...and a page is turned

SO… I’m getting married in two days! For anyone offended that they’re not invited to the wedding, please don’t be. There is no wedding. Though we have had this planned for a while now, we have chosen not to do a traditional ceremony at this time. Jason and I are leaving tomorrow morning for California and getting married while we’re out there. Let me just say, I am beyond excited.

It took me a while to adjust to the idea of not having a normal wedding. I knew that I didn’t really want one, but I was also very conflicted at the idea of what consequences a private union might bring. Whose feelings may be hurt if I don’t have one? How would I tell all the people I want to tell? Would I still be seeing the shocked look on people’s faces 5 years from now because they never heard the news? Would I regret not having the chance to wear a white gown and be center stage?

The last question is not likely. If you don't know me well, let me just explain: when God created me, I'm pretty sure he had recently run out of a few of those vital traits that make girls girly. Here is an excerpt from my "List of Things I'd Love To Do"
.....
1497. Lick the underside of a toilet seat
1498. Swim in shark infested waters while wearing a scuba suit made entirely of raw beef
1499. Spend a year on a deserted island with only the companionship of an angry orangutan
1500. Dress up fancy and stand in front of a room full of people
.....

As for the other questions... after a lot of prayer, a lot of talking with family and friends, and a lot of aimless daydreaming I can honestly say I feel good. My family has responded with support and assurance that feelings are not hurt. This is our day, and should be done for us and no one else. My mom told me that the only guest we’re required to invite is God, and he has very much been present in every aspect of the relationship. So with that in mind, let me just say this:

WOOHOO!

We leave tomorrow and will be gone for about a week and a half. We found an apartment that we love and have spent the past week moving all of Jason’s stuff in. It’s been exhausting and stressful, but we finally finished today. After we return, I will have another month to move my stuff over. Those that know me well know that “my stuff” equates to about 2 boxes of belongings and a toothbrush, so I’m thinking a month should be plenty of time to make the move. Oh yeah, and 8 garden gnomes.

Perhaps this posting will address the other question of how and when I will tell everyone. Of the 7 people that have knowledge of this blog, 2 already heard the news. I guess that leaves 5 more people I can cross off the list. If you’re reading this, consider yourself among the privileged that are finding out before the fact :)

And with that, I’m off! Be back July 8th!

Restroom Etiquette 101

Ok, so I debated for a while about just how personal I should get when it comes to publicly blogging. With the following statement, I will take one giant step closer to exposing the true whims and passions of my heart…

I hate when people talk to me in public restrooms.

I use “hate” for lack of a stronger word. Other ones that may have worked include loathe, detest, and abhor. Now, I’m not too keen on public restrooms to begin with. Not so much for sanitation reasons, more for privacy reasons. I don’t like that people can see my feet while I’m in the stall (I also have a small phobia when it comes to my feet, but that is due a post of its own). I don’t like that most stalls are poorly assembled, leaving gaping cracks through which anyone can peer. I don’t know who would, but I’m sure some do. I don’t like that people can hear me pee. In fact, when I’m at a friend’s house using the restroom, I purposely run the sink to drown out the sound (I know that I am not alone in this).

-On a side note: I read somewhere once that in Japan they actually make these devices that women can take into the restroom with them that make various chirping sounds while you pee. The sole purpose is to hide the sound of the pee. I don’t remember where I read this, but I’m about 68% sure that I read it somewhere, and didn’t just dream about it. Either way though, I think this is a fantastic idea. I wonder if it would work if I just tried to make my own chirping sounds while I’m in there. I’ll have to try that.

Anyway, my main point is this… In a world where I am already so far beyond my comfort zone, please don’t try to converse with me. Please. I promise, I’m a personable person, and if you would just let me get outside the restroom, I would appear much less cold and much more eager to talk. I don’t even like talking at the sink when you’re both done peeing and washing your hands. There’s a weird echo, and usually the sound of 2-4 other peers in the background. God did not intend this environment for fostering relationships.

However, if all of the above words fall on deaf ears, and you take nothing else away from this, please take this…

It is never ok to talk through a stall wall. Under no circumstances. I don’t care what the topic or occasion may be. If you talk through the wall to me, I am not focusing on the conversation, I’m thinking about how awkward this is and how best I can end it quickly.

About an hour ago I went to the restroom at work and there was a woman in there talking on her cell phone while in the stall. This just brought a whole new slew of questions to me. Does the person on the other end of the phone know that they are in the stall with her? And if so, are they ok with it? I am literally dumbfounded.

Lessons of Weeza

I work in a call center as a customer service representative for a major credit card company. For the sake of complying with company policy, let’s just call it Weeza. On an average day, I make or receive 240-250 phone calls. This equates to approximately 57,600 interactions yearly, for a total of 115,200 people that I have conversed with in my short career here. I should add that I work the night shift, so about 75% of these exchanges are accompanied by a dangerously high level of alcohol (on the cardholders’ end, not mine). That being said, this will probably be the first of many posts pertaining to this particular facet of my life.

These are a few of the lessons that I have learned…

- Your card number can be found on the front of your card. It is embossed and generally shiny. It is bigger than any other number you will find on the card; there is no need to search the fine print on the back for it. It is not your name. There are no letters in it…if you see an “L”, you are holding your card upside down.

- If you find that you have lost your card, consider the following before permanently blocking it… Have you just maxed out your card at a series of bars and taverns in one night? If your answer is yes, wait for sobriety before blocking. There is a fantastic chance that you have failed to check both your left AND right pocket.

- If you are a man using your card in Las Vegas at locations that are, at best, morally questionable without your wife’s knowledge, make sure that your credit card’s fraud prevention line does not list her as primary contact.

- If you are a woman and your husband falls into the above category, make sure that his credit card’s fraud prevention line does list you as primary contact.

- If you are planning to travel to a remote third-world country by yourself, please please please do not depend on a 2x3 inch piece of plastic as your one and only life line. Please.

- If it is too late for you, and you are already guilty of the aforementioned blunder, please be kind to the poor representative to whose phone your call will be randomly routed. It is simply not their fault that you traveled to Yemen after depositing your entire life savings onto a pre-paid gift card that clearly stated in the terms and conditions “cannot be used outside the U.S.” Though I assure you that their sympathy is of the utmost sincerity.

- If your name is Pat, Erin, or Jamie and you have a strikingly manly voice, you have no right to take offense when someone erroneously calls you “Sir”. Please consider a name change. Promptly.

This is only 7 of roughly 115,200 lessons learned. However as I sit here tonight nearing the end of my shift, these are the ones that come to mind. My night would have been greatly improved if only the world had taken heed.

The Point of No Return

Well, I’ve finally done it. After much debate, pondering, and lost sleep, I have started a blog. Ok, so there was no lost sleep.

Five years ago I thought that MySpace and Facebook and online blogging were the silliest ideas fathomable. Then I joined Facebook (or what I refer to as 'the gateway drug'). I thus began my downward spiral into the world of Internet existence. MySpace promptly followed. I checked them before, after, and during class. My mood was soon directly dependent on whether or not I saw that little red “New Messages” link upon sign-in. “New Comments” were good for a brief high; the kind that lasts only a fleeting moment before leaving you feeling empty and desperate for more. The “New Messages” though, that’s where the real exhilaration was. Terms like “BFF” were replaced with simple numbers- #4... #6... It’s one thing to make my top 8, but if you’re on my top 4… wow, then you had truly made it. Suddenly I was amazing at remembering the birthdays of all my friends and acquaintances. Ok, I use the term “remembering” very generously… that little icon of a green man in a birthday hat sure saved my behind on more than one occasion. I continued to use, and use often, knowing all along that I was living contrary to what I had fervently believed only years before. But no matter how deeply I delved, I was always able to justify it by telling myself, “at least I don’t have a blog”….