Horse Sense

So...I bought a horse last week.

Because what better way is there to plan for a potential pregnancy than to go out and purchase a horse...that needs significant training and 5+ days per week of serious riding?

Because what better way is there to manage the introdution of a significant truck payment to your monthly budget than to go out and purchase a horse...that needs daily food, monthly board, and a pretty new saddle (with matching bridle)?

Because what better way is there to plan for future expenses than to go out and purhase a horse...that will likely run up a $4,000 vet bill in the coming year after he sticks his head through the fence, gets stuck, freaks out, and causes great harm to his body attempting to free himself from this "horse-eating monster" that has him in a headlock?

So I agree - to the layman, it looks like this was a poorly thought-out choice.

But here's the thing: I DID think about this decision.

I thought about it A LOT.

I thought about it over days and nights for weeks. I thought about a potential pregnancy and the looming new truck payments and the remarkable ability that horses have to step on a rock and suddenly need thousands of dollars of vet treatments and chiropractic work. I thought about the money that we would spend on this animal...money that could be potentially saved...that would add up to tens of thousands of dollars over the next 10 to 15 years. I thought about the commitment that this horse would require; the potential that he could become unrideable but would continue to need 10 (or more) years of care.

I thought about all of these things until I was wringing my hands and furrowing my brow and sighing so much that Brian thought I was developing a sort of daytime sleep apnea.

In the end, it was that whole "you could be hit by a car tomorrow crossing the street" thing that got me.

Much like planning for a family, there will never, EVER be a perfect time to buy a horse. There will always be things that the money SHOULD be going to...always other ways that you SHOULD be spending your time.

But I've gone 28 long years WANTING a horse and not getting one. This is not a temporary hobby or a fleeting passion. This is me. This is what I do. This is what I love, and it's never going to change.

So I bought a horse.

I've already spent more money on him than I've spent on the truck.

I've already spent more time with him than I've spent working this past week.

And you know what?

I couldn't be happier.

Welcome to the family, Mikey!

Immaculate Conception

You know you're having a weird day when you're sitting in a waiting room, reading Ok! magazine and waiting to be impregnated by somone...or something...other than your husband.

IUI stands for something rather technical that was pretty much developed for the purposes of barnyard animal reproduction.
Now, take that process, stick it in a doctor's office, add a white lab coat, some elevator music, one of those fun ob/gyn exam beds with the little foam-covered stirrups, and about $10,000 (more or less) in lab tests and copays, and you've got yourselves a baby-making party. Granted, your spouse isn't there, but guess what? You don't really need him for this part. His contribution to this little event took place approximately 60 minutes ago in a room down the hall. For now, you're just going to have to settle for an intimate momement between you, a catheter, and a very nice APN named Beth.

I don't like to talk much about my fertility woes. The whole process is highly embarassing and more than a little intrusive, both in the physical and emotional sense. But when you're spread-eagle in the stirrups and about to become (hopefully) impregnated while you chat with Beth about your weekend plans, sometimes....you just have to chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all.

Life is a funny thing. One minute you can be trying to make a baby the old fashioned way, and the next minute you're asking your old college roommate, who happend to stop by for dinner, if she will give you a shot in the ass because you're husband doesn't like needles and the doctor says it's time to ovulate.
I didn't ask for fertility issues. I've always eaten right, exercised, taken care of myself, all in the hopes that my body will repay me for doing everything that it's supposed to do for the next 80-some-odd years. But sometimes your body doesn't cooperate, and you're forced to make a choice:
Do I walk away from this, or do I submit myself to some very uncomfortable and humiliating means to get to a much desired end?

Clearly, I chose the latter. As a result, I've been poked, prodded, medicated, and tested. I've had more people in my hoo-hah in the past six months than I have in all of my years combined.

But you have to laugh, because what else can you do? Life sometimes sucks, and suddenly everything you imagined is tossed out the window and you're faced with the harsh, fluorescent-lit fact that the romance of this very moment is going to have to be limited to the saxaphone rendition of "Wind Beneath My Wings" playing on the sound system.

Some children are named after the places and situations in which they were concieved.
Maybe if we get I'll girl, I'll name her "Beth."
Hey, it'll raise a lot less eyebrows than "Exam Room 4," right?

Nobody Loves A Sad Clown

Okay, so my blog isn't funny anymore.
And I think I need to start being okay with that.

I know...I used to be funny.
I have the POTENTIAL to be funny.
But like the artist whose best work comes just before he descends into madness, my best work came when I was one "team status update meeting" away from shanking the nearest coworker with a home-made shiv fashioned from a paperclip, a 3-ring binder, and 10 post-it notes.

So now my life is full of creative outlets (and devoid of vapid coworkers) and there's not a sense of humor to be found.
I have a flexbile schedule, but no funny.
I have daytime TV privelages, but no funny.
I have horseback riding and painting and gardening and laundry (what? Laundry can be stimulating!)...but no funny.

So I considered shutting down the blog.
Afterall, funny was my M.O., and I'm pretty sure the majority of you weren't hanging out solely for the benefit of my self-esteem (although that would be nice and if you were? THANK YOU [and stop stalking me]).

But the thing is...
I still have opnions.

And now that I don't have coworkers, I have nobody to share these opinions with, save for the dogs (who don't understand English) and the crappy drivers who get the FIST OF RAGE when they cut me off on the road.

And yanno what? There is nothing worse than being full of opinions and having no one to share them with.
(except, maybe, being married to someone who is full of opinions and has no one to share them with)

So the blog stays.
But where it used to be about 75% funny and 25% completely inappropriate, it will now likely be comprised of 80% opinions, 10% funny, and perhaps 5% ethnic jokes, just to keep things real.

For clarification, here is a pie-chart that I developed when I traveled back in time to 1994 and hijacked some mysterious software known as Microsoft Paint:

'sallright?
'sallright.

Pretty

Just....
Amazing.

On Buddhism, Sponsored by Sauvignon Blanc

You guys
Oh, you guys.

This monograph I've been writing....these 6,000-ish words that needed to be put on proverbial "paper" by Friday?

OWNED.

Last night?
I was frantic, when I had only written 1,500 words in 7 hours of time.
This morning?
I was frantic, knowing that I had about 4,500 words left to write between now and Friday 5:00 pm (EST).
This afternoon?
After writing 4,000 words (give or take) in a scorching 4.5 hours, I had a glass of sauvignon blanc with my sister.
And then another glass.
(and maybe another after that...I dunno...I lost count).

Dudes.

A more needed respite from the constant onslaught of work, I couldn't imagine.

What did we talk about, while my sister and I sipped hot chocolate and (another) glass of sauvignon blanc, respectively?
To be honest, I can't quite remember, but it mostly encompassed Buddhism, which is interesting when you're sober, but absolutely fascinating when you're drunk.

For example....
If I am a worm, than I'm not me.
Which seems obvious to me, but try telling that to a Buddhist.

Also, I like cake, which Buddhism tells me is not so good.

It's not that I have any problems with Buddhism. Lord knows that I agree with the philosophy (if not the religion) of Buddhism moreso than Christianity and Hinduism or any other organized religious-type product out there.

But me?
I'm just neurons and synapses. If you crack me on the head, there's a good chance I won't be "me" anymore.
So to think that the essence of "me" could be transposed into a worm or a tree or any other living thing?

Ridiculous.
...or so says the sauvignon blanc.

Nirvana, they say, is achieved through a lifetime of meditation and study.
I say, give me a glass of wine and a piece of cheesecake, and I'll show you what true happiness looks like.

I guess it's all a matter of perspective.

World Enough and (no) Time

No.
No Tapdancing In The Dark for you.
Come back ONE YEAR.

Okay, maybe come back one week.

My life lately has been an endless cycle of get up, get dressed, sit down at the computer, go to bed, repeat.
The money? Is awesome (or will be, when my clients get around to paying me).
The sweat-shop work hours? Not so much.

Poor Milo...nobody plays with him anymore.
And Brian has had to pull twice his weight around the house, cleaning up after himself, me, and 4 very hairy animals who are prone to projectile vomit.
And now the cats don't like their new enclosed litter box, so they're peeing all over the towels I placed around it, which is really kind of defeating the purpose of having an enclosed litter box, isn't it?
So now my work-filled days are tinged with slight whiff of stale cat piss.

My life is magical.

Come back in a week. I SHOULD have some time to blog then.

...and maybe shower.

Trip Report: Slightly-Less-Ghetto Edition

So it would appear that I've managed to crawl out from under my mountain of work (read: I've stopped caring) long enough to give you guys a proper - if not slightly abbreviated - trip report.

Our backpacking expedition to Shenandoah National Park went quite well despite the fact that we were touting my sister and our dog, both of which are novices and one of which may or may not be retarded - I'll leave it to you to decide

(Kidding, Em)

Granted, there were a few rough patches.

Before we left, I had to remove my sister's knitting needles and yarn from her backpacking, carefully explaining why knitting is not considered vital to outdoor survival and therefore should be left at home, all the while trying (and failing) to smother my laughter. It was at that point when I also was forced to replace the white, fluffy, "angora-like" hat that she intended to bring along with a proper wool hat.

Opera singers...

And then there was that time in the woods when nature called and I had to explain to her how, exactly, to poop in the woods in an "eco-friendly" manner. While she was not so much impressed with my directions, I was immensely impressed with the fact that she pulled it off.

And it also turns out that Milo, when exhausted and totally out of his element, gets a bit snippy with other people and dogs when they pass by our campsite. Unlike the above converation with Emily, my explanation to Milo that we don't "own" the campsite and therefore are not entitled to bark at and/or get snarly with passers by was less successfully received.

Milo was also unable to carry his backpack for the majority of the journey due to the straps rubbing his armpits. Which meant that we (read: Brian) had to carry the excess weight. I'll tell you...A more useless dog I have yet to meet than our little Milo, god love 'em.

And then we have Brian.
Brian, who managed to carry nearly 80 lbs of gear over 14 miles without missing a beat, yet nearly broke his toe transitioning a rubbermaid container from the truck to our hotel room. It was impressive. Poor dude could barely walk for the remainder of our trip. Thankfully the X-ray was negative for a fracture, but it's still swollen, so whatever he did to it, he did it HARD.

There was also a thunderstorm while we were on top of a mountain.
And a lot of ticks.
And these horribly stingy plants that leave 5-minute welts on your skin every time you brush up against them.

But all of these things were little compared to the great views and great times that were had on the trail, compliments of two (well...three) awesome hiking companions and several liters of boxed wine.

Yes, we bring boxed wine with us when we're backpacking.
I mean, we're not animals....

Trip Report: Ghetto Style

Howdy y'all.

I came back from my trip to a mountain of freelance work that very well might be the death of me.
To find out how our opera-singing novice did in the backcountry of Shenandoah National Park, click here.
She'll tell you all about it.
And the part about her trying to bring her knitting along? Absolutely true.
(you can't make this stuff up, folks)

My recap will occur....eventually.
Until then, Stay Classy, San Diego