Things that might be happening in 602

Coming soon

So, Amanda and I are excited to announce that we are in the initial stages of drafting a new web-comic called "Things that might explain the noise coming from Apartment #602".

Having lived below this gentleman for some time now, Amanda and I have had the unique opportunity to play make believe while attempting to identify the noises that emerge from above us.

We've decided to rule out the usual suspects, fighting, sexual intercourse and other things that grown ups do that might annoy their apartment dwelling neighbors and have resorted to more creative explanations... keep your eyes peeled over the next few days... :)

Zackmanda van Briehle (according to our subscription to Mental Floss)...

Nutrition

So, it's been awhile...

September found us busy with reception planning and the like, October brought Amanda's thirtieth birthday and our six month anniversary.  Our reception went fantastically, in case I forgot to mention and likewise with regard to Amanda's birthday. However, life wasn't all good:

Amanda and I also found ourselves eating out too often and drinking too much beer and other beverages and getting next to no exercise. 

When it was all over, we both found ourselves a little depressed with the results.

I've always struggled with having a healthy relationship with food.  In my youth, I was often depressed and used food as a comfort mechanism. Around the time I turned eighteen, I got tired of that, and with the help of an "accountabilibuddy" (thanks, Tim) dropped more than fifty pounds, in a very short amount of time.  Because of how quickly I dropped the weight, I found myself a victim of yo-yo syndrome, and over the next several years, I would regularly put on twenty pounds and then quickly drop it.  Most of the time, I'd get too busy with school or work, or whatever and revert to old, bad habits. 

Amanda went to the doctor the other day, and found herself frustrated.

Now, any good husband knows that your wife doesn't want you to  fix her problems, she just wants to know you care.  And I do, but I am a caretaker personality to some extent and I "just wanted to help".  So, I made a proposal that I take over kitchen duties for awhile.  Now: here's the thing, I'm a pretty good cook, I've learned how to make healthy meals that fill you up.  And I have also made many mistakes along the way as to "how to eat". 

So, I composed a menu which incorporates elements of what worked for me; Being many tiny meals throughout the day, smaller portion sizes and very few refined carbs, and a cheat meal every week. The good news is : we aren't depriving ourselves either.  In terms of hunger, though we both at times during this week felt hungry,  we got through it.  I have an insatiable sweet tooth.  Accordingly, when Amanda and I were planning our menu, we made sure that we put some fruit in it and even got some cocoa roast almonds, a much better alternative to the nightly ice cream cone I'd partake in prior. 

After a week, Amanda and I both find ourselves fitting in to our clothes a little better and generally just feeling better about life. 

Now a week in, tomorrow brings our first metrics.  Our first weigh in and measurements.  Oh, did I mention I really don't believe that weight is an accurate measure of health?  It's a metric that provides minimal data,  I much prefer measurements.  We'll let you know how that goes, until next time..that's all, folks!

the act of receiving, or the state of being received

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Amanda and I married on April 13^th of this year after I had proposed in October.  Shortly after the New Year, Amanda and I declared the date.  Unfortunately, due to the relatively short stretch of time in between our choosing of the date and the actual wedding, the thought of having a reception in April seemed insurmountable.  That said, Amanda and I shared the day with a small group of friends, and had an annotated reception with a promise of a more formal reception to come in the future.  After the wedding, we immediately began planning our reception.  We investigated a number of venues, and ultimately opted for the Hall at The German Central Foundation.  We booked for September 22, 2012 and the pandemonium began.  As you’ll recall, shortly before Amanda and I got married, I took a new job and financial panic ensued.  The original idea was we’d both allocate a fair amount of money towards the reception to make it happen; when I took the new job, that possibility flew out the window.  Amanda and our respective families worked hard to make the reception happen, and last night, the loving efforts of many came together, resulting in an event that we were so lucky to be able to share with our friends and family members.

            Now, for backgrounds sake, you should know: my sister in law worked for a long period of time as an event coordinator/florist for a local florist, her boyfriend is a professional chef and our families are both very excellent at making things happen that seem implausible.  Over a period of several months, Amanda, our families and myself met and coordinated last night’s reception.  We invited two hundred plus, gave a relatively short period of time to respond and about two weeks after the fact, we still had an insufficient amount of responses to accurately gauge who intended on attending our event.  Accordingly, we planned for one hundred fifty.  My sister-in-law jumped to action, contacting her employer and coordinated flora for the event.  My sister-in-law’s boyfriend jumped to action and immediately began menu planning and arranging for the procurement of food.  At our next meeting, David announced his menu and accordingly, jaws dropped.  Admittedly,  I was a bit nervous, but David reassured all that he was getting a crew together and that he would be able to make this happen.  We arranged for my cousin to play the role of DJ and things were “looking up”. 

            We delivered our final counts to David.  A few weeks before the reception, David learned that the crew he had put together to assist wouldn’t be able to make it due to another obligation.  David has this hilariously stoic demeanor when faced with adversity, and I believe he uttered, “We’ll adjust”.  Though I am well aware of David’s abilities as a chef, this prospect made the “crew” and me a bit nervous. 

            The reality of this event did not come to me until Friday when we began setting up.  We clothed tables, prepped arrangements and began our prep cooking, much to the dismay of the rental agent at the German Central Foundation.  On Saturday, Amanda and I normally pick up our CSA, so I met the rental agent at the venue, she and I engaged in a curt conversation, and she was on her way.  Shortly after, the troops arrived and we began the process of cooking.  Some stirred sauces and some dressed salads and others cut bread.  

            After a brief lunch, we finished up our cooking and before we knew it, guests began arriving.

            The reception went off without a hitch.  We danced, and had a wonderful time.  The most overwhelming thing was the outpouring of love and support from our family.  The cuisine was outstanding, and loved by all and life felt good. 

            We got to ten o’ clock at night or so, and it appeared that the night was winding to a close. 

            I’ve always been under the impression that receptions were meant to be easy for the bride and groom; any one who has had one or had part in one, I’m certain will advise you that this conception is ill informed.  After the reception, I headed to the kitchen, and began doing dishes.  Let me tell you: doing dishes for a meal prepared for one hundred and fifty people is grueling at best. But, I enjoyed doing them, because the love and the energy that we shared with our family and friends yesterday made it all worth it. 

Reception is defined as: the act of receiving, or the state of being received.  It is interesting to read the definition, because right in the definition, it dispels a notion that I had about them. I went in thinking that a reception was for others to simply receive you, as bride and groom; and perhaps that isn’t totally ill informed, as often times in our culture, that's how society treats them, but more importantly, receptions are for the newly eloped to receive their guests, to greet them as (and I’m sorry, but this is the best possible way I can think to express it) their new selves. 

            Amanda asked me today what my favorite part of last nights reception was.  I had to think for a minute, because every moment felt so joyful.  At one point last night, my lovely cousin Gracelyn came to me and asked me if she could have a flower.  I asked for a hug, and she gave it to me.  It’s been quite some time since I’ve been able to share much with that side of my family, I don’t know what barriers I encountered that made it seem so prohibited, but alas. I was so happy, after a moment, I thought about the fact that we had a few flowers left over, and so I escaped in to the back and grabbed them and gave them to Gracelyn.  The smile on her face made my night. 

            Last night reminded Amanda and I just how lucky we are to be able to share our lives with all of you.  And you, us.  Thank you.

            With that, I raise my flute to you, my friend and thank you for sharing this event with us.  Words seem wholly insufficient to express our thanks to those who helped make this event possible.  We’ll certainly pay it forward.  You are so loved, my friends and family.

WHY U NO WORK?

Okay, so, in case you haven't been able to tell, I got 99 problems and my financial situation has roots in 98 of the 99 problems I have.

Alright, well, it's certainly not a rap song, but I'm sure you can relate.


This week was gonna be cool. I discovered some "missed" money in my PayPal account-- A few months ago, I sold one of my phones.  I made a pretty decent amount off of it, despite it's age.  I guess at that point money wasn't important. After all, I was making a substantial amount more a year and it must have not been important at that time, so I did what any smart person would, I loaded my Starbucks card.  After all, a boys gotta have his vices, right?


Two weeks ago or so, I decided that I was tired of everything and decided I would move the whole living room around.  It resulted in a much nicer qi. For about a week or so, Amanda and I got along better and were closer and everything else.  So, anyways, this week, I got home one day and I decided that I wanted to jam out, so I switched my speakers on, only to discover that one was not working.   Curious, I investigated the situation.  In investigating the situation, I managed to break one of the speaker inputs.  If that weren't bad enough, after doing so, I pulled the subwoofer out, and along with it came part of the connector which powers the sub woofer.  Recalling that Klipsch makes most of their speaker systems repairable, I began investigating that, thinking that it might be cheaper than purchasing a new unit.  No such luck, the only part that is serviceable is the speaker pod.

So, I made my peace and decided that, for at least a while, I wouldn't be able to jam out nearly as hard.

On a weekly basis, I make it a point to plug my toothbrush and shaver in so that I don't have to worry about them crapping out during the week.  Well, yesterday, I decided to plug my shaver in.  It didn't start charging, so I thought, I'll clean the contacts.  I did that, still no charge, so I decided that the next best thing was to try locking it. 

And that was the last that anyone ever heard of the shaver. It's now locked. Won't unlock. Acts like it's charging, but after 15 hours on the charger, it still acts as though it has no power.  So I made my peace.  I will likely wrestle grizzly bears until Friday when I get paid again. 

Now. I'm mad.

:D

Budget Bar - Introducing the Hobo Mimosa

Zack and I are in our mid to late twenties (his mid and my late) and the main form of entertainment among people who don't have kids in our age group seems to be going out to bars to have a few drinks and to socialize.  Admittedly, we don't do that very often.  It's more like, "Hm, do we want to spend $50.00 on a night out or do we want to save it and use it towards a downpayment on a house or on paying down our credit cards..."  This isn't to say that our bar-going friends are fiscally irresponsible.  I'm basically just saying that we're tightwads.  That being said, we still like to cut loose a little bit on weekends.

There are a lot of ways around having to spend a lot of money.  The main one is to invite your friends over for a dance party at your house.  Or, when that fails, to have a dance party with the cats.  Another really important thing to do is NOT spend too much money on fancy beverages.  There are some perfectly good options on the market and I've been getting into trying out different malt liquor beverages.  My favorite is the Mike's Mango Punch.  Not so disgusting that it will make you sick (it's actually pretty tasty), but not so expensive that you're going to regret buying one (or two) the next morning.

There is, of course, a fine line between intelligent frugality and doing something gross for the sake of being cheap.  I crossed that line this weekend.

On the way home from work, we decided to stop at the BP by our house.  Usually, we go to the Speedway across the street and that's where I get my Mike's Mango Punch.  At the BP, they didn't have it, so I started searching for the next best thing and I thought I had found it in a 24 ounce can of Blueberry Pomegranate Blast .... by Colt 45.  I remember a few weeks ago that Zack had bought a can of regular Colt 45 and I tasted some of it and described as tasting like pennies and ass.  I'm not sure why I thought this would be a much different experience, but I bought it anyways.  See that horse butt right under the logo?  I don't think it's there by accident.  Regardless, I got this thing home, cracked it open and took a big old sip.  It was, as you can imagine, utterly disgusting.  So disgusting, in fact, that I ended up pouring it down the sink, despite my strong dislike for wasting anything.  I didn't pour it down the sink before suggesting that Zack try it as well.

So there it is, folks.  Go cheap, but don't go this  cheap.

Now that I've sufficiently explained what not to do with your adult beverage money, I would like to clue you into a lovely beverage that I would like to believe that my college friends and I invented (maybe we didn't, who knows):  The Hobo Mimosa.

The hobo mimosa is perfect for when you'd like a lot of beverage at once, but you don't want to pay a lot for it.  Ever hear of a brass monkey?  Where you drink a Mickey's down to the label and then fill it back up with orange juice?  It's a lot like that only using a King Cobra.  Unfortunately, we weren't able to find a King Cobra, so we used the Champagne of Beers instead (figuring it would make it more mimosa-like).  For your enjoyment, here is a brief picture tutorial on how to make a Hobo Mimosa.

1.  Obtain a 40 oz of some sort of very cheap, light beer or of some sort of malt liquor.  Obtain a smaller  amount of orange juice as well.  We would strongly suggest going the pulp-free route, as pulp in a 40 is pretty gross.

2.  Drink it down to where the label on a bottle of King Cobra would be (unless you are using King Cobra, in which case drink it down to the label.  As you can see in this photo, the "label area" on the ol' Champagne of Beers is slightly above where the actual label is.  Use your discretion, I guess.  Once you've gotten the level of cheap beer or malt liquor to the correct spot, start filling the empty space with orange juice.

3.  The resulting concoction should look something like this.  It's perfect for summer, serves at least one person (for the entire evening, usually) and costs only about $5.00 start to finish.

I know what you may be thinking, internet.  "That's not very classy."  Well, it's not supposed to be that classy.  It's supposed to get the job done with a minimum amount of collateral damage.  Besides, it only becomes seriously un-classy when you're wandering around the parking lot of the post office and yelling at cars.*



*we did not do either of these things.

Adventures in Anxiety: How Dropping Food on the Floor Means We're Going to Die on the Streets

I'm pretty sure I have un-diagnosed generalized anxiety disorder.  Most of the time I'm fine, but sometimes even the smallest and most innocuous stimulus can start a ridiculous spiral in my brain.  I'm proud to say I can go from zero to utter catastrophe in a few small mental leaps.

Let's say, for instance, that someone leaves a spoon with food on it in the sink without rinsing or washing it.  Here's what happens in my head:

There is a dirty spoon in the sink - therefore - we will get ants or other bugs - therefore - the cats will become diseased - therefore - more bugs will come - therefore - our condo will become infested with bugs and disease - therefore - the condo association will ask us to leave (of course, we'd have to keep paying the mortgage) - therefore - we will be homeless - therefore - we will die on the streets.

See how easy that was?  There is a dirty spoon in the sink = we will die on the streets.

This time, the trigger was my husband's insanely large appetite.  Admittedly, I did not grow up around a lot of men.  Apart from my father (who I never remember eating that much), I really didn't have a very good understanding of how much food most men eat. They eat a TON of food, you guys.  For example, I bought two bags of clementines (each contained about 30 of them).  From when I bought them on Sunday to when we ran out of them on Thursday, I had eaten only about 10 of them.

I am assuming that one way or another, the remaining 50 clementines ended up in my husband's mouth.  He is almost always hungry and I am almost always anxious about it.  I have this terrible fear that he is going to starve or get scurvy (obviously not this week, though) or that he will lose weight and his family will notice and hate me for not feeding him enough.

Part of this is because I grew up half-Lebanese, which means if you live in my house, I am going to spend 75% of our interactions trying to feed you.  I will do the same thing if you visit my house, FYI.  If you're hungry and you're hanging out with me, you're in the right place.

Recently, we bought into a CSA (community supported agriculture) program through a local farm.  In this week's share, one of the things we got was an eggplant.  I was really excited about this, because I love Chinese food and I think I'm pretty okay at cooking it and one of my favorite dishes is eggplant in garlic sauce.  I was also excited because I figured I could make one stir fry and then have it be a large enough amount of food.  Basically, I figured this stir fry was going to be a temporary answer to the nagging feeling that I am starving my husband to death.

So I got the wok out and started making eggplant in garlic sauce.  The apartment smelled awesome and I had a lovely stir fry at the end of it.  Definitely enough, I thought.  And tasty!  Zack agreed.  

So I made a pot of rice and let that cool off a little bit.  I started packing everything up for our lunches tomorrow and had to stop when I realized that Zack's lunch bag was nowhere to be found.  I asked him where it was and he told me that it broke.  To just use some other bag for now.  My first inclination was to use a blue plastic bag, but I decided against it.  For some reason, I thought it wouldn't be strong enough to hold a glass container of stir fry.  Against my first instinct, I decided to use an old square shopping bag (the thick paper kind with the strings for handles - you know what bag I mean - like a gift bag, sort of).  The bottom fell out of this plan.  Quite literally.

So just like that, there went my temporary anxiety antidote and thus began the spiral.  Obviously since there was no eggplant in garlic sauce, there would be no lunch whatsoever for anyone and both of us would be loopy at work and Zack wouldn't do his job well.

Then, of course, he'd get fired and since we can't survive on my income alone, we'd just get further and further behind in the bills until eventually we'd have to give the cats to a better home.  Then I'd feel guilty about that and I'd miss them terribly, not to mention their new people friends would silently judge me for being a terrible cat parent.  Zack would become increasingly despondent and that, of course would be my fault.  Because I dropped the stir fry on the floor.

See how easy that was?  I dropped the stir-fry = we're homeless, possibly with mental issues.

Once I had composed myself, I made another stir fry (with yellow squash).  It wasn't as good, of course and we're out one lidded glass container now.  It took me hours to get over the I-wasted-food guilt and then hours to get over my oh-god-what-if-I-really-AM-starving Zack guilt.  

I'm mentally exhausted now, all because I have a hard time controlling my anxiety.  I have to think that there is some purpose for it.  That in a post-apocalyptic world, let's say, the fight or flight response will be totally necessary and well timed.  

I always tell myself that in the right circumstances, I'd be like Tina Turner in Beyond Thunderdome.  

Adventures of the Chronically Malcontent

 

 

An Open Letter of Apology to my Husband: Sharing the Load

Dear Zack,

I had a ton of ideas about what it would mean to be a wife.  That it would mean that I'd have to stop complaining.  That I'd have to suddenly change my entire disposition and stop being so particular, so critical, such a perfectionist.  That I'd have to muster patience that I don't naturally have or develop a gentle spirit that is antithetical to my sense of urgency in "getting things done."  In some subconscious headspace, I told myself that I would have to smooth over all of my rough edges all at once and that I would have to somehow dilute my intensity in order to keep us emotionally afloat.

There were two major errors in my thinking.  1)  In trying to change my fundamental nature, I must have somehow forgotten that those were some of the characteristics that made you want to marry me in the first place.  Sorry about that.  2)  I arrogantly thought that the burden of every responsibility rested squarely upon my shoulders.

I am guilty of that in a lot of different aspects of my life, not just in our marriage.  I am guilty of self-reliance-to-a fault.  In short, I am guilty of thinking that if I don't do something, that means that it isn't going to get done. 

If I don't do the dishes, no one will ever do the dishes.

If I don't worry about the money, no one will ever worry about the money.

If I don't ask you a thousand times to do something, you won't remember to do it.

If I don't think about the future, neither of us will ever think about the future.

Self-reliance has always been extremely important to me.  It has always been very important to be capable of everything (and more) that I ask of other people.  But sometimes I get very carried away with this and I forget that by refusing to let you shoulder any of the responsibility, I am refusing to recognize you as your own moral agent, as an adult and as my husband.

I am sorry that I have been operating under the assumption that if you don't do something exactly the way I would, that you must be doing it wrong.

I am sorry for assuming that you aren't as concerned with things as I am.

I am sorry for being so arrogant as to think that I am the only person in our partnership capable of shouldering the load, so to speak.

I'm a big believer in psych-somatic symptoms and it was very humbling that when I found myself with a thrown-out back (some might say as a result of physical exertion, but perhaps it was a universal check for thinking that I am strong enough to carry everything in the world all by myself) this weekend, I also found myself unable to do anything.  I had to have faith in the fact that you would be the one doing everything and that I would just have to lay there on a bag of frozen peas and let you.  

Of course, you did.  You took care of every responsibility that needed to be taken care of.  You made sure I had everything I needed.  You even went out of your way to try to cheer me up when I got frustrated about not being able to do everything alone.  You let me be ridiculous and you loved me anyways.  I don't know what I thought would happen if I ever just let go and waited to see how things panned out.  I think on the fear-based side of things, I just pictured empty food containers, hungry cats and dirty dishes.  

So please accept my open apology to you for selling you short.  In the future, I am going to be better at sharing our responsibilities and at allowing to do things on your own time and in your own way.  

I love you,

-Your Wife

Negotiations

Those of you who know Amanda and I best know that we were both occupationally considered "negotiators" at one time.  However, the brand of negotiations that Amanda and I were required to do involved compromising, but not usually to the extent that the party on the other end generally thought we would or could.  As a result, we are both great at negotiating (see: arguments) and neither of us are very good at compromise (see: ending arguments).  To further the problem, I'm really great at being painfully sarcastic when I reach the point where I no longer desire to compromise, so... you can guess how well that works out. 

We both also choose really awesome times to argue, making both of us retrospectively look back and realize that we were both ridiculous.  For instance, last night, I reached my wall and decided to go to bed without doing the dishes or cleaning up after myself in the kitchen.  This is regular to me, and normally, I'd get up in the morning and clean them off, no harm no foul.  Amanda is incapable of this.  In her mind, if those dishes aren't done, we might get ants, and then we'll have to hire an exterminator, and she'll stay up all night thinking about it.  Now, I'm not telling you that to make you think that Amanda is unreasonable, she isn't. She is very particular about the way things should be, whereas I am not.  I don't know what contributes to those differences- if it was our respective upbringings or what, but Amanda ended up doing all the dishes.  Which wasn't fair.  Though I do my best to understand that she cannot leave the dishes in the sink, this action pisses me off, because it makes me feel as though she's cleaning up after me, which hurts the masculine, egotistical cock-wielding, self sufficient part of me.  I'm speaking for myself when I say this: but I think that most every boy wants to grow up and have the ability to be self sufficient enough to "be their own man" so to say, and so, when Amanda washes my dishes that I left, thinking that I'd do them in the morning, it turns me in to Godzilla.  Regardless of the fact that I was tired, and I could've just done them and avoided any ill feelings, I decided that 2230 hours was an excellent time to fight about this and act like a child.  In short, though we said we love you to each other before we go to bed (...everyone gives you this advice at the shower, or at the reception or on your marriage day, prepare yourself: you have to say I love you and you can't go to bed angry at each other)... we still went to bed, neither of us having compromised our position.  This morning, after having gotten a sufficient amount of rest, we both apologized, telling the other that we didn't know why it was such a big deal last night. 

The point I'm trying to impart is: no one tells you that the first year is a constant process of negotiation.  There is no one thing that does not affect the other person in some manner.  And during the first year, you think that everything the other person does will affect you in some way, when in reality, it might not. 

At the end of the day, though, Amanda and I can still find humor in this: no one tells you that the first year you will compromise more than you ever have before.  And no one tells you how uncomfortable some of those compromises might make you.  And no one tells you just how great those compromises might make the future.  And no one tells you how uncertain you will feel when making those compromises.  And no one tells you how often these relatively small things which you'll have to make compromises for can make you feel like you might get served divorce papers the next day.  But most importantly, no one tells you that the driving force behind all these compromises is love and if you married that person, you must have loved them enough to make these compromises, and if you find yourself believing that any compromise is too much (unless of course it would cause you harm), then you must question if that love was really worthy of marriage.  Through it all, I still love Amanda.  I think the standard wedding vows must hold a special significance in the first year more than any other.  Perhaps after the first year, we should go back and here them again, checklist in hand and review which of those situations we'd found ourselves in in that first year. 

Get Out of My Damned Kitchen!

Some misogynists like to make jokes about how a woman's "place" is in the kitchen.  Meaning, that her only purpose is to serve her husband and children (not by choice*) and to, perhaps, not be allowed to leave the kitchen.  I suppose for women who are oppressed this way in their own households, being relegated to the kitchen might seem like servitude or imprisonment.  

I'm not one of those women and come to think of it, neither are most women I know.  We all seem to lead pretty well-rounded lives is what I'm saying.  I'm not subjugated in my own household at all and I really enjoy cooking.  I find it relaxing and I'm pretty good at it.  To the point that I don't like anyone else messing around in the kitchen besides me.  When you're in my kitchen, you're in my house, if you know what I mean (like, "you're in my house now, punk!").

The problem is that I burn out right around Wednesday evenings, especially during tutoring season (when I work 8 hours before working another 2 or 3).  So come Wednesday nights, when I've had fourteen seconds of sleep per night and I'm crabby and acting really put upon and obnoxious, we usually end up eating out for the rest of the week, much to the detriment of both our wallets and our own health (chicken wings?  McDonald's?  Yes, please!).  

For a long time, Zack has been suggesting that he take two nights a week as his "dinner nights."  Since implementing this change would require that I relinquish some of my control over both the grocery list and the kitchen, I have been avoiding it for months and months.  See the previous blog post, though.  Necessity may be the mother of invention, but it is also sometimes the mother of Amanda re-negotiating her weird boundaries.  Reluctantly, I agreed to let Zack into the kitchen with the purpose of cooking us dinner.

So there I was, sitting in the living room, thinking about the time that Zack cooked fish and then left the pan in the oven for three weeks.  Or how the kitchen used to look.  Or how much I didn't want to do a pile of dishes at 8 o'clock in the evening.  Or how favorably our insurance carrier would view paying out on a claim after the microwave exploded.  Or any number of otherwise ridiculous scenarios.  

I don't know why.  He managed to live just fine all by himself before I got there.  Nothing exploded (that I know of) and I'm relatively certain that he ate. 

Know what ended up happening?  We ate a perfectly lovely dinner and there were no explosions.  Pretty much what anyone would expect.

Slowly, but surely, I'm learning how to share.

*For stay home moms who read this, I'm not talking about you at all.  More power to you!

Cooperative: Better said as "Marriage is Testing My Ability to be a Hippy"

Hello, world.  Wife here, with her first attempt at cooperative blogging.  Originally, I was going to write a follow up to the money post that Zack just wrote, but I figured that there isn't really very much left to say about that.  What I want to talk about is how it's really difficult to give up the deeply-ingrained isolationism I (regrettably) hold so dear.  

It's Memorial Day, so we split the day between both sets of parents.  While we were hanging out with my parents, we were talking about this blog and about why we were writing it.  We were telling them how we wanted to give a realistic account of what the first year of marriage is like.  How "happily ever after" sort of begins with a 365 day closed session in the situation room.  That might not be fair.  We're 45 days into the first year of our marriage and we've been teetering between DEFCON 3 and 4 on most issues.  I defy any of you to tell me that this is abnormal as learning to exist as a team rather than a one-woman-show can be exceptionally difficult, especially after 30 some odd years of one's decisions only affecting one person.  

My mom put it best as she was telling me about her first year with my father.  It was something along the lines of, "no matter what you're doing, you always feel like you're giving too much leeway on every issue, but the weird thing is that both of you feel this way, even though both of you are compromising."  Man, is that ever true.  From socks to bank statements to who gets which bathroom drawer.  Everything seems to involve negotiations and dialogue.  Living single is so much simpler.

It's easy to say, "This is MY bathroom," or, "This is MY kitchen."  It's really easy to say, "This is how I balance the budget," or, "These choices affect ME."  The truth of the matter is that when entering into a partnership (and I'm not just referring to heterosexual marriage, I am referring to ALL chosen partnerships), there are degrees of compromise that will seem ridiculous to a person to even have to make.  I've been thinking about why it all seems so epic and I've come up with one idea.

Everybody secretly (or not secretly) believes that their own way is the best and only way.

As someone who absolutely does not want to identify as an isolationist - as someone who, in fact, might VERY much want to live by a personal policy of inclusion and cooperation - having to recognize myself as a closet isolationist is embarrassing at best.  

But the first step, they say, is admitting that there is a problem.  

So I'm learning to live with the occasional unwashed dish.  The occasional drips of water on the bathroom counter in the morning.  The differences in how we view major issues as well as minor ones. Has anyone seen the show Modern Family?  I am, without a doubt, the Claire Dunphy of this relationship.

In his speech at our post wedding lunch, my father gave us a few pieces of advice and one of them sticks out to me at this particular moment:  "Don't keep score.  It all evens out in the end."

Sigh.  

The best remedy for any disagreement is dialogue and compromise.  

Only 45 days in and I already know he's right.  

-Amanda

Money Woahs (or woes...)

So as I mentioned before, right before Amanda and I got married, I took a new job.  That job involves leading a team of fifteen people.  In taking this job, I ended up taking an actual "take home" pay cut due to a lack of commission.  This was something that Amanda and I discussed prior to taking the job. and decided it was worthwhile.  I wasn't really prepared for the financial shock that ensued. 

I suffer from attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, and I fall within the subtype of "Combined hyperactive-impulsive and inattentive".  I spent a very long time denying this fact.  It wasn't until Amanda and I started dating that it really became apparent.  I remember sitting in an office and being read a list of "symptoms", and it was though I was being read back a list of what I had come to identify as personality flaws.  Or, ways that I identify with most house cats. 

So anyways, one of the places that my impulsiveness is most prevalent is in the financial realm.   So, on Thursday, I got paid and I realized there was a big inequality between what needed to be paid and what I had.  I am not particularly apt with money.  In fact, ask Amanda, the Saturday morning after pay day, Amanda and I usually get breakfast somewhere, but first I spend six hours on my laptop trying to figure out how to make my money work.  By the time we get breakfast, she is usually suffering from hypoglycemia.  Over the past several days, I probably spent 14 hours trying to figure out what to do when life hands you one lemon, but you need eighty five.  My mind suggested things like "Why don't you go to the Horseshoe, you might do well there.".  I am well aware of my propensity for downright stupid ideas, but this one was like... the stupidest.  I didn't do it luckily.  But the route I chose to take was not any better.  Having heard about finances and marriage and the divorce rate statistics that are associated,  I thought it best not to tell Amanda about this. 

Amanda's views and my own on finances are very different; and I respect that.  But she's very serious about money, and I'm always concerned that anything involving money will undoubtedly blow up in my face.  That probably stems from having a financially conservative mother growing up who was relatively responsible with money, and myself being someone who was not. 

So, anyways, Amanda spent six hours trying to figure out how to make eighty five lemons out of one.  Anyways, here we are six hour... okay, that's a lie.  She figured it out in two. three tops.  There was yelling. A surrendering of my garage space.  A review of the five w's from Introduction to Investigative journalism.  And now we're here, sitting beside each other.  It wasn't a pretty situation, she took her cat and ... okay that's a lie too... The details don't really matter.  But, we worked it out and made a plan.  And the future looks a little brighter; That is if I stay away from the Apple Store.  

The First Year

Search the first year of marriage on Google and you'll find no shortage of advice.  It seems the first year of marriage is the hardest.  If that much is true,  I am pretty lucky so far.  But here's what I've observed, or (think that I've) figured out:

The first year is alienating.  I find myself alone, with the exception of my wife, Amanda.  People somehow get the impression that upon entering marriage you need unlimited amounts of space so that you can appropriately court your spouse, so they stop calling.  Perhaps they're busy with their own lives.  I find myself equally apathetic about contacting them, so I can appreciate their lack of effort.

The first year is exciting.  There are so many new experiences that I look forward to, and so many experiences that I get to share.  After getting married to Amanda, I found myself having two sisters, siblings.  I think we've always felt that way about each other anyways,  but to make it official was exciting as hell.  I'm also excited for Amanda to share my family.  I am excited to start my own family with Amanda.