The Accidental Olympian

I FEAR FOR MY UNBORN CHILDREN

I'm totally going to be THAT mother.

After 6 years without having a dog I am finally in a place where I can be a responsible pet owner, so I went out and adopted little Oly. I've raised a puppy before, so I got all the right puppy supplies, even refreshed myself on some training techniques. We brought her home, and then my anxiety set in.

The first three nights I didn't sleep, like at all. I lay there, sleeping in little half hour bursts, continuing to wake up and listen to see if she needed to be let out of her crate. Adam would snore, or roll over, and I would wake up, listening for her. Of course she slept through the night without issue, but there I was lying in the dark, neurotic as all hell. In the morning I would just sit on the floor of the kitchen, watching her, playing with her, feeling like I wasn't able to leave my spot to get more coffee or go to the bathroom. I didn't clean my house, I didn't make myself real meals, I sort of just doted on the dog hand and foot while slowly loosing my mind. I felt ill through my entire birthday lunch with Adam because I was counting down the time Oly was at home, willing her through bites of sushi to please not tear my kitchen to shreds.

We've had her for three weeks and one day now, so things have definitely gotten better. I can now leave the house for extended periods of time, I sleep better at night, and I no longer sit in the kitchen staring at her, almost willing her to tell me what she needs for hours at a time. But even though I'm so much better in some ways, I still get anxious about the weirdest things. I'm that girl sending Adam a text message that says, "Make sure before you leave in the morning she's gone #1 and #2." Can you think of a more disgusting way to start your day? Me neither. I still get anxious about getting up in the middle of the night, thinking I might wake up the dog. Ashley, she's a DOG. She'll go back to sleep, chill out. I'll even catch myself wondering, "Will she get really bored if I go upstairs and clean for a couple hours and leave her outside?" SERIOUSLY.

Ashley, please step away from the puppy.

700 years from now, if I ever find myself holding the oh-so-scary title of MOM, I am going to need some serious meds, a wickedly talented therapist, and a wack over the head at least every other day.

Sanity can be such a struggle.

POOR POPS, HE ALWAYS WANTED ME TO BE A GOLFER

Since I was a little tyke all my dad wanted was that either my sister or I would grow up to become amazing golfers. He was always telling us how women's golf scholarships were the biggest untapped resources for women, how there were millions to be made in pro golf, and how if we didn't love golf, well then there must be something seriously wrong with us.

Honestly girls, you don't love golf? Then you must be some other dudes kids, definitely NOT mine.

So, like all children looking for ways to irritate their parents, Emmaly and I decided to hate golf. Because wow, look how red Dad's face gets when I say I hate golf! COOL!!!!

Then something weird happened. I kinda started to like the idea of playing golf. I mean, it's outside, there is a guy in a little cart who drives by and sells you BEER and SNACKS while you golf, you get to rent golf carts and crash them into your friends, there are actually some cute little golf numbers you can wear, and oh, did I mention that it's a sport where it's encouraged to casually drink while performing the complex art of placing a tiny ball in a hole millions of feet away? Sign me up.

Problem is, I kinda SUCK. A lot. Like really really hard. I mean, see, this is me in a sand trap. The worst place on a golf course to end up. Even better? It is only 20 minutes into our game. Daddy, aren't you proud?

I mean, when I swing, it's always a crap shoot. Putting, well it's just painful to watch. And I'm actually really surprised I haven't maimed anyone yet with a wild chip shot.

But I guess there's always next week.

For now I'll keep dragging my unemployed ass out on the course HOPING that one of these days my dad's super golfer genes will kick in. I mean, I don't think I'm the mailman's kid, so there should be some paternal golf skill in there somewhere right? At the end of the day, the only thing really hurting is my pride, so when two rounds, plus two beers only cost $29 TOTAL at the Airport Golf Center, even my broke ass can afford to suck it up on the course all day long.

 

PORTRAITS OF AN ECONOMY

For most of us unemployed types, losing your job is a really, really lonely feeling. Although you read over and over about how unemployment is on the rise, such and such huge company laid off hundreds or thousands of employees, it's still lonely. There are all these fellow unemployed folks out there suffering along with me, yet I don't know any of them. I can't listen to their stories, we can't share tips on bargain hunting, there are no support groups to attend, no one's giving me that knowing pat on the back. Instead there are just a lot of other people WITH jobs saying things like, "Wow, I'm really sorry. That sucks."

But then I heard about a blog where other unemployed people were actually coming together. A place where people in my shoes tell their stories, find confidence to apply for yet another job they might not get, and most of all, feel like there are others out there suffering along with them. 

Portraits of an Economy, a blog managed by Rebecca Woolf, the blogger behind the lovely Girls Gone Child, accepts stories from everyday people, posts them online, and steps back as a community comes to life. On a whim I submitted my story last week, and recently found out I was selected. I'm not sure if everyone who submits is featured, or if some don't make the cut, but either way I'm happy to have been selected if only to continue to reach out and give, and maybe even receive a virtual Internet hug from other unemployed peeps. 

Click here if you'd like to read my story...

 

VIEW FROM MY FRONT STEPS

Not a bad way to end a day.

YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT. I'M ROCKING A SNUGGIE.

The Snuggie. A half mu-mu, sorta fuzzy hospital gown thingy, sold at night on bad infomercial channels. An over priced piece of fabric you assume. A fricken blanket with ARMS. This blanket actually has arm holes people. Absolutely ridiculous right?

WRONG!

Best invention ever! You can wear it on the couch when you're too lazy to put on any clothes and still be decent. You can wear it while eating food horizontally, and if you spill something on yourself, you just take it off and throw it all in the laundry. Clean and simple. A no-mess, no-fuss garment that is comfy, AND stylish. if you close your eyes, and squint. For us unemployed people, getting dressed is overrated. So to have a garment that is both an outfit, AND a blanket is pretty much like hitting the jackpot.

See, once I was a Snuggie hater like you. I looked down on the Snuggie. Thought that the people who bought, and then used Snuggies were simply lazy lazy human beings. And then, then I participated in a Snuggie fashion show, and my world flipped upside down.

My Snuggie stylist Russ opened my eyes as he manipulated the Snuggie, putting in one arm, draping the other, tucking the main portion behind me, and what do you have? A one armed toga dress people. Red carpet ready. Or at least grocery store ready. Come with the arms from underneath, then tuck it up in the back, and you've got yourself a lovely little one piece. Wrap, pull, tuck and bend that Snuggy into FASHION PEOPLE.

Thank you Russ, I'll never look at a Snuggy the same way ever again.

 

It's amazing what sort of things you'll do after a margarita.

Or five.