Forgotten Thank You's

So, if anyone has ever gotten married, you understand the hell that is..."Thank You" cards.  Geeze, not just married, Graduation, Baby, Baby again, whatever, you get the picture.  Have I ever been as miserable as I was writing all those thank you's?  Well, yes, but it's still pretty bad.  It's not the fact that I'm thanking people that is so miserble, because Ryan and I really were truly grateful for everything we received and we were even more grateful just to see everyone!  But, it was how incredibly time consuming it was.  I would dread it everyday when I got home from work.  I wanted every single thank you I wrote to be heartfelt and well-thought, because the worst thing to get is a thank you card from someone that says "Thanks. Love, Karen and Ryan."  I'm not calling anyone out, because I actually can't think of a time when I received a card like that, but I was afraid I would bestow a horrible card like that on someone that deserved so much more from us.  Not sure if you noticed that I keep saying "I" and not "us."  This is for two reasons.  1) Men don't typically partake in the lovely "Thank You" card writing tradition.  2) Ryan has the penmanship of our 3 year old nephew Gavin.  I may be exaggerating a bit, because I don't think he can write yet.  But this I'm sure of, he himself has seen our 7 year old niece Kathryn's handwriting and was shattered.  It is that bad.  So, I was happy to take on the Thank You note writing, before any of you badmouth my darling husband with inadequate penmanship.

Moving on.  It took me a good 3 months to finish all of these Thank You's.  I am victorious!  I don't know why I put so much pressure on myself.  Wait, I do know why.  My mother is an Etiquette Queen...as in, Queen of Etiquette.  She has tried to teach me all my life to be a dignified, charming young lady, and it just didn't stick.  However, in this situation, the last thing I wanted to do was embarrass my mom by not thanking each and every person that was kind to my brand new family.  To this day, 3 moths after I finished my "Thank You's", I still think every now and then, "Did I send one to them?  I'm sure I did.  Well, I don't want to call and ask if they got one from me when they didn't.  Dangit, I'll just ignore it.  Maybe they didn't notice either."  I was thinking this just today, when it hit me hard, really hard.  The most important people in our lives never got their Thank You.  So, this is for you.

Mom and Dad (Medlin)
I feel like a jerk.  And careless.  And less than thoughtful.  All these people to thank, and we didn't thank you.  I know we thanked you on the actual day, but that's really not enough.  But, hey, I'm sure you're used to it by now, right?  Isn't that what being a parent is all about?  Sacrificing and giving more to your kids than they deserve, and not even expecting a thank you.  No, that's not what being my parents is all about.  You guys taught me better than that.  I am so thankful for the beautiful day you gave us.  You made it special even when we didn't know what we wanted, or if we wanted anything.  We know you spent countless time, money and sweat putting our day together, and we had a very minimal hand in anything.  Mom, thank you for your patience.  You know I'm slightly crazy and more than slightly anxious about most things, so thank you for letting me do everything in my time.  You saved Ryan so much heartache by letting me be me, and not stressing me out.  Because we all know that Ryan takes the brunt of my meltdowns.  Thank you for knowing me and loving me, all of me.  We will forever be thankful for that day, and all the great days you've given me, and now us.  And Daddy, thank you for not only walking me down the aisle, but for letting me drink beer and eat fried chicken in the packhouse with you, almost making me late for the wedding festivities.  Thank you for being so gracious to me, Ryan, our friends, and Ryan's family for the wedding extravaganza.  You made everyone so comfortable...you've always been good at that :)  Thanks guys.  Sorry the formal thank you was so late, but it's better late than never, right?  Didn't one of you tell me that?  Yes, I'm sure you did, you're probably just to old to remember.  We love you!

Mama Kath and Papa Wade (Lindsay)
And of course, we forgot to thank my brand new parents as well.  I know you guys had to sacrifice a lot of time and money to fly the whole family cross-country, and I know the trek was stressful and LONG, but I hope you understand how much it meant to us.  It was more than touching to see you guys with my family meeting for the first time, and loving each other more than we could have hoped for.  Thank you for embracing me into your family, as well as embracing my whole family.  You were both so sweet with my niece and nephews, bring them all treats from the West Coast.  They, along with everyone else, were completely smitten with you both.  I know it's been hard for you guys the past couple of years with Ryan being gone, and then with him gettin' hitched to a southern girl, thinking he'll never be home again.  I can't promise we'll ever move back to Oregon, but I can promise that you will be as big a part of our lives as anyone.  And the last thank you is the biggest one for me.  Thank you for making Ryan into the man he is today.  He is perfection to me, and I know you both raised him to be just that.  Thank you for blessing our lives that day, and everyday.  We love you both so much!

Okay, so this is the true test to see if they read my blog.  If they do, I'm glad they finally got their "Thank You."  If they don't read it, screw your Thank You, you should be reading my blog.  Your thanks will be lost in the blogger abyss.  Just kidding, but not really : )  Until tomorrow, folks.

Boot Season

So, boot season is here again.  I loooooove boots.  I think it's probably my favorite shoe to wear and own.  However, I have a secret related to boot season that I feel I must share.  Maybe someone will know of a support group I can join.  I love boots, but I don't own as many as I wish I did.  I prefer the ones that are at least knee high.  And why exactly don't I own many of these knee high boots that I love so much?  I...have...abnormally large calves.  Man calves.  Body-builder calves.  I'm not kidding people.  It's a serious issue.  So many cute boots out there to try on.  But that's all I can do, try them on, try and force them over my calves, throw them on the floor in defeat, and storm out of all these stores that are prejudiced against my kind.

I don't know how I got this way.  I've always been athletic, but have never done anything so serious as to make my calves grow exponentially.  Maybe genetic?  I just mentioned this issue to my sister, and asked if she had big calves too.  She said, "They're not small."  So, there we go.  We can start our own support group now.

The last time I went shopping for boots was with Ryan and my brother-in-law, Alex, last time we went to visit Oregon (Ryan's home.)  After many past boot seasons of searching for some UGGs to no avail, I decided to try again.  Who knows, maybe Oregon is used to bigger calved people?  I've never really tried to shop on the West Coast before.  Yeah, I'm sure everything will be different this time.  Not at all.  Even Alex tried to help me. "Hey, it looks like this pair might fit over your calves.  Or what about his pair over here?"  No on both accounts.  Thanks for trying though, Alex.

So now, here is where I stand, in flip flops of course.  No new boots for years now.  And now, the cutest boots are out for the season.  The leather, with not much of a heel, with a little buckle around the ankle, preferably brown boots.  Every time I pass them in a store, I stare longingly at them, and then look away in shame as I exit the premises.  Ryan told me he'll get me a pair for Christmas, but I told him not to bother.  No one wants to cry on Christmas morning.

Please contact me if you know of a store that caters to my kind.

Romeo, oh Romeo

Romeo is my dog.  He is an Australian Shepherd mix.  And, he is an asshole.  My husband and I live in different states at the moment (only 2 more weeks!) and we decided to keep one dog each, because we're selfish.  Ryan kept Banjo Ladybird, our Basset Hound.  She is hard-headed but absolutely precious.  I kept Romeo.  The Romeo I used to know was the perfect dog.  He was potty-trained in 3 days, very loving, never barks, excellent manners, and boooooy did he love his mama.  Romeo would just gaze at me for hours no matter what I was doing.  I get up to pee in the night, Romeo would quietly follow me to the bathroom, lay on the floor, then follow me back to bed.  So sweet.  He actually used to creep Ryan out a bit.  Ryan would say, "Romeo looks at you like he has a crush on you.  That's weird, right."  No Ryan, it isn't.  We love each other.  That was the old Romeo.

Present Day Romeo: Asshole
To set the tone, I want to inform you that I cleaned up linoleum dog shit yesterday.  How does this happen?  Exactly how you think it does.  Romeo lives in the laundry room while I'm at work.  He tore up the linoleum and ate it for a snack.  For the 2nd time, by the way.  If that's not bad enough, where he has ripped up and eaten the linoleum, he pees all over the exposed, wooden, porous floor that lies underneath.  It looked like a lot of pee, an abnormally large amount of urine.  I look at his water bowl, that he has never ever finished, and it's all gone.  It was Romeo's way of telling me to go to hell.  He ate the floor and then had a urine flash-flood party.  How do you get that smell out of the wood after there's been urine sitting on it, seeping in all day.  You don't.  My eyes water when I walk in the front door now.

I wish this was his only issue.  In the past 2 months he has, eaten my blue suede shoes, black pumps, rainbows, pin cushion (pins included), picture frame (broke the glass in the process), Wedding Pictures DVD (I might need a replacement, Lauren), linoleum, tripped me down the stairs (considered going to the ER), collected 13 different balls from neighbors yards, stolen a kids shoe from the neighbors porch and chewed it (I threw it away for plausible deniability purposes...who am I kidding, they know it's him), stolen a blow-up Snowman from someones storage  unit, and managed to mad-dog anyone who has tried to approach him when I'm not home (I know where he got that one from.)  He is hell on earth right now.

I have tried so many things to help him adjust better.  A doggy door that my Brother in law installed for me (thanks, Jerms), leaving him inside, leaving him outside on a run, leaving him outside not on a run, putting him in a cage...he screws everything up.  He runs away or eats something or makes me feel bad because he looks miserable.  What am I supposed to do?  I've actually cried over this, because he used to be so great and I feel like I've done all this to him.  Should we have gotten a house with a fence?  Too late now, our landlords won't let us.  It's a sad situation.  My latest 2 options are, buy a $300 outdoor cage big enough for him to move around a bit, or sell him to a Chinese restaurant for real cheap.  Right, I bought the cage.  I attempted to put it together today, and got the steel frame put together of this 10x10x6 kennel.  I'm so proud of myself, and then, the wind blows.  Just hard enough to topple the frame onto it's side, and all the piece of crap plastic fittings break.  Snap!  Fail.  And the neighbors were outside and saw me.  I mad-dogged them and walked inside.  It's still out there, but it's dark so it's okay, right?

What am I supposed to do?  I really need some help.  Romeo is breaking my heart and making me want to break his face at the same time.  Help me, please.  I can't handle another day of linoleum shit.  Could you?

J-O-B

My life kind of revolves around my job these days. Not by choice, I just have nothing better to focus on. I have no doubt my honey will save me when he gets here in 2 weeks : ) But, for now, I work. What do I do at this job? I study. All day. 8-10 hours a day. This may sound boring to some, but I enjoy it. This may surprise some people who know me only from high school/college, because I was not one to study back then. I figured out the key: If you are interested in what you have to learn, it is FAR easier to study. I don't just study though, I research a great deal as well. So research and study, so vague, right? Not really, that's actually what I do. The true question is, what do I research/study? I had to think long and hard about this because it's easy to simply say "Physics" or "History" or "Football" or whatever it is that one may study. However, I feel that what I study is much more epic than just one word. I study...the decline of society in a given area.  Does that sound depressing? It is. I don't get to study anything that reflects positivity. No success, no happiness, no prosperity, and no God.  My life at work is dedicated to these things. It's always interesting, but definitely brings me down. Even worse, I think it makes me a downer on others as well. I feel as though sometimes I dominate conversations with negative things, because these negative things are what I am "smart" about.  I don't want to be like that.  So, If I've done that to you, I apologize.  I truly do.  I have a couple people in mind specifically, but I'll just put it out there to everyone.  The decline of society.  Why is it declining?  Who is making it decline?  Is it because of what they are doing or what they are not doing that is causing this?  Is it a person or group or country or religion?  Why are they doing this?  How can we make them stop?  Should we make them stop?  Can we make them stop? And what are the repercussions....of everything?  I think you're beginning to understand why I have sleepless nights and anxiety at times.  I have been trained to have my mind in overdrive.  And trained well I think.  I actually think I'm pretty good at it.  This type of job fits my mind and way of thinking to a tee.  And I am oh, so thankful for that.  I just get quite compulsive with it at times which leads to sleepless nights.  Just think, this is your job, and you have all these questions to ask, and answer.  What if there is no answer?  Do you fail?  Are you a failure?  Or has God not created an answer?  Is it in a divine plan to not solve this...or do I just not know enough to solve it.  Whew, it's pretty heavy.  I bet you are asking yourself, why do I do this?  And that answer, my friends, is easy.  Because I want to help.  It is part of my being to care.  I may not make a huge difference in the grand scheme of things, but I've had glimpses.  I hope I remember those glimpses.  And I hope people will remember that I cared when I am gone.  One of the best compliments Ive ever gotten was nearing the end of my last day at my previous job, in the same line of work.  Someone dear to me said, "Not many people care like you."  Thanks Jesse, even if you never read this.  

Hallway Mad-Dog

I work in a large building with miles of hallways.  These hallways are filled with hundreds of people I do not know, and probably will never know.  I'm not upset about it, it's just the way it is.  What I am upset about is the hallway etiquette in this large building with it's miles of hallways.  Maybe I have been so far removed from the corporate world that I was unaware of this calamity.  Are you aware of it?  You don't know what I'm talking about?  I'm talking about people not locking eyes with you, people staring at a blank wall instead of looking at you, or the worst....people locking eyes with you when you say "Good morning" and then glancing away as if they didn't hear you.  You know you heard me, jerk.  I have one question for the culprits in my building that subscribe to this nonsense:  What the hell is wrong with you?  Scratch that, I have many more questions.  Who raised you?  Why are you so uncomfortable?  What the hell is so great about your life that you can't even say good morning back to me?  It is so simple, people.  Do you know how it feels to smile at people as they walk by and to have them, rather than reciprocate, immediately dart their eyes toward the floor or stare into the great unknown.  You don't know how it feels?  I do.  I feel pissed off.  It's embarrassing.  Want to get rejected by a stranger 30+ times a day?  Get a job working with me.  It's like a rejection jackpot.  Needless to say, I don't appreciate being rejected by strangers, who are probably losers anyway, let's be honest.  I can't let them have all the power!  So, I changed that power dynamic today, and it was about damn time.  I introduce you to, Hallway Mad-dogging!  I'm actually very proud of it.  Today, every time I passed someone in the hallway, I made sure they paid me the attention I am due.  I mad-dog the hell out of them.  I stare them down like I know they're about to steal something.  I make it uncomfortable for them, and not for me.  I change it up a little everytime.  Sometimes it's just a blank stare, sometimes I put some fury behind my eyes, but most of the time I just try and look just a little bit crazy.  Then here's the kicker...you have to say "Good morning" or "Good afternoon" until they respond...regardless of how many times you have to say it.  Usually by the third time, they'll answer.  They better.  They just got mad-dogged.  This was going great today, until I was around my 12th mad-dog of the day, when someone not only responded to me, but stopped to chat.  What?  I didn't ask for all that.  I just wanted you to display some common decency.  Chat?  Gross, I don't know you.  What do you think I am, crazy?  Note to self:  Don't mad-dog that guy again.  So, I challenge you, wherever you are throughout the day, be it a hallway like mine, a grocery store, a lumber mill, when people don't respond to you, think of me, then mad-dog them.  Mad-dog them like hell.  


DS update: He told me today we have another company lunch next week...but he whispered it so people wouldn't know he's talking to me.  He asked if he could ride with me again.  I said loudly, "No way Jose." He said, "I'm not Jose."  He wins every time.

A Work In Progress

Hello! This is my first official post on my first official blog.  How exciting!  I will tell you though, I'm not sure if I'm 100% "in" with this blog yet.  First, let me tell you why I'm starting a blog.  I am great at many things, but sleeping is not one of them.  I adore sleep, I do, but my brain goes into overdrive when I lay down at night.  I feel as though I understand things more clearly, I think of more problems to solve, think of things I forgot to do, think of things I should have said, etc.  Therefore, I have had many a sleepless night.  I believe I have always been this way, I just didn't have as much to think about when I was younger.  So, a blog might help me get all my thoughts out, what has annoyed me, what I regret, what was funny, all my daily occurrences are now your problems too, I guess.  You're actually doing a civil service by reading my blog.  Why?  Because my dear husband needs someone to share the wealth with.  Daily, I get off work, get in the car, and call my husband.  Poor thing, he gets a rather detailed version of my life in the 10 hours I was at work.  He never complains.  He is a better person than me.  I would've told me to shut up now.  I would love for him to keep a tally of how many times in a week I say to him, "I was just thinking..." Hence the blog name.  So, reason #1, I need more sleep.  Reason #2, I don't want to drive my husband crazy.  Reason #3, and this one is a bit more personal and slightly embarrassing for me to talk about, I have severe anxiety at times.  Not just anxious tendencies, but, severe diagnosed anxiety.  In past attempts to move past this anxiety I have been told I need to keep a diary.  I've tried, but it's not effective.  I have so much to get out that I can't write fast enough.....frustration....hand hurts...quit writing...no sleep.  Typing is MUCH easier on me.  And, I actually think feedback would help me more than writing in a pre-teen era diary and shoving it under my bed at night.  Talk about feeling ridiculous.  So, with inspiration from a sweet friend that recently started a blog, I googled "how to blog," and here we are.  So what exactly is the work in progress you ask?  This blog, the title (I'm not sold on it, open to suggestions), and me.  I think we're all a work in progress though, right?  So, over time, maybe you'll get to know me, or get to know me better than you do already, while I get over myself.