Thirty Minus.... Zero

    Well, it happened. I failed my New Year's goal #5... I turned 30. No longer am I a "30 minus 1" or a "29 and 3/4".... I am just a "30". Everyone always gets so jazzed up about this birthday for some reason. Sure, the days of the youthful twenties have passed, it's halfway to 60, and your uterus takes a nosedive toward the island of Menopause.... But really, what's wrong with the number 30 anyways?
     If we were talking waist measurements, this number would be a vast improvement on the pant-size I'm currently rocking (thank God women's clothing is seldom listed in inches. It's a wonder more men don't off themselves in department store dressing rooms...). And if I recall correclty, Baskin Robins was made popular by offering just a little more than 30 flavors (and you can't argue with ice cream success....you just can't). And if it weren't for every 30 or so days (ahem), there wouldn't be a human race here to even complain about this daunting number in the first place.... In fact, Webster's defines "the 30's" as a stage in young adulthood..... YOUNG adulthood! That's what I'm talking about, right there! I mean, even Jesus totally started cranking out the coolest miracles and saved all mankind in his early 30's... So I say, if it's good enough for Webster and the Messiah, it's good enough for me! I may have failed goal #5, but I'm pretty sure that my 30's are going to be far from failing.

Urine Coffee

    Have you ever ordered a cup of coffee and then regretted it the moment it hits your tongue? I'm not sure why, but it tastes like some coffee shops wrap their beans in dirty socks before brewing time. With that being said, I'm pretty sure that I made the world's WORST pot of coffee today. I know this to be true because I'm pretty sure that I made coffee using one of my client's urine (Beat that, Starbucks!). Allow me to explain....
    So, I was at work and preparing to run a group therapy session on the Power of Positive Thinking. Now, knowing that the people in attendance were going to be begging for it as soon as they sat down, I beat everyone to the punch and ran back to the sink to start making the coffee. (World's nicest therapist, right?) As I reached the back, I noticed that someone was in the restroom right next to the sink I was using. I had the water running and began washing out the coffee pot. As I was doing this, the water changed colors (you guessed it-yellow).... figuring that this was residue from the coffee pot, I didn't think much about it. The water soon began to run clear again and I filled the pot with water and poured it into the maker. Everyone began drinking heartily.
    Had my head not been consumed with planning the session, I may have noticed the odd smell from the sink when I ran the water (occurring at the exact same time that I heard the toilet flush).... or the pipes running from the sink I was using to the wall of the bathroom.... or had I gone into the bathroom, I may have noticed the fact that those pipes connected directly to the toilet that was being used while I was rinsing out the coffee pot. I only noticed these things AFTER the coffee was gone and I went back to wash my hands (wondering why the heck I smelled like pee!). I heard the toilet flush while I was washing and, once again, yellow liquid (now known to be URINE) came pouring out of the faucet. This time there was no mistaking the smell.... no coffee grounds masking the aroma of grossness. I don't recall if it was panic or dry heaves that set in first, but both of them rivaled for my immediate attention.

    Hopefully everyone was thinking positive thoughts about the coffee....

The Red Fuzzy Blanket

    As seen in many homes around America, we have this red, fuzzy blanket in our house that lies over the back of our recliner. Typical, no? In my mind, this blanket is strategically placed so that the occupant of the recliner will have something cozy to throw over themselves when the winter chill hits. HOWEVER.... this red, fuzzy blanket is never to be found. Why, you may ask? Because my husband has decided that this throw would be better used as a cape. (I am so not kidding.)
    I couldn't say why, but my guy has been totally rebelling against clothing lately (keep this in mind, those of you who feel that a friendly visit without a warning phone call is "spontaneous!"). First thing in the morning, he walks in his skivvies to find his cape (he actually calls it this), ties it around his neck, and then walks around the house doing his morning routine. Now, not only does this bring up the whole chest-hair-on-the-blanket-used-by-others situation, but come on.... I work with mentally challenged people all day. Can't a girl catch just a little normalcy in her day?
    I was starting to get used to the cape thing because acceptance was easier than fighting this one. But what I REFUSE to get used to is "the skirt" that has emerged since yesterday. I came home and my husband came walking out of the guest bedroom wearing a t-shirt and the red, fuzzy blanket (formally known as "Cape") tied around his waist, resembling a floor-length skirt (slit up the front....and I gotta be honest, it wasn't super clear if anything else was between that red, fuzzy blanket and a whole other kind of hair I don't want on that throw!). I opted for silence at first. But then I asked him if he would be able to help me carry something up from downstairs.

    "Ugghh! But I'll trip on my skirt!"

    OH MY GOSH, ARE YOU SERIOUS!?!?! Grow a pair, hike it up, and carry up that box or I'm going to do something to you that's going to make that skirt a necessary part of your daily wardrobe! Realizing how utterly ridiculous he sounded, he dutifully went to the basement to carry up the box. Things I Never Thought I'd Hear My Husband Say, Volume 1, coming to stores soon.

Synthesizer Hell

     I've become more than a little bothered by my husband's unnatural love for all things synthesizer. I thought it was bad enough when I first heard him sing and found out that he's tone deaf (really and truly....I attempted to help him with this one night while he was singing along to the Big Bang theme song (well, sort of singing). I noticed that he continually sang off-key, but that he always sang in the same wrong key, leading me to believe that he could be helped. So, he perched next to my piano- eyes bright, ready to learn- as I played two C notes. "Do you hear how these are the same?" I asked. "Yep," he responded. I then played a C and a D together to provide the same distorted sound that he creates when he sings along to a song. "Now, can you hear that these are NOT the same?" I asked. "Nope." -- Hopeless)!
     My long-lost dream of having a Von Trapp-esque family to tour Germany with has finally been laid to rest, but what I CANNOT deal with is listening to synthesizer-based 70's-90's music until death do we part. It's simply not fair and I refuse to do it. Apparently my husband's taste buds, fashion sense, and musical preferences are all very one-note.... afterall, why would we want to eat adventurous foods, wear color, or listen to music that requires a modicum of talent? I get that those good ole songs bring back memories (how fond could memories from the 70s really be, though, honestly?), but I cannot be expected to suffer through another evening of radio wars like we had tonight! The man-child that I call my husband is incapable of leaving a radio station in one place for an entire song.... he listens to about 45 seconds of his "favorite song!" and then switches through the channels until he finds his other "favorite song!", passing each and every station that is playing a song from this decade, landing on a remote radio wave from days gone by that would make the average person cringe, stating, "Yeeaaahhh, that's the stuff...." (And then he tone-deafly sings along-- loudly. Because of course he can remember the words to every single synthesizer song, but he can't be bothered to remember to get his wife a Valentine's Day card.)
    

Flirt Till Five

     In a marriage, I have found that it's extremely important to keep things fun and exciting. A great way to do this is by flirting. I know, I know....flirt with your spouse? Some may be thinking, "What's the point of that? It's not like you have to earn that goodnight kiss!" Say what you like, but flirting is...well... fun! The invention of text messaging, for many, has radically changed the way we flirt with one another. For instance, there's the kissy-face icon that you can add to the bottom of your messages. (Or you can be totally old-school and use the semi-colon wink....it creates an entirely new meaning to "Hey, honey, what do you want for dinner? ;)"....)
Another way to spice up your flirting by text is to send random messages throughout the day telling your lover-boy/girl how much you can't wait to see them, hug them, kiss them.... and so on (if you require further instructions, you're on your own.).
     So, the last couple of weeks, my husband and I have been flirt-texting like rapid fire. We start in the morning and message each other all day. In fact, we could write the BOOK on flirting! We tickle each others' fancies all day, then come home, plan a nice meal for the evening, and then..... Nothing. NOTHING!! Apparently flirting all day takes the energy right out of ya, because as soon as dinner is done, all either of us can think about is sitting down to watch T.V. or going to bed. "We'll try again tomorrow," we tell each other, but deep in our hearts, we know tomorrow's schedule....and we know that we'll be even more tired then than we are now. But we flirt all day, nevertheless. And again, dinner time comes around and we simply poop out.
     He'll say, "Do you wanna?" And I'll reply with something like, "Um, sure! I mean, only if you want to...." And then he'll sigh and murmur, "Well, it's really up to you.... that was a big meal, afterall." And then I'll put us both out of our misery and say, "Tomorrow then?" And he'll respond with a grateful, "Excellent idea!"
     We call ourselves the Flirt Till Five couple. But it's really not THAT bad....I mean, most couples don't spend nearly this much time with foreplay and lovey-dovey goodness! But, then there's the whole pregnancy goal for this year...... I wonder if my boss will understand if I have to start leaving work at 3.....

Clorox Wipes

     It's flu season.+ My clients tend to have poor hygiene. + I use my own car to transport clients from point A to point B. = Therefore, I decided that purchasing Clorox wipes to keep in my vehicle was not only wise, but it is necessary (afterall, I had a hyper-manic female wipe her MRSA infection all over my pen AND sunglasses before saying "Ooops....maybe I should keep these?" Um, NO....but thank you very much for making my skin crawl.).

Earlier this week:
     (Pat) Did you use your Clorox wipes yet?
     (Me) Nope, not yet. I've had an agency vehicle so far this week.
     (Pat) Rats.
     (Me....suspciously) What did you do to my wipes?
     (Pat) Nothing! Geez!

A few days later, in the car:
     (Pat) Did you use your Clorox wipes yet?
     (Me) Ok, seriously, what the heck is it with you and those wipes?
     (Pat) I'm just asking if you've used them yet!
     (Me) Yeah, 'cause it's just like you to ask multiple times if I've used WIPES lately? I know you're not THAT concerned with my car's cleanliness....
     (Pat) Oh my gosh, I was just asking!!!
    
     Huffily, I reached into the back and grabbed the wipes container, eyeing it with caution. Did he use one and then not close the lid, causing all of my wipes to dry out? Or maybe he put something gross or creepy (or both) inside to play a practical joke....
     I held the wipes away from me and slowly opened the lid. Inside was a piece of paper cut into a circle to perfectly fit the inner rim of the container. On the piece of paper, written in my husband's handwriting, were the words "I Love You".
   
     (Me) Awww! I love you, too!
     (Pat) Yeah, that's right.

And then I got the flu.

Joint Checking Really Will Kill You

     I know that I was the one that said a joint checking account wouldn't kill us, but I may have to recant that statement.... this checking account is literally trying to take my life. We're only a few weeks in and, sure, it took some getting used to, (well, it WILL take some getting used to when we actually take the time to sit down and go through all of our bills together) but we've done well of informing each other of significant bills going in or out of the account. And, to my husband's credit, he's only lost 2 receipts so far (which is a big deal, especially since he was not used to keeping a ledger or saving receipts at all... kudos to him!--even though this IS probably all his fault).
     So, last night I sat down, ready to pay our bills (I'm even willing to compromise and try the online payment option for some of my bigger bills in order to save stamps and envelopes.... it's akin to having me get a Brazilian, but I'm willing to make this attempt on a trial basis because my husband won't stop harping me about it) after entering in all of our receipts, paycheck stubs (all 1 of them), and pending bills. I added everything up and ATTEMPTED to balance our checkbook, only to find that we are over $400 off from what our bank says we have! With a slight sigh of relief, I can report that this error is in our favor, but I am not the type of person that can handle a mystery load of cash floating around in bank-land. I need answers! WHERE DID IT COME FROM!?!?!
    Three hours later, I had checked and re-checked each receipt, deposit slip, and bank statement from the last 3 months-- Nothing. Honestly, I have no idea where the money came from, because it wasn't there before we joined accounts and my husband's statements showed no such money either (you see? this is what happens when you try to do anything with a boy.... even his money is throwing a wrench into my system!). Somewhere between tears and hysterical laughter, I gave up, accepted the fact that money may, in fact, be asexual, and that I will simply allow our funds to reproduce like rabbits in heat. Maybe someday the nice bank lady and I will be able to figure out what happened, but until then, I will try to refrain from being killed by our joint checking account.

Flattery Will Get You.... Committed

     This job is amazing for my self-esteem! If the compliments keep flying like this, I'll have to invest in more button-up shirts because my head will be too big for pull-overs. Earlier this week, I had a very sweet (ahem, simple) woman tell me that I should be a supermodel. FOR REAL! She also told me that I have the most beautiful complexion she has ever seen.... so what if she started petting my face moments later.... that doesn't take away from the fact that she really believes I can give Giselle a run for her money. (The fact that she was higher than a kite, however, may in fact ruin that validity...)
     And then again this afternoon, I had a lady tell me that my hair was the most beautiful hair she had ever seen. She even asked if she could touch it! Naturally, I said "no", I mean, that would be weird, but it WAS super flattering.... even if she did mention it three times.... but that just goes to show that she REALLY thought my hair was super lovely. (Or it was just another fixation that she was having, along with repeated thoughts that my car was being bugged and people were listening to our conversation.... or the fact that she was convinced that it is the year 2028.) Perhaps it's not necessary to point out that this woman also proceded to punch herself in the head while we were talking.... Anyways, the point is, these compliments are great! The woman today even offered to give me her pop, telling me that I'm so pretty I should just take it (so what if she was storing the bottle that she was SITTING ON so far under her that it may as well have been a jumbo tampon... it was the thought that counts!).
     And then there's the tough thug that grins like a school boy and turns bright red everytime I even look in his direction (quite the trick for a dark guy). He is actually incapable of speaking when I look at him! So in order to have a conversation with my not-so-secret admirer, I have to look at the floor and refrain from smiling entirely (which is actually ok... seeing how he DOES have a tendency to snap and go postal on people every now and again). So ok, maybe I shouldn't be flattered by these compliments. But you know, in my Cuckoo's Nest job, I'll take any boost I can get. There's something to be said for working with folks with multiple personalities... there's a pretty good chance that at least one of them will like you on any given day.

I Don't Care If It IS Taboo.....

     PMS. Let's talk about it.

     What do those 3 little letters mean to you? (Tread carefully, Men.) To many women, PMS means bloating, cramps, sore ta-tas, back pain, and vaginal gushing equivalent to that of a geyser (ok, boys, grow up, it's not like this required a spoiler alert or something). To many others, however, PMS means 5-7 days (if you're LUCKY) of downright crabby, nasty, and purely demonic behavior. But come on, it's hard not to scream when every last pair of pants you own won't zip, it feels like you're giving birth to a blood clot, and you're broken out like a teenager working at a greasy spoon.....AND you can't find your car keys!!!! (or insert any object absent-mindedly overlooked while in the throws of PMS-enduced dementia.)
     But to me, PMS doesn't mean screaming and throwing tantrums (usually). No, instead, PMS brings me to a whole other level of emotion- the one that requires me to dissolve into tears when:
a) something sad occurs
b) something happy occurs
c) I think about anything that has ever been sad (or happy)
d) someone scares me
e) someone simply talks to me when I'm unaware they are there (thus, scaring me)
f) it rains
g) I run out of chocolate
h) I forget to pack my lunch
i) I think about my missing ring
j) ....this really could have just been summarized by saying "everything that occurs between the times of 5am and midnight"
     I couldn't really explain why these things make me cry, because frankly, I get emotional just thinking about it (alert! alert!), but it's as if my husband lives in a perpetual flood zone, constantly preparing his life boat just in case my abundant tears threaten to drown him and our dogs. I must hand it to him.... for a guy, he really does try to make me feel better. ("Try" being the operative word.) He offers to do the dishes, he compliments my outfit (even when I know darn well that I look like the Good Year Blimp in sweater decor), and he says lovely words of encouragement. In fact, just last night I was in tears over the fact that I still haven't gotten pregnant (ok, this one is totally worth the tears, PMS or not). My husband was so sweet.... he gave me a big bear hug and said, "At least we have each other." (Awww.) But how was I to know that the thought of just the two of us for the rest of forever was going to make me cry even harder? I recognized that this was just a case of him "not being able to win" and decided that it was time for bed. I thanked him for his efforts (and also apologized for sobbing at the thought of our future together). Oh, PMS, why do you torment me so?

Ganache Goodness

     I started my new job on Monday, but you know how the first week in a new position goes- training galore. So, this week we've been learning about Personal Medicine (well, that and blood borne pathogens- PS, did you know that you can get Hepatitis from tears? Makes you think twice before consoling a runny-nosed little one....). Anyways, Personal Medicine is another phrase for coping skils- they are the things you do to make yourself feel better when you're blue, or just the activities that add pleasure to your life.... things you light up for and look forward to doing. I decided to make a list of my top 3 Personal Medicines:
     1) Eating (not just eating junk, but eating something legitimately DELICIOUS)- I kid you not, I think about food constantly. Not only do I light up when I get to eat, but I get all tingly simply planning a meal, looking for new recipes, or trying a new restaurant.... Eating completes me. (Yes, I do realize that I'm one bad month away from gluttony.)
     2) Music- specifically playing music on an instrument or singing. For me, it is important that I be a participant in the music in order for it to be in my Top 3 list, otherwise simply listening to music falls somewhere around #8.
     3) Television- ok, I'm not the world's BIGGEST couch potatoe, simply eating and watching TV all day, but these are the things that I find calming.... things that distract me from a problem, things that cause me to smile, laugh, or sigh with relief. (And it's not like I don't have close runners up with #s 4, 5, and 6 (prayer, talking to a friend, and yoga)..... but these 3 are my favorites, so no throwing stones.)
     Anyways, it's been a pretty rough 2 months in the Costa household. And this week has been the icing on the cake (which actually brings me to my next point). So, when our pastor's wife told me that she had made a chocolate fudge cake with a ganache topping (COMPLETE WITH FUDGE CHUNKS IN IT!!!) and that I HAD to take 2 pieces home (you see where I'm going with this, don't you), my Personal Medicine radar when through the roof! And this is where the trouble starts.
     When I pulled into the driveway, I noticed that my husband's truck wasn't there (hmmmm....). I then received a text from him that he had gone to the gym and wouldn't be home for some time (ooooohhhh....). So I sat down on my cushy, memory foam bed, fork in one hand, plate of chocolatey goodness in the other, and had my first bite (aaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!).
     I tried to save him some, I really did! But it's been such a hard couple months, and he's being sooo good on his diet (unlike some of us....) that I didn't want to tempt him with chocolate cake. Besides, he doesn't even LIKE chocolate cake the same way that I do (um, with disgusting obsessiveness?).... and he doesn't even know what ganache is, so it's not like he can miss what he's never had, right? I know. I KNOW! I'm pathetic. I really tried to be good and just eat my piece.... while watching my recorded Biggest Loser episode.... but it was gone so quickly, it almost didn't seem fair to stop. Afterall, this is my Personal Medicine- this cake is practically a vitamin! So I figured, "Hey, I'll just take a tiny sliver of his piece. He won't want the entire thing, anyways". But the crumbly, moist cake cut un-evenly (this happens when you cut something with your tongue), which, as we all know, is unacceptable. I was just trying to even it out.... but then the ganache slid off the top of the cake (and onto my fork). It was a chocolate miracle, really. Far be it for me to deny myself a miraculous event- and my husband, I'm sure, would've given me the topping because he usually does.
     But then I noticed that small chunk of fudgy cake, sitting their topless, and I realized that this is NO way to present cake to someone. There was no other option. I had to eat it. Sure, I had to push myself a little- but sacrifice is one of the greatest testaments of a loving marriage, is it not? I bet my husband will even thank me when he gets home (I'm sure the scale won't, but that's something to worry about on another day... you know, a non-two-pieces-of-cake day.)

The Air Pump Debacle Of 2012

    Although generally pretty amazing, I am still human.... and as a human, I find myself lacking certain skill sets at times. My husband was quick to tell me this yesterday when I faced one the undesirable tasks of auto maintenance.... putting air in the tires. (I know this task is undesirable due to the fact that my "better half" refused to do it the first 5 times I asked him.) Now, it's not that I don't know HOW to put air in my tires (afterall, they don't hand out Masters degrees to COMPLETE idiots- although I wonder if they can take them back after, I don't know, reading a blog portraying oneself in a slightly less than flattering light....), but the very thought of pumping up my tires causes me to break out in a cold sweat.
     First, there's the matter of being timed. As if it's not bad enough that the condition of my tires rests heavily on my ability to scrounge up 4 quarters from the depths of my purse and under the seat of my car, but then they add the pressure of a 3-MINUTE time slot to get the entire job done (which would be great.... if I drove a tricycle). Is AIR really THAT difficult to come by that they have to limit us to 3 lousy minutes?? That's not even a minute per tire, let alone the sprinting that takes place running from one tire to the next (passersby must wonder if I'm practicing to be part of the Nascar pit crew). So, in order to make the best use of my time, I unscrew all of the little tire plugs (I do believe that's the technical name for them) and I put together a plan of attack.... quarters ready.... hose untangled.... and GO!
    This is when the REAL stress begins! I quickly kneel down by the first tire, press the hose into the plug thingy (there goes my Masters....), then squeeze the handle until the little gauge pops out, showing me how many pounds of air (per...square....inch??) are in my tire. I let go of the handle and I wait for the reading as the seconds tick away.... TEN POUNDS? Holy crap! How in the world was my car even off the ground with ten pounds? No time to think about it.... pump, you crazy machine, PUMP!!! I quickly run to the next tire and repeat this process (HURRY!!!!). Due to the Kwik Fill's old-as-dirt machine, it's hard to say how much air I'm actually putting into my tires, in the first place....there's no super-fun poundage that I can pre-set into the pump, there's no electronic reading, there's not even directions anywhere on or near the pump (this is useful in my defense to my husband).
    After what seems like an appropriate amount of time (well, what IS an appropriate amount of time when your tires have 10 pounds of air in them and you only have 3 minutes to get them all up to 35 pounds?) I speed race around the car to get to the third wheel. But wait! The hose doesn't reach! This is precious time being wasted as I run around the car and try to get at the wheel from the other direction. CRAP! It still doesn't reach!! My car is practically sitting ON TOP of the pump machine and the hose doesn't reach??? Thinking quickly (and impulsively), I toss the hose over the top of my car (praying it doesn't bust out my window as the metal nozzle lands with a clank) and sprint back to the third tire-- it just barely reaches! But now that I've lost at least 20 seconds (which I'm totally guessing at, since there is no timer display on the machine to check in with- and who can think anyways with that hunk of junk sounding like a freaking rocket launcher)- and it is then that I notice that all of the customers pumping their gas are staring at me, mouths slightly agape... I don't even have time to check pounds. So I push in the hose and wait till the hissing stops (this means air is going in, instead of out, correct?). I'm about 10 seconds into the 4th tire when the machine stops abruptly.
    It takes me a full minute to catch my breath and retrieve my heart's rhythm back from hummingbird mode. Now that the pressure is off, I decided to take a moment to check the new pressure in my tires. I plug in the hose, squeeze the handle, and out pops the gauge. Ten pounds. As I took the name of Kwik Fill in vain, I tested the other three tires. Ten pounds. Oh, isn't that just GRAND! I put my plug thingys back on, slam my car door, and speed home, covered in tire grease. I'm in the process of explaining the event to my husband, sure that he will march down to Kwik Fill and demand my 4 quarters back (hey, things are tight) since their machine is OBVIOUSLY faulty.  But instead of sympathy, my husband calmly says, "Honey, were you holding the handle down to just check the air pressure, or did you know that you need to hold it down the entire time....in order for the air to come out?"
     Silence. "Crap." It's all I could say, really.... especially when I remembered the other two times I "put air in my tires" AKA paid 4 quarters to do a 3-minute aerobic panic attack while creating a scene....

No One Dies From Joint Checking

    It was a shock to my system when I received a phone call from my new employer asking me to start work this coming Monday instead of February 13th, as previously discussed. MONDAY!! So much to do, so little time! (Because 7 weeks was simply not enough time to clean the blinds.) I hurried to make a list (I actually have special Shivonne Costa To-Do list tablets, courtesy of Anal Retentive Control Freaks R Us) of the things that HAVE to be done before Monday, prioritizing them from "AHH! Get it done, get it done, get it done!!!!" to "Eh....whatever". At the top of the list? Open a joint checking account.
    So what if it's only taken a year and half? I mean, aren't their plenty of other things that occupy a newly married couple's focus? Seriously, the first year of marriage was so filled with figuring out sleeping arrangements, bathroom schedules, and training my husband, that trying to manage a joint checking account just never seemed to fit in. And really, if my driver's license can still state my maiden name and former address (oops), then should I be too concerned with my banking? Surely not. But, in the interest of creating a new financial plan for 2012, we (I) decided that it was time for a joint account. Sadly, my poor husband doesn't hear the words "budget" or "savings". No.... he hears "allowance" and, more importantly, the word "No". Honestly, it's not my intention to strip away his big boy pants in all of this, which I explained to him very dutifully. No one's proverbial testicles are going to be placed in a proverbial vice.... we're just going to look at our debt in a new way and TOGETHER (haha....oh....sorry!) try to utilize our combined incomes to attack them one at a time. (Besides, the teller at the bank assured us that the likelihood of a male in his 30s dying from joing accounts is super low in this area....)
    Sure, splitting up the bills and paying them separately worked for a while. But now I think we stand a chance to move forward and actually get to our goal of having no money! Well, as opposed to having negative money.... Anyways, I REALLY think we can do this. I mean, at this rate, (well, after we finish paying the first one off) I think we stand an excellent chance of being able to purchase a new wedding ring for me sometime before 2020!

Resolution Review

    Since it is officially the new year, I'd like to take a moment to re-evaluate my six resolutions (well, and because I got a job and want to draw a big fat line across that goal in completion!). I must say, I AM rather proud of myself....afterall, how often does one complete a New Years' resolution on January 3rd? I must be some sort of resolution genius! Anyways, getting ahead of myself....

Goal #1: Lose weight (20 pounds to be exact)- ok, now come on....it's IMPOSSIBLE to have lost 20 pounds already, so we can't hold this one against me. (Although, I did actually gain 3 pounds over Christmas.... so technically I now need to lose 23 pounds.... but it was CHRISTMAS! Everyone gains at least a few pounds over the holidays, I mean, seriously. I should still be considered a genius, I'm just saying...)

Goal #2: Get a job- YES! Here is my resolution expertise at it's finest! (So what if it's working with criminals.... who have addictions.... AND mental health issues.... in their homes....) Ok, but it IS a job, and my resolution did not specifically say that it had to be the BEST job in the world, right? I mean, I'll get health insurance, paid time off, and the salary is even better than my last job (by a mere couple hundred dollars, but hey, improvement is improvement). What's even better is that I don't start until mid-February, so I still have a little over a month to relax without the worry of job hunting anymore! (See? Genius.) Goal #2 is officially completed!

Goal #3: Don't lose the new job- Score! I totally haven't lost the job yet! (I am truly kicking New Years' butt.)

Goal #4: Have a baby- This one is not my fault. Even the most geniusy person in the world couldn't pull a baby off in 3 weeks time.... so this one can't be held against me (although, being pregnant would REALLY help out in explaining away those 3 extra Christmas pounds.... oh, to be fat for a reason....)

Goal #5: Don't turn 30- Totally still rocking this goal, although it IS the only goal that I will progressively get worse at as the year continues, so it's logical to say that today I am beating this goal more than I will be from this point on. So I totally consider this an accomplishment of epic proportions!

Goal #6: Do something incredible- hmmmm.... having a baby in 3 weeks would totally have kicked Goal #4 AND 6's teeth in.... but sadly I don't feel that I have done anything too incredible so far this year (although, I did manage to take down all of my Christmas decorations in under 6 hours- I personally find that incredible, but I can see that it doesn't somehow "change the world" and may not be deemed "incredible" to anyone else- so I guess I'll keep trying on this one.... dang it).

     Ok, so 3 out of 6 goals are turning out splendidly thus far, and it's only 3 days in! Who else can say that? Except for maybe someone who only chose one goal... and made it super easy to achieve... that person may have already accomplished 100% of their resolution (although they probably haven't accomplished anything incredible yet). So I will continue on. I will reach my 100% (well, until March 10, in which I will completely fail Goal #5, but we'll cross that dooming bridge when we come to it- unless the rapture comes first or those silly Mayans try to make a come back with their calendar predictions....). Anyways, off to find something incredible to do! (Like find my wedding ring underneath 3 inches of snow....)