I was an avid watcher of The Bachelor series for years. I would clear my schedule, get my drinks and snacks ready and sit down and get totally involved in the lives of the girls trying to find love on national TV. Did I think they were really going to find true love? No. But I admired their guts for trying and, while some of them were there for fame and to ‘win’, a few were actually looking for their Prince Charming.
These days, I just seem to DVR the shows, watch the first night to see who all the competitors are and then read the recaps online. When I have time I’ll watch an occasional episode here and there but where it used to validate my good choices in life, it now makes me feel old and bitter. Instead of laughing at the silly girl trying to put two words together after copious amounts of wine, I’m now shaking my head and saying things like “That poor sweet stupid child.” Or “Oh honey, how could you love him? You’ve had one conversation about cheese with him and there were eighty people and cameras watching.”
And who needs to be reminded that my bikini days are long behind me even if my “very, very dense breast tissue” is giving their implants a run for their money? Not I.
Perhaps I should start watching the way Brother and his lady do. They’ve turned watching the show into a game, putting money on the girl they think will win and having to anti up more and pick someone else if she gets knocked out early. I like the way they think but betting with myself isn’t that much fun and there is no way Husband will part take in a bet unless shame to the loser is on the table.
When it comes to the other reality shows that are out there, like Desperate Housewives of Beverly Hills or Keeping up with the Kardashians, I’ve never been a fan. They don’t make sense to me. Yes, they all have lives very different than mine but why watch them live it? And live it to such excess?
But all my righteous judging has gone out the window now that I’ve seen this:
And suddenly I am SO excited about The Private Lives of Nashville Wives.
Now, I live in Nashville and I have been a wife for almost nine years and not once has there been a moment that I see in this trailer clip that matches my life here. Where's the episode they find baby squirrels in their basement or are visiting the DIY store for the sixth time in a weekend or are cleaning mouse poop from under the kitchen cabinets? Or the episode where humidity has made their hair the size of a small house as they're battling ticks in the yard? There is not one single thing that resembles me in these women.
So, of course I'm FASCINATED. Come February 24th I'll be parked in front of my TV - maybe I'll get myself a glass of wine, though I reserve the right to change the wine to rum which might make my recap even more exciting - and I'm going to watch Nashville Wives. My current plan is to recap the episodes each week but I make no promises until I’ve seen the first one. Only so much wine can get me through car crash TV and this might just be that. Then again, maybe I'll pick up a thing or two... School is in session February 24th, 2014!
Yesterday I had a mammogram. It was one of those “We see something we’d like to keep an eye on so come back in six months” mammograms. Not as fun as the regular kind – if you call having your mammaries squished between two plastic shelves for five minutes at a time of “hold that position, please” fun. This was like the regular fun one but then they include an extra set of squishing between even smaller plastic shelves and weirder held positions on the “area of concern” that is just plain painful.
The mammogram was to be on Right breast in an area that was ‘probably benign.’ That, by the way, does not instill confidence in all things medical. Giving someone a form that has a checklist that includes the words ‘probably’ and ‘suspicious abnormality’ is not a lovely “You’re fine. Thanks and see you next time”
I always go into these things trying to be bright and chatty and ignore parts where the woman I just met seconds ago fondling my bits and maneuvering me into awkward possessions. Yesterday was particularly hard to chat. My doc had given the okay to take a second look at Left but hadn’t told Squishier. And “for insurance purposes” Squishier can’t squish without an okay from the doc – who was with patients but she said she could squish if I pointed out the lump. So now, “for insurance purposes,” I have to prove I have a lump worth squishing right now. Me, who hates confrontation. Me, who has ignored said lump for months, just sharing its discovery with Husband before he finally nagged me into calling doc and getting her to add Left to Right’s second look date. And now, I’m standing in the middle of a room that is not at all warm with hands that are frozen looking for a lump I found in the shower that is hiding because it knows exactly what comes next. No cheery chat for me.
Lump located and sticker attached, the squishing began. Squishier kept asking if I was okay but my brain panic was on overdrive and her hands were on my chesticles and she didn’t remember our last date six months ago when we covered all the topics I have for this type of situation so I just nodded yes and smiled my brittle smile and on we went. Left was flattened. Right was squashed. And then both were compacted again with the smaller plastic panels. And when Squishier was finished, she had me wait in the little dressing room in my dressing gown thing until the radiation tech gave the okay for me to leave.
I was told I needed an ultrasound on both Left and Right and they’d be right with me. Now I’m sitting in the tiny dressing room, trying to keep my brain from coming up with possible scenarios for what could happening in my bazoombas, wearing just a robe on my top half that keeps gaping open because the ties are never in the right place, my arms through my jacket to try and keep the girls warm as they settle back into the shape they came in as when the lady who was going to do the ultrasound pops her head around the door. AND IT WAS THE SAME ONE WHO ‘FOUND’ MY UTERUS last time I was in.
There was a moment of recognition in her eyes, which probably reflected the horror in mine. And then I followed her down the hallway to her room. She didn’t acknowledge that she knew me. I didn’t acknowledge that she had found a uterus where one no longer existed. It was a good time.
In the room that was the scene of the previous womb finding incident, I followed her instructions, got on the table, raised my arm above my head and off we went, goo applied to boob, ultrasound wand pushed into goo and pictures appearing on the screen that looked like a stills from old black and white alien movies. My second date with a woman who was so uncomfortable, she shook and couldn't manage even a modicum of small talk. Forty-five minutes and warm icky goo everywhere later, she went off to confirm with the radiation tech. And, probably because I’m red flagged in a file as the one with the extra uterus that wasn’t; he came back in with her for a second look. More goo and smashing and both Left and Right were cleared. Tech showed me the ‘areas of concern’ and pointed out I have “very, very dense breasts.” He led every sentence with that - again, probably because of the flag in my file – “You have very, very dense breasts tissue but I do not see anything warranting any further testing at this time”
And that was that. They left me to clean off goo and dress and then Ultrasound Tech walked me out with an awkward good-bye smile and a very polite platitude about the weather.
I have another date scheduled for Right in six months because “You have very, very dense breast tissue and we’d like to confirm that this area has not changed.”
I’m thinking of putting that on my resume, has very, very dense breast tissue. I think it will fit in right after flexible and organized and right next to bulky cervix. Might be the edge I need in this competitive job market.
I am currently typing this while sitting at my kitchen ‘counter’. My laptop is balanced precariously on the top of the base cabinet where I plan to stash my china. I’m looking out the window on my left at the woods that are currently dear free. They are mostly sticks of various shades of grey right now, reflecting the morning sunrise on their sparse trunks but, in the summer, it will feel like I’m in the treetops. And from here, I can see out the kitchen deck door and right into the tree Owl lives. If I had Bionic Man’s magic eye, I’d be looking at Owl right now from right where I’m sitting at my new kitchen ‘counter.
Last night I spent some time looking through cabinets and cupboards and planning where to put stuff. Because we’ve been living on takeout and toaster oven meals and snacks, I’m a bit overwhelmed by the possibilities of food storage. Take this cupboard for example –
Now the workman put the shelves in for me and he apparently put ALL of the possible shelves in there. I will be taking some out because seriously, that’s a lot of can storage. A LOT!
And not only do we have that cupboard for food storage but we have one with pull out drawers right next to it and we have a big lazy Susan in the corner cabinet next to the cooktop. I’ve never had a lazy Susan. What the heck do I put in there? Husband would say I’d figure it out, that I could fill any cabinet and countertop. And I would tell him to shut it. But he’s right, I could and I will fill these all up. We have about 30 boxes of stuff yet to unpack down in the basement and about half of them are kitchen goods. And these are boxes I packed the fall of 2012 so it’ll be like Christmas all over again as I open the surprises that were once necessary in our lives.
I’m off to play house. Well, I’m off to clean and then play house. The kitchen isn't actually finished so I'm just playing in some of it but still, it's pretty awesome! Just think, a year ago this week, we were getting our stuff off the truck and I was unpacking kitchen stuff and I pulled open the drawer in the corner and found it full of mouse poop. What a lovely difference a year has made! If I weren’t so excited to go play, I’d make some deep and meaningful statement about how good things take time and unpacking the things we hold on to can bring change and mouse poop is aways icky and yada yada yada – but I’m just going to go play house like the silly child I feel like right now and wish you all a happy Wednesday.
In order to gain back approximately 600 sq. ft., we spent yesterday hiding out in approximately 24 sq. ft. avoiding the workmen and the stinky off-gassing cabinets. We being Husband, me and Tigger the dog. Husband was working. I was pretending to work and Tigger the Dog was alternating between pacing, whining, lying on her back legs splayed wide open and squeaking every toy she could – mostly when Husband took his work call off mute to answer a question. It was awesome.
At one point I took her for a walk in the 24deg chill and I played ball with her a few times but she knew there were people in the house she couldn’t vet and cover in hair and bark at and it was driving her nuts. So she drove us nuts. Joy.
I HATE dealing with workers in my house. I feel, at all times, like I’m asking too much from them, that Husband is asking too much from them and, even when I’m paying them and it’s clear I’m paying them, I feel like an utter shit. UTTER SHIT.
I have spent the last three months putting my life on hold for folks like the window guy and the stone guy and this guy and that guy. Ugh. And they have all been late. And, when they were in fact onsite, shit went tits up and temper tantrums were thrown - and not thrown by me. And I have no clue what to do when a worker is having a shit day in my house, throwing his nail gun down and cussing and stomping about. I do not know how to make that situation better.
And I like situations to be better, and calm and easy. I have enough angst in my head I do not need to add in someone else’s.
I was told the stone guys installing the hearth were coming around noon. They showed up at 3:15. A whole morning and part of an afternoon I could have been doing something else productive, or least pretending to be doing something productive. And then, when they got there, I had to make continued calls to Husband about the hearth placement etc. because the guy who measured wasn’t the guy who came over and somehow between all those phone calls, it was not once mentioned that Husband wanted the hearth set into the fireplace box until after they glued it down. AFTER they’d glued it down. Then I had two unhappy guys in the house having to pull up a granite stone hearth without damaging the hearth OR the floor and then cut it and then re-glue it. No one was in a good mood then - least of all me in my useless capacity of lame duck assistant.
And it was raining, so every time they went out to get something from their truck, they had to traipse back in on our new but not finished floor and yes, they wiped their feet but work boots aren’t smooth surfaces and their treads don’t wipe out and so foot prints all over the floor. Something else for Husband to grumble about and for me to shout back that “I HATE all this stuff.” And for him to yell back, “That’s what being a grown-up is about.”
I QUIT. Before he fires me, I quit. This stuff is too hard and not at all enjoyable and not what I signed up for when we moved out here.
And just now, Husband’s informed me that the cabinet over the cooktop is wrong. The cabinet over the cooktop that hides the vent that is there to extract all the cooking smells from the things we will be cooking or, in my case, burning. The cabinet that is screwed and glued to the wall and the other cabinets is wrong and will need to be replaced. ACK!
I am SO glad I’m going into work today. That I get to expand my space and my mood and I don’t have to be the one here in the uncomfortable icky 600 sq. ft. of opinions and power tools. Husband can deal with that. Tigger the Dog is on her own!
Since I don’t like this discombobulated angry feeling, I’m going to end this post on a positive happy and joyful wildlife note:
On Sunday I surprised Owl who was hanging out in the bushes just a foot away from me and I got to watch him/her take off and fly around the house. I’m guessing the Chipmunks he/she was stalking have erected a statue of me in my honor.
On Monday a massive hawk sat on the tree branch in the middle of the backyard and I got to watch it see me, poop in derision and then take off, flying off and around the trees at the bottom of the hill.
And this morning, a herd of deer wandered through the yard eating a buffet breakfast. They crossed the road and made the mistake of going up the hill into the yard with the million barking dogs. They quickly reconsidered their path choice and came bounding down the hill and through our yard doing these spectacular leaps over rocks and bushes. It was pretty awesome to watch and much better to look at than cabinets that have to be unscrewed, unglued and replaced.
My new life therapy plan is a window seat. One I can go to when I need a time-out from all the icky grown-up stuff. Odds are, I'm going to be sitting there a lot!
THE KITCHEN CABINETS ARE GETTING INSTALLED TODAY!!!
I’m trying to not get too excited about it since something will go wrong. Already our refrigerator is delayed. And our oven is delayed. And our countertops will be delayed. Bugger.
So, instead of thinking of all those things that could go wrong, that have gone wrong, I’m going to think of all the things that I will be able to do once the cabinets are in:
1. When I make my breakfast, I won’t have to walk 26+ feet to the sink in the guest bathroom to wash my dishes.
2. When I go into the guest bathroom to wash my dishes, Tigger the Dog won’t follow me and hover outside the door waiting for a treat from the linen closet. The linen closet where I currently have the dog treats, the cleaning supplies, the plant food, the extra vases, the mops, paper towels – everything but linens. Now I NEVER feed TTD from the linen closet but, while she is bone dumb about some things, she is wicked smart about anything food related. She can hear me think about eating and boom, she’s right at my side drooling. Note to self: Find some linens for the linen closet.
4. Dishwasher! I will be able to wash my dishes in a dishwasher and not a teeny tiny sink in the icky brown granite guest bathroom where, if you tilt the mug the wrong way, you’ll break the handle off your favorite mug.
5. The guest bathroom will become that again, a guest bathroom. Not a kitchen sink, kitchen counter, paint brush cleaner, dish rack, AND guest bathroom. Do you know when you flush the toilet with the seat open, tiny particles of urine and feces fly up into the air. Try feeling good about eating off a plate that was dried in the bathroom when a guest has used the toilet and not put down the seat to flush. Husband’s eating issues have become mine.
6. DISHWASHER! Why is it listed twice? See above and note the proximity of the toilet to the dish drainer. Ew.
7. With my cup of tea in my next favorite mug, I’ll be able to sit at the kitchen counter and look out at the woods and have possible Owl sightings while writing deep thoughts. I won’t be stuck in the corner of the office/bedroom/TV room/dining room with my back to the driveway and a of view of the pile of bricks on the pallets. The bricks we were saving for reuse on when we built the kitchen deck. The pallets that are disintegrating and, while totally unsightly, have become a five star apartment complex for the chipmunks.
8. Food will become something to savor again. Not leftovers heated in a toaster oven, balanced precariously on the folding table or nuked in the wonky microwave that currently lives on the floor next to the dog food. A delicacy, not just simple concoctions I thought I wouldn’t be eating for dinner at my age – like tuna and chips on toasted white bread. I will, however, no longer be able to use the lack of kitchen as an excuse for my bad eating habits but I'm pretty sure I can live with that.
9. At some point, when the new fridge comes in, we’ll be able to move the current fridge out of the foyer and into the basement where it’ll become a beer and wine fridge. And we’ll get some beer and wine and sit in our new kitchen and drink. And we can sit in our new den and drink. I’m smiling so hard right now.
10. Eating out will become an occasion again. Not a five-minute argument and then a sullen settle on whatever place we haven’t gone to this week.
There’s more I could come up with but I’m SO EXCITED I forgot to shower before writing and I have to get ready because OUR CABINETS ARE COMING TODAY! And maybe, by the end of this week, we can get our couches set up in the den and we can cook a meal in the kitchen and eat it in the dining room and then sit in the den and just relax… I CAN’T WAIT!!!!!!!!!!!
Since this is my life we’re talking about, odds are something will go wrong and tomorrow's post will be bitter and sad but until that actually happens, here is a before cabinets shot. Fingers crossed, tomorrow there will be an after cabinets shot.
My name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me