Clearly, This Housewife Thing Hasn't Left Me with Much to Write

My computer has picked up a nasty virus that kind of scares me. When I start the computer, all is well with the standard green meadow stretched onto the background. After thirty minutes of use, the background changes to blooooooood red and makes this noise: Mwhahaahahahahahahaha. It's creepy, so I don't like to be around my computer much right now. It's like The Blob is taking over.

Oh, right. It doesn't really mwhahaha. But it totally does in my head.

And also, I kept this virus a secret from Matt for a day because, you see, we may or may not have legally or illegally downloaded an episode of Weeds because I might have been going crazy knowing that there was an episode out that I hadn't seen. (Our friends, acquaintances, and every stranger I've asked do not have Showtime. We had NO CHOICE, PEOPLE.) And basically, I was afraid that Matt was going to blame Weeds for the nasty virus and then tell me we had to give it up. But the virus kept mwhahaha-ing at me, and I got all freaked out, so I told him.

And praise the Lord, Matt loves Weeds just as much as I do. We downloaded another episode the next night. Matt says the virus has been with us for awhile now. Well, welcome.

And for the love, does anybody out there watch Weeds? Anybody? Hello?

Okay, fine. I'll stop talking about it then. Your loss.

Playing House

So often I feel way too young to be living my life. A few times a week, I’ll think this is my house? And he’s my husband? And this is our city we call home? And then I feel thankful and weird that yes, I am old enough for this, even though some days it feels like Matt and I are just playing house and soon he’ll drop me off at my dorm.

Well nothing snaps me out of that idea quite like walking through a college’s freshman orientation, which I happened to do yesterday afternoon. They were standing in a large circle, with two-by-fours and rope in the center, doing some awful character-building activity. And thank God I didn’t have to participate. Because there are few things I hate more in life than those stupid “games” that are played at any new person orientation. I HATE THEM. They’re not games, so don’t try and trick me into playing with you!

(Perhaps I still have some anger issues to work out between me and everyone who tricked me into playing a Do You Trust Me game. Because 1) no, I don’t trust you. I don’t know you. You could really hate my shoes and thus choose to drop me and I will be hurt and sad. And 2) that’s not a game! Don’t lie to me! I hate being coaxed into playing a game, only to discover there’s no game!)

So after watching the freshman go through the pain of orientation, I drove home and started making dinner. I decided to make one of Matt’s favorites, meatloaf. I hate meatloaf. I hate the way it looks, the reputation it has, the name (it’s a loaf of meat!). But Matt’s been all sweet and breadwinner-y since I quit my job, and if meatloaf can convey my thankfulness, then meatloaf it is. I stood there mashing and sculpting, and again I suddenly felt way too young to be making meatloaf for my husband.

But then Matt went for seconds, and everything felt just right. Sometimes I feel too young, and sometimes I feel too old – but I’m learning to always feel thankful.

How to Feel Like an Accomplished Housewife

What a lovely weekend. Good friends, good food, good TV. (OHMYGOD, has anybody seen the show Weeds? It's the best new thing in my life right. Unbelievably addicting, which I think is all cute and appropriate since you know, it's about pot. So, if you haven't seen it, run to Blockbuster right now or throw it in your queue and cancel any other plans you might have. You're welcome.)

(And also, Mary-Louise Parker should totally be my BFF. We could sit around and talk about how cute her big brown eyes are or how much I want to look and dress like her, or haha you sell drugs and you're a mom and I can't separate fact from fiction, but whatever! We're BFF!!)

Anyway.

We went to a wedding this weekend that was one of the most adorable and classy weddings I've ever attended. And I love going to weddings. Everyone is so happy, and it's the only time Matt will really go out and dance with me. I wish I could go to a wedding every weekend. Except at this last wedding I spilled red wine all down my dress. I would like to go to a wedding every weekend and not make a fool of myself.

This was especially embarrassing because it was at the very beginning of the reception. It was my second glass, and I hadn't even had a sip out of it yet. But I was also famished and my mind was entirely focused on getting the cheese and cracker into my mouth while still holding my purse, cardigan, and glass of wine. It was a tricky move that didn't work out. All of a sudden I felt something very cold trickle down my entire dress. Just lovely.

I went to the bathroom to try and salvage my poor dress, and somehow, miracle of miracles, it worked. The stain practically vanished. I have been playing housewife for two weeks now, and I have already conquered red wine stains in emergency situations.

I am so domestic. I think it's time I go out back and pick apples from our tree and make a pie.

Don't think I'm kidding.


Just seconds before I added stripes to my dress.

Made it Home

I made it back from Texas last night. Just as I said I would, I brought home 14 pints of Blue Bell ice cream. It was a bit more challenging than I anticipated, though. My mom and Katy have both carried ice cream on to planes before, and all within the past year. Neither one of them had issues, so I didn’t expect to either. WELL. After I put my cooler on the conveyor belt, I look up to see TSA Lady #1 staring at her monitor. She looks at me, looks at the screen, and yells out, “Bag check!!” I tell her it’s okay, it’s just frozen ice cream with a bit of dry ice ,which yes, it is okay to carry on less than 5 pounds of dry ice (mama researched it). Well, that’s when she gave me evil eyes and said, “No, this bag isn’t going past security.”

This is the part when my passion for ice cream develops into anger at TSA. Because like I’ve said before, nobody gets in the way of me and my Blue Bell. I explain that my mom did this two months ago, and my friend did it a year ago, and can you just let me move on? At this point, I’ve been handed off to TSA Lady # 2 who is told to handle me.

And this is when I put on my bitch face. I start ranting that if only TSA remained consistent with their rules and regulations then maybe I’d take this stupid homeland security thing a bit more seriously. I am then handed off to TSA Lady # 3, who takes my cooler and walks me out. She says I have to check it in, which, fine, whatever, I can do that. But then she says that it’s going to cost me $70 since I’ve already checked two bags, and oh yeah, there’s a dry ice handling fee. So of course this sends me over the edge, and I start to cry.

I go all the way outside to the curbside check-in because the man who processed my bags the first time around was so kind to me. I walk up, teary-eyed and pathetic and beaten down and he just looks at me and says, “No worries.” He took my bag, didn’t ask for money, and just smiled and said have a great flight. I had to go back through security, and is anybody shocked to learn I was patted down and searched?

This morning I sent an email to Continental and told them how lovely their employee, Mark, was. And then I got up, opened my freezer, and just marveled at all the beautiful pints, relieved to see they made it here safely.

And for the record, I’m all for TSA -- IF ONLY THEY WERE CONSISTENT!

Vacation Time

So last Friday was it for me at work. All I can really say about it is that it was an extremely bizarre day. Just weird. But the cutest thing in all the world happened -- each of my co-workers brought me an apple. My desk was covered in apples as they all wished me well on pursuing my teaching career. The best part, though, was when the three foreign employees came up to me and said, "I don't know why, but I was told to give you an apple."

And now I'm in Houston. I've divided my time into eating and floating in the pool. Tomorrow we're headed to the beach for the weekend and right now it's storming. Normally, I feel a little guilty when I have time off and Matt doesn't, but he's currently in Germany with work, so the guilt? Not so much. But I do miss him. I know he's jealous of all the food I've consumed. I mean, who wants to eat sausage for dinner??

Everyone Knows Food is the Way to My Heart

Here’s what rocks about turning in a two-week notice: a lot of free stuff. I have been taken out to lunch four different times, have two happy hours scheduled, and have been given teacher trinkets and books for my month off. I’ve learned that people are actually bummed to see me go and so they want to, you know, do something kind. Instead of purchasing myself coffee, I’ve learned to wait thirty minutes. In that time, someone is bound to get on the elevator for coffee. If I make eye contact and smile before the elevator arrives, they will think to themselves, “Gee, Nicole’s leaving and I sure will miss her…” and two seconds later, I’m being asked what kind of coffee I like. Carmel latte, please. It's worked for a week straight.

I should have turned in a four-week notice. I think I missed out on a lot of free food.
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As a completely random thought, I was browsing Powell's website and noticed the top five bestsellers at the moment are four Harry Potter books and a Pottery Barn book. It's like people were thinking HarryPotter, HarryPotter, HarryPotter, Pottery Barn, HarryPotter. And all the people went home and collectively said shit! How did that happen?!

No Spoilers Here

Oh, Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry.

Perfect. Just perfect.

So Friday evening, we had dinner with several of our neighbors. Matt and I knew we had to leave by ten, though, and the entire hour leading up to that I was a total dud. I couldn't think of anything else other that THE SEVENTH BOOK WAS ALMOST HERE. None of them are Harry Potter fans, so I was trying to be kind with my departure, but THE SEVENTH BOOK WAS ALMOST HERE! By 10:15, we ditched them and were on our way to the party at Powell's.

We showed up around 10:30 and found the end of the line. It seemed terribly long, and it was, but I have never experienced a faster moving line. We were in and out by 12:30, which I think is quite impressive, considering the line weaved through every aisle. We got our copies and ran out to the car to GET HOME. Such an exciting weekend, to know this was the only chance to find everything out on your own, before everyone in the world knows. So magical.


And the weeknd? KICKED ASS.