A Matter of Faith

My faith was tested today - HARD. You see, I believe God has a purpose for each and every one of us on this earth. I believe He has a plan for me, although sometimes I am too stubborn to see it. There is very rarely anything that happens in my life or in the lives of those around me that I cannot see the good in.

Today was a different story.

I have an online friend who had twins last year. Two beautiful babies, Ethan and Emma. As is the case with most twins, the babies were preemie and Ethan was born with health complications. Long story short, he passed away in October. Ethan became an angel.

Sara moved on and stayed strong and became a wonderful mother to little Emma. Emma thrived and fought and was loved by all around her.

Emma passed away last night from complications due to an infection. Her little body just couldn't handle it.

Emma was seven months old.

I cried this morning. I cried like I haven't cried in a long time. I have been crying all day. I cry for Ethan, and for Emma, and for Sara. I cry for any mother who has lost their child. I cried trying to tell my husband.

My faith tells me that God does not give us more than we can handle. I watched Sara take Ethan's death and turn it into a positive, loving energy towards Emma. What I cannot see for the life of me, is how she will possibly deal with the hurt, the anger, the feeling of overwhelming sorrow that is probably one hundred times what I am feeling.

If you believe, please pray for Sara.

And hug your children tight tonight.

Disneyland

Why is it that no matter how old you are, once you walk through the gates of Disneyland and set your eyes on Main Street, and get that view of Cindy's Castle, your heart becomes, well, happy? Is it true that we, even as adults, need an escape?

We took the Boy to Disneyland this weekend. It was part of his birthday/Easter/Passover present. I like to tell myself that I do it to watch the joy on his face, but honestly, who am I kidding? There is nothing like a good old fashioned ride on the Matterhorn. Or splashing down into the world of the Pirates of the Carribbean!

So we get to the park at 7:30 a.m. and we stand in line waiting to get in. The gates opened promptly at 8:00. Our first stop was to get the Boy some pics and autographs, and that is precisely what we did. Four in a row. Like lightning. And we didn't have to wait for the best one of all, the King himself, Mr. M. Mouse. That's Mickey to you and me.



So we waited in lines and bumped into people, and generally had a really good time. With 98,000 other people. On Easter/Spring Break weekend.

What were we thinking?



Well, we weren't. But they don't call this the Happiest Place on Earth for nothing! So off we went. First stop: Buzz Lightyear, the Ride. And three minutes into it, it breaks down. Completely. Twenty minutes later, they let us off. Seriously folks, on the busiest day of the Spring, you can't get your newest ride to work? Oy! Give me the good old standby - I'm headed to the Matterhorn!

So we did that, and Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, Autopia, Innoventions, Star Tours, Indiana Jones, and of course, Pirates of the Carribbean. Only no Johnny Depp, which I thought was a rip off. I mean, really, folks.




Innoventions was fun, as the boy got to be on a "Game Show" which basically turned into a giant Disney, Inc. commercial. They were plugging TiVo, and ABC, and of course, a lot of recent Disney movies, such as Miracle. Funny how that works.

We then went to Downtown Disney. We shopped, and ate at the Rainforest Cafe. And told the waitress it was the Boy's birthday so we could score him a free sundae, and embarass him with the loud clapping and yelling, of which I was a major contributor.

At about 6:30 p.m., we piled in the tram to head back to our $10 parking space to drive home. We made it up in an hour and fifteen, and made it home in an hour and a half. Not that the Boy would know, he was out before we put it in drive.

And so was his mommy.

Ten More Things I Love About You

I got ten more for you - here ya go:

11. I love hip-hop/dance music. My new fave stations on
XM Radio are
KissXM and BPM. **Side note - have you gotten XM yet? OMG! Get IT!. End side note**

12. I enjoy old school video games. Like Frogger, Pac Man, Ms. Pac Man and Tetris. You can keep Vice City and Devil May Cry, really.

13. I travel. A Lot. The Hub works for a major airline and well, we get some fantastic bene's.

14. I collect shot glasses from every city the Hub and I have visited TOGETHER. That's the rule, it has to be together.

15. To relax, I read, write, or scrapbook. I need to be creating to be relaxed, but creating under my own pressure, not under anyone else's.

16. There is nothing like a great cup of coffee in the morning, or a soothing cup of green tea before bedtime.

17. I will not take prescription drugs if I don't have to. I like natural remedies, and will often "work out" a migraine via aromatherapy (spearmint and eucalyptus do wonders). I believe most of our healing is mental anyway.

18. My favorite snacks are oranges.

19. My favorite color is blue.

20. The person I know that lives the farthest away is one of the greatest friends I have and she became one in a very short time. Love and miss you Amanda!

That's it for now. Stay tuned.

I Almost Licked the Handle

Remember that VW commercial where the guy is at the dealership, and he's on the phone with his significant other, and they have ONE Jetta left in apparently the color she wants? Then this other couple starts to come out of the dealership and they have the keys to test drive THAT Jetta? He bends over and licks the handle. Funniest commercial I have ever seen VW make.

Fast forward to about a week and a half ago. I have been driving a 2002 Galactic Blue Jetta TDI (that's Turbo Diesel) for the last three years. I loved that Jetta. Sunroof, leather heated seats. And a bit of pep in it's step. I have to say I am a loyal VW customer. They make a good car. A tank. A rock.

Then I started noticing some new Jetta commercials. I heard rumors that they were changing the body style, not making them anymore, etc. I mosied on over to this website:
New Jetta

Sarah Jessica Parker would you get a load of THAT? Look at that sleek body style, that longer frame. What's this? Automatic RAIN SENSORS? Very cool. So I dropped it on The Hub. He likey. I likey. We wait for the release.

This was my life yesterday: We had server issues at work, I lost half my timesheet data for my hourly employees, and I am stressed to the max because payroll is this week. I got in at 7 and didn't leave (with no lunch) until 6. I called The Hub on the way home. Here's how the convo went:

Me: Hi Honey.
The Hub: Are you coming home today?
Me: Ha. Funny. Yes, I am on my way.
The Hub: Good, let's go look at the New Jetta's.
Me: No.
The Hub: What??
Me: I'm exhausted and not in the mood.
The Hub: OK

I get home. The Hub suggests we go get a bite to eat. I say ok. Then he drops it on me that we are going to run by the VW dealership on the way, to talk to Jamie. Jamie? You KNOW someone over there? He grins. You see, he's already talked to Jamie, and they are buds.

We get to the dealership. I sit in the New Jetta and fall in lust. Not fair. We test drive the New Jetta. I fall in love. So not fair. Then I see someone looking at MY JETTA. And then Jamie tells us that since they only have 2 left (yeah, 2! Of the 10 they ordered and had on Saturday!) that they are only selling ONE because they have to have something for other customers to look at. Why is it we always want something more when someone else wants it??

Make a not so long story shorter, I have said New Jetta sitting in my parking lot as we speak. It's grey. Oh - wait. It's Platinum Grey. And it's loaded. And I mean loaded. It's even got XM Sattelite Radio. Oh - and rain sensors.

And I didn't even have to lick the handle.

Things You Need to Know

So I have been doing this blogging thang for a bit and I have decided to do a Ten Things I Love About You post.

Here you go:

1. Extreme Makeover Home Edition makes me cry. Every. Damn. Time.

2. I adore horror movies. Slasher, psycho, psychological. Any type of horror/thriller movie turns my crank. Guess where I will be on Friday?
The Ring 2

3. I love my husband with a fierce, passionate and deep love. It is so deep that it hurts sometimes. Hurts. I hope everyone gets to experience that hurt sometime.

4. I love my son with an unconditional, protective, "I would take a bullet for you" love.

5. Though they sometimes drive me crazy, my mom and dad are integral parts of my world.

6. My sister was the biggest pain in my ass until we became adults. Then she was an even bigger pain. But I love her with a fierce love.

7. I love my job. It's stressful, and challenging, and there are days that I come home exhausted, but I feel fulfilled in my career for the first time in my life.

8. My dog is a spoiled rotten little Jewish man with fur. His mommy is Jewish, so, you know, the mother passes it on.

9. I love my God, and my Saviour. I won't get on a soap box here, but I have a deep-rooted faith in God that I can now look back and thank my father for. I ran from it when I was in my teens, and thankfully, my God is a forgiving one.

10. I love my friends with all of my heart. You know who you are.

Boys Are Always 12

I am a Newlyweds junkie. I love Jessica Simpson and Nick Lache, and I don't care what the rag mags say about them, I think they are a cute couple. She's ditzy enough, but not annoyingly, and he is, well, hot. And he reminds me of my husband, though I never knew why until last night.

Hub and I were sitting on the couch catching up on our DVR'd TV shows.

*Side note - DVR/TIVO is the best invention since, well, microwaves. I believe it, that settles it.*

So we get to Newlyweds, and I start the show. In this particular episode, Jess (yes, we're tight, I call her Jess) is off filming Dukes of Hazzard. So Nick decides to take some of his best guy friends to Cabo for a nice guys weekend. They rent a house only you and I could DREAM of living in, and they decide to have a guys night. They barbecue, and drink beer. And then they decide to shave mohawks in two of their friends' hair. The Hub is beside me laughing his ass off. Why? Because he can relate. So when they say what happens in Mexico, this is IT? No strippers, no dirty little secrets? Just a bunch of men, drinking beer and receiving mohawks? I am interested, so I pay a little closer attention.

The next day the boys decide to go Marlin fishing. Marlin fishing is to Cabo what gambling is to Vegas. (The Hub and I have been there a few times, so we know.) So they head out on the boat, beers and bagels, and proceed to try to fish. Problem is, there isn't really any good fishing, so they get bored quickly. For those of you with sons, does this sound familiar??

What do they decide to do? Go out to that little platform at the front of the boat, and see if they can get dunked. See, apparently, if you stand on the edge of this thing, eventually the momentum from the waves will dunk you pretty well. I had no idea of this, until the Hub told me what they were doing. He knew, right away. And let me tell you, he was laughing his ass off about it. I don't mean just chuckling. When the guy finally got soaked by the waves, Hub was in full-blown arrest. He whooped and hollered, and cheered the guy on! I think if Nick had invited my Hub to cabo, he would have been there right along with them.

Getting a mohawk, and getting dunked.

Proof positive that boys may age, but they never grow up. They are 12 forever.

Private School or Bust

I went to private school. From the fourth grade until I graduated. My parents scrimped and struggled, but I was able to be given a private school education. I never realized how much that education meant until today.

I have made a decision. My child/future children will go to either a charter or private school if I have to strip to earn the money. I mean of course, strip and wax floors. And that sort of thing.

How did I come to such a remarkable decision? I had lunch today. At a sandwich shop that shall remain nameless *coughcoughBlimpiecoughcough*. I ordered what I always get - a hot Pastrami sandwich on Italian bread. Mayo, mustard, swiss cheese. Easy right?? Well, the sandwich part was anyway.

Then I get to the checkout. Said sandwich shop has a punch card system where you buy 7 subs and your 8th is free. Which isn't so bad a deal. So I get to the checkout and the boy behind the counter, who just made my sandwich, says "What did you have?" I look around slowly, as if not believing that he was asking me, and say "Hot Pastrami, on Italian, with cheese. And make it a combo, but upsize my drink." You would have thought I asked for his kidney. He looked at me, looked at the register, and looked back at me. I handed him my punch card, and proceeded to pull a $20 out of my purse. The total came to $6.89. As it always does. He looks at my punch card, which I still have one more punch before the freebie, and takes the cost of my sandwich off the total.

I realize at this point, that it's about to get hairy, so I say to him "No, I just wanted the punch for the sub, I don't get a free one yet." He looks at the punch card. He looks at me. I guess this time I asked for his liver. He then hits the total button, and the total is $2.20. OK, did I, or did I not just tell him that he shouldn't have taken the sub off? I said "Do you want to re-ring me, or add the sub back on?" He looks at the punch card, looks at me. "No," he says "It's alright."

What?

So I hand him my $20 bill. Here's where it gets really fun. Note that the total on the register is now $2.20. He puts in $0.20, thinking he put in $20. So now the register says $2.00. Oh I bet you can tell where this is going. He then looks at me, looks at the $20, and says, and I am NOT making this up, "You owe $2."

What?

I said, very calmly, because it is now that I realize he cannot help himself, "I gave you a $20, the bill was $2.20. You owe me $17.80. You typed in 20 cents instead of $20 and now that is why it says $2."

"Oh." He says.

And types in $20. Oh yeah, he sure does. So now he gives me back $18 change. Yup. Not only did I get a $2 meal from that sandwich store, but I got my drink upgraded, and I got some afternoon entertainment as well.

Private school or bust. If I have to live in a homeless shelter and sell chiclets in Tijuana. Private school.

Private school.

Or bust.

Mojitos

Pronounced mo-hee-toes. My new favorite drink. Fresh mint leaves, brown sugar, and a fresh lime quarter. Throw them at the bottom of a glass, and crush with a wooden mallet type object. Top with ice, rum, sweet and sour, and a splash of soda, and you have a drink made for summer.

I have recently rediscovered the Mojito. The minty freshness and the sparkling soda make for a refreshing beverage. Make sure the next time you are out, you order one up. And sip it. And enjoy.

Girlfriends

I love my husband. I really do. He is the force that keeps me centered, grounded, and focused. He supports me in all that I do, even when I have lost my mind. He is my best friend, the one I can tell everything to. He understands my ups, my downs, my aggravations, and things that make me go hmmm. But he isn't a girl.

There is a special bond between girlfriends that scientists have yet to decipher. Girlfriends can get together once a day, once a week, once a month, or even once a year, and pick up like they never were apart. Girlfriends will listen to you cry, listen to you bitch, and listen to you. Really listen to you. They understand the emotional ups and downs of monthly hormonal changes. They understand if you want to cry because the Hertz commercial was endearing. They understand the sanctity of Girls Night Out, and they understand when the damn dry cleaner shrinks your favorite pants once a month.

Since moving to San Diego, I haven't had a lot of girlfriend time. And as the saying goes, you don't know what you got til it's gone. So I had the fortunate opportunity to get together with some girlfriends this Sunday and laugh, and love, and have a good time. It is amazing the things that laughter does for your health. Don't believe me? Read THIS.

So I did a good thing for myself today. I had lunch with some girlfriends, and Wednesday I'll have dinner with another.

When is the last time you laughed?

Hawaii

Black Beach Cave 

This is one of my favorite pictures. It was taken in Maui, in May. We had traveled the Road to Hana the whole day in a convertible Mustang with two of our best friends. We had stopped at this beach to see the black sand and have a picnic lunch. I need life to be that simple again.

Call Noah and Gather the Animals

When my husband asked me about a year and a half ago where I would NOT want to move to, the first word out of my mouth was California, followed by West Virginia. I apologize right now to any West Virginians, as I had just seen the movie Wrong Turn and didn't want to go anywhere near that state.

And California, well, it was just too damn expensive.

So he came home three months later and said "Honey, how about San Diego?" Now, to see my husband, is to love him, and he can have the cutest faces, and well, it's hard to say no to him. Really, really hard. So we put the house up for sale, packed up our game and headed out west, sucka, cause we wanted to be cowboys, baby. Oh wait, that was Kid Rock. Anyway...

So we moved to sunny San Diego. Well, call the mayor, alert the press, and hose down the neighbors, because I want my money back. It has rained here. A Lot. More than Seattle this year. That's right folks, we're beating Seattle in record rainfall this year. And it's only February 23. One year and one day to the date that we made this journey to the land of Sea World and sandy beaches. Tanned bodies and Trader Joe's.

People's houses are sliding down hills. I saw on the news last night a couple in Bel Air had their pool DETACH from the house and slide down the hill. It was actually kinda funny, for a second. Then I felt bad for them. After all, now what are Carlton and Hillary going to do for fun this summer?

But I digress. I am tired of the rain. And in my morning prayers in the shower this morning, I told God I felt enough was enough. This was, of course, after the power went out in my neighborhood, so I had to do my makeup in the dusk, had no hair dryer, and basically felt like crap because I had no coffee. But I said it anyway. And on the way to work, I saw it. Bright and big and plain as day. A rainbow in the sky. There it was in all of it's primary color glory. I hallelujah'ed and praised Jesus like a Baptist woman on Sunday. I even pulled over my car and took pictures with my camera phone.

And I told the Man Himself, I was holding Him to His Promise to not ever flood the earth again.

And all day long, it's been sunny skies. Welcome to San Diego.

Viva Las Vegas, Baby/The Passing of an Age

My husband has many acquaintances. He knows a lot of people. But I can honestly say that the handful of friends he has is quality. He has, and he might beg to differ, five quality friends, three of which he has known since high school.

Most of these friends (about 95% of them) turn 30 this year. Yes, they were all 1975 deliveries. And most of them have birthdays in the beginning of the year.

One of our friends who just turned 30 on Monday is celebrating with a blowout weekend in fabulous Las Vegas. Where else should a grown man mourn the passing of his twenties? What's that you say? Men don't mourn it? I beg to differ.

Case In Point: Everytime we get a phone call from one of the group regarding said "thirtieth" birthday, they are WHINING about it. Oh yeah, I said it. Whining about it.

Most of you know and some of you don't, but I celebrated my 30th THREE years ago. So yes, I am older than my husband. And I partied like a rock star. And to be truthful, I LIKE being 33. I like being in my thirties period. I didn't mourn the passing of my twenties. I like being the OLDER woman.

So long story short, we are headed to Vegas, baby, to party like rock stars for the weekend. And if I win a million dollars, I won't be back.

Oh alright - I'll write, but I won't be back to WORK.

Stay dry!

It's The End of the Year As We Know It...

...and I feel fine.

Ah - End Of The Year, or Death By Numbers for those of us involved in this massacre of taxes and revenue, labor distribution reports and profit sharing contributions. EOTY is the time when all good accountants are tested to their max PSI. I figure mine is about 52. Or 53. Maybe 55, but not much more than that.

See, ever since we started this here EOTY process, I have become the absent-minded professor. I misplaced (lost) two of my W2's. I can't remember a damn thing my husband told me five seconds ago. And I feel like he isn't getting much of my attention. I thank God he is handling our personal finances right now, because I don't think I could cut it handling my work ones and my home ones. I feel like a circus juggler, with a hundred balls up in the air. The best part? Waking up at 2:37 a.m. freaking out because I need to do something at work and I don't want to forget.

Top that with our recent move (which we are done with, so you can all start answering your phones again when I call!), and it's a recipe for a stress bomb. Even now, I sit here trying to take a break and bust out a quick blog and I struggle to be funny. Cute even. As I always say, work is a rude interruption to the rest of my day.

The good news? LOST is on tonight. So I can relate. Although, I am not seeing an issue with being stuck on a tropical island with the likes of Sawyer and Jack. Charlie even. How about you?

Life's Lessons Learned

So we found a house. Which is funny, since we were getting so incredibly frustrated with the whole process. We came from a 2,400 square foot brand-spankin'-new house in Phoenix and we just aren't used to having to lower our standards. I'll admit, my husband and I are two of the most picky people you will ever meet when it comes to our standard of living. To be truthful, we are downright snobby about it. We enjoy eating out occasionally (if that means every other day and twice on the weekends), we like to shop for new things, and we like to travel. Most of all, we like to live in "cool" places, like brand new homes or trendy downtown apartment mid-rises with a gated garage, locked and secured front door, and an elevator. An elevator! Lookout Weezy, we're movin' on up!

Enter San Diego, the mighty teacher of "You Cannot Afford Your Snobbiness 101". Little more is humbling as being schooled in the fine art of "Build A Bridge and Get Over Yourself 105" with a lab of "Living Within Your Means 210".

Yes, career-wise this was the best thing we could have done for my husband. It gave him a kick-ass raise, or so we thought at the time, and a great promotion, and left all kinds of opportunities to prove himself ready for advancement. He was simply being swallowed up in Phoenix, and moving here let him shine in the spotlight.

So what happened to that raise? You know, the "kick-ass" one? Let's see. Milk is like $4 a gallon unless you buy them in pairs. Apparently the State of California is trying to help out the dairy farmers (which I am all for). But I am lactose intolerant, and so my husband won't LET me drink masses of cow's milk, due to my *ahem* digestive issues with it. So I drink Soy Milk, he drinks the Moo Juice. And if we had two of those babies in the fridge, well, they would rot.

On top of that, we are paying about $2.35 a gallon for gas, and that includes my diesel for my VW, which by the way, they don't even sell here (the Diesel VW, not the diesel). My dad ranted to me once about how diesel was a by product of the processing of gasoline, so it should be free (he's a trucker) and I agree with him. But I digress. Moving on.

For the sake of argument, our insurance went down. Our housing expense went up, as far as rent is concerned, but our electricity bills went down (the most I paid ALL year was $91! I don't miss AZ because of THAT!!).

But overall, when the husband and I do go out to eat, it's easily $40. Just walking in the door. And that's if no beer or wine is purchased. And that, my friends, is hard not to do, considering we haven't attended "Order Water, It's Cheaper 307".

Don't Judge A Cottage

The hub and I are looking for a house to rent. Because of the astronomical housing prices in San Diego, we have all but given up on the fact that we will be able to buy a house larger than our car. Therefore, in the interest of not killing each other and having room for my pillow, we have decided to rent and pay someone else's mortgage for a while.

The back story to all of this is the fact that we were released from our lease early, due to the FIVE complaints I put in writing to our leasing company about the frat boys that live upstairs. They seem to wear shoes made of cement, and like to do dishes while jackhammering new ice sculptures. And that is while they are sober.

So five written complaints and three conferences with the manager later, we are being released from our lease with no repurcussions. It's a funny thing, that Landlord/Tenant Act. They sure don't like you to be familiar with it. Especially that small part about a Tenant's Right To Quiet Enjoyment of their space. Basically, because my complex put in writing that between the hours of 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. it is quiet time, any excessive noise made during these hours is grounds for violating my Right. They don't like the fact that I made my self familiar with it, but they really didn't have a choice. I happen to be smarter than the average bear, and I like to research stuff. Especially when I am up at 1:27 in the morning because the upstairs neighbor is in the middle of his Touret's Riverdance (translation: screaming profanities while jumping up and down on the floor).

That being said, we are now facing a ticking clock. We need to be out of our digs by January 31, and a lot of what is available right now, people want you IN right now. And since we have been looking, we have noticed really great ways that real estate people, and owners, like to "dress up" their dump.

If the ad says "Quaint One Bedroom Cottage", you can safely assume that it won't be much bigger, nor cleaner, than a McDonald's restroom. Likewise "Quiet, Comfy Condo" means a two bedroom apartment, built in the 30's, that was converted. Conversions are a BIG thing out here, but that's for another story. "Great for Pets" means the yard has about a square foot of grass in it. "Completely Remodeled" means "We threw in a new fridge".

I love old houses, don't get me wrong, but please, just call a spade a spade!

So for now, we continue on our search. Two professional married people, just trying to avoid a $2,600 mortgage payment.

Oh look - "Charming 2 Bedroom Flat, hardwood floors....."

Welcome

So many people have been getting into this whole weblog thing. I even saw a cartoon in the Sunday paper about it this weekend. Not that I read the cartoons in the Sunday paper. Ok, I do.

So being the voracious reader that I am, and the closet writer, I decided to do my own. And I can only hope that you don't throw tomatoes!