What a difference having a job makes. You might not see it, but I still blog. I've written many angsty and run-on-sentence-laden rants on my breaks at work -- with a pen and a notebook, all old school style. Speaking of work, I do enjoy it, despite that it requires thick skin, and that's all I will say about that. I'd rather just talk about myself all the time...
So, back to me. I just ran 18 miles. I'm not just blase and bragging, because running was particularly difficult today. I can feel my body has aged; I'm not 19 anymore. At any rate, I always come to a point in marathon training, typically around the day I have to run 20 miles and then again the day of the race, when I get annoyed with myself for signing up to the pain in the first place. I tempted myself with the idea of cutting my run short, but considering I ate half of a large pizza last night, I convinced myself not to waste the "carb load." Eugenio ate the other half of the pizza and a few beers. I'm not sure what he's training for...a lifetime of meals with me, perhaps. Anyhoo, I made it through and now I have chaffed boobs, my least favorite part of long distance running. Next week is the 20 miler, the longest run I'll do to save my chest before the marathon. I have a goal in mind, but I'm not telling you. I don't want to write a blog after the race justifying why I missed my goal, but I'll definitely brag if I do make my goal time.
In other self-absorbed news, Eugenio and I have our wedding bands, which are gorgeous. His costs more than mine, just so you know. He's a diva. I kid, I kid. His wedding band doesn't come close to the total of my engagement ring and wedding band combined. And his tux is probably a lot cheaper than my two wedding dresses. Two wedding dresses? Yeah, it's a long, melodramatic story. In short, I finally realised that my dress, though absolutely pretty and romantic-- except the poor tailoring job -- does not look good on me. I bought a lovely dress, but it wasn't right for my body type. I actually cried like a bridezilla in front of people once I realised this. I had ladies jabbing me with their fingers saying "gordita, gordita" to point out the flaws. Hey, I might not be fluent, but I understand you're saying that my armpits are fat! Lo and behold, Eugenio's mom and sister lovingly and patiently went with me to another store to find "the dress," one that I love AND fits me correctly AND is as reasonably priced as the first one. (Albeit, two reasonably priced dresses isn't exactly reasonable.) Now I just have to not loose any weight and try really hard not to get knocked up before the wedding. (I'm watching "16 and Pregnant" which makes me paranoid, annoyed, and thankful I'm not 16 or pregnant all at once. )
Considering there are hungry, homeless people in my presence on a daily basis, I'm a bit embarrassed by my two dresses. I have my original dress on eBay. If it sells, I'll donate a portion of the money to sooth my overspent soul. Anyone in the market for a size 4, A-line wedding dress?
Friday, December 10, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
an expensive lesson
If my blog were facebook and I were a really annoying person who spoke in third person, this is what my long-winded status update would be:
Hanna got lost of her way to the park at 7am this morning, spending every last penny of her money on the toll roads (literally, she was digging under her seat for pennies), until she ran out of money and got pulled over after the 5th toll, and received 3 tickets -- one for not paying the toll, one for not having proof of insurance (Can I forward you the email?), and one for driving with an expired tag (What's a tag?) which just expired. The sheriff then gave her better directions to the park and sent her on her way with a "I hope your day gets better." It did -- she made it to the park, albeit an hour behind schedule, and completed her 14 mile run in under 2 hours, even though she forgot her water bottle. Yay.
And then I would tell the whole story again in my blog with a few more details. Thankfully, I don't have to pay the $134 ticket for the toll since it was a warning (because I was sweet as pie or the sheriff pitied my soul). Also, as soon as I got home from running, which took forty minutes, but I successfully avoided all toll roads, I mailed in proof of insurance and paid the other two fines. I needed that kick in the ass, I suppose. An insurance card is now *in my car* and I am going to get a new Florida license plate next week. PLATE, as in singular. Florida only has one plate, in the back. It looks like all the cars are topless.
Times like these I admonish myself for being so irresponsible, and then I go running and talk to myself in my head getting all in a tizzy until I can't run or think anymore.
Good thing I'll be rolling in it soon with my part time job, considering my $124 lesson....
Living and learning and paying big bucks,
Hanna
Hanna got lost of her way to the park at 7am this morning, spending every last penny of her money on the toll roads (literally, she was digging under her seat for pennies), until she ran out of money and got pulled over after the 5th toll, and received 3 tickets -- one for not paying the toll, one for not having proof of insurance (Can I forward you the email?), and one for driving with an expired tag (What's a tag?) which just expired. The sheriff then gave her better directions to the park and sent her on her way with a "I hope your day gets better." It did -- she made it to the park, albeit an hour behind schedule, and completed her 14 mile run in under 2 hours, even though she forgot her water bottle. Yay.
And then I would tell the whole story again in my blog with a few more details. Thankfully, I don't have to pay the $134 ticket for the toll since it was a warning (because I was sweet as pie or the sheriff pitied my soul). Also, as soon as I got home from running, which took forty minutes, but I successfully avoided all toll roads, I mailed in proof of insurance and paid the other two fines. I needed that kick in the ass, I suppose. An insurance card is now *in my car* and I am going to get a new Florida license plate next week. PLATE, as in singular. Florida only has one plate, in the back. It looks like all the cars are topless.
Times like these I admonish myself for being so irresponsible, and then I go running and talk to myself in my head getting all in a tizzy until I can't run or think anymore.
Good thing I'll be rolling in it soon with my part time job, considering my $124 lesson....
Living and learning and paying big bucks,
Hanna
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
UN-unemployed
My nappy nap was rudely interrupted by a phone call this afternoon. It was my new boss informing me that I passed my background checks (whew!) and thus am no longer unemployed, marking the end of my very well-rested era. Praise goodness. Just wait -- in week or two I'm going to start bitching about how much I hate my job. I kid, I kid. I can stop whining now.
Yay!
Yay!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
just another day
I had my pre-employment drug test today -- what a doozy. I got stage fright and was unable to pee. This never happens. I have a small bladder; I always have to pee. I relate to every over-active bladder medicine commercial targeted towards senior citizens loosing control of their faculties. My issues are such that Eugenio bought me Depends as an anniversary gift. Then again, I also always have issues with pee tests. The employment gods must enjoy messing with me.
After an awkward silent four minutes with the nurse standing outside the bathroom door, I handed over my cup with a mere drop or two of a pee. Sorry, I couldn't go, I said with embarrassment. I felt like a criminal for no reason. I had to sit in the dr's office for an hour as if I were in time out until I was able to produce an overflowing cup-o-pee....which I eventually handed over --thank god (I was seriously praying for pee) -- an hour later, along with the last fibre of my dignity. All's well that ends well.
In other news, I signed up for the Disney World Marathon and I have marathon fever again. Eugenio graciously agreed to run with me last weekend at one of the few (only?) trails I've been able to locate in Orlando. Word to the wise: bear in mind that I never know what I'm talking about or where I'm going, so if you run a "should be about a 5 mile loop" with me, be prepared for an 11 mile back and forth run. Eugenio was a trooper. At least now he knows that he can run a half marathon. I always tell him he can, and he doubts my logic: if you can run 4 miles, you can run 13.1. Now, hopefully, "if you can run 11 miles, you can run 13.1 miles" is more believable. Gimme a call if you want to test your limits. ; D
After an awkward silent four minutes with the nurse standing outside the bathroom door, I handed over my cup with a mere drop or two of a pee. Sorry, I couldn't go, I said with embarrassment. I felt like a criminal for no reason. I had to sit in the dr's office for an hour as if I were in time out until I was able to produce an overflowing cup-o-pee....which I eventually handed over --thank god (I was seriously praying for pee) -- an hour later, along with the last fibre of my dignity. All's well that ends well.
In other news, I signed up for the Disney World Marathon and I have marathon fever again. Eugenio graciously agreed to run with me last weekend at one of the few (only?) trails I've been able to locate in Orlando. Word to the wise: bear in mind that I never know what I'm talking about or where I'm going, so if you run a "should be about a 5 mile loop" with me, be prepared for an 11 mile back and forth run. Eugenio was a trooper. At least now he knows that he can run a half marathon. I always tell him he can, and he doubts my logic: if you can run 4 miles, you can run 13.1. Now, hopefully, "if you can run 11 miles, you can run 13.1 miles" is more believable. Gimme a call if you want to test your limits. ; D
Friday, October 8, 2010
What were they thinking?!
I'm no style guru or fashionista, and I may wear my underwear up to my collarbone, but I want to pants and then give a wedgie to every guy I see sagging his jeans below his ass. I'm usually not one to judge (much), but doubleyew-tee-eff, guys.
Eugenio and I actually saw jeans fall off a grown man a few weeks ago. Halfway dressed, he was bent over, digging in his car for something -- a belt? -- when the jeans dropped, in the parking lot. It took him a few moments to feel the breeze and realize something was amiss. Then he swooped up his pants, -- all the way this time -- making eye contact with the giggling school girl, me, mouthed "sorry" and then but a hand over his mouth as if to say "oopsie." His reaction was innocently cute and didn't match his Mr. Saggy Pants image. I'm glad he didn't take offense to my uncontrollable laughter and failure to avert my eyes.
As I age and become more mature (pronounced ma-toor here), I've learned to attempt understanding before or, when I slip, while and after passing judgement. I so badly want to tap a saggy pants lad on the shoulder to ask, "Why do you wear your pants like that? Just asking." Maybe he's in a hurry. Maybe wearing his pants below his crotch makes going to the restroom easier. Maybe he, falsely, assumes it looks good. Maybe he knows one day he might gain 100 lbs, so he's saving time and money by buying bigger pants now. Maybe he just likes showing off his almost clean whitey tighties....All these are crap reasons. I just don't get it! I had a similar thought process when considering why people choose to wear wedgies called thongs.
Speaking of wedgies, I am reminded of my youngest sister, Molly, when she was about three or four years old. Thinking about her back then makes me laugh out loud. She was a cutey patootey always getting things -- like remote control cars and gum-- stuck in her tangly, curly red hair. Hair funnies aside, Molly also made up the word "buttchie." While acquiring the Carr family language, she mistook "wedgie" for "buttchie" assuming that a "buttchie" was when you had an itch on your bum. She would go around scratching, saying "I have a buttchie." Eugenio, knowing this story and appreciating the grammar, now likes to announce when he has an "armchie," "leggchie" or other unmentionable-chies. I think it's useful grammar.
Eugenio and I actually saw jeans fall off a grown man a few weeks ago. Halfway dressed, he was bent over, digging in his car for something -- a belt? -- when the jeans dropped, in the parking lot. It took him a few moments to feel the breeze and realize something was amiss. Then he swooped up his pants, -- all the way this time -- making eye contact with the giggling school girl, me, mouthed "sorry" and then but a hand over his mouth as if to say "oopsie." His reaction was innocently cute and didn't match his Mr. Saggy Pants image. I'm glad he didn't take offense to my uncontrollable laughter and failure to avert my eyes.
As I age and become more mature (pronounced ma-toor here), I've learned to attempt understanding before or, when I slip, while and after passing judgement. I so badly want to tap a saggy pants lad on the shoulder to ask, "Why do you wear your pants like that? Just asking." Maybe he's in a hurry. Maybe wearing his pants below his crotch makes going to the restroom easier. Maybe he, falsely, assumes it looks good. Maybe he knows one day he might gain 100 lbs, so he's saving time and money by buying bigger pants now. Maybe he just likes showing off his almost clean whitey tighties....All these are crap reasons. I just don't get it! I had a similar thought process when considering why people choose to wear wedgies called thongs.
Speaking of wedgies, I am reminded of my youngest sister, Molly, when she was about three or four years old. Thinking about her back then makes me laugh out loud. She was a cutey patootey always getting things -- like remote control cars and gum-- stuck in her tangly, curly red hair. Hair funnies aside, Molly also made up the word "buttchie." While acquiring the Carr family language, she mistook "wedgie" for "buttchie" assuming that a "buttchie" was when you had an itch on your bum. She would go around scratching, saying "I have a buttchie." Eugenio, knowing this story and appreciating the grammar, now likes to announce when he has an "armchie," "leggchie" or other unmentionable-chies. I think it's useful grammar.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Wedding To Do List
So far my wedding planning has been easy-peasy. Thanks be to my unemployed schedule, lackadaisical bride attitude, and to my knack for emailing and facebooking my most difficult wedding questions and waiting for anyone (really, anyone, could be you or an ex-boyfriend or a facebook friend that I'm not too sure I've ever met) to make a decision for me. Now that much of the hard stuff is over (thank you!), I need to take inventory.
Wedding To-Dos:
Soon -- send contract and deposit to our DJ, who an ex-boyfriend recommended via facebook when I asked for recommendations. Our DJ went to high school with me and is giving a lovely deal. He seems way cooler than me, so I'm sure his music/DJing will be just fine.
Soon -- Order wedding invites from Mz Eddie (that's not a typo), who responded to an email sent by a hacker through my account three months ago. Thank you, Hacker, for getting us back in touch (I like to see the good in people). Mz. Eddie was the sponsor of Octagon, a community service club, when I was in high school. She's a generous, kind lady who works for a printing company. She is giving us a great discount on our wedding invites.
Sat Oct 2 -- All day, pre-cana class. I think this is where the hazing begins. I'm actually looking forward to it --might be like a dramatic, aggravating reality show. I hope there's a confessional.
Sat Oct 9 -- Pre-cana FOCUS group. We go to a couple's house, people we've never met but are supposedly happily married and abiding Catholics, to take a one hour test, revealing lots of all too personal information (As you know, I don't do personal information). The strange couple will grade how incompatible we truly are, then give Priest the scoop on our inevitably doomed marriage, so we can meet with him again for more awkward counseling.
Sometime after that -- Strongly encouraged "Family Planning" class. We have a plan already, thanks.
Nov 15 -- call the church organist and wedding coordinator to discuss our wedding. Before speaking with her, we need to pick our wedding ceremony selections, pick three (Catholic) readers for the mass (most of y'all are off the hook!), decide the order of our wedding party entrance, and select people to help with the lasso and coins.
Thanksgiving Weekend/the few days we will be in SA before the wedding:
Fri Nov 26 -- Meet with church wedding coordinator at 11am, barring she doesn't get called to perform at a funeral.
TBA/Nov 26 -- Meet with our photographer for an introduction, engagement shots, and to sign a contract. Her prices are almost too good to be true. I was planning on hiring a kid from Craigslist, so she's like a dream with her legitimate website and professional skills.
Fri Nov 26 -- Visit HEB, Costco, and anywhere recommended to choose wedding cakes. I'm going for tasty yet affordable, not artsy fartsy yet for-display-only. I'm still considering making a ton of cupcakes. Perhaps my bachelorette party can be a cupcake baking party -- just no penis cupcakes.
End of November/early December -- Send wedding invitations. I originally wanted to send free E-vites, so you better keep these invitations on display for life!
Etcetera:
Snag a hair and makeup person for the wedding day. I'd love to find someone, a cheap someone, willing to do to a test run on Thanksgiving weekend, again, since it'll be my last chance to approve his/her face and hair artistry. Anyone have recommendations? I'm going for effortless/ flawless glamour, not clown/ten cent whore. I also still need to purchase black gloves to go with my wedding dress, and either purchase a bigger cup size for my dress girdle or loose two lbs, which will naturally all come from my overflowing bosom.
I think that's about it, but I'm sure there's minutia I'm either purposefully excluding from my wedding or just not realising. Let me know if you think of anything else, my wedding planners! Feel free to call David Tutera.
Gracias!
hanna
Wedding To-Dos:
Soon -- send contract and deposit to our DJ, who an ex-boyfriend recommended via facebook when I asked for recommendations. Our DJ went to high school with me and is giving a lovely deal. He seems way cooler than me, so I'm sure his music/DJing will be just fine.
Soon -- Order wedding invites from Mz Eddie (that's not a typo), who responded to an email sent by a hacker through my account three months ago. Thank you, Hacker, for getting us back in touch (I like to see the good in people). Mz. Eddie was the sponsor of Octagon, a community service club, when I was in high school. She's a generous, kind lady who works for a printing company. She is giving us a great discount on our wedding invites.
Sat Oct 2 -- All day, pre-cana class. I think this is where the hazing begins. I'm actually looking forward to it --might be like a dramatic, aggravating reality show. I hope there's a confessional.
Sat Oct 9 -- Pre-cana FOCUS group. We go to a couple's house, people we've never met but are supposedly happily married and abiding Catholics, to take a one hour test, revealing lots of all too personal information (As you know, I don't do personal information). The strange couple will grade how incompatible we truly are, then give Priest the scoop on our inevitably doomed marriage, so we can meet with him again for more awkward counseling.
Sometime after that -- Strongly encouraged "Family Planning" class. We have a plan already, thanks.
Nov 15 -- call the church organist and wedding coordinator to discuss our wedding. Before speaking with her, we need to pick our wedding ceremony selections, pick three (Catholic) readers for the mass (most of y'all are off the hook!), decide the order of our wedding party entrance, and select people to help with the lasso and coins.
Thanksgiving Weekend/the few days we will be in SA before the wedding:
Fri Nov 26 -- Meet with church wedding coordinator at 11am, barring she doesn't get called to perform at a funeral.
TBA/Nov 26 -- Meet with our photographer for an introduction, engagement shots, and to sign a contract. Her prices are almost too good to be true. I was planning on hiring a kid from Craigslist, so she's like a dream with her legitimate website and professional skills.
Fri Nov 26 -- Visit HEB, Costco, and anywhere recommended to choose wedding cakes. I'm going for tasty yet affordable, not artsy fartsy yet for-display-only. I'm still considering making a ton of cupcakes. Perhaps my bachelorette party can be a cupcake baking party -- just no penis cupcakes.
End of November/early December -- Send wedding invitations. I originally wanted to send free E-vites, so you better keep these invitations on display for life!
Etcetera:
Snag a hair and makeup person for the wedding day. I'd love to find someone, a cheap someone, willing to do to a test run on Thanksgiving weekend, again, since it'll be my last chance to approve his/her face and hair artistry. Anyone have recommendations? I'm going for effortless/ flawless glamour, not clown/ten cent whore. I also still need to purchase black gloves to go with my wedding dress, and either purchase a bigger cup size for my dress girdle or loose two lbs, which will naturally all come from my overflowing bosom.
I think that's about it, but I'm sure there's minutia I'm either purposefully excluding from my wedding or just not realising. Let me know if you think of anything else, my wedding planners! Feel free to call David Tutera.
Gracias!
hanna
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Adsense
Before I get to the real story, let me explain something...
Each time I publish a new post, Blogger informs me that I can make money by configuring Adsense in my blog, basically enabling random ads that may relate to my blogs contents to appear on my page. I suspect the generated ads will miss the mark. I mentioned the Justin Bieber song that goes "baby, baby, baby, oh baby" in one post, and Blogger told me, as it does each time I post, Make money by configuring Google Adsense. To give me an example of what I was missing, Blogger displayed an ad for Justin Bieber Live tickets. I hold my friends and family in high esteem, and thus assume that none would click on any impersonal, equation generated ads annoyingly situated in the sidebar. I also like to think your attention is on my post and not advertisements. Besides, I'd rather endorse products that have personally touched my life in a special way. I want the control to keep it real. Apparently, Blogger tells me, I can do that too! I can casually mention the products I'm using, as I pepper posts with details about my day, and simultaneously include links so that my fans can buy the same bags, booze and pregnancy tests (No worries buying these online, I get them at the dollar store, right by the check out lane) as yours truly. Since money is tight right now, hey, why not.
So every now and then you may see blue ink in my blog. Help a sister out and clicky click away. But please, I hope this doesn't distract from the writing at hand. I vow to not get greedy and rampantly mention products I don't actually use simply to make a buck. Anyhoo...
Yesterday I got my period all over our cream colored couch. I'm not proud of this, but I'm trying to find meaning in my life these days, and I'm beginning to believe that my gift of a purpose in life is to make you feel better about yourself.
I was enjoying the breeze in my towel-dress for a few hours, before putting on my stifling, albeit sexy, granny panties and jammies. I watched a soccer game with Eugenio (this is how I test my Spanish; I know more Spanish than soccer), and then we watched The Office online, since we happened to miss the premier on...whenever it came on. I don't know when, that's why we missed it. Anyhoo, before bed I noticed a big stain on the couch and was mortified to realize I forgot to wear a diaper. Oh eff! I even saw a line of red followed by another, smaller, red splotch displaying how I scooched on over from one side of the couch to the other to check my email at the computer. Eugenio quipped that we could just flip over the cushion, and if anyone were to see the stain, just say it's salsa. While I appreciate his creativity, I personally didn't want to sit on that couch anymore, let alone deceive any guests. Luckily for you, if you ever come over and I urge you to have a seat, you don't have to worry about any questionable stains, thanks to Woolite OXY DEEP. After church, I took my bloated and stinky (I was out of cucumber deodorant too) self on over to the store to inquire about cleaners for period stains. After the employee rudely pointed me in the right direction with a snooty grimace (these people in Orlando, I swear!), I found the cleaner, which promised to permanently remove tough stains, and went straight home to spray and scrub. It worked like a charm. I think this scenario would make a great commercial for Woolite OXY DEEP, which I can vouch for the label, is indeed "great for upholstery!" This blog is the only proof that anything ever happened. The only bummer against Woolite Oxy Deep is the smell. With an aroma reminiscent of Nix lice treatment, it made my head itch like I was in kindergarten again.
Each time I publish a new post, Blogger informs me that I can make money by configuring Adsense in my blog, basically enabling random ads that may relate to my blogs contents to appear on my page. I suspect the generated ads will miss the mark. I mentioned the Justin Bieber song that goes "baby, baby, baby, oh baby" in one post, and Blogger told me, as it does each time I post, Make money by configuring Google Adsense. To give me an example of what I was missing, Blogger displayed an ad for Justin Bieber Live tickets. I hold my friends and family in high esteem, and thus assume that none would click on any impersonal, equation generated ads annoyingly situated in the sidebar. I also like to think your attention is on my post and not advertisements. Besides, I'd rather endorse products that have personally touched my life in a special way. I want the control to keep it real. Apparently, Blogger tells me, I can do that too! I can casually mention the products I'm using, as I pepper posts with details about my day, and simultaneously include links so that my fans can buy the same bags, booze and pregnancy tests (No worries buying these online, I get them at the dollar store, right by the check out lane) as yours truly. Since money is tight right now, hey, why not.
So every now and then you may see blue ink in my blog. Help a sister out and clicky click away. But please, I hope this doesn't distract from the writing at hand. I vow to not get greedy and rampantly mention products I don't actually use simply to make a buck. Anyhoo...
Yesterday I got my period all over our cream colored couch. I'm not proud of this, but I'm trying to find meaning in my life these days, and I'm beginning to believe that my gift of a purpose in life is to make you feel better about yourself.
I was enjoying the breeze in my towel-dress for a few hours, before putting on my stifling, albeit sexy, granny panties and jammies. I watched a soccer game with Eugenio (this is how I test my Spanish; I know more Spanish than soccer), and then we watched The Office online, since we happened to miss the premier on...whenever it came on. I don't know when, that's why we missed it. Anyhoo, before bed I noticed a big stain on the couch and was mortified to realize I forgot to wear a diaper. Oh eff! I even saw a line of red followed by another, smaller, red splotch displaying how I scooched on over from one side of the couch to the other to check my email at the computer. Eugenio quipped that we could just flip over the cushion, and if anyone were to see the stain, just say it's salsa. While I appreciate his creativity, I personally didn't want to sit on that couch anymore, let alone deceive any guests. Luckily for you, if you ever come over and I urge you to have a seat, you don't have to worry about any questionable stains, thanks to Woolite OXY DEEP. After church, I took my bloated and stinky (I was out of cucumber deodorant too) self on over to the store to inquire about cleaners for period stains. After the employee rudely pointed me in the right direction with a snooty grimace (these people in Orlando, I swear!), I found the cleaner, which promised to permanently remove tough stains, and went straight home to spray and scrub. It worked like a charm. I think this scenario would make a great commercial for Woolite OXY DEEP, which I can vouch for the label, is indeed "great for upholstery!" This blog is the only proof that anything ever happened. The only bummer against Woolite Oxy Deep is the smell. With an aroma reminiscent of Nix lice treatment, it made my head itch like I was in kindergarten again.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Do Better
I need to do better. I feel lethargic and boring -- like when you have too much freedom, and get too much sleep. Too much is too much and not good. I'm not (always) lazy; I do things, but my perfectionist heart is dying for more obligatory To-Do stress, rather than the can I afford to eat? or is car insurance really necessary? variety.
That said, I'm also pretty busy. I'm not sure if I can squeeze a job in right now. I get eight to ten hours of sleep each night (for the first time ever). I run, read, and write. I wash and fold laundry, make dinner, and I watch bad, I mean Bravo, TV. I read a wide variety of news (omg!, Perez Hilton, The Onion, Oprah.com, etc, etc), since diversity of information is important. I volunteer at the animal shelter. Each day I learn un poco mas espanol. I open and read all my mail before throwing it all away. I keep a clean apartment, paranoid that one pile of mess will lead to an apartment worthy of an episode of Hoarders. I brush my teeth at least three times a day. Sometimes I floss. I never forget to wear sunscreen (anymore). I contemplate life. I'm comfortable and relaxed and I don't wear a bra when I'm alone, which is most of the time.
My schedule is done at a leisurely pace. Which is nice and not nice all the same. I feel unaccomplished and as if my ambition is suffocating. I have friends in law school, medical school, and graduate school, as well as friends with real jobs, and my roommate-slash-fiance is a doctor. I don't have a job or even a real skill set -- not that I believe my life worth is measured by competitive comparisons -- and I can't even give blood (I've tried several times). I have a business degree, which is more useless than a liberal arts degree, in my humble and broke as hell opinion. Most of my university classes (and classmates), aside from the non-major classes, left a bad taste in my mouth. I have no desire to capture consumer surplus or to increase the bottom line or to manage a consistent brand image, and I don't want to sell high or even buy low. I can't even convincingly lie about this cacophony in an interview. It's even harder to play the part when the job is part-time and low wage. "Why do you want this job?" the interviewer asks, with a too high pitched voice and a condescending smile. Because I just LOVE working for minimum wage while ruthlessly selling store credit cards to enslave people who can't afford the heavily marked up branded products that they'll quickly lose interest in but then return for more!" *smile back*
If anything, four years of business school made me a reluctant consumer and a cynical optimist. That's my unmarketable skill set. But of course, college is much less about the classroom curriculum and more about really learning. Why I feel deflated and lethargic right now, has probably more to do with a lack of inspiration. I remember being very moved by ideas and possibilities and people during all my school years. To make the best of life, I would like to regain my former ambition while unemployed. I'm not exactly sure how to go about doing such. If it's on sale somewhere, I obviously can't afford it.
*A pause to think.*
I think I just wasted a few paragraphs to say that I want to do more stuff...for free. I had what Oprah calls an a-ha moment, otherwise known as an epiphany, otherwise seen as something pretty obvious.
Make the most of my unemployement to-do list
1. Explore my new city: I haven't been to a museum here, and I don't even know if there are any, but I imagine there should be, and I imagine there are free-to-the-public days. Also, I love to run and hike at parks, but I haven't explored any public parks here in Orlando, mostly because I try to avoid the sun, because I feel like skin cancer every time I step outside. I'm on a no-sun kick, which I should probably get over in spirit of life, vitamin D, and getting off the treadmill, literally and figuratively.
2. Volunteer more: I volunteer once a week at the animal shelter, but I should expand my horizons. I would love to work at the library again, so a good start might be volunteering.
on that note...
3. Get a library card: I can't believe I haven't gone to the library yet! I don't even have a library card! Gosh, I'm getting excited thinking about going to the library now. I do have a minor fear of driving in Orlando, though, but I shall add that to the Get-Over-It list.
4. Maybe I should learn the bus system here? I remember getting lost all the time using the bus system in Austin, which was a good way to learn. One time I took the bus to Town Lake to run with a friend. We took the wrong bus to get back, and ended up on the other side of town, at night, with a lot of drunk, seemingly crazy people. When the driver stopped to take a fifteen minute break (Here?! Now?!) I casually asked him if the bus was going back to campus. He just laughed and said "You got on the wrong bus, didn't you? You scared?" I don't necessarily want to end up lost at close to midnight, wearing nothing but skimpy running clothes again, but that was a fun experience, learning to read the bus signs.
5. Make friends: perhaps I will with number 4. But really, I should get out and make more friends. I've met some people at church, but no one near my age and immaturity level. I made friends at the animal shelter too, but aparently I can't take them home with me.
I'll end my list here, but will continually think of ways to be a better unemployed citizen. Do share any ideas. : )
That said, I'm also pretty busy. I'm not sure if I can squeeze a job in right now. I get eight to ten hours of sleep each night (for the first time ever). I run, read, and write. I wash and fold laundry, make dinner, and I watch bad, I mean Bravo, TV. I read a wide variety of news (omg!, Perez Hilton, The Onion, Oprah.com, etc, etc), since diversity of information is important. I volunteer at the animal shelter. Each day I learn un poco mas espanol. I open and read all my mail before throwing it all away. I keep a clean apartment, paranoid that one pile of mess will lead to an apartment worthy of an episode of Hoarders. I brush my teeth at least three times a day. Sometimes I floss. I never forget to wear sunscreen (anymore). I contemplate life. I'm comfortable and relaxed and I don't wear a bra when I'm alone, which is most of the time.
My schedule is done at a leisurely pace. Which is nice and not nice all the same. I feel unaccomplished and as if my ambition is suffocating. I have friends in law school, medical school, and graduate school, as well as friends with real jobs, and my roommate-slash-fiance is a doctor. I don't have a job or even a real skill set -- not that I believe my life worth is measured by competitive comparisons -- and I can't even give blood (I've tried several times). I have a business degree, which is more useless than a liberal arts degree, in my humble and broke as hell opinion. Most of my university classes (and classmates), aside from the non-major classes, left a bad taste in my mouth. I have no desire to capture consumer surplus or to increase the bottom line or to manage a consistent brand image, and I don't want to sell high or even buy low. I can't even convincingly lie about this cacophony in an interview. It's even harder to play the part when the job is part-time and low wage. "Why do you want this job?" the interviewer asks, with a too high pitched voice and a condescending smile. Because I just LOVE working for minimum wage while ruthlessly selling store credit cards to enslave people who can't afford the heavily marked up branded products that they'll quickly lose interest in but then return for more!" *smile back*
If anything, four years of business school made me a reluctant consumer and a cynical optimist. That's my unmarketable skill set. But of course, college is much less about the classroom curriculum and more about really learning. Why I feel deflated and lethargic right now, has probably more to do with a lack of inspiration. I remember being very moved by ideas and possibilities and people during all my school years. To make the best of life, I would like to regain my former ambition while unemployed. I'm not exactly sure how to go about doing such. If it's on sale somewhere, I obviously can't afford it.
*A pause to think.*
I think I just wasted a few paragraphs to say that I want to do more stuff...for free. I had what Oprah calls an a-ha moment, otherwise known as an epiphany, otherwise seen as something pretty obvious.
Make the most of my unemployement to-do list
1. Explore my new city: I haven't been to a museum here, and I don't even know if there are any, but I imagine there should be, and I imagine there are free-to-the-public days. Also, I love to run and hike at parks, but I haven't explored any public parks here in Orlando, mostly because I try to avoid the sun, because I feel like skin cancer every time I step outside. I'm on a no-sun kick, which I should probably get over in spirit of life, vitamin D, and getting off the treadmill, literally and figuratively.
2. Volunteer more: I volunteer once a week at the animal shelter, but I should expand my horizons. I would love to work at the library again, so a good start might be volunteering.
on that note...
3. Get a library card: I can't believe I haven't gone to the library yet! I don't even have a library card! Gosh, I'm getting excited thinking about going to the library now. I do have a minor fear of driving in Orlando, though, but I shall add that to the Get-Over-It list.
4. Maybe I should learn the bus system here? I remember getting lost all the time using the bus system in Austin, which was a good way to learn. One time I took the bus to Town Lake to run with a friend. We took the wrong bus to get back, and ended up on the other side of town, at night, with a lot of drunk, seemingly crazy people. When the driver stopped to take a fifteen minute break (Here?! Now?!) I casually asked him if the bus was going back to campus. He just laughed and said "You got on the wrong bus, didn't you? You scared?" I don't necessarily want to end up lost at close to midnight, wearing nothing but skimpy running clothes again, but that was a fun experience, learning to read the bus signs.
5. Make friends: perhaps I will with number 4. But really, I should get out and make more friends. I've met some people at church, but no one near my age and immaturity level. I made friends at the animal shelter too, but aparently I can't take them home with me.
I'll end my list here, but will continually think of ways to be a better unemployed citizen. Do share any ideas. : )
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
crampy
I was in a sad funk all day. This happens, but now that I found a new exercise to cheer myself up, I feel better. After dinner, I randomly started serenading E with Justin Bieber's "baby, baby, oh baby" song (I don't know the title, only those catchy lyrics) in a chipmunk voice. After singing a pop song like a chipmunk, one really can't go back to being crabby, or "crampy" as Eugenio says. Side story: sometimes Eugenio doesn't hear me clearly, claiming that I speak "too low." He doesn't mention that he didn't understand, rather he makes up words based off of what he thinks I said. One day I told him he should cheer up and stop being crabby (I'm supportive like that), and later he gave me a hug and said, "I'm sorry I was being crampy." (he's great and funny like that). Anyhoo, I was mostly crampy today over my unemployment and because I miss mi madre and you.
I wanted to follow up with the flower shop this morning, but I'm assuming they are no longer hiring, as they took down their ad and didn't respond to my email. Bummer, dude. I hate it when I get rejected from a job before I even get a chance to interview. If I interview and then they reject me, I can say something like, "Whew! Good, I really didn't want to work for her anyway. She was so....." Now I can only blame you -- for not praying hard enough. And I really didn't want to bring you into my pity party.
While sulking, I managed to apply for a big girl job, which is one that notes a real salary. Now pray, goddamnit. Just kidding. This post concludes my writing about my job search, until I actually get a job. I don't want to joke my way through another rejection. Also, I must be complaining so much that even my friends are having nightmares for me (or should I say cozy dreams, relative to my current situation?). Elle sent me this text today:
I had a dream you would fly back to S.A. on the weekends to be a lunch lady at Lee for extra money. You seemed happy!
LOL. I think I actually would be happy if that were reality. I'd have a job where I would occasionally eat yummy chocolate chunk cookies (anyone who went to Lee, remember those?!), and I'd get to see my friends and family. Win, win, win, minus the traveling expenses.
I wanted to follow up with the flower shop this morning, but I'm assuming they are no longer hiring, as they took down their ad and didn't respond to my email. Bummer, dude. I hate it when I get rejected from a job before I even get a chance to interview. If I interview and then they reject me, I can say something like, "Whew! Good, I really didn't want to work for her anyway. She was so....." Now I can only blame you -- for not praying hard enough. And I really didn't want to bring you into my pity party.
While sulking, I managed to apply for a big girl job, which is one that notes a real salary. Now pray, goddamnit. Just kidding. This post concludes my writing about my job search, until I actually get a job. I don't want to joke my way through another rejection. Also, I must be complaining so much that even my friends are having nightmares for me (or should I say cozy dreams, relative to my current situation?). Elle sent me this text today:
I had a dream you would fly back to S.A. on the weekends to be a lunch lady at Lee for extra money. You seemed happy!
LOL. I think I actually would be happy if that were reality. I'd have a job where I would occasionally eat yummy chocolate chunk cookies (anyone who went to Lee, remember those?!), and I'd get to see my friends and family. Win, win, win, minus the traveling expenses.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Only apply if you can show up on time.
With no exaggeration, I have applied to hundreds of jobs since moving to Orlando. My logic told me that if I apply to ten to twenty jobs each week, eventually I will get a job. I'd like to think I'm a catch for any company, but so far -- in this poor economy, I'll tell myself -- I'm not. I don't even have delusions that I can land a decent paying job that will allow me to pay back my student loans.
How fucked up is this: I took out student loans so that I could go to college, so that I could get a job one day, so that I could pay back my student loans one day, but now that's not even my goal. Now I want a job, so that I can continue making low payments on my ever increasing student debt... for the rest of my goddamned life. Fuck me! Now I consider any low paying job that simply requires a pulse, as lucrative. Unfortunately, I'm both overqualified and unqualified for most hourly part-time jobs. Part-time, because it seems there's no such thing as a full-time job with benefits anymore. Overqualified, because I have a degree and work experience that paid semi-decent; and unqualified, because I've never folded clothes or swept the floor for a formal exchange of taxed money. I don't even qualify to be a maid. I'm not as bitter as I seem, though, because I know there are people who have this sort of work experience who also need work so that they can feed their families.
I'm so willing and able to work, that every ad makes me think I'm reading a description for my dream job. Why, yes, I HAVE always wanted to work as a full-time (?!) Dry Cleaning Presser! And yes, I CAN show up to work on time (one of the three job requirements)! I get all excited and sweaty as a shoot an eager-beaver email to my hopefully new employer.
Today, I did in fact apply to work at that Dry Cleaners. I was giddy about that one. Full-time, hello! And then I almost died (excuse me, I've been watching Rachel Zoe), when I saw an ad for a part time flower shop assistant. I am not even kidding you when I say that I actually HAVE always wanted to work in a florist shop. Really, I'm not just saying that with the same sweaty excitement I got when I falsely assumed working as a dry cleaning presser is my dream job. What's more, the Flower Shop, unlike the Dry Cleaners or the Grocery Store or any Retail Shop in the mall, doesn't necessarily require experience. They'll train inept souls like me who stupidly went to college. Heck yes! I applied for the flower shop assistant job, and for once I think my excitement is genuinely directed towards the work and not the idea that I'll have a job.
So, I have a favor. If you pray to God, Allah, the Light, Madonna, Kaballah, or whoever, please pray that I get this job (and tell him/her/it that I'm sorry for swearing so much), or simply send good vibes my way. I'mnot sure if that truly works, I'm fairly certain that doesn't work, or think that I am so important and disadvantaged that prayers should be spent on me, but it can't hurt. I need a job!I want to come home for Christmas! BUT if it doesn't work out, I can blame it on The Plan!
I'll keep you posted.
Gracias!
Hanna
How fucked up is this: I took out student loans so that I could go to college, so that I could get a job one day, so that I could pay back my student loans one day, but now that's not even my goal. Now I want a job, so that I can continue making low payments on my ever increasing student debt... for the rest of my goddamned life. Fuck me! Now I consider any low paying job that simply requires a pulse, as lucrative. Unfortunately, I'm both overqualified and unqualified for most hourly part-time jobs. Part-time, because it seems there's no such thing as a full-time job with benefits anymore. Overqualified, because I have a degree and work experience that paid semi-decent; and unqualified, because I've never folded clothes or swept the floor for a formal exchange of taxed money. I don't even qualify to be a maid. I'm not as bitter as I seem, though, because I know there are people who have this sort of work experience who also need work so that they can feed their families.
I'm so willing and able to work, that every ad makes me think I'm reading a description for my dream job. Why, yes, I HAVE always wanted to work as a full-time (?!) Dry Cleaning Presser! And yes, I CAN show up to work on time (one of the three job requirements)! I get all excited and sweaty as a shoot an eager-beaver email to my hopefully new employer.
Today, I did in fact apply to work at that Dry Cleaners. I was giddy about that one. Full-time, hello! And then I almost died (excuse me, I've been watching Rachel Zoe), when I saw an ad for a part time flower shop assistant. I am not even kidding you when I say that I actually HAVE always wanted to work in a florist shop. Really, I'm not just saying that with the same sweaty excitement I got when I falsely assumed working as a dry cleaning presser is my dream job. What's more, the Flower Shop, unlike the Dry Cleaners or the Grocery Store or any Retail Shop in the mall, doesn't necessarily require experience. They'll train inept souls like me who stupidly went to college. Heck yes! I applied for the flower shop assistant job, and for once I think my excitement is genuinely directed towards the work and not the idea that I'll have a job.
So, I have a favor. If you pray to God, Allah, the Light, Madonna, Kaballah, or whoever, please pray that I get this job (and tell him/her/it that I'm sorry for swearing so much), or simply send good vibes my way. I'm
I'll keep you posted.
Gracias!
Hanna
Monday, September 6, 2010
Business in the front, party in the back
To add insult to injury, I decided to get my hair cut at the place Eugenio frequents for his monthly 2 minute hair trim. I wanted a cheap hair cut, and that's what I got. I wanted wispy, side-swept bangs, and I got a mullet. My bad hair cut turned tragic when I tried to fix it myself with regular scissors. Mara cuts her bangs, and they look nice, so I figured I could try the same. One "shit! fuck!" after another, I finally decided to cut my losses (haha). We went straight to the mall for a $40 hair cut. Well, first I ate. It's interesting how once I lessen my self-standards, I can throw all caution to the wind. I have an ugly hair cut, I might as well eat a big, fat, greasy burger.
"Yup. He did a doozy on these bangs," noted my new, chic hairstylist.
She did her best to make my manly mane look less so, and then added, "Now you just have to wait for it to grow." And, if I want, I can "come back in a week to get highlights for a discounted price." Lady, I have a mullet. I don't need highlights.
I feel bad for Eugenio. I took a look at my fabulous self in the mirror this morning, and all I could do was laugh. Thick bangs don't look purdy in the morn. That's how I should talk to match my hair. If I spend a long time licking and fixing my hair, I can almost look as if I'm going for Audrey Hepburn. But only for a second. If I move or breath, I go back to Joe Six Pack from way out yonder."I'll tell yew wut. My momma makes the best grits."
At least it didn't happen on my wedding day. Have you seen this classic You Tube video? Eugenio showed it to me while I was devouring my hamburger at the mall, before my hair pseudo-fix. Watch the whole thing. *So funny* Don't let me near scissors on my wedding day.
ANYHOO, I really don't care about my hair as much as it seems. Sure, I cry a little when I look in the mirror, but I do understand that there are people in this world with much bigger problems. (I heard Lindsey Lohan had to surrender her hair extensions before entering prison.)
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
wild hare
I woke up this morning at 4:45am and couldn't go back to sleep. So I did some reading, went to the apartment gym, ran on the treadmill, then went to Walmart to buy shampoo and conditioner, since I've been out for a couple days. The opposite wall in the shampoo isle is stacked with hair dye, so I impulsively decided to dye my hair dark brown. I've never dyed my hair in my life. In my head at 7am, it sounded like a fantastic idea. It was pretty cheap too, so I figured it was a worthy purchase.(Note to self: add hair dye to list of things not to buy because-it's-cheap).
It's a fun change for now, but 
I'm not thrilled about it. Thankfully, I was sane enough to buy non-permanent dye. I think I'll buy this dye again when Halloween comes around for a Morticia Addams costume.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Oh Lasagna!
"If we agree in love, there is no disagreement that can do us any harm, but if we do not, no other agreement can do us any good." -- Hosea Ballou (influential early Universalist minister, quoted in today's sermon)
The past four Sundays, I've attended a Unitarian church in Orlando and it's like I found my place in the world. Today was the orientation for newbies, where we learned about the church and it's history, and I must tell you, I kept asking myself "Why did I wait this long to come?" In college I was told by a professor that I was UU and didn't even know it, which I always kept in the back of my mind, planning to explore what she meant one day. As it goes, I never 'got around' to attending a service. Moving to Orlando with Eugenio allowed me the fresh-start/kick in the ass I needed to get more involved in my nonspiritual journey for company. An agnostic, wary of organized religion, and continually evolving, I always assumed being a member of a congregation, in which creeds and absolutes were spoken, was not an option for me. However, in a UU church, you can simply be yourself. You can be an out of the closet atheist who sings in the church choir with a Buddhist to your left and a Christian to your right, without compromising your integrity or beliefs. It's a good place. If you are looking for a church, or if you have ill-feelings about church, but want a community and a place to nurture your mind and faith, whatever it may be, I'd recommend checking out your nearest UU church.
Some say that religion is too major an issue to disagree on, which can serve as an Achilles heal in a relationship. Initially, I was regrettably prone to believe that. Being engaged to Eugenio, brought up questions about "how" (meaning what brand of religion) to raise our hypothetical children. How can I be OK with raising kids in the Catholic church if I'm not OK with the Catholic church? How can Eugenio be OK with raising his kids as secular, if Catholicism is very important to him? So, I'm lucky to have found the perfect community. I've decided our kids will be Unitarian Universalists. Problem solved!
Just kidding...We'll compromise. I believe that our differences actually make us better together and for our hypothetical unborn children. I like the idea of attending both a Catholic church and a Unitarian Universalist church. I've been doing it myself this past month, and Sunday has become my favorite day. I always find a meaningful message in the Catholic service I attend (even if it is something snarky, like 'the priest isn't too bright') with Eugenio on Sunday evenings, even if the Catholic beliefs and sometimes the Priest's homilies don't resonate with me. Also, I just enjoy being with Eugenio, and I love singing the songs, probably more than I should.
Speaking of singing, when I was little I loved the "lasagna" song in church. You don't remember a song about lasagna? For the longest time I thought when the church choir sang "hosanna" they were saying "oh lasagna." It was my favorite mass song. At any rate, lasagna/hosanna aside, I'm sure our unborn children are gonna love having to go to church twice! Jesus christ.
The past four Sundays, I've attended a Unitarian church in Orlando and it's like I found my place in the world. Today was the orientation for newbies, where we learned about the church and it's history, and I must tell you, I kept asking myself "Why did I wait this long to come?" In college I was told by a professor that I was UU and didn't even know it, which I always kept in the back of my mind, planning to explore what she meant one day. As it goes, I never 'got around' to attending a service. Moving to Orlando with Eugenio allowed me the fresh-start/kick in the ass I needed to get more involved in my nonspiritual journey for company. An agnostic, wary of organized religion, and continually evolving, I always assumed being a member of a congregation, in which creeds and absolutes were spoken, was not an option for me. However, in a UU church, you can simply be yourself. You can be an out of the closet atheist who sings in the church choir with a Buddhist to your left and a Christian to your right, without compromising your integrity or beliefs. It's a good place. If you are looking for a church, or if you have ill-feelings about church, but want a community and a place to nurture your mind and faith, whatever it may be, I'd recommend checking out your nearest UU church.
Some say that religion is too major an issue to disagree on, which can serve as an Achilles heal in a relationship. Initially, I was regrettably prone to believe that. Being engaged to Eugenio, brought up questions about "how" (meaning what brand of religion) to raise our hypothetical children. How can I be OK with raising kids in the Catholic church if I'm not OK with the Catholic church? How can Eugenio be OK with raising his kids as secular, if Catholicism is very important to him? So, I'm lucky to have found the perfect community. I've decided our kids will be Unitarian Universalists. Problem solved!
Just kidding...We'll compromise. I believe that our differences actually make us better together and for our hypothetical unborn children. I like the idea of attending both a Catholic church and a Unitarian Universalist church. I've been doing it myself this past month, and Sunday has become my favorite day. I always find a meaningful message in the Catholic service I attend (even if it is something snarky, like 'the priest isn't too bright') with Eugenio on Sunday evenings, even if the Catholic beliefs and sometimes the Priest's homilies don't resonate with me. Also, I just enjoy being with Eugenio, and I love singing the songs, probably more than I should.
Speaking of singing, when I was little I loved the "lasagna" song in church. You don't remember a song about lasagna? For the longest time I thought when the church choir sang "hosanna" they were saying "oh lasagna." It was my favorite mass song. At any rate, lasagna/hosanna aside, I'm sure our unborn children are gonna love having to go to church twice! Jesus christ.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
My first wedding
Last night I had a nightmare that set me straight. Forget my carelessness regarding wedding planning. The media and bridezillas everywhere might have the attention to seemingly unimportant details attitude right. In my dream, our wedding is horrendous.
I wear a black dress, which is actually cute and flattering, but serves as a harbinger for the affair to come. Our reception (I don't recall an actually ceremony) is at a mall in a Macy's or maybe a Dillard's clothing area, which is partially cleared for the occasion. I can see shoppers browsing as I dance on the carpet floor. It isn't all bad, though, I remember the dancing is a blast -- everyone gets down. Thanks be to music. However, our first song, since we forgot to provide a list, is the "I'm too sexy for my shirt" song. Eugenio goes along and we make it work, as if we picked it ourselves, but most likely Seth, my brother and apparently our DJ, chose it.
While dancing I scan the audience -- we don't have food or drinks for our guests, only chairs set in rows -- and notice the emptiness. None of my friends are here! Later I cry, call Katy, and say "My wedding was today and you weren't there." She cries too and adds, "I'm so sorry I didn't know. You didn't tell me." Later Eugenio finds red, soggy invitations that were never sent sitting in my Dad's mailbox. We also forgot to reserve a pool and rooms at the mall (no idea where this part comes from; anything is possible in dreams), so the party is over. The family heads to my dad's house for a double chocolate Costco cake (which is awesome, and I would even consider in waking life), and later we all go to the movies (I'm still wearing my dress trying to savor the day, while everyone else wears tshirts) -- but not everyone and not all together. Eugenio and I, and a few of Eugenio's work friends go to one theatre, and we get lost on our way. It's as if we aren't familiar with San Antonio and no one has GPS. Mara, Paul, Joe, and others go to another movie theatre. Perhaps they foresaw the chaos, or maybe they had enough.
Eugenio is so sad about how the day unfolded; he suggests, and I agree, that we have a do-over.
Thankfully, I awake, sweating, and figure my dream is meant as a warning. Katy, maid-of-honor, please note my wedding is hopefully Feb 12 -- in case I forget to send invitations. ; )
(Before this particular nightmare, I had a much milder dream in which I accidentally killed someone. Oopsie.)
Your bridezilla-ish-to-be,
Hanna
I wear a black dress, which is actually cute and flattering, but serves as a harbinger for the affair to come. Our reception (I don't recall an actually ceremony) is at a mall in a Macy's or maybe a Dillard's clothing area, which is partially cleared for the occasion. I can see shoppers browsing as I dance on the carpet floor. It isn't all bad, though, I remember the dancing is a blast -- everyone gets down. Thanks be to music. However, our first song, since we forgot to provide a list, is the "I'm too sexy for my shirt" song. Eugenio goes along and we make it work, as if we picked it ourselves, but most likely Seth, my brother and apparently our DJ, chose it.
While dancing I scan the audience -- we don't have food or drinks for our guests, only chairs set in rows -- and notice the emptiness. None of my friends are here! Later I cry, call Katy, and say "My wedding was today and you weren't there." She cries too and adds, "I'm so sorry I didn't know. You didn't tell me." Later Eugenio finds red, soggy invitations that were never sent sitting in my Dad's mailbox. We also forgot to reserve a pool and rooms at the mall (no idea where this part comes from; anything is possible in dreams), so the party is over. The family heads to my dad's house for a double chocolate Costco cake (which is awesome, and I would even consider in waking life), and later we all go to the movies (I'm still wearing my dress trying to savor the day, while everyone else wears tshirts) -- but not everyone and not all together. Eugenio and I, and a few of Eugenio's work friends go to one theatre, and we get lost on our way. It's as if we aren't familiar with San Antonio and no one has GPS. Mara, Paul, Joe, and others go to another movie theatre. Perhaps they foresaw the chaos, or maybe they had enough.
Eugenio is so sad about how the day unfolded; he suggests, and I agree, that we have a do-over.
Thankfully, I awake, sweating, and figure my dream is meant as a warning. Katy, maid-of-honor, please note my wedding is hopefully Feb 12 -- in case I forget to send invitations. ; )
(Before this particular nightmare, I had a much milder dream in which I accidentally killed someone. Oopsie.)
Your bridezilla-ish-to-be,
Hanna
Friday, August 20, 2010
Circ de Wedding
I think the entire wedding industry is somewhat embarrassing, as it shows how easily we are manipulated by myths and media. At any rate, I can't wait for my "one big day!" That's so anticlimactic. I'll spend a fortune on gaudy stuff I never would have purchased under 'normal circumstances' so that the industry gods and everyone I know can see the moment I'm the skinniest I'll ever be, wearing the biggest dress I'll ever wear? Doesn't make sense. I bought a reasonably over-priced wedding dress; now I can keep saving for my funeral and death attire, which will be much more permanent and functional...and fun! Open bar, hello.
In all seriousness, I am looking forward to marrying Eugenio. I would do it today in a much easier, intimate trip to the court house if I could. That said, again, I am looking forward to marrying Eugenio circus and all. I can appreciate a crazy party. People act as if wedding planning is a difficult, laborious ordeal. I suppose if you think you're Martha Stewart and your friends and family are Royalty, it must be so. My wedding planning won't be as cumbersome. My plan is to avoid magazines and TV shows that tell me I must have this and that and that and that and that and that....oh and this.
At any rate, I shouldn't get ahead of myself. We aren't sure if we are getting married by the church. We are at the mercy of a priest we haven't met. We want our wedding in San Antonio on February 12 (consider this your save-the-date) in a particular beautiful Catholic church (will remain TBA for now). Last week we flew to San Antonio to meet with said priest at our scheduled meeting time. A few hours before our flight left Orlando, Eugenio called the church to confirm our meeting time. And of course this was the response:
"I'm so glad you called! We've been trying to get in touch with you but don't have your number. The priest unexpectedly needs to go out of town. Is there anyway we can reschedule for another time?" said the admin.
Um, do you reimburse for travel? Thus, we thankfully met with a deacon instead. He was very personable and kind, but unable to answer the $500 (plane ticket) "Can we get married here?" question. Since we will complete our wedding counseling/hazing/preparations at our church in Orlando, the San Antonio priest must approve and, most importantly, decide whether we deserve his blessing. Although I'm not Catholic and Eugenio very much is, I am optimistic about the priest's decision. For the sake of helping people understand the millions of thoughts in my head about the particular nature of the universe via a label, I say I am either agnostic or, more simply, believe in kindness (when speaking informally) or Unitarian Universalist (when speaking to people who decide if I can get married in their church). Eugenio advised that I "be vague" when answering the priest's question. But really, I attend a Unitarian church in Orlando that I adore, as well as a Catholic mass every Sunday with Eugenio, and I believe and practice genuine kindness because it helps mask the fact that we're all assholes.
If the priest decides I'm an unworthy heathen, we have a plan B: get married in the court, and then use the money for an extra large coffin to fit me and my wedding dress when I die. OK, I made up the second part. Apparently we can get married in the church after a year of being married by the state -- that's plan B. I'll keep you posted. You'll either get a wedding invite or see me resting in my wedding dress maaaany years from now.
In all seriousness, I am looking forward to marrying Eugenio. I would do it today in a much easier, intimate trip to the court house if I could. That said, again, I am looking forward to marrying Eugenio circus and all. I can appreciate a crazy party. People act as if wedding planning is a difficult, laborious ordeal. I suppose if you think you're Martha Stewart and your friends and family are Royalty, it must be so. My wedding planning won't be as cumbersome. My plan is to avoid magazines and TV shows that tell me I must have this and that and that and that and that and that....oh and this.
At any rate, I shouldn't get ahead of myself. We aren't sure if we are getting married by the church. We are at the mercy of a priest we haven't met. We want our wedding in San Antonio on February 12 (consider this your save-the-date) in a particular beautiful Catholic church (will remain TBA for now). Last week we flew to San Antonio to meet with said priest at our scheduled meeting time. A few hours before our flight left Orlando, Eugenio called the church to confirm our meeting time. And of course this was the response:
"I'm so glad you called! We've been trying to get in touch with you but don't have your number. The priest unexpectedly needs to go out of town. Is there anyway we can reschedule for another time?" said the admin.
Um, do you reimburse for travel? Thus, we thankfully met with a deacon instead. He was very personable and kind, but unable to answer the $500 (plane ticket) "Can we get married here?" question. Since we will complete our wedding counseling/hazing/preparations at our church in Orlando, the San Antonio priest must approve and, most importantly, decide whether we deserve his blessing. Although I'm not Catholic and Eugenio very much is, I am optimistic about the priest's decision. For the sake of helping people understand the millions of thoughts in my head about the particular nature of the universe via a label, I say I am either agnostic or, more simply, believe in kindness (when speaking informally) or Unitarian Universalist (when speaking to people who decide if I can get married in their church). Eugenio advised that I "be vague" when answering the priest's question. But really, I attend a Unitarian church in Orlando that I adore, as well as a Catholic mass every Sunday with Eugenio, and I believe and practice genuine kindness because it helps mask the fact that we're all assholes.
If the priest decides I'm an unworthy heathen, we have a plan B: get married in the court, and then use the money for an extra large coffin to fit me and my wedding dress when I die. OK, I made up the second part. Apparently we can get married in the church after a year of being married by the state -- that's plan B. I'll keep you posted. You'll either get a wedding invite or see me resting in my wedding dress maaaany years from now.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Learning from mistakes
As they say, you learn something new everyday. Everyday I learn a bit more Spanish thanks to my fiance who bought me the Rosetta Stone. The entire month of July I'm sure Eugenio wondered what the hell he was thinking by moving in with me, considering the depression I exuded everyday mostly over not having a job. I didn't just feel it -- I sulked,whined, and wondered allowed "what is wrong with me ?!" So embarrassing. I still don't have a job -- or know what's wrong with me -- but I've learned to enjoy the unemployed life of sleeping in, reading novels, "writing my novel", and learning espanol. When Eugenio comes home from work I speak to him in Spanish, so he can marvel at and correct me. I try to come up with cute things to say with what I've learned like, "Tu pedos huelan muy mal." Your farts smell very bad...I think. I realized sometimes I would say things incorrectly and he wouldn't correct me, but rather practically pat me on the head and say "muy bien!" I always ask "was that right?" or "does that make sense?" I will only learn if he points out my mistakes.
Perhaps the biggest mistake I've made was moving to Orlando with mi amor in the first place, when I didn't yet have a job. I left two enjoyable-in-many-aspects jobs in Austin for a sweaty city, where the people are not as nice, the weather sucks and so do the job opportunities. Nonetheless, I've learned that lesson but it's a moot point. I wouldn't have it any other way. Living with Eugenio is the best, despite the weather and my job situation. I should have known in our first awkward phone conversation when he told me about a patients black poop that we are perfect for one another. He loves talking about bodily functions more than I do!
At the moment I am home alone, as Eugenio is driving to the restaurant we ate at yesterday after his board exam to pick up the credit card he left. I've never known him to forget anything -- except something "I just said!" -- so I hope my carelessness isn't wearing off on him. I'm known to loose keys, phones, and to forget my expensive engagement ring in hotels that are miles and miles away. At any rate, that's what he's doing, and I am here alone per usual. I say that, but I am not lonely these days, although I do find myself waiting for him-to-come-home all the time. It doesn't bother me, again, now that I've learned to enjoy this unemployment while it lasts (hopefully not too long).
Though not lonely, I have a lot of important sometimes philosophical things to say at any given moment with no one to express them to. It's a shame. Like today, I decided to add boxed wine (specifically Chardonnay) to the list of 'products not to buy just because they are so cheap,' right next to generic tampons, which, if you haven't the pleasure of saving a few pennies on, these feel simply like a piece of bark up your... I haven't tried the latter, but using generic tampons is what I imagine it feels like.
I will only learn if I acknowledge my mistakes, lest I go to the grocery store and buy cheap boxed wine and tampons again just because I'm sad and thirsty and "Aunt Flo" is coming.
Perhaps the biggest mistake I've made was moving to Orlando with mi amor in the first place, when I didn't yet have a job. I left two enjoyable-in-many-aspects jobs in Austin for a sweaty city, where the people are not as nice, the weather sucks and so do the job opportunities. Nonetheless, I've learned that lesson but it's a moot point. I wouldn't have it any other way. Living with Eugenio is the best, despite the weather and my job situation. I should have known in our first awkward phone conversation when he told me about a patients black poop that we are perfect for one another. He loves talking about bodily functions more than I do!
At the moment I am home alone, as Eugenio is driving to the restaurant we ate at yesterday after his board exam to pick up the credit card he left. I've never known him to forget anything -- except something "I just said!" -- so I hope my carelessness isn't wearing off on him. I'm known to loose keys, phones, and to forget my expensive engagement ring in hotels that are miles and miles away. At any rate, that's what he's doing, and I am here alone per usual. I say that, but I am not lonely these days, although I do find myself waiting for him-to-come-home all the time. It doesn't bother me, again, now that I've learned to enjoy this unemployment while it lasts (hopefully not too long).
Though not lonely, I have a lot of important sometimes philosophical things to say at any given moment with no one to express them to. It's a shame. Like today, I decided to add boxed wine (specifically Chardonnay) to the list of 'products not to buy just because they are so cheap,' right next to generic tampons, which, if you haven't the pleasure of saving a few pennies on, these feel simply like a piece of bark up your... I haven't tried the latter, but using generic tampons is what I imagine it feels like.
I will only learn if I acknowledge my mistakes, lest I go to the grocery store and buy cheap boxed wine and tampons again just because I'm sad and thirsty and "Aunt Flo" is coming.
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