Lazy Mondays and Losing My Ambition

Mondays aren't generally my favorite day. I know, I know; that's like saying constipation isn't really my favorite feeling, or that my under-wire bra isn't the most comfortable thing I've ever worn. Unless you're in the service industry, Mondays suck. There's no denying it. But when Kyle and I both have the day off, Mondays are like a bonus Sunday, and I think everybody deserves a bonus Sunday from time to time. Yesterday, we took ours. 

Of course, it was still a Monday, and we did have one task to accomplish. Somehow, a bird found its way into my sister's apartment Sunday night. When she noticed it flying circles in her living room, she grabbed her keys — but didn't take the time to put on shoes, pants, or a bra — and fled for our house. In the morning, Kyle and I went back with her, planning to shoo her little feathered friend out with a broom, or at least dispose of the body. But there was no sign of it. However it got in, it managed to get out. (That, or it's time to have a talk with my sister about the dangers of hallucinatory drugs.)

Other than our failed bird-hunting mission, we were able to hang around the house for much of the day, just enjoying each others' company. When evening rolled around and the temperature dropped a bit, we spent some time time tending to our little container garden.

As I practiced my iPhonetography (it's getting a little better, right?) Kyle fired up the grill to make chicken wings for dinner. It might not sound like the most romantic meal, but I first developed a crush on Kyle when I watched a video of him making chicken wings.

Overall, it was a simple, wonderful day, and I want more like it. I guess lazy days wouldn't feel quite so special if I had them every day, but this one did get me thinking about why I work so much, and why I've always worked so much.

I got my first job when I was 14 so I could buy things — name-brand shampoo, Union Bay Jeans, the cool Dr. Martens my friends had but my mom couldn't buy me — and I've never really stopped (working or buying). I'd like to think my tastes have improved with age, but my spending habits haven't. And because I've never been good at managing my money, I've always felt like I needed more of it — sometimes literally to keep the lights on. Sure, I also wanted to accomplish things, and get jobs that would lead to even better jobs, and bigger salaries, and put that really expensive liberal arts degree to good use, but the more money I made, the more I would spend.

As I start to think about moving into a home where we will raise our family, I want to separate myself from so much of the "stuff" I've accumulated over the years (luckily, this Saturday is the neighborhood garage sale). I want to live more simply, spend less time working, and spend more time doing the things that make me happy with the people (and pets) I love.

For now, I'm enjoying being able to handle unexpected visits to the vet, and the fact that I'm at least financially stable enough to almost buy a home. Though it's still very small, having a little cushion in my savings account feels nice, too.

If only I'd had this realization a decade earlier.  

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Next Stop: Our Litte Urban Homestead

I'm usually a pretty optimistic person. But when 5 pm rolled around today, and we hadn't heard a thing about our home loan application, I figured our mortgage counselor was sparing us a shitty weekend and waiting until Monday to let us know we hadn't been approved. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best, right? I mean, I'm not necessarily used to things working out in my favor, especially when it comes to financial matters.

Maybe it's time to get used to a new normal.

While I was out talking food blogs and bad photography with some friends after work, I missed a call from Kyle, followed by a text that said, "Check your email!"

Like emoticons, exclamation marks don't really exist (at least earnestly) in our communications, so I knew exactly what it meant: we got a true pre-approval. Yes, we are "conditionally approved" for a mortgage. I think that means unless we majorly screw something up in the next 30 days, we're getting our old house with new windows on a double lot after all.

I was eager to get home (er, what will be our home for another month or so) but on the way back to my car, I had to stop when I saw the above sign taped to a light pole. It felt incredibly appropriate. This life is pretty amazing. Though even if we'd been rejected, it would be hard to deny that fact.

I won't feel 100% relaxed until we close, but I'm sure as hell enjoying some cheap celebratory wine.

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Obligatory Whiny Post (Because every new blog needs one, right?)

Today started off okay. I did a sunrise yoga class — though it was unusually and almost uncomfortably crowded — and work was work. But in the early evening, in the midst of some delusional excitement, I started to realize the possible consequences of a decision I made a few weeks ago. No, it was not starting this project; in fact, it's more like the antithesis of this project.

Best case, it's likely to slow down my financial progress a bit. Worst case, it may prevent Kyle and me from doing some really important things we had planned to do this year. There's not really any turning back on this decision, and I don't want to, which is another part of the problem. I believe I did the right thing, I maybe just did it at the wrong time.

So, we argued. I shed some tears. We didn't assemble the kimchi we planned to start tonight for our upcoming supper club. Oh, and neither of us ate dinner — though I did inhale an entire package of black sesame candy from the Asian market after I let Kyle go to bed alone. It should also be noted that whilst stuffing said sesame candy in my mouth, I clicked on a traffic source link for this site that took me to a close-up, very high resolution picture of a woman's butthole.

I'm sorry. Not for telling you about the asshole I just witnessed, but for this whiny post. It's really not meant to be one of those annoyingly vague, rambling updates, though I know that's exactly what it is so far (save for the butthole imagery you can't forget). I promise to write more about this decision and its consequences in detail very soon. For now, it's just meant to illustrate that today didn't end on the best note.

And then I got this response from someone I copied on a very professional (yet as stern as it needed to be) email I wrote to resolve an issue for work this afternoon:

"Let it be known: EMILY FARRIS WILL NOT TAKE YOUR SHIT! I will wear that on a t-shirt." 

While it didn't quite make everything better, it came pretty damn close.

If I weren't on a spending diet, I'd have two made and send her one. Seriously.