Sometimes I think, I shouldn't even post this. But I always do.

I should just re-tag these posts as "I feel like blogging, but don't really have a complete thought."

1. I may be a hoarder. There will be a post about this, but I felt you all deserved adequate warning. Don't worry, even Big Jed suspected nothing until I told her yesterday. It is still safe to visit my house. I hide my hoards.
2. I am, well, a bit bull headed. But, not in a way that you would ever know until YOU KNOW. I think most people that don't know me that well would find this surprising. I got into a screaming match on the line today. It was the first time anyone at work has seen this side of me. But, don't call me a liar when I am not lying and don't accuse me of something I didn't do. And most of all, don't put words in my mouth. Guaranteed recipe to see the ass hole in me come out in a shouting, finger pointing, red faced kind of way.
3. As I was typing that, THE CAT went running across the room and threw himself at the screen door, latching to the top of it. I jumped about, oh, 7 million feet. And before I could even recover he was across the room cleaning his paws. MOTHER. FUCKING. CAT.
4. Have you ever had that thing everyone is talking about but you can't figure out what it is? And you don't want to ask because you SHOULD know and you played along the first time because you didn't care and now you just look stupid because everyone thinks you know what they are talking about? That is The Chew for me. I finally broke down and asked, to much mocking. And let me tell you, I don't know if I love or hate this show. It has Carla Hall (my favorite Top Chef contest of ALL TIME. Hootie Hoo, mother fuckers) and Michael Symon (he is from Ohio and his laugh is infectious. Not annoying. Stop saying annoying.) Two huge positives. It also has Clinton Kelly (from What Not To Wear and also starring regularly in my nightmare as my fabulous gay best friend that I stab repeatedly in the face) and Mario Batali (whose food I will cook ALL DAY but whose is a little pretentious and wears orange clogs.) Anyone else seen it? Thoughts? I am filing it under "hug then stab."
5. I should really stop openly threatening to stab things on my blog. I mean, lets be honest. I am more of a passive aggressive homicidal maniac. Arsenic all the way.
6. I made dirty rice (with ground beef, not organ meat, so the boy would eat it) and it was spicy last night, as it should be. Today? I have been eating it for an hour and gone through three glasses of water. I have to keep taking breaks. I love spicy food, but shit. 
7. I got invited to the neighborhood bar of the new house tonight! I am officially on first name basis with the bartender and had their famous sauerkraut balls (this is what happens when you move into the German part of town.) So stoked. The general manager of the restaurant I work at practically lives there. I walked in and said his name and I was a VIP. I see myself spending a lot of time there. Especially since I can walk there.
8. I am a wee bit impatient (note: wee bit means most impatient person ever.) So, all of the waiting for various emails about the house is killing me. Right now, I am waiting to find out what the homeowner is willing to fix from the inspection. It all makes me feel crazy. Er. Crazier. 
9. I really only had 8. Well, probably 3. And you all probably only care about 1. I am kind of the worst blogger ever. So, I am going to post pictures of some of my favorite parts of the house. And we'll just call that 10. Because it is all I think about. And, I promise, there will be a video tour of the house posted as soon as we have possession. And the post title will be "feel free to skip this if you are not me." Because, lets be honest, on a scale of 1 to FUCKING SHUT UP RIGHT NOW you guys are all about a 7.

 Crown Molding throughout the whole first floor. Plus, I love the kitchen cabinets. At first I hated them because I prefer dark wood, but have grown to love them with the grey walls. 

 Exposed brick columns in both bedrooms. Ignore the very bachelor decor of the current renter. But, I cannot get over how much I love the exposed brick. It makes me so happy. That tiny closet...not so happy.

The yard. It needs SO. MUCH. WORK. and I am so excited about it. It has the potential to be an amazing space and I can't wait to have all of you over for dinner and drinks on the patio. Also, who needs some ivy? Because I have some to spare. In case you didn't notice. (behind the fence, there is a concrete slab parking spot next to the garage and off the alley. 1/4 of that is covered in ivy. That shit is predatory.)

And finally...and not pictured. The ice maker. I realize all of you are probably like "ice makers are so 2003" but I have never once lived somewhere that has one. And I can't even tell you how excited I am to get rid of the ice cube trays. Cannot even tell you.

I cannot handle a bedazzled Letterman's jacket.

I hope that this doesn't sound conceited. But, it probably will.  So, right. 

I would also like to add a disclaimer that the boy and I have been CHUGGING margaritas in order to not kill each other because closing on a house is FUCKING STRESSFUL and the mortgage company just informed of us of their obligatory surprise costs. Fuck that.

And some bitch on The Voice is singing in the middle of a heart. This what happens when my "How I Met Your Mother" line up isn't on. I watch stupid bullshit TV and they sing in a heart and I get angry and want to throw the cat at the TV. AND NOW HE IS WEARING A FUCKING FUCK BEDAZZLED LETTERMAN'S JACKET.

So, my time is valuable. And I am not talking about sitting and hanging out with friends and drinking. I am talking about when you ask me, as a person with a skilled trade, to help you, a person without said skilled trade, to use that skilled trade to your advantage. 

Would you call your electrician friend and ask them to rewire your house for a party and then ask them to bring a gift to said party? No. You would say, hey, it's my birthday and in lieu of a present, would you rewire my house? And he would tell you to go fuck yourself and it will cost $1000. And no, he does not accept credit cards.

I have a skilled trade too. And it is SO FRUSTRATING because people always ask me to cook for things and never think, hey, she should be compensated for that. This is what she does for a living. 

Here's the thing. If you read this blog, and I know you in real life, I would cater your wedding, cook you dinner, throw you a dinner party including a 5 course meal. Hell yes I would. And I would charge you absolutely nothing for it. But, I would not buy you a wedding gift unless you paid me exactly what I cost. I would cook for all of you, even if I don't know you in real life, dinner. No strings attached. I am sure as fuck not making a 5 course meal and then buying you some bullshit digital picture frame. 

If you don't care about food, fine. Call some local restaurant that does catering cheap and regret it later. If you ask me to cater something, to give you a sit down, coursed out dinner, expect awesome. Because it will be. And I guarantee you, I will get ripped off in the process, even if you pay me.

Let's just say that I make $10/hr to cater your dinner party for 10 people. I will spend about 5 hours menu planning. Another 10 testing the recipes. Another 10 doing prep. At least, depending on the ingredients, $200 on food. (that is cheap) and then probably 5 actually executing the dinner. That is $50 a person. Except all I will actually get to charge you for is the prep, execution and food costs. That is $35 a person.

I do that shit for free ALL THE TIME. So, please don't ask me to do all of that and then bring a fucking gift. I will stab you. I want to stab you right now, person who doesn't read this blog but should because then they would understand what a total asshole they are.

Yes, all of you cook everyday and don't get paid for it. I do. I am not saying I am better than you. I am saying this is how I pay my bills. This is how I make a living. I am more than happy to come over and weed your garden for free, because if I fuck it up, my reputation isn't on the line. (note: there is no way I will come over and weed your garden.) 

I would love to cook everything for every one of you. I would. But, please don't ask me to bring the wine too, ya know?

Inspect this, bitch

I apologize for all the house related posts. But, as you can imagine, this whole process is kind of taking over our lives. 

We had the inspection today which went...OK. Obviously, the ideal is to walk away from the inspection with everything in the acceptable category. That didn't so much happen. The house was built in 1911 and remodeled in 1998. The remodel was done properly and all the electrical and plumbing are up to code, but there are just some odd things. Like a step that is 4 inches too tall. And the water heater and furnace are sitting on the dirt floor of the cellar. 

There were a few things that were a little more concerning. We need a new water heater. They closed up the access to the attic. Like, dry walled over the hole and we have to cut a hole in the ceiling. Because, you know, there are birds living up there. Birds that we REALLY don't want to lay eggs and have babies and then we either have to kill the babies (which I am not even sure they will do nor am I willing to do) or sleep with incessant chirping until fall. You know, because THAT is ideal. Maybe we can get some monkeys up there and have a live noise machine.

A few plumbing issues and other minor shit. Oh, and the dishwasher doesn't work. Like, won't even turn on. I get that we are doing this in a very non-traditional way, but I find it odd that nobody, renter or owner, even mentioned this to us. Because, you know, a non-working appliance is kind of key to know. I think the owner didn't know and the renter is kind of like "fuck these ass holes, taking away my home and shit" about the whole thing. Except he doesn't talk like that.

There is SO MUCH LANDSCAPING to be done. While all the boys wandered around the outside of the house, I took pictures of the landscaping situation. The back pretty much needs the grass taken out and re-seeded. It is 98% crab grass. The front is better...except for the random concrete in the yard. You know, that is good for lawnmowers. And there is ivy EVERYWHERE. Growing on the fences, the house (in very small amounts), the garage, etc. I am in a fight with ivy.

There is a rosebush. Now. I doubt I have told you the story of the rose bush at the condo...but when I moved in (11 years ago!!!) there was a rose bush adjacent to the front porch. The first few years, I thought it was pretty. Then it just became overgrown and I didn't know how to care for it, so I dug it out.

It came back the next year. I poured salt water on the roots (I read that this kills plants.)

It came back the next year. I dug it out again.

It came back the next year. You get the picture. And this thing wasn't just like, hey, pretty roses. It was taller than me. And it overtook the front porch and attacked anyone trying to enter the house. Sort of like the geese that try to kill me at least once a week. 

It could not be killed. The boy finally managed to kill it last year because I have not seen signs of it.

Until today. And it is growing next to the porch on the new house. 

You guys, I am being stalked by a rose bush. And I contemplated calling the police, but it will be hard to enjoy the new house from the insane asylum. But, it's the same bush. The same mother fucking rose bush that I know I will not be able to kill. And it is creeping onto the front porch to wrap around my legs, cartoon style, every day when I get home from work. 

Once again, everything fell into place with this house. There was a time in my life where I thought nothing good came easy. You had to work hard for everything. That saying is stupid. The boy and I came real easy. No relationship is without work, but the beginning; easy. I never even filled out a job application at my current job. Just got a phone call, went in for a 4 minute interview, and was hired. This house just fell in our lap. 

Yes, working hard is important, that is not what I am saying. But, the best things in my life have just landed on my lap, all wrapped up with a great big bow. Life is mother fucking good.

And thank you everyone for the kind words on the job front. I was not trying to confuse anyone...I honestly don't know if I am excited or not either. It is just an odd situation that I am going to take day to day. Because, really, that is all I can do.

We're moving. Holy. Fucking. Crap. Balls. We are moving.

It truly takes a special kind of person...

I got "promoted" today. I think. Maybe.

Fuck. My work is so fucked.

So, our kitchen staff consists of 8 people. A pastry chef, a baker, a dishwasher, and 5 supervisors. I am now one of those 5 supervisors. 

The dishwasher is not all there. He works 9 - 2 everyday and cleans everything and lives with his grandmother and sometimes I never know what he is saying. I love him. But, he is odd, to say the least. And his meds are frequently talked about but I am too scared to ask.

Our pastry chef is the fucking shit and brilliant and amazing.

Our baker used to be our night dishwasher. He is an old friend who I brought in because he wanted a foot in the door and somehow ended up opening a bakery within our restaurant and...right. Just. Right.

Then there is the rest of us, which is my former 4 bosses and me. Now we are all supervisors. Can't be called a sous chef because, well, that requires a chef. Also, we only supervisor that one dishwasher. So...

I had a long talk with the owner who basically told me that he sees me as his executive chef but wants to me to prove myself among the boys. So, I am tasked with running circles around them for a while. Which is just, yeah. Easy. 

I don't know. It is all very vague. I am now doing all of the special dinners as well. I am doing a wine dinner in May, another in June, and a mead dinner somewhere in between. 

AND I am now a salary employee. And, kids, let me tell you, being salary is not all it is cracked up to be. I am still making below the poverty line and will probably work 60 hours a week. AWESOME. (Kind of awesome, because I love what I do and love the idea of unlimited hours doing it. That's weird, right?)

I sort of feel like that 3 seconds after someone slaps you...except it was 6 hours ago and I still am just like, what the fuck just happened? 

My job sounds so incredibly fucked up and poorly organized and unstructured and I really wish I could tell you that all of those things aren't true. But I can't. 

I really love my job.

Just...holy shit. This is happening.

Remember how I was excited about buying a house? I still am. It has been almost 11 years since I last purchased a home of any kind. I forgot the stress of it all. I forgot what it was like to see the numbers in front of you and go, HOLY FUCK I CANNOT AFFORD THIS. But we can. We are. We are doing this.

I had dinner with friends tonight while the boy read through the mortgage and all the contracts. I drank a beer while the boy spent an amount of money that could buy at least a car. I came home and he had taken a fair amount of tequila shots and beer and was hyped up on mortgage anxiety. 

We are doing this.

The boy is buying the house. This is a story I am not going to tell here, yet. Maybe ever. There are lawyers and a lot of shit involved with us selling the condo that are just, well, shitty. So, I feel a little disconnected. I feel a little sad that I am going to be a renter, in the legality of things. I feel a little sad to leave my home of 11 years. A home that Kobi grew up and died in. A home that housed Krackle and I. A home that held Kaya and Ally - Krackle's dogs. A home that holds so much of me. It's hard. It's hard to be going through what I am going through. So, yes I am ridiculously happy. Yes, this is exactly what I want.  But, I am sad. 

It is hard to talk about this because I am trying so hard to focus on the future, the new, the next step. I am writing garden journals and so many spreadsheets. I am trying to just get my mind off of the fact that I am leaving my entire adult life behind. In this one place, this one home.

I grew up moving a lot. I lived in 6 houses by the time I was 17. 9 houses before I bought this condo at 20. This is the longest I have lived in one place by, well, a lot of years.  At least 5 years. 

And I have always been in control. For 11 years I have had my house and my car and my things. This changes that. The house will technically be the boys. We are selling my car, so I will technically have no car. 

It is easy for me to focus on the good. The things that are going to be amazing about all of these changes, because, well, I have to focus on those things. If I start to think about everything else, well, I find it hard to breathe. 

I am so excited, I really am. I am just overwhelmed. I am scared. I am putting my faith in someone else and I don't think I have ever done that before, not on this level. I am in love and happy and trust the boy, but holy shit. I am about to give away everything that is me so that me can become us. And it is fucking awesome. Terrifying. But, awesome.

Signing the contract on the new house!

Uh Oh. I got angry. And very vague.

I am writing this because I am frustrated. I am thirty years old. I am not a child. I am not stupid. I am capable of making adult decisions ON MY OWN without the assistance of others. Sometimes they may be poor decisions. But you know whose problem that is? MINE. THAT IS MY PROBLEM. Sometimes they are decisions that are best for me in a certain situation. But, the bottom line is that they only effect me. Me alone. And if they do happen to affect someone else, well, that person is OK with them as well. Because I would never make a decision without consulting those that it effects. And I get that people have my best interests in mind. I really do. I get that people are trying to protect me. But, here is the thing. You know who else is trying to protect me? ME. I would never do something that would put me in a position I am not comfortable being in. (Yes, that is indeed, what she said.) And I am just so fucking sick of people questioning everything I do. Yes, I am impulsive and emotional and bat shit fucking crazy sometimes, but I am also rational and responsible and think things through. I AM NOT A SINGLE FUCKING ADJECTIVE. I am made up of a lot of things. And to compare the way I act about, say, what's for dinner, to major life decisions is unfair to me. And frankly, it is fucking insulting. So, if you have no faith in me, then just leave me the fuck alone. Because I have faith in me and I know that I am making the right decision. I don't need your doubt to ruin everything.

Rant over. I had nowhere else to post this, so thank you for listening. Well, reading.

I will now resume the blissful state I was in before my phone rang and ruined it all. Happiness trumps pissed the fuck off.