Bucket List

This weekend I cam up with a bucket list for my thirtieth birthday, which is a little less than two years and two months away.

I know the age of 30 does not equal death, so a "bucket list" might seem a little overdramatic, but I've been thinking more and more about where I am in life right now versus where I wanted to be in life by now. Again, probably stupid, but I just can't help it. When I imagined myself at 27, I had elaborate fantasies of what I would be. A wife, a published author, working with kids or maybe even staying home with my own child. I read a quote once that said the act of growing up was the slow giving up of all the dreams you had as a child. Really sad, but as I sit as an adult woman, I start to realize how much this applies to me. What do I have? A job I am invested in but not really too passionate about. No husband, no book, no baby. While I have so much that compensates (wonderful friends, two really adorable cats, and all the things I am always so grateful for--family, basic health, a roof over my head, etc), it is a hard pill for me to swallow that I have not achieved what I always just assumed I would have--and what I still really, almost desperately, still want to have made for myself.

Some of this lack of achievement is due to luck or fate or whatever (which is another post I have percolating in my head), and part of it rests solely on me. I haven't tried hard enough, I've been too easily defeated, I haven't dared when I should have, blah blah blah and yada yada yada. You don't really want to read a narrative of my WHOLE psyche. But I'm tired of it. I'm getting too old to not be getting what I want. What I've always wanted.

So here is my bucket list. I'm an OT, and for each of these long-term goals there are multiple short-term steps, but I'll spare you all those gory details. But the two main ones are: by the time I am thirty, I will have had a work of fiction published, and I will be in a committed romantic relationship. Not too much to ask, right? Not unless you consider how spectacularly I've failed at these things before.

There are other things with which I haven't been quite as unsuccessful at achieving. I want to be in good shape, I want to maintain my friendships and have nurtured others, I want to have saved up enough money to have bought a car or a condo or something equally adult-y, I want to be working in an area of OT I am actually passionate about.

There it is. out in the universe, which I ask to hold me accountable. A 30 year old bucket list. And I will certainly keep you updated as to which items I cross off!!

Single Lady Saturday Night Thoughts

For various reasons, I am at home alone on this Saturday night, being lame. And, as is normal, I am having thoughts.

One. My cats are defective felines.

I mean, they're super cute, and I love them, but they're defects, for two main reasons. First of all, they miss me when I'm gone. The joke always has been, what's the difference between a dog and a cat? The answer is a sense of time. If you leave your home but come right back in immediately because you've forgotten something, a dog is over the moon ecstatic. "Oh my god, oh my god, you've been gone sooo long, i've missed you soo much, never leave me again!!!" Do the same with the cat, and he looks at you with disdain, like, "You again?" This joke is not true with my cats. They miss me. I went to visit my parents for two days, and they were so excited to see me. They have been cuddly and needy and clingy since the moment I walked back in the door. I like having dog-cats, but I kind of have to fight the urge to tell them to act more catlike and ignore me.

Second of all, they SUCK at killing bugs. I've had a recurrent bug problem, and my cats are next to useless. Isn't one perk of domesticated animals like cats and dogs supposed to be their protective capacities?? Aren't cats supposed to be natural predators? When I got my furbabies, I assumed that since they were shelter kitties, they came from the streets. I thought they'd have mad hunting skillz. Oh, how wrong I was. This evening they sat on the window sill and watched this bug toodle all around them. Occasionally one would reach out a tentative paw and bat the thing ineffectually, but mainly they were just fascinated. I swear, this bug crawled right over Lulu's paw, and she just watched it. Name me one cat--or one creature even--that would sit and let a creepy crawly creepy crawl all over them. I can name you two. Useless excuses for protectors. Cute, but useless.

Thought Number Two. "Comfort food".

I read SELF and Fitness Magazines. I work in healthcare. I know what's good for my body and what isn't. And I try really hard to do what's good for it, not bad for it (most of the time). So when my sources try to convince me that comfort food is the enemy of my waistline, I try to listen. They tell me that comfort food is a mask for my emotional needs, that when I feel the need for chocolate I should find more healthy alternatives like talking to my friends or going for a walk. And I do try. But sometimes you just need to say "screw you" to awareness. And as I stood over my counter at 8:15, already in my pajamas, cutting huge hunks of brownie out of the pan and smearing it with peanut butter, that is exactly what I did. And I have not a regret in the world :)

Not fat, just fluffy.

In the last few days, I've gotten this comment no less than three times: "You look like you've lost weight!"

I am not sharing this to brag. I'm sharing it because of my prototypically nutsy reaction. The first time, I was pretty pleased. I definitely lost some weight as soon as I started working again, since both the sit all day in class/drink beer every night graduate school phase and the my mom is an amazing cook and I live at home and can't find a job so why not eat phase ended. And this summer I've been working hard to eat right and exercise every day, though I am not the best exerciser and Ben and Jerry's fro-yo is included in my "eat right" plan. But yes, I have dropped a little bit of weight. And since I carry all my weight in the tummy/chest area, I think it's more noticeable than it might be.

So when my coworker who has been dieting post baby said it, I returned the compliment and said, you know, thank you, yes i've been trying to be more body-conscious, and walked around feeling a little better about myself. Then a nurse said it, and then, today, one of my patient's daughters said it. And while beggars can't be choosers, I'm beginning to not be flattered by the comment.

I mean, let's think about it. The patient's daughter is the best example; we had a long conversation on Friday, about her weight no less, and she never said a word. I can guarantee you I have not lost weight since Friday, but she wasn't just trying to be nice--she genuinely believed I had. In essence, then, she and everyone else are basically telling me that they think of me as heavier than I am, that the me in their memory is porkier than the me standing in front of them. And everyone has said it with appreciation, so clearly the me in their memory is not as good looking as the me in front of them. And since I have no illusions that the me in front of them is but so great-looking in her boring rehab therapist clothes, I have real sadness for the super plain-jane me in their memory.

Speaking of the clothes, the daughter today and I decided maybe it was just my outfit; being a Sunday, I went a little casual, rocking some jeans and a dark t-shirt as opposed to my standard issue shower-ready khakis/shirt combo. So my aura of being complimented quickly faded as I realized that I had just learned my weekday attire makes me look fatter. I shouldn't be surprised, I tend to think of flattering clothes as unprofessional, especially for my profession. Which is not a big deal, except now I'm going to obsess over whether I look chunky as I get ready for work.

Sigh. I'd ask if I'm overthinking this, but I pretty much always know the answer to that question. It takes a special ability to be this neurotic, and I'm sure everyone's jealous they don't have it :)

Secret Single Shopping Behavior

The title of this comes from an episode of Sex and the City; Carrie confesses that since Aidan moved in with her, she's missing her Secret Single Behavior, including spreading jelly on saltines and eating them standing up at the counter. Sometimes it seems like my whole life is Secret Single Behaviors, but the one that came to my mind today was my Secret Single Shopping Behavior.

I got paid yesterday, so today I went shopping. Woohoo! First of all, let me confess that I am totally shallow--shopping makes me happy. REALLY happy. My friend once asked me what I was on when I called her immediately after buying three pairs of shoes. Screw occupational therapy, give me retail therapy anyday.

The one thing, though, is that I don't really like shopping with other people. I mean, I'll go to H&M or DSW with my girlies, but more often than not, I go alone. I tend to get self-conscious about my shopping style and/or what I buy--yes, I can be insecure about ANYTHING, it's a really great quality I possess--and I kind of feel like I don't want anyone to be exposed to my weirdness. I was reminded of this when I got in my car today after my three hour shopping marathon. Let me tell you what I buy at Target (one of four stores I went to--I'll spare you the other stores to preserve some sort of an image) to make myself happy. Three collage picture frames, cat litter, body lotion, a bra, a new water bottle (to use while I soak my other water bottle in bleach to prevent mold, true story), a new yoga mat (I learned the hard way that yoga mats have an irresistible texture for cats looking to sharpen their claws), and Frizz Ease smoothing serum. I unloaded these treasures into my trunk, got in the driver's seat, and turned on the car. Miley Cyrus's Party in the USA came on the radio right as I turned the key, and I made the following noises: "Oooooh, yay!!"

This, I quickly realized, is Secret Single Shopping Behavior. Buying a crazy random assortment of things and being so excited about it I get pumped about singing along with Hannah Montana.

So I know that if I ever live with my boyfriend or get married, they will see everything I buy, and if it's the right person, he will love me anyway. On the other hand, shopping will always be on my list of things I'd like my partner to never have to see me do, along with such lovely moments as clipping my toenails or organizing my tampons. Because I still think that, especially when it comes to me and my habits, love means never having to say "let's go shopping."

"If Life Was a Romantic Comedy" Moment of the Day

We have a pool at our complex. I don't go that often, since it is usually full of screaming children. The last time I tried to go, I couldn't get in the door. They'd added a new childproof lock, and a new key fob unit, and I tried three times to open the door with no success. Tail between my legs, I turned around and went to sun on my balcony.

This morning, recovering from a migraine, in desperate need of some Vitamin D, and seeing from my very belated rent drop off (whoops) that the pool was empty, I decided to try again. This time I went through the clubhouse and down through the gym entrance. I had a small problem with that door too, as it is also childproofed, but, blessed with no watching eyes, I managed to figure out how to pull up the knob and pull (not push) the door open. Great success! (thought in requisite old-school Kazakhstani accent).

For the next hour I talked on the phone, listened to my "chill" playlist on my ipod, and burned my poor pigment-less skin in perfect happiness. About ten minutes before I wanted to leave, a group of people I have seen there before showed up. Three very hot, built men, and two gym-tiny, perfectly bronzed women. They travel in a pack, sit and drink beer out of dixie cups, and loudly discuss how their last significant others (S.O.s) weren't quite hot enough to be worth their time. Charming, and the perfect storm of how to make Annie feel inadequate.

Despite this reaction, I am a girl who appreciates scenery, so when I went to leave, I decided to go through the main entrance so I could walk by and get a closer view of Headband boy (who makes sure to do a Baywatch worthy pool dive, rise out of the water, and slick his luscious chesnut locks away from his face every twenty minutes) and Clark Kent (who comes in wearing his glasses but takes them off the same time he reveals his six-pack with a graceful toss of his wife beater). This entrance is the one with the door I had not yet deciphered, but I decided to risk it anyway. I mean, it had to be easier to get OUT of the door than in, right??

So I did my walkby, went up the steps with my own little ploy of letting my hair out of the ponytail (since I got a cute new haircut and blowout on Wednesday, I knew it would--for once!!--fall down in perfect waves just like a shampoo commercial), and headed towards the door. With the structure of the pool, the door is directly above the pool deck, so it is blocked from viewing but still close enough to hear what is going on. I get there, and with confidence, pull up the knob, and pull. Nothing. I pull up the knob, and push. Double nothing. Which, as you math geniuses know, is still nothing.

It's hard to be subtle as you push and pull at a heavy metal door, clanging it against its hinges, for five minutes, but I did my best. And as it became increasingly clear that I was indeed as locked in as I had been locked out, I started to consider my options. This is when the "if life was a romantic comedy" (ILWARC) kicked in. ILWARC, I would have gone back down the stairs around to the other entrance, say something cute and endearing about my issues to Headband Boy and Clark Kent and intrigue them enough to garner me an invite to the next Dixie Cup bitchfest. Or, ILWARC with me as a clutzy heroine (which it should be--it would make my clumsiness worthwhile), I would have gone with my second plan, clambered over the gate, and tripped into the hot guy on the other side, forcing him to catch me in his beefy arms and make a sexy joke about angels falling from heaven.

If I haven't mentioned before in this blog, I read alot of romance novels. And write them as well in my free time. This is because my mind works in this way, all the time. And it is nice to be able to create a world where all this wonderful potential situations can actually happen. Is that just me?

Then, as I set down my pile of stuff to give one more attempt to unlock the mystery of the childproof lock, an honest-to-goodness hot guy walked by. Done up in workup gear, headed to the gym on a Saturday morning, no less. He walked a bit past, then, clearly realizing I wasn't pulling on the door for my health, backtracked a bit. Wait, I thought. Maybe life IS a romantic comedy! I sent him my best cute/sheepish grin, and said, "I'm sorry, do you know how to get out? I have issues."

Silently, he passed his own key fob over the fob lock, pulled up the knob, and pushed the door towards me. Then, even as I opened my mouth to thank him, he turned, and walked on.

Nope, he didn't say a word. Never even took the earphones out of his ears. He did manage not to sneer, but that was about the only positive.

Well, I thought as I slipped through the door and headed towards as home, just another reason my life needs screenwriters.