We Interrupt this Regularly Scheduled Program for Some Real Stuff

I was driving home from the grocery store on Monday afternoon.  It was beautifully sunny.  75 degrees.  The sky was bright blue.  I had a gorgeous view of the San Gabriel Mountains.  My kids had the day off of school, so it felt a little bit like a holiday.

I preface with this so that you know that my head does actually understand and acknowledge that my life isn't at all bad.

But as I was looking around at my surroundings, I got that feeling.  That suffocating, terrifying feeling that you get (or at least I get) when you're dreaming, and you know you are dreaming, but you can't quite wake up.  The dream doesn't even have to be a bad one.  It's just that idea that you've entered an alternate reality and you know you aren't really supposed to be there, but you can't leave.

That's how I'm feeling about living here these days.

I see endless years stretched out before me of living too far from family and friends.  Endless years of things costing too much and there never.ever being a parking place.  Endless years of traffic and lines.  Ad nauseum.

I have this great friend.  She's funny and honest and she sends the best texts.  She has this blog that I would direct you to, except she never posts on it anymore.

By the way, I don't believe for one minute that she doesn't write anymore, I just think she's like, "Why should I let you all read this great stuff on my blog for free?  I'm gonna write it in private, publish a book, and then make a million dollars."  Anyway, that better be what she's doing.

She also has great perspective.  So I fired this text off to her on Monday afternoon:

I always thought I was motivated by food.  But I keep telling myself that as soon as I get the kitchen cleaned up, I can make chocolate chip cookies.  I've been telling myself this for 2 hours.  And the kitchen is still a disaster!!  

She responds back with this:

It's Facebook.  Time suck.  Might be of the devil.  Possibly the actual anti-Christ.

Remember how I said she was honest?

I honestly don't know how long I sat in front of my computer Monday morning checking and re-checking Facebook, Twitter, and email.  I'm glad there's not some kind of a timer that sends automated texts to my husband--Social Media Addiction Alert:  Your wife has just spent six hours on Facebook.  You might want to stage an intervention or make her get a job.  But suffice it to say that I probably could have washed, dried, and folded several loads of laundry run on the "whitest whites/deep clean with steam" setting.

And I'm like:

Gee.  What makes you think I'm on Facebook too much? :o)

Hmm.  What does clue her in to these things?  Maybe the five status updates in two hours?  Maybe the little green dot next to my name that shows I'm "online, like all the time?"  I used to know how to hide that, but I've forgotten.  Maybe the fact that I like and comment on just about everything everyone posts.

And there's just something about her brutal honesty that makes me feel safe to respond in kind:

Confession:  I spend too much time on Facebook because I am afraid people are going  to forget me and replace me with new friends.  Not that very deep down, I have the emotional maturity of a pre-teen seventh grader.  If I like every single thing you post on Facebook, you may think I'm a crazy stalker, but you sure as heck won't forget me.

I know I need to get a life.  Here in California.  I need to look on the bright side and count my blessings and make lists of all of the great things about this place until I can honestly say that traffic and never being able to find a parking spot.ever is a small price to pay.  I probably do need to get a job or volunteer or do something besides sit in front of my computer all day.

I need to make friends here so I can stalk them and give my poor Kansas ones a well-deserved break.

I certainly need to get off of the computer, clean the kitchen and maybe even make a grocery list.  And then I can finally make those chocolate-chip cookies.

It would be good to have a snack this afternoon in case I get hungry while trying to find a place to park my car at Costco.

Signs of Old Age

Better Half turns forty on Saturday.  I've already been there.  Done that.  Forty-one's arrival gets closer every day.

We will have been married twenty years in September.

And we are ROCKING this old married couple thing, let me tell you.  If there was an Advanced Placement Old Married Couple class, we'd absolutely be in it.

We're in bed by nine almost every night.  We're up by five every morning.  Our ideal "date night" involves sweats, slippers, and old episodes of The West Wing on Netflix.

And we have conversations like this:

Better Half (holding out a pair of socks this morning):  Case, are these black?

Me:  Yep.

Better Half (holding out another pair):  So, what color are these, then?

Me:  Those are also black.

Better Half:  I thought so, but I wasn't sure.

Me:  Yeah, because there are like

Both of us At. The. Exact. Same. Time:  Fifty Shades of Black!

I am trying to decide if I am more disturbed by the fact that we creepy finished each other's thought before we'd even had our first cup of coffee, or by the fact that we used such a pathetic pop culture reference.

When In Rome

Now that I'm rocking this new career of "trophy wife," my biggest morning decisions revolve around whether to do the LA Times Crossword before or after I check the San Diego Zoo PandaCam, and what to wear for my 5 minute appearance out in public every morning when I drop the kids off at school.

I've always been a "When in Rome" kind of girl.

I want to fit in, blend in, look like a native.  My self-esteem is too fragile to buck the current clothing trends and fads.

It is why I have finally traded most of my boot cut jeans (which actually looked half-way decent on me) for "skinny" jeans (which do N.O.T, not, make ANYONE look skinny, by the way), and why I wore empire smocked shirts five years ago when that was a thing, even though they totally made me look like I was pregnant. Since I spent the entire decade of my twenties being pregnant or recovering from it, I swore I'd never voluntarily look that way again.  But women's fashion can be a harsh taskmaster.

So now I live in Southern California.  And in the few short months I've been here, I've learned some stuff. Like how to blend in and look like you've lived here in SoCal suburbia all of your life when you drop your kid off at school.

First step is always to check the weather.

Brrr! Winter.  And WINDY!  

Item 1:  A hat.  Because you lose like a bazillion percent of your body heat out of your head.  And it's kind of a long walk from that parking lot to the school. 

Item 2:  A scarf.  Partly because it keeps your neck warm, but mostly I think because scarves are a thing now.   Apparently you can wear one with anything.  Jacket, long sleeves, short sleeves, bathing suit, whatever you're wearing will look so much better with a scarf.

Item 3:  A jacket or a coat.  Of course.  Because it's winter.  And the wind chill caused by that gale blowing in at 2 mph is breezy for sure!  It's best if your jacket is down-filled with this label on it somewhere.  Totally the best brand for protecting one from these harsh elements.  But you could probably make do with something from Columbia.  As long as you also have a nice-looking scarf!

Item 4:  Boots.  Boots are apparently also a thing and likely have a whole lot to do with the resurrection of my nemesis that is skinny jeans.  I am ashamed to admit that I have worn these things more in the past two months than I did the ENTIRE two years I owned them in Kansas.  

Item 5:  Gloves, for sure.  Or, since wearing them makes using one's touchscreen difficult, it is considered an acceptable alternative to wrap one's hands around a steaming cup of this.

Item 6:  Sunglasses.  Always sunglasses. This one, I actually get. Because 8 am is Too. Early. for eye makeup. Honestly, had I worn these more when I was younger, I might not have that indention between my eyebrows that gives the impression that I am permanently teed off. 

So much for worrying that our winter wear would just sit, unused and taking up precious space out here.