For a WOMAN...

News Flash...

I'm kind of tired of gender. Like SUPER TIRED.   I'm probably even more tired of men telling me that I need to stick up for my gender...like I can't do that without being told to do that, but to be fair, I'm tired of EVERYONE AND ANYONE telling me what I should think.  I'm tired of awards that are specific to my gender. I'm tired of anything that forces people to choose me or care about my existence because of my gender. I'm generally tired of anything that focuses on my genetics as a reason for anything good or bad.  I cannot control my genetics anymore than anyone else. True story.

I don't want your stupid Women doing <insert pretty much anything here> award...

Lately, there have been all these Women in tech awards things that work is trying to get me nominated for. And every time I say NO.  I don't want an award for being a female. I want an award because I'm freaking awesome. And if I'm only competing against part of the competitor pool, then it's a waste of my time and basically like saying to me that I'm still not good enough to compete for real.  That is how I view it. You all can tell me how not a feminist I am or whatever it is that you want to think, but anyone who knows me knows that I think for myself. And in my mind, equal is not equal if stuff is still separate. Equal is not equal if any group is singled out. Also, if you have to encourage a specific group to do something, isn't it kind of like saying they are too weak to encourage themselves?  Like I don't encourage my boys to do anything in particular. There are too many things. I just say, do what you want and don't suck at it. And don't be a jerk to other people unless they are jerks.  It's a blanket statement that applies to everything.  No one encouraged me to do computer science. No one discouraged me from doing it. I like computers, so that's what I did. Let's encourage that.

Where does this radical thinking come from, you ask?
When I was in grammar school, we used to play kickball on the playground at recess. You know, back in a time when kids still had recess and weren't encouraged to be blobs. One of the main badges of honor was the ability to kick the ball hard enough, far enough, and high enough that it would land on the roof of the garage that was out in left-center "field". (I put "field" in quotes because it was a blacktop playground, so field is a stretch of the word).  If you could kick to the roof, you were a kickball beast and usually got picked pretty early in the team selection process. When I was 10, I didn't care about being the first, last, only, whatever girl who could kick it onto the roof. ALL I CARED ABOUT WAS BEING PICKED FIRST FOR A TEAM. So, you know what I did? I kicked the shit out of the ball. At some point, I was able to kick it onto the roof. And then I got picked first. Not because I was a girl but because I could kick that stupid ball really effing hard. Oh, I was also really good at catching it and getting people out. Sometimes, the boys would tease each other about picking a girl, because kids are stupid. But you what beats stupid? Winning.  So I was picked first. And everyone shut their pie holes because it was even more embarrassing to make fun of other people who were beating your ass at kickball.

Have there been times that I didn't get picked because I was female? Probably. Just like there have probably been times some of you have not been picked for being male, or short, or heavy, or small, or, yup, a different color. Does it suck? Sure.  Heck, I was told by the JV softball coach at the end of Sophmore year that I wasn't on varsity that year because I wasn't serious enough and told too many jokes. WTF is that? Not because I didn't have the skill or ability, but because Coach M didn't think I was funny.  One of my first consulting gigs, everyone thought I was like 12 and I had to prove that I wasn't an idiot. And you know what? It felt way better to show that I was good at stuff then to be there because they HAD to pick me or were in some way obligated to have me there. 

There have also probably been times that I've been picked because I knew someone, had a friend or showed up when no one else did. I got one consulting gig based on phone interview due to being the most enthusiastic sounding choice. I was by far not the most skilled at writing stupid boring SQL queries. I just seemed the most excited for the job.  And, yes, there have probably been times that I've gotten an opportunity because of my gender, since there weren't a lot of girls in computer science. As a white, American female, I would have been a minority in the field, especially when I was doing QA testing. The only way to fight against any of it is to be great at something. When you are great at something it makes you hard to ignore. And maybe make people laugh. That also seems to work.

So, what caused this sudden and aggressive outburst?

Dr. Who. True story.  Like everyone  is making a huge deal out of this female Dr. Who. I haven't seen it yet. I'm sure she's great and I'm looking forward to seeing how they do with the new show runner and new Dr. Who. Just like I am every time they switch Dr. Whos. It's always interesting. And since last season was a waste of my life, I'm hoping things have improved. I could care less that it's a woman, other then I'm super annoyed at how they are making it out to be this wonderful progressive thing.

Issue #1: It's not progressive to do something that is currently trendy.  If they had cast a woman Dr. Who after David Tenant or Matt Smith, that would have been fairly progressive.  Actually, it would have made WAY more sense after David Tennant since the Rose/Dr. Who story had been so emotional and it would have been a great change of pace. It would have also been interesting between Matt Smith and Peter Capaldi because River Song was still around and I bet she would have been BEAST with a female Dr. Who. It certainly would have been less awkward then watching Clara deal with the fact that her adorbs young doctor was now an old man. Peter Capaldi's Doctor Who didn't get really great until his second season (through no fault of his own. The writing was just meh for a lot of his run). I actually think it would have been more interesting to have a Doctor Who from another country other then England or Scotland. But I digress...

Issue #2: River Song, Amy Pond, Me, Clara, Missy (a.k.a. The Master), Madame Vastra and Jenny, Rose...those are just some of the super awesome and pivotal female roles that have been the heart of Doctor Who since it's reboot.  If not for Rose, the reboot might have failed. If not for Amy Pond (and Rory to be fair), we might never have been able to accept Matt Smith as the Doctor. Without Madame Vastra and Jenny, we would not have STRAX...ok, I mean, interesting characters for mystery solving. Without Clara, the fabric of reality would have been ripped apart. Without the great Me story arc, Doctor Who could not have learned just how far reaching his actions can be. And without River Song, we would not have enjoyment in our lives because she is by far one of the greatest Doctor Who characters of all time.  Like I loved David Tennent as Doctor Who, but I LOVED Alexis Kingston as River Song.  The fact is, it's always been the companions that have made Doctor Who what it is because at some level, Doctor Who is always the same. It's the companions that are truely different. So by making the fact that a female is cast as Doctor Who be the center of all things, I believe we do a HUGE disservice to all of the female characters that have actually carried the show. That's my opinion.

Issue #3: Three companions. Not since kind of early in the original series has a Doctor Who started out with 3 companions.  It's always 1, maybe 2.  Other folks will visit from time to time so that a single episode or couple of episodes will have more then 2 companions, but not in a very long time has the Doctor started out with 3 companions. So, what does that say? It says to me that, though they took a "risk" by making Doctor Who female, they are not confident enough to maintain the same format. She's a girl so she needs more companions, I guess...

My frustration with the hypocrisy of it all acted as a catalyst for me to say something. Oh and being stuck on a really long drive in the car.

Okay, okay, I'm wrapping it up...
This is the lesson I've carried throughout life: Be good at things. Do things.  Keep doing things. Do what you want to do. Don't depend on others to do it for you. Stop listening to what other people tell you what you can or cannot do.  Turns out, it doesn't matter what other people think, because the key to actually being successful at anything is the internal belief that you can do it. And the only people that will really be able to help you believe in yourself is YOU and people you trust. Not random people on tv. Or politicians. Or the news. And if something unfair happens, dust yourself off and move on. Because life will never be fair when fairness is a moving target that changes every 5 minutes.  It's an impossible goal and only sets us all up for failure. Step outside the box and refuse to let anyone else force you back into it.  That's how I see it. Feel free to disagree. I'll probably ignore you anyway :P

I'm a Dog!

11 years, 2 months, and 13 days, I had a dog. Her name was Dakota.  

On Friday, July 20, 2007, I came home from work and met a puppy. She was just there in the driveway and ran up to me when I got out of my car. That’s how I met Dakota. My neighbor asked if I wanted her, I said yes, and that was it. I had a dog.

I was living in Asbury Park when Dakota got me.  Every night we’d go for these long walks around town, up to the boardwalk and all over the place.  Every time we saw a person, she would want to go over and sit on their feet until they pet her. It was her thing even on her last day when she met two new people at the office.  Walk over, sit on your feet, get petted. By doing this, EVERYONE knew her. Actually, I believe at one point, she was dubbed “Mayor Dakota” by someone. I was just “Dakota’s mom”. I had been living in Asbury for a few years but didn’t really know anyone.  I’m not a super social person in general and certainly not a “go out and make random friends” type.  Walking Dakota helped me meet all sorts of people and make new friends using her Dakota magic. Being Dakota’s mom is one of the best things I’ve ever been.

One of my favorite memories is that my brother was walking Dakota for me one day and the Asbury Park police officers who were patrolling the board walk that day called me up to say “Are you aware that some man is walking your dog?”. Er, yes, officers.  That’s my brother. Stand down.  I’m not sure if they actually stopped him until I confirmed, but I still thought it was hilarious and also, that’s how much everyone knew Dakota and cared about her.

I’d had Dakota about a year when my Aunt Laura’s health started to decline.  I had quit my job as a consultant and taken up part-time work so that I could spend more time with her. 3-4 times a week, I would drive the 40 minutes up to Westfield with Dakota to visit Aunt Laura and every time, Laura would say “Oh that’s a cute dog, but I can’t take care of a dog right now.” (She was a bit forgetful at that point, being 90 years old and having a bit of dementia). I’d reassure her that the dog was mine and she wouldn’t have to take care of it. Then she’d sit and pet Dakota. I don’t know why but that memory always makes me smile.

As far as random dogs that show up on your doorstep go (or any other dog acquired in any other way), Dakota was pretty much the greatest dog ever.  She was just a good dog. She learned her name right away, listened, potty trained in like a week, sat, came when you called or whistled, walked next to you without a leash, backed up when you said “back it up”. And she learned with ease. She was like a magical first dog that has probably ruined me for all other dogs. I love Queso, but that dog is STUBBORN. Dakota was just…Dakota.

There are so many memories. So many things that I don’t want to forget:

-       Karl saying how when she walks, it like she’s happily exclaiming “I’m a dog!” with each step.

-       Her happy rolling in the grass.

-       Karl and I getting lost on a hike with her and how after 10 miles, me and him were desperate to find the car but Dakota was the happiest ever because walking in the woods and sniffing things was her favorite.

-       How when she was little, she would just stop walking when she got tired and lay down like “yup, I’m done. Good luck to you.” I’d have to pick her up and put her in my bag to carry her the rest of the way home.

-       How she didn’t like to swim so when I threw the ball into the ocean, she would wait for the waves to bring it back and then get it when it was in shallow water.

-       How she would always sit with me when I was sick.

-       How she thought she was a cat and would sit on the back cushion of the couch until she got so big, she would just squish it all the way down.

-       How she would be so happy to see me, she would wag her butt in a U and hit herself in the face with her own tail.

-       How when we’d hike, she’d only go as far away from me as she could still see me. She ALWAYS had to have eyes on me.

-       How she would follow me from room to room.

-       How she would self-pet by walking back and forth under your hand.

-       How she would hit me with her toy when she wanted to play.

-       The time she got into the UPS guys truck like that’s normal.

-       How she loved EVERYONE, including whoever broke in and stole my tv when I first moved to Indianapolis (I found her sitting on the couch, chewing on a stick).

-       How she’s sit on the porch and bark once every so often to remind us that we’d let her out and forgotten to let her back in. And if we still didn’t let her in, she would run around to the back deck French doors and stare at us through the glass. Seriously, she was smarter then any of us.

-       Morpheus used to follow her around and smack her when she was a puppy. Like “I’m the boss. Don’t forget it. Ever” She learned, too, because she always let the cats boss her around.

-       How much she loved Brian and the minions. Each time one of the boys would start to pet her, she would do this sort of slow drop and roll over so they could pet her belly. Also, she would sit outside their bedroom door waiting for them to come out whenever they were staying with us. She loved those boys so much.

-       How when I’d say “go to Brian” she would go to wherever Brian was.

-       How she would walk back and forth against your legs like a cat.

-       How Neo had to run up and rub all up on her the minute she came into the house and she’d just sit there with a long-suffering, tolerant look on her face. Because in our house, the cats and dogs don’t realize that they are different from each other.

-       Her ninja puppy crawl

-       Teaching her how to drink from water fountains.

-       Is it a squirrel or is it a murderer? She’ll bark at either.

-       Her near religious hatred of rabbits.

-       Her constant desire to catch a chipmunk.

It’s brutal. There is not a thing on this earth that will love you as much or as unconditionally as a dog will love you. Not a person, not any other kind of pet. Nothing. There was nothing that I could do wrong in the eyes of that dog and no matter what, every time she saw me, it was the happiest moment of her life. And no matter what, whenever I saw her, everything was better. What do I do without that?

The cancer came on so fast. It’s like one day she’s jumping around like a puppy and then she’s sort of not eating and then she’s not eating but we think she’s allergic to something but, no, it’s lymphoma and her spleen and liver are affected and there’s bruising on her belly because of the cancer and she’s barely got any energy and can’t keep food down and she won’t walk around the pond which is her favorite and you have to sign the horrible papers that say you understand what it means to euthanize your pet. Because there is no drug, no surgery, no amount of money that can make it better. The only choices are to sign those papers or watch this family member that you love so much suffer because it’s too hard to let her go. So, you sign the papers and see your husband cry for the first time in the 9 years that you’ve known him. I hate those papers. I hate them so much.

On Wednesday, October 3, 2018, I brought Dakota to the vet for the final time. And that was it. 

11 years, 2 months, and 13 days, I had a dog. Her name was Dakota.  

I guess I only blog when I'm sad...

They don't teach this...

People are hard for me. Pets are not. I can't offend my pets with the stupid things that I say or do.  Pets are happy to see me no matter what. I feel like I shouldn't be this sad for a cat. Like more than I am when a human is sick and dies.  I feel stupid because I can't stop crying. I feel stupid that my stomach hurts. I feel stupid because I'm about to write a long blog about my cat.  But that's the thing about a pet. They don't now that I'm stupid. They don't know that feelings are confusing to me. They are basic like me. They don't know what's normal, so they are fine either way.  So, I'll just ramble for a bit. I apologize. Maybe this will make me feel better. Maybe worse. I don't know.  I just don't now what else to do with this.  

I don't know where to start...

So I guess I'll start from the beginning.  I want to get this down while it's fresh.  While I still remember. My memory is sketchy at best, so it's best to get it down. 

12 years of Morpheus has seen: 6 boyfriends (1 became my husband), 3 step-minions, 5 houses. 6 other pets (all still alive!),  2 family deaths, 7 jobs, the end of my 20s, the entirety of my 30s, and the start of my 40s. 

I got Morpheus when he was only a few weeks old.  He was a barn kitten that a friend gave to a boyfriend of mine, who in turn gave him to me. He was the first of my "menagerie". The original gangster. 

He was so tiny.  He couldn't do much yet. I had to feed him kitten formula with a syringe and wipe his little butt with wet paper towel to make him go potty. Like his mom would.  I know that sounds gross, but it was what it was. He was so tiny.  Those giant blue eyes where just...too much.

He got big fast and obnoxious, so I got him a friend, Trixie (now we just call her Fat Cat). And they were such good friend. Then I got Dakota...and they were not good friends.  Morpheus was not super excited about Dakota. He'd follow her around and when she would turn around, he would smack her with his paw.  I moved to Indianapolis and we got Neo & Kitten. Then the sugar glider, Lila. Now Queso.  Queso is the only one Morpheus really liked. They became besties. I'm not sure if Queso will realize something is different.

The thing about Morpheus, is he was so...him.  

He knew his name and would come when you said it...sometimes. When he was younger, he would sit on counters and wait for you to walk by so he could swipe at you.  For the first few years I had him, he never made a sound, until one day I opened a can of wet food for the first time and he started meowing.  He only meowed for wet food. Otherwise he was silent.  When I first got Dakota, he would pee in her crate every night until I also let him sleep in the bedroom.  He always wanted to be in the same room as you but didn't want you to hold him. He took every move in stride.  He hated New Jersey, because he was such a cranky bastard when I lived there but once I moved to Indiana, he turned all nice (ok, more like not as much of a bastard).  He loved Brian.  I didn't think he could purr until I met Brian when Morpheus was 4. For brian, he became a lap cat.  He just started jumping up on Brian's lap and purring.  He never did that before. 

He didn't catch mice. He would sit on the top of his cat tower and watch Fat Cat catch mice. Like he was too good for that peasant stuff. Let others catch his mice for him. He would run out the front door, run down the driveway, and then just roll and purr on the sidewalk. It was one of his favorite "games". Mostly at night, when he blended into the dark. Mostly when you couldn't find your shoes nearby. He occasionally would try to murder me by getting under my feet.  He spent 10 years trying to escape, until he was finally successful in January of 2016.  He'd only got away one other time right after I had moved to Indy, but that was only for a couple of days.  That January, he was gone for 3 weeks.  And then he just turned up one day, skinny and sniffling, but otherwise just fine.  From then on, he was a much nicer cat. He snuggled more and purred more. He must have seen things in that 3 weeks that let him know that his life could be worse then living with us.

Since we got Queso, Morph jumped onto the bed every morning to purr and snuggle with the dog. It was the strangest friendship, but it worked.  If he wanted to be fed in the rmorning, he would paw everything off my nightstand until I woke up.  At night, he would sit in front of the TV and block it if he wanted food. He liked to sit in the highest spots in the house. His spots. The other cats seem to avoid those spots. 

Now I'm just listing stuff he did because I don't want to forget him. How grumpy he always seemed. How he purred so loudly in the morning, it would wake you up. How he would lick my arm until there was a rug burn like wound. How green his eyes where. They were blue when he was a baby. They became green as he grew up. So green. 

I wish...

I wish that I had know that last time he snuggled the puppy, that it was the last time. Or the last time that I fed him and he came running at the sound that it was the last time. Or the last time he meowed that it was the last time. I wish I had known he was sick. I wish that he could have told me. I wish that there was something I could have done about it. 

Morpheus was the first pet in my "menagerie". He's the first that was mine. He is the first that I've had to lose in my adult life. He's the first I had to decide to send to the farm.  He's the longest I've had a pet.  12 years. 30% of my life. That's a lot longer than most people I've known. 

I know I did the right thing today.  There might have been other things that we could have done to extend his life, but those would have been for us, not him.  He wasn't eating, wasn't going to the bathroom, barely moving and coughing up stuff.  I got to be with him when he went to sleep for the last time. I got to pet him and hold him. He was so soft. He was always so soft. He was purring. I hope because he knew that we were there and we loved him and because he wasn't hurting. 

Today is not my favorite. 

I don't know what to say...

I don't know what to say...

So, I'm not so good at talking about my feelings or things that are going on that suck. I also am not one to post random cryptic "Life Sucks" messages on Facebook, making those who might care wonder what it going on. Nor am I one to post lengthy Facebook posts that describe in great detail crappy events happening in my personal life. I feel like i have to talk about this. Like it needs to be out of my head. I just don't know what to say.

I feel like I need to say something, because as my insanely mature 14-year-old niece told me, it's a thing that is happening in our lives that will affect us and it's important to remember it no matter how hard and awful it is.  Yup, 14.

And so I'll tell a story to a few people who, well, I guess I trust won't make me feel all weird about sharing.

The short story...

My brother Phil died today. He was 54. He's the one I was closest to of my other siblings from my dad's first marriage. He was there when I was born. We weren't allowed to touch his guitars, but otherwise he was always pretty cool about his little sister and brother (17 and 19 years his junior) hanging around him.  When my mom burned down her house in a crazy psychotic break when I was 25, his family was the family that Karl and I had to feel normal. He died today on the same day that our father died 26 years ago. I don't know what to say. 

The long story...

Friday night, May 1:

I found out via my older brother, Bob's, Facebook page (yeah, um, thanks for the phone call or personal message) that my other older brother, Phil, was in the hospital. Apparently, he found out on accident somehow because Phil like didn't have any of us listed anywhere as an emergency contact. 54 and 58 years old, those two are. *shakes head*  So, I contact Bob and get hold of my niece, Emily, who says that Phil was admitted to the hospital with breathing problems, but that as far as they knew, everything is ok. Sweet. I go to sleep.

Saturday morning, May 2: 

I call the hospital. They are all, "Oh are you a blood relative, can you make medical decisions, we had to put him on a ventilator because his blood pressure dropped and he stopped breathing and he's got sepsis and once he's stable he will need at least his toe amputated" and well a bunch of suck.  Over the course of the day, I learn that due to the fact that he's basically ignored the fact that he's a diabetic for the past few years, he probably developed diabetic neuropathy in his feet, cut his toe or got sores or something, they got infected, he didn't notice or ignored that too, the infection spread into his bone, and then sepsis.  And now I'm making decisions about his care.

Sunday, May 3:

Phil is still unconscious. I talk to my niece, Sarah. She's scared and asks me if I'm coming to New Jersey. I say yes.

Monday, May 4:

Drive to New Jersey

Tuesday, May 5:

I spend the day trying to figure out what is happening and hanging out with Sarah.  After stalking doctors and nurses, I'm able to cobble together more information: Due to years of ignoring his diabetes and drinking too much, his liver is not in the best shape. His kidneys are borderline. He's not on dialysis yet, but that could be not too far in the future. He's got ulcers in his esophagus and stomach from, yup, untreated diabetes and drinking.  He's not able to breath on his own and still on the ventilator. The sepsis in his toe has spread to his ankle. His fever can't be controlled. It's just a pile of suck.

Wednesday, May 6:

Sarah and I play hookie and spend the day at the Liberty Science Center trying to think about something other than her dad's terrible condition.  That evening, the doctor calls and I have to give consent for them to amputate my brother's leg below the knee.  The second worst decision (not really a "decision" so much as a "must do", but still) I've ever had to make in my life.

Thursday, May 7:

Drive back to New Jersey. Surgery is postponed because no doctor is available.

Friday, May 8:

They call again for consent. I have to talk to 2 doctors and 2 nurses to say "Yes, I give you permission to amputate my brother's leg". I hate that sentence. He makes it through the surgery only to have both lungs collapse and they need to put in two chest tubes to re-inflate.

Saturday, May 9:

His fever is down. Nothing else really changes.

Sunday, May 10:

He is awake and alert. He is able to respond to yes/no questions and squeeze her hand. 

Monday, May 11:

He's less alert. His fever is back up to 102.

Tuesday, May 12:

He is unresponsive. His fever is 103. They are checking his blood. His heart stops and that's it. He gone. My brother is gone. Just gone. 

So, I guess tomorrow I go to New Jersey.

I'm mad. I'm mad because this didn't have to happen. I'm mad that he has a 14-year-old daughter who is going to be crushed. I'm mad because I love him and he's gone. I'm mad because I'm just mad. I'm sad. I'm confused. I feel sick. I want to cry but I hate to cry. I feel like my head is full of pressure. I feel like it's not real, but it's too real. It's too much. 

I'm tired of calling people. "Hi, it's Jenn. I have some news. Phil died this afternoon. *pause because person on other end is at loss for words or starts crying* I'm sorry. It's terrible. His heart stopped and they couldn't get it restarted. Yes, thank you. I'm sorry, too. Will you be ok? I don't know yet about the service but I will let you know when I make a plan. Your welcome. Yes, this is awful. Yes, I know, it's sad. I'm sorry. Will you be ok? Ok, I'll talk to you later. Thank you. Goodbye."

Goodbye, Phil.

I am possibly the worst blogger ever....

Hello Blogger My Old Friend...

It would seem that Facebook has ruined my life. My blogging life, that is. I'm sure I've mentioned this before because as I get older, I also get more repetitive. So, right, Facebook = life ruiner.

The thing is, I often have things to say. Quips to quip. Witty little nuggets of hilarity.  But just as I'm like, "I should write that down", a cat vomits or hurricane minions destroy the kitchen, or work bursts into flames and I get distracted. Sadly, "cat vomits" is probably the most frequent reason. Seriously, what are we feeding those damned animals that causes so many problems?

I suppose I could write about the joys of renovation. Except there are not so many joys.  We got geo-thermal installed. Apparently, being environmentally friendly is not only expensive, but also a giant pain in the buttocks.  My only hope is that it's so awesome, it blows our minds.

Home renovation. Hmmm...that is a good topic. So here's the story...

We bought another house.  It's like 4 miles from the house we currently live in. We didn't want to be too far from our favorite ice cream store. We have priorities.  It's a cool house, on 2.5 acres of lands and has a .5 acre pond (filled with snapping turtles and muskrats, but it's OURs, so yay?).  We knew the whole thing would need renovation due to everything in it being completely outdated, oddly configured, and gross. But it was a good price and we were looking to diversify. (We'll use our current house as a rental property. It's like we are grown-ups). Plus mortgages where at like 3% so we probably should have bought like 10 houses because that will likely never happen again in my lifetime. Anyway...

Everyone was all, "you just knock the house down and build a new one" and I was like "I don't want a house that looks like every other boring Indiana builder home". I like the A-frame style of the house. I just didn't like the 1970 kitchen, smelly everything and possibility of electrical fires. So, we demoed the inside. The house had been sitting unused for like 3 years...which led to all sorts of interesting finds...if by "interesting" I mean "aweful".

For example, one of the front door lights was filled with bees. I was like "oh, it's like a horror movie. Are we going to open up the walls and find bees". Only it wasn't a joke. The wall on the other side of the light had a giant beehive in it. Like all the way through the drywall. The only thing holding it in was the wallpaper. Apparently, bees have no problem making a hive through drywall, but they draw the line at wallpaper. Fortunately, the hive was dead. That would the only reason I didn't immediately lose my mind.  Still, ew.

In addition to the bee hive, there was about a billion dead mice in the walls. When we took the drywall off the ceiling in the basement, it rained dead mice. That was super fun. I spend like a day on a google downward spiral trying to determine if I would die from inhaling so much dead mouse. It will be a few years before I know for sure.  It seems that some mice are just dumb. They go down the wall between studs and then can't get back up, so they just die there. Then their stupid friends follow them and then after a few years you have a billion dead mice in the basement walls. To add to that, the people who owned the house must have had an exterminator come, so that added more dead mice. Because the mice don't leave the house to die. They just die. In the walls. Gross.

Then there's the bat. It lives way up high in the overhang over the front door. From this spot, it craps right on the front porch. Like on the welcome mat. A lot. I mean for an animal that eats like mosquitos, it really produces a lot of feces.  At our current house, we put little houses all through our back woods to actually attract bats so they will eat the mosquitos, yet no bats have made themselves at home.  At the new house, we welcome you with bat shit. So, yeah.

As we started demoing dryway and learning more, we found that the electric was way out of code, actually a few places had obviously caught fire. There were spots where the framing is super out of code. Good times.

Geo-Thermal...
We got geothermal. Apparently, doing right by the environment is crazy expensive. That was a painful process. They basically tore up our entire driveway and front yard without any warning. Like, when we were planning it, they were all "oh, we will drill these 5 wells and you'll barely notice we are here" and then it was like massive destruction. When Brian was all "what the hell!?!?", they were all "oh well you'll fix that during landscaping." Um, we weren't really planning on doing any landscaping for a few years, jerkoffs. Ugh.

The Shining Light...
We met some Amish craftsmen at the Indianapolis Home show.  They will be building out all our kitchen cabinets, bathroom cabinets, front doors, wood ceiling in living room, and probably do all the trim work in the house.  They are amazing. And the most reasonably costing thing that will be in our house.  I kind of love them.

Ok, I'm bored with house stuff.  I'll post before and after pictures if it ever gets done...

Jenn

I'm a robot...

So, due to the fact that I am actually a robot, I find human emotions confusing.  Ok, only part of that is true. I don't find human emotion confusing at all.  Ok, I'm not really a robot.

I do find emotions to be confusing.  And not in the "what am I feeling about this" sense, but more in the  "am I feeling the right way and in the right amount" sense.  I didn't have a lot of good examples of "normal" growing up, so whenever I feel a way about something, I feel the need to put it out into the world to see if I'm finally starting to lose the sanity I hold so dear.

For today's emotion, I pick Anxiety.  I'm not typically an overly anxious person.  I learned early that I have very little control over what could happen, so I try not to worry about it.  Lots of things could happen, and the fact is, none of the coulds that I come up with are as likely as the one that I had no idea about.  So, I live by the "deal with it when it happens" principle.  It's a good principle in general.  I enjoy much anxiety-free time.

The problem I'm facing now is that my life is completely intertwined with someone else's. I guess that's what happens when you like get married and stuff.  And I guess the problem is not so much the intertwined lives part as the "what if something happens to that person" part.  Before the intertwining, I was all "bad things happen but I take care of myself so I'm all good (as long as nothing happens to my brother)" about life.  Now, I find that whenever Husband has to drive somewhere early in the morning (like this morning, he left at 6am to drive 2 hours to Cincinnati) or he flys out of town on business, I worry.  Part of the worry has to do with the fact that I know he drives like an idiot half the time. Seriously, Husband, if you are reading this STOP TEXTING ME WHILE YOU DRIVE.  But the other part of if is this deep down feeling that creeps up on me every so often that life is too good right now so something bad has to happen. I try to squash that feeling because I know it's dumb.  Or I think it's dumb. Or I just think feelings are dumb in general.

To level set, I don't get "curled up in a corner, rocking back and forth" paralyzed with anxiety about it.  The thought process goes something like this:
1. Husband is driving.
2. It's early, I hope he's awake enough.
3. It's really far
4. What if he gets into an accident?
5. I don't want to have to get a call from the police.
6. OMG How would I tell the kids?
7. *feeling of possible tears*
8. I'm being crazy.
9. I need coffee.
10. Mmmmm, coffee is good.

Rinse and repeat until I'm distracted by something more substantial than my desire for coffee, like work.

So,what I'm wondering is: Is this a normal amount of anxiety to feel?

Next Time: Social Situations Confuse the Robot Jenn.

Jenn - Happy Birthday, Dad. I miss you.

This shouldn't be called a blog

but rather a periodic update into random parts of my brain that may or may not be created in regular intervals.

Hmmmm...What to talk about...

Ok, so i think we are all caught up on the fact that I got married.  It was good times.

So, then at the end of November, I ended my time at Sallie Mae. Bye bye, depressing gray cubicle.  I spent a month at home, attempting to organize the chaos.  This is where I came to realize that, unless forced to for a specific reason, I can go DAYS without leaving my house and be completely fine.  Ok, so I probably already knew that but a little reminder reinforced that knowledge.

Prior to leaving my job at Sallie Mae and taking the month off, I had been tracking some opportunities for when I was done being off and ready to work again.  I knew I didn't want to go back to the depressing world of cubicles.  That limited me a bit.  But then all my wildest cubicle-free dreams came true: I got to start working at Developer Town.

DeveloperTown...
So, this place is pretty awesome.  It's a start-up that's past the "starting up" stage but before the "make millions and millions"stage.  I get to work on a bunch of different projects that involve technology from this actual decade . To learn more about what DeveloperTown does: www.developertown.com.

I would write more, but they keep me incredibly busy. I do get to bring Dakota and Lilah.

That is pretty awesome.  I don't have to feel bad about leaving them home all day all by themselves everyday. The only problem I'm seeing is that Dakota is already completely co-dependent, so this might not help that situation.  Everyone pets her and loves on her, which is her favorite.  I feel a bit like a circus act because people are always asking me to pull Lilah out of my shirt now.  I don't really mind, though.

I got my own little house, which is what DT uses for offices. Everyone who works here has their own little house.  I also got to decorate it any way I wanted.  So my little house used to look like:

and now it looks like

That's my husband lounging on the couch while I continue to work hard.  So, now i have a nice little office to do my work in and a place to take a nap in the afternoon when I'm wiped at like 3 and need 15 minutes of sleep.  The only problem with having a little house is that there is a front door and everytime someone knocks on it, Dakota gets all arf arf about it.  Crazy dog.

Let's see...in other news....

67 days until I am on a cruise ship and enjoying adult beverages while the minions run wild and hopefully don't fall overboard...
15 weeks and 2 days until I begin my journey to Tanzania to walk up a hill like a hobbit.  I may even through a ring into the volcano to get the full LOTRs experience...

That's all I got for now.

Jenn - Miles to go before I sleep...