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Month: November 2010 (Page 2 of 3)

The morning after Beaujolais

The first thing I notice is my mouth. My inner lips are stuck to my teeth and when I try to swallow I realize I’m not working with any moisture.

I crack open my eyes and am struck by how incredibly bright our bedroom gets. Is it always this bright in here? Jeeze.

Well, maybe the brightness is normal. I wouldn’t notice since I generally get up at 3am. However, this spinning is definitely not normal. Ugh.

I can feel my heart racing. I can feel it pounding throughout my body.

Except for my face as that is still numb.

Then I notice my eyes, I didn’t take my makeup off last night. Now I feel the crusty mascara just sitting on my eyelashes making them feel too heavy to keep open.

Or maybe it’s hard to keep them open because of the brightness and the spinning.

Although the room still spins when they’re closed. I can’t win.

I must get water.

That is the first thing I say to my poor responsible husband. I say poor because I may have accompanied that with a slight shove to help him wake up.

I get water and it’s a slight relief. An entire liter later and I see have slight cotton mouth. I’m working on my second liter now.

After my first chug of water I feel my stomach turn. All of the sudden I have to swallow way too much. Uh oh, I know what that usually means. I warn Joel of possible trouble of the revisiting last night’s wine sort.

He brings me a bowl.

Thankfully I do not need to use it.

I doze back off, waking only to chug more water.

When my water is finally gone I reach over to check my phone. Um, where is it? Definitely not plugged in next to my bed like it normally is. I hope I didn’t leave it at work. For one whole day I am not walking into that building. I love my job but being there for over 20 hours (16 working) was just a bit too much.

So why did I stay an extra 4 hours? Well, my bosses and coworkers are pretty awesome. Also? There was wine. Lots and lots of delicious wine.

This morning I’m thinking maybe definitely a bit too much of that delicious wine.

I find my phone in the trail that clearly shows my path from door to bed. Starting with my coat and ending with my pants right next to the bed.

I check my messages and luckily there were no work emergencies that required me to come rushing in. Although the way I’m feeling I’m not sure rushing would be possible.

I make it to the couch and beg Joel to bring me food. He makes me pancakes and if I didn’t still kind of feel like puking I would have made out with him. They taste so good.

I lie on the couch all day and doze on and off. Joel tries to get me up several times but staying awake proves impossible.

This was not the relaxing, enjoyable day I planned. I didn’t plan on feeling like I got run over by a train. It’s completely my own fault. You don’t spend 16 hours running around with almost no food and expect to drink almost an entire bottle of wine without consequences.

My bad.

I do love wine but I have a feeling it will be quite awhile before I drink any again.

Can’t spell my name?

I love my job, I thought that all day. All sixteen freaking hours of my work day. Even as a flight attendant I’m not allowed to work 16 hours unless it’s a long international flight. Like, I could seriously be in Japan by now.

As much as I’d like to be in Japan, being here is totally worth it because I got this post for the day.

“abigale made me do it”

Yup, my boss wrote that all on his own.

Now I just have to teach him to spell my name. Good times

I can’t wait for snow but then again I might just be delirious

Yesterday morning (or maybe it was this morning, today was so long I’m not really sure.) I walked out my door and smelled snow. It hasn’t snowed here yet though. Actually, it’s been quite warm for the time of year. Up until a week or so ago it was all the way in the 70’s. This is Chicago! That is pretty unheard of for November.

Anyway, the smell of snow was delicious to me. This isn’t my normal reaction to colder weather. Generally I dread it. Maybe it’s because of the fantastically mild weather we had this fall. Or maybe I’m finally coming to terms with the climate here instead of wishing it was much more tropical. Part of it is probably the lovely new winter clothes I just bought. And the fact that we have a garage now which means no more scraping ice and snow off the car (not that I ever really do it. That’s what my husband’s for. But I’m happy for him). Whatever it is exactly I’m actually looking forward to snow.

Thanksgiving is right around the corner. Our Christmas tree is up (don’t judge, Joel likes to decorate the tree for his birthday). Stores and cities have lit the Christmas lights. My work just bought enough Christmas decorations from hobby lobby that the receipt was as long as I am tall (no lie). I’m just excited.

I know I may eat my words in a couple of months. Right now however I’m expecting this winter to be just lovely.

P.S. I may or may not be delirious at this point. I worked almost 12 hours today and have been up for about 19 hours. As proof of this Joel and I just laughed one of those can’t-breath-tears-run-down-your-face-almost-puke kind of laughs at a voice changer iPhone app. The filter that reverses your voice? Oh. my. god. We both almost died of laughing so hard. In case you were wondering, “Phoebe come” backwards sounds like “maki beef.”

Aaaaand I believe that’s my cue to go to bed.

Wordless Wednesday: Happy 29th birthday my love

A leap into less than happiness?

This morning my eyes slowly opened and I looked over at my sleeping husband. I smiled through my sleepy blinks at him lying there next to me. I pressed myself up against him and breathed deeply, taking in his smell of shampoo and sleep. He didn’t notice me this morning because he was in too deep of a sleep. That’s fine, I let him sleep a while longer.

I rolled out of bed and went to my computer to catch up on whatever happened while I was away sleeping. While browsing through Facebook I came across this article: If parenthood sucks, why do we love it? Because we’re addicted.

I’ve heard it before, parenthood actually decreases your happiness. According to this article the only reason people keep popping out babies is because of the occasional high you get. Most of the time parents with young children are miserable.

Yikes.

The thing is, I suspected that all along. It’s a huge part of why I’ve waited and resisted all the pressure to start adding more humans to the planet so far. I’m so happy with my life as it is, am I really ready to screw that up?

Will I ever be ready?

Who is ever ready to be less happy?

Joel and I have what is my idea of a perfect marriage. We love each other fiercely. We fight but we do it fairly. We forgive each other and move on after making mistakes. We have long afternoons filled with passionate sex and intimate cuddling. We take trips to exotic locations on a whim.

All these things and more make me so happy. When I lie in bed staring at Joel I can’t imagine doing it through bleary, sleep depraved eyes that haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in months. Will I be able to stare at him in those last moments of sleep or will I desperately be trying to catch every last second of shut eye before I have to return to my motherly duties?

I know myself. I become a grumpy monster without good sleep. Not sleeping makes me miserable. Naughty, whining children drive me crazy. I’d love to believe that I’ll be such an awesome parent that I’ll produce perfect children but we all know that’s not the case. My kids will have my DNA which means they’ll almost certainly be stubborn, creative, little evil geniuses.

When I remember some of the ways I acted towards my mom, dad and babysitters I cringe. I once convinced a babysitter to play a game that involved tying her hands to a doorknob. Then I convinced her to sit down. Then my sisters and I ran giggling out of the room leaving her unable to stand up. From the time I knew how to talk I knew how to manipulate things so they went my way. I never took no for an answer well. I got in a good deal of trouble but was very good at talking my way out of my punishments.

Then of course there was Joel. The stories he tells me about jumping off roofs, climbing trees and doing flips down steep hills on his bike terrify me. He basically poked his eye out when he was 6 and is now blind in that eye. Frankly I’m shocked that that’s the only major injury he ever got. He was such a dare devil. If we have a child like him I don’t know that my nerves can take the experience.

But then again, I look into Joel’s beautiful blue eyes and wonder what a mini version of him would look like. I see my beautiful sweet nephews and wonder if I could be as good at raising kiddos as my sisters have been. In the end I want to be surrounded by my children and grandchildren. I want a big happy family.

However, taking that leap into years of less happiness kind of feels like jumping out of a plane with a questionable parachute.

Cutest safety video ever

My favorite thing about flight attendant training was learning the safety demo.

I may or may not be easily amused.

It was just so fun motioning to exits, doing the fasten/unfasten of the seat belt and putting on the oxygen mask just like I’d seen other flight attendants do so many times. Now I was one of them. It was when I really started to feel like a flight attendant.

On that note, there are all kinds of safety videos out there. This one is by far the most adorable one I’ve ever seen. Don’t you just want to take her home and put her on a shelf? ::squee::

Phoebe wants some pie

Today we had my family over to celebrate Joel’s birthday. He doesn’t actually turn ::cough:: 29 ::cough:: until Wednesday but having my family drive all the way out is generally only possible on the weekend. Joel and I will celebrate his birthday just the two of us later this week but for tonight he enjoyed the crazy attention my family offers.

It wasn’t anything big or fancy but there was plenty of love. And that’s what really matters.

Oh and that pie? Definitely bought it at the store. I wasn’t about to risk losing a hand two days in a row.

Asshole Cake

I love baking. I’ve made some of the most delicious cupcakes and fun looking cakes. It’s something I enjoy doing.

Usually.

Today was the day I met my baking nemesis. The asshole cake.

My little nephew just turned 4 and his birthday party was this afternoon. A couple weeks ago my sister and I were talking about the party and the fact that Anthony was really into Iron Man at the moment. She said that he told her he wanted an Iron Man cake but she told him no way. See, while my sister is talented in many ways she’s never been that awesome in the cake-decorating department. In fact, one could say some of her cakes belong on a cakewreck type site.

I mean, I’m not saying that, just saying someone could say it.

Anyway, I felt bad that my sweet little nephew might be disappointed that he couldn’t have his Iron Man cake so I volunteered to make it for her. Baking is generally fun for me and then Anthony would be happy.

My plan was a white cake, white frosting and strawberry filling in the middle. It should have been delicious.

I probably should have given myself a little more time to make the cake. As in, I should have made it the day before the party, not the day of. I’m kind of the queen of procrastination. For me however I felt like I had plenty of time. I had all morning to bake the cake, let it cool and then decorate it before we had to leave the house at around 2pm. We started at 10am. What could go wrong?

The first problem came when we realized we didn’t have two of the right sized pans to bake the cake in. That sent Joel on a frantic run to the store two pick up another pan. You can’t really do layers without two cakes. Obviously.

Once that was taken care of I thought we would have fairly smooth sailing. I mixed up the cakes, sprayed the pan and got ready to place them in the oven.

I used a hand mixer to mix the cake batter and stuck it under water to rinse off the beaters before I set it down. I didn’t want any drips. I’m not sure how it came about exactly. One second I remember thinking rinsing the beaters while the machine was still plugged in might be a good idea. I was wondering how shock proof the thing was. Since my mind was occupied I don’t remember if I purposely or accidently suddenly turned it on.

All I know is one instant my left hand was rubbing the edge of the metal to get the last of the cake mix off and the next instant it was sucked in between the two beaters.

It felt like I’d slammed my hand in a metal door. I frantically turned the machine off as my ring finger went completely numb. I pulled my hand out and immediately ran to my bed. For some reason my bedroom seemed like the safest place to be away from that devil mixer. Joel heard the noise from the other room and came running.

By the time he got in there I knew there was no permanent damage. I could tell nothing was broken even though it hurt like hell. It took a minute to convince Joel I was ok. Me lying on the bed clutching my hand while curled up in a ball with tears streaming down my face probably wasn’t too convincing on the, “no really I’m fine” front.

I recovered after not too much longer and was able to get the cakes in the oven. I did however allow Joel to finish cleaning up my mess. I wasn’t about to go near that evil thing again.

Once the cakes were done and cooled I was excited to get decorating. I have a fancy cake carrier so I flipped the cake over onto it to start the first layer. However, when I pulled the pan up I was greeted with the sight of empty space rather than a beautifully browned cake. I tried again, lift, nothing.

I tried banging on the bottom. Still, nothing. I grabbed a knife and eased it along the edges. Those didn’t seem to be stuck at all. I know I greased the pan… weird.

Then, suddenly I felt the cake give. Finally! I lifted the pan again and instead of a whole beautiful cake to my dismay I saw the corner hanging from the pan by a thread. As if in slow motion I watched it plop down, leaving the rest of the cake stuck just as tightly as ever to the pan.

Crap.

I thought I could perhaps still make it work. After all, it was going to be frosted; I’d just use some of it as a sort of mortar to reconnect it. I tried to ease the rest out but… well, long story short, this is what the two cakes ended up looking like.

Through the whole process, crumbles of cake had pretty much gotten everywhere. All over my table, chairs and floor. I stared in an ever growing rage at the pile of cake crumbs that lay before me and then I did the only logical thing.

I lost it. I mean LOST. IT.

I threw that stupid effing cake all over the living room. I may have screamed names at it. I may also have then stormed out of the room and hid in my room.

Joel was conveniently absent for most of this. Trust me, it was kind of scary and more than a little ridiculous. Joel knows me so well. He let me blow off steam and take my rage out on the cake. Once it had been a safe amount of time he peeped into the bedroom and offered to go to the store to buy a blank cake. He convinced me it would look just as nice, taste just fine and Anthony is 4. He’ll barely know the difference.

He was right. I drew Iron Man on the top of a Jewel Osco cake and Anthony gasped and oohed and aaahed over how neat it looked.

It definitely wasn’t what I’d planned and it didn’t live up to my perfect standards but the party wasn’t ruined. Anthony was a happy birthday boy and in the end that’s what matters.

It’ll be a long time before I volunteer to do any baking though that’s for sure. My hands and carpet can’t handle it.

Cristal and Dom and Krug, oh my!

I don’t drink often. Anymore. When I was an active flight attendant I drank often (although obviously not while on the job). I don’t know what it was exactly. Perhaps it was the simplest mutual activity a bunch of strangers could get together and have fun doing on a consistent basis. Whatever it was I drank more in my three years of flying than at any other point in my life combined. Not that that’s saying much considering I started flying just a few months after I turned 21.

I grew up very conservatively. Because of certain people in my life I chose not to drink when I was a teenager. A lot of it had to do with liking to feel in control of my life at all times. The idea of being out of control because of alcohol wasn’t appealing to me and so even when I lived in Europe where it was legal I chose to stick to Diet Coke while my friends got wasted. I never had any trouble letting loose and having a wonderful time. I didn’t need the alcohol and I was told more than once I was the most fun non-drunk they knew.

On my 21st birthday I had my first drink ever. It was a glass of champagne with a strawberry at the bottom of the glass.

And a love was born.

It took awhile for me to develop a taste for most alcohol. It seemed like forever before I could take a sip of  almost anything without wrinkling my nose. Even longer before I could actually drink anything and truly appreciate the flavor.

Champagne however? No problem. I loved it instantly.

That’s why I was really excited to go to a champagne and sparkling wine tasting tonight. A big part of the appeal was the fact that they would be sampling the champagnes mentioned in the title. I figured, as much as I enjoy the eight or ten dollar bottles of sparkling white wine that I usually drink, how much better must a glass of Cristal be? Or Dom Perignon? At $200++ a bottle they must be amazing right? You’d think but I was never willing to risk hundreds of dollars to find out.

What if I thought is was awful? I mean, I’ve tried beer that people who know about beer say is delicious and could barely choke it down. I was not about to spend hundreds of dollars on something  just to see if I liked it.

So, when I saw a local store was having a tasting that was offering those amazing champagnes along with dozens of others I was super happy that I didn’t have to work early the next morning.

I had so much fun. This was aided of course by the alcohol. Champagne goes straight to my head. Like, literally the first sip I felt the bubbles travel upwards. So good.

Oh and if you’re wondering if I like those expensive champagnes mentioned above? Lets just say that if I had an extra $200- $500 lying around I would know what to do with it. I mean, I would probably put it towards my next trip but now there would be a whole new temptation.

The dramz

I didn’t realize until today how much drama my life has held. Like holy-you-seriously-don’t-have-time-for-even-the-short-version drama.

I love drama actually… as long as it doesn’t involve me. Shows like Desperate Housewives make me happy because ah! the crazies! and they don’t involve me at all. I can sit back and enjoy my comparatively normal life.

Until my life isn’t normal. Actually I’m pretty sure it never is normal but sometimes it seems that way. When I really realize how crazy my life is is when I try to explain even simple things, like my family.

It’ll start with a simple question like, “how many siblings do you have?” My answer:

“Well, I’m the oldest of six… but I also have two older half brothers. They’re a lot older though so I didn’t really grow up with them. They’re almost my mom’s age. See, my dad was married and had two kids. My mom is his second marriage and he had six more kids with her. Oh yeah, my dad is 21 years older than my mom.”

Or something along those lines.

Maybe I’m just a chronic oversharer. Probably considering I blab my life on my blog.

I just feel like people won’t truly understand me if they don’t have all the information. I was raised as an oldest child and have the personality to go with it. However, I love my half brothers very much and don’t want to discount them in my life. I really have seven siblings. At the same time, I still feel like the oldest.

Confused enough yet?

Obviously I don’t go into the whole spiel every single time siblings come up in conversation. Sometimes I just say I have five younger siblings. Or seven siblings. Or I just say I’m the oldest. It depends on what I feel like they’re up for listening to. Although I imagine I’ve read the signals wrong and left someone wishing they hadn’t asked.

Fortunately my complicated family groupings aren’t any part of my life drama. Usually. Obviously I’ve had some spats with all my siblings and I wish I had more time with all of them but for the most part we either get along really well or at least live our lives without bothering each other. My family is just an illustration of how abnormal my life is.

The drama is of a whole different variety but it’s equally, if not far more complicated. Sometimes it weighs on me so heavily it would be nice to just spill it to someone. The issue? There is not enough time in a day to explain even the back story so I could start explaining what’s actually wrong.

I’m not over dramatizing this. It’s that ridiculous and complicated and just plain crazy.

I love my blog. I love the people I’ve met through my blog and on Twitter. However, there are time I wish I were an anonymous blogger. Then I could spill my guts to the world without having to worry about the backlash. If I started an anonymous blog though I’d lose everyone I’ve worked so hard to get to know over the past year. Making friends is hard enough, I don’t want to start from scratch.

So, I have no real outlet and all the thoughts and stories and feelings just tumble around in my head. Of course I can talk to Joel about it but he’s kind of in the middle of it like I am so he doesn’t have a very neutral perspective.

It’s quite a conundrum for a chronic oversharer like me.

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