We interrupt this regularly scheduled True Lurve post to bring you The Post In Which I Lose My Mind. Mostly because I don't feel like writing about lurve today because B and I spent the majority of last night arguing on the phone. B's in Massachusetts for a long weekend to visit his family and do that whole bachelor party thing.
We were arguing mostly because I just felt like arguing. Do you ever have one of those days when you just need to punch some bish in the mouth? Work is stressful. I'm busier than ever. It's emotionally consuming to be stressed about work all the time and have to plan a wedding that's taking place in two weeks.
Oh and also? We're house hunting. From 400 miles away. Do you know how hard it is to house hunt when you can't actually see the houses in person? It's not all brilliant HGTV design stars and real estate mavens and just looook at the natural light that you expect shopping for your first house would be. It's more like tiny computer images and that's a little grainy and is that room actually painted puce and DO YOU WANT TO EAT NOTHING BUT RAMEN NOODLES FOR THE NEXT TEN YEARS?
It doesn't help that I have no idea what I want. A house is a big commitment. HUGE. Throwing a ball of this magnitude in my court right now is kind of like asking a six-year-old to cook Thanksgiving dinner for 26 people. I have no idea what I'm doing. There's so many factors to consider. And I'm pretty sure this will end with the fire department being called and a trip to family court.
One day I can't wait to decorate my little beach bungalow. Walk out my front door, hop on my beach cruiser with matching basket and bell, and head to the beach. Host backyard barbecues. Play the homeowner game. The next I'm wailing that B is not only dragging me away from my family, but from all the sophistications and scenes of the city. I want to be in a busy, young neighborhood. But I also want to be able to ride my bike to the beach. I want to still be able to afford to travel and shop. But also I don't want to get THAT ugly little thing. I want to be in the city. But I also want a backyard. We're BUYING a HOUSE so we had better like the thing.
I want I want I want. And I have no clue. And we had better hurry if we want to make it in time for that $8,000 rebate. That's enough money for, like, 80 roundtrip flights to Philly once we move to Massachusetts. Or the 800 bottles of cheap red wine I'll need to make myself forget how cold it is this winter. For someone who lives paycheck to paycheck, that's a lot of clams. Eight thousand mothaflippin' clams.
And yesterday, I just had one of those days when things were not looking too good. I spent a large chunk of 8:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. thinking of places I would rather be. Lost in the desert. Getting my teeth cleaned. Cleaning up the elephant corrals at the Philadelphia zoo. Splitting an appletini with Michael Vick.
I was annoyed with the house hunting process as a whole. I was annoyed that we STILL haven't gotten all of the RSVPs for the wedding AND YOU WILL EAT NOTHING IF I DON'T HAVE YOUR MENU SELECTION BY THE TIME I COUNT TO THREE. I was annoyed that it was raining and the dog was chewing on my arm.
I'm walking an emotional tight rope. Shelley and I have been discussing how we don't even know how to feel right now. Excited, yes, of course. But then stir in the stress. Definitely some worry for all those other things. Didn't I JUST have my first kiss? Didn't I JUST pick out my prom dress? Weren't we JUST doing keg stands in our college house, like, last week? WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S 2009 AND MICHAEL JACKSON IS DEAD?
But then today I was cleaning out my inbox when I found an e-mail from my Biffle with nothing but this image.
This was the front of the card that Michael got me for my 16th birthday. Inside: WHAT CHILD BE DIS?! Pure perfection. I LOLed all over the place. A big, sloppy snarffing LOL that definitely blew my cover if my boss was wondering at that moment if I was actually writing that case study or more likely Googling pictures of Justin Timberlake in his underwears. FTMFW, ya'll. For The Mother Flippin' Win.