Things Men Don't Have To Deal With: Volume 1.

I don't know much about vehicles of any sort. I'm the first to admit that. When I hit a deer a couple years ago and blew the radiator, I jumped out of the car screaming because I thought it was on fire. Two weeks ago, I had to have my husband get in my vehicle and help me figure out why it wouldn't shift into reverse so I could leave for work. Turns out I hadn't put the key into the ignition. After countless Google searches, I still don't understand how trains work. And every single time I get on an airplane, I'm tempted to ask 'If after every single plane crash, the black box remains intact, can someone PLEASE explain to me why we can't just make the whole plane out of the same material?'

I'm not sitting by the phone awaiting a call to be featured in 'Popular Mechanics' any time soon. My understanding of the inner workings of my vehicle are limited to filling the gas tank when the meter is closer to 'e' than it is to 'f', and calling a professional when any one of the array of warnings lights up. Having listened to the 'change oil' notification chime for the last month, I finally made an appointment to take it in. I normally tend to my car with a little more concern, but after driving my first vehicle for two years before learning that you're supposed to get the oil changed (oops!), I don't get too worked up over being a couple weeks behind.

Being that vehicle maintenance isn't my field of expertise, I typically trust the professionals. To a fault. They could tell me that my snuffaluffagus was leaking and I would hand over all my money to have it fixed without question. But something about the little-too-friendly guy at Midas today who ignored my every attempt to ignore him while mentioning my husband in every possible sentence (not even if you were literally the last guy on earth, dude) made me want to call Dateline to break the story that mechanics everywhere might be taking advantage of ladies who appear to have no knowledge of auto maintenance! Before you send me an e-mail, let me say that I know that not ALL mechanics are liars, but this one definitely was.

After completing my oil change (or so I trust), he walked in all Charmy McCharmerson and we had the following exchange:

Liar Face: 'Alright, Miss Sloan, you just need to replace the air filter and you'll be set.'
Me: 'Mrs. Sloan. And I've replaced the air filter the last two times I've been here. How long do they last?'
Liar Face: 'Hmmm. We don't show any record of an air filter on your file, but they should last several months if not a year. I'd be happy to show you how dirty your current air filter is...'
Me(All Erin Brockovich-like): 'Hmmm. This receipt I have from three months ago shows that I was charged for an air filter. So did you charge me and not replace it, or are you using sub-par parts that don't last?'
Liar Face: 'You know...we did just change computer systems and it looks like that air filter got erased somehow. I'm going to go look at it again.'

Miraculously, upon further review, the air filter is projected to last another 5,000 miles or so. Not that I believe anything he said at that point.

I may not know how auto parts work, or where they go, but I do know the last time I purchased one. I'm disgusted that a woman in a designer dress and high heels can't walk into an auto shop alone and ask fifteen questions about the difference between oil and anti-freeze without getting scammed. If you do know the difference, please clear your calendar for three months from now - you're going with me next time.

My Personality Type AKA Why I Might Murder You

Despite my post from earlier this week, I do actually have a resolution for 2014: blog more. I recently ran across an article from Huffington Post that characterized the top 16 traits of a Type A Personality. Depending on how well you know me, the following results may or may not be shocking.

Here are 16 signs that you're a little (or a lot) Type A:

1.)Waiting in long lines kills you a little bit inside.
KILLS me. If I am anticipating a possible line, I make it a point to leave a minimum of 20 minutes early. Make me late and therefore cause me to leave 19 minutes early, and I might murder you.

2.)You've been described as a perfectionist, overachiever, workaholic or all of the above.
I literally used to turn down dates that I was actually interested in by saying, "I'm married to my job. If you're okay having a relationship with my voicemail, we can have dinner." People didn't think I was serious and then would get upset when I dumped them for being too clingy. I mean, did they really expect me to make more than an hour a week to see them? I had work to do.

3.)You bite your nails or grind your teeth.
While not a nail biter, my dentist told my mom when I was seven that I had already rubbed off 75% of the enamel on my teeth because I was constantly grinding them. Sometimes I do this without noticing it, and other times it is my coping mechanism so I don't have to murder you.

4.)You have a serious phobia of wasting time.
Few things in life take my rage-odometer from nice to raging maniac faster than wasting my time. When in a meeting, I believe that we are there to work, not to chit chat. And whatever you do, do NOT be even one minute late. I live and die by the motto 'if you're early, you're on time. If you're on time, you're late.' And I HATE tardiness. So much so that if I am ever arrested for murder, it's probably because someone didn't respect my time.

5.)You're highly conscientious.
I stress over EVERYTHING. If the house isn't clean, I go into a tailspin. If the centerpieces for an event are even slightly imperfect, my face gets red and my breathing becomes uncontrollably fast. If you forget, break, or otherwise ruin any part of the plan I have been anxious about for however many weeks leading up to this moment, I might seriously consider murdering you.

6.)You've always been a bit of a catastrophist.
In connection with basically every other bullet point in this post, I don't subscribe to the idea of rating every problem on a scale of 'inconvient to Titanic level disaster'. If anything goes wrong, it is a full blown iceberg situation. I've crumpled into a sobbing mess when the wind blew over some tablecloths at an outdoor event I was putting on because it meant the whole day was 'ruined'. I've refused to speak to my husband for days at a time because he missed emptying a garbage can on his trash rounds and threw off the trash cycle 'forever'. *No husbands were hurt in the writing of this blog, and no, there's NOT trouble in paradise.

7.)You frequently talk over and interrupt people.
Here's the one item on this list that I cannot and will not accept as a truth. Interrupting me has always been in my top 3 pet peeves, if not #1. From the time I was old enough to talk, if someone interrupted me, I'd start my entire story over. Even with insistance from my audience that they remembered where I was in my tale, I would immediately start from the beginning. Now I just pout and refuse to finish my point, because I'm silently plotting how I will murder you.

8.)You have a hard time falling asleep at night.
I'd add to this one, 'or staying asleep' because on the nights that I do fall asleep quickly, I'm almost certainly up in the middle of the night for several minutes or hours thinking about any variety of things running through my mind. Sometimes I have to get up to make sure that we turned the oven off, and then start tidying up. Or sometimes I just lay there staring into the darkness making a mental to-do list for the upcoming day. I've had a boss e-mail me at 2am to say, 'Go to sleep Heidi' because I'd woken him up with my 4th e-mail to him in an hour regarding policies I wanted to revise.

9.)People can't keep up with you -- in conversation or on the sidewalk.
My extremely short legs make keeping up with me on the sidewalk quite easy, but I bet I could take down just about anyone in conversation. No matter the topic, I have lots of ideas and antecdotes to share. When it is my rightful turn in the discussion, of course.

10.)You put more energy into your career than your relationships.
See bullet point #2. The one and only time I was ever dumped was when I received a text message from someone I thought I'd broken up with six weeks earlier saying, "I know you're very important in your field of work, but I'm important in this relationship. If you ever find time for me in your schedule, give me a call." I seriously had no idea we were still even dating!

11.)Relaxing can be hard work for you.
This one is a biggy. I struggle with it every single vacation. I'm cranky and spend days before our departure thinking up ways to get out of going. The thought of being away when something might happen at work and having no way to help/fix it/be there gives me anxiety. Every single vacation day I take, I have to make it a conscious choice to only 'check in' once a day. And I still find myself glancing at my phone several more times a day just in case someone from the office needs me. If it weren't for my husband asking me on a particular vacation if I planned on spending any time with him during our trip (while I was using the hotel paper & pencil to jot down some thoughts for when I returned to the office) that I realized my brain NEVER actually goes on vacation with me. This one is still a work in progress, but it will probably always be on the list. And yes, I realize that it makes my vacation mates want to murder ME.

12.)You have a low tolerance for incompetence.
I don't even want to tell you how many times I've wanted to murder someone for this. At one point, I actually had to write on a post-it that I kept in my top drawer where I could see it often: "It is illegal to stab someone for being stupid." And I've been told by several supervisors that 1.) I don't have the authority to fire anyone, and 2.) Even if I did, "Being an idiot" is not an HR-approved reason to terminate someone. I stand by my statement that it should be.

13.)You'd be lost without your to-do list.
If anyone ever wanted to ruin me, this would be the way to do it. Not having a list is my kryptonite. At work, at the grocery store, while packing for a vacation where I'm not going to relax, lists are my lifeline. And when I occasionally do complete a task/buy an item/pack something that was not originally on the list, I can't do anything else until I write it on the list and check it off. It's a sickness. A really helpful, organized sickness. And Heaven forbid someone do something to my list, I'm not sure I could go through with murdering that person without retrieving said list and adding 'kill list thief' to my tasks.

14.)At work, everything is urgent.
EVERYTHING. People are amazed at the lightning quick speed with which I send responses/edits/help/whatever they need. And they become significantly less impressed when they realize I expect the same from them.

15.)You're sensitive to stress.
This one is so true that I begged the man who is now my husband to elope because I was stressed out just thinking about the stress that planning a wedding would cause. I know myself very well, and I know that I was a monster to deal with for those four months of wedding planning. In my defense, having 212 people RSVP and 315 people show up that day would send Ghandi into a meltdown. Now every single time we go to a wedding, we both look at each other and say in unison, "Glad it's them!"

16.)You make it happen.
Damn right I do! I don't even feel bad for saying that. Unless my mom is reading this.

New Year, New Me. Sort of.

I've always been a big idea kind of person. Graduate college a year early so I can start my career at 20? Easy. Run a half marathon after attending 4 out of 18 trainings while being as round as an actual butterball? Did it & have the medal to prove it. Spend an entire year without buying any new clothes, except that $6 football shirt from the drugstore? Owned it.

I must have used all of my brilliance on the aformentioned ideas because as we start the second full week of 2014, I still can't decide on a resolution. Here are the bright ideas that I've talked myself out of so far:

1.)Give up caffeine. As a Starbucks and Diet Mountain Dew addict, I know that I would be much healthier if I could start an addiction to water. But water doesn't turn me into a nice person the way 20 ounces of the nectar of the gods can. Gateway drug, schmateway drug. The compromise I've come to is that if caffeine single handedly keeps me married, employed, and with friends while simultaneously keeping me away from heroin, I'm going to call it a win.

2.)Work out more. Again, I know, health benefits. And the gym my husband frequents has televisions attached to the machines. I would LOVE to work out more, but 1.) I don't like sweating, 2.) Watching television is much more comfortable from the couch, and 3.) I don't want to. But I'd still like six pack abs. Anyone know how to get those without setting my lungs on fire?

3.)Stay up later. I love sleep. I've always loved sleep. And it's a very close second to caffeine on the 'making me a nice person' scale. But I married a man who, unlike me, is not ready to go to sleep every night at 9pm. He usually manages to keep my whining at bay until 10pm, when I physically can't keep my eyes open any longer. In an effort to spend more time with him, I have extended my bedtime. Last night I made it to 10:03pm. Rome wasn't built in a day, people.

4.)Try some new recipes. In preparation for an afternoon of cards with my sisters, I found this seemingly delicious and easy three ingredient recipe on Pinterest, the website that I now refer to as "Liar Liar, Pants on Fire".
Picture on the recipe website:

Picture of my finished product:

5.)Become a spider slayer. Okay, so I was sort of forced into this one as an arachnid tried to eat me this morning. After half a can of hair spray, an entire roll of toilet paper, a 20 gallon trash bag, and TWO flush attempts, I succeeded. If the Mr. hadn't been sleeping on his only day off, I would have either woken him up and made him do it, or revisited my single days and sucked the eight legged monster up in the vacuum cleaner.

Since I'm fresh out of ideas, this can only mean one thing. Clearly, I'm perfect and there's literally nothing for me to improve. I think I've earned 2014 as a reprieve year. If you have any ideas that aren't hard, uncomfortable, tiring, messy, or gross, I'm all ears for 2015.

The 17 Month Itch

We've all heard of the seven year itch - the psychological theory that suggests that happiness in a relationship declines during year seven of a marriage. But have you heard of the seventeen month itch? It's the prescence of a red, itchy, scaly ring of skin under one's wedding ring. The internet also calls it "wedding ring rash". If you have a weak stomach, do NOT google that. Take my word that it's gross.

Turns out that gold is really soft, so jewelers supplement it with nickel, a metal that 17% of the general population is allergic to. This number intrigued me, seeing as it is my favorite number and also the amount of time which I've been wearing my ring, so I did some research and it seems that 17% is not a terribly fortunate percentage. 17% represents the number of patients on a waiting list at the Mayo Clinic. 17% of Americans binge drink four or more times per month. 17% of Poland's population was killed in the Holocaust. 17% of ALL OF HUMANITY lacks basic access to clean water. You see my point? 17% is not a great category to be in. And yet I somehow managed to escape being in any of these statistics (arguably, at least), except one. I land in ONE 17% bracket, and it just had to be the one that included an intolerance to wearing sparkly things.

So apparently I'm allergic to marriage. Or at least to nice jewelry. Are you FREAKING kidding me?!? It took me until I was 26, and a looooooooong string of kissing frogs, to find someone I wanted to marry. Then it took another 9 months to get the ring, and 17 months later I'm ALLERGIC to it?!? Fan. Freaking. Tastic.

Never one to be told what to do, I decided that I was not going to give in. I refused to be a statistic. Mind over matter. "If I don't acknowledge it, it isn't really happening" logic. Don't knock it - pretending that I couldn't hear the adult who was telling me that it was time to get out of the pool ALWAYS bought me a solid extra five minutes of swimming when I was a kid.

So I ignored it. I was blessed with a man with great taste, so I have a GINORMOUS sparkly rock on my finger that conveniently covers up the area affected by an allergy that 17% of the human population can relate to. Looks like luck is finally turning my way. I'll just cover it up, pretend it isn't there, and divert my eyes away from the problem(aka "Operation: more pool time")when washing my hands.

Fast forward two weeks. I had my weekly hives breakout last night, prompting me to get drunk on antihistamines and pass out for 9.5 hours. When my alarm woke me from my Benadryl bender, I was terribly groggy and forgot to avert my eyes when I pried my ring off of my finger before getting in the shower. It may have been the drugs, but I'm 17% sure that my finger looked like a bloated, sunburnt lizard. An angry one.

I'm thinking that skin allergies don't really care about me giving them the silent treatment. Which is a shame for more than one reason. I'd try Benadryl again, but I think sleeping at work is frowned upon. (Blogging at work is fine). You win this round, red scaly finger.

Luckily, that husband with great taste started out as a boyfriend with great taste, and the sparkly necklace he bought me our first Christmas together just got a new sparkly pendant added to it until my finger stops pouting. Stay tuned for what's almost a certain future post, "How to tell your husband you broke your necklace that had your wedding ring on it."

The Beaches of Alabama

One year ago, we stood at the front of the church where we met and said 'I do'. Okay, so it was a year and 15 days ago, and I'm a bit behind on my blogging. The point is that we made it and we can officially stick our tongues out and say 'neiner neiner neiner' to anyone who took the 'under' line.

To celebrate this occasion, we headed down to Alabama to spend a few days on the beach and watch Ryan's cousin Chris marry his fiancee Brandy. Well to be exact, first we got a map and Ryan explained to me how it was possible for Alabama to have a beach, as I was convinced they had mistakenly given us the wrong location when they said 'beach wedding'. I'm not exactly sure what I thought Alabama looked like, but my vision certainly didn't include the beach.

Once convinced that we would in fact get to go to a 'real' beach, we packed up, and then unpacked 4 pounds worth of clothes and an umbrella (may that stylish rain barrier rest in peace in the trash bins of the Eastern Iowa International Airport), and made our 4 state journey to join Ryan's family on their already started vacation. It was dark when we arrived, so we had to wait until Saturday morning to see the glorious white sand. Once awake and thoroughly impressed with my very first visit to a Waffle House, we suited up and headed to the loungechairs.

I loooooooooove the beach, but I'm not a big fan of the actual water. In case you didn't know this about me, I'll catch you up real quick: 1.) Fish are gross, 2.) One tried to eat me once, and perhaps most importantly, 3.) Sharks live in there. I tend to spend all of my time on a beach on the actual beach where I am safe from megaladon except for the occasional toe that sneaks into the water in the interest of saying 'I was in INSERT NAME HERE body of water!' Something about Alabama though must have made me feel invincible as I put my whole foot into the water, then the other, then my calves, and then practically my whole self:

Don't let the beauty fool you - there is an endless list of gross and frightening animals that were lurking, just waiting to make me their mid-morning snack. Satisfied with my bravery and all of my limbs still being intact, we called it a win and headed back to our room to get ready for the wedding. Well, first we made a run for clam chowder and a shrimp po' boy.

Ryan had two very important jobs at this wedding - best man and musician. So he got into his suit, talked me out of wearing my swimsuit to the ceremony (Brandy said I could wear WHATEVER I wanted...), and got in place while I somehow wedged myself into the seat between his parents (still sorry about that one!) and admired how cute and talented my better half is.

After a brief and beautiful ceremony, we headed to stuff ourselves with yummy Italian food at the reception before saying our goodbyes to the rest of the family (who had to head home the next day) and checking into our hotel for the night. The next morning was our actual anniversary, so we exchanged cards, Ryan went out to get me a coffee, and then we treated ourselves to another meal at the Waffle House. Seriously - so good!

When our waffles were gone, we raced back to the hotel to suit up again and spend some more time on the beach. I channeled my inner She-Ra again and waded even further into the Atlantic Ocean (Gulf of Mexico? Are those two separate oceans? Which one touches Alabama? I'm still a little foggy on the geography) than I had the day before. I was frolicking and picking up shells and had nearly forgotten the looming danger of man-eating fish when I went to look at a specific shell and I SAW A SHARK!!!!!!!

It was at least 10 feet long and had three rows of teeth! I battled tirelessly and finally poked one of it's eyes out as my fight-or-flight response kicked in and I made my own turnicutt out of my swimsuit straps before finally swimming to shore. Or was it 6 inches long and swimming along minding it's own business while I ran as fast as I could, splashing and screaming the 5 feet back to the sand? Either way, it was traumatic and awful and I refused to get back in after that. Instead, we took a walk along the beach and I took somewhere between 2 and 3 thousand pictures of the water. Here are the two I whittled down as my favorites:

Seriously...Alabama...who knew?!? It being our anniversary, we felt obligated to mark the occasion with at least one cheesy photo:

And as we were trying to fit ourselves and an ocean (gulf?) in the same photo, a nice passerby offered to take one for us:

Yes, I was sunburnt. And no we didn't spend all day in the sun - more like an hour or two. This Iowa lack-o-sunshine is killing my dreams of being golden brown.

Tired from the still fresh-in-my-mind shark encounter and the aerobic walk through the sand, we loaded up on aloe and snacks and were in our pajamas by 6pm...not all that different from our wedding day, in fact.

On our third and final day in Alabama, we headed to the pier featured in the above photo and decided to stroll along and look at the water from the saftey of the railing. The first thing we saw was a GIGANTIC green cloud in the water that we quickly defined as seaweed:

Fascinated, I leaned over the railing and zoomed my camera hoping to catch a cool photo of the seaweed billowing in the waves. Instead, I saw about a billion fish all congregated together, assuredly plotting how they would capture and then devour me:

Don't even try to tell me that's not the most disgusting thing you've ever seen. It has to be.

Being the kind and loving man that he is, Ryan quickly moved closer to me and started calmly rubbing my back and promising that he wouldn't let them get me. We walked about twenty more feet and then stopped again to look out into the water. Apparently I'm a sadist.

As we were watching, I SWORE I saw a shark. A legit one. Not wanting to cause a wave of panic throughout the pier, I gently tugged at Ryan's hand, pointed slowly, and whispered 'I think I see a shark.' He began looking and then pointed out Shark #1's friend, Shark #2. And then Shark #3.

And then he very helpfully estimated that each was probably 4 - 5 feet long. I'm 5'1. I want no part of a shark that is 6 inches, let alone one that is LITERALLY as big as I am! We, again not wanting to spread panic, began trying to snap a picture. A very nice lady came over and asked us what we were photographing, and we very softly told her we thought we saw a shark, and she said, 'Oh yeah - that's what all these fishermen are trying to catch. It's really cool when you see them pull one over the side.'

Let me get this straight. People attach fish guts to a string that is spun through a tiny pole and then TRY to catch a wild animal the size of a person with THREE ROWS of teeth that wants to eat them?!? It was at that moment that I really focused in on my surroundings and noticed what had to be 50 fishermen lining each side of the pier. That could potentially mean 50+ sharks at any given time ON the pier. Where I am. And I swear to baby Jesus himself, I heard the 'Jaws' song start playing.

Now officially over the water AND the pier, I was more than ready to return home to the safety (and snow!) of Iowa. We instead went in search of mini golf, crab cakes for me, and another shrimp po' boy for the Mr. (apparently they're really good) before topping it off with fried bananas drizzled in chocolate to celebrate our special day.

On the plane ride home, we mutually decided that we've had so much fun this year that we will be extending our contracts for another 12 months. Until next year, Happy Anniversary from the Atlantic Ocean? Gulf of Mexico? beaches of Alabama!