Performancing Metrics

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{the week} it’s 7:27, and it is dark.

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the week:
Boring week, no? And totally depressing with this whole darkness-too-early thing. Regardless of how much you love fall and hate summer, THAT part is the worst of the transition.

Happy Birthday, Joe!

weekend:
Tonight is our first night playing in our new bowling league. *snort* The boyfriend and I aren’t even on the same team (weird, right?), but we’re playing against one another. So, this should be an interesting evening in NO, YOU’RE NOT HAVING THE SEX TONIGHT. Also, I have to bowl with my wrist guard. I PUT THE F IN FUN… in bed.

Also tonight: Dixie Doc is playing at the Elk’s. If you’re already a fan of Banjo Night, you’ll love this.

This weekend marks the seasonal opening of Scarehouse. I HAVE to visit this year!

Not sure if I’ll make it to my spinning class in the morning, but it’s for a good cause. Err, for the kitties… and doggies… and bunnies!

But I’ll definitely be chowing down on some GOOD FOOD at the Lebanese Food Festival in Scott Township. Runs today through Sunday.

seven things, seven days:
1. Did you read part one of my Finger Lakes adventure?
2. BETA open for Stress Free Recipes. THIS is totally up my alley, and I can’t wait to get my invite.
3. So honored to be asked to be part of a Bridal Brigade for my friend here in Pittsburgh. All the fun parts of weddings, without all the bridesmaids duties. We’re on to something, ladies!
4. Randomly came across THIS POST from 2008. You know what’s significant about that horoscope? THE DAY I QUIT SMOKING. Huh.
5. We decided not to plant anything for fall and winter in our garden plot. So, I’m considering buying into a Penn Corner Winter CSA. Thoughts from anyone?
6. Good luck to friends and skaters participating in WESTERN REGIONALS!
7. Go read this blog post from Burgh Baby. Seriously. GO NOW.

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{pursuit of} excitement

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The boyfriend made a comment on our way home from our regular Thursday night shenanigans in the South Side:

I wish I could be like that again.

The “that” I thought he was referring to was the guy picking up a random street hooker girl in a short sequin skirt from outside the bar. THE HELL, BOYFRIEND?!

What he meant was the carefree lifestyle, college-aged something, partying it up, no cares or responsibilities in the world. Ahem. Thursdays have always been my favorite night to go out and whoop it up too.

This beer was a lot more exciting before we had to spend $5,000 on new countertops. {as seen in this very picture!}

But we have responsibilities now. Probably too many. And we live and budget too much by what’s going on under the roof of our house (or, dripping through the roof, as it were). I can’t tell you how many times I want to escape for the weekend to some unknown, adventurous place… and, thankfully, I still can achieve that via my derby travels.

As a couple, however, there is little excitement. UNLESS YOU CALL PICKING OUT SUBWAY TILE ON A FRIDAY NIGHT EXCITING. Life as an adult is boring-as-shit because of those “adult” things we’re supposed to do and “adult” ways we’re supposed to act. Never mind the NINE PM BEDTIME all these “adult” decisions bring. Ew, that last one is ALL boyfriend.

And as new homeowners and parents of three of the cutest little furbabies and being on different sleep schedules and opposite travel plans, we. are. in. a. rut. I resent that all of our plans circumvent house decisions. I resent that our budget is restrained to what we need to fix or update or stop from leaking or OMG KILL ALL OF THESE CARPENTER ANTS, PLEASE! By extension, of course, I resent the boyfriend for being a total fun killer. AND NOT KILLING ALL OF THE ANTS. I’ve been in relationship ruts before (both with and without him), and I know we’ll get over the hump together. But some days it’s annoyingly difficult to put forth the effort with what feels like little return in excitement in the near future.

I feel stifled, unstimulated, unattractive, unchallenged and irrationally (excusably?) bitchy.

And BORED.

How did YOU get out of your relationship ruts?

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{the week} Ain’t no mountain high enough… wait, is that a 4-20 reference?

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{the week} Ain’t no mountain high enough… wait, is that a 4-20 reference?

the week:
This week has been filled with highs… and unfortunately, some lows. But through the smiles and tears (and uncomfortable talks), I discover my strengths and faults. With that realization, I need to make some changes in various parts of my life to achieve my goals. And I know this paragraph is worse than your old college friend VagueBooking, but there are some things that I’m just not ready to talk about. You can read that all over my eyes that are swollen with tears of disappointment, awareness and heart.

But it was all worth it to hear from the boyfriend: to me, you have no faults.
I know, he’s a total bullshitter! And in the same breath, he pointed out actual faults (because I wanted to hear them). But it’s all constructive because some days he seems to know me better than I know myself.

weekend:
So, this weekend, I’m going to rock the shit out of it.
Tonight, a Pirates game.
Tomorrow, roller derby.
Sunday, Pittsburgh ComiCon. And yes, I’ll be there in costume.

And I hear there’s some kinda of hockey game or something…

seven things, seven days:
1. {work} I interviewed and was offered a position at a local non-profit this week. Part-time (which still allows me to freelance)… but full-time excited over here.
2. {nom} More enchiladas at Las Velas, please. Tonight before the game? Boyfriend, you’re the bestest.
3. {cheers} Pittsburgh Craft Beer Week starts today! Actually, at 7 this morning. WHERE WERE YOU?!
4. {do good} A few days ago, I met Randy of Randyland local fame (pictures above). What an amazing human being. I could listen to him talk about his passions and his art for hours.
5. {energy} Barre — a real food bar — is developed by two local dancers and made in Pittsburgh!
6. {dance} Coppelia at the Pittsburgh Ballet was every bit as memorable as the performances that I held dear from childhood.
7. {wishes} And yes, I want to be a ballerina again. I can pretend with adult beginner classes. You bet that I’m seriously considering it!

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Winning the War of the Battle of the TVs… and the sexes.

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I’ve finally convinced the boyfriend that we needed to remove the TV from our bedroom for various reasons relative to my insomnia and to, um… “other” certain bedroom activities. This, after arguing against the TV in the living room — the current and planned relocation of said bedroom TV; he has a separate media room, so I haven’t been adamant about giving up ALL OF THE TVs — upon moving into our new house.

*sigh*

Half winning?

I convinced him to give up cable very early on in the relationship (I’m six five years cable-free — edited, to reflect that I had to look up the final air date of The Sopranos. That, being my final day of paying for cable.), but I don’t really watch much TV — it’s a major distraction and, frankly, I think it leads to a sedentary lifestyle (one that doesn’t really interest me all that much, save for The Stupid Bachelor, which I usually watch online, and Desperate Housewives, which is in its final two or three episodes). But if I get some fucking sleep and some… ahem, more of the “other” then, I consider it a win in my two-can-opener household.

How do you deal with televisions throughout the house? Do you have one in your bedroom? Is this asking for TOO MUCH CHANGE?!

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{holiday spirit) oooh, pretty paper!

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{holiday spirit) oooh, pretty paper!

Oooh, gifts. The secondary meaning of Christmas. The proof in the pudding of HOW WELL DOES MY SIGNIFICANT OTHER KNOW ME?!

I was happy that I had the opportunity to cuddle some kitties at the Humane Society prior to leaving for Ohio. Although it broke my heart every time I wished a cat a Merry Christmas. I hope they find warm, friendly homes this season. But I digress…

AB & I spent Christmas Eve with his family (cousins for an amazing themed French cuisine dinner), then drove up North to hang out with my dad’s side of the family (until way past our bed time). Christmas Day is always fun (to wake up to Mimosas) and just sit back and relax for the entire afternoon. We always finish off our giant meal of lamb and side of “Christmas rice” with games — this year’s picks: Left-Right-Center and Apples to Apples.

My “big gift” from the boyfriend was a sewing machine (mentioned in passing, which he remembered) that the sender almost ruined, shipping the giant box unwrapped to the house when I was home accepting packages. Thankfully (for AB’s surprise), I was heading out and UPS lifted the (heavy) box into the entryway for me. I barely glanced at it, since it was addressed to the Man of the House instead of me. And I was in a rush (as per usual).

Regardless, YAY SEWING MACHINE! I lost the last one in my divorce*, so I’m psyched to have my own again. I do not intend to have another year of half-assed, hand-sewn side seams to take in scrimmage t-shirts. Also: I’m going to start doing my own tailoring — which I know is quite a skill, but for serious, EVERYTHING I buy off-the-rack needs taken in/up in some way. That shit is expensive, yo. And I’m going to learn. At the very least I’d like to master hem lengths. Or how to put on buttons.

My Dad bought me a Kindle — not the fancy, schmancy colorful lets-fill-it-with-games version (I mean, that’s what my iPhone is for), but the plain ink print screen model (with keyboard), just as I hoped. I intend to cross off Bucket List Item #7 this year: Read 52 books in 52 weeks. Kindle should help me, especially when I’m traveling (also, super awesome that I can “rent” books through Carnegie Libraries!). My iPhone and I need a break. For serious.

The most fun is opening the small-but-sensible stocking items (so useful!). I’m now fully stocked on nail files, Wisps, toothbrushes, toothpaste, almonds, anti-bacterial gel and such until some time next year.

Some more fun stuff:
S’mores Grill Kit. NOM-tastic.
Sweater tights and new pajama pants. Warm & Cozy.
Workout gloves. The better to lift your weight with.
Brie baker with cheese board identifiers. Can’t wait to host you… with CHEESE!
Coasters from Paris that match my dining room artwork. Awesome.
A really cool coffee table book. LOVE.
Charger of barrel-aged 12 Dogs of Christmas. Cheers *clink*
Raspberry-flavored alcoholic whipped cream (a last-minute toss in). All Your Hot Chocolate Belongs to Us.
Personalized derby wear. Hella-fantastic.

Oh, and if you’re wondering what I bought AB for Christmas:
Chalkboard Keg Handle (which currently reads as “Empty :( ” as he attempts to install his keg fridge in the kitchen cabinets — THAT’LL BE A POST!)
A ring that doubles as a bottle opener (he saw this on a friend while tailgating for a Pahr game, and wanted it; so, he got one. He got a ring last year too and rarely wore it. I sense a Christmas trend)
Set of copper Moscow Mule mugs
Leather Dop Kit Bag (stupid left his in the cabinet at the old apartment)
…And, I feel like there was something else, but my memories of Christmas already evade me.

Somehow in all my pre-season Grinchy-ness, I managed to enjoy a stress-free, somewhat-relaxing holiday (with a side of stomach uneasiness for a few hours on the holiday).
Next year: all I want to do is wake up in my new home on Christmas morning, snuggling cats** and my boyfriend. Then? I’m all yours.

Did you get anything great this year?

*that’s about the best way to describe this break-up; those who know me know I’ve never been married.

**and then there were THREE?! Heh.

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{new homeowners} that plumbing and the leak

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Seriously. We are on our fourth sink leak in this house since owning it.

First (which we knew about before we moved in): basement basin sink was leaky — now fixed (plumber fixed because of contract contingencies)

Second: kitchen sink was leaking all underneath the cabinet (combination of the boyfriend’s efforts and plumber fixed that)

Third: last week, water started leaking out from the hot water handle in our guest bath. AB attempted to fix it (took everything apart to be all experimental); still leaking. Turned down water pressure to worry about it until after vacation. We’re going to install a new faucet system this weekend (hooray, it will be new and dark bronze like I wanted anyway!)

And last, but certainly not the least (in terms of water gush): our master bath sink leaked all from within the cabinet onto the floor below. This will likely be another job for Super Professional Plumber.

We seriously have no working comprehensive system for pooping/bathing/teeth-brushing/shaving in one location. That, with 2.5 baths in this house. This calls for a bump in the deadline of having our master bath remodeled. First step, having our jet tub grounded (next week, hooray!). And then, all the really, really fun stuff (read: more annoying life interrupters, by way of construction and contractors).

These are the joys of homeownership, fyi. I am, however, enjoying watching the boyfriend and his attempts at DIY. Like, a lot.

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I’d like to give thanks to my cat for all those YouTube hits. And the scratches on my couch.

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This post is not about slicing the skin of my pinky finger on the vegetable shredder.

Or that I just cut my tongue on a serrated bread knife (don’t ask).

OR that I seriously just spilled a cup of shredded mozzarella on the stove and kitchen floor.

No… this post is about giving thanks. And hopefully for blood that clots well and perhaps, a Band-aid. Or a maid.

But as the year is dwindling down, and I’ll soon be consumed by turkey and road trips, here is some (hopefully that’s sage) advice for which you should be thankful:

Be thankful for your quirks and imperfections, and ultimately, what makes you, you. I have many, just read above. Then, have a drink with me.

Be thankful for your support team. I have an amazing partner who encourages me daily to do what I love and talks me off of hypothetical edges of buildings. And even still tries to get me drunk to play with my boobs. How sweet, right? He has been my anchor during our transition to Pittsburgh, and I sincerely couldn’t have adjusted without him. Heh, adjustment… oh, that’s not dirty. Moving on!

I am thankful that every day I wake up, I walk in tattered slippers down about 17 stairs to my home office with nary a shower, use of a hair dryer or face full of makeup to do something that I love for work: write. I build my business daily and learn (way too much) along the way, but I am happier now with the direction of my life than I have been for years.

And incredibly, I am thankful that my 33 (and a half) year-old body has held up under the emotional and physical pain for my newfound love of roller derby — and has remained ever-disciplined to the training, commitment and total heart for the women I meet as result of skating. As with AB, I cannot imagine skating not being a part of my life. I mean, the bruised derby toe went away for two months while I moved and took a breather… but, that passion is burning more than ever.

For what are you thankful — and especially from this past year?

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“Stop Being White Trash!”

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That’s what the female counterpart yelled at her male companion while he walked at least ten steps ahead of her on Penn Ave. Likewise in anger, there was another old man all sincerely pissed off that he couldn’t find an unlocked entry door at Heinz Hall. Then there was a guy across the street from us arguing with someone passionately. Without knowing the back story, these people were MAD, dammit!

And we certainly had a chuckle at their expense.

It doesn’t happen to me often, but out of impatience, stress, frustration or hunger, I can be a total bitch. And yes, I take this out on AB. But I definitely do not prefer to be this way in public. Other than trying-not-to-cry crying (oddly enough, nearly every time I am drunk), I can usually save our “fights” (if you can even call it that) for home base. But I have experience Being Angry in Public in past relationships. Perhaps, too much.

Before moving to Pittsburgh, I was extremely difficult to be around. For weeks. Thankfully for the boyfriend, he was still traveling each week, thereby encountering my wrath via FaceTime (OMG I hate how that application makes my face look contorted and freckled). EVERYTHING, no matter big or small, stressed me out. I took everything out of context. I took everything personally. And I cried WAY too much for a someone inherently resilient and so set in her ways and… happy. That’s not to say that I have softened upon our arrival here because I am still having minor meltdowns.

We’ve been here for almost one month and are slowly settling into a new relationship structure — one that existed before he took this job in Pitt nearly six months ago. So, since we have technically been “long distance” during this time, learning to be around one another CONSTANTLY can be… well, a challenge. I admit, that I am not the most pleasant person to be around especially when I am bored. Even more so when I expect certain things, but don’t ask for them. “Saving my battles,” if you will, I do not nag (I write everything on a white board on the fridge or memorize it for my kitchen sink). But I DO explode — in tears, typically because these things bottle up, as I’m sure you all know.

I also cannot adjust to his sleep schedule (one that includes him passing out on the couch at 9pm whereas I am usually up until past midnight), therefore, I’m experiencing a bad cycle of insomnia. I probably shouldn’t retire to bed at the same time as him, but you know, I missed that every night. And while I’m sure he didn’t miss my night sweats or my foot reaching all the way across a king-size bed, at least he is sleeping next to me. And somehow that makes me crazy happy.

AB is really good in dealing with my unexpected onslaught of emotions (as I have only seen him angry MAYBE once… and even feeling stressed is new to him). I give him a lot of credit, as he can sense when something is up. If I am stressed, he knows how to talk me down. If I am angry, we can talk through it. If I am generally upset, and don’t really need words or your freaking advice right now, he just hugs. If I’m wrong, well, then he has NO qualms in telling me. And when I’m hungry, he cooks. Even if he tries to kill me with oysters being a listed ingredient in that jar of Asian sauce.

And he knows the location of the nearest cheese shop.

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Thoughts at two weeks.

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How do normal people move to a new state having regular jobs? I’m exceptionally lucky that I can make my own hours around all the mundane crap I need to do while AB is, well, already living in Pittsburgh because all-holy-hell would break loose worse than it is, as I would have no time to do any of this shit otherwise. Let alone stress out about aforementioned shit.

I haven’t had to take any Xanax yet. So, there’s that. But it doesn’t mean that I have handled this transition in the most non-bitchiest manner possible. Just ask the boyfriend.

Our movers are finally scheduled (on now the right date… don’t even get me started on that process), our going away party under contract (lame as I find this), hotel (with cat) booked, addresses changed (aside from the USPS mail forwarding, given that they cannot yet verify the billing addresses of EITHER of zip codes and corresponding debit/credit cards… awesome) and my condo is completely packed and ready for transport.

Meanwhile, our apartment hangs its head in shame as it is still WAY too livable for two people who are moving to Pittsburgh in eleven days (and merely a week away from actual keys) and gosh-darn-it, the boxes want to be PACKED AND MOVED already. At least those boxes exist — many of them still folded against the wall, the others a makeshift kitty condo — and stand ready for destruction by Rudy and his massacre claws at 4 am. Every. Single. Morning.

But I am certainly enjoying my final weeks in the Cleve, including a handful of work projects to complete before I take an entire week off from business responsibilities (I mean, my server and internet will be down for at minimum 3 days, so… seems like a good call). Dinners with family and friends. Day drinking. Taco Tuesdays. Roller derby bruising (and training camp this weekend). Networking online with new ‘Burgher peeps and organizations (and soon-to-be IRL). Hide n’ Seek with the cat (man, I hope he likes the view from Pennsylvania windows).

Have I detailed my excitement about STAIRS(!) in my new place? And I mean, IN the actual apartment, not the ten or so floors to climb in the short chance both elevators suck ass simultaneously (thankfully, I’ve already got a bartender tip to use the one on the left as the other is shaky). And I may share residence with a couple local celebs.

Just saying.

That in itself might be enough to propel me into as much excitement as those boxes to get the hell out of here already.

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The Good, The Bad & The Hopelessly Menopausal Cat Lady

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The Good: I’m generally happy. I’m staying busy. I’m probably in the best shape I’ve been in ten years. I found a sport and a group of ladies whom I obsess over more endlessly. I’m active. I’m involved. I’m finding success. All good, right?

The Bad: I’m lonely. See, AB’s job took him to Pittsburgh, so in a twisted and incredibly sad way, we’re now in the throes of a long-distance relationship. When I stay busy, I don’t think too much of it. I make my own hours and utilize the evenings and late-late nights of insomnia with more work and more writing. But some times for a second, it completely catches me off guard. Because of this, I’m eating horribly — if at all. Mostly because AB is not here to cook for me every night. I’m generally too lazy to cook for myself, which results in a bowl of cereal before bed (but at least it’s organic, right?). At least I’m not eating my feelings.

Like I said, I have good weeks and some really, really bad weeks.

This is one of those bad weeks.

*time out*

And every time I so much as think about how much I miss my boyfriend I go into a sobbing fit, worthy of The Notebook ending. It’s ridiculous. Even if we’re sitting at either end of the living room staring into laptops or TVs, it’s just better when he’s here. Bed time? Forget it. I typically don’t sleep well. If at all with that as well. I get him on the weekends, which again, is hard because I just want to spend time with him, but we find ourselves with 18 different sets of plans and places to be. Then, Monday comes and it’s as though he was never here.

More so, we’re still not in a position to determine if we’re staying or going, which is stressful and frustrating and driving me bonkers all at the same time. While I enjoy some level of spontaneity, I think I’ve sharpened my internal planner devices. I feel almost as if my life come Fall is at a stand-still. While I’m working so hard on everything here…

Regardless, even in Pittsburgh, one day I hated it and started crying at the thought of being there wandering all lost (literally and metaphorically) looking at bridges and rivers and figuring out which way is fucking North. Then the next, I’m all, “Oooh, I lurve it here!”

Which so obviously leads me to…

The Hopelessly Menopausal Cat Lady: I’ve never *truly* been much of a crier. I’ve long considered myself fairly stable, uber-resilient and well, too much of a bitch to really care about shit. And too often, the fucking crying has as well caught me off guard. In public. Which I hate more than anything. And it’s uncontrollable.

Seriously, hormones? STFU.

Also, I’m pretty sure I had my first hot flash in Pittsburgh last week. Either that, or I was about to pass out for a number of unexplained reasons. I hope neither of those brings about unwanted facial hair. I didn’t have much of an appetitive at dinner. When we walked into the hotel bar to grab a drink for the room, I got all hot and flushy. Like, once I got to the room, I couldn’t take my clothes off fast enough. Within ten minutes, I was cold again. Do menopausal ladies also get night sweats? Because I have those nearly every night now. And our thermostat is set to 64.

I can’t go spend more time during the week in Pitt because of the cat. Perhaps it’s why some of my resentment and bad mood is focused on him. But I still love the fucker. I mean seriously, I just now pulled the TV antenna out of his mouth. ARGH. Rudy also meows at everything. EVERYTHING . I’m beginning to understand the differences in sound between when he’s hunting and when he’s hungry. It’s usually the latter. Of note: he likes the cactus plant, and he’s been chewing on it. This is weird, right? We’re currently growing some of that cat grass, so in 5-7 more days, hopefully he’ll enjoy chewing at that instead.

While he hasn’t become any more of a lap cat, he does curl up behind me while I’m sitting in my computer chair. The last couple mornings (way too early to write here) I’ve felt him at my face — which, obviously, wakes me up. Setting the auto-feeder has helped quell his loudness in the mornings exponentially.

*sigh*

It’s a bad week.

Sidenote: no sooner than I hit Publish, the cat broke a glass candle holder in the bedroom. We have concrete floors, so there are shards of glass everywhere. Awesome. I’m getting ready to leave. This will now take what’s left of my afternoon to clean up. DEEP BREATH.

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Missed Connections

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Today was a great day to ride a bike (downtown to West 25th), seek out a patio (ABC Tavern) to enjoy a beer (Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale), go home and make foods (I made guacamole; AB made enchiladas).

Before I move on, why don’t places open until after 4pm on Sundays? Somebody asplain, please. Thank you.

And what a beautiful day to have my iMel crap out on me and realize that merely syncing the iPhone does not mean all its important data is backed up. Yep.

That means: all contacts, texts, photos, notes = GONE.

This is a good thing for a number of reasons, though; 1) all exes & old friends’ numbers are gone — while I’m sure they were mostly deleted anyway, I never really took the opportunity one way or another to ascertain the trash box was the end result; 2) buh-bye Foursquare. Seriously. It’s really a waste of time, when it comes down to it (oh, forgive me “social media experts, but ’tis true), and well, I have like 800 better things to do right now then make sure I’ve checked into my recent location; 3) I hate technology. Again.

That said, I miss that I no longer have all the text conversations saved since AB & I started dating (he still has them) and all my iPhone photos are gone (car accident, pics from vacation that apparently were ALSO not backed up while syncing, first date pictures with AB and a lot of Rudy pics). Le sigh. Man, I cannot remember all the apps I downloaded or notes that I saved… UGH!

It will be an interesting next couple of months upon receipt of text messages or calls and return the empathetic response: WHO IS THIS?! *

Thankfully, AB backed up all the music yesterday. FOR SERIOUS.

*And yeah, if you are my friend (and have my phone number), I would appreciate it if you texted me your name. Because then I would have your number to save. If you comment here, then, well, you’re a dumb ass.

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Help me, help me!

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Ladies (or Gentleman… it’s OK, you can admit to the following):

You know the old quip that men can never ask for directions, hence the reason for the woman being lost in the first place and ensuing frustrations and arguments commence? Yeah, that.

Yesterday, I was fucking worthless. I got lost in downtown Pittsburgh. I can find my way out of deserted gas station fill-up exits in the panhandle of Texas, back roads and roundabouts in Frankfort, Germany and usually a paper bag, yet yesterday, I was internally misguided among towers that ALL LOOKED EXACTLY ALIKE frantically attempting to locate my hotel. Imagine, if you will, being inside a corn or garden maze that seemingly has no exit. And it’s raining. And your cell phone is about to die.

You with me? Whew. I know certain parts of Pittsburgh (downtown) well, but I get backward for some reason once I’m near Market Square (and the harrowing PPG buildings) or anywhere near the North Shore (save for the beauty of PNC Park). Seriously, which way is fucking North?

I called boyfriend (twice because he didn’t pick up at work the first time) frantic and frustrated and practically in sobbing tears after walking around for 20 minutes and somehow warping to the exact same Primanti’s location I already found two hours prior for lunch. Meanwhile, I’m completely in the wrong direction all because there are, like, 14 CVS pharmacies within two city blocks guiding my voyage.

It’s OK, you can make fun. Seriously though, is there anything more frustrating?

Thanks to AB for (I think) saving the day. An hour run in the amazing hotel gym alleviated all pointless stressors before he got home from work.

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I’ll choke that effin chicken. Live. On Hulu. If I knew how.

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There are two factors that stress me beyond all get out: technology and cooking chicken.

Like, irrationally cannot-control-the-panic-attacks stressed. I deal well with moderate amount of work or financial stress with mere streaks of bitchiness and insomnia, but either of the aforementioned triggers, and I’m a wrecked-out mess.

Technology Set Up

Daily, I am on life support.

All because of wires and connections and remotes and servers. And, the cat hiding in the vertical blinds… BUT oh there is no other Hell I know than being without a wireless internet connection or the TV working when I say it to. I curse slow-loading Web pages and intentionally break things because, well, in my bright mind IT DIDN’T WORK ANYWAY.

Our TV set up is beyond something I could ever configure, where with its Front Row interface and Hulu and all-over Boxee awesomeness (even if it tends to lock up on me after EVERY. SINGLE. GODDAMN. SHOW). If I wanted to, I could blog and Facebook from my TV. But I have a laptop, right, so I remain normal in that regard.

Anyways, the Geek Gods have not bestowed upon me an internal Webmaster or Tech-CSR handbook.

And that, my friends, is why you date computer guys.

Chicken

I can cook.

Kind of.

I’m not the world’s greatest, but I can generally follow any recipe that contains ingredients in which I can pronounce. But if there are too many overwhelming or overlapping steps and especially if chicken is in the mix, I’m going to fuck it up. Or it will fuck me up. Cooking, baking, grilling… de-feathering. *shudder* I hate knowing that if I overcook it, it will be dry, or if not enough, I WILL DIE. And there are strange veiny looking meaty bits that I would like to pretend for just one minute that it has nothing to do with the cardiovascular system of a living thing.

No chicken for you. And especially not with bones. I am half-turned into a vegetarian any time I see that shit.

So, yeah. Boyfriend does that too.

Because you ALL know when I lived alone I had no cable, zero internet and nothing resembling chicken in my meals.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner. Indeed.

What stresses you out? Is it cooking- or technology-related? What can you NOT cook? Or program, as it were.

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Moving boxes & taking names

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I’ve been spending a couple days packing up my condo: a) because I have the “free time” and b) OMG I haven’t lived there in six months! It makes me feel sad.

I do NOT regret leaving the suburbs one bit — especially the insane and worthless condo association. More than anything though, I miss my stuff (especially my couch and my 800 pillows on everything). Our downtown abode just does not have enough space to contain everything I have collected over the course of four years. My belongings will eventually end up in a storage facility or moved to our next place — once we determine where that potential two-bedroom-ish in our price range place will be. Likely, I’ll go all Craigslist Ninja and sell most of my shit again.

I generally do all my own packing — Ugh, I hate packing. Although the months worth of sales fliers (which seems to be the only thing the post office delivers anymore) were greatly helpful at wrapping dishes and like-fragile items. There was a shit ton of stuff to throw out and/or sell from my kitchen, and I think we’re set on EVERY cooking utensil known to chef and man alike.

But let me tell you, movers make everything easier. I wish I could pay them to pack up everything for me. In my last REAL move from my ex’s house to my condo, I tipped extra for the guys to make the move OUT as quickly as possible. So, who cares that they appeared to take an extra hour in their lunch break. Right.

In my online quest for moving assistance, I found CityMove and oh, how much easier things could be! I have my own horror stories with movers, and just a quick tour of Google will tell you how many are dissatisfied with moving services – from personal items being broken or missing or companies holding trucks hostage for additional payments (yes, it HAPPENS people!). So, with this site, you have the moving company bid on your move — it’s like comparing insurance rates online. How awesome for New York movers, right?

Taking residence at my condo was the longest I went without a change of address form. It’s bittersweet, the move and all. And while, I officially moved six months ago, the Packing Of The Things is finally making the change a reality. Can you be sad and happy all in one moment — because this is the only way I can describe it.

Out with the old — in with the boyfriend! *snicker*

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Random things I’ve recently learned.

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When big shit happens, I can maintain a fairly level head of the situation at hand and act accordingly. So, why does the “small stuff” still wreck havoc on my insides and provide endless amounts of stress? And why is flying STILL one of the most traumatic experiences for me ever?

Never start a conversation with your significant other with the words, “We have a problem.” As I also tweeted, boyfriend will immediately assume pregnancy has befallen him. I am not fucking pregnant, by the way…

I have never taken my boyfriend for granted, and when semi-big shit hit the fan, I knew because of him in my life, I truly had no worries. It’s an even bigger, heart-melting, “WOW” than I have ever imagined. He’s got my back. And he dishes some great advice. No, you cannot borrow him. But I do like to share.

Yeah, yeah… *puke*

There are still some awesome girls left in Cleveland. Outside of my inner circle of girlfriends, I resigned that most chicks were catty gossip-mongers. In my experience throughout my schooling and career path, most women were *not* extremely helpful and/or mentoring. “She” would react to my looking to change careers or “do better” in the community that I was somehow out to get her. I am not a back-stabber —  never have been — and I find it extremely unfortunate that more professional women do not look out for one another. Perhaps I looked for advice and guidance in the wrong circles all along. That being said, after a fantastic gnoCLE this week, I remembered that there *are* awesome women in this city, ever looking out for one another even if purely to motivate. And the bonding! That is more precious than the chocolate-peanut-butter-cup martinis. Thanks again for the invite, KK.

Oh yeah, and I need to find a job because I am all-kinds-of-bored. Sitting at home watching a cat is fun for a day — maybe two. But seriously… I hate court room dramas, and I’m caught up on basically everything on Hulu. BTW, can you watch full episodes of Bad Girls Club online somewhere?

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