OT: Relationship Goggles

If you've ever dated anyone for an extended period of time (in a loving and committed relationship) you realize that, as time passes, you become less and less aware of things going on outside of your relationship bubble.

When going out for a night on the town, so to speak, with your significant other, you would tend to focus on just that -- your significant other. Not the Brad Pitt look-a-like on the other side of the bar, or the creepy guy trying to sit in your vicinity, or who's married and who isn't. Really, you're just focused on your relationship and having a nice time with your other half. Maybe you're a little focused on the pushy girl with no morals who is trying to scam on your man (maybe!), but that's about it. Otherwise, it's just about the two of you.

I am naming the phenomenon described in the preceding paragraph: Relationship Goggles. Brethren to beer goggles, although the googly eyes and fuzzy feeling that fills you briefly and lowers your otherwise decent standards in the former is replaced with a similar googly-eyed and fuzzy feeling associated with being "happily in a relationship" in the latter. This, my friends, is an all-too-common relationship benefit hazard which lingers uncomfortably for an unspecified amount of time whence you find yourself out of said happy relationship.

Case and point: I just celebrated my 5-month unversary and have been rediscovering how much I enjoy frequenting the local watering holes with my friends. With my training wheels still on, I notice time and time again the frequency of which my girlfriends are approached by new potential prospects. I am just beginning to notice this as my relationship goggles are finally fading and I am becoming more open to the idea of talking to the opposite sex let alone being in the same room with them. (I would say up until month 4 I reverted to my 8 year-old self and decided that boys had cooties, which were very contagious and could be transmitted by being within 5 feet of anyone with a you know what [friends and coworkers excluded]).

It was just after this point when I realized how disgustingly rusty I am! I am (a) oblivious to any male trying to approach me -- definite side-effect of recent relationship goggles, (b) in desperate need of a filter -- those tend to fall to the wayside after a 5 year pseudo-marriage, and (c) mortified by the fact that I have absolutely no cute clothes to wear "out" anymore as they have all been replaced by suits, slacks, cardigans, and black pumps -- this is what I get for being an accountant.

I am working on all of this.

I have also learned some valuable lessons over the past week. (1) Do not approach the prospect -- they will approach you...and you don't need to go looking all desperate. (2) Do not interrupt another female while she is talking to a male no matter how much you want to interject (yes, there is another word for this and see previous comments about obtaining a filter). (3) Do talk to everyone because practice makes perfect, people. (4) Do go shopping when you decide your closet is empty. And (5) do dance when someone asks you to, even if it's a completely ridiculous song to which it is only appropriate to jump around to.

Whew! It is hardly fair how certain skills fall to the wayside when they are not being put to use. This whole new single thing makes me feel like I got sent back to kindergarten and have to learn how to write my name all over again. I do, however, have one thing going for me: I am happy. And happy girls are most certainly the prettiest girls (thank you, Audrey Hepburn).

Here's to looking forward to next week's adventures.

OT: These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

No, I'm not going to sing it in the form of The Sound of Music (although, I have been to Salzburg). Lately, I have been feeling very grateful for and content with my life. I'm sure this feeling has something to do with the passing score I received on my second to last part of the CPA exam and pending homeowner status (6 days!). Happiness, like other habits (good or bad), is contagious. I think it's important to know what brings joy into your life. This way, your supply can be replenished if it is, for some reason, depleted. The following is a list of things that I find keep my happiness at optimum levels:

1. The beach. Everything about it. The smell and feel and state of mind. You can take the kid out of the beach but you can't take the beach out of the kid, right?
2. Hot chocolate. Whenever I am forced to do something unpleasant (i.e. study), I always make a mug of hot cocoa. How can you be bummed when you are drinking the happiest drink on earth (alcohol excluded -- see number 15)? The answer is, you can't. 
3. Coasters.
4. And monogramming. Better yet, monogrammed coasters. Yes, this is where my preppy seeps out. 
5. Sailing. Nothing a good sail can't fix. What is better than harnessing the elements? It's like magic. Or physics. Magic sounds better. 
6. Tea and coffee. Hot and cold. 
7. My dog.  This should really be number 1. 
8. The sound of the mountains in the snow. And being outside in general. 
9. Any type of road trip. Or adventure. 
10. Radiohead, Iron & Wine, Dave Matthews Band. And this would be where my inner-hippie makes its appearance. Most music, in general, makes me happy. 
11. Food. Good food. I am not a salad girl. Deal with it. 
12. Flannels and beanie hats. See previous comments about inner-hippie. 
13. Dresses. (So now you're probably thinking I'm bipolar). 
14. Philosophical conversations. Debates. Especially with friends, and good friends at that. Nothing better than a good, thought-provoking conversation.
15. Champagne. Bubbly and delicious. Best when paired with #14. 
16. Hosting parties and bringing people together. 
17. Learning. I would be a professional scholar if I could. I suppose accountant is a good close second...or third...or somewhere on the list. 
18. Lazy Sundays. Not experiencing much of these lately due the nearing final exam part and big girl house purchase. Hopefully will resume soon. 
19. Cards. There's is something special about a beautiful card. If there is an occasion out there, there is a chance I have bought someone a card for it. 
20. Good sheets. Feeling like you're sleeping on clouds each night is worth the splurge. 

So, there you have it. My list of happiness. I try to employ as many of these as often as I can. When you have a stressful job and life, it helps to focus on the bright side of things. We create our own luck. Best to be in the right mindset to do it.

OT: Best Friends and Bridge Burning

Looking back on my life, I think it's safe to say that I've always been somewhat of a loner. I have friends, of course, (this is where my sister would interject: really? I never knew!) but I never had a best friend. At least, not the kind where you are totally BFFs4E and you do everything together and refer to each other as the girl version of your soul mate and buy matching necklaces and so on and so forth. 

I've had the same handful of "best friends" (plural, not singular)  pretty much since middle school. What made (and makes) it hard was that all of my best friends weren't also best friends (i.e. we didn't have the Sex and the City thing going). Honestly, some of them didn't (and don't) even like the others...which makes my life difficult. How can I have a girls' night with my friends when they all don't enjoy each others company as much as I enjoy theirs? I don't exactly fit in with any of their individual groups of friends either. I mean, I'm down for going out and meeting new people but there's only so much awkwardness I can take at one time. Lastly, the majority of them have moved (or are in the process of moving) out of the state. Again, this makes my life difficult.

I realize I'm being a little selfish here. But what's not selfish? Always jumping for your friends. Being where they ask you to be. Supporting them. Participating in their charities. Worrying about them. Carrying their drunk asses back to the car. Flying across the country to see them. Always wishing them a happy birthday or anniversary or whatever. Keeping their secrets. Not judging their significant others or sex lives or drug habits substance issues and everything else on top of that. Those things don't suck. But what does? Not having the favor returned. Having your friends not be there when you need them to be. Even if it's just over the phone. Realizing that these people are not going to jump for you. That fucking blows.

So when do you cut them off? When do you tell them that your friendship is not a partnership and you are done wasting your time? When do you tell them they are not being very friend-like? When do you give up on them and move on to your new friends? When do you burn the bridge? Or, do you burn the bridge?

I don't know the answer. Also, I was never a very big fan of bridge-burning.


(soundtrack: "city" by sara bareilles)

OT: Do You Believe in Rock and Roll

My sophomore year of college, I took a writing class at NYU. I don't remember the name of the class or the teacher. All I recall is that the guy looked like Jay-Z and wore Nike high-tops, jeans and a 59Fifty hat to class every day. He would give us a ten minute writing assignment at the beginning of each class. Most memorable of all of them was the following: Pick a line from a song and write about it.

I chose the following:
"Do you believe in rock and roll; Can music save your mortal soul?"

This line, of course, is from American Pie and the answer to both questions was (and is), undoubtedly, yes.

I didn't chose this verse because I'm some huge Don McLean fan or even remotely because I'm a fan of 70's music. I chose it because of the honesty behind it.

Music is magical. The way it creeps into your soul and gives you goose bumps. It transports you to the past...or maybe to the future, if you can look at it that way. It makes your heart...not ache, but pulse. It is the co-conspirator of wanderlust. It is, in a way, serendipitous. Stumbling upon a genius song without having bothered to look for it is perfection. A good song can lift you out of the darkest of depths or push you to the highest of highs. It is an outlook modifier and a game changer. And best of all: music releases endorphins, you know.

Next time you're feeling sad. Or lonely. Or happy. Or excited/anxious/nostalgic/and so forth; pop on a song. NOT your favorite song. This is the key here. The song needs to not be overplayed or overly-popular. It needs to be a treasure; hidden and possibly forgotten about. This is where you dig through your iTunes library or, better yet, put it on shuffle (now that's dangerous). Keep clicking next until you hear that opening that makes your heart pulse and your goose bumps rise and your mind wander.

Found it? Enjoy the mortal soul saving.


(soundtrack: "to be alone with you" by sufjan stevens)

OT: Run, Forrest, Run

I have never been a runner. I have never even been anything close to a runner. I am still not a runner. Sure, I was active in high school: I played field hockey and tennis. I was actually pretty decent at both of them and was captain of my field hockey team until I quit during sophomore year because, well, I didn't like running.

That's when I started playing tennis, which involves so much focus that I didn't even have time to think about the exercise I was doing. I had a tennis trainer and he made me run a lot, but I loved the sport so much that I didn't really mind. Plus, I was like seventeen and who is out of shape when they are seventeen anyway.

Then, I went to college, discovered alcohol and other poor habits, gained 15lbs (and then lost it, and then gained it...), and gave up on exercising all together. Yeah, I went to the gym, but I never really went to the gym. I wasn't one of those people who was going to absolutely die if I didn't make it to the gym or to my pilates class. I just kind of went when I felt like it.

And...here we are.

I'm still not a runner, gym-goer, or fitness junkie. I am, however, a pretty excellent walker. I walk every day. Same route. 1.5 miles. This exercise habit was completely unintentional. When I became the most awesome woman alive single 3 months ago, I realized that someone was going to have to walk my dog, Henry, and that someone was most certainly going to be me. So, I started walking. At first, it was a chore. Another thing on my to-do list. But over time, it became something I very much looked forward to. Sitting at my desk at work, I would think about how nice it will be to get home and walk Henry and be outside and not be stuck in my mole-cave of a cubicle. It actually turned into one of my favorite parts of the day (next to lunch).

Not so long ago, I was walking Henry on our usual route and something dawned on me: I can do this faster. The thought kind of shocked me. Faster? Are you on something? What are these thoughts and what have you done with my brain? But I thought about it some more and realized I probably could do it faster. I had been walking the same distance for 3 months and it was time to up the ante a tad.

Which brings us to tonight.

I, the worst runner in the world, ran (at super-human snail speed) with my dog along our usual route. I didn't make it the whole distance (don't judge!) but I followed the advice of a good friend of mine (and fantastic runner) -- pick a point along your route and tell yourself, I can make it to that. So I did. And I made it. And Henry was absolutely fantastic! Which is a huge surprise because he is such a spaz and I was wondering if we were even going to make it to running at all, but we did! It was like he knew I was serious about this and that it was something I needed to do and he just trotted alongside and listened perfectly. I was very proud of him. And I am also very proud of me.

I was a little hesitant to write this because I didn't want it, under any circumstance, to sound like I was saying I am something I am not...or that I am good at something I am not. But I think that tonight might be the start of an excellent adventure, so I decided to document it. My philosophy is this: I have to walk my dog. If I can get it done a little faster, well, go me.

Until next time, kids.

(soundtrack: "schoolboy" by grouplove)

OT: Delivery Men and the Giants Suck

Two-hundred-and-seventy minutes have gone by since I have been waiting for the appliance delivery guy to get here. Two-hundred-and-seventy fucking minutes. (That's four-and-a-half hours for all of you folks who can't do math). In my (not so humble) opinion, delivery people hold one of the, if not THE, top spot for most dreaded appointment, possibly surpassing the likes of accountants (guilty) and even dentists. Scheduling a delivery? Kiss your day goodbye.

To rub salt in the wound, today is absolutely flipping gorgeous and my dog is at my mother's (in an attempt to save the delivery people -- something I wish I hadn't thought of, given the current state of events). The rays of sun and wisps of breeze pouring through my curtains are taunting me. I have flipped from channel to channel on tv trying to find something to appease myself and have been forced to settle on football -- that's when you know I am desperate (and, side note, wtf Giants?).

Two-hundred-and-eighty-three minutes.

Today, I am frustrated. I am frustrated that butt-face (see: ex-boyfriend) has absolutely no responsibility while I am left to care for our my condo, pay for our my bills, and take care of our dog. I am not quite sure whose dog it is now, actually (I would say 90% mine, 10% his). He does help out sometimes but let's be honest: how long can you possibly share joint custody rights of your pooch? If I had a normal 9-5 (see: not slave labor public accounting) this would be a no-brainer. I would keep the dog. I love the dog. He is my dogchild. But I don't. So--- this is how it's going to go until I am forced to make a decision. The end.

Oh, and I am also not usually so whiny about my responsibilities...but today is an exception. Don't judge me.

Two-hundred-and-ninety minutes.

Onto the next frustration: the CPA exam. I know this blog is called "Off Topic" and this is really quite on topic but I can't help it today so I'm breaking my own rules. I've never had trouble with anything related to education. I got a 4.0 in high school and almost college (damn you, religion teacher), and got a near-Ivy League worthy score (see: NYU) on my SAT's without even cracking open a book to study. I don't need to study. I don't study. I am me.

I am also a cocky little shit sometimes and, in this case, I am wrong. (That tasted like vinegar, by the way).

Three-hundred minutes, ladies and gentlemen.

The CPA exam is not so much a test or a piece of education as a three-headed, fire-breathing dragon. (Ok, so I'm being a little dramatic). The test is three to four-and-a-half hours, depending on which of the four parts you're taking, and no two attempts are ever (or even slightly) the same. There is an element of luck, which is a problem for me seeing as I've never been remotely lucky (logical, yes; lucky, no) and you can only take each part once per quarter. To make a very long story short, I have two parts passed and two parts failed not passed. Oh, and did I mention that each passing grade is only good for eighteen months? Yeah, my first part expires January 31st. Happy day.

I should be studying today and, in my defense, I did study a little this morning, but it has become really hard for me to keep being motivated about something that I have been attempting for twenty-seven months straight with a very low success rate. You do not want to know how many parts I have sat for. I'll give you a hint: I've only passed two.

I will deal with my feelings on this later to save you from being lulled into a comatose state anything related to public accounting.

Three-hundred-and-ten minutes.

Ok, so in all honesty I thought the delivery guy would surely be here by the time I finished writing this post. It seems I was wrong again and that I should probably stop making these predictions as my accuracy percentage is dropping below the level I normally like to keep it at. So I'll continue sitting on my couch and have moved on to the Green Bay/Cincy game which is sure to be better than witnessing the G-men lose thirty-eight to zero to the Panthers. (The Panthers?!)

Three-hundred-and-fifteen minutes. This better be a damn good washing machine.

OT: F is for Fall

Today is September 1st which means the unofficial start to fall is upon us. Kids are getting ready to go back to school, the enormous September edition of magazines are adorning check-out line shelves everywhere, and Starbuck's has begun serving all things pumpkin spice. I have to say that I have had just about enough of the humidity and beach-seeking tourists that summer brings and am excited about the inevitableness that is fall...

...but I am also a little nervous.

Fall will be the first season of my life in recent memory that I enter alone. No longer do I have a co-pilot with whom I can plan October adventures with or make homemade soup for. For this fall, at least, I must say goodbye to apple picking dates and tailgating partners. Like these, there are so many more events and items and habits that I didn't realize are deeply connected with memories until I was forced to realize that the memories I was thinking of are the last of their kind...until someone comes along with whom I am willing and excited to make new memories with.

As the whole world knows (unless you are of course living under a rock), the football pre-season has already begun. Football is something I've never hated but never loved either. I don't mind watching the game, especially when watching with someone who does love it. I have even gotten attached to a certain team over the past few years and have developed a mediocre understanding of how the game is played (thanks to a lot of patience and invisible play drawings on the couch involving various x's and o's and arrows).

To my immense surprise, I flicked on my tv the other night to be greeted by an NFL game and a simultaneous (and unexpected) pang in my stomach:

It is already fall. I have been on my own for two months. And what the heck am I going to do about my football team?!

I resigned myself to the fact that I will have to find a new football team, one with no strings attached. I remembered that my mom's family is from Pittsburgh and that they are all serious Steelers fans, and it was decided in an instant that I would become one too. So that's settled.

Before June, I used to think I was a strong person. I thought that I could do anything I set my mind on. The past two weeks have made me realize that the pre-June me was nothing compared to what I am now. I am amazed at how I've grown and adapted in such a short amount of time. The human element truly is amazing and resilient and can be pushed to the limit without breaking but instead becoming something new and evolved and better. I am thankful for what I have, what I am capable of, and the turn my life has taken for I know it will make me a stronger, better person in the end. I can feel it already.

So with the onslaught of all things fall, I am apprehensive but excited and curious. I have faith in myself (which, coincidentally, is another thing F could stand for). I will also be taking applications for temporary partner-in-crime/pumpkin spice enthusiast. Preferably of the platonic kind. If you're interested, you know where to find me.

OT: Bad Days and Car Keys

Yesterday was a bad day. Maybe not bad, per se, but hard tough tedious requiring a lot of brain power. I find that the days that require the most intellectual exercise are lumped into one of two categories: fantastic or completely exhausting. The deciding factor being the outcome of the issue requiring said brain power. Needless to say, the issue at hand from yesterday was not resolved by yesterday and I was therefore not left with that warm, fuzzy feeling better known as accomplishment.

As I crawled into bed last night, exhausted, at the ripe hour of 10:00pm (which is late for me I might add because I am, in fact, a grandma) I decided to do something I have not done in a while -- I prayed...if you can call it that.

Please, God, let tomorrow be easier than today. I haven't had an easy day in quite a while and I really think that I am beginning to deserve one. Amen.

Well-rested, I woke up this morning with a cheery outlook on my upcoming day (which was bound to be perfect because, you know, I had a talk with God and everything). I (a) made myself a tea to take on the car ride to the client, (b) hit no traffic and was due to arrive early at the client so I (c) swung by the Panera Bread to indulge in my favorite bagel (asiago!) to discover that this Panera was a drive-thru (score!) and (d) went about my day basking in the perfection it was bound to become.

This did not last very long.

Right off the bat, the exhausting issue from yesterday resurfaced. Even a fresh set of eyes, two coffees deep, could not solve this conundrum. After a good deal of wheel-spinning thinking, it's decided that this issue was no longer my issue and it was pushed back to the client to solve. The day continues to be more stressful than usual until it is time to head home.

I was driving down I-195, almost to my exit, 40 miles from the client, when I get a call from my co-worker. He's lost his keys. He thinks they're in my car from when we went to grab lunch earlier on.

Mother fucker. Darn.

I proceed to pull over into a parking lot to check my car for the missing keys. I check the floor. I check the center console. I check the door. I check the crack where things fall, never to be seen again (see post #1 for more info on said crack). Nothing.

I continue to drive the next 3 miles home, where I can more thoroughly look for the keys. This time I even check under the floor mats. No keys to be found. I call my co-worker to report the bad (good?) news. He is not happy. He is having a bad day, too.

By this time it's almost 7:30pm and I need to take Henry on a walk. We walk our usual route. He sniffs things, I talk on the phone, he goes potty. Upon the other kind of potty, I whip out a handy doggy bag. The same bag which I found crumpled on my entry table from the dog walker, earlier, and which I assumed to be a left-over and perfectly fit for good use.

Not so.

I open the bag and out flies a bee! A fat, little bee. The kind from Winnie the Pooh, which you would call "cute" if it weren't for their stingers. Apparently, this bag was used to catch the pesky bee and then forgotten about. More than likely, Henry tried to eat the bee and the dog walker plucked it from his mouth with the bag, thinking it was dead. Whatever the case, the bee is now pissed at me and is flying around my head while I try to swat it away/walk Henry/clean up after him. The bee eventually flees and we make it back home unscathed.

The moral of today is kind of a religious one, so if you're not into that you probably shouldn't read on.

I don't know if I believe in fate or karma or predestination or Darwin, but I do know that I believe in God. Which God? One God? These things I'm unsure of. I just know that I believe in "the big man upstairs", whoever he/she/it may be. I am fairly sure that today was a lesson. That lesson being that religion shouldn't be a cake we have on special occasions. It should be a bread we eat daily. I should probably do my best to remember that for next time before I go making any more special requests.

OT: Logic and TV Cables

I like to think that I am a very logical, level-headed person. I pride myself with being able to look at a story or argument from every different angle and with being un-biased and open to changes of opinion (as long as you can successfully explain to me why yours is better, of course). I like to debate things. I like the mental challenge.

I have found that, along with being these things, above, I can also be cold. I think that may come as a shock or downright untruth to some people, but it is correct. The nasty side of being so logical is that you can "logic" yourself out of (or in to) a lot of situations. For example, I believe that I am taking this breakup (see: previous post) so well because I am able to logic away my feelings. I am aware that this is unhealthy. I will, most likely, continue to do it anyway.

It is easy to be put-together when I am busy. Especially when I am responsible for 100% of the things I used to only be responsible for 60% of (notice I say 60 and not 50). It's the times I am not busy that get me. The logic creeps away and the truth seeps into its place.

Yes, it is difficult being left behind. It is difficult doing everything myself. It is difficult being alone when I thought I would be buying a house and getting married (talk about a 180). It is especially difficult being sad when my other half ex-boyfriend is happily gallivanting about the town with zero responsibility while all I want to do is watch movies in my yoga pants with my dog. It is hard to tell myself I didn't do anything wrong (even though it's true and I shouldn't even have to logic myself out of that one). It is hard being alone.

But it is also okay.

Today it is especially okay because I hooked up my tv to my DVD player with those ridiculously expensive fancy blue, green and red cables (which I am told are called "'component cables"). I am aware this is easy and simple and that it didn't take much effort to drive 5 minutes down the road to Staples to purchase them. You see, it doesn't matter that it was easy. What matters is that I did it myself. I did something myself which I would have passed off before, you know, because electronics are on the boys' side of the responsibility chart (I am going to get so much feminist hate for this, but it's true).

I guess there's just one side of the responsibility chart now: mine. And I think I'm okay with that.

OT: Vacuums and Accomplishments

To make a very long story short (and to save you from the gory details): I have been dumped single for about a month now.

Today, I had my first, real, single-girl accomplishment. I, Lauryn, killed a bug. Not just any bug and not a little bug. A HUGE FREAKING ALIEN BUG WITH LOTS OF LEGS.

You see, I was sitting on my couch minding my own business when I looked to my right and saw the giant monster on the wall about five feet away from me. I gasped, hoped off the couch, and strategized my next move.

Do I swat at the bug? No! (What if it falls on the floor or lands on me or sprouts alien bug wings and flies somewhere in my proximity??)

Do I put a cup over the bug? No! (Then I would be standing there with my hand on the cup on the wall for the next four hours until I figure out how to get the cup and the bug off the wall. And again, see previous comment about "alien bug wings" and "proximity.")

Left with few options, I do what any girl would do in this situation -- I call my dad....who proceeds to laugh at me on the phone as I try to explain my side of the story and that this, again, is NOT your average critter. My dad recommends bug spray. Well, dad, I don't own any bug spray. On to Plan B (and, mental note, invest in some bug spray).

Dad is a genius and recommends that I vacuum the bug up. Yes! I can do this. I roll out my Dyson, snap on the handy suction attachment-thingy, and stand as far away from the wall as my arms allow while aiming the vacuum hose at the bug monster....

...The bug is too large for the vacuum (either that or my aiming is not so great), falls onto the floor  (yikes!) and proceeds to crawl under my couch (double yikes!).

I am now screeching, standing on my coffee table on my tip toes, and have managed to scare the bejesus out of my dog (who thinks that this is some sort of fun game).

What do I do, what do I do, what do I do...

I call my dad up and tell him he needs to come over and find the bug. He says he is not coming. I call my friend up who recommends that I let Henry (my dog) eat the bug and that will be that. I am not subjecting my poor dog to a monster alien with lots of legs that could potentially be poisonous.

I am out of options.

I decide that if I'm going to be alone forever living by myself, I should probably be able to kill a bug by myself. Therefore, I choke up the courage to move the couch (sound effects not included), spot the culprit, and vacuum him up.

End of the story? The bug is dead. But, two hours later, I have still not been able to sit on said couch.

I will work on that.

OT: My Dog, Henry

My dog's name is Henry. He is a year and four months old. He is a black lab mixed with some combination of boxer and basset hound, probably among other things. He howls.

I read somewhere (probably on Pinterest) that dogs have such short lives because they already know in ten years what humans are still trying to figure out in ninety. Henry, I believe, is no exception to this. So many times in his short life has he saved me. Saved me from boredom. Saved me from wanting to kill my mother boyfriend co-workers [insert noun here]. Saved me from myself.

Today was one of the later days.

For a little bit now, I have been feeling off. Not sick. Not depressed. Just off. I think my friend said it best as, "your soul is hurting." I know that sounds like such a load of corn-ball, hippie, nonsense....but that's how it feels. Or, felt.

[Side note: I had to leave Henry with Drew's parents today because he has conveniently decided to take a 'boy's trip" down to North Carolina in the middle of the week, while I am working. Yes, I could probably leave my dog home for ten hours, but I chose not to. I don't think he would appreciate that.}

So there I am, on the way home with Hen, when I hear THE SOUND. The guttural sound that everyone dreads, human or not. My dog is getting sick in my car. Not even on the floor mats or the seat. In the cup holder. And down the crack. You know, the one where everything gets lost and you can never find it again. That crack. And not once might I add, but three times. THREE EFFING TIMES.

In the middle of cursing the dog, the car, my job, my boyfriend, and going into hysterics and crying because I am so fed up with my life and why is everything going wrong and why do I feel off, I pull over at Dunkin Donuts. I need to grab some napkins. I can't even be mad at the dog because he looks so sad, like he think I am angry with him for doing something wrong. I can't let him think that, because I'm not. It's nothing a few napkins and some Lysol wipes can't fix. And it wasn't his fault anyway.

Henry wins again. When life is throwing a lot of little things at you, it starts to pile up. Eventually, there are too many things on the pile and it collapses. That was me today. A lot of people would curse their dog for that, but I'll thank mine. He cleared the pile and now I don't feel so off. I know that must sound odd.

Thus, the end of the day has been better than the beginning. I am home. Henry is sleeping. I am writing and not studying (which I should be doing, but I think I just need and deserve a break today). I will soon be eating dinner (probably mac and cheese because let's face it I'm still mostly a kid) and watching Master Chef on my DVR. Cheesy noodles, Gordon Ramsay, and a sleeping puppy. Can't ask for more than that.