more beautiful one.  But for now, I'm making it my mantra.  I'm not what has happened.  I'm a result of the choices I'm making.  I can affect this fate.  I can change this lot.

Only in my life...

Really, only in my life would I, after a slew of awful roommates, get a roommate who decides to email our landlord and say that, collectively, "we" will be moving out at the end of the lease, without checking with the girl whose boyfriend currently lives in another country, without actually checking with his roommates who have tickets to be out of town the week that the lease ends.  Only in my life.  Oh, and he sends that email before he tells his roommates that he's moving out.

And only in my life would that landlord ALREADY have people lined up to live in our house for the very moment our lease ends.

And only in my life would this whole personal ordeal perfectly coincide with a temporary employee and his girlfriend wanting me to find them new housing, wait for it, in the town that I want to live in.  And they would contact me three times in the first hour of work on a Monday morning to make me fix it. 

And while I'm fixing it, I would get an email from Zac's parents suggesting several other apartments to look at, despite the fact that we've already chosen a place.

And that place isn't ready until August.  Lease ends June 15.  

Thanks crummy roommate.  Thanks life. 

But, at the very least, I sat outside with my sickly puppy this weekend and began my reread of The Great Gatsby.  So...there's something. 

A Moment

Oh cliche, I've posted a picture of my dog.  

But it's the one moment that's consistent in my day, every day, whether or not Zac is in another country, another state, or in our house.  Ringo sneaks upstairs and makes a nest of our bed, every night.  I go up later and sneak onto my half.  And this is how we go to sleep, every night.  Sometimes with nudges to get more space, sometimes with re-positioning to move even closer.  (When Zac's there, Ringo does sleep in his crate, but I do still go to bed significantly earlier than Zac, so Ringo and I still go to sleep together.)  I've been savoring this moment the last few days as Ringo is still awfully sick (despite my posted too-early-instagrammin' relief).  It kills me that he isn't getting any better and to see how much weight he's losing.  So, I savor our evening moments of calm, when his crying has subsided and we're trying to rest him back to health.

How To Find Out if You Can Manage Parenting

Step 1: Get a dog.

Step 2: Wait for your dog, inevitably, to get sick.

Step 3: Assume you know what's going on with your dog.

Step 4: Completely realize you have NO idea what's going on with your dog.

Now...here's the crucial part.  How do you react at Step 4?

Option 1 - Calmly call your veterinarian.  Explain all of the possible factors affecting your pup, schedule an appointment and bring your dog in.  Calmly follow all of the vet's prescribed procedures and give your dog all required medicines.  Feel happy that your dog's health is returning.

Option 2 - Panic and call the vet .01 minute after it opens.  Frantically tell your vet every single thing that possibly happened to your dog, including an intense description of all bowel movements to that very moment.  Make an appointment at the vet.  Call your vet 3 more times before your appointment.  Text your boyfriend.  Be on the verge of tears all day.  Every small grumble from your pup sends you into hysterics.  Truly, genuinely believe that your vet will tell you that you have to put down your puppy when you get to the appointment.  Hold back tears.  Drive to vet's appointment, but constantly look over your shoulder to see if the puppy is okay.  Believe that every head motion, every time he lays down is an indication of fatal ailments which will ultimately subsume your dog's health.  Arrive at vet's.  Frenzy of describing symptoms.  Ask, and re-ask, your vet the same 10 questions to be ABSOLUTELY SURE your dog will not die in the night time.  Do not sleep soundly.  Clutch dog closer than he wants to be clutched.  Follow all instructions to a T.  Feel skeptical that dog's health is returning, but ultimately relieved.  Remain ever vigilant that this may return.

Ringo, on the brink of death at the vet's yesterday

How does this relate to parenting?  Well my friends, if you chose option 2 (like I recently did), you are no where near collected enough to be responsible for an actual human life.  At least, that's what I'm telling myself anyway.