All at the expense of your own leisure

Some feelings are universal. 

Too soon

I look at my spam folder on occasion.

Somebody wants to deposit 2,500,000,000 in an account for me.

Another email wants to know if he's cheating. (The answer is yes. Thanks, email, but I already knew that.)

Then there's the teeth emails. Implants and dentures for low prices!

I shouldn't have woke up this morning.

A boring explanation

I'm pretty sure people think my house is boring.

I don't have television or Internet. I don't drink pop or caffeine. If you come to my house, your options are either water or lemonade. (Those caffeine headaches were a nightmare to live through, and I'm not going to buy pop specifically for you. You can, and should, drink water.)

To make me even more boring, I'm lactose intolerant. My house does not have milk, sour cream, cream cheese, real ice cream or any other delicious to other people, but stomach nightmares to me, food.

I want to say that yes, I can very well afford TV or Internet. A whopping $30 or $50 a month won't break me. But I want people to understand why I don't have it.

I'd rather spend that $30 a month on food to have people over, or on smores to eat around my fire pit with friends on a calm, peaceful night.

You know what you do with people when you're not sitting in front of a screen?

You talk to people. You play card games. You laugh.

I'd rather take the time I'd spend watching tv at night and spend it on working on my house, doing craft projects, or listening to music.

To date, I have about 20 things crossed off my to-do list. It's a never-ending list that has about a million projects on it, but I'm getting there.

I want to be doing things and talking to people who visit my home.

I don't want to watch tv.

I just thought I'd clear that up. If you want some water, good conversation, soy ice cream or smores, stop by my house.

My dog and I love visitors.

 

A Pug, her stick and a fire pit.

quote

Like I've said in the past, I love Humans of New York.

In one of today's posts there's a comment that struck me.

"The answers that you never get are the hardest ones to live with."

"You're supposed to give me a ribbon!"

Yesterday, I had the honor of judging several categories for the county fair.

I'm blessed that I had the opportunity to do this. I'm also blessed that I have a job that embraces civic duties and community leadership.

I was in 4-H when I was little. I was one of those kids who talked to the judge. I didn't like it. I was terrified of it and never wanted to do it.

It made me laugh yesterday at the children's different personality types. Some needed pushed by Mom or Dad. Some were so terrified, they just stared at me and didn't say anything.

I prompted them.

"Tell me about your dog."

"Tell me about your chickens."

"What do you like about it?"

"Was your project hard to make?"

One girl wasn't shy and didn't need prompting. She told me: "You're supposed to give me a ribbon!"

I thought, kid, I'm overwhelmed and surrounded by 10-year-olds at the moment. I'll give you a ribbon in a few minutes, okay?

That made me laugh.

When my judging duties were over, I went to leave. That sounds simple, right?

I ran into someone my brother's age. We talked for a few minutes about jobs, cities, and kids. Then I saw his mom, and we also talked about jobs, kids, cities, and grandkids.

I got about 10 feet closer to the door when I ran into some other family friends.

It took me about a while to leave the building because people kept talking to me (the epitome of a first world problem).

This is why I love the community I live in. I heard many times yesterday, "Is that Monica?" as I walked past people. Yes, I live here now. I'm here, and I still care about 4-H and the fair!

The same kids I was in 4-H with now have kids in 4-H. The same parents who were active in their kids' lives are now active in their grandchildren's lives.

It's a cycle that I don't mind being a part of.

(Like I told my co-worker yesterday, my children, when they exist, will be in 4-H.)

On another note, being a county fair judge is not the job to do if you're the most introverted person alive. I went to my house afterward and laid down. I didn't sleep. I just wanted to hear silence for a while.

Kids are exhausting but fun, cute, and sometimes bossy.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Eating my own words.

Oct. 1, 2014: Any step forward is a step in the right direction. Progress is progress, no matter what it entails.

Starting out right.

This morning started out right.

I walked out of my house, locked my front door, and starting walking towards my car.

A car came driving past me and stopped at the stop sign in front of my house. The music was blaring, and whatever the song was had the lyrics, "Fuck the haters!" in it.

So that was my Monday morning.

Fuck the haters!

Oh, my little eclectic neighborhood. I love it.

Grace and dignity.

I try to handle every situation with grace and dignity.

I'm not always successful, but I try.

Yesterday, I went to the store. I got back around the time that the church in front of my house let out. My dog ran out the front door, and I picked her up and threw her back into the house.

In the process, my front door tried to close on its own, but luckily my big toe was there to stop it.

I might have yelled a cuss word that begins with "F" really, really loud. And, you know,  people who were just in God's house may have looked at me funny.

I failed at the whole grace and dignity thing, dropped my groceries and almost lost my dog in the process.

Oh well. There's always tomorrow.

(For what it's worth, my door scraped my toe nail polish off of that toe. It deserved a cuss word. I'm not sorry.)

And we danced.

I had the honor of watching two little goobers this morning for a few hours.

We went to the zoo, we got drinks, we ate crackers, and we played with an empty box, an alarm clock, and old newspapers.

Toys weren't a big hit today.

My favorite part of the morning, by far, was our dancing.

They both like music. I recently got my Bose out and found some old iPods. I turned the music up - way up - and we danced.

We danced like three nerds with the living room curtains closed.

We danced to fast songs, country songs and rap songs. When slow songs came on, I scooped them in my arms and "taught" them to slow dance.

I explained how to two-step, too. I gave them relationship advice and told them to not ever settle or dance with stupid boys. (They're not even 2, so I have to keep working on that advice.)

We twirled around and they smiled, giggled, tapped their feet and shook their baby booties.

We got down.

I love them.

Everyone should dance like that every once in a while.

Metaphor

It's been a hard week.

It's one of those weeks where a broken down rendering truck on the highway that runs through your town kind of describes your life.

Maybe next week will be better.

Tunes

I'm starting to unpack the final boxes in my house.

They're shoved into an upstairs room, in the corner. I found my old iPod, among other things.

It was the first iPod I ever got. I paid a ridiculous amount for it in college, and now it looks ancient.

The thing is, it still works!

I spent this evening listening to tunes and re-arranging my house.

Things are looking up. My house is starting to look like a home. 

Sometimes I have to stop myself and tell myself, silently, that I have an anxiety disorder.

It's okay if there's dust in my house. It's okay if I'm a little late once in a while.

The world will not end if things don't go my way.

Stay

I was thinking about this last night.

After my friends get married, a few months after the ceremony and reception, I always ask them how they knew they married the right person.

I'm single and prospecting, as one of my co-workers put it this morning (ha, ha). I ask my friends that question because I don't know the answer.

My oldest and best friend had my favorite answer. I remember that conversation like it happened yesterday.

We were sitting in a garage last summer, playing with dogs. I was talking about my personal life - which doesn't happen very often - and I remember specifically what she said to me on how she knew she picked the right person to marry.

"He stayed."

It's a simple answer.

All you have to do is find someone who will stay? I always thought there was some unknown magic trick to love (or something like that...).

It turns out that nope, there's no magic trick or formula.

All they have to do is stay.

Last summer, I thought that answer was bullshit. There has to be some way to know, I thought. 

I get it now. Staying is important.

One of the consequences and side effects of being human is finding a person who won't stay.

When I look at my married friends, how happy they are and how their spouses blend seamlessly into our group of friends, I have a little glimmer of hope.

Eventually, someone will stay.

Eventually.

Me too.

House!

I've been in my house for more than a month now.

I made my first mortgage payment this week. Hooray, I'm officially a grown up!

Here are some random thoughts and observations.

1. My dog doesn't like trains.

2. My dog doesn't like locusts.

3. My dog loves her backyard. It's her domain.

4. Houses are expensive.

5. When I fix something, five other things go wrong.

6. Chainsaws are kind of fun.

7. I'm pretty sure my Dad knows everything, and has a tool for everything. 

8. My Mom knows a lot, too.

9. I'm pretty sure I hit the parent lottery.