Working downtown is never boring

Today someone peed on the garbage can outside the building, a crazy dude was dropping some awesome dances moves while listening to an ipod he probably stole and a campaign center for Ami Bera moved in downstairs. (the pee-soaked garbage can is right out their door! haha)

Even though our city is hardly large, it still has an energy. A level of crazy, mixed with a healthy balance of commerce and business. It makes me feel productive when I work down here, even though I get more work done at home. I'm sure chatting with coworkers has something to do with that, but I wouldn't have it any other way. It's nice to socialize after so many days at home alone talking to the dogs.

I also love working downtown because everything is within reach. Today I walked to the bank and then continued on to a farmer's market. I like that accessibility. It allows me to feel like I've exercised while walking back to the office with arms full of packages of freshly made flavored tortillas. This week's tortilla flavors: Tomato basil and Green Chili.

 Anyway, that's it.

The foster

After two months we finally found a family interested in our foster basset, Georgia. We've had a few previous bites from other people but each time they backed out either because they had time to think about their impulse or because they realized they didn't want a senior dog.

Well, we finally had a big bite from a young newlywed couple with no kids. They were specifically looking for a senior dog because they didn't want to worry with house breaking and a dog chewing up the house. My only concern was that they live in an apartment home complex (like town homes, each with its own little front and back porch and a grassy area outside the door) and I was afraid that Georgia's tendency to vocalize her loneliness would make things difficult for them since they both work full time during the day.

Regardless they were really excited to meet her and give it a shot. We dropped Georgia off at their home in beautiful Napa this past Saturday.

This is Georgia riding comfortable in the back of my parents car, on the way to her hopeful new home.

I got an email on Sunday letting me know that she had a great first night and weekend bonding with them. I knew they'd be hooked if they could just spend some time with her. But my biggest worry was the first week ahead.

I didn't hear anything until about noon today. A long email telling me that Georgia spent all of the first day in her crate crying while they were at work. A neighbor had come over to let them know (not complaining, just informing). They let Georgia have the living room yesterday and when she came home Georgia was quiet at least, but they haven't asked the neighbor yet if she cried all day again. This morning Georgia bolted out the door when they tried to leave for work and they had to chase her down. My guess is that she was making a mad dash to their car so as not to be left behind again.

Anyway, they've asked for an extension of their trial period, originally planned for a week. I've told them to take as much time as they need before making their final decision to adopt or not. I'm crossing every appendage I can that a sense of peace and comfort comes over Georgia and she settles into her new home.

She seems so happy with them. I want her to stay there. She'd be loved forever. They sent me these pictures and I'm hoping with everything I've got that it works out for everyone.

The gym

Thanks to my employer and her obsession with trade agreements, I have a free gym membership at Capital Athletic Club in downtown Sacramento. It is neither convenient for me nor technologically current, but it sure is comfortable. And it's free.

A lot of middle-aged men and suits work out here. A lot of old men work out here too. There is no music playing and there isn't a single exercise machine with a tv in it. There are two tiny televisions hanging from the ceiling that are muted with subtitles and tuned to CNN or CNBC. Basically, If you forget your ipod (or if the battery dies) you're screwed.

How to have my typical workout at the gym:

Step 1: Head to the nice, carpeted locker room to change and lock up belongings. Securely fasten Ipod ear buds into ears.

Step 2: Assess the crowd in the cardio studio. See that no treadmills are available so head to the second round of exercise, the elliptical cross-trainer thing.

Step 3a: 10 minutes into workout, glance over and notice that one occupant on the treadmill is reading a book while "exercising" and scowl. Step 3b: Weigh the consequences of asking her to vacate the machine so someone else can actually use it.

Step 4: Finish work out and get second wind with a lady gaga song choice. See there is a treadmill available and hop on it.

Step 5: Begin workout. During workout, try to run in a straight line so as not to fall off the treadmill.

Step 6. When an older man comes up and asks for the tv remote that you didn't know you had, give it to him. When he says that his wife wants him to watch Sheppard Smith because she thinks he's "hhhooootttttt," ignore him.

Step 7: Ipod dies. Workout is finished. Run cool down on the machine and wipe off sweat from your eyebrows and lips. Try not to smear your mascara.

Step 8. Head to locker room. Try to sneak off your clothes while still keeping a tiny towel or two that the gym provides wrapped around you.

Step 9. Shower in the frosted glass showers. Then soon realize as the next shower is occupied that they're in fact quite see through. Run out of the shower, but make sure to keep the towel around you.

Step 10. Change quickly before locker room gets busy.

Step 11. Get stuck in traffic on the drive home but feel glad you made it to the gym after all.


Awesome. Workout completed.

Any given Monday

A typical working Monday in our house, or any other weekday, may look a little something like this: me on the couch, laptop in use, dogs hanging out throughout the house. However, if said dogs could talk, a typical day would probably sound a bit like this:

"Hey." Lola places her head on the couch next to me while wagging her tail.

"Hey. Now go lie down, I'm working." I push her head away and point toward the bed.

"I need to go out. I'm pretty sure I need to."

"But you just went out not ten minutes ago."

"But this time I have to poop. I'm pretty sure I really need to poop."

"I told you to poop the last time you were out."

"But I didn't have to poop then. Now I do."

"Dog, if I let you out you better poop."

"I will. I promise."

I get up off the couch, which is no easy feat when another basset hound and a Great Dane are lying on my legs. My movement wakes Georgia up.

"Are you going to feed me?"

"No, Georgia." She settles back down.

I walk Lola out to the side yard so she can do her business. When she's done, I sit back down on the couch, laptop on my legs, wearing my glasses and my wrist braces, and get back to work on my current task.

2 minutes later, I hear a bell ring. It's the one attached to the door to the backyard. The one the dogs ring to tell me they need to go outside.

dingaling dingaling aling. 

I ignore it.

DINGALING A LING A LING DINGALING

Lucy stands by the door, one eye on me, ringing the bell with forceful deliberation.

"Lucy, lie down."

"But I have to go outside."

"Why didn't you go outside when I let Lola out?"

"I don't know. I wasn't feeling it."

"But you are now?"

"Yeah. Duh. I'm ringing the bell aren't I?"

"Fine." I sigh. "But you're staying out there for awhile."

"Whatever."

I get up, again, to open the back door for a dog, again. My movement wakes Georgia up, again.

"Are you going to feed me?"

"No, Georgia." She settles back down.

The door opens and Lucy runs straight up onto the hot tub and settles in for a nap in the sun. At least she'll be out there awhile. I sit back down on the couch and put my laptop back on my legs.

In the middle of an email ... RINAGALING A LING DINGALING A RING

"Lola, what the hell?"

"I wanna be on the hot tub too."

"Fine! But you're staying out there for awhile too." 

"Ok, just let me out. Please. Please. Let me out. Please."

"UGH!"

I get up, again. To open the door for a dog, again. My movement wakes Georgia up, again.

"Are you going to feed me?"

"No, Georgia!" She settles back down with a very heavy sigh.

Lola hops on the hot tub and settles down to sniff the air and stare at birds and critters in the back yard. Lucy basks in the 95º sun. I sit back down on the couch, laptop back on my legs, so I can finally finish the email I've been writing for the last five minutes.

But now I have to go to the bathroom.

It's amazing I get any work done.

How can I not assist you today?

While logging into my Wells Fargo account tonight, I clicked on an ad that sparked my interest. It described government programs available to help me refinance my house, despite the decrease in its value. I was curious because the rates right now are 2% lower than what we're currently paying. 

The president designed two programs to assist homeowners with loan modifications and refinances. We pay our mortgage on time so are ineligible for the modification. Which is fine, I figured as much.

The other option is the Home Affordable Refinance Program. This is meant to provide refinancing options to homeowners unable to refinance due to the drop in their home's value. Neil and I fall into this category. Our loan-to-value ratio is outside the margins allowed for a typical refinance so for now we're staying at 6.25%. I was hoping this assistance program would qualify us for a refinance after all.

This particular government-assistance program is designed for homeowners who:

1. Have a Fannie Mae or Freddie Mac guaranteed mortgage loan. 
yes, that's us

2. Are current on mortgage payments
double-yes

3. Have been unable to refinance their mortgage loan because the home's value has decreased.
yes again! This is sounding too good to be true.

In walks the rub: (boo, hiss, get out of here, rub; you stealer of dreams!)

4. AKA "the rub": Have an adjustable-rate mortgage, interest-only or balloon mortgage.
(insert sound of slowly-deflating balloon here) (or maybe it's a whoopee cushion)

Basically, if you've made stupid, greedy, bad decisions and bitten off more than you can chew in your past, you'll be rewarded by our dumbass government. Maybe the Fed thinks by rewarding your bad behavior, you'll think twice about making the same mistake next time, silly homeowners. Wait. That's right. It doesn't work that way. Heaven forbid we make life easier for those who make smart choices and work hard to honor their debts.

But that's ok. I'll continue making house payments and paying my other bills, because I was raised to understand the meaning of personal responsibility and self-respect. It's an expensive way to live considering the options, but the investment in my dignity is worth every penny paid.

Editor's note: It should be stated that the author of this post is fully aware that extenuating circumstances do exist and acknowledges not everyone who modifies their home loan or loses their home to foreclosure is an r-tard. Tragedies and hardships do happen, unfortunately. This post obviously does not refer to those people or their situations.

Spook You!

Few holidays get me pumped like Halloween. There's something so alive when thinking of all the fun that is to be had (satanic rituals aside, of course). 

Last year Neil and I spent an unbelievable Halloween at Disneyland as a surprise birthday trip for me. It was amazing and I was really hoping we could repeat it this year since Halloween is on a Sunday. But, money is of the essence and we have to save as much as possible for our trip to Savannah in the Spring. So we thought ... why not bring the fun to us?!

We're planning a big shindig at the house, complete with costumes and a party psychic! I'm so nervous and excited for the latter! haha. 

But now for the tricky part. What to wear, who to be! Basically I need thoughts/opinions/ideas. Input please!

These are my favorites so far:

The Native American (cute dress and lots of fun accessories can go with this getup)

Cleopatra (also a lot of fun accessories and cool makeup possibilities)

A female Death Eater (scary theme and great for a Harry Potter fan like me)

We do lazy good

We do lazy good.

So good, I can't muster the use of proper grammar.

Neil and I took the canines to our cabin up in Weed. It's a small city nestled at the base of Mt. Shasta. I've written about it several times but I'm too lazy to link to those entries. Find them yourselves.

I think I killed some brain cells on Sunday. We woke up late and I overexerted myself making breakfast. Scrambled eggs and coffee. I broke a sweat letting the dogs outside. It was tough work bending down and hooking them up to their tie out. After saying "go be a good girl" three times, I was out of breath.

So we retired to our respective couches. We watched Star Trek Generations, which inspired me to use my last remaining energy cell to lift the remote and change the channel to the Style network, which is where it stayed for the next 5 hours. That's a lot of Bridezilla for one day.

Taking a shower was done only out of respect for my husband/cabin mate because he was in the process of cooking me a tasty dinner and I owed him one. But unfortunately, that too was exhausting and he passed out on the couch soon after, leaving me to watch Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves by myself. His loss. Not mine.

And then, on our final day, we hit the road home after 2.5 blissfully relaxing days at the base of a beautiful mountain. During the traffic-ridden 5-hour drive, we were almost run off the road by a jackass in a lifted truck with a trailer. He obviously forgot he was towing something as we watched him almost run three other vehicles off the road. Luckily, it was just the amount of adrenaline I needed to unleash a string of expletives and a massive horn-honking in his direction.

And now, it's 11:30pm, and I couldn't sleep if my life depended on it. Laziness does have its downsides after all.

Blood bag

I donated blood today. For the first time.

It was a really fun experience. I've always been fascinated whenever getting blood work tested at the doctor's office but this was on a much grander scale. I got to watch the pint bag fill. It was awesome and, I might be sick for this, but I really wanted to hold the bag. I decided it better not to ask.

The phlebotomist spoke with a really thick French accent, I think he may have been from Haiti. He saw my name and told me it should be pronounced "gem" with a soft g ... kind of sounds like "ssshhhjjeemmm" because it is French (j'aime) for "I love." That it is. I could have hugged him. He's the first person outside of my parents and my high school French teacher to know that. Everyone else just assumes it's pronounced "Himay." That's California for you though.

The phlebotomist was also very impressed with my vein. Apparently mine is big and bulging and very easy to prick. I didn't even feel the needle go in my arm, even though I watched it. I said "you done good." and he responded in his thick French/Haitian accent "your big, beautiful vein makes my job easy." I didn't know whether to blush or say thank you. So I did both and laughed.

I was mesmerized by the long tube, filled with my blood. Even more amazed at how quickly my heart pumped my blood along and filled the bag. I had a pint stored away and sealed up in under 10 minutes.

It made me feel important and helpful. It was nice to know I am good at giving blood. Finally, something I can walk into a room and say "oh, don't worry. I've got this."

And the best part of this whole experience? Aside from the awesome employees and the sweet man that served me pineapple juice and snacks when I was done? In less than two months I'll have a donor card with my blood type on it.

I've been dying to know.

Full disclosure

I'm just putting this out there ... I've been irritable lately. If you find yourself asking "wow, you Jaime? That's so unlike you," then you'll soon find me asking "what planet have you been on? Obviously not Earth."

So yeah. If you haven't noticed my grumpiness then you don't pay enough attention to me. I'm not saying you should change that, I'm just stating it as a fact.

For those that have noticed, please know that I am sorry. I may be PMSing, but I really wouldn't know since I haven't had a lady cycle since I had my Implanon implant inserted. I use the cycle of the moon as my new gauge. It's probably not that accurate, but I need something to blame it on.

The grumpiness is probably also stemming from being poor, paying car insurance on three cars, and having a foster dog that gets rejected from every potential home before she can make her sweet impression on them. It's so frustrating and isn't helping my emotional stress levels. I know her new home is out there. I just wish it would come along soon so that she can spend her last years happy and secure in her own place with her own people. Although I'm sure we're suitable stand-ins for the time being. At least she puts a smile on our faces. The 3rd car and feeble bank account don't really do much for us.

Nap time. Gotta try to sleep off the grump.

Apparently ...

I don't normally hash out my spousal complaints in a blog because I don't want to come across as a woman who doesn't appreciate what she has in her mate. I know very well how good I've got it with Neil. But tonight I'm in a mood. And I'm allowed to have moments like this.

Apparently it is selfish of me to want to watch movies with my husband on a Saturday night. My crime? Two chick flicks in a row (the first of which he didn't even pay attention to, so how does that count as watching it with me?). I guess if I had suggested we watch Taxi Driver or Full Metal Jacket, he would have cuddled up next to me on the couch and all would be right with the his world.

As I leave to lock myself in our bedroom he says "you're not punishing me, you know."

Petty though it may be, some days I'm just not equipped to deal with this.

Anyway. At least now I can get some reading in.

P.S. I love blogs. The ventilation is great.

P.S.S. When locking yourself in a room in the house, make sure it's the one with the attached bathroom. That worked out well.

P.P.S.S. When locking yourself in the bedroom, make sure to take proper hydration with you. Drat!

A Quandry

So ... after all that talk about Neil's dad buying the Saab from us they decided they can't afford to have three cars right now and brought it back up for us to sell ourselves. Now we have three cars and we don't know which one to sell. Based on the following, which one would you keep?

• The Honda is cheaper to fix
• The Honda is more reliable most of the time but is definitely getting older and having issues
• The Saab is older and has issues too
• The Honda has more miles than the saab
• The Saab has a brand new suspension
• The Saab has brand new tires
• The Honda needs new tires
• The Saab is a lot safer and more comfortable than the Honda
• The Honda will get us about twice as much money if we sell it which we can keep in a savings  
  account for any repairs the Saab may need down the road.
• The Saab is easy to change the oil in and Neil can do it himself
• Neil loves the Saab so the Saturn would then be my car.
• If we kept the Saab, we would have two leather cars which means no more getting shocked on the
  fabric upholstery
• The Honda is a Honda.
• The Saab is a Saab.

Oh, the dilemma. 

Safety First

You may find yourself asking why have I begun baby proofing my kitchen. You may stare with curiosity at the plastic bubbles adorning the knobs on my gas oven.

Could it be? Could the impossible have happened? Could a little England be on the way?
All signs point to "it seems so."

As it turns out, we're not expecting a bundle of "joy" because it's already here, in the form of a 3-year-old Great Dane. A pretty big puppy with an apparent penchant for arson.

I came home from a long day of work one day to find the kitchen about 10 degrees hotter than the rest of the house. How odd. Why? Is the a.c. vent clogged?

No. The gas burner was on. High.

Who knows how long that 5-inch flame was threatening the lives of my animals and the structural integrity of my house. It had to have been on a while since the tea kettle on the next burner over had hot water in it and the underside of the cabinets were too hot to touch.

But I saw that flame, rushed to turn it off, and promptly fell on the floor in tears. Horrible thoughts running through my head: "What if something had been on the stove that day?" "What if the burner hadn't lit and gas had filled the house, waiting for the refrigerator compressor to kick on."

Life is full of what-ifs. So I'm going to give credit where credit is due and thank God for saving my house, my animals and my life. And I'm going to enjoy these safety knobs on my oven that keep my pyromaniac dog at bay. Now, if I could just keep her away from the bananas on the counter.

New blog design

and I'm not sure if I like it. May have to look for another if it doesn't grow on me soon.

edit:
Ok, I hated the formatting of the new one way too much, so I opted to stick with the same structure and switch out the background. Plus, this one has peonies on it, and I l-o-v-e peonies.

Free falling apart

It's official. I've started the aging process. Here's how I know:

1. A wrinkle in time: About a week ago I noticed my first wrinkle — a crease around one side of my mouth. Neil called it a "laugh line." I didn't find it funny.
 
2. Aches and pains: My hip now hurts after prolonged sleep. Which means I may be one of those early-rising golden girls sooner than desired.

3. Creepy crawlies: Yesterday, while inspecting the spider veins that have slowly begun creeping up my legs, I happened to look behind the back of my knees (for apparently the first time ever.) I almost screamed. The veins are dark, puffy and atrocious and I'm sure they'll go vericose on me in the next 5-10 years. Thanks, Dad. I asked Neil "have you ever noticed the back of my knees before?" He says "oh, you mean the veins?" Uh, yeah. By the way, I have several size 6-8 shorts and skirts I will now be giving away, if anyone is interested.

Still, this is surprising. I think it's because I don't feel accomplished. Making pennies at my job and no kid. Age isn't supposed to set in until those things are taken care of.

Wait.

It doesn't work that way?

Crap.

.....................................................................................................................
I just hope I can somehow manage to handle aging with grace. I look at my old foster basset with pity, but in her I see my eminent future. And there is nothing graceful about an old basset hound. So I guess I have no choice but to keep working on those "laugh lines."

Perfect is subjective

On the Rachael Ray show there was a woman talking about the needs of her upcoming wedding, despite being $10k over budget. "I want it to be elegant. I want what I want. I only get one wedding and I've been dreaming of this day my entire life."

Why do women put so much emphasis on one single day in the rest of their lives? I see so many brides planning their weddings while on the verge of vomiting from the stress. A friend of mine actually spent the week after her wedding in a sleep coma because her body couldn't handle the burden being lifted after its yearlong stay on her shoulders.

Not to mention, all this emphasis on the details of the wedding ... the material things ... takes the focus from the true reason for the day: you, and the person standing across from you at the altar/podium/arch/whatever. The second you put more importance on the color of the table linens, you've established your investment in the relationship you're committing to. Some may think this statement is a bit overboard on my part, but I find the wedding day to be a metaphor to the future.

The way you react to your wedding and the expectations you have of it reveal your true character. We had a small wedding of 60 people. About an hour shy of the end of the reception, our DJ's primary job had a crisis he had to attend to so he packed up. We saw this as an opportunity to call the reception quits early so we could get out to Bonaventure cemetery before it closed at 5pm. Yes, I went to a cemetery on my wedding day. I wanted a chance to visit my grandma at the family plot. We even took along two of the white kalanchoes in silver buckets that had graced the tables of the reception. The second we walked out the door of the reception, the rain started pouring (as it tends to do in the South). But we headed out to the cemetery and left the plants with Grandma ... at a cemetery ... in the pouring rain ... in my white dress ... and it couldn't have been more perfect. To me.

Flexibility, compromise, adaptation ... all of these are necessary in a marriage. Which is why I cringe when I hear a bride say "I want my day to be perfect." Because nothing is perfect, and accepting that is crucial to a happy life.