Blah.

Sigh. I need this. And lots and lots of it. And It's only Wednesday.

We just found out Callie has a not-so-hot skin condition (she's treatable, but I still feel so bad for my little girl), I'm dreading seeing R's grandparents this weekend at a family wedding (the Northern ones, T) because I'm not gonna lie I'm not a big fan of them, R is stressed out at work that he's not going to have a job next year (not like he makes a crapload anyways, but still sucks), I'm still pissed at Men's Warehouse for screwing up R's tux (even though they fixed the problem-Thanks Mallory at the MW in SLO!), I hate that life requires money to participate in it, and working in customer service makes you hate people um, often.

Bring on the vino. Good thing we're visiting this place tomorrow, on the way to the wedding...I'll be bringing a straw and a 64 oz. big gulp cup.

(Fair) Foto Friday

Since you may have gathered from the last post, it has been 10 years since I graduated high school,which means its been 10 years since I first moved to San Diego. And that means its been 10 years without fried s'mores, being face to face with cows and goats, and 10 years without the infamous Zucchini Weenie. Shocking, I know. But alas, I finally made it to the fair before it closed, and had the perfect excuse-my too cute for words 3 year old neice. We had "totton tandy" and road the "little boats, not the big boat with the scary man." Somehow the only fried item we managed to have was a corn dog, but there are still 2 more $2 Tuesdays left...and once my dear husband hears about the chicken sandwhich between two Krispy Keme donuts? It's on.
So, enjoy a few scenes for the Del Mar fair...

10 years later...

I was sorting through our 8 ton pile of mail that we’ve accumulated in the past 4 months, figuring that it was finally time to sort through while I actually had the chance( because there’s no dog I have to chase after every.single.time.I.sort.through.the.mail.) Opening envelopes, sorting through the “Oh, crap, the balance just keeps getting higher” bills from the “How did our name get on that mailing list” junk mail. Placing them all in neat little piles that would make my dear organized husband tear up. There sat the cheap black and white printed invitation. Patiently still waiting for me to enclose a $70 check (or credit card number!), because our poor, poor all girls private school can’t afford to cover their astonishing alumni for a night of bragging and drinking (crap-I don’t even think liquor is included!). I have yet to fill it out and happily apply a stamp so it can be on its merry way.
So, yes, it’s finally here. The moment you’ve all been waiting for (or avoiding at all costs). Class of 1999-here’s your chance to say to the rest of the world (or 320 other former classmates that were your world at the time) “Here I am. I’ve made it. I got the ring, the arm candy, the job, the kid, the house, the wardrobe…aren’t you jealous of me now?”. By year 20, I assume we’re all over it and past that point, but I think at year 10, our class is starting to get a little nervous. In 5 weeks, my 10 year high school reunion will have come and gone.
Will I be going? Sure. Why not. If nothing more than to, and I quote my friend Lex in saying this, “Get drunk and talk shit about people.” Yes, I will be attending the infamous 10 year reunion. What? I got along with almost everyone in my class (well, the girls, I was a bit gun shy with the boys). I wasn’t a total geek, wasn’t the most popular. I just sort of blended in amongst the sea of Sue Mills and Jack Purcells. Heck, I was even on student council my junior year (only because I don’t think there was anyone running against me). I keep up with some of those from the infamous “college prep” school from time to time, mostly via Facebook or the gossip that still seems to come into our lives somehow. But am I nervous? Yes. Is it ironic that I just started Jillian’s 30 Day Shred last week? Probably not. Yes, my fat jeans were getting a little too snug, but honestly? I don’t want to be the current fattie I feel like now. I want to be hot. I want the guys from the across the street all boys school to say “Who is she and why didn’t I know her in high school?” I want the ONE guy that took interest in me in high school to say “Damn.” But really? Let’s be honest-I want the other girls to be jealous.
Am I starting to sweat a little bit? Wondering if I’m “good enough”? But WHY? Good enough for who? Sister Kathy? What has become of me? What happened to the “strong woman with good Catholic value” that my high school says it shaped. I mean, its in their mission statement! So, why do I feel that way? Why, after 10 years, does peer pressure and trying to be liked still affect us? I was happy in high school (with the exception of my junior year. That year was just pure awkward and can happliy be erased.) I had friends and even went to a few parties and hosted one legendary one. I was shy, but got along easily with everyone. And my life now? I’m happy. I have a wonderful husband, and a dog that is cuter than most. (Sorry, its true.) I’ve gotten a chance to do some amazing things these past 10 years and work for a company that people know when I tell them. So what the hell is my problem?
I guess you have to understand my high school. Every 6 months I get their “XXXXXletter” in the mail. What used to be an eight page black and white update is now a full on glossy magazine spread, complete with the bragging rights and the “who’s who” of the school. The last eight pages are now just sponsors alone, with the “Platnium”, “Gold” and “Silver” being the ones trying to pay off the school the most . Gag. My friend Lex, who’s a fan of drinking and gossiping and makes me wonder why I don’t talk to her more often, also said to another friend, both concerned of the impending doom that may be the reunion, “OH, you’re married! That’s like gold!” But is it? Is being married really the “sign” that you’ve “made it”? (OK, I’ve used “quotes” too often in this post.) This is coming from someone who is getting her PH freakin D to become an architect. Yes, I should be proud to show up to my high school reunion happy to have a college diploma to hang on my wall. (Oh, and a minor in German. You genius, you.) But that’s like saying I went through the McDonalds training program in comparison to some of the others. (No offense to anyone who actually did go through the McDonalds training program. I’m sure it’s a fine institution.) I’m going against people who are getting their PhD’s, and Post-Docs, and JD’s, and MBA’s and many other letters of the alphabet that cost a hell of a lot of money.

“Me? Oh, I went to (large state school in San Diego) and got a BA.”

“Oh, isn’t that…cute….So. great weather down there! So jealous! I’m just telling Kip here that we really should buy into that beach front vacation condo in LaJolla with last years quarterly bonus! Wink Wink, Kip!HA!”

No, I didn’t go to school with anyone named Kip or God forbid would marry anyone named Kip, nor did I go to school with anyone that was really THAT bad. Honestly, I look back and it was a good school and I made some great friends. But we did have our share of “Mean Girls”-we had the M.uffs. The WHO, you say? The M.uffs. (I'm trying to prevent a s.earch.) The over privileged rich kids from the east side of the 680 (south of Ygnacio) who’s hair was made of gold (or bleach), who’s clothes were better than yours, who’s skin was perfection and who partied more in one weekend than I probably did all of college and they never got caught. The girls who dated all the football players, and drove Jettas and Cherokees, and you just wanted them to so desperately know your name and possibly even like you. They didn’t have to wait until seniors year of high school to finally kiss a boy (I made up for that freshman year of college.) They didn’t struggle with hating their frizzy ugly hair and typical pock marked teenage face (I wasn’t lying when I said I went through an awkward phase). They were oh so perfect . Or, so I thought at the time. It wasn’t until after high school where I learned that no one is secure with themselves and I was shocked that I actually was. I still am. And ultimately many of those girls were rude, not the kind of person I probably even wanted to be friends with, and more than likely were never truly friends to each other at all. But still, I secretly go on Facebook and try to spy on them even now and again, hoping my life is better than theirs because I don’t think we really grow out of that phase, do we?
So, I look forward to seeing them next month, dressed to the nines (where did that come from anyways, shouldn’t it be the “tens”?), trying to read into their fake smiles and exaggerated hugs, wondering if they truly have known happiness. Yes, they may have married “The King of Walnut Creek” (I’d love to meet this so called “King of Walnut Creek. He looks creepy from pictures), or live in the largest home in San Ramon that money can buy. They may have the 20 diplomas to hang on their office-with-a-view wall, but me? I loved college. I lived in a dump in San Diego in the dorms, then in a dump in Germany in the dorms and had the time of my life. I have a job I like, a husband I love, a dog that makes me roll my eyes and melt my heart, and a past I am proud of. What more can you want?
Ok, back to my workout. Only 26 more days to go. C’mon Jillian. Work those (fl)abs.

Foto Friday

Looking at these pictures makes me want to be back up in the bay area, back up to my parents house. During the spring and summer, the landscaping, both planned and natural, are simply stunning. The oak trees, and hell, the fact that their are full green trees, make me giddy with excitement as its a scene so different than here in San Diego. The second picture was of their Rhododendrons and each set of blooms was about a foot across. Sadly, their gorgeous house on a unique piece of property is getting to be a bit much for 2 people who are never home, so over Memorial Day weekend, my mom was coming up with all kinds of crazy schemes to get R and I to move in someday so they could justify keeping it.

"I really think we could add a guest cottage off the living room"
"What about shortening the living room, and adding an elevator in the pantry so we don't have to walk up any flights of stairs."
"There is open land. Ron could still have his tractor, it would just have to be able to climb a 40 degree incline. He's OK with that, right?"

I love that my mom just pretends money grows on trees, as my dad just rolls his eyes. Anyways, enjoy my favorite shot of the Diablo foothills ala my new favorite photo editing site, Picnik.com (because I'm still too lazy to sit down and figure out one of the 2 Photoshops I have. Sigh.)

Backyard, spring 2009

Let the countdown begin...

I think the weather is testing me. For the past 2 weeks, San Diego has been nothing but clouds, partly sunny, and random intervals of thunder and hail (WTF?). Ok, yes, I know we have “June Gloom”, but out in BFE where I live (OK, it’s about 20 min. from the coast)-it’s always warm there. Like rip all your clothes off kind of warm. Not that R would mind that so much, but it might get a little awkward with the roomie. Like, miserable to sleep at night because you have to have it ice cold kind of warm. Lately? It’s been…nice. Pleasant. Cool. Oh, and people here? Their not a fan. I hear moaning and groaning all day at work “Uh, it’s a little chilly again today.” Wah. Really? I think its testing me to see if I can handle the great Pacific Northwest. I think most people would think I’m crazy to want to leave “such perfect weather. 74 and sunny year round. Can’t beat it. You’re so lucky! Why would anyone want to leave here?”. But I do.
Yes, it’s week 2 and we’re still pretty serious about this thing. It’s pretty much on our mind all day long….our nightly conversations usually include the “Guess what I found out about Portland today…” phrase.
It’s just crazy for me to think about. It’s like knowing you’re going to go on the most exciting vacation of your life, but have to wait a year to do it. All you can focus on is where that one place, and your mind sort of loses focus of where you currently are, because you just want to get going. Me, always the research nut when it comes to vacations and such, compares guide book to guide book, googles TripAdvisor.com, checks prices daily, researches articles, databases, and makes spreadsheet galore that for once make me seem organized. So, that’s what I’ve been doing lately. Except instead of beaches and tours, this research includes property prices and ad agencies or sports companies. Wait, did I just say we go on vacations that include beaches? Who am I kidding. We visit places that include pine trees and ice cold water. Anyways, back to the story. I’m excited, I’m nervous, part of me just wants to do it tomorrow, part of me wants to hold off for years. Oh, indecisive Erin.
These past 2 weeks have been quite a whirlwind here at Casa de la Wait(e)ing. Once the words flew out R’s mouth “We’re thinking about moving to Oregon and eventually starting an olive farm someday (ok, that part we’re still sort of debating about but halfway serious)…” to his parents, the wheels started turning and next thing you know, it’s full speed ahead. Like, we really think we’re going to do this. For reals. So scary, but so exciting.
You see, R’s parents have…well, R. They’re mostly retired and have lived a life where they’re experienced at picking themselves up and going wherever their heart tells them to go. They just needed to here “We’re thinking about moving…” and they are ready to call up the real estate agent and hit the road with a U-haul in tow. Honestly, I think that’s pretty awesome. I’m pretty lucky when it comes to the in-laws as I’ve heard horror stories. So yes, they might actually list their primo riverfront property at the worst time in the market in years, all because of us. I actually had to have a conversation with my mother-in-law the other day because she needed to make sure I was serious about this because she doesn’t like getting her hopes up. But no pressure, Erin, really. It’s just that the rest of our lives depends on a decision you casually talked about last weekend and haven’t really thought it through or hell, even really truly visited the place. But no pressure.
So also on my mind for the past 2 weeks is the fact that I might be living with my in-laws for a really really long time. R’s mom assured me we don’t have to live in the same house, but R keeps throwing our there that eventually he wants a big piece of property with room for 2 houses. One for us and one for them. I mean, I love them dearly and yes, I lucked out in the in-law department, but wow. A lot to take in.
So, R and his dad are heading out for a “road trip” this weekend, driving throughout the greater Portland area in the RV (with both dogs) for a week to check things out. I’m slightly, no, majorly jealous but can’t take the time off work, so I’ll be left to daydream and see updates from his beloved Iphone.
In the meantime, I’m starting to check important things out like, oh, jobs. In the state with the second highest unemployment rate…wait, what am I doing again?
Sigh…this is going to be quite an adventure. Stay tuned.

(Oh, and T-keep this on the downlow. I know how quickly word spreads around the K-town area if you know what I mean!)

Unknown

I founds this while drooling over Layla's site, as I do almost daily.
I think it's simply. perfect.

"Life is like photography...we use the negatives to develop" - unknown

Olives in our dreams...

It all started with a trip up to the Pottery Barn Outlet in Lake Elsinore. Next thing you know, we’re moving to Portland….OK, wait, I’ll back up.

Over the past few days, Tina’s comments from this post have really been in my head.

“Where do you want to be in 5 years? In 10 years?”

It was a great question. A simple question, but great and well, it bothered me because I didn’t know. Where did I want to be in 5 years? I just want to be happy, wine in hand. And near a Trader Joe’s. But as for really answering the question, I really was asking myself that and it bothered me that I wasn’t quite sure. I’m a person who always has a plan and this time I just didn’t know. Do I keep going in my current career path? I’m not even sure where that path is going, (especially after my little payroll incident. Note to self: don’t tell payroll how to do their job. Whoops.) I honestly, I just don’t see myself in San Diego 5 years from now, hell, even 3 years from now. I continuously ask myself the question of where I want to be years from now. Perhaps on board the baby train, hopefully R is on his way to becoming teacher of the year, and I’ll probably be in some cubicle doing…something. Don’t get me wrong-I’m one of the few people who really don’t mind the cubicle life. (Apparently the “Take Your Daughter to Work” days really paid off well for me!)
It’s apparent that I’m getting ants in my pants and last week spent a good portion of the week googling “Taking your dog to live with you in Italy” and “job openings at the Ansel Adams Gallery in Yosemite”. I learned 2 things: 1. It’s pretty much impossible to get a temporary job in Italy without a sponsor or student visa, but the good news is that dog’s don’t have to be quarantined for 4 months anymore. 2. If we want to work in Yosemite for a season, chances are we’d be placed as head BIFFY cleaner in Camp Curry or something along the same grounds, and really? Not the experience I was looking for. I even surfed the Americorp website, wondering if that was where our calling was. What does this tell me? I’m looking for something different, something inspiring, something…new.
This weekend, I think I got quite a bit closer to answering the “big question”.

So back to the story. Time after time I’ve driven right past lovely Lake Elsinore and drooled, got hot-flashes, and almost broke out in hives when I saw my favorite words put together: Pottery Barn OUTLET! PB and steals and deals? Sign me up! I mean, could it get much better? Yes, it could, when rumor had it that my other BFF Williams Sonoma was there, too! Oh, what a dream. So on a dreary, cleaning-the-house filled Saturday afternoon, I dragged my loving husband to the Pottery Barn Outlet, about 45 minutes away. Yes, he must be a loving husband if he volunteered his normally shopping hating self with me to a place dear to my heart.
Turns out it was kind of a dud, unless we wanted to cart home 40% off discontinued dresses, ugly vases, and sh*t that clearly didn’t sell even when reduced to 75% off closeouts.
So, not wanting to totally waste my time, R i-phoned it up and we located our favorite coffee chain only an exit away. While waiting for the best vanilla iced coffee one can have, we were broswing through the home section of the daily paper and tried to top each other with the unbelievable even for crappy Riverside County.

E: “O.M.G-$75,000 for a 2005 2/2 condo with granite countertops? Shut.Up.” (that was me.)

R: “120 thousand for a 4 bedroom house with a 2 car garage. Wow.”

R: “Yah, too bad you couldn’t pay me to live out here.”

E: “Oh, I know, think of how hot it must get in the summer…yuck. No Thanks.”

R: “Hey, you know what I’d like to do? What do you think about getting a loft-type condo in downtown Portland, and then keeping it as a rental unit and then moving out to a piece of property outside of Portland?”

E: “I’m in. Totally all for it. I’ve always wanted to live in a “downtown” kinda place and walk to dinner and farmers markets and…yah, I like the sound of that.”

R: “Really?”

E: “No, seriously. I think that sounds neat.”

End scene.

We grabbed our Coffee Bean and walked out. On the ride home, I decided to take a little detour to downtown Temecula. R has never been, and I remembered the cute main street that hosted the Temecula Olive Oil Company’s tasting room. I knew R, being on an “Can we grown some olive trees on our future property someday as a tribute to my Italian heritage” kick, would love it, so we stopped in.
We were then asked to take part in an olive oil tasting. R’s eyes lit up with excitement. In that 20 minute tasting, we actually learned a lot about olive oil and its different properties and characteristics. Who knew? It was similar to wine or coffee tasting except in little itty bitty baby cups. We were both intrigued and excited to know that is opening their 18 acre ranch to the public any day now.
We stocked up on our delicious olive oil that we totally didn’t need to by but it was so yummy and kicked my 3.49 Henry’s brand EVOO out of the park.
On our way out, we must have been high on the olive oil, as we then decided why have just a few olive trees on our property someday? I mean, we love wine and there’s nothing I love more than wine tasting but we both know that a winery is just out of the question. But why not have a whole olive grove and maybe someday make our own olive oil? Perhaps sell said olive oil? The gears started turning. However, we realized, if we actually wanted our own property to do this someday, it probably couldn’t be in outrageously overpriced California. So, Oregon it was. Do olive trees even grow in Oregon? We had no idea and didn’t care. Do we even know if we are capable of growing anything? This years first experiment proves...maybe. We'll certainly have cucumbers and peppers...tomatoes look a little iffy. Whatever. We were dreaming up the possibilities.

E: “We could call it (his mothers very Italian maiden name) Olive Company. A throwback to your proud Italian heritage, and my wannabe Italian heritage!”

I think that sold it right then and there. The (Italian last name) Olive Company. Sure, we have no money and loads of debt and R isn’t even finished with school, but it was…inspiring. Yes, our random stop to go olive oil tasting was inspiring. Perhaps life changing inspiring. They should feature us on their website.

As soon as we got home, we busted out our laptops (yes, we’re that nerdy sometimes) and started researching. So....olive trees, huh? We discovered that they can grow in Oregon, in just the right part of the state which happens to be somewhere where we’re we would want to live anyway. Ideal? No. Possible? Yes.

R: “I could finally get my tractor! We could have a barn as a tasting room!”

E: “Oh, I love it! I can finally have my dream barn (I think I was a pioneer woman in my past life, I have a thing for barns.) Oh, and we could sell to local stores and be at farmers markets! (also have a thing for farmers markets in case you haven’t noticed.)We could hold weddings there a few times a year and charge a fortune! Kidding-we won’t charge a fortune like everyone wanted to charge us for their rundown piece of crap.

We were dizzying ourselves with the ideas swirling around in our head. “Practical Us” said that of course we’d need real jobs in the meantime and this was a goal that maybe 5-10 years out, but were we really serious? Yes. More importantly, was I serious? Do I really believe this could happen? Bizarrely, yes.

Now, you have to understand something about my dear husband. He’s a dreamer (and not the only one.) He dreams big elaborate dreams and does believe that anything is possible. When we were first dating, this secretly bothered me, as he’d talk big and never follow through with the plans. However; the second time around? I realized that this was an important part of who he was, and half the time I just let him sound out his big idea and sort of nod my head and say “Sure, honey.” until the sense gets knocked into him and he comes back to reality. Me, being the practical half of the relationship, has a certain way of, oh, killing his dream time and time again and I put my “that’s just not reasonable” way of words into his plan. Yes, I’m his dreamkiller. Call me insensitive, but if I can’t put reason and logic into it, I can’t see it happening. Since the common theme of his big plans and dreams often involved the word “tractor”, I’m the Debbie Downer to his dreams of owning his beloved tractor (did I tell you my husband is a bit of a redneck farmer at heart. Part of why I love that man.) I can always think of a million excuses as to why it won’t work out and I often roll my eyes at his mention of his affection for green and gold. But this time? I really can envision it. Between the tasting room/boutique/ idea, the starting up our own side-maybe someday full time business, the thought of being able to live off the land (most of the time but certainly not all of the time), the chance for both R and I to incorporate our love of so many things, I can just see it happening. I can see a window of so many opportunities, which is so uncharacteristic of me.
The strange part? When we threw the idea out to R’s parents, they were on board and I think we’re both still shocked. If there is anyone who’s opinion I respect as much as my parents, it’s his parents’. I think R and his mom spent half the day calling each other on the phone. If anyone is more excited about this than us, it’s his parents. My parents on the other hand? Well, I think they think we’re joking.

There is still so much more to be worked out, so much more to explore, so much more to do to see if this is a plan that might possibly be put into action. People probably think we’re crazy. You’re probably sitting at your computer right now saying ,“You want to do what? Olives? Really? ” Maybe we are crazy. But I think I sort of need this crazy idea right now. I think this crazy is where I want to be 5 years from now, 10 years from now. This kind of crazy makes me so happy to think about and I know I’ll be daydreaming in the upcoming months.
Now I guess we better getting on board the baby train. R and I both agreed that we’re going to need a lot more than the average 2.14 kids…free labor? Love it. Small hands for olive picking? I’m so there.

So…know any job openings in the greater Portland area?

P.S. If you haven’t already seen it, go rent Night at the Museum. Then go see Night at the Museum 2. Pure genius.