thank you seahawks

I'm exceptionally happy that football season is over finally.  I've tried to feign interest since Mike is a HUGE 49ers fan, but I really couldn't care less.  Plus, it was an incredibly boring Super Bowl.

Now maybe we can all go on with our lives.

megansicle

If I moved back to Michigan right now I would probably die.  Don't get me wrong.  If someone handed me a plane ticket right now I wouldn't hesitate, but I would still probably die when I got there.  From the cold.

It would be an ironic way for me to go if you think about it.  

I'm just sitting here bundled up in layers on my couch in Hawaii pondering whether I should grab a blanket.  I checked.  It's a brisk 76 degrees out.  I call bullshit.  It feels more like 60 degrees.  And then when I listen to myself I realize how ridiculous I sound.  

So congratulations to everyone in the mitten state right now because I sure as hell couldn't handle this winter.

time to write a sitcom? andy? amy?

Will & Grace is just as entertaining now as it was a decade (give or take) ago.  

Just wanted to put that out there.

healthy and happy

2014 is the year of healthy decisions!  I have thus proclaimed it so!

Okay, so I got a month's head start.  That's even better, right?  Plus, let's face it, New Year's resolutions are usually full of shit anyways.  I don't want to make resolutions.  I prefer healthy decisions.

So I've tried to remain as consistent as possible about the gym.  Sometimes it's better than others and obviously something is better than nothing, but it's difficult to get into a routine with my work schedule.  I tried going at night after I'm pau, but my foot is sometimes already killing me at that point.  (I failed to mention I discovered I have a torn 2nd metatarsal after a doctor's visit about 2 months ago.  That's why I've been in gradually more pain for the last year and there's really nothing they can do other than surgery.)  After my managing shifts I'm just too pooped and, honestly, I usually desire an alcoholic beverage or two after those shifts so the point is kind of moot anyways.  I write those two days off as "freebies."  The other obstacle is not having a car.  Going to the gym can't be something spontaneous for me.  I have to plan it out.  Plan my day out.  When do I work?  When is the bus?  Do I have time to go and still be ready for work?  Should I just pay the money and cab it?  Etc.

At the same time, I no longer hate it.  I don't necessarily enjoy it, at least not in the hedonistic sense of the word, but I get into it.  I can drive myself and run longer.  I push myself rather than just doing the minimum and getting the hell out of there lol.

Another milestone for me would be attending therapy.  It's been a while in the making.  My anxiety has increasingly become more overwhelming so I inquired with HMSA to see what the coverage was like. It was pretty damn good so there was not much argument to be made there.  It's been almost 2 months now and I guess I'm still on the fence.  Not that it hasn't helped to talk certain things out.  I can see improvements.  At the same time my cynical nature scoffs at the reading material she provides me with.  Pretend I'm a tree and imagine my roots?  Talk to my inner child?  You've got to be kidding me?  I don't do psychobabble bullshit.  I'm not a tree.  I'm not a child.  Enough said.

At first it was such a relief to hear that so many of my personality traits or characteristics were common for people with anxiety.  It was reaffirming.  I felt like I belonged or made sense.  And now, a month and then some later, I feel like I'm typecast into that mold.  Anxiety or not, I'm still me.  I'm unique.  I'm not in a textbook somewhere.  Yes, certain things about me may fit that textbook definition.  I have control issues.  I'm a perfectionist.  But knowing that about me, knowing that I have anxiety, does not sum me up.  

I'm gonna stick with it for now.  After all, the woman is a career counselor and, Lord knows, I need one of those.  But I don't need therapy sessions for someone to tell me what I'm like.

It goes hand in hand.  Making changes because they're healthy is just as important as making changes because they're unhealthy.

Here's to a new year!

operation pink glittery elephant is successful!

Mike is my hero.  

I guess I contributed as well.  I did the necessary field work and he made the necessary phone calls.  We make a great team apparently.  

Kona would have come through had I called that evening.  Supposedly a lady had shown up to their store right before close and bought all 19 elephants.  I have no idea why she wanted 19 pink glittery elephants, but I'm not judging.  After all, I'm the one that was searching all of the Hawaiian islands for one of these suckers.  

Did I mention they're adorable?

How was I to know that would happen?  Seriously, what are the odds?  (Although with my luck, I should have known.)  I guess I just considered how my workplace functions and assumed there'd be a total lack of communication between whoever took the phone call that evening and the person that would have to ship it the next morning.  Better to wait until the morning so the same person would be taking care of my box o' elephants.

Well, clearly I was wrong.  Not to worry though, California came through.  I'm still getting my elephant.  Actually Mike ordered me five elephants.  They were on clearance and, considering my recent talent for destroying wine glasses, he correctly assumed some back-ups weren't a bad idea.

Only downside is the lack of closure.  After all that trouble I can't even hang the sparkly guy up.  They just all got boxed up with the Christmas decorations until next year.  

Bummer.

fucking forks!

Cutlery has declared war against me, specifically my feet.  And by cutlery, I mean forks...so far.  

The first incident happened almost two months ago.  It was a normal day at work and then I dropped a salad fork.  Tines down.  You see, some of our salad forks are actually slightly sharpened at the end of the tines.  So imagine a miniature (dirty) pitchfork plummeting toward my perfectly pedicured toes during the middle of a busy shift.  

It hurt.  Not like a bitch, but enough.  I gasped and I kept moving because I had no option.  It was busy.  I looked down at my feet and there was blood.  A significant amount of blood.  And no option to slow down.  

That's a brief summation of the actual event.  I had no choice but to be brief as I had 3 new tables to greet and absolutely no assistance.  I slapped a bandaid on and cleaned it later.  For those of you not in the service industry, when your server goes missing for what you imagine is half an hour, just keep in consideration that maybe she's going pee or just possibly attending to a pitchfork wound.  So, basically, fuck off and relax.

I still have two tiny tine-hole scars in my fourth toe.

And then NYE happened.  

I was merrily going about my business and then POW!  

Instant pain.  I chucked something against the wall in reflex and I believe screamed an obscenity.  This time it was unexpected.  (Not that I expected the first incident, but at least I could watch it unfold in slo-mo before me.  Not the same wtf moment.)

Then I looked down.  There in the rubber kitchen mat, stuck propped up at a 40 degree angle, was a dinner fork.  It was like a medieval style weapon set out to guard the moat and waiting for approaching enemies.

Like my foot.

the pink glittery elephant

I have breaking news.  There was regretfully a Christmas casualty today.  I was taking down the tree.  Simple enough, right?  It's well past New Year's.  It needed to happen.  And then...

It all happened in the blink of an eye.  (No cliché intended.)  Actually no, I take that back.  It was more like slowmo.  Tragic, but inevitable.  I'd like to tell you that it was a family heirloom.  Or super expensive and exotic.  Truth be told, most of the Christmas ornaments that I've collected over the years remain in Michigan.  I guess it was never worth it to transport them across a continent and an ocean, especially since we didn't even have a Christmas tree until last year.  The handful of actual ornaments I have here mean a lot, I suppose.  At least compared to the generic shatter-proof Walmart fill-ins (some of which I've managed to pathetically personalize in the cheapest of creative means) that occupy the rest of the branches.  Mike and I have already created a tradition in which we annually purchase our ornament for the year.  Plus, I have always added certain items that speak to me, for whatever reason, to my collection.  He actually doesn't seem to grasp this yet.  Then again, he doesn't know what Christmas treasures are stored in Michigan just waiting to adorn our future (and hopefully real) tree someday.  But when we surveilled the aisles of Pier 1 earlier last month I could not help myself.  And, to my benefit, he watched that reaction.

It was a little pink glittery elephant.

I have no explanation as to why a pink glittery elephant ornament grabbed my attention so vehemently, but I saw it and wanted it and Mike knew there was no argument to be made.  And secretly, I think he liked it too.  So although we agreed that it was not "our" ornament for the season, it was going on the tree.  And there it stayed until today.

I was careful.  I remember reminding myself to be careful.  And then there was tinsel.  It snagged somehow and I was caught off guard.  It flung a little bit.  I think I bobbled it for a moment, keeping my hopes up and then CRASH out of nowhere.  Beyond repair.  My little pink elephant, precious even though bought at Pier 1 under $10.

In all honesty, I didn't realize how attached I was until it's face was smashed into a thousand glittery pieces.  I was heartbroken.  I broke the news via text to Mike and apparently he was attached as well.

The hunt has been on all day.  There are none left on the island so I think I might get one shipped from Kona.  It says online that they have 19 available.  

When initiating my search I told the Pier 1 employees that I had to replace it cause my 3 year old daughter had picked it out.  She apparently loves elephants and her favorite color is pink.  I lied cause I'm a grown woman that felt silly trying to desperately search for an ornament that is $1.68 on clearance.  And I also secretly enjoyed pretending that I had that little girl that loves elephants and the color pink.

Let's keep our fingers crossed for Kona to come through.

And for someday having a 3 year old daughter like that.

what a difference a year makes...

I have officially been spoiled rotten by my man in 2013.  

Well, at least by my standards.  You have to keep in mind that this is coming from a girl whose previous relationships were...well, less than stellar.  A hot date in my early twenties was Wendy's.  Or, for special occasions, TGIFriday's.  Yes, I was a lucky lucky girl.  

And now I have someone who is just as generous as I am.  Not that I'm simplifying it to that.  I just have a very different life now as opposed to an impoverished college student dating an impoverished college student, both of which were plugging along in the industry.  (Among other unimpressive relationships that don't even enter on the radar.)  Blatantly put, Mike and I worked very hard to be where we are, which is a much better place than where we struggled to be out of over a year ago.  

I can now write freely.  Literally.  My archaic laptop is an item of the past.  I am now mobile and can blog where I want and do so unobtrusively.

2014 will be amazing in so many ways.  We've been members of 24 hour fitness for almost a month now.  Surprisingly, I was the main driving force behind that one.  Big adult life decisions!  I believe I've actually openly proclaimed that I would never be a "gym person" and now I find myself SLOWLY on the way to becoming one.  What can I say, the last couple years have lead me to make several healthy decisions in many ways.  And reinvigorating that competitive nature within has kinda done wonders.  

I'm finally excited for life and where things will take us.  Our relationship has been through some pretty unorthodox things, but maybe that's why we are where we are.  

 

You and me baby, until the wheels fall off.

if you build it, she will come

I'm watching Field of Dreams, which is always a classic despite having Kevin Costner in it, and I really want my own baseball field. In my backyard. How awesome would that be??? Okay, so I haven't picked up a glove in years, but mostly because I left it in Michigan. But I would never get bored. And let's face it, I'd probably be skinnier.

I just love that it's about the love of the game though. I miss feeling that. "The sounds, the smells...," as Shoeless Joe says.

i'd write my own jungle book!

My traveling aspirations have remained the same for years: 1. I will go to Ireland before I die. And, God willing, if I can afford to be any more particular than that, I would like to be there more than a week. And possibly hit Scotland up as well. They are my people too, apparently even more so than the Irish. 2. Greece fascinates me, Santorini specifically. I also think it would make a fascinating and exotic honeymoon. 3. And despite myself, I would love to traipse around Germany and/or Austria. If not, just to practice my German. And drink beer. And wear lederhosen while visiting Neuschwanstein.

Granted, if I had unlimited funds I would travel the world. No limits. Fjords in Norway...authentic ramen and sushi in Japan...quaint French countryside...the streets of Rio de Janiero...poutine in Quebec...Prague...New Zealand...Morocco...Cairo...Hong Kong...Singapore...

If all that doesn't happen, I will still die happy. But I'd like to officially add India as #4 on my list. For some reason, the word "fascinate" comes to mind again, but in a different way. I am devoutly Christian, but India has a certain spirituality (organized religion aside) that speaks to all. The food would be endlessly exciting. And who doesn't love elephants and monkeys???

makin babies

My sister messaged me this morning telling me she had a very vivid dream in which I was pregnant. And then proceeded to ask me if there was anything that I needed to tell her.

Uhhhhh...

I know I'm 31 years old and my biological clock is a tickin, but now my pregnancy dreams have graduated from my subconscious to my sister's?

Mike just needs to make an honest woman out of me already so we can get on with makin the babies.

edumacation

Several years ago, shortly before I moved to Hawaii, I can remember being in the Starbucks on Hall Road having a discussion with my Mother over coffee and a crossword. (I have many fond memories of that Starbucks.) She used the phrase "if you go back to school" and I was deeply offended. You see, it was never a question for me. Of course I was going to go back to grad school, it was just a matter of when I would be able to afford it.

And then life happened.

Here I am, so many years later and thousands of miles away still wrestling with the same dilemma. I still want it. And while, on a daily basis, I doubt if that's in the cards for me, I still believe that's what I'm meant to be doing. I've made this so entirely clear to Mike that I now realize that once the moment where a Master's degree is a possibility for me presents itself I may have no idea what I want to do.

It's never as easy as it being about what I want to do. And there's a certain amount of fear involved. I'm self aware enough to know that. I've already spent how many tens of thousands of dollars on a degree, and a good degree at that, and how many thousands more in student loans that I'm still paying off...and for what? What if I choose the wrong program and find myself in the same situation?

I've been told by multiple sources that a graduate degree does the opposite of what your bachelor's does, meaning it opens more doors and therefore jobs for you rather than limiting you. But how do I know? How do I know what fields will be hiring? What careers pay well? And, more importantly, what job will fulfill me professionally?

the only reason i love my job

I love my coworkers. The end.

missing my emchilee

Emily's preggers. (Yay!) The doctor's 95% sure it's a boy already. I'm going to be auntie to a little boy and I'm not even there. I wasn't there for the wedding and now I'm not going to be there again.

I'd say this is the story of my life, but I have to be grateful I was able to go back for my Grandma's funeral. I had that at least. But it would also be nice to be there to experience some of the life I'm missing out on too. And assuming I'll have children of my own someday (soonish), I can't help but think how ideal it would be for our kids to grow up knowing each other.

That's getting ahead of myself. Right now I just wish I could see her.

i'm only half kidding

At this point, I would be willing to move to Iceland if it meant never seeing another cockroach for the rest of my existence.

deep thoughts by megan

Sometimes it's exhausting being me.

That sounds slightly (or completely) narcissistic, but I guess blogging itself is a narcissistic act so I'm already screwed in that respect. Who am I to assume you care about my various musings or opinions? Well, I certainly don't write in order to receive approval. Hell, I don't care who reads this, if anyone actually does...I just need to get it out. Out of my head, out of myself.

I still dwell on my visit back to Michigan. I feel like a normal person would have moved on by now, but my brain seems to live in constant overdrive. Rehashing, analyzing, and complicating experiences that have happened, are happening, or could happen to me. Maybe it's my OCD tendencies or maybe it's the fact that I seem to care a little too much, but it's quite exhausting, not to mention futile.

Or maybe this is just normal. I think it's underestimated just how much of a sap I am. I can't just forget the fact that my Grandma is gone. I can't act like I'm not homesick. I can't forget the conversation my Dad and I had while he was several scotches in and I was two martinis deep. I can't forget how much family and friends mean to me and how empty Hawaii (with the exception of Mike) makes me feel in comparison.

I have just never been able to come to terms with who I was then and who I am now. It's a love hate relationship with no reasonable solution. And at this point, the only answer is to figure out who I do and don't want to become.

Maybe that's where the answer lies.

mmmhmm

Anyone ever use Mederma for their scars? Cause that's what I'm depending on to save my girls from permanent disfiguration.

Shit better work.

the counter is calling my name

The dieting's getting old and I'm sick of being hungry all the freakin time. I must stay strong though! Once we acquire some new running shoes I might be able to get past this plateau I've been stuck on. Yes, it's great that I fit into my clothes much better. And yes, it's great to see progress, but when it stops suddenly and you're still starving your butt off every day...

Well, it just really makes me want a cheeseburger from The Counter. Oh, and those parmesan truffle fries.

What??? Not like I'm gonna do it. Besides, they're closed.

lesson learned

You learn something new every day, right? Well, today I was the victim of a tragic accident involving nudity, a curling iron, and an imaginary cockroach. I'll just let your imagination fill in the gaps for a minute.

Needless to say, burning yourself with something that hot on skin that delicate is not something I ever wish to repeat. It's just so damn hot in Hawaii.

Lord help me, my boob better not scar.

chunky little butts

Lately I feel like Lucy likes Mike more than she likes me. And while I've managed to joke about it in front of him, it actually really bothers me.

Most of the time I attribute this to the fact that I play "bad cop" more often than he does lately. I yell at her for scratching. Scratching the couch, the bed frame, the screens...you name it. I squirt her with my nifty little water bottle for jumping on the nightstand, which she now knows is a no-no, but yet does anyway. She's an insolent teenager trapped in an incredibly cute cat's body apparently. And I feel like my regular litter box emptying is completely unappreciated and does nothing to warrant me fuzzy feline affection.

It's not that Mike isn't involved in taking care of her. He is every bit of parent as I am. He helps out with emptying the litter once in a while and will clean out the box when it needs it. It's just that he's a heavier sleeper, so by nighttime, when most of the water bottle action takes place, he's out cold while I'm left to deter her from her rebellious habits. Therefore making me bad cop. He's better at feeding her, making him good cop.

Cats are incapable of evaluating these differences. Maybe I should just start sneaking her treats to win over her affections?

If only she wasn't already a chunky little butt. Chunky little butts don't get extra treats. I should know. Mike and I are both dieting right now.