Write #fiveminutefriday

Write. For five minutes straight. One-word prompt, five minutes, no editing. I'm linking up over at Lisa-Jo Baker (aka The Gypsy Mama) where we read, write and encourage.

I write in fits and starts these days. Time seems to be slipping away from me when before I was drowning in it. It seems like it's feast or famine over here.

This is supposed to be the start of it all. This is the beginning of our real lives, our adult lives, our lives that don't revolve around school or splitting our focus on things that are more or less mandatory but holding us back from what we want to do.

And then the realization hits: I'm holding me back from what I want to do.

I want to be an employee not a temp. I want to help on movie sets and craft all of my Christmas presents for my friends and remember to take the dog for her walk everyday. I want to lose weight and I want to sleep in and I want to write like my life depends on it. I want to have kids.

But you can only pick two of these things (maybe three) and I'm taking the bits of me that are falling to pieces and sowing them in fields far and wide to see what grows. I'm working on my job like my sanity depends on it (because I think it does) and that leaves a tiny sliver of space, a crack, an opening for my words and my thoughts and my voice to thrive.

I'm writing.

True Story

I feel like I cheated, a little bit.

I didn't twitter party last night because Mr. E and I were enjoying our new mounted-on-the-wall TV (new mounting, not new TV) and this morning all I skimmed through was that the FMF word was TRUE. And instead of reading, I wrote. So when I linked up and saw that she asked for "our true stories" I felt like I had cheated her (and you) out of...me.

There's not a whole lot that I don't say on here. I blog my life and the things that happen in it. If I didn't say it here, I might have said it on twitter, but overall you're getting my true story every time you open this page. As I feel more and more comfortable being me, I write a little bit more- revealing myself in bits and pieces, peeling back layers to expose my inner and most protected self.

You'll read things like how Mr. E and I met (over a blind phone date) and how we knew we were going to get married within a month (and only two months before he left for his LDS mission to Kentucky). How we've been married for two years and together for five and a half and I've never found anyone as perfectly imperfect as my husband.

Or things like my dissatisfaction with the career choices I made in college (microbiology degree) and my penchant for sewing and crocheting and cross-stitching and painting. That all of these things- both the artistic and the logical- make me who I am though I have yet to find that balance.

I told you how scared I was to move to LA, but after a two month (and finally successful) job search, I've spent enough time navigating the sights and sounds of the city that I realized I will love this city. Eventually.

I'll tell you things like how our weekend was or will be, and why things make me feel the way I feel. That I'm broken and confused but uplifted and set straight, sometimes all in the same day, and that I am exactly where I need to be right now. That there are seasons in my life that made me cry and get angry, but there's always sunshine after the storm and these things don't last forever and as much as I love the person I am now it wasn't always that way and I still have a ways to go.

I'm the kind of girl who wears capris without shaving her legs and can sometimes go two days without washing my hair because it's always in a bun. I can't hang a picture nice enough for my husband but I can bake a mean pie. I lose chapstick and I break sunglasses so I never buy the expensive kind. I will challenge anyone to a Wii Just Dance-off but mostly I just want to spend my day reading a really good book.

This blog is my story. My true story.

Don't be afraid to share yours.

That Time I Was Almost A Receptionist (Again)

Job searching is something I'm very good at. That doesn't mean I get all of the jobs, it just means that my internet-scouring skills are put to good use (finally).

I've been tip-toe-ing around with a company; phone-tagging and emailing back and forth. I thought there was something, but then they'd wait a week before responding and I would beat myself up about hoping and apply to more jobs that I didn't want. Then they'd reach out with something vague and insubstantial (1 of 4 phone interviews, anyone?) and I'd find confidence in the very tips of my fingers and then...nothing for another week.

It drove me batty.

Literally insane.

I wanted to get out of this house. I didn't want to spend money.
I wanted to be doing something productive with my day. I wasn't getting any calls back.
I wanted a job in my field. I wanted money to pay bills more than that.

I think we hit the point where Mr. E was afraid to come home because of my dark abysmal moods. What was wrong with me? Why wasn't I hearing from anyone? Was I over-qualified? Under-qualified? I was willing to work at Michael's. At Starbucks. Just give me a freaking shift and I'll blow you away with my work ethic.

So when after all of the final interviews with this company, I still hadn't heard from them- despite a sweetly worded email inquiry- it was time to move forward. Right? Craigslist, of all places, came through for me: a receptionist/ sterilization technician position at a local orthodontics office.

This I could do. Would I enjoy it? Sure. Would it be fulfilling? Probably not. It was part-time and it was minimum wage and would not cover ANYTHING, but it was a job. So I applied. And I interviewed. And I tested and I passed and they wanted me to work a few hours in a "working interview" which really meant they were training me.

Mr. E was ecstatic. Heck, I was ecstatic. After researching the price of scrubs and setting my alarm clock for the first time in two months, I went to bed a happy woman. And then I sat there a very very stressed woman because this was not enough. I knew it, but it was all I had and you have to build on something.

But when it rains, it pours and three hours into training I got the call that I got the job. The first job, the coveted job. The job that pays more than twice as much as minimum wage and is full-time to boot. The job that is fulfilling and productive and no where near anyone's braces.

That's how this sweet people-pleaser turned from her phone to her almost-co-workers and let them know quite decidedly that this was not going to work out but thanks so much for the training and the coffee.

I Need Help

This hasn't been the best month for me- and that's hard for me to say. I'm a mover and shaker; I make things happen; I pull up my big-girl panties and get to work and I really really don't like to listen to pity parties, but I seem to be throwing myself the biggest one ever.

Moving has been such a blessing for us. I was so scared to uproot ourselves and change our lives by moving to the city. I planned and postulated, trying to prepare myself for each possible pitfall. We scoped out neighborhoods months before we actually needed to move, just so I could see what Burbank was like. I had doubts even when we were signing the lease, but as soon as we stepped outside and saw the rain haphazardly misting around us, I knew it was the right decision.

Rain, in the summer, in Los Angeles. It was my sign.

And when the car broke down on Mr. E's first day at work- a job where he would be required to drive all over God's green earth- I had my doubts again.  We didn't have the money to fix our clunker and we didn't have the money for a new car. I was already beside myself preparing for our move by myself- packing and storing and donating and organizing while Mr. E was away. I thought for sure this was the straw to break my back. Mr. E and his brothers and his father came through- researching deals and plans and before I knew it, we were being handed keys to a new car.

That's when the rain started falling to calm my heart.

I've sat in this house for a month now, unpacking and organizing and re-assessing. Sure, our stuff is technically in three places at once, and we fit now despite the doubts. It's cozy and welcoming, just the way I wanted it. I split my days in half: the first half on the computer looking for jobs and the second is cleaning and sorting while I play catch-up on TV shows Mr. E would never watch with me. I have all the time in the world and yet I feel like I have no time at all because I should be working working working and all I'm really doing is sitting like a bump on a log. I'm productive but not productive enough. I need help to see past this season of waiting, this period of uncertainty.

Waiting is not my strong suit.

Color Me Happy

I can divide the years of my life into colors.

When I was young, before any siblings, my color was shadow gray. Dark corners and cloudy skies, hallways and bedrooms and closets with very little light. My memories are unfinished and rough around the edges, like I'm straining to see too hard inside my head.

Then my brother and sisters came and we were all color-coded. Those were my purple years- down jackets and Easter baskets and lidded cups at grandma's house. Everything was some shade of violet or lavender or plum. I'm not sure if I ever truly liked purple or if I just stuck to my guns- a slip up of some sort that I was too embarrassed to correct. I have always been conscious of pleasing others but my assumptions of what was right weren't always true to myself.

I stepped away from purple for black. I found eyeliner and Hot Topic, determined to fit myself into a mold I didn't understand. I assumed it had to be better than the boys and organized sports my blonde contemporaries enjoyed- neither of which I excelled at. I drifted in and out of degrees of black, trying to find myself. Instead I found others, bruised and damaged and alone. Black was transitional.

I hoped that high school was teal blue- the sort your girlfriends paint on your toes or the color of your favorite sweatshirt. It's the color that people notice you in and the one you wish your eyes were. In reality I was surrounded by brown. My hair, my eyes, my school colors, the scrub brush that surrounded our little island in the hills. I couldn't run away from brown but I sure tried- as evidenced by my bleached blonde bangs at 14.

College was yellow. Bright, vibrant, cheery. I thought if I projected a happy color on my surroundings then the anxiety I felt at not fitting in would be easier to forget. It worked after a fashion. Mr. E's house had butter walls and I let everyone know my future kitchen would be decorated in sunshine hues. And it is.

2011 was green. The color of new beginnings and growth and luck and our wedding. It's my little brother's favorite color and was represented in varying shades by all of my new extended family. It's the color of leaves through the windows and forever hills during road trips but most of all it's the color of Mr. E's bright eyes as we said "I do".

Last year was tangerine orange. A color to strike all other colors down. One that shouts and declares and uses exclamation points, dammit!, but it has a softer sherbert-y side too. The color of our first kitchen as a married couple and my favorite necklace. A color with moods and attitudes as changeable as I am.

Now?

Now we're blue. Blue blends in, it stands back. It's neutral enough to mix and match and feel our way to exactly what we want to be or do or say in our new lives. Blue is accepting and comforting and unassuming.
Blue is my springboard.
Blue is my gateway.
Blue is my starting point.

Instructions on How to Move

Now that I'm all unpacked (say whaaaaat?), here are my tips. From a self-proclaimed pro with too much time on my hands.

Moving isn't easy, whether it's down the street or across the state (or country), but there are some pretty simple rules to follow to keep the stress levels down at a manageable level. Think "Eat my Feelings" vs. "Pull my Hair Out"

1. Move alone
That's right, first rule of thumb is move by yourself. In fact, the more selfish you can keep this act, the better. Not only do you know where everything is, but you KNOW EXACTLY WHERE EVERYTHING IS. Who needs a detailed box-by-box list of what is packed where? Only you can be blamed for breaking that family-heirloom deviled egg platter you've never used.

The best way to do this is to make sure that your significant other is working 60+ hours a week, driving an hour to and from work so that he (or she) is really tired when they get home. That way you're both so exhausted from working (you're packing and they're job-ing) that the SO physically can't help. At least that's what he said.

2. Wait until the last second to paint
Come on. You've been staring at those walls for weeks now, knowing that they need to get done, but nothing burns the fire under your butt like working on a deadline. Put all of those procrastination skills to use so that by the end of your six-coat work out, you're STILL able to see the blue glow on the wall- and it's not the reflection from your smelly tarp/dropcloth either.

3. Make sure you watch the entire season of something
 It doesn't matter what it is. Anything. You need something on in the background while you "pack"- by yourself. So dig deep and watch that show that you've never seen all the way through. My personal favorite was Charmed- good grief those ladies can't act.

4. Move on a weekday
Tetris-skills can be used in everyday life, folks! So when your current landlord has a fumigation appointment on the first but you can't hire a truck or corral people to help out until the third, that's when you've got to get puzzle-solvin' smart. Figure out which of your things are the most important and pack your new car with those things.
The rest can sit out in the fumigated garage.
That has an unlocked half door entry visible to the street.
Awesome.

5. Lose your momentum
No, really. Lose it. Lose it like your middle school diary. Lose it like that first pound of the new diet. Lose it like your cookies on a roller coaster. Because there's nothing better than wallowing in the middle of a paint-scented room, knowing that the carpet needs cleaning, the clothes need to be packed and all of your foodstuffs need to be mobile in 36 hours. That's the best feeling in the world.

FYI, someone needs to come up with that sarcastica font, ASAP.

Guys, I'm Geeking Out Over Here

Things I found on the web this week that I wanted to share with you?

This man's art (Kevin Van Aelst):

via

This video that sheds a little light on an issue I have internalized forever. Yay for geeks and nerds alike!

The most amazing crossover I've ever seen. This is saying something because I could look at Disney princesses as Avatars/Sailor Moon & Co/steampunk/etc all. freaking. day.

via

Finally, if anyone wanted to know what to get me for my birthday or for Christmas or just cuz it's a TUESDAY, please get me this. I will pay you in hugs. 

Some Things Stay the Same

I'm not really sure where I stand in terms of where I belong on the map. I don't feel like I can claim San Diego as my "hometown", but it's the city (and suburbs) that I'm the most familiar: the malls I camped out at for Black Friday, the freeways I learned to drive on, the hills and the beaches I loved. I wasn't a big city explorer and most days I'm still not. Downtown San Diego gave me the heebie-jeebies (that's a technical term) and it hasn't gotten better from there.

Moving to Burbank was a big jump for me. I've lived my whole life on military bases, in military housing, or in suburbs- right next to police stations and I used to walk everywhere because I felt safe enough to do so. The prospect of moving downtown somewhere was terrifying- what if I get mugged? What if I get jumped? What if I get held up or held down or run over?

And then we actually moved.

And it wasn't so bad. Yes, there are alleys everywhere and sometimes you hear arguments in the underground parking garages or catch shadowed individuals in the alley extinguishing a smoke, but there are humongous trees lining the streets and beautiful architecture and the constant bustle of people just sidewalks away.

I'm still learning to like the city. Every so often I find something that lessens the worry that much more: a new route to walk Ripley reveals a gorgeous church. A new restaurant. A library.

There is literally nothing more relaxing than to walk inside of a library. I'm the kind of girl who will walk out of the building with a kink in my neck and a purse weighed down with musty hardbacks. There were definitely points in my college career when I would climb to the 7th floor (popular fiction) and just. sit. All of the anxiety and the worry and the stress stopped at the door.

That's actually Mr. E and myself there...

I haven't changed one bit. The anxiety and cabin fever from sitting at home and applying for jobs was too much today but as soon as I walked through those sliding doors and into the air conditioning the world was alright again.

The smell was the same: dry and slightly musty. Of the bottom of backpacks and the first turned page.
The lighting was the same: overhead fluorescents reflecting off of plastic jacketed books.
The sound was the same: rustling pants, clacking keyboards and a tense murmur anticipating the accompanying shush.

After signing up and checking out, I walked home with a new outlook on the neighborhood: the library is only 7 minutes away by foot. Perfect.

Going On

Heyyyy. I thought maybe the best way to address this was head-on.

I'm working on finding my angle. My niche for this blog. Who I'm writing to, what I'm writing about and how I want to say it. Originally this was an update for those friends and family we should call more often (you know who you are)- sort of a "what we're doing" kind of thing. But since Mr. E was still in school there was a lot of "Brie's craft time" instead. Which is totally viable and awesome.

Except now that a) we've moved and b) we both have real jobs, there just isn't a whole lot of space or time to do craft projects and baking and sewing and pictures and posting all in one weekend. I'm not that put-together and that's okay.

Now that we're firmly ensconced in Burbank, LA is only a hop skip and jump away from home. There are endless possibilities of things to do around here: restaurants to try, graffiti to see, parks to explore, museums and concerts and movie screenings. The way we see it, we're only young once, but we're broke almost always. And therein lies the rub.

So keep reading! Because this blog will still be all about us! I will regale you with stories of our life- working in the industry, learning to love LA (which I currently don't but may be susceptible to at some point) and all the wacky ins and outs of our hobbies, our interests, and our dog. If you want to know what a grip is, how I created a duvet cover out of sheets, how Mr. E's personal films are being made or what new recipe I'm trying, then it's here.

It's all here.

And I want to share it with you.

Also I updated my About Me page...and now it's as complicated as I always wanted it to be.

Free Movie...with Stipulations

I embraced a uniquely LA experience yesterday.

No, I haven't gone on the two hour star tour. (Is it two hours? I don't even know)

But I will.

I went to a test screening for a movie that hasn't been released yet. Post-production. Unfinished.

I can't tell you who was in it (really good actors) and I can't tell you what it was about (dramatic) or what the title was (it had an awful fake title anyways). I signed away all of my rights to do that in exchange for a free movie ticket and a gift card. So, frankly, I think I'm getting a pretty good deal.

A group of us went to see Elysium the other day at our local movie theater--did we mention we can walk there? There's sort of a small food court and some sidewalk performers looking for change. Movies are king, though, and a Saturday night calls people like bacon at breakfast. Standing in the middle of the throng is a guy hawking colored half slips of paper yelling "Free movie! Free movie for two!" at the top of his lungs.

So of course the vultures descend. We're not that far from graduation and you just don't pass up free ANYTHING. The slip has the working title of the film (the fake title), the actors, a brief synopsis and a whole lot of legalese.

Rule number one, you don't talk about free movies.
Rule number two, you don't TALK about free movies.

The deal: RSVP and show up early. They'll corral you into a huge line and pass out waiver forms and information sheets. If you meet the criteria they might contact you again for focus groups; if you don't then thanks for playing and here's the movie.

Talking to some of the other people in line they said that they get to see all sorts of movies this way- before and after final cuts of the movie. Sometimes the CGI isn't completely finished or the sound is off or the colors are too dark, but they let you know it's a work in progress and they're really just trying to gauge the success of the movie overall.

The papers we signed wanted our complete silence on the film, our personal information and our first born child. There were no cell phones or cameras allowed in the theater- they waved the metal detector wand over your limbs and checked your bags at the door.

Completely by accident we ended up sitting in the VIP row right next to the director. The manager of the theater came by to give a little speech and the movie started. No previews, no infographics, no associated studios or sound effects teams, just film.

Fast forward two hours and they hand out a two-sided survey asking what you liked and didn't like about the movie: were there specific parts you enjoyed? Hated? Were you there for the actors or the genre? Did you think it was overacted? Was the pacing well thought-out? Etc, etc. We handed in the finished surveys and received a gift card to the theater for our troubles.

I think the secrecy about the movie added to the overall ambiance of the experience and really made you feel like you were one of "them": a movie-goer in the city where movies are made. Not bad for a Wednesday night...not bad at all.

Pre-Interview, Interview

Confession: I hate driving new places. I get some serious anxiety- my body shakes, I cry, sometimes I shout to myself. In fact, most times I shout to myself.

It's really not pretty.

Not actually where I was, but I drove by it enough times trying to find parking. via

Case in point, my job interview today- went fantastic for anyone who was wondering. But I broke the cardinal rule of interviews...

I was 45 minutes late.

Now, for someone who absolutely detests when others are late- this was a big deal. My entire moral system was crumbling. How can I show these people that I'm dependable? How do they know that they can rely on me? How will I get this job in the face of all these other applicants who are most likely ON TIME? How will we pay our bills? On and on and on.

It certainly doesn't help that the CD Mr. E put in the car to pump me up for the interview is a soundtrack- complete with suspenseful music, tracks 7-10. It doesn't help that I'm fairly sure this part of LA was birthed into this world grimy and run-down. The one way streets? The aggressive drivers? The sights and sounds of downtown? The creaking in the backseat I'm know is just junk left over from the move but sounds like my car is breaking down?

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Of course I called ahead. Of course I had my GPS with me. And this was the only thing I had on the agenda today- so I was free as a bird to cower in my little apartment with the dog as soon as it was over. Which is basically what I'm doing.

Why, oh why, did an introvert and directionally-challenged individual like myself move to LA county?

For love.

Stupid, stupid, love.

We're Alive. Barely.

Okay, more than barely, but it felt a little touch and go in the last week.

Mr. E has been busy as a bee, commuting from Orange to Burbank (85+ miles/day on our new car!) and dreading every minute. But he loves his job and he loves the people he works with, so he was happy to make the sacrifice. I've never seen him as confident and easy-going as he is now that he's in a real job.

I had three days to pack/clean the three bedroom house and boy let me tell you. My fingers felt like they were permanently twisted around a mop handle, my spine ached from carrying everything out into the garage and I never want to paint again. Ever. Please, someone hold me to this.

Thankfully all those years wasting time playing Tetris have paid off. Who said you wouldn't use video game skills in real life? I had moved all of our boxes and some furniture into the living room (unused once we moved the TV to the air conditioning) but later realized that because the first falls in the middle of the week, we couldn't actually MOVE our stuff until Saturday. Aaaand the landlord was fumigating. So it became a mad rush to move all of our things into the garage (to wait out the tenting) as well as eat ALL OF THE FOOD because we didn't have a fridge in the new place.

Spoiler alert: we made it. We're still throwing away most of our refrigerated food but you can't have everything.

And the apartment! We moved from a three-bedroom house (though we only used two bedrooms) down to a one bedroom apartment. Personally, I'm excited for the change. Mr. E and I love the location, the rooms are spacious and we're right next to downtown Burbank. Ripley? Not so much. She paced the apartment for 16 hours yesterday without stop- no sleeping, no resting. When we couldn't take it anymore we took her to the car in the hopes she would settle.

Here's the apartment (with some lovely photobombing). Can't wait to move in and decorate!

THE BEDROOM

THE HALLWAY

THE MOST AMAZING BATHROOM

FROM THE FRONT DOOR

THE DINING AREA

WE'RE COMING UP ON THE KITCHEN NOW

OH LOOK. THERE IT IS. FRIDGE-LESS.

VIEW OF KITCHEN IF YOU WERE A CREEPER

VIEW FROM THE DINING AREA

OUR ENTERTAINMENT WALL

Pack Pack Pack

This week was busy. Busy. Busy. Busy.The big news? Mr. E has his first job as a college grad! 

I want to do cartwheels and back flips but I'll just settle for raising my cup (of coffee) because I've been packing and cleaning the house in preparation for moving, so my energy is zilch. He's working as an Office Production Assistant on the new Zach Braff movie "Wish I Was Here". Such a good jump for his resume because it's very well-known and looked-forward-to in the industry. Here's the Kickstarter webpage; it has a very well-written concise explanation of exactly what making a movie means, what it costs and how you get all of those kittens herded into the bathtub while rolling it down a street in New Orleans made to look like LA. 

This means that Mr. E left the house before I did this morning- SO. WEIRD. We've been operating within our norm for quite some time now and this has kind of shaken things up. New sleeping schedules, I can't ask him to take food out to thaw for dinner, the dog's at home all day...Very strange.

Missing her morning snuggle buddy

I have two weeks left at my job and after that I'm floating free. Casting my net wide, here, applying to anything and everything I can get my hands on, hoping that the more resumes I send out, the sooner I'll get a bite. As great as it is that Mr. E's working, it's still project-based, meaning that he's working on this project which has a run time of approximately 9 weeks, and after that he's looking again. Which is how you do it apparently- constantly networking and keeping an eye on the date of "un-employment". Ugh. It creates a very stressful working situation, but we are so lucky to have two working adults: it makes things bearable! I can't imagine having to jump into the industry by yourself.

We're still looking for an apartment after a few hits (and misses). It's tough to find our price-range or our size, so we're jumping at every opportunity. Almost signed papers for a two bedroom in Burbank (PERFECT?) but stopped at the last minute because really the kitchen was so. small. And since I don't have a reliable job-lead yet it just seemed a little premature. But those days are ticking away!


Just to keep things interesting, Mr. E and I took a trip to see how the other side lived: visiting friends in their new loft apartment in the fabric district of Los Angeles. It's not just in the movies, people. They've converted a loft apartment into a four bedroom bachelor/bachelorette pad with a STUNNING view of the city. We fell into over-sized off-color couches and scoffed authentic LA Mexican food while watching the sun dip behind the twinkling skyline through giant industrial windows. Not only is it refreshing to catch up, but it's reaffirming to know that there are other people that are going through the exact issues that we are. We're not alone!

So while our energy is sparse and our attention spans are filled with budgets and job applications, we are still SO excited to be moving on. We need to stop fighting the change because come August this will all be over.

In the Words of Mr. E: For Brie

Mr. E shows his head! His agreement to post once a week didn't quite come through, but his voice is still heard. These are his words: mostly true, sometimes made-up, always awesome.

So this week I thought I’d set aside 5 minutes and write for myself for once. But I’m not sticking to the theme because I already have something I want to write about.

I tell her all the time, probably 6 or 5 times a day, but I only tell her because it’s true: My wife is awesome.

It’s always a sobering reminder when I open up her blog to catch up on her posts (at least the ones I haven’t already proof read) and I see how much she writes about me. First of all, I don’t think I’m actually as cool and talented as she thinks I am, but the way she supports me makes me want to be the man she sees me as. I’m not sure what I did to deserve such utter devotion and support from such a wonderful woman.

Umm… that was already five minutes? I still have more to say… does anyone else cheat on these things?

I guess I’ll just sum it up. What I am trying to say is that I constantly strive to love my wife the way she loves me. There’s nobody I’d rather go through this crazy life with. I want to thank her publicly for being my best friend, my lover, and the one thing I can always depend on.

Love,

Mr. E.

LOVED This Weekend

This weekend was all about re-charging. We spent the majority of Friday stuck in traffic navigating our way down to a dance recital for our neices. I never expect traffic in San Diego County, especially now that we've been to LA and back a few times, so when we get hit with a 20mph crawl along the 5 I am beyond annoyed. But the girls were adorable and danced beautifully (no stage fright this year!). We love supporting them and their interests.

Upon coming home Mr. E and I worked to put the house in order. I personally feel that whenever the world has become too much or too stressful, the first order of business is always to clean house. If I can right the wrongs of my toothpaste-stained mirror and clean the cobwebs from the corners of the house, by doing so I create firmer ground to stand on and face the rest of my life. 

I feel much better facing dinner inquiries if my sink is empty and my counters are wiped- otherwise I'm constantly reminded of all the things I'm behind in, pile after pile shouting my name. Laundry from last weekend! Mop the footprints from the floor! Vacuum the carpet full of dog hair! 

Once done I feel justified in taking a nap- or two- and watching movies or playing video games with Mr. E because we don't want to think about anything else. Finishing a level or two on Mario Galaxy sure doesn't hurt, either.

We broke our self-imposed hibernation to meet up with Mr. E's friend growing up at a Korean BBQ place in Tustin. All you can eat and highly recommended for two grown men.

Please let there be fantastic sunsets in Burbank through all of the smog of LA!

Toughening Up

It wasn't that long ago that I was running exhausting games of tag, tumbling through grassy fields that stained  my toes and swaying to and fro on exhausted tire swings. I left the worries to someone older and wiser than myself, content and carefree. Then I grew up.

While the time may have come for me to put aside my childhood activities, it doesn't mean that I can't backpedal every once in a while for the sake of my sanity.

I ate pie today. For breakfast. For the third day in a row.

I gave piggyback rides and watched cartoons and sucked on cotton candy and played with Legos this week.

Stressful situations in our house are like colds- someone has it and the next thing you know EVERYONE has it. We're all snuggling into couches clutching our heads and drowning ourselves in water and Throat Coat.

It's easy to wallow. It's so easy to sit back and complain and throw out all the wrongs and the mistakes and the don't-feel-like-its. We carry a lot of weight on our shoulders- the expectations and obligations tugging us all different directions. There are some days when all we'd like to do is lay prostrate on the couch, allowing Netflix to touch our very souls and imbibe way more (homemade!) pizza than is normal for two graduated not-so-newlyweds.

Every inch of me is screaming for more sleep, more coffee, more time, and I'm carving out the moments I need to stay sane. This week those moments have been full of abandon, unrestrained or downright childish. I baked apple pie and ate it with apple pie goat cheese. Mr. E and I saw Monster's University, only to come home and disassemble his extensive Lego sets in our first step towards packing. 

I have been so preoccupied with the never-ending things that I need to do I haven't focused on the things I've accomplished. 

It's okay the dishes have circled that poor sink for the last two weeks. The bed was made today. It's okay our towels and swimsuits were thrown into a ball on top of the washer. We were below budget for our grocery trip this month. It's all a give and take, Mr. E and myself crafting our home and our lives, weaving an enclosure to shut out the harshness of the world.

We're stressed but we're working on it. We're feeling heavy with the weight of to-do lists and appointments but it's the beach days and the surprise parties and the movie nights that pull us together. Sometimes we just have to get in touch with our inner child and put all of those adult problems on pause, to play with the puppy and enjoy hot dogs from the grill, dance parties after a long day and stuffing ourselves with spiked smoothies. Before long this too shall pass and we'll be longing for when days were this easy.

Date Night- For Free.

Sometimes...you just need to get out of the house. You can't look at the sink one more time. You can't watch another episode of Arrested Development. Your dog is running figure-eights around the coffee table for no apparent reason. So you decide it's date night.

First stop? The dog park. There is a small enclosed space for little dogs that we take Ripley to, but we've decided she's a teensy bit racist. She doesn't play with other dogs unless they're terriers or a terrier mix. Fact. (Also, we learned that Ripley EATS PUZZLE PIECES.)

After dropping Rips back home, we cooked up a batch of crack chocolate popcorn. If you have ever been to Downtown Disney, you know why this is a necessity. That wily park and associated shops and stores pump yummy smelling aromas into the air...they make you crave candy corn balls and cinnamon buns and beignets by the dozen. We take our own candy to avoid being swindled. Most of the time it works.

Always always always our first stop is the Lego Store. Mr. E has a bit of a fascination with Legos and they've been really innovative recently- setting up stations to make your own figures, hosting vehicle-building-and-racing contests and kicking out movie-themed kits. We never fail to enter that store when it's insanely busy and the employees are always sooo nice. 

Our favorite pasttime is staking out the left most corner of the store where they display their MiniFigures- small Lego people that come sealed in a plastic bag. The only way to determine which figure you're buying (there are 15 different themed people to each series) is to use x-ray vision tactile perception. We sit and feel around the bags with our fingers, guessing at hats and hair and handheld props. Is that a wrench? Or a tomahawk? We scored a merman who sits proudly at my work desk as a reminder of my Triton spirit!

Downtown Disney isn't that large- and most of it is restaurants, which we avoid- but it's a nice stroll, especially since we've eliminated the stress of being at the park all day. We head through the Disney store for our fix of kiddie things, then wander back and people watch, hand in hand, enjoying the sights and sounds and fireworks. We usually find the time to stop by the confection shop because CARAMEL APPLES, that's why. And also, all things Monsters Inc. 

We tired the dog out, walked our little feetsies off, made friends and chowed on (free! homemade!) popcorn. Date night over and out.