Chirky

It's 9:38 a.m., and I am eating FUDGE. Heavenly fudge. The kind your grandma makes at Christmas, and that you sneak little pieces of when she's not looking. Not because you're trying to be sneaky, but because it's SO GOOD you just can't keep your little fingers out of it. I'm obsessed!

There's a woman in my office, the grandmotherly type, and I just walked past her desk on my way from the copier. And then I quickly retraced my steps, heading back to her desk again. Because on the top of her desk, as I walked by, I saw an enormous plate of fudge squares. And I took one.

Now I'm not sure how I will have enough self control not to go back to that plate again. I just want to trade desks with that woman for the day and sit there, fat and happy and eating all that fudge. Heavenly, HEAVENLY FUDGE.

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Today I got a flu shot. I waited in line for 40 minutes for a shot that took one minute. Oh, wait. Except for the nurse's cell phone ringing before she gave me a shot, WHICH SHE ANSWERED while holding my needle. And then there was the fact that she didn't change her "sterile" glove after the person preceding me. (At least she changed the needle.)

Other than that, my day is going fine. I slept 7 out of a possible 12 hours last night. If you're interested, here's a recap of my night:

7:09pm: Drink 2 capfuls of NyQuil, Go to bed
10:40pm: Wake up. Drink one capful of NyQuil, take 3 Tylenol PMs
12:39am (approx): Finally fall back asleep.
3:42am: Wake up. Take another (nearly overflowing) capful of NyQuil.
4:10am (approx): Fall back asleep, AGAIN.
5:49am: Wake up. Wonder if it's too late in the morning to take more NyQuil. Decide just to lay in bed for a while.
7:00am: Finally get up, after laying in bed for a while.

When I woke in the morning, I discovered that I had consumed half the bottle of NyQuil in one night.

But, I did squeeze in seven hours of sleep, which is almost more than I slept the past two nights combined, so I'm not complaining.

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Good morning, Insomnia. How are you today? Oh? Fine? REALLY? WELL I HATE YOU.

Yes, you heard me. I hate you. That's a strong word. I don't think I could possibly explain the contempt and disgust I hold in my heart for you. But I'll try:

This morning, I woke up at 2:49am. I woke myself up, because I was shrieking. SHRIEKING. Why? Because of my dream. And it was about YOU, Katie. YOU are the cause of my shriek. And YOU were in it too, Eddie. And YOU, other random people that my mind made up and that i've never met and probably never will and where in the world did you come from?

I dreamed that we were all in MTV's The Real World, and even though I knew KT and Eddie, we were meeting everyone else for the first time. The girls started bickering and KT just walked off toward the pier (we were standing on a beach). Except to get to this pier, you had to walk up about 100 stone steps (reminiscent of walking up steps to a Chinese Mausoleum). And Katie was half-way up them and all of a sudden I realize that SHE'S NAKED. And the girl next to me is holding her clothes, and Katie has turned around and is just staring at all of us IN ALL HER NAKED GLORY, as though she's trying to make some obvious point to everyone. AND THIS IS HOW SHE'S MAKING IT. And I SHRIEK.

And then I wake up, and Roger does too, and asks me "What's wrong?" And I think I mention something about a dream or that I'm just shrieking, and he rolls back over and starts sleeping again. How does he do it?

And now I'm awake. And I'm awake most of the night, except for random 30 minute intervals where I've fallen in an awake-type sleep, where I'm technically asleep, but only because I'm not awake. And it was a very light sleep, where I might as well have been awake. And for the rest of the night, since I wasn't sleeping, ALL I THINK ABOUT IS WHAT I'LL SAY WHEN I BLOG. Yes, Eddie, you've created a monster.

Finally, at 6:59 I decide to get up. And one minute later my alarm clock goes off, AND I WANT TO THROW IT ACROSS THE ROOM, because WHAT is the point?

And so I take a shower, and somehow my quick 20 minute shower turns into 45 minutes. I'm not sure how that happened. I don't remember being in there that long. Maybe I fell asleep.

And then, IT ALL BEGINS. After fixing my hair and putting on my makeup, I begin the process of dressing. First, any single man should be warned. If you marry a woman with a flare for drama, GETTING DRESSED WILL NEARLY ALWAYS BE DRAMA. And so it was this morning. I already have picked out what I am going to wear. No problem. And then, it happens: I run a pair of pantyhose.

Frustrated, I fling them down and get another pair. I manage to put a hole in these, which will turn into a run later on. Normally that wouldn't bother me too much, but I have another fancy-schmancy work party to go to tonight (we went to Roger's client party last night), and I don't want to go with runs in my pantyhose. So I yank them off, and put on another pair. Another run. Off, fling across room. I do this twice. I try thigh-highs. They were too long for my legs (even though I'm a solid 5'7" they were too long. Can you imagine the drama?). So I took them off. I tried my last pair of pantyhose, which were nude instead of black, but would've served the purpose despite the color. Yes, I RAN THEM. So I put the thigh highs back on. And then, I not only ran them, but put an enormous hole in them too. SIX pairs of NEW pantyhose. New pantyhose. SIX PAIRS. Different brands. Good quality. Six pairs. New Pantyhouse.

CANNOT COPE WITH LIFE.

I require 8 hours of sleep to function properly as a human. I only got 4 hours last night. I am not functioning properly. And considering my drama the night before last, it is a surprise that I am functioning AT ALL.

Oh, and also? I broke TWO fingernails. AFTER the pantyhose incident. Roger, you know how I thought I just broke one? I didn't. I BROKE TWO.

By this point, I am crying. Heaving and crying and I have tears and snot all over my face. And my mascara is running and I look like a raccoon and I was supposed to be at work at 8:30 and it is currently 8:36. Roger is staring at me, quite unsure how to handle the situation, and I am freaking out because OBVIOUSLY I will not be wearing the skirt as planned. And now I must find something else to wear, which takes several drama-infected minutes.

Finally I am on my way to work, which is five minutes away. But then there's the traffic, which makes it 20 minutes away. And I'm still crying and still have snot dripping down my face and my mascara. OH, MY MASCARA. Mascara is not waterproof, but will not come off regardless of how much spit and rubbing is applied.

People in elevator think I'm half-crazed.

Oh, and by the way: I'm sick. And every two minutes everyone in the BUILDING can hear me blow my nose on my new anti-viral Kleenex.

It's nearly that time of the month, and I'm so glad that I'll be finished by the time we visit Roger's family for Christmas. Because even though they may read this blog, they have not witnessed it in person. And if they did, perhaps they would urge us to get an annulment, fearing that their son will become even a tenth as crazy as I feel right now. Therapy sessions needed.

* * *

Today, the best part of being married is having a husband who undoubtedly loves me and wants to console me...even when I am having a COMPLETE AND TOTAL MELTDOWN.

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Last night when I got home, I found Roger already in bed, sick. I surfed the Internet and found a new blog that I love. Just like I love (in no particular order) Eddie's and Katie's and Mel's and Sara's and Willow's (if she would EVER post something, hint-hint), and Alan's ... have I named everyone? Because I would really hate to leave any of you out, and then get hate mail because I failed to mention you here...

Anyway, last night I stayed up until (gasp!) 9:45 reading nearly EVERY blog on this new site. I totally identify with this gal, and wish she lived closer to Dallas. We seem to have lots of thing in common. We're both Christians, for
example. We're both newlyweds. We both were unemployed with no end in sight for an ungodly number of weeks. And though both of our situations turned out great, and we both got to spend a little bit extra time with our husbands, it was at times a frustrating, anxiety-inducing event for both of us.

Not only that, but she has inspired me with not only my blogsite, but also my blogging. The mood emoticon you see to the right? An idea I stole from her site. It's so cute! How could I not? You should steal it, too!!

Also, she ends nearly every blog with "today the best part of being married is..." and I think that is so-o-o-o-o great!! (Each of those "o's," by the way, needs to be read separately: so-"oh"-"oh"-"oh"-"oh" great!!) It never occurred to me before to actually think EVERY SINGLE DAY about reasons why I am thankful for my sweet husband. I think that if everyone everywhere (do you hear me, Hollywood? do you hear me U.S.? do you hear me, world?) spent time thinking about why they were thankful for their spouse, we'd have so much less divorce. So many happier marriages. And really, Internet, WE NEED THAT. I need that.

Because when you're thinking about why you're thankful, then you're not thinking about your own needs. For me, thinking about why I'm thankful makes me want to work even harder, to have even MORE to be thankful for. I admit it: I am a thankful hog. I WANT things to be thankful for. I LIKE HAVING things to be thankful for. And I DO HAVE SO MUCH to be thankful for.

Yes, I have a master plan!! Internet, SPREAD IT LIKE WILDFIRE!!! (And you know, this works in so many different ways - even if you're single, you can think about other things you're thankful for: like the opportunity to go to school. Or your friends. Or your family. Or your paycheck. Or anything else.) It's such a great idea!! Air? I love air! It's like oxygen for my nose!!!!

And so, Internet, that is why I would like to introduce you to AMANDA.

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Next time I get an invitation to a Christmas party that reads "Holiday Attire" or "Business Casual, Holiday Dress optional," please point me toward this website.

This year my employer held such a party. And coworkers were really vague about what that meant. And I didn't know what it meant. And lo: I am stupid.

I mean, I know what business casual is - I dress that way everyday to go to work. But Holiday Dress??? What the hell IS that? I assumed it meant that some people could wear holiday attire if they wanted. I didn't know what holiday attire was, but apparently someone did. I was imagining the ladies wearing sweaters and vests of sorts with black slacks. The kinds of sweaters and vests that are embroidered with christmas trees and jingling bells. Or perhaps with ribbons and bows and laughing snowmen and prancing reindeer. You know: the kind of sweaters sold in the old lady section. (Uhhh...sorry mom. But that is where they are.)

I WAS NOT IMAGINING FORMAL DRESSES AND SUITS.http://www.dresscodeguide.com/default.asp

People! People were wearing SEQUINS. Like, as in prom. Didn't I already graduate from high school? Isn't this being held in a barbeque joint? Am I the only one who is confused here?

Earlier that night I had talked Roger into just wearing slacks and a shirt, despite his attempts to persuade me to dress up a little bit more. After all, it said Business Casual. NOT SEQUINS AND SUITS.

Roger and I felt soooooo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o (sooooooo!) under-dressed. We immediately sat down at a table with some other folks in a lame attempt to hide half of ourselves underneath the table. Maybe people would think I was wearing a long, flowy skirt with my sweater. A skirt that would CERTAINLY be more acceptable than khakis. WHAT WAS I THINKING?

Soon we had to get up to go to the dinner buffet, which meant I was REQUIRED to WALK IN FRONT OF EVERYONE and then EVERYONE had to see what I was wearing. I asked Roger if he wanted to go home and change clothes, and he looked at me like I was half crazy. I am, by the way.

So: attending a holiday party? Does the invitation say HOLIDAY ATTIRE? Do you not know what that means? It's okay. I didn't either. Which is why I'm about to give you a public service announcement.

WHAT ATTIRE TO WEAR TO A HOLIDAY PARTY:
Men: Whatever you do, wear a blazer. Men have it easy because you can wear jeans with a collared shirt and blazer and you have it made. Still, I'd suggest nice slacks, a collared shirt, and a blazer.

Women: I don't suggest wearing sequins unless you know that the party really is a formal one. Sequin gowns at non-formal events scream either (a) HELP! I'M STUCK IN 1992! or (b) I have nowhere else to wear this, and really, really, really wanted to. Rather, wear a tasteful cocktail dress. Something nice, maybe with minimal beading or a sequined neckline, but for the love of all things holy, please don't wear head-to-toe glitter.

If you need additional help, email me. I'm happy to help anyone avoid a blunder such as my own. Additionally, you may find THIS SITE particularly helpful.

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