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Last night, Dave had plans to meet up with one of his buddies for a beer, so I decided that when I got home from work, I would work in the yard for a while. It was our first truly sunny day for a couple of weeks, and it was a perfect 67 degrees, so it seemed like a good idea. Also, since it doesn’t get dark until almost 10:00 at night here, I knew I had at least a few hours of sunlight that I could spend on it.

Yeah, right. Here’s how that scene played out:

1) I’d like to rake up all of the weeds that I cut down last weekend, but I need a wheelbarrow to haul away all of the stuff that I rake.

2) Where’s the wheelbarrow (you know, the one that our yard tried to eat)? Ah, there it is. But one of the handlebars broke off in the Great “Pull the Wheel Barrow Out of the Damn Mud” Adventure. And a one-handled wheelbarrow is just about the most useless thing ever.

3) Our riding lawn mower has a little trailer attachment that I could use instead of a wheelbarrow. Hmm… the trailer isn’t hooked up, but I guess I could figure out how to attach it. I wonder where Dave leaves the keys for the lawn mower? Maybe it doesn’t need keys, maybe I’m just supposed to push one of these buttons… holy mother of God, this thing is a stick shift?? Run away, run away!!

4), Ok, my grandiose raking plans are officially thwarted. Hey, maybe I’ll do some more weed-whacking (ha!), since I was pretty good at it last time, and the area in front of our fence (like, between the fence and the street) really needs to be cut back.

5) Alas, the weed-whacker, she is out of gas. And it’s one of those appliances where you have to mix the gasoline with oil, and I have no idea how to do that. Scratch the weed-whacking plan. Back to square one.

6) Well, there’s that front flower bed where I sprayed all the weed killer last week, and it’s all brown and dead now. I guess I can find the hoe in the garage and get rid of all the dead weeds out there. Then when Dave asks what I did while he was out, I can tell him I was hoe-ing, and won’t that be funny. Hee.

7) Um, hoe-ing is hard. (Start humming, “It’s Hard Out Here for a Hoe.”) And even though the weeds are dead, they still have roots. I need one of those motorized tiller things. (Look in the garage.) Nope, we don’t have one. Didn’t think so. Damn.

8) Well, we do have the regular ol’ lawn mower (the kind that you push by hand), and there’s that big area in the back our property where the riding lawn mower can’t go because it’s too bumpy. Maybe I’ll just mow that section and call it an evening.

9) What on earth do you have to do to start this thing? I’ve started lawn mowers before, I don’t remember them being this complicated.

10) My neighbor across the street is edging his lawn. Maybe I can ask him to help me start the lawn mower. Except I’ve never met him before, and how lame a first impression is that? “Hi, I’m your neighbor Helpless Female who can’t figure out how to pull a damn cord to start a stupid lawn mower.” No thanks.

11) Ah, to hell with it.

12) I am obviously PMS-ing, because it’s ridiculous that I am about to burst into tears over this.

13) (Thirty minutes later: showered, in pajamas, microwaving leftover Chinese food, and watching an “ER” rerun on DVR.)

Fin.

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There isn’t a whole lot to write about right now. I’ve been pretty stressed this week. We’re trying to get the house all tidied up, because apparently in order to get a home equity loan, we have to first get our house appraised. And we need the home equity loan to pay for new siding, before the house completely rots to pieces. So that’s fun. But I must admit, the siding that Dave and I picked is gorgeous, and I’m really looking forward to it because the house is going to look so much prettier after it’s done. It’s all part of the big De-WhiteTrashification plan.

Anyway, I don’t know if it’s true that clean houses appraise higher, but I’m damn sure not taking the chance. So there’s been a bit of frantic cleaning going on. Hence why we rented the dumpster to get rid of some junk. We also had the roof power-washed because… well, because you have to in our climate or else your roof starts to grow stuff. Like moss. Or shrubs if you let it go long enough. (Seriously, you should see our next-door neighbor’s barn roof. It’s practically got trees sprouting out of it.)

Other random stuff:
* Dave gave a speech at this thing yesterday. Which just goes to show how totally different we are, because he can give a presentation in front of approximately 500 people and it doesn’t really seem to faze him. I, on the other hand, would need to be severely medicated, and even then, I’m not sure I could do it. I’m really proud of him for it, though. He’s such a smartypants.

* Yesterday marked a mini-anniversary for Dave and I, two years since our first date. We went out for steaks. Yum. We also got our anniversary cake. Backstory: The lady who did our wedding cake gives her clients a free 6-inch cake on their one year anniversary. As it turns out, she just had a baby so she forgot about our anniversary on the 15th. I had to email her to remind her, and she dropped off the cake at my office yesterday. And it worked out well, since it was still a pretty special day for us. (Our first date, celebrating Dave’s big speech, etc.)

* I got an email yesterday from a girlfriend of mine back in Massachusetts. We haven’t seen each other in years, but we still email pretty regularly. Apparently she’s pulling a Britney Spears: she just had a little boy back in September, and she’s already pregnant with baby #2. (Not that she’s anything like Britney at all, she seems like a very responsible parent. And her husband seems like a lovely guy, unlike K-Fed.) She knows that Dave and I are trying, so she started her email with, “Hope you won’t get mad at me for this, but….” Wow. Like I could begrudge someone their pregnancy? I mean, yeah sure there’s a bit of a “dammit, no fair!” aspect to it, but I’m still happy for her. She’s not the only person who seems to think that, though - another friend of mine had a pregnancy scare and she said she kept thinking about how upset I was going to be if she had to tell me that she was pregnant. It sort of blows my mind. Are they just being sensitive because they know I want to be pregnant? Or do I give off a really angry and bitter vibe? Because I honestly thought I outgrew my angry and bitter phase back in college. So I’m sort of confused about that.

* There’s been an interesting little development at work, where it seems like maybe I won’t be out of work after June 30th, because the manager of a team I work with seems keen to bring me over to work on his team. I don’t want to talk too much about it and jinx it, but I have a meeting with that particular manager tomorrow to discuss some of this stuff, so y’all keep your fingers crossed for me, because this could be really good.

Aaaand, that’s about it. Hope y’all have a lovely Memorial Day weekend.

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This past weekend, Dave and I started a process which I am referring to as the DeWhiteTrashification of our home. It’s probably going to take all summer. I’m taking before-and-after photos, but I am not posting the “before” pictures up here until we have made substantial progress, because it is seriously embarassing.

True story: Back when Dave and I first started dating, he had a broken washer and dryer in the driveway. You’re supposed to call the waste management people to do a special “appliance pick-up” for things like that, rather than putting them in the regular trash. A little Sanford & Son-ish to leave it in the driveway, sure, but no big deal, right? I didn’t think it was a deal-breaker or anything, I just figured he was getting around to it.

A year later, when we were about to get married, the broken washer and dryer were still in the driveway. Since we were having the rehearsal dinner at our house, I sort of freaked out about it. Steve, my ever-helpful brother-in-law, moved the washer and dryer around to the side of the house, and lay them on their sides, so they wouldn’t be visible to people coming into the house.

A year after that, which brings us to current day: we have a completely rusted-out broken washer and dryer with grass growing up through them in our yard. Can you get more white trash than that? I think not.

And that is but one of oh-so-many things that we’ll be correcting over the next few months. I’m only admitting to the washer and dryer because that part is already resolved - they’re now sitting in our driveway, tucked safely inside a dumpster that we rented, which will soon be hauled away to someplace unknown where I never have to see or think about them ever again. I can’t wait.

I also went a little crazy with the weed-whacker yesterday. (And apparently I am 12 years old, because the term “weed-whacker” totally makes me giggle. Like hee hee, I said “whack”. Which isn’t funny if you think about it in the Sopranos sense of the word. But “whacker”? Y’all, I am not made of stone. That is a funny word.) Dave mowed the lawn while I weed-whacked. (Hee!) (Okay, I’ll stop.) I really had no idea what a workout that thing is - I noticed after I stopped that my arms were shaking, but I just assumed it was from the vibration of the motor. Sort of like if you spend a lot of time on a boat, it feels really weird to walk on land afterward? I thought it was something like that.

Later that night I went to dinner with Kris, and I had to use two hands to lift a glass of water from the table to my mouth. I would try to lift it with one hand, but I would shake so badly that I thought I was going to drop the glass. Hmm. Maybe it’s just me, but something seemed sort of wrong about that.

Today, my arms are so sore that I can barely lift anything. I went to get a carton of milk out of the fridge this morning and promptly dropped it on the floor. I was using both hands, and it was only a two-quart container, not a gallon. (And do you know how far milk can splatter? It’s insane.)

Of course, I keep giggling at the thought that my arms are sore from the vibration of whacking for three hours yesterday. Which really makes it all worthwhile. Except, ouch.

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I think I can now safely write about the work thing that I was scared to write about before.

The deal is, my contract ends on June 30th. I’ve known it was coming since I started here, so it’s not a shock. There was a possibility that this group could extend my contract and keep me around until late November (at which point I would’ve been here a year, and then I’d have to take another 100 days off, because those are the crazy laws of the Giant Software Company). Problem is, I didn’t really want to stick around for another six months, because… um, well… I just don’t like some of the people I work with. I don’t really want to get into specifics about that, I think that the less said about it, the better. I don’t want to be mean and snarky, and more importantly, I don’t want to potentially make things awkward for myself later on down the road.

So, I met with my rep (since I work for an agency, I have someone to whom I can complain about such things), and she was going to help me figure out a way to gracefully end my contract on June 30th rather than extend it. But it turns out? July 1st marks the start of a new fiscal year, and apparently our team’s budget has been frozen for the new fiscal year.

Long story short: they wouldn’t be able to extend my contract even if they wanted to! Ha! So I don’t have to have the uncomfortable “gee, you really need to find someone to replace me because I don’t like it here” conversation. They solved the problem for me, which is kind of a huge relief.

Of course, now comes the scary part of realizing that I have six weeks to find myself a new job. Fun! I’m not that stressed about it yet, but I’m sure I will be as July approaches.

This morning, I had an interview, and the hiring manager seemed really interested in me, but I left feeling sort of “meh” about it. It’s a permanent job, which I would like because I’m a little tired of bouncing from job to job every 6 months to a year. But the job itself doesn’t sound all that appealing. It’s a pretty high-stress environment, it requires a lot of hours, and there’s a huge financial aspect to it that’s kind of scary to me. (You want to put me in charge of a budget? HA! Oh how you make me laugh. Have you seen my checkbook? Oh that’s right, I don’t have one. I do all of my banking online. And I don’t write down or print out anything on paper. Fiscally responsible me! Woo!)

I generally believe that if I don’t leave the interview totally fired up about the job, it’s probably a sign that the job isn’t for me.

Ideally, I’d like to find something that’s either part-time, or that at least allows me to telecommute part-time. I know it’s early to plan for it since I’m not even pregnant yet, but I really don’t want to be in an office 40 hours a week after we have kids. Dave pointed out that if I could get a full-time permanent job at the Giant Software Company, it’d be easier to transition into more of a part-time role once I’m there. The company is creating a lot more work-from-home and job-share positions to improve on their “family friendly” image. But those spots usually get grabbed by their current employees the minute that they become available. So I’m looking into it.

Anyway, that’s the latest. Brace yourselves for many boring posts about bad job interviews. The fun never stops around here.

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Today, Dave and I have officially been married for one year.

Our wedding was the happiest day of my life so far. I can’t really seem to wrap my head around the fact that it’s been a whole year since then. It’s a cliche, I know, but it’s gone by so fast.

Saturday night, we celebrated our anniversary by going back to the lodge where we had our wedding. We had dinner there and stayed the night. It was lovely and romantic and all of that, an overall great time. You can see the photos here.

A lot of people say that the first year of marriage is the hardest. If that’s true, I think it’s all going to be smooth sailing from here, because while this year had its challenges, it really hasn’t been that hard.

I was trying to think of something deep and profound to write about all of the things Dave does that make me love him, but apparently I am just not that great a writer, because this is all I can come up with:
1. Hello, have you seen the man? He’s adorable.
2. The British accent. Which honestly never, ever gets old. I could listen to him talk until my ears fall off. I also love the sound of his laugh.
3. He has a way of saying things - or it could even be as simple as just making a face in reaction to something I’ve said - that can reduce me to a puddle of laughter-induced tears. He’s the only person I’ve ever met who has literally made me fall down laughing.
4. He’s so smart that sometimes it freaks me out. (Seriously, you should see this math problem he was working on last night when I went to bed. I don’t know what it was, but it looked terrifying.)
5. When he does dishes, he cleans the whole kitchen - countertops and all. He has no idea what a turn-on that is.
6. Sometimes when I have a really crappy day, or when I get all anxious and panicky (as I am wont to do on a semi-regular basis), he’ll make me lie down, and he’ll hold me while I tell him all about it.

See? How could I not fall in love with that?

And since I’m feeling all list-make-y, I can also say that I’ve learned quite a bit about myself since we got married. For example, I have learned that…
1. I can be a lot goofier than I ever imagined. I don’t take myself nearly as seriously as I used to.
2. I sometimes get my feelings hurt over incredibly stupid things. But Dave is always quick to apologize for them - even though 99% of the time, whatever he said/did is completely harmless, and I’m just a silly, overreacting cow. (Calling me a cow, for the record, is one of the things that completely hurt my feelings. Even though he meant it in a “silly/stupid” way, not in a “400-pound heifer” way.)
3. I’m a much better cook than I ever thought I was. Or Dave is just not a very picky eater. It’s hard to say.
4. I can sometimes be a bit of a nag. And I hate that about myself, so I’m working on it. Really I am.
5. I am a far bigger video game nerd than I ever imagined. (Fire Emblem on Gamecube? Bring it on!)
6. I’m definitely “the high-strung one” in our relationship, but it’s ok because Dave is usually calm enough to balance me out.

Happy anniversary, sweetie. I sure do love you.

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I know y’all have just been dying to see before and after pictures of my new haircut, haven’t you? HAVEN’T YOU??

Ok then.

Here’s what it looked like a couple of weeks ago, when Kris and I met up with the girls for a little night out on the town. We were ridiculously overdressed, considering that we ended up in a sketchy techno club downtown. But hey, whatever. We felt purty, and that’s all that matters.

Please ignore the fact that I’ve got some kinda crazy-eyed thing going on there.

I honestly kind of liked my hair really long like that, but there were so many layers around the bottom, it took forever to style. And I really prefer it if my morning hair routine takes less than 10 minutes. I’m just low-maintenance like that. (Yes, I’m being sarcastic. I do realize there are people in the world who run their fingers through their hair and call it good. I will probably never be one of those people.)

Anyway, I went to my stylist and told her that I wanted to get rid of the layers - I had her cut it just blunt and straight across the bottom. She said afterward that she had been worried it would look too “heavy” that way, but she was pleased with how it turned out.

I’m pretty pleased with it myself.

Oh, and the next time I think it’s ok to allow a photo to be taken of me squatting like that? Someone please slap some sense into me. God. Hello, thighs!

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I bring my lunch to work every day. Mostly because it’s cheaper, but also because it gives me the feeling that I have some control over my diet. I usually bring a Lean Cuisine-type frozen lunch, because I’m lazy and that way I don’t have to think about it in the morning.

Today, however, I went to the kitchen to microwave my lunch, and… it wasn’t there. Someone ate my Lean Cuisine. The hell? Who does something like that?? There was another Lean Cuisine in the freezer, so I’m guessing that someone just forgot which one they brought and ate mine by mistake. I briefly considered eating the Lean Cuisine that was still in the freezer, but it was a lemongrass chicken, which I think is gross. (For the record, I had brought the roasted garlic chicken, which is one of my favorites.)

I just stood there at the freezer for a couple of minutes, staring in shock, waiting for my lunch to magically re-appear or something. One of the guys I work with walked in and asked how I was doing. Dumbly, I blurt out, “Someone ate my lunch!” He was all, “wha?” So I explained that my frozen entree had disappeared. He laughed and said, “Wow, I thought that stuff only happened in Dilbert cartoons.” Um, yeah. Me too.

When I recovered, I went to the cafeteria to buy my stupid lunch. The cafeteria here does have a pretty kick-ass salad bar, it’s just a bit too expensive to eat there every day.

But I keep coming back to wonder who on earth would take someone else’s lunch. Even if it was an accident, how do you confuse what you brought for yourself with someone else’s food? What the freakin’ hell?!

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