Kiss me at midnight

I cannot believe the year 2008 is almost over. I remember when it first began: I was in Heppner with Craig, really upset, really drunk, really wishing I could disappear. Let's just say it was an interesting New Year's Eve. A lot has happened since then, as outlined below.

Falling in love: Good.
Being laid off: Bad.
25th birthday party: Good.
Family trip to Michigan: Good.
Roadtrip to Montana: Good.
Economy: Bad, bad, bad.
Sex and the City movie: Good.
Renee's 21st birthday: Bad.
Celebrating Renee's 21st birthday: Good.
Golf tournament weekend in Heppner: Good.
Politics: Bad.
Valentine's Day: Good.
Cougar football: Bad.
Reaching mid-20s: Bad.
Keeping up with friends: Good.

Looking back on this list made me realize that my years usually revolve around either personal success or professional success, but not both. For example, in 2008 I lost my job but found the man of my dreams; in 2007 I excelled in my position at work but had an up-and-down love life; 2006 is when I landed my dream job while blindly enduring the most destructive relationship I've ever been in.

Hopefully 2009 will be my year to have it all.

Crazy, or what?

I've always been uptight, but lately it feels a little out of control. Example: On the way home from Christmas dinner, I worried the roads would be slick; I worried my stomach would remain unsettled; I worried how we would manage to carry all of our stuff in without slipping on the ice; I worried about who would clean up everything once we got into the apartment; I worried how the girls would get to work in the morning; I worried that maybe I did something dumb in front of Craig's family.

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, 6.8 million Americans suffer from generalized anxiety disorder. "GAD is diagnosed when a person worries excessively about a variety of everyday problems for at least 6 months. People with GAD can’t seem to get rid of their concerns, even though they usually realize that their anxiety is more intense than the situation warrants. They can’t relax, startle easily, and have difficulty concentrating. Often they have trouble falling asleep or staying asleep. Physical symptoms that often accompany the anxiety include fatigue, headaches, muscle tension, muscle aches, difficulty swallowing, trembling, twitching, irritability, sweating, nausea, lightheadedness, having to go to the bathroom frequently, feeling out of breath, and hot flashes."

Well that certainly makes a lot of sense. Just mentioning something is enough for it to suddenly become top priority, bumping all other thoughts from my mind. You nonchalantly ask me where the tape is, but all I hear is "findthetapfindthetapfindthetape." Your inquiry becomes my obsession. Normal? Apparently not. Normal for me? Unfortunately.

Maybe next year

Thanks to a huge snow storm, this has been the least Christmas-y Christmas ever. There are no stockings hanging at my parents' house, my apartment, or the place I'm staying right now. The girls and I didn't make a gingerbread house. We haven't watched Christmas Vacation. There have been no frantic trips to the mall to pick up those last-minute gifts. I've been to one church service. Grandma's family get-together was postponed until after the holidays, and Uncle Bob and Aunt Sharon are most likely not hosting anything this year. With the roads as bad as they are, I'm not even positive we will be able to get to Mom and Dad's on Christmas day.

Even when I was going to college 300-plus miles away from my family, I still made it home with enough time to shop, decorate the tree, make cookies, put together a gingerbread house and just plain prepare. This year, not so much. I guess sometimes you just have to grow up.

Take it or leave it

I realized a few nights ago just how much I have changed in the past year – In the past six months, even. So who am I now? I’m someone who likes to read fashion magazines. I drink a lot of tea. I think it’s cute when guys wear scarves. I want to be Carrie Bradshaw, minus the smoking, not getting married until 40, cheating on Aidan, and random sexual partners. I stay up late and wake up early (most of the time, anyway). I jog. I get excited about painting my toenails. I have very little patience. My favorite movies don’t always have happy endings. I am in love. I can’t cook very well, but I often try. I eat a lot of vegetables. I live with my two best friends, who also happen to be my sisters. I can’t stand being cold. I find Gerard Butler incredibly attractive. I am inspired by great writing. I drive really fast, and sometimes on the wrong side of the road. I don't know what my favorite color is. I am looking forward to the future.

Surprise!

There are some people who use spray paint for art, others who use it as a form of rebellion, and still others who actually paint stuff with it.

And then there are the people who use spray paint to ruin movies... Like in Los Angeles with the billboards for Marley and Me.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

You're only as old as you feel

The sad evidence of my grandmother's advancing age came in the form of a voicemail she left the other day. "I'm having the family over for a Christmas party on the 20th, so will you tell Miranda and... and... will you tell Miranda and... oh, oh, I can't think of her name, but will you tell her?"

Yes Grandma, I'll tell Renee. I'll also be sure to visit you a lot more often.

Time takes us all

I almost thought I was ready to be a mom, but eight days with Lily and Zoe showed me otherwise. I'm sure a good amount of my distress can be blamed on the fact that these girls have been raised in a different manner than I would have chosen; I'm also sure they are a lot better around their parents. That said, I am still doubting my preparedness for the patience, devotion and utter selflessness that parenthood requires. I honestly don't know how people do it. Anyone care to enlighten me?

On a completely unrelated note, I just got a box of Pop Tarts for $.19, a savings of $2.60. Hooray for using the double coupons on top of an additional discount at Safeway...

On second thought...

I'm fully convinced that parenthood is nothing more than a combination of bribes and threats. You sacrifice your sleep, your income, your freedom, and (women, anyway) your body, all to hear the little mongrels complain for the next 18 years.

Babysitting is one thing, but a child of my own? I think I'll pass.