I hate grocery shopping with a passion. Last weekend, I looked at my list and willed myself to go because there were certain things I needed in order to get through the week. When I got home and unpacked my items, I laughed because, well, here’s what I bought:
-Coffee
-12 pack of Lone Star Light
-3 boxes of granola/protein bars (my typical lunch/breakfast/snack)
-A bag of caramels
In the last few years I’ve acquired debt, become an attorney, and taken on a corporate job with career-like possibilities. To the outside world I might appear to be a grown-up, but look in my refrigerator, and you’ll realize that I still live the life of a twenty-something guy.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
Lazy Sunday...
Sunday morning I woke up at 10:30 am. It wasn’t surprising that I slept that late; I’d been out past 2 am. However, it’s the kind of thing that would normally send me into a tizzy…
“Oh egad, Ana! You stayed out late last night accomplishing nothing, woke up groggy, and half of the day has already passed you by!” The rest of the day would be spent feeling grumpy, irritated, and rushed for the things I still needed to do before Monday.
But I didn’t feel that way on Sunday. Rather my thought was, “Wow, this feels pretty decadent.” And instead of jumping out of bed, I grabbed a few magazines along with my laptop and continued to lounge until noon. Despite this gross indulgence, on Sunday I still managed to walk the dog 3.5 miles, change the sheets and other linens in the house, do four loads of laundry, write a few blog posts, wash the dishes, make deviled eggs and tuna salad, and get some lawyer-work done. It was a perfectly delightful day, and what made it so much better than other days was simply my outlook. It’s really funny how little things can make such a big difference.
“Oh egad, Ana! You stayed out late last night accomplishing nothing, woke up groggy, and half of the day has already passed you by!” The rest of the day would be spent feeling grumpy, irritated, and rushed for the things I still needed to do before Monday.
But I didn’t feel that way on Sunday. Rather my thought was, “Wow, this feels pretty decadent.” And instead of jumping out of bed, I grabbed a few magazines along with my laptop and continued to lounge until noon. Despite this gross indulgence, on Sunday I still managed to walk the dog 3.5 miles, change the sheets and other linens in the house, do four loads of laundry, write a few blog posts, wash the dishes, make deviled eggs and tuna salad, and get some lawyer-work done. It was a perfectly delightful day, and what made it so much better than other days was simply my outlook. It’s really funny how little things can make such a big difference.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
Not Alone...
Midday yesterday at work, I started to feel a little icky. Was I getting sick? I spent the afternoon downing hot tea, never feeling any better. At ten ‘til five, I walked out the door, grabbed some soup on my way home, and went to bed early.
This morning, I woke up at six feeling like complete death. As I took the dog outside, I found that I had to sit down and rest at the bottom of the stairs before walking her out the door. Back inside, I pulled out my thermometer… fever of 103. I dug through the medicine cabinet and found eight expired Advil.
Crap. I’m not married or dating. I live alone, and my nearest relative lives 1500 miles away. Most days I’m perfectly ok with that, but on days like today, it just makes me wonder. I laid in bed and cried. I felt so bad, so tired, and I could barely move. I hated to call someone. Who would I call? What would I do? I knew I was too woozy to make a trip to the grocery store on my own.
I pulled out my laptop and went on facebook. Status Update: Ana is stuck at home with a temp of 103. If you’re willing to walk Martha or run to the drugstore, please let me know.
Within minutes people responded. Despite never leaving my bed, I am now equipped with cold medicine, advil, alka seltzer, wheat bread for toast, margarine, saltines, ginger ale and a variety of other things that people dropped off throughout the day. It’s funny. I have this perspective that it’s always me and Martha against the world, as if we are totally alone. Today I found out that I have a wonderful support network out there. All I have to do is break my self-sufficient front and ask for it.
It's a good feeling.
This morning, I woke up at six feeling like complete death. As I took the dog outside, I found that I had to sit down and rest at the bottom of the stairs before walking her out the door. Back inside, I pulled out my thermometer… fever of 103. I dug through the medicine cabinet and found eight expired Advil.
Crap. I’m not married or dating. I live alone, and my nearest relative lives 1500 miles away. Most days I’m perfectly ok with that, but on days like today, it just makes me wonder. I laid in bed and cried. I felt so bad, so tired, and I could barely move. I hated to call someone. Who would I call? What would I do? I knew I was too woozy to make a trip to the grocery store on my own.
I pulled out my laptop and went on facebook. Status Update: Ana is stuck at home with a temp of 103. If you’re willing to walk Martha or run to the drugstore, please let me know.
Within minutes people responded. Despite never leaving my bed, I am now equipped with cold medicine, advil, alka seltzer, wheat bread for toast, margarine, saltines, ginger ale and a variety of other things that people dropped off throughout the day. It’s funny. I have this perspective that it’s always me and Martha against the world, as if we are totally alone. Today I found out that I have a wonderful support network out there. All I have to do is break my self-sufficient front and ask for it.
It's a good feeling.
Sunday, March 06, 2011
Push It?
Several weeks ago, after a particularly stressful week at work, I looked out my office window one Friday and thought, “I never take a lunch hour. I think I’m going to do that today.”
As I don't eat lunch, I ended up at the DSW shoe store which is in dangerously close proximity to my office. Forty-five minutes later I was back at the office, the new proud owner of a pair of wedge sandals and the “?” heels.
My cute, hippie wedges.
What makes something a pair of Question Mark shoes? Well, you love them on sight, but you don’t know: WHERE you’d wear them; WHAT you’d wear them with; WHEN you would wear them; WHO you’d wear them in front of; or WHY you bought them.
As of yesterday, the wedges had been worn several times, but the ? shoes still sat in the box untouched, and given that I’d done a little online splurging of flowery 70’s-ish summer tops at Old Navy earlier in the week, I decided to return the heels in order to cancel out the clothing transaction.
At DSW the checkout guy scanned my receipt and then opened the box to inspect the shoes.
“Girl, *WHY* are you returning THESE?” he asked in disbelief.
“Um, well. They didn’t really match anything in my closet…and also they’re kinda high,” I stammered.
He continued to stare at the shoes in dismay, taking one out of the box and holding it aloft.
“KEESHA!” he called to the cashier in the next lane. “Can you believe this girl wants to return THESE shoes?!?!”
“OHMYGOD! I wanted those and they sold out,” Keesha cried. “What size are they?”
And then the two cashiers had a discussion as to whether or not either of them would be able to jam their foot into a size 6 heel.
“I’m sorry, baby girl” the guy said. “I don’t think I can allow you to return these. No, no, no. Mmm-mmmm.”
He walked over to the other side of the cash register and began holding the shoes next to various parts of my body.
“See how fantastic they are with your hair? Look how glamorous they are with your sunglasses. They match your earrings per-fect-ly. And that purse you have? FABULOUS.”
He put the shoes back into the box and slid it over to me. “Go home, put on a white tank top, a pair of dark skinny jeans, and PUSH IT. PUSH IT!”
Alrighty then.
Bewildered that I’d been refused the right to return an unworn pair of shoes within the acceptable time frame, I spent most of the car ride home asking, “Did that really just happen?”
The shoes were still sitting out when I found myself getting ready for the evening a few hours later. I gently lifted the lid and cringed. I could easily break an ankle in those things. But, they were mine now, and I might as well get some use out of them. So I traded in my normal comfy attire of loose bootleg jeans and black Chuck’s, put on a pair of skinny jeans with the question mark shoes, and hobbled out of the apartment. The first item on the agenda was dinner with a friend, and when I got out of the car at the restaurant, the valet who opened the door said, “Oh wow. Those are nice shoes.”
We walked inside to discover a long wait and moseyed over to a very crowded bar to grab a drink. As I wondered how I would squeeze my way through the mass up to the bar a guy tapped on my shoulder and said, “Did you need a drink? What can I get you?” Thirty seconds later a cold Rio Blanco Pale Ale was in my fat little hand. And it was that way for the rest of the night. People opened doors for me, smiled at me, walked up to talk with me, tried to make eye contact with me from across the room, etc. It was all very bizarre.
“You think it’s the shoes?” my friend asked.
“It’s gotta be,” I said in disbelief. “Nothing else is different about me tonight. A pair of shoes! Who knew?”
Dear Sassy Gay Friend Cashier at DSW – Thanks so much for setting me straight. I will continue to wear my new shoes and think of you every time I 'push it.' Love, Ana.
PS - Readers, you can get your very own pair, here. At last glance sizes 6-11 were still available, but going fast.
As I don't eat lunch, I ended up at the DSW shoe store which is in dangerously close proximity to my office. Forty-five minutes later I was back at the office, the new proud owner of a pair of wedge sandals and the “?” heels.
My cute, hippie wedges.
What makes something a pair of Question Mark shoes? Well, you love them on sight, but you don’t know: WHERE you’d wear them; WHAT you’d wear them with; WHEN you would wear them; WHO you’d wear them in front of; or WHY you bought them.
As of yesterday, the wedges had been worn several times, but the ? shoes still sat in the box untouched, and given that I’d done a little online splurging of flowery 70’s-ish summer tops at Old Navy earlier in the week, I decided to return the heels in order to cancel out the clothing transaction.
At DSW the checkout guy scanned my receipt and then opened the box to inspect the shoes.
“Girl, *WHY* are you returning THESE?” he asked in disbelief.
“Um, well. They didn’t really match anything in my closet…and also they’re kinda high,” I stammered.
He continued to stare at the shoes in dismay, taking one out of the box and holding it aloft.
“KEESHA!” he called to the cashier in the next lane. “Can you believe this girl wants to return THESE shoes?!?!”
“OHMYGOD! I wanted those and they sold out,” Keesha cried. “What size are they?”
And then the two cashiers had a discussion as to whether or not either of them would be able to jam their foot into a size 6 heel.
“I’m sorry, baby girl” the guy said. “I don’t think I can allow you to return these. No, no, no. Mmm-mmmm.”
He walked over to the other side of the cash register and began holding the shoes next to various parts of my body.
“See how fantastic they are with your hair? Look how glamorous they are with your sunglasses. They match your earrings per-fect-ly. And that purse you have? FABULOUS.”
He put the shoes back into the box and slid it over to me. “Go home, put on a white tank top, a pair of dark skinny jeans, and PUSH IT. PUSH IT!”
Alrighty then.
Bewildered that I’d been refused the right to return an unworn pair of shoes within the acceptable time frame, I spent most of the car ride home asking, “Did that really just happen?”
The shoes were still sitting out when I found myself getting ready for the evening a few hours later. I gently lifted the lid and cringed. I could easily break an ankle in those things. But, they were mine now, and I might as well get some use out of them. So I traded in my normal comfy attire of loose bootleg jeans and black Chuck’s, put on a pair of skinny jeans with the question mark shoes, and hobbled out of the apartment. The first item on the agenda was dinner with a friend, and when I got out of the car at the restaurant, the valet who opened the door said, “Oh wow. Those are nice shoes.”
We walked inside to discover a long wait and moseyed over to a very crowded bar to grab a drink. As I wondered how I would squeeze my way through the mass up to the bar a guy tapped on my shoulder and said, “Did you need a drink? What can I get you?” Thirty seconds later a cold Rio Blanco Pale Ale was in my fat little hand. And it was that way for the rest of the night. People opened doors for me, smiled at me, walked up to talk with me, tried to make eye contact with me from across the room, etc. It was all very bizarre.
“You think it’s the shoes?” my friend asked.
“It’s gotta be,” I said in disbelief. “Nothing else is different about me tonight. A pair of shoes! Who knew?”
Dear Sassy Gay Friend Cashier at DSW – Thanks so much for setting me straight. I will continue to wear my new shoes and think of you every time I 'push it.' Love, Ana.
PS - Readers, you can get your very own pair, here. At last glance sizes 6-11 were still available, but going fast.
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
Happiness...
I love the new place. Love it.
If you are ever in an unhappy living environment, don’t worry about the cost or the time or whatever else, just get out. The new neighbors seem pretty cool, stay up late like me, have a social life, take turns dragging the trash bin to the curb, and best of all, we can barely hear each other.
The new place is an old, brick, two-story duplex built in the 30’s, and I have the top floor which is all hardwoods. There are two bedrooms on one side that are connected by a hallway with a bathroom in the middle. Both bedrooms have complete privacy and are separated off from the community areas, so when someone’s in my living room, they don’t also have a perfect view of my bedroom. (It’s the first apartment I’ve had in Houston like this.) Plus, the smaller bedroom is the size of my old master, and the new master is…just unbelievably huge and full of light. Also, the living and dining room are combined, so it makes for one big, long room that’s twenty-three feet in length and feels very open and airy.
The best part? There are TWENTY FOUR WINDOWS here. Y’all it’s like a natural light bonanza in this place. Bonus - my bedroom doesn’t open out onto the street, so the streetlight doesn’t light up my room at night when I’m trying to sleep. Also, it has EIGHT LARGE CLOSETS and tons of built-in storage spaces (including an attic which contains an interesting collection of remnants of prior tenants including a child’s school diorama of Houston and a motorcycle seat). What else rocks? The windows actually OPEN, so I can let a breeze waft through and feel like I’m outside when the weather is nice. I also have CEILING FANS which were absent from the last place.
The kitchen is a kitschy little wonderment of knotty pine with deep drawers that hold ALL of my utensils. No longer do my utensils sit on the counter in a large flower pot. Oh, and again, this is the first time I’ve had a pantry. Hello gorgeous! The refrigerator? It has an icemaker! The gas grill and oven, though they look like they are about fifty years old, work better than any kitchen appliance that I can remember.
But wait there’s more! We’ve got a private outdoor sitting area! What does that mean? It means that the two hours a day I spend sitting on the porch now also include a little doggie sitting by my side. At the carriage house, I had a patio, but it wasn’t gated off and Martha could run away. At the old place, I shared the back yard with all of my neighbors and it was in my lease that I couldn’t let the dog off leash, so she had to stay inside. We are both LOVING IT. Really, we are sitting on the porch right now and she’s like, “Toss me a cold one, Mama.”
Martha is doing great, by the way. After four years, I stopped crating her when we moved to the new place, and she’s unbelievably chill now when I get home at night. Even Wine-Time-Girl was like, “What happened to your dog?” There have been no accidents and no destruction. I’m so flippin’ proud of her. And since I feel comfortable having people over at the new place, Martha’s getting a lot more socialization and attention. Also, the sidewalks here are fantastic, and Martha and I have started back on our long walks since the weather warmed up.
There’s also some strange kind of musical vibe to the house. I noticed it when I was unpacking and found myself singing a made-up song. It became more apparent when I decided to order instrument stands for my guitar and violin (no, I can’t play either of them!) because I wanted them out in the open where either visitors could pick them up and play them or I could have them at easy disposal to practice. (I have picked them up a few times…) Sitting on the porch, I’ve noticed that one of the neighbors on the other side of the street plays the cello, and I’ve also seen people carrying guitars into other houses. I’ve been to four live shows since moving in even though I’ve lived here less than a month, and the other day I remembered that the landlord had said that the prior tenants were musicians. Weird, huh? My first in apartment always made me want to write. The last apartment had zero creative vibe. This one makes me always have the stereo on, and I find suddenly writing down little rhyming blurbs as they pop into my head.
Today I was home sick and messed around with the violin for an hour or so. I'm pretty sure the sound created killed the neighbor's cat.
Did some thinking in regards to my last post, and I agreed with WTG that it had to do with the limited free-time that I had in my life. So I’ve made a few changes. One is to stop stressing about stuff at work so much and just leave when I’ve been there long enough. I’ve been afraid to take time off because there’s so much to do, but I’m working on planning some three-day camping weekends and short trips to Austin.
Second, I decided to discontinue my French classes. (Yes, this one was hard.) The timing of the class was in the middle of the evening two nights a week. I found myself leaving work earlier than I wanted, rushing home to walk the dog, jetting off to class to spend ninety minutes in intense mental engagement, and finally getting home around 9:30 pm at night without having had any down time that day. The class was on Mondays and Wednesdays, and by Thursday I was just about to drop. Nothing around the house had been done during the week, I had no desire to socialize or run errands, and by midday Sunday, after sitting around doing nothing for days, I’d wish that I’d met up with friends or done SOMETHING that week. And when work or anything else flared up, it was that much worse. So I didn’t sign up for the fourth series of classes. Maybe I’ll do so again at some point, but right now I just want to relax and enjoy life, and even though the classes just ended last week, I’ve already found myself making a lot more plans and getting out of the house. We were having a life balance issue it appears.
Anyhoo, Martha and I are both happy, relaxed, relieved, and looking forward to a chill spring. (And we're having such a nice time that we're also trying to think of ways we could retire instantly.) Hope everything is going well with you, Reader!
If you are ever in an unhappy living environment, don’t worry about the cost or the time or whatever else, just get out. The new neighbors seem pretty cool, stay up late like me, have a social life, take turns dragging the trash bin to the curb, and best of all, we can barely hear each other.
The new place is an old, brick, two-story duplex built in the 30’s, and I have the top floor which is all hardwoods. There are two bedrooms on one side that are connected by a hallway with a bathroom in the middle. Both bedrooms have complete privacy and are separated off from the community areas, so when someone’s in my living room, they don’t also have a perfect view of my bedroom. (It’s the first apartment I’ve had in Houston like this.) Plus, the smaller bedroom is the size of my old master, and the new master is…just unbelievably huge and full of light. Also, the living and dining room are combined, so it makes for one big, long room that’s twenty-three feet in length and feels very open and airy.
The best part? There are TWENTY FOUR WINDOWS here. Y’all it’s like a natural light bonanza in this place. Bonus - my bedroom doesn’t open out onto the street, so the streetlight doesn’t light up my room at night when I’m trying to sleep. Also, it has EIGHT LARGE CLOSETS and tons of built-in storage spaces (including an attic which contains an interesting collection of remnants of prior tenants including a child’s school diorama of Houston and a motorcycle seat). What else rocks? The windows actually OPEN, so I can let a breeze waft through and feel like I’m outside when the weather is nice. I also have CEILING FANS which were absent from the last place.
The kitchen is a kitschy little wonderment of knotty pine with deep drawers that hold ALL of my utensils. No longer do my utensils sit on the counter in a large flower pot. Oh, and again, this is the first time I’ve had a pantry. Hello gorgeous! The refrigerator? It has an icemaker! The gas grill and oven, though they look like they are about fifty years old, work better than any kitchen appliance that I can remember.
But wait there’s more! We’ve got a private outdoor sitting area! What does that mean? It means that the two hours a day I spend sitting on the porch now also include a little doggie sitting by my side. At the carriage house, I had a patio, but it wasn’t gated off and Martha could run away. At the old place, I shared the back yard with all of my neighbors and it was in my lease that I couldn’t let the dog off leash, so she had to stay inside. We are both LOVING IT. Really, we are sitting on the porch right now and she’s like, “Toss me a cold one, Mama.”
Martha is doing great, by the way. After four years, I stopped crating her when we moved to the new place, and she’s unbelievably chill now when I get home at night. Even Wine-Time-Girl was like, “What happened to your dog?” There have been no accidents and no destruction. I’m so flippin’ proud of her. And since I feel comfortable having people over at the new place, Martha’s getting a lot more socialization and attention. Also, the sidewalks here are fantastic, and Martha and I have started back on our long walks since the weather warmed up.
There’s also some strange kind of musical vibe to the house. I noticed it when I was unpacking and found myself singing a made-up song. It became more apparent when I decided to order instrument stands for my guitar and violin (no, I can’t play either of them!) because I wanted them out in the open where either visitors could pick them up and play them or I could have them at easy disposal to practice. (I have picked them up a few times…) Sitting on the porch, I’ve noticed that one of the neighbors on the other side of the street plays the cello, and I’ve also seen people carrying guitars into other houses. I’ve been to four live shows since moving in even though I’ve lived here less than a month, and the other day I remembered that the landlord had said that the prior tenants were musicians. Weird, huh? My first in apartment always made me want to write. The last apartment had zero creative vibe. This one makes me always have the stereo on, and I find suddenly writing down little rhyming blurbs as they pop into my head.
Today I was home sick and messed around with the violin for an hour or so. I'm pretty sure the sound created killed the neighbor's cat.
Did some thinking in regards to my last post, and I agreed with WTG that it had to do with the limited free-time that I had in my life. So I’ve made a few changes. One is to stop stressing about stuff at work so much and just leave when I’ve been there long enough. I’ve been afraid to take time off because there’s so much to do, but I’m working on planning some three-day camping weekends and short trips to Austin.
Second, I decided to discontinue my French classes. (Yes, this one was hard.) The timing of the class was in the middle of the evening two nights a week. I found myself leaving work earlier than I wanted, rushing home to walk the dog, jetting off to class to spend ninety minutes in intense mental engagement, and finally getting home around 9:30 pm at night without having had any down time that day. The class was on Mondays and Wednesdays, and by Thursday I was just about to drop. Nothing around the house had been done during the week, I had no desire to socialize or run errands, and by midday Sunday, after sitting around doing nothing for days, I’d wish that I’d met up with friends or done SOMETHING that week. And when work or anything else flared up, it was that much worse. So I didn’t sign up for the fourth series of classes. Maybe I’ll do so again at some point, but right now I just want to relax and enjoy life, and even though the classes just ended last week, I’ve already found myself making a lot more plans and getting out of the house. We were having a life balance issue it appears.
Anyhoo, Martha and I are both happy, relaxed, relieved, and looking forward to a chill spring. (And we're having such a nice time that we're also trying to think of ways we could retire instantly.) Hope everything is going well with you, Reader!
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