For a person who’s only happy when her never-ending to-do list has more checks than blank boxes, the last year has been enough to drastically up my investment in the sweet, sweet magic elixir/nerve-soother that is boxed wine. These days, my monthly recycling includes enough of these kicked bad boys to make a fort...or at least a small enclosure for an animal. Every time the bins have to go to the curb, I pray my neighbors assume I either a.) have a party every weekend with guests who apparate into my house Harry Potter-style, thus eliminating the need for street parking or b.) travel around all week snatching the boxes from hobos in attempts to get them off the sauce.
But I know none of this is true. And they know it too. And I know they know. But! What they don’t know is why.
Why have I become connaisseur of crappy wine with names like “Sunset Blush” and “Crisp White?” Why do I need something to calm the ceaseless list of Things To Do that runs on a loop in my mind any time it’s idle (and, often, when it’s very much not idle and in the middle of, oh, I don’t know, Important Stuff That Requires My Full Attention)?
I’ve needed this because I got married. And bought a house. All in a one-year span.
Even if you’re not like me, and the term Type A means absolutely nothing to you…..even if the idea of SO MUCH CHANGE doesn’t render your daily heartburn medication useless...EVEN IF you prefer to galavant through life willy nilly-style without so much as an idea of what needs to be done, let alone a calendar on your phone that beeps every time you need to do something (a.k.a. every 15 seconds)… you have to admit that buying a house, packing, moving, planning a wedding and getting married are probably things best spread out over a period of, say, at least a decade.
Kidding, of course. I know there are tons of people who can pull this kind of stuff off in way less time (and with way more grace) than I did. I also know I put an absurd amount of pressure on myself to do things perfectly. I also know that perfection doesn’t exist. But try explaining that to my poor, spastic brain after 32 years of self-imposed abuse. It ain’t happening. So, yes, doing two whole things in one year is not that big of a deal...to most.
To me, it was a year of extreme highs and lows. There were days I was so excited and joy-filled I thought I might break into a soft shoe on my way to my office printer. There were days I felt so overwhelmed, I wanted to crawl into one of the several cubby holes in my new house and never come out. But most of all, there were days when something happened that struck me as so insanely, randomly hilarious, that I just had to make sure I remembered it.
And that’s exactly what I did. I wrote about the silly things, the oddball times, the moments no one could have planned for, no matter how high-strung you are. And those are the stories I intend to share here. They won’t be in any particular order, and I’ll probably pop in an update or even a brand new entry from time to time, based on whatever’s going on.
Some advice: these read a lot better when paired with a glass of “Delicious White” or “Fruity Sangria - Red.” Most of them were written with one nearby, anyway.