Worry List

Every family has one. Unfortunately for me, I’m the worrier of the family.  It’s so frustrating that I worry about things even while I’m asleep. I don’t even have that much to worry about right now.  So I just make up things to be worried about. What if my alarm clock doesn’t go off, and I’m late for work? What if the dishwasher catches on fire during the dry cycle? Did I lock the side door? Did I lock the car? Did I lock the front gate so Sammy doesn’t get out? What if Sammy gets attacked by a wolf while she’s outside? Really? What if Sammy gets attacked by a wolf while she’s outside? That’s what I dreamt about last night. Why am I dreaming about wolves?  I’m totally team Edward, so wolves mean nothing to me, but nonetheless, last night in my dream I was too scared to let Sammy out of the house because of this fear…a completely unrealistic fear at that. If you’ve ever met our dog, you would know that NOTHING is going to get within 5 miles of our house, without her alerting the entire neighborhood by barking at it.  She has very distinct barks at that. I always know when she’s barking at my husband because she’s excited that he’s home vs. when she’s barking at the sweet kids in the neighborhood vs. when she’s barking/growling at those “other” kids in the neighborhood (Note: see “Entitlement” blog about the “other” kids in our neighborhood, and you’ll realize that we have the smartest dog ever. I think she can sense the road-blocking-egg-throwing-entitled kids from the cute hope-we-have-kids-like-that-someday kids). Regardless, I was so scared in my dream that she would be attacked that she received a life sentence as an inside dog. (Great. There goes the dream furniture, the dream paper towels, all of the dream blankets, and the occasional dream flip flop.)  

This worry of mine actually does have some realistic base to it.  Last week, she let out 5 minutes of strange, unusual barks.  I was sure she was just barking at the awful pit-bull neighbor that attacked her when she was a puppy (no, she has not yet forgiven or forgotten and neither has her mother), but when I looked outside, she was barking towards our shed.  Finally, and unfortunately, I realized a little too late what she was barking at.  I saw it lunge at her.  A panicked scream to my husband followed by a quick trip to the garage for a shovel, we had a dead cottonmouth on our hands.  Luckily, my poor baby came away unharmed. As for me, it’s just another item that I’m not adding to the list of things to worry about.

Canada Eh?

I hate when people are rude. I may not be super friendly all of the time, but if I don’t know you, I surely won’t be rude to you on our first encounter (even if I can just tell that I don’t like you).  I just don’t understand it.  It gets under my skin, and in some cases, including the one below, it can shape my opinion about people, places, etc., for a long time. This happened back in September. I went to Canada for a work-related trip.  I was traveling alone and had to fly into Toronto and rent a car to get around for my 8 day stay. Up to day #7, the trip was going really great.  I had never been to Canada before, and it is somewhere, up to day #7, that I would absolutely recommend going to and hope to visit again.  It’s really beautiful. Except for Toronto, which is a fairly large city (and reminds me a lot of Chicago, which I love!), Canada’s pretty rural.  I was staying in Brantford, about an hour outside of Toronto, and it reminded me a lot of where we live today (except with less people, and more farmland… if that’s even possible).  It was really beautiful though. Anyway, day #7, I had to refuel the rental car before I turned it back in.  I pulled into the gas station, and for some reason (unknown to me at the time), my credit card wouldn’t work at the pump.  Side note: it turns out that Canadians have chips in their credit cards to verify their identify. It’s similar to the “fast-pass” at American gas stations. You can just scan your card… you don’t have to swipe.  Anyway, I walked inside the gas station since my card didn’t work at the pump.  I explained to the cashier that my card didn’t work, and she asked, “Are you American”?  If my lack-of-ridiculous-Canadian-accent didn’t already give that away, I responded that I was. And here was her response…. “Well, we don’t like Americans here”. What?!?  Is she serious or is she kidding? Did she really mean Americans or just American credit cards? She has no facial expression at all, so I’m assuming that she’s serious. I paid inside and left. But in my mind, I verbally abused her. Really!?… you work at a gas station, you ignorant, worthless 5-letter word beginning with a ‘B’ (hey, this is a family blog, so I’ll keep it clean)…If Canadians didn’t use the American supply-chain for resources, blah, blah, blah, followed by several 4-letter words, and then a punch to the face.  Anyway, it bothered me.  From my trip, this is what I remember most.  Not Niagara Falls, not the Toronto International Film Festival, not the wineries at Niagara-on-the-Lake… nope, I remember this. 

One night this past week, I was dreaming that I was flying a kite.  Not sure why I was flying a kite.  I don’t think that’s the piece that matters.  What does matter is the design of the kite that I was flying.  It was in the shape of a big question mark and the pattern was made out of the Canadian-flag.  That’s exactly how I feel about Canada now. 

The New Office

For the most part, I consider myself a pretty smart gal.  I mean, I have two college degrees, and was a CPA at the age of 22. Not too shabby. So why on Earth, can’t I figure out how to get from the parking garage at our new office to the actual office building? I’m told that there is a very well lit and neatly labeled walkway that says “to office building” in the parking garage, but for the life of me, I’ve never been able to find this sign on my own.  It’s ridiculous.  Try #1 (with a co-worker who had yet to go to the new office) failed miserably.  We just ended up walking outside the parking garage to get to the office building (in the rain, might I add).  Try #2 succeeded only because I caught up with a tax associate who goes to the office on a daily basis, but after we winded through the parking garage, took the elevator up to another parking garage, walked down the stairs, through someone’s apartment, over several barricades, and under a limbo pole, did we finally arrive at the elevators that take you to the office building.  Unfortunately, as good as a memory that I may have, I can’t remember how to complete that journey by myself.  This is SO frustrating. Why did we have to move office buildings? I’m told the reason is that the new office building is “green”.  It’s not. It’s gray. And if they mean “green” like Earth-friendly, well that’s obviously going to be the case.  No one can find the stupid office. That means no one will ever be there. That means no one will need to turn on the lights, use the printers, etc, you get the picture.  Or maybe it’s “green” because now, instead of driving the 25 miles to the office, it’s actually closer for me to just park at home, and walk, since that’s about the equivalent length of our walk on Try #2.

Not to my surprise, I had a dream about this awful new parking situation.  I was in my car, winding around the floors of the parking garage, and they just kept getting smaller and smaller…. to the point, where I had to get out of my car and start crawling through the garage.  My car wouldn’t fit anymore.  So there I am, military-style, crawling on my elbows through the parking garage (apparently trying to find that not-so-nicely-lit “to office building” sign). The further I went, the more obstacles I had to go through (i.e. spider webs… except they didn’t have spiders on them, they had crabs and dead fish… yeah, I don’t know how they got into the dream.  I’ve been sick, so I took some cold medicine before I went to bed. That has to explain the craziness).  I can’t remember if I ever made it to the office or not.  I’m writing this on a Sunday, and I have to stop by the office tomorrow morning before work to pick up a few binders. Hopefully I have better success than last night!

I’m making a change…

Well… this is a hard decision, but I have to move the blog to a once/week ordeal.  While I may be able to keep up the daily pace when I’m not too busy at work, it’s nearly impossible to write everyday when I’m not getting home until late. Sorry people, but I’m choosing sleep/time with hubs, over the blog.  So, tough decision that this may be, I will only post once/week.  It’s better this way anyway (I mean, it’s seriously hard to try to be funny/witty on a daily basis. Sometimes I don’t feel like being funny. Sometimes I just feel like being the boring, old CPA that I am.) I know this is going to affect you all tremendously (ok, let’s get real, it’s going to only affect the 30 or so loyal readers that continue to check my blog everyday… yes, I can see the stats…. And I think you will be able to go on with your lives). Anyway, next post will be next week. Save this link, it’s also coming down from my FB page. Have a good one!

Dream sequence… take two

I was on a boat in Lake Gaston with my dad, and there were fish everywhere! There were dolphins continuously following the boat. We saw 4 sting rays, and even a blue swordfish.  I was on a boat in Lake Gaston with my dad, and there were fish everywhere! There were dolphins continuously following the boat. We saw 4 sting rays, and even a blue swordfish.  That’s not a typo. I literally dreamt the same thing twice in a row.  I woke up in the middle of the night and had my typical troubles falling back to sleep this morning.  So, while I lying there, wide-awake at this point, listening to the not-so-soothing sounds of snoring, I kept telling myself to remember what I had just dreamed so I could write about it in my blog.  I was WAY too lazy to get up and write it down, so I just kept thinking about it.  Well, I eventually fell back to sleep, and literally had the same dream.  That’s not how this is supposed to work!  I usually dream about things that are on my mind (obviously), but with this whole blog thing, when I wake up in the middle of the night, the act of remembering my dreams is on my mind (I’m SO task-oriented!) This could have a serious effect on my blogging skills.  Now I’m completely limited.  I usually have like 5 dreams a night.  I don’t want to dream the same thing 5 times… and I can assure you, that you don’t want me to!  I usually pick and choose the best dreams of the night to write about.  I mean, seriously, I dream about EVERYTHING.  You don’t want to hear/I don’t want to tell you about some of the craziness that I have going on upstairs.  The majority of my dreams are completely unexplainable (i.e. why would I dream about swimming in a parking lot with 2 feet of water or dream about being attacked by a jelly fish that was laying in the sand?), and there are some that I would never write about (i.e…sorry, never going to tell you). That only leaves the few gems that I share with you on a daily basis.  So, this whole “dreaming the same thing twice a night” can’t happen.  Otherwise, I’m going to have to attempt to explain why I was dreaming about a blue swordfish, 4 sting rays, and dolphins while at Lake Gaston… a.k.a., otherwise, there goes my blog. Wish me luck for tonight!

At least I have ants…

Yesterday was one of those days. There was no looking on the bright side.  Nothing went as planned. No one offered any help. It was just me against the world. (Ok, I may be exaggerating a little, but that’s how I felt anyway).  I was walking into a client’s office building, trying to juggle a glass container of pasta salad that I had made for a lunch meeting, a full and very hot Grande brewed coffee with 4 Splendas, and my oversized laptop bag, and somehow open the secure locked doors with my key fob.  There were people all around me, but no one offered to open the door. I know that’s against client policy, since access to the building requires government clearance, but really, do I look that threatening while carrying 2 pounds of pasta salad in my little black dress? I don’t think so. Anyway, it was an impossible task.  I knew I should have just made two trips to the car. A burn wound and ruined pair of hose later, I finally made it in the building (with help from no one). Much like my dream last night. All I was trying to do was build a shed in my parent’s backyard.  I had all of the equipment in my truck, but I couldn’t lift it by myself. I needed help, and no one was around to help me.  No one PERSON that is.  Instead, I had an army of ants that were helping me erect this shed, and they could lift anything. It’s amazing what those little suckers can accomplish!  Thankfully, with their help, everything went as planned. No thanks to humans though . Next time, I’ll know who to ask help me in the door.

Diddy

I went to a baby shower last week for one of my good friends. I’m so excited for them. It’s their first child, and they are one of those couples that you just KNOW are going to be great parents.  For their shower, I got their future son an array of Ralph Lauren monogrammed blue and orange tailgating outfits that he can wear while he watches, alongside his UVA alumni parents, the Cavaliers lose at every widely-accepted sporting event known to man.  (Yes – it was hard to purchase those hideous colors, but one more UVA fan is not going to help them win, so I did it anyway… not to mention that orange and maroon is unfortunately not an option at Ralph Lauren, which is completely ridiculous.  Although this makes sense, since Ralph doesn’t strike me as a real sporty fellow). Anyway, with all of this baby talk, you can imagine what I would dream about…

P.Diddy. Seriously…P. Diddy.  My dreams had nothing to do with babies at all. I just wanted to take a jab at UVA this morning when I was writing my blog (I think I may be feeling a little guilty about my UVA colored purchase or something).  Anyway, back to P. Diddy (or actually, it’s just “Diddy” now… I’ve been keeping up through my E! Online/TMZ news. Personally I think this is a vast improvement since his Puff Daddy days. I mean, really? Puff Daddy? That’s sounds stupid).  Anyway, apparently I needed a ride home and out of nowhere, Kanye West and Diddy offered me one.  Kanye was the driver, and Diddy and I were in the back seat chatting it up the whole time.  Kanye really didn’t say much (he’s apparently learned his lesson about the whole interrupting thing).  On the way home, we passed Diddy’s house, which for some reason, was a white shack with ugly blue shutters.  I cannot, for the life of me, figure this one out.  I mean, I’m a HUGE music fan. I listen to everything. But when I was scanning my music collection this morning, I realized that I don’t really have very many Diddy songs (except the collaborations with B.I.G., MA$E’s Harlem World CD, and the remake of “I’ll be Missing You”). So it’s not like I was listening to him on my hour drive home from work and thus dreamt about him.  It’s a mystery. 

What’s not a mystery, however, is why I dreamt that they gave me a ride home.  I was on my way to work one morning last week in my normal morning daze, and felt the eyes of a neighbor driver in the other lane.  He had a pretty horrified look on his face, and I got pretty defensive about it. (I mean, I WAS running a little late, so I did just throw on an outfit that probably didn’t match, and I doubt that my hair was in that great of shape, but really, I don’t think that justified his horrified look).  A few minutes later, we’re still traveling next to each other, and I realized why he gave such a glare. It had probably been about 10 minutes since my hands had come anywhere close to touching the steering wheel.  I was deep in thought while I was driving to work, so my arms had literally been crossed against my chest the entire time.  Little did the guy know that I’m very experienced at driving with my knees, but I think his look probably kicked off the reasoning behind the dream.  He obviously didn’t want me to drive, and neither did Kayne or Diddy.

No sleep = no dreams = no blog

No post for today.  After watching Virginia Tech beat Georgia Tech last night, there was an unusual turn of events. Anyway, for once, I’ll spare you the details, but seeing that I have not been to sleep since Wednesday night, it is impossible to blog about my dreams. I’m so tired that I may accidentally fall asleep at work today, however, in which case, I will update my post. Otherwise, I promise a good one for Monday.

I’m an addict

I’m such a news junkie. Seriously. I need help.  I probably only read 2 or 3 books a year, but if you totaled all of the news articles that I read in that same time period, I bet it would it fill more pages than the whole Britannica series. I can’t get enough. My daily routine consists of reading all of the major articles in the following newspapers online: FoxNews, CNN, WSJ, USA Today, PilotOnline, Suffolk News Herald, and last but not least, Yahoo news. (Ok fine. I also secretly read TMZ and E! Online. How else I am supposed to keep up to date on the Hollywood scene? I mean, I go to L.A. at LEAST every 2 years, so I have to stay on top of these things.) I love it. And honestly, it helps with my job.  I spend probably 70% of my day talking to people.  Now, I can talk about anything. I can tell you who won the Toronto Maple Leaf hockey game (like anyone cares), give you an update on T.J. Lavin, and at the same time tell you about the Schmalkalden sink hole in Germany (apparently it’s a big one).  So, it’s not a surprise, given the recent news surrounding the border violence in Mexico, that I’m dreaming about being attacked by a boat-load of Mexicans.  While I’m kind of poking fun at my dream, there really is some serious stuff going on down there. Did you hear about the newlywed American couple that was jet skiing on a lake that borders Mexico? I’m trying to keep this light, so if you don’t know what I’m referring to, then Google it.  Also Google what happened to the Mexican police chief that was investigating this attack… It’s absolutely horrible.  So was my dream.  There’s nothing pleasant about taking a relaxing cruise, only to be invaded and attacked by Mexicans. Nope – not pleasant at all.  Now that I’m thinking about it, there’s probably nothing pleasant about the Schmalkalden sink hole either, but given the choice, I’d rather dream about that.

My little black pumps

A little fun fact for you: I have bought, in the past 2 years, about 15 pairs of the exact same black pump shoe from Nine West. They are perfect.  I don’t bother trying them on anymore when I’m buying a new pair. I just go to the counter, order a 7 ½, pay, and leave. No lolly-gagging. Just a quick explanation to the salesperson. Trust me. I’ve owned 14 pairs of this same shoe. I KNOW they fit. They are my “go-to” shoe. They’re stylish enough to wear out with a pair of jeans, but still business-friendly for the workplace.  One flaw… they don’t last. In about a month’s time, that graceful tap they make on the marble floor of our downtown office building turns into the most annoying clack you’ve ever heard.  It’s seriously one of my biggest pet-peeves.  I can spot (or rather hear) aged shoes for miles.  Can they not hear that their 4” stilettos are begging to be thrown away? The nail has worn to the nub – it’s time to give them up.  I’ve learned over the years that this dilemma permeates throughout every price point.  It doesn’t matter if you own $800 Jimmy Choo’s or $29.99 no-names. They all have a shelf life.  The shelf life for my shoes is about a month, depending on what client that I’m working on for the duration.  I’ll keep this secret for client confidentiality purposes, but seriously, one of our client’s really needs to think about resurfacing their parking lot. HELLO!?! You’re costing your employees at least an extra $600/year in shoes. It’s SO frustrating! What’s also frustrating? I dreamt last night that upon my exit of one of our client’s buildings, I tripped, and scuffed up my new shoes. My brand new shoes.  They still made the perfect tap on the marble floor, but now, they had this ridiculous hole on the top of the shoe. Great… there goes another Ben Franklin.

Fashionably late

There are SO many things that one person could worry about in the world. Finances. Family. Remembering to feed your dog. Crazy People. Obviously, the list goes on.  But why, may I ask, do I have to worry about remembering my locker combination from high school? WHY? Out of every possible thing that I have to worry about and remember (and write down on a To-Do list, because I’m definitely one of those To-Do list people), WHY do I have to worry about this? This isn’t the first time, and I’m sure it’s unfortunately not the last. This is one (of two) recurring dreams that I have.  I’ll give you the short version of this dream, since, like the Zoolander movie that I mentioned before, I can tell you exactly how this one goes every time.  I know this dream well.  The 3-minute warning bell has just rung. I need a book from my locker.  I can’t remember the combination, and I can’t remember what cycle of classes today’s schedule falls on (i.e. we don’t have block scheduling, so we rotate the same 6 periods differently each day).  How stressful is that? Really!? I never finish the dream.  I never know if I make it to class on time or if I get a pink slip for being late.  The stress of the dream somehow wakes me up just in time to never know the ending.  I didn’t realize how much the 3-minute bell must have had an effect on me, because really, I’ve been out of high school now for 9 years!

Funny story… my mom sent me an email the other day to tell me that she loves my blog, but was glad she wasn’t in it that day.  Well, sorry mom, but I might have to blame this recurring dream on you. J We were NEVER late growing up.  We were one of those families that lived by the rule “If you’re early, you’re on-time. If you’re on-time, you’re late. If you’re late, don’t even bother showing up.” So now, present day, I’m completely annoyed by everyone’s tardiness.  Somehow this didn’t affect my sister. Sure, she can be fashionably late. I, on the other hand, cannot.  I mean, really, don’t get me started about that whole concept.  Fashionably late?! Please. If something starts at 7pm, I’m going to get there at 7pm. Why on Earth would I show up at 7:30pm? If that’s really what the invitee intended for me to do, then why wouldn’t they just put 7:30pm on the invitation.  And why does this only seem to apply to certain events? i.e. Our wedding invitation said 4pm.  Everyone was there by 4pm (except for a few stragglers, which I still know by name (and outfit choice)).  i.e. My husband’s employers says he has to be at work at 8am.  I don’t think it would be ok if he showed up “fashionably late” every day. I just don’t understand when you’re supposed to know when to be fashionably late. i.e. Is it ok to be fashionably late to class? Maybe we learned that on a day when we were late, and living by the cardinal rule, we didn’t bother showing up. But clearly, I must have missed that day at school. Otherwise, I could put this dream to rest. Ugh.

The Happening

I watched less than two minutes of a scary movie yesterday, against my own good judgment, and darn it, if I didn’t have a nightmare last night.  All I wanted to do was catch a quick glimpse of Mark Wahlberg, but no, I watched just enough to have to check underneath the bed and in the closets before I went to sleep last night. (Side note: I ALWAYS check under the covers for spiders. Not going to be surprised by one of those guys in the middle of the night. Gross.) I just don’t understand it. My co-worker watches scary movies all the time (apparently it’s her thing), and she says that she sleeps great.  Meanwhile, I watch one episode of Scooby-Doo, and I’m haunted by cartoon ghosts for a week! Life is not fair. So there I was last night, walking back to my dorm room at college, and this masked man came running at me as fast as he could.  I let out a truly horrifying shriek (probably one of my best). Enough so, that this masked individual decided that his scare tactics weren’t so funny anymore, and he revealed himself as someone that I went to high school with. (Side note #2: I haven’t heard from, thought about, or seen this individual literally since the day that we graduated.  But I recognized him immediately.  Of course, he looked the same as in high school. In real life, I doubt that’s true.)  Anyway, he felt so bad for terrorizing me, that he offered me ten bucks to take a cab so I wouldn’t have to walk home by myself.  I’m exhausted today. I don’t think I sleep well when I have nightmares. Tonight, I’m watching the Disney Channel… unless of course, one of Mark’s movies is on. J