Feelin Freakin Frustrated

This day. Ohmygod, this day.

I've been writing another grant. Don't ask me why. I'm a glutton for punishment. I'm actually a glutton for a lot of things.  Apparently grant writing is one of them. Even as I was writing I was asking myself "Why am I doing this again?" It's a good thing I love my job...

So I've been working on this thing since October. And let me tell you, this one was so much harder to write than the last one. Because I have no freakin clue what I'm doing. None. At least with the last one I knew the program - this one, well...I guessed the best I could.

So after months of work, I finally had it wrapped up. When I woke up this morning I thought it would be submitted. But clearly, that didn't happen.

Last Wednesday I sent the grant to our contract grant writer. He offered to review it and I always think it's wise to get feedback. Plus, I think he's probably good. It's unrelated to my assessment, but our paths have actually crossed multiple times - he knew one of my bosses when I did a stint as a congressional intern, also knew my boss when I worked in a campaign office, and we both worked at the same institution for about 4 years. All that crossing but we never actually met.

But when I did finally meet him last Tuesday, there was just something about him that made me feel like he was good. Maybe because right out of the box he knew TRIO. And he made sure I knew he knew. Maybe it was because he asked really good questions. The kind that sorta made me feel like I was being interviewed. Or maybe it was because it was obvious within the first 10 minutes that he's not new to the grant game.

So when he offered to read, I gladly accepted. It was interesting too, because right after he made the offer he acknowledged it was my grant, made sure I knew he wasn't trying to take over and then expressed that I was in no way obligated.  Of course, he did it more subtlety and eloquently than that, but that's what he was doing. It was Handling People 101: eliminate territorial threats, acknowledge ownership and invite collaboration.  Oh, yeah, this guy's good. 

So I sent it Wednesday. I had hoped to get it back on Friday. Thought maybe he would send it over the weekend. Then was just positive I would have it Monday.

Do I just keep waiting? Do I move on? You're holdin me up, man!

And it's awkward too because this really isn't part of his contract gig - this was really just him trying to be helpful. How demanding can I be when he's doing me a favor?

So there's a conversation, he agrees to have it by end of business Tuesday. The end of business comes and goes.

Nothing.

Nothing this morning.

I set a time deadline in my head.

I'm really big into time deadlines. I don't know why. I'm always assigning these secret cut-off  times. And I just arbitrarily make up some random time. Just whatever pops in my head. If they don't respond by 9:30, or I'm giving her until 3, or I'll wait until 4:15...

20 minutes before the deadline, my deadline, I get it with an explanation - first grand baby was born last night.

The good news is that he had nothing but good feedback. The bad news is that I waited a week for basically nothing. Not discounting his effort, but the content of the grant is the same today as it was a week ago.

Of course, I get the assurance of having someone tell me it's a quality grant. Or that he just didn't read it close enough to tell that it's not...

Regardless, it's done. We're ready to go!

Except, we're not.

Because things that should have been done, weren't done.

I am beyond frustrated.

The grant is due Friday. FRIDAY. We don't have time to mess around. We need to work this out and work it out now.

But apparently, I'm the only one that feels that way.

Come on guys, where's your panic?

Can you throw me a bone and at least show some distress? Maybe a little worry? Somethin? Anything?

Of course, I find out at the end of the day. So I'm fired up and bent out of shape and can't do anything about it.

And it's not that I don't think it will get fixed, because I do. In my heart, I feel like it will work out just fine.  It's the eternal optimism that I have - I always think things will work out. It's like I believe I have some sort of a bubble of protection or something that prevents things in my life from really going wrong.  I mean, they can and they have...I just don't ever believe it's a real possibility.

But I'm super irritated that it's an annoyance that should have never occurred. And a stress I don't need.

I was so stressed and annoyed that I ate my entire daily allowance of calories in dinner. 

Now, that's annoying.

I've stayed within my calorie count all week - then BAM, I blow it. And I'm kinda hoping you didn't notice that it's only Wednesday...but " all week" sounds so much more impressive then "two days", doesn't it?  

And I cannot afford to to do that when I am literally blowing up. Seriously.  I look like a swollen tick. A really cute tick, but still...

So for the love of me trying to lose enough weight to fit back into my fat clothes, I'm gonna need everyone that I interact with to get it together.  Because I refuse to driven to another high calorie night!

Truckin Along

Hubby's golf game got cancelled Friday, so he picked me up early.  First stop, picking up our new ride.

We actually considered getting a cross-over at first. We spent a weekend looking and test driving and we're driving down the highway and hubby's like "These just don't have any power." Um, that's because it's just a boxy sedan...You want power? You gotta go with a truck.  

So a truck it was...

The dealership had to order it and we didn't expect it to come in so fast so that was a nice surprise.

Then I got a date.  An actual date -date. Not a "Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom." as soon as the food arrives date. Not a "Sit up at the table and stop messing with that!" date. Not a "Do you want chicken strips or a hamburger? date. But a real, adult, romantic date. 

Saturday we had some appointments for the new house. We picked out windows. Who would have thought there was so much to a window? I mean, I get that it's important to be energy efficient and all that but the amount of options for windows is ridiculous. Just throw something with glass in there and let's call it good. 

We also picked our entry door. All this time on windows and we picked the door in like 10 minutes flat. Let's agonize over windows that no one will even notice but the front door, yeah, who cares about that? 

It's not what I had originally envisioned. I had wanted to do a wood door but some friends of ours built a house a few years ago and their wood door has not held up well - it already needs to be resealed. We looked at...I think they were fiberglass...but honestly they looked cheap. So we were kinda at a crossroads about what direction to go. 

We ended up doing something completely different and went with iron. At first I was a little worried because I thought it would end up a little gothic...or look like burglar bars. But when I looked at the pictures, I think it will end up looking really good. And hubby liked the door, so that was the one.

Our door. Does it look too spanish villa?

I was really worried about building because of all the decisions. It's not that I can't make a decision - I can. It's that generally, I don't have a strong preference. Hubby doesn't have the problem, he has a strong opinion about almost everything so it balances out. I mean, he always asks for my input and opinion but about 90% of the time all I ever offer is "I don't care, either one."  

Real helpful, huh?

We wrapped up the weekend with a family date. Complete with "Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom.", "Sit up at the table and stop messing with that!" and  "Do you want chicken strips or a hamburger?"  

Is She Talkin About Her Vajayjay Again?

**In case the title didn't give it away, this is a post about my lady parts.  If that makes you uncomfortable or nauseous then you might want to consider moving on.**

So remember that time I found out that I have an ugly vagina?

Well, I kinda haven't been able to let it go.

I know it doesn't matter.  Shouldn't matter...but it really kinda does.

Husband was adamant that surgery was a stupid, ridiculous idea. So I dismissed it as a stupid and ridiculous idea too.

But honestly, it still bothered me.

Not bothered me like social injustice, sexism, and muffin top does. But enough that I haven't let it go.

I decided that it doesn't matter what anyone thinks, if I want to do it then I should do it.

So I informed the husband that I was going to do it.

He still thought it was dumb.

And I don't need his permission but I do want him to be on board. So I decided to convince him.

*driving down the highway*

"Okay, so look at this." *turns phone*

"What? I'm driving, I can't look. *quickly glances over* What are you doing?"

"I'm showing you some before and after pictures!"

"Before and after pictures of what?"

"Of vaginas! So you can see."

"Put that away. People can see!"

*ignoring him*  "Okay, so look! *pushes phone in face* So this. *swipes to after picture* And then this. *pause* Better, huh?"

"That doesn't look like yours."

"But it looks better, right?"

"Yours looks nothing like that."

*furiously searches phone* "Okay. Here! This looks like mine. *holding up phone* Doesn't it?" (it really did look just like mine. Like my vagina twin.)

*side glances at phone and then smiles*  

"Okay, then look at this!" *swipes to after picture and triumphantly puts phone in face*

*disgusted face* "Yuck!"

"What do you mean yuck? *shocked* What's wrong with that?!? It's pretty!"

*shrugs*  "It just looks...wrong."

*staring in disbelief* "What? Wrong?!? How does that look wrong?" *looking at picture again*

"I don't know. It just doesn't...look like you."

Oh my God, I have ruined this man. He's gone so long without seeing another one, he's completely forgotten what a vagina should look like.

I'm not sure if I should laugh or cry.

Diary Of A Mad Woman

Today marks the 7th day that I've gone without a Dr. Pepper.

It's going about as well as you would expect.

Day 1:
5:34 a.m. (in the shower) It's going to be a great day! I can do this. I can totally do this. Today is the day. I'm doing it. 

6:16 a.m. (drying hair) I totally got this. I can do this. I can. Day one of no Dr. Pepper!

6:48 a.m. (driving to work) Can I do this? What if I can't do this? No, I can do this!

7:02 a.m. (at the office) I'm not going to get my morning Dr. Pepper. I'm not. I'm just going to drink this water. This delicious water. So good. 

7:27 a.m. I feel healthier already. Does my skin look better? I think it does. I think I'm kinda glowing.

8:05 a.m. Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee.

9:00 a.m. 9 already? Okay, that's good. I made it to 9. See, I can totally do this!

9:27 a.m. Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee.

10:03 a.m.  I'm not getting a Dr. Pepper. I'm not.

10:42 a.m. Look at you being all healthy! You're a water girl!  Like one of those types that eats organic and wears yoga pants.

11:01 a.m. Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee.

11:28 p.m.  Lots of water - go me! 

12:06 p.m. Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee.

12:31 p.m. Dang, I really want a Dr. Pepper.

12:32 p.m. I'm not a water girl. I don't even look good in yoga pants. 

12:33 p.m. If I didn't suck down 2 liters of soda a day, I might be able to pull off yoga pants. 

12:48 p.m. This water is great. Really, it is.

1:04 p.m. Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee.

1:39 p.m. Another bottle of water. Yay.

2:08 p.m. I will NOT go get a Dr. Pepper. I will NOT go get a Dr. Pepper. I will NOT go get a Dr. 
Pepper. 

2:10 p.m. Do icees count? Could I do an icee? That's really not a Dr. Pepper, right? I mean, that's different...

2:11 p.m. Do not have an icee. I repeat, do not have an icee.

2:27 p.m. Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee.

2:45 p.m. Think of your skin - it's good for your skin!

3:00 p.m. I just want a freaking Dr. Pepper!

3:12 p.m. Yay. More water.

3:35 p.m. Gotta pee. Again.

3:52 p.m. It's  flavorless. It's like drinking nothing. No taste. Like drinking cold air.

3:53 p.m. I don't even like water.

4:18 p.m. Think of your skin. Pretty skin, remember?

4:20 p.m. Or I could just have bad skin and actually enjoy my life. Bad skin isn't the worst thing in world, is it?

4:24 p.m. The bathroom. Again. 

4:30 p.m. I'm going to walk out of here without going to the cafeteria. I will walk straight to my car without stopping.

4:37 p.m. (Driving home) I'm not going to stop at that store. I'm not going to stop at that store. I'm not going to stop...even though they have the best crushed ice.

4:42 p.m. Water is good for you. It is. My body is happy. This is good.

5:03 p.m. Oh my god, I have GOT pee. 

5:35 p.m. I'm going to have water with dinner. Just water. And that's it. 

5:49 p.m. Yum. Water. Delicious.

6:23 p.m. Why yes, I am drinking this wonderful glass of water as I watch you slurp down that soda. No, no problem. No problem at all. 

6:24 p.m. Is that the good ice?

7:18 p.m. Trip number 2,894 to the bathroom. I'll probably have to start buying more toilet paper.

7:47 p.m. Pretty skin, pretty skin, pretty skin.

8:51 p.m. You can totally eat popcorn without a soda. You don't need a Dr. Pepper.

8:52 p.m. Popcorn and water sucks.

9:09 p.m. I'm in the bathroom! Yes, again!  I know I just went!

10:17 p.m. Water, water, water.

11:40 p.m. Can you have too much water? Is that a thing? 

11:48 p.m. I would kill for a Dr. Pepper right now.

12:01 a.m. I made it! I made it an entire day! That was so easy! I can do this, I can totally do this!

Why I Can't Vote For Trump

Okay, I'm just gonna come out a say it...I'm a Republican.

I don't have horns, there's a heart in my chest, and I'm not self-righteous and yet it's true - I'm Republican.

Mostly Republican.

I've always thought straight party mentality was stupid.

I come from a long line of Yellow Dog Democrats. I learned this immediately after announcing my political affiliation. My Great-Grandfather mailed me a passionate letter imploring me to reconsider and reminding me of our proud Democratic roots.

Imagine their astonishment when I secured a position working for a Republican U.S. Representative. My uncle, a state Representative, was so upset that he sent a scathing letter to the President of my university accusing one of my Poli-Sci mentors of influencing me.

They were on a mission to save me from the Republican way.

Which was really ironic because a lot of the views they personally held were very much on the "Republican side".

And that's the problem with the straight party mentality.  You can't get so caught up in your political identity that you discount what you really think and believe.

So I'm mostly Republican.

One mostly Republican that will not be voting for Trump.

There's a lot I could say about the political reasons but you didn't come to this blog to read thorough political analysis, so I won't. And it really expands beyond his political ideology and comes down to one simple thing for me: the guy's a jerk.

He's the type of guy that would yell at a waiter.  The type of guy that never says please or thank you. The type of guy that believes being mean is the same as being powerful. The type of guy that would eat the last cookie.

That's not a guy I would go to dinner with, let alone let represent me as our highest serving official.

I'm not saying being a good person will get you into the Presidency, but being a not good person might just keep you out.

Big Meanie

I've gotten mean in my old age.

Like, really mean.

I think I used to be a nice person. I have a really cloudy, vague recollection of it. And if I close my eyes and try real hard, I can almost recall what it was like to be nice.

But then I open my eyes again and here I am.

I'm not sure exactly when I lost the nice trait.  It just kinda faded away. Quietly, silently and without my knowledge. Like most of my past relationships.

But I looked up one day and it was gone.  The only traces left were messages scribbled in my old high school yearbooks declaring that I was "So sweet!" and "The nicest person ever!".  Some of these declarations were solidified by being underlined.

That's how I know they really meant it and that it wasn't just a generic phrase. Because if you underline something, it means you really mean it.

So I've wandered for years, with an empty hole where my niceness had once been. Black and empty. And unnice.

I get rare traces of it, though. On occasion, it will briefly burst through my default setting of sarcasm and bitterness.

Like when I walked into the convenience store to get my daily fix of Dr. Pepper. There was a woman standing at the counter that stopped dead and stared at me. I automatically attributed this to the fact that I've moved to a very, very small town and anyone new is somewhat of a novelty.

Until she opened her mouth.

"Oh my god! I thought I was short!"

And I never really know how to respond to that. Like, what am I supposed to say? Do I act surprised and turn around to see who she's talking to? Do I apologize? Do I give a quick lesson on genetics?

But I usually just smile. Sometimes laugh.  Mainly because it's easier.

But she kept going. 

I'm at the fountain, pulling out a cup and she's still talking.

"But next to you, I'm like a giant! You come to like...my shoulders. Oh my god, you make me feel tall!"

It should be noted that the woman was close to 300 pounds. And maybe 4 inches taller than me.  It was hard to tell because she had a frizzy, poorly dyed rat nest piled high on her head. So probably more like 3. Three freakin inches.

And without even trying, it ran through my head. Something mean and biting. Something I could say that would probably break her to her core.

I look at her and she has this look like she's both amazed and triumphant. And it hit me, that for whatever reason, it made her feel good, feel accomplished that she was taller than me. I totally don't get it, but I could tell that's how she felt.

Woohoo! Your DNA determined that your body grew longer than mine! Congratulations!  You win!

But niceness had swept over me. Unexpected and rare. What? What is this emotion I feel?

So I smiled. And laughed.

And paid for my drink while she was still going on about it.

Then I got in my car and thanked God that I had just a sliver of niceness left somewhere in there.

And that I hadn't throat punched her, after all.

Emergency PSA

I have a really important public service message. Like, really important.

I know this may come as a shock to many of you but...public restrooms are NOT private phone booths.

I'll give you a minute as that sinks in.

I know. Mind blown. 

I can see how it might be confusing.  You step in, you shut the door, it's enclosed...

Sooo close...

But not the same!

Let me tell you a secret...you may not be alone in there after all.

Imagine this scenario:

You step into that "phone booth".  You take a seat and begin engaging in some riveting conversation about Barbara and the thousands she's spent on her scandalous addiction to porcelain dolphins which caused her husband, Freddy, to leave her for Lynn - the tramp that cuts his hair.

You take a breath to let Trish fill you in on the latest - Girl, Lynn's pregnant! But according to Barbara, Freddy's sterile. It must have been Jim from the auto-body shop next to the salon. You know she's had a thing for him ever since he changed her oil.

During this pause I come in. It's silent. I find a stall. I sit down and just as I begin to pee you resume your conversation.

So this is awkward.

Do I stop mid-stream? Do I just let it flow?

I've really got to pee so full flow it is.

Oh, I really had to go - it's like Niagara Falls over here.

As I'm peeing - Good Lord, this is like the longest, loudest pee I've ever taken. Seriously, what am I going on now - like two minutes? And is that an echo?  Is my pee echoing?

Then I hear "Hahahaha. Yep, I am.  About to cop a squat."

I'm not even going to address the "cop a squat" expression.

Now my pee performance has been broadcast for the person on the other end of the phone.

Look, I enjoy an audience as much as the next person. I want to amuse you, entertain you, make you laugh and give you a good time.

I just don't want to do it while I'm peeing.

So put your damn phone away so I can pee in peace.  Without judgement from someone that actually uses the expression "cop a squat".

And for God's sake ladies, don't put your purse on the stall floor. I don't care if the door doesn't have a hook - put that damn purse around you're neck or dangle it from your teeth if you have to. Do. Not. Let. It. Touch. The. Floor.