Crime Scene Investigator...

Chris and I came home late Sunday to discover our trashcans sitting in the driveway and all the items on the side of the house moved.  Chris asked, "Did you move the trash cans?"

I slowly nodded no and timidly opened my car door, half expecting someone to jump from behind the pile and rob me.

I should mention, we've had a few incidents of theft and vandalism so I'm overly sensitive when things are out of place.

I walked around, trying to figure out what happened.  I looked through the trashcans for clues, crawled on the ground sniffing for tracks, and stood on the corner of our lot resting my head on my fist for 10 minutes.  I was about ready to start dusting for prints when I remembered a 'semi-important' fact...

we've got security cameras.

Post-baby brain has slowed down considerably.

I ran into the house and pulled the hard drive.  I watched as our sneaky neighbor waited until we left, moved everything from the side of our house, drove a truck and trailer across our yard, dismantled a spa in their backyard, dragged the remaining parts across our yard into another truck, and drove the first truck back out.

Their yard?  Untouched.

Ours?  A mess... with no note.

I yelled at Chris about my findings to which he said, "Well, at least it wasn't a criminal act, just inconsiderate neighbors.  Now you can rest easy."

"Oh no mister!  This is WAR!!  I want more cameras, a bigger hard drive, a larger monitor..." and on I went.

Chris rubbed his hands on his face in annoyance.  Poor man will never win.

No worries.  I'll research the tech specs for adding to our system... and I'm thinking of investing in a moat.  Maybe I can have alligators flown in from the gulf coast...

And the election results are in...

My sister asked me to speak on her behalf for her nomination to a local public office. Naturally painfully shy, public speaking is not my forte. Not only am I terrified to do any sort of public speaking, I'm not good at it. I sound like the love child of Dr. Seuss and Yoda.

I had a three minute window so I wrote a perfect five minute speech knowing I'd forget some of it. My name was called, I stood, cleared my throat, and gave a 15 second speech.

Yes.

15 seconds.

So much for my future as an oratorian.

But it must have been amazingly compelling because... she won.

Let's just pray they don't go looking for dimpled chads.

Next, the 2016 presidency.

After that...

world domination.

Public Office...

My sister is running for a position as a local public official. When she mentioned it a few weeks ago, I jumped on the idea, offering to be her campaign manager, her marketing manager, her road crew, whatever. She looked at me oddly, "Uh, yeah. I mean. Sure, you can come."

"Great!" I said with a little too much enthusiasm.

I called her yesterday, "Hey, so what time? Where? I have it in my notes but I just want to confirm. Should I organize a parade? Catering? A band?"

She relayed the info but still seemed a bit confused at my over-the-top support - especially since the only person I am usually concerned about is... um... me.

Welllllll...

I've got a few, um, 'things' I 'may' or 'may not' need cleared. Uh. Maybe a few parking and speeding tickets? Oh, and uh, maybe she could get rid of that little public records item that comes up when you Google my name? And if possible, an exemption from property taxes?

Sure, she can't do much about it in the office she's running for but she's certain to work her way to some sort of position of power. I'm investing in my future by jumping on the wagon now - that way, she'll be less likely to see my evil intentions later.

You thought I was concerned about social responsibility? Honor? Service to your country? A sense of community? Sisterly love?

AHHHH HA HA HA HA!!

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a campaign to manage.

Best of luck sis. ; )

Uh. Yeah. Still 'Working'...

Chris has been watching baby boy at night this week while I've been putting in extra hours in our home office. I pour myself a glass of wine, turn on John Coltrane, and do design work until I fall asleep. Meanwhile, Chris makes dinner, chases baby boy, brings me dinner, chases baby boy, does the dishes, then chases baby boy.

Last night, after only an hour, I finished a section and could go no further without some drawings I was missing from the main office. I shut down the computer, clicked off the desk lamp, and opened the door. I heard baby boy banging his toys in the living room, the timer dinging loudly on the oven, rock music blaring from the radio, and the sound of water splashing in the sink as the dishes clanked together.

Complete chaos.

Slowly I backed into the office, quietly shut the door, clicked the desk lamp back on, turned up Coltrane, and pulled out my Kindle.

What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Are You Sharpening That?!?!

I had an appointment with my dental hygienist Thursday afternoon. I had planned to arrive 17 minutes ahead of schedule because:

1) Certain appointments, like those with hair stylists, dental hygienists, and estheticians in particular, are in your best interest to be early... mainly because those folks have the ability to make you miserable with very little effort.

2) I was the last appointment of the day and the only thing standing between her and happy hour.

An overturned dump truck blocked 3 of the 4 freeway lanes, snarling traffic for miles. I watched in terror as my 17 minute window closed.

I finally arrived and ran across the parking lot, sliding through the front door as if it were first base at the world series. I glanced at the clock.

7 minutes late.

She stood, arms crossed, tapping her foot in annoyance.

Crud.

I tried to tell her what happened as she cinched the spit cloth across my neck. "Ow" I yelped as it cut across my neck... and cut short my story.

I squinted into the light she had purposely pointed into my eyes and listened as she made noises with the tools just out of my line of sight.

"Are you sharpening knives back there?" I asked, laughing nervously.

"Just my curette" she replied.

"They need to be sharpened?!"

"For some people" she said, not even a hint of a smile.

I'd like to say she launched into a lovely dental cleaning session putting my fears to rest but...

Nah. It was pretty awful. I'm pretty sure I cried. I don't know. There was a lot of splattering. I couldn't identify whether it was spit, tears, blood... or all three.

When it was over, I said, "That seemed to hurt more than usual."

"Lots of tartar" she while making notes in my file, "Here's your next appointment card. Make sure to be on time."

As I walked out the door, I'm fairly certain I heard maniacal laughing.

*Shivers*

Almost There...

A vending machine guy caught me in the hall at work and said, "Sorry, I'm lost. I'm supposed to fill the machine and I can't find it."

"Sure, I'll walk you there" I said heading in that direction, "I'm bummed you guys took out the food machine and offer strictly soda now. But my waistline is happy. I've probably lost 10 pounds!"

"Almost there" he said smiling.

Almost there?!? ALMOST THERE?!?! Seriously? I make jokes about being fat but dear Lord, I'm not that bad! 'Almost there' to skinny? 'Almost there' to looking slightly less fat? You're no hunk of muscle dude. Why is it always OK for dudes to be fat but us chicks have to look like Heidi Klum?!? You aren't 'almost there'! Maybe I shouldn't help you find your dumb machine!!

Realizing I was having this argument completely in my head, I decided to address his narrow-minded idiocy.

I stopped walking suddenly, turned toward him, and said, "WHAT?!?"

"Almost there. I was so close to finding it on my own" he said looking at me confused, pointing at the machine.

"Oh. Um. Hm. Yup."

I'm such an idiot.

Trust Me?

My husband did some work for my brother's wife's father (try figuring that one out). The guy is an attorney and suggested we trade services for payment. Since we aren't being sued - for now anyway - I wasn't down for the deal. The attorney recommended we set up a trust to protect our assets in the event one of us dies.

Assets?

Chris moved forward with the deal, did the work, and the attorney sent the trust paperwork.

Line 1: Total Estate Value.

Not only is that number negative, it's six figures. I'm not sold I want family (distant or otherwise) knowing we are so underwater, our neighbor is Sponge Bob.

Lying to an attorney about finances when drafting a trust is about as brilliant as lying to police about drug possession when you've got a bong on your dining table but I still see it on COPS all the time so... I'm adopting Lehman Brothers style accounting practices to protect my reputation.

Poor baby Cash will be disappointed to discover mommy and daddy mortgaged his future for a San Diego zip code and the house value listed is actually the value in Mexican Pesos.

But maybe the San Diego real estate market will rebound by that time. And maybe pigs will fly, and maybe I'll lose weight from a steady diet of oreos, and maybe...

Psychology...

I've been a bit moody lately since I'm starting to wean the kidlet. My hormones are raging and I don't have the greatest self control in the best of times... so you can imagine.

Lob on the insane work stress and I'm just a ball of fun to have around.

It's not like I'm out slicing tires or beating up neighborhood kids...yet... but I'm not on Santa's 'nice' list either.

Throughout this, hubsters has been his usual self. Kind, caring, tender, loving, sweet.

In a brief moment of clarity...very brief... I asked him why he stayed with me when I'm crazy.

He hugged me and said he loved me through thick and thin and proceeded to buy me dinner from my very favorite fast food mexican joint.

Based on his reaction, all I have to say is this...

THANK.

GOD.

FOR.

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME.

Creepy Crawly Fear...

A spider the size of my head (admittedly, I exaggerate its size... a little) scurried across our bedroom floor and under our bed the other night. I yelled for Chris, who was in the shower, "Honey, would you please come out and vanquish this arachnid?" which, once again for the sake of honestly, sounded like, "AHHHHHH spider! AHHHHH! *unintelligible* *garble* AHHHHHH!"

Sure, I could have smashed it myself but I'm terrified of spiders - which seems to be synonymous with being female. Plus, I was too busy screaming from my perch atop my dresser.

Chris slowly finished washing his hair and using the loofah to scrub his feet and I heard the water shut off.

SQUEEEEEEAAAAAAAK.

"Are you seriously squeegeeing the shower doors right now?!?!?" I yelled.

"As the person who installed these ridiculously heavy doors and is the person responsible to replace them if not properly maintained, yes. I'm squeegeeing the doors." He replied. SQUEEEAAAAAK.

"It could be a robber out here for all you know and he's had 7 minutes to beat me and loot the house" I yelled back.

"Meh. At least the shower doors would be OK." he said.

He finally came out of the bathroom and started to look under the bed. We don't have anything under our bed so it should have been fairly easy to spot the spider.

After a long pause he said, "Uh babe. I don't see a spider. You want to grab me a flashlight?"

I gave him a look. "There's no chance I'm getting off this dresser until you show me his lifeless body."

He left, found a flashlight, and returned. "Nope. Nothing."

"If he's not under the bed and no where around the edges...that means he's in the bed. I'm not sleeping in the bed tonight." I said.

"OK." he said as he crawled under the covers and turned off the lights.

I sat on top of the dresser for quite some time, debating whether or not to sleep on it. I finally caved but didn't sleep a wink the whole night. I made sure to hit Chris every 15 minutes under the guise of 'spider spotting'.

We still haven't found the spider... a fact I remember right before I close my eyes to sleep each night.

If not death, arrest...

My husband was not successful in his sneaky plot to kill me by cleaning my car... but I discovered his back up plan.

Send me to jail.

At precisely 59 mph, my old, crummy tires would shake my car like a 50's exercise machine - which only goes to prove those things don't work, I'd weigh 80 pounds by now.

The crummy tires kept me from speeding, which was a good thing because I accidentally bought a car with a big engine.

How do you accidentally buy a car with a big engine? When you're super girlie and point out the car you like based solely on color and say, 'Aww! It's so cute!' as if picking out a puppy.

Anyway, after I wiped the oil slick out of my car, I found myself passing a whole lot of cars on the freeway. I looked down at my speedometer and gasped as I read... 84.

Not only did hubsters replace my tires, he mentioned he replaced them with racing tires. My subconscious summoned my inner Mario Andretti. And since my car was no longer shaking, speed snuck up without my notice.

Part of my route to work is on a freeway strongly monitored by the California Highway Patrol.

I see my future quite clearly...

'Do you know how fast you were going?' the cop would ask.

"Yes. 84. Anything slower would be an insult to the tire manufacturer. I've got racing tires." I'd say while pointing at my front wheel. "Now if you'll simply apologize for pulling me over, I'll be on my way" I'd say, impatiently tapping my fingernails on the metal of my door.

And that's when I'd go to jail.

He's Trying to Kill Me...

I had a flat tire last week and I asked Chris if he could have it repaired for me on his lunch break. When he came home with the car, it was washed, the tires were new, and the interior was glistening from excessive use of oily cleaner.

The next morning, as I tried to pull out of our driveway, my hands slipped on the greasy steering wheel and I bounced my back end off the curb. I wiped my hands on my pants and grabbed the steering wheel again, determined to regain control.

The light turned green at my stop light and I attempted to make a left turn.

Attempted.

Slide, slide, slide went my hands. Right before I crossed into oncoming traffic, I regained control by jamming my hands through the holes in the steering wheel, steering like Frankenstein with my arms oddly outstretched.

I thought I had things under control... until the sun popped out from behind the morning clouds.

The reflection was so strong from my dash, it was as if God took a mirror to the sun and was trying to fry me like an ant. I think my cornea's got sunburned.

Naturally, when I arrived home from work, I thanked my husband for being so thoughtful.


AHHHHHHHHHHH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!


Front door slam. "YOU ALMOST FRIGGIN' KILLED ME" I yelled.

"What? Huh? What'd I do?" He asked.

"There's more oil in my car than in the ocean after the Exxon Valdez spill! I couldn't steer! Or see!"

"Me? No. Not on purpose." he said. But as he walked away, I saw his shoulders shake from laughter he was holding in.

Maybe it's time to change the beneficiary on my life insurance policy.

Just Like Dad...

The older I get, the more I become just like my father. We drive too fast, use the horn too much, listen to the same talk radio, drink the same cheap wine, and make the same inappropriate comments about the mentally unstable.

Seeing the slow progression feels traitorous to the 14 year old me who frequently screamed, 'I'll NEVER be like you!!!!' and swore the zombie apocalypse would happen before that day came.

While I'm exactly like my father in habits and ticks, I've got my own musical and fashion tastes. The 30 year age gap between my father and me assures those two differences will never change.

Sunday, as dad and I sat on the patio drinking cheap wine, enjoying the cool breeze and sunshine, he said, "I'm really liking that song on the radio"

"What song? Celine Dion?" I asked.

"No. It's a guy. Really catchy" he said and started humming.

"George Harrison?" I asked trying desperately to remember which Beetles are still alive... and singing.

"No. Oh! Now I remember. Someone I Used to Know by Gotye" he said snapping.

I spit my wine back into my glass.

That's my current favorite song because... it's catchy.

"By the way kiddo, nice shirt!" he said.

Bring on the zombie apocalypse.

Sleep...

I've never been this tired for this many consecutive months in my life.

Even in college, when my nights were spent in clubs and at parties... *cough* I mean, when I was up late studying, I still managed to sneak in weekend long sleepfests and recover.

When you have a 1 year old in your life, sleepfests are no longer an option.

Baby boy needs 6 hours of sleep each night to function.

I need 8.5.

That 2.5 hour disconnect reduces my brain function to... to... I can't even think of something because my brain quit.

I was told babies like sleeping. I'd punch the person who told me that but... I can't remember who it was. Heck, I can't remember my kid's name... or mine... most of the time.


On Sunday, my sister-in-law, who has no children, was talking about how she has been sleeping until 9:30 or 10 each day. I found myself hanging on every word.

"OK, so you put on pajamas, you crawl into bed, and you fall asleep. How does that feel? Do you get to sleep the whole night? What does sleeping past 5 AM feel like? What's it like to not be tired?" I quizzed dreamily.


Forget '50 Shades of Grey' or 'Magic Mike'. Sleeping is my fantasy.

Congrats! You've just lost 40K!

I've lost money before. I've dropped change. I've paid too much for auto insurance. I've bought things a week before they went on sale. I've made stupid money mistakes, but I've never lost 40,000 in one day...

until Saturday.

I received a letter from the County of San Diego about my house:


"Based on recent sales in your area, we have reassessed the value of your home. Your home has DECREASED in value by $40,000. Due to this large DECREASE in value, we are adjusting your property taxes accordingly."

First off, a hearty thanks to the county for writing DECREASE in all caps. The kicking me while I'm down thing is nice.

Second, this is the fourth letter I have received since I bought the house in 2007. The grand total DECREASE to date?

$150,000.

That's not a pie in the sky 'oh, the neighbors sold their house for cheap so I think my house value has dropped'. This is a solid 'the city has it on paper that I flushed $150,000 in four years'.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to suck my thumb and rock in a corner until the market bounces back.

This could be a while.