The Accidental Olympian

OH DECEMBER. HOW I'VE FAILED YOU.

When I was little the month of December was something I counted down to, a month that I ached for, loved with my ENTIRE being because I felt it was completely and utterly magical in every sense of the word. And not simply because Santa was coming. I mean, he was cool and all while he lasted, but he was exposed as a fraud somewhere in the early days. Right around the time a trip to my mother's closet uncovered THE AMERICAN GIRL DOLL I ASKED SANTA TO GIVE ME FOR CHRISTMAS. Poof, there went that dream. After that little discovery, December very quickly became much more about magic all month long than the one day of Santa. 

Yet, as I’ve aged it seems my love affair with December is beginning to fray at the edges. This December will officially go down in the record books as one of the hardest, and least magical yet.

This will always be the December where I got caught up in all the wrong things. The year where the question of if I had enough decorations to make my home truly CHRISTMASY nearly drove me off the edge financially, and mentally. The year where I allowed my anxiety to swirl into a tangled mess and push away the people in this world who love me the deepest. It’s the December where in an effort to feel less GUILTY about all the people I’d hurt manifested into a spending spree of epic proportions far beyond my capabilities. Instead of dealing with my decision and my issues like someone who wears big girl pants I instead ran around like a crazy person and tried to single handedly pull us out of a recession. Whooo—hoooo high five for mindless guilt ridden spending!

How ever did I get so tremendously lost?  How could it be possible to wreck the holiday I cherish the most? Instead of being over the moon excited for this holiday weekend to start, a holiday I’ve grown to love for the way it transforms people, places and memories, instead I am wishing it away as fast as possible. We leave for Bend, OR tonight to spend Christmas with Adam's parents, and all I am doing is hoping I can wake up and it be 2010. Please let it be 2010 already. Is it 2010 yet? No? Damn.

It's all so terribly sad. And I can't begin to explain how terribly tired I am. 

As I swim around in all these confusing emotions, I wish you a December of my past. Hell maybe even a Hanukah (my Jewish brotherin, please explain to me why there are TWO ways to spell Hanukah. Sometimes you see it with a C, sometimes an H. I need help. Love your confused pagan friend, Ashley), Kwanzaa, Christmas or even Winter Solstice if it makes you merry. May it be filled with twinkle lights, food, inviting candle light, laughter, games, conversation, memories, joy, love, family and wonder. Or really, whatever a wonderful holiday means to YOU.

May we all be a little better to one another, and learn valuable lessons from our mistakes.

I know that’s my only Christmas wish this year.

HURRY! I HAVE GOOD NEWS!

So back in March when I started this blog the only thing I thought would come of it was that it would be a fantastic way to kill some of the 40+ hours a week I was spending at home alone being pathetic and unemployed. I knew my mom would read it, hoped maybe a friend or two might glance at it, but really that’s about as far as my imagination carried me.

Then before I knew it, ALL YOU FABULOUS PEOPLE SHOWED UP and I was like, “Um excuse me? Are you lost?” But no, turns out you aren’t lost, which is amazing and delightful. Please, come over to my house, I shall cook you something and get you drunk in appreciation.

Even more wild than knowing that there are real live people who read this blog is having a great company like Cookware.com contact me to see if I would be interested in giving something back to the people. They actually allowed ME, crazy o’l me look around on their site and pick something out to give to YOU my fantabulous readers!

SO, I was instantly drawn to the Rachael Ray Cookware section, because no matter what you say about her voice, I LOVE her food, but then something even more scrumptious caught my eye.  Not sure if you know this about me, but I am obsessed with Le Creuset. I frequently get distracted by the Le Creuset section of my grocery store and stop to pet the tea pots which I am fully aware is weird and creepy behavior. Seeing as I can’t actually afford to own any of their items, I immediately headed over to the Le Creusset section of the website to pick something out for YOU. I wanted to give a lucky reader a kitchen full of this stuff, but alas I had limits. BUT, even with my limitations I was able to find an ADORABLE little serving dish with a snazzy lid in their price range.

One lucky reader will win the Le Creuset 12oz Petite Oval Casserole Dish. If you actually know how to bake adorable miniature casseroles, more power to you. I would probably use this for things like salsa or dip at parties, but hey, some of us are classy, and some of us just aren’t. I can live with that.

So, if you want a chance to win this lovely little dish of adorableness, write ANYTHING in the comments. What you’d make with it if it was yours, a funny story, hell just introduce yourself if you’ve been reading in the shadows. HI! NICE TO MEET YOU! WOULD YOU LIKE A TINY CASSEROLE DISH? I ain't picky. I’ll use a random generator to pick a number, and then POOF! This Friday I’ll close the comments at 5, and after that I'll contact the winner to get their info and ask what color they want!

People, it doesn’t get any easier than that.

So go, comment away, and if you’re lucky this little guy might just come home with you.*

*disclaimer, only US and Canadian readers please. I know, I know, sorry I don’t make the rules.

SOME DAYS I FEEL AS IF I AM DROWNING

The first blogger I ever fell in love with was the hilarious Laurie of Crazy Aunt Purl. I was originally pulled into her archives by her humor, but quickly became hooked by the way she hung out her dirty laundry for the entire world to see; read at your own risk. Her blog started as a way to cope with her painful divorce, and as she took stock in her life she realized she had been dealing with an unhappy marriage by racking up a nice pile of debt. Scary, bone crushing, swallow you whole, DEBT.

She publicly proclaimed that to dig herself out of this mountain of debt she would be taking a stand against meaningless shopping. If it wasn’t a necessity she would no longer be buying. Desires be dammed. I read these words via her archive in the early portion of 2008. The very same year where each paycheck of mine seemed to barely stretch through that first weekend. The same year where I was living a life way beyond my means simply because this is what I thought being a college graduate was supposed to look like.

Simple concept right? If you don’t NEED it, DON'T buy it. Yet people flooded her inbox with proclamations of disgust. "HOW COULD YOU????" they raged. Not buying yourself something because you want it? How un-American.

Personally, I thought she was a GENIUS. Then and there I decided to join Laurie on her spending freeze. Together we would rule the world, and our finances.

I had a goal. Eliminate ALL credit card dept, open a savings account, and if I wanted something I would need to wait until the money was there. Money would be direct deposited from each paycheck in increments of $50 to my savings account, and if something I wanted was $100, I would need to wait until I had $150, take out the $100 and leave $50. My rule was to always leave my savings account $50 heavier than when I started, thereby ensuring that I could eventually purchase what I wanted, while also slowly building a safety net.

I felt so damn empowered. Strong, determined. And honestly, sometimes like a poor sack of shit. Yet sacrifices had to be made and I was learning to deal with that sometimes cold reality. Honestly, from the looks of my current designer jean collection you’d have no clue I was a poor sonofabitch. Thinking like that HAD to change. I no longer allowed myself to run out and drop $600 on my credit card to shop for clothes, because although I loved them, wanted them, and knew I would cherish and appreciate each item, I DIDN’T HAVE THE MONEY. Ashley, welcome to living within your means. Pain is money.

Eventually one card was completely paid off. I felt like a fucking super hero. Living by the savings account was hard, but working! It might have taken me two months to save for that new vacuum I needed, but when I paid for it in cash I had saved instead of putting it on my credit card, I loved that damn vacuum as if I birthed it myself. Before I knew it I could see the end of the finish line with my second card. Only $220 to go before I was free of huge credit card payments and ready to dedicate more precious funding into my savings account where it belonged.

Then on December 5th, 2008 I lost my job.

All my plans, all my hard work, and all that sacrifice was lost. Savings wiped out. Dept climbing with each week. The sticker, “DO NOT USE ME! I AM EVIL!” that once graced the front of my last credit card was subsequently removed and the spending just to remain above water began. I would try to assure myself that this was all temporary. Once I found a job I could return to my plan with vigor, I could again work tirelessly and finish what I was once so close to accomplishing. I kept telling myself that once I had a job I would be ok.

So what happens when you finally find that job, and you’re so thankful to be able to simply pay your bills again, so thankful to be able to see any income, but truly living within your means is still physically impossible? I want so badly to return to the land of debt reduction, to a place where each sacrifice I make also gives me joy in knowing that I’m accomplishing something bigger, but I honestly can’t yet live my life even in the barest sense without that piece of shinny plastic.

Adam and I try to remind each other to ‘live within our means’ so often I am sure I mumble it in my sleep. But how do you live within your means when your means aren’t even enough to get you through? If the money is gone three days after payday, do I just stop buying groceries? If I run out of gas do I simply stop driving? If Oly runs out of dog food do I revert to feeding her scraps? When we discovered that the support beam on our porch was rotted out and hosting an ant farm, were we supposed to just shrug and look the other way? I know what sacrifice feels like, but we also have to have some limits.

I still smile, and laugh, and spend time with friends. I still make vows to stop being such a scrooge always chanting, 'next time', and instead allow myself to spend for the right reasons. I still take pictures, and snuggle up to watch good movies. I still look forward to making new memories, and think of ways to brighten the lives of people close to me. I still find myself amazed by the beauty in nature. But in those same moments I’m also really scared. Because this time I can’t see the end. I can’t manage to work towards a goal right now because no matter how hard I try I can’t even manage to wrap my mind around what needs to be done to fix this. This inability to line out a game plan scares me more than I want to admit because it makes me feel helpless. And more than anything, most days I’m petrified that I’ve lost control.

How many of us live under the shadow of bone crushing debt and say nothing? How many of us feel pressure to live above our means, only to come home and quake at the site of our bank statements? Why does no one talk about this?

ORIGAMI FLOWERS

Two weekends ago when my fabulous Catch Phrase loving guests arrived in Olympia I scratched my head regarding where to take them. With only one full day to introduce them to my city, I wanted to make sure I gave them a memorable view of this place I now call home. Being huge foodies I knew the Olympia Farmers Market  was sure to be a hit. We entered the market with dreams of peaches, nectarines, blue berries, and fresh Washington apples, and before I knew it I was drawn to the floral displays, standing mouth ajar in utter awe of these naturally grown master pieces.

I know I'm no master gardener or anything, but I was pretty sure until two weekends ago that sunflowers only came in one variety. Tall and sunflower-like. Do these even qualify as sunflowers any longer? It's like someone took a typical sunflower and stuck its finger in a light socket. I'm going to rename them 'Super Poofs.' Because I'm five.

I love dahlias because they look like something that belongs under the sea among the coral reefs rather than growing here in the Northwest. Next year I'm going to try my hand at growing some dahlias. If I'm lucky, next spring I'll have my own little sea scape right in my back yard. 

 

These were my favorite flowers of the day.  I had to reach out and touch them because as I stood there I honestly wondered if these were origami flowers instead of something living. Absolutely spectacular.

CHRISTMAS CAME EARLY IN THIS HOUSE

I feel kind of giddy right now. I just bought Adam and I our Christmas present! Two tickets to see White Christmas at the 5th Avenue Theater in Seattle on December 19th. 

Don't be all weird, I didn't ruin a surprise or anything. He already knows. Although I wouldn't be surprised if I muffed a surprise publicly on the internet. I REALLY suck at surprises.  

We figured, well actually we already know that Christmas this year wont exactly be a time where we give each other 50 inch plasma TV's as gifts. So, we decided that a night of Christmas theater and maybe a mildly nice dinner in downtown Seattle with the lights blazing and carolers out in full force would be a great little treat for the two of us. Plus, it's doesn't get more Christmas cheer than that.

Christmas is my favorite time of year. Fall has dramatically altered the landscape from neon greens to deep reds and yellows, suddenly you find yourself excited to bust out your favorite wool coat, uplifting holiday movies play on a constant loop, and tiny white lights twinkle on every surface imaginable. Added bonus, this year will be the first year when I get to put up my own Christmas lights on the outside on my home. And when I say 'I,' of course I mean Adam. I will provide moral support though, standing at the bottom of our ladder saying things like, "A little to the left," or "You need more lights around that corner," or "Wow your ass looks good in those jeans! Are they new?"

For the longest time I've been unable to really give much in the way of Christmas gifts, so the holiday season always stressed me out trying to think of meaningful gifts that were dirt cheap that wouldn't leave my recipients thinking, "CHEAP ASS." Knowing this year that Adam and I can pool our funds and give each other a wonderful evening sounds so much more enjoyable than swapping gifts. Especially since on our budget we probably would have to veto each others gift ideas or secretly return them. By putting these on my credit card now, I have four whole months to slowly pay them off before the holiday even kicks into gear.

Is it wrong that I am suddenly filled with the urge to bake Christmas cookies while listening to the Frank Sinatra Christmas album, stringing lights from my brand new tree and sip on a cup of spiked cocoa?

THE DIFFERENCE IS STRIKING

One of my favorite nightly rituals is at the end of a long day crawling into bed and reading, if even for only a few moments. In the past it was a very singular activity, just me and my book, lost in a world of my authors creation. Only since living with Adam have I been able to make good on one of my grandest relationship desires, laying in bed after a long day and reading side-by-side next to my love.

The fact that we can share in this winding down ritual brings me more happiness than liking the same foods, movies, tv shows, music, etc. Although reading is a very individual activity, by reading next to one another it suddenly feels like a team sport.

Recently Adam exhausted his shelf of 'must reads' and was finally able to head to the book store and select a title of his choosing for the first time in over a year. After much deliberation he chose, The Millionaire Next Door by Thomas J. Stanley & William D. Danko. 

I can't help but laugh at the absolute polar opposites of our reading interests each night as we lose ourselves in our books. As he sits and ponders the realities of who the real prodigious accumulators of wealth are in our world, I recently began Love Walked In by Marisa De Los Santos. A book about the, "unpredictable currents of love and life." Could we have picked more conflicting topics? 

At the end of the day all I can do is smile and take stock in knowing that at least one of us is using our 'free reading' time to brush up on some life skills. And hell, if this brings us one step closer to feeling liberated financially then I will go out today and clear out the entire economics section of Orca Books this very instant. And put the purchase on my credit card. Just to make the situation all the more ironic.

HOARDERS

Already a fan of the A&E program Intervention, it only seemed natural that sooner or later I would find myself recording an episode of another A&E classic, Hoarders. Myself being such an OCD neat freak the concept of living in an utter state of disaster shocks, and amazes me. Yet my fascination transformed to true empathy after watching a recent episode.

This episode stuck with me because of a woman named Jill. On the surface her condition seems absolutely deplorable, and yes of course is, I can see it as well as you can, but the root of her compulsion to hoard food hit me. Jill suffered at one time from EXTREME poverty, where the simple task of feeding herself and her son was nearly impossible. As a result of living on the brink of starvation for as long as she did, Jill now is physically incapable of parting with food. If there is a sale she buys in bulk, and even if something has passed its expiation date by YEARS she is unable to part with it. Even rotting pumpkins on the floor of her living room can be salvaged, seeds harvested, planted at another time to bring again the gift of sustenance.

I say that I empathize with her sensitivity to food because while I was unemployed food was one of the biggest sources of fear and anxiety plaguing my daily life. I dreaded going to the grocery store because I knew the moment I walked in the door I would be hit with the compulsion to BUY. FEED YOURSELF. STOP DEPRIVING YOURSELF OF FOOD NOW! Yet, there was no money. My unemployment checks didn’t allow for me to pay my bills let alone eat in a healthy manner. My grocery lists were pitiful, and more times than I care to admit I walked out of the store and cried. Cried because all I wanted was to make a normal meal. One with a protein, a veggie, and maybe if I was lucky a carb. I had attempted to give up lunch entirely, and I would continue to eat items that were expired as long as the taste ‘remained.’ The amount of times I had popcorn for dinner can’t have been healthy, and I knew this, but I literally had no other options.

Once Adam and I moved in together the strain of rent was removed from my unemployed worries, but to keep from being total dead weight I asked if I might carry our food costs. It felt like the least I could do seeing as I wasn’t working, or contributing to hardly anything in our lives. Here I was, living with my boyfriend for the first time and I wanted to make him fabulous meals, bake, spend my free time creating dinners that would show my appreciation for all he had done, thank him for helping me. Yet as I wandered the aisles it was still just as desolate as before. In the beginning I depleted huge chucks of my emergency savings to simply provide us with decent meals. It was one thing to ask myself to go without lunch, it was one thing to eat popcorn and crackers for dinner, but how could I ask him to come along on this journey with me? I felt that wasn’t what he signed up for when he asked me to move in.

After many tearful conversations I agreed to fight the urge to feed us well. That wonderful man told me that Mac-n-Cheese would do, that hot dog sandwiches would be ok until we got to a better place. I loved him all the more for not shaming me for my inadequacies. 

Even now that I finally have a job again, the grocery store is still a very dangerous place, but for a different reason. I always have a list, a very strict list, with preplanned meals and notes to myself, including things like, “DO NOT DEVIATE FROM THE PLAN!” Without fail items will call to me from the shelf. Items I don’t even want, meals I have no intention to make, things we’ll never be able to eat before they go bad, and before I know it I’ve hoarded. I’ve walked out of the grocery store with twice as much food as Adam and I could EVER eat in a single week all because I finally COULD.

The only difference between myself and Jill is that I still have the know-how to throw the rotten food we don’t eat away. I’m no where near her magnitude of course, and I doubt I would ever become like Jill, but I understand her panic. I knew that fear in her eyes, I know all too well the impulse to buy so you know you’ll never again have to go without.

I'M GETTING THE URGE TO USE A HOT GLUE GUN

In college my roommate and I created a dinning room table that I will probably always love more than all other dinning room tables in the whole wide world. Her family gave it to us because it was heavy as hell, was missing screws, wasn't level, and was truly an ugly color. One night she approached me with an idea. She wanted to cover the entire top in torn out pages from trashy used books. Pages aligned in no particular order, moving in all directions, mostly even unreadable. I was in.

Before we knew it we were standing on our pathetic little porch with a soft core pron romance novel, a science fiction book, some resin, a blow drier, two sad looking paint brushes, a bucket of watered down glue, and a paint tray. We were ready to make magic.

When all was said and done we had created our literary table. There were some flaws, pieces that didn't lay completely flat, spots where the resin dried in slightly different colors, a bubble here or there, but to us it was perfect. When you walked in the room you didn't immediately know that the table was any different than the millions of tables you'd seen before it. Then suddenly it would hit our guests, "THERE ARE PAGES OF BOOKS ON THIS TABLE!" Before we knew it people would be searching for the steamy sex scene we'd hidden within, or trying to locate the dramatic alien abduction scene. Conversation would ensue, and suddenly talk of books both loved and hated would pour from our guest mouths.

When we moved two years later the table didn't fit in our new place and so for some reason, although we both professed it was our favorite piece in the whole house, we simply left it in the alley. Next to the dumpster. As I write those words I'm still baffled why we thought the trash was an appropriate home for our one great love. Two days later we realized we hardly had a good picture to show for our work, to remember this piece we cherished so deeply. The hours we spent eating, drinking, talking, studying, crying, and living on that wonderful table, and yet nothing to show for it except this one horrible photo.

 

I've been mulling over ways to bring the magic of our table back into my life. And after searching, and much head scratching, I think I've FINALLY figured it out. In my guest bedroom I have a bed that's all lonely and pathetic without a headboard. The room has slowly been morphing into a library of sorts anyway, and so I'm leaning towards finding a basic modern headboard, sanding it down, and recreating the table of my dreams as a bedroom piece. I assume that at first people's eyes will slide right past it, they will assume it's just like every other headboard that's come before it. Yet upon closer inspection one will discover that it is actually plastered with the pages of some of my favorite books. As my guests dream, unknowingly their minds will be filled with the words of Barbara Kingsolver, Nicole Krauss, David Sheff, Kim Edwards, and Augusten Burroughs. When they wake I'll quiz them on their dreams, and if they find that they were haunted by a fabulous gay man with a drinking problem, who had a handicapped child he'd abandoned, who also happened to be addicted to meth, and the entire piece was being narrated by a lonely Jewish grandfather in the desert of Arizona, then I'll know I achieved my dream.

Craigslist, here I come.

AND THEN I ALMOST DIED, AT TARGET

NOT KIDDING.

Ok I am known to exaggerate. A lot. But I was seriously concerned that my innocent shopping trip was going to turn into the end of the world as I knew it Friday afternoon. There I am in my dressing room with a variety of items, most of which looked hideous and slightly deformed, but I'm chugging along staying positive and hoping for a small miracle. I get to this cute little dress, one of those ones with the shockingly small waist and one of those sudo-belt-tie-things. Looking it over I expected it to be a little snug around the middle, but hey, I have a small chest, and I'm sure it stretches a bit, it's cotton after all, lets give this a go.

I should have stopped when I put my arms in and I went to do the classic pull the dress over your head move and my little chicken arms weren't getting any clearance. 'But it's so cute!' I thought, try again. With a classic 'riiiiip,' and a serious shoulder wiggle it was on. But only to the tops of my boobs of course. The waist portion of this dress was suddenly cutting off the circulation to my nipples. Once again, probably should have taken that as a sign to PUT THE DRESS DOWN AND WALK AWAY. Nah. With a yank I pull it down over my boobs, nearly removing my bra and the first layer of skin, but TA-DA! It's on.

Once on, the top half made my boobs look like a million bucks. A+. But the middle, well it looked like a baby wallaby could climb into the front of the dress and gestate. D-. As I'm standing there thinking about what it would be like to actually gestate a marsupial I realize how absolutely constricting the middle portion is. This strip of fabric directly under my chest is TIGHT. With many capital letters. But seeing as I don't plan to wear this out of Target, it has to come off. Somehow.

I grabbed the dress from the very bottom and began to pull it upwards. Once I reached the waistband all upwards progress screeched to a stop. But I expected this would be my first hurdle, so I just pulled a little harder and sent out a little prayer. Still nothing. Okkkk pull a little harder Ashley, put your back into it woman! Sweat is beginning to pool on my upper lip, my forehead, my pits. Not only is there no clearance over my breasts, it's beginning to hurt. There are no buttons in the back, and no fucking way I'm getting it down over my ass vs up over my chest. There's only one direction folks and it's continuation UPWARDS.

I realized I was going to have to bend over and with ALL my strength pull off this dress no matter what. So there I am, bent over, bare ass cheeks touching the nasty Target dressing room door I am sure a million sticky fingers have touched, and I am HEAVING with all my might to pull this over my boobs. The dress is finally moving a bit, but it's taking my bra with it. And that Hulk Hogan strength waist fabric almost removes my nipples. I actually GRUNTED out loud in a Target dressing room.

I was bent over, ass flailing, bra's coming off, nipples scraping, hair flailing and I couldn't help think what it would be like if after all this I had to stand back up with my nipples exposed, ass showing, dress stuck around my chest and ask the 16 year old boy at the dressing room counter if he could please CUT ME OUT OF THIS FUCKING DRESS.