Annus Horribilis

Latin for "horrible year".

Also, the title of a speech given by Queen Elizabeth in 1992. 

And while it's safe to say that Liz's year at that time was arguably far worse than mine has been of late, I'm still commandeering the phrase for my own purposes. So there.

As you can tell through a simple comparison of dates, it's been almost a full year since I've blogged. My personal life took a fairly distinct sideways turn. 

Or several, as it were. 

(I'll address those in further detail in subsequent posts.)

As I bobbed and weaved and tried to get my life back on track, I fell away from writing for awhile. Partially because I was so busy. Partially because I didn't have the mental or emotional wherewithal to give it its due diligence. 

As time progressed, I eventually worked my way back toward writing. A bit of freelance here and there (time and exhaustion permitting). A bit of my personal WIP, more recently. But it wasn't until this past week that I felt ready to get back to blogging.

Probably sounds weird, right?

But writing is such a personal endeavor. It is something you pour your heart and soul (and a lot of caffeine) into. And with where I was at mentally and emotionally, I wasn't ready (or, honestly, willing) to open those gates again. First, because I didn't want my WIP to be associated with this tough time for me, risking tainting it with bad memories and negative emotions. And second, because blogging is so personal, and I needed to process my own crap before attempting to jauntily parlay that into a series of posts that didn't sound like they were written by a hyper-emotional Crazy Cat Lady with a twitchy eye.

So, eleven months later, here I am, bitches! Back and better than ever! Let's do this!

Quick update

Life has been a little bit (lot bit) hectic lately, which hasn't left much room (or sanity) for blogging. While today is no exception, I wanted to post a quick blurb-y update.

We decided not to sell our house after all. The idea of selling and moving again was breaking the kids' hearts. They love this house, they love our property, and with everything they went through moving halfway across the country 18 months ago, we just decided it wasn't fair to them.

Besides that, Hubs' job is going to keep us here for a few more years (at least) anyway, so what's the point in selling a house we love, only to move into a rental we'll just have to tolerate, when we'll be here in Cheyenne anyway?

So that's the scoop. It may not be the wisest financial decision, in terms of the drilling and property value and whatnot, but we're letting future Mommy and Daddy deal with that.

Besides, once I'm a hot shot novelist, it shouldn't matter, right?

Right?!?

Guys?

Why are you laughing and walking away?!?

Handle your sh*t

Aaaaaaannnndddd I'm back!

I know, I know, my last post was a bit of a Debbie Downer. I apologize.

Actually, no, I don't, because everyone has experienced those days.

Those days aren't pretty, but they're real.

And you've just gotta figure out a way to handle the fistfuls of crap life throws at you sometimes. So I did just that.

Well I can officially confirm that things are better now!

*happy shimmy*

My freelance project is chugging away nicely. Or, as nicely as can be expected given that the client keeps adding to and changing items on the scope. I'm about one third of the way done with it. Taking a break right now for a cuppa tea and a breather, because I was starting to feel overwhelmed.

(No, I won't attach yet another '10 Things I Hate About You' reference)

(Though, if you didn't automatically make said reference, clearly we aren't meant to be friends)

(I think you can in Europe)

(Couldn't help it, sorry, done now)

I digress.

Work is back on track. Still tiresome. Still thankless. Still waiting for that big break. But in a better state of mind, which makes all the difference.

Dishwasher is still broken. Repairman came out, said 'yep, I can't fix this, have to special order a part' and left.

So in 7-10 business days, I will hopefully get to stop hand washing dishes and wreaking havoc on my poor skin. Because sandpaper knuckles are not pretty.

But, again, attitude is everything. Washing the evening dishes has become a nice time for Hubs and I to chat about our days. Because positive spin.

We also solved the vehicle crisis. Sold the Passat. Less than what I wanted to get from it, but more than Hubs expected to get, so I guess it was a win. Especially for that piece of crap!

And we bought a new, not broken, not-going-to-be-broken-for-a-long-time car!

(Fingers crossed, knock on wood)

It's a Certified Used 2014 Chevy Traverse.

It's white, which is slightly unfortunate, because I always swore I'd never own a white vehicle. On account of almost every single person I've ever known who owned a white vehicle was a d-bag.

But I'm not a d-bag, so maybe I can effect positive change for white vehicles. Or their non-d-bag owners. Or something like that.

Anyhoodle, the Traverse came with a 3-year/36,000 mile warranty, which we quickly and gladly upped to a 10 year/100,000 mile warranty. Because mama ain't gonna play that game of Russian Roulette ever again!

The dealership we purchased from also offers a "drive forever" warranty on all of their certified vehicles. Basically, if anything on the powertrain breaks, ever, it's covered. For as long as we own the vehicle.

Throw a piston?

Covered!

Engine seizes?

Covered!

Transmission gives out?

Covered, bitches!!!

Which would have been nice to have this summer with the Suburban.

Or the truck.

Or the Passat.

Seriously, we've had some pretty lousy luck.

Anyway, the point is, we got it figured out. And I love my new car. And its fantastic gas mileage. And its new car smell.

And while, yes, it will tighten our budget for the next few months, we can handle it.

And better yet, unlike with the truck, I actually want to make it work, because I don't resent the vehicle in the first place!

I think this is what emotional maturity feels like? Let me just bask in this moment for a sec....

And it passed.

You're welcome ;-)

Back from the ether... With lemons

So it was brought to my attention quite recently (thanks Boppa!) that I haven't been blogging very frequently lately. Which is... totally true.

Especially here on Muddled Lemons.

About a month and a half.

Eesh, sorry!

Life has been hectic of late. 80% in a good way, mind you. But hectic nonetheless.

Continuing to build my writing career (yes, I still giggle awkwardly at calling it that). Working on the novel that has been bouncing around in my head for a number of years. Producing freelance content for clients. Occasional writing on my other blogs. Applied for my first 'big girl' writing job with a pretty big news/gossip site (which I totally won't get, but it's the putting-yourself-out-there that counts).

On top of that, Hubs has been busy climbing the corporate ladder at his new job, and loving every minute of it (except when he had to fire someone, that part sucked). And the kids have kept me busy with their eight million extracurricular activities. I clearly missed my calling as a chauffeur.

I also was recently hired to produce the content for a start-up website. Well, kinda. It's a long, cluster-f*ck of a story. The first client, K, contacted me to write the content for a site they want to go live in mid-November. I wrote the first article for them, and they were really impressed with it and recommended me to their colleague, S.

S contacted me a few days later, describing two upcoming health projects they are building, both of which are huge in scope, and they said I could have one or both if I wanted.

Well, of course I jumped at the chance. I know little to nothing about the topics of these projects, but that's nothing a little research can't remedy. You can't turn down that kind of an opportunity! As Tina Fey says, "say yes and figure it out later".

So things were chugging along all fine and dandy, when the second client, S, emailed me asking if they could contact me via my personal e-mail, rather than through the host site.

I politely said no. Because privacy.

They then asked if I would be willing to produce this content via another host site, citing cheaper commission rates on the other sites.

Again, I politely said no.

Because here's the thing: the site I write through has incredibly stringent author protections in place, reducing the likelihood of being ripped off by a client. Which is a huge issue in the freelance world, and the exact reason I don't just query clients on my own.

(Yes, you could make more money querying on your own, but there's no guarantee of payment, so you could have wasted your time and had your work essentially stolen.)

By asking to contact me outside of the host site, and asking me to move to a competitor's site, this client not only basically asked me to break protocol, but was also essentially putting my standing with the host site (standing which is quite high), as well as my personal security and chances of even getting paid at risk.

All to save them two percentage points (maybe $20) on the host commission.

So now I don't know if I will be continuing with these projects. I'm currently working on the first article for the first health project, because the client had already deposited the money into their client account (one of the assurances the site takes for their authors as guarantee of payment).

After that? Who knows?

The whole thing left me feeling pretty dejected. For every decent freelance client out there, it seems like there are a dozen shady ones looking to score as much free or low-paid work as possible. It's quite disheartening.

Yes, I am technically a paid writer. Yes, you have to claw your way up in this industry. Yes, you have to pay your dues. Yes, there will always be lousy clients or rejection letters or doubters or people looking to take advantage of you. Yes, you will eventually make something of yourself through sheer hard work and determination. But some days it honestly doesn't feel worth it. Some days, I feel like I'm just wasting my time and getting paid peanuts in the process.

(Aren't I just a sparkling ray of sunshine?!?)

So for now, I plug away at the menial tasks of being a newbie freelancer. And for now, I just hope that at some point, preferably sooner rather than later, someone will give me a chance to prove my worth. And make a livable writer's wage in the process.

On top of dealing with the emotional quagmire associated with freelance writing, we've had a few other out-of-left-field curveballs. Because life has a sense of humor, apparently.

Our dishwasher broke this week. You know, the brand new dishwasher that's less than a year old. Yep, that one. So I've been 50s-housewife-ing it up this week.

I know, I know, First World Problems.

But it's annoying nonetheless.

Especially since the only reason we bought our appliances through this particular store was because of the apparent "wonderful customer service" as assured by our builder.

Well that customer service apparently means you have to wait over a week for them to even come out and look at the appliance in question.

I swear, if they try to renege on the fact that it's still under warranty, I may be inclined to throat-punch someone.

Just sayin' is all.

Then, the other day my husband's car finally gave out. It's a 2004 Passat. And if you know anything about VWs, you know that they tend to crap out pretty epically.

We've dumped more money into that damn car over the last few years than it's even worth, most recently paying almost $1000 last month to replace the fuel pump.

And then it just ups and dies.

Bastard car.

So we're figuring out what to do now. We can't go into winter without two reliable vehicles. However, we just bought that damn truck this summer because our Suburban blew up. Can we really take on ANOTHER car payment? Or can we really keep dumping money into a piece of shit car that has virtually no trade in value or financial worth?

I'll be honest. I'm damn sick of dealing with vehicle issues. We've dealt with more vehicle issues in the last, what, four or five months, than we have pretty much ever.

Pretty much sums it up.

I've also been incredibly anxious for the past few days, but not in terms of the writing stress or the car stress. It's another beast entirely. I can't quite put my finger on why. And it's made it near impossible to get a good night's sleep or have much of an appetite.

Some days I feel like the gods look down on me and smile. And point. And laugh. And throw things.

Life's little curveballs keep things interesting. But sometimes life's little curveballs get pretty tiresome. And sometimes there's nothing more soothing than a good cry. Or six.

Usually I'm like this:

And some days I'm like this:

But today? I'm like this:

Everyone calm the f*ck down, mmmkay?

In my last post, I discussed the random challenge we were faced with in receiving two competing job offers in one day. Well, given my overly-caffeinated inability to focus coupled with my mental and emotional exhaustion, I apparently didn't explain the situation particularly well.

Because of this, and the blowback I have received regarding our "decision", let me clarify a few things:

No, we don't hate living here. We just love Seattle and the plan was always to move back in a few years anyway. It's not a waving-the-white-flag situation, so keep your "I told you so" to yourself.

No, it would not have been "selling [our] soul" had we taken the Seattle offer. We knew it wasn't perfect, and that it would have been career-limiting, but it would have gotten us back up there (which was our only reason for considering it). Also, no, I don't make my decisions based on [this individual's] opinions. But thanks anyway.

Financially speaking, it would have been challenging and borderline irresponsible to move back. Moving 1200 miles is friggin' expensive! U-Haul, gas, food, hotels, and oh yeah, buying or renting a house; it adds up. Also, while we would have been able to sell our house quickly, we would not have even made back our down payment since we haven't lived here very long. All of that was a major 'con'.

While our heart may be in Seattle, sometimes you have to be a grown up and consider the responsible choice. Staying here and taking the local offer is the better career move, as well as the financially responsible move. Facts don't lie.

What I know everyone is thinking when
they say "I understand"...

Yes, I would rather live in Seattle than Wyoming. Duh.

Yes, I can be a Seattle girl even if I live 1200 miles away. I will always love Seattle. It's an amazing city filled with incredible art, culture, music, food, and people. And coffee. (God, I miss good coffee.) The climate and geography are amazing. The perpetual green is beautiful. The ferris wheel is... well, terrifying for me, on account of hating heights. But still. Living sandwiched between the ocean and the Cascades is where my soul is fed. Seattle is an incredibly special place.

Yes, I was looking forward to coming back. I had already made plans to spend my birthday up in Victoria with my childhood bestest friend, having high tea at the Empress (delicious!), roaming the cute little shops and bakeries, and hitting up a few of the 8,000 Irish pubs down by the harbor. I was going to kidnap other bestest friend, Ginger Jesus, and their kids for Thanksgiving. I was planning the annual Halloween party with my mom. I was invested in this.

And yes, I was heartbroken when it didn't work out.

But I truly believe everything happens for a reason, and apparently staying put is what we're meant to do for now. Hub's new company will provide him the valuable experience, marketable title, and global platform to grow his career in ways the Seattle job could never have. So while I miss my family and friends terribly, I understand that things worked out for the better. 

I'm sorry I let everyone down by dangling the carrot and then having to take it away. 

But we will be back. That much is guaranteed. 

And until then? We enjoy the journey and the experience. Next stop, Mt. Rushmore and Carhenge!

"Moodling"

As I've mentioned in my other blog, I lost my Zen, and have been working to rediscover it. One way that has always helped bring me back to center when things start getting all bajiggity, is through reading Simple Abundance, by Sarah Ban Breathnach (pronounced Bon Brannack).

Simple Abundance is a day book that focuses on finding your inner voice, your spirit, your creativity, your authentic self. Over the course of the year, it covers various topics, such as discovering long-lost and new-found hobbies; finding ways to express yourself through cooking, home decor, wardrobe choices, and personal interests; and expressing gratitude in the simple pleasures of life.

It's basically a hippie call to arms!

What I love about reading this book is that it focuses on the difficulty women often have in carving out enough time for themselves, between jobs and kids and husbands and our endless daily responsibilities. Women very commonly do not allow themselves the personal time to pursue their own interests and feed their souls. We feel guilty for taking an hour of strictly "me time".

But taking that "me time" and discovering ways to express our inner selves feeds our happiness and satisfaction, relieves stress, and generally makes us better, happier, and overall less eye-twitchy versions of ourselves.

And the great thing about it? That "me time" doesn't actually have to consist of anything in particular!

You can have a plan, and spend this time doing something you specifically set out to do. (And actually enjoy doing. "Me time" should not be "household chores time" trying to masquerade as a creative outlet!) You can have a plan to bake a loaf of homemade multigrain bread, or work on a sewing project, or try that new recipe you've had earmarked for months.

Or. OR!!!

This "me time"? Can consist of nothing in particular. The July 26th entry of Simple Abundance calls it "moodling". "Moodling" is described as "long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling and puttering". In essence, my perfect Saturday!

Now, if course, I do have things to accomplish this weekend. I have the sorting-through-the-kids'-toys project I began this week and sorely need to finish. I have the corner of my kitchen counter that looks like my post office exploded on it and is in desperate need of clearing off. We need to paint the base of the deck with sealant so Husband can continue building. And my bathrooms need a bit of a touch-up.

But none of those things count as "moodling" (even if my OCD makes me enjoy cleaning more than the average bear).

So to satisfy my soul's need to "moodle", I also have tentative plans to write, or cross-stitch, or read. I'm going to try my hand at baking bread in the oven, rather than the bread machine. And I will waste probably more than a few hours doing nothing much.

And it'll be fantastic.

Intravenous caffeine use needs to be an option

Because Thursday.

Is this a real thing?
Please tell me it's a real thing!

Anniversary

One year ago today, we arrived here in Wyoming.

We had left Washington on the evening of July 6, 2013, and pulled into Cheyenne in the wee hours of July 9th.

Those first few days- hell, the first few hours, even- were a major struggle for me, as from the start, things did not go as planned and expected. I had just left a house that I loved, a town that I loved, and my family and closest friends, and was instantly regretting all of it. It honestly took me several weeks before I began reestablishing my grasp on why we had moved, and that it was in fact a good thing.

Those four months we lived in the apartment, waiting for our house to be finished, were tough. I physically hated living there, and the commute for my husband and children was brutal. After the house was done and we finally, officially moved up to Cheyenne, things began looking up.

The fluffy clouds of the High Plains

I loved our house, and the feeling of finally getting to be settled. I loved that the kids' school and Husband's work were now only minutes away instead of an hour. I loved that our lives were finally able to simplify, and we could begin establishing ourselves here.

Storm rolling in over the kids' school

There have been some hiccups, and some obstacles, and some what-the-hell-are-you-kidding-me moments. But overall, I can honestly say that I like living here (minus the wind, which is soul sucking).

But here's the thing.

Something that, despite my many attempts, I have been unable to successfully explain to many others in our lives.

On the one hand, I like it here. On the other hand, I would move back to Seattle tomorrow.

And yes, those two feelings can coexist.

While it was an emotional struggle for me at first, I fully understand why we moved here, and the benefits of doing so. I have adapted (mostly) to high plains living, and while there are some aspects of it I may not particularly care for, overall it's nice here.

Normal sunset views from my house!

I like exploring the area and seeing new things. The sunsets and sky-scapes are absolutely stunning. The slower pace of life and small-town feel is perfectly pleasant to me (except trying to get anywhere on Lincolnway anytime before 10 am, when the Blue Hair Brigade is out in force and going 20 mph below the speed limit!)

But here's the thing that people are having a hard time wrapping their heads around: I like it here, but I miss Seattle like crazy. It's not like living in Cheyenne is terrible, and I'm miserable and want out rightthissecond. I do, genuinely, like it here. But I don't love it here.

And that's the key.

Hello, gorgeous!

My heart and soul is in Seattle. In the trees and the mountains and the rivers and the ocean.

Mt. Pilchuck, my former backyard

Is anything better than a bonfire on the beach?!?

So beautiful, and so very missed

I don't know what the future holds. I don't know if we will stay in Cheyenne for five more months or five more years. But I do know that our time here is not permanent. Western Washington is a very special place, rich in a natural beauty that can't be matched. My soul is fed up there, and because of that, we will move back eventually.

It is possible to like where you are, but know you belong somewhere else. To be happy, but not fulfilled. That's where I'm at. And our calamity of a trip last week reaffirmed that to me. Driving across Snoqualmie Pass made my heart sing. And leaving made it sink.

I don't hate living in Wyoming, and I certainly don't regret moving here.

But home is where the heart is. And my heart is in Seattle

When things go sideways: The vacation from hell

Crow Creek, Curt Gowdy State Park, 5/30/14

Robert Frost once said that the road less traveled makes all the difference…

Well no offense to ol' Bob, but in this case, the difference made by the road less traveled wasn't fun. In fact, it plain old sucked!

My family and I went on vacation last week; a road trip up to Washington to visit family and friends. The week leading into our trip, we pretty much had our plans laid out. We knew what days we would be driving through which states; we knew which days we would be seeing specific friends and family members; we had everything arranged and had set our expectations accordingly.

And then life happened. Griswold Family style.

At first, the hiccups were minor. Friday morning we had planned to leave by noon, but my oldest son ended up with a horrendous nosebleed that took over an hour to stop. I sat with him in the bathroom, changing out the tissues and reassuring him that he wasn't bleeding to death (something that genuinely freaked him out, poor dude). So that prolonged the packing process, and we ended up leaving shortly after 1:00- not bad by any means!

We stopped for a quick lunch and then hopped on I-80 West, hoping to make it at least to Ogden, Utah, if not farther.

For the first leg of our drive, we ended up making excellent time, and by the time we hit Ogden (around 9:00 that night) we were feeling pretty pumped and decided to keep on going to Twin Falls, Idaho. We fed the kids a quick dinner and had them get ready for bed, that way when we finally stopped for the night, it would make bedtime much quicker and easier. We got back on the road, and about 30 minutes later, as we're cruising along nicely up I-84, chatting about how great the drive had been thus far and how we would be able to make it to Seattle a day earlier than we'd thought… BANG!!!

Husband and I both looked at each other in shock, and he pulled the Suburban and trailer over to the side of the freeway. The sound we'd heard made us both think we'd blown a tire, so we hopped out and starting checking for a flat.

Nothing.

All the tires on the Suburban and trailer were fine.

But smoke was pouring out of the engine compartment….

Husband popped the hood open, and we fanned the smoke away and used the flashlight on my phone to look inside.

Carnage.

Ruin.

Badness of epic proportions.

Now, I may not be an automotive expert… but my spidey senses told me that seeing big chunks of metal and oil sprayed everywhere inside the engine compartment is… not a good thing!

We immediately called State Farm, whom our insurance is through, because we have their roadside assistance coverage. After being rerouted multiple times, with no one bothering to make a note of our call and forcing us to start from scratch four different times, we were finally told that they could dispatch a tow truck for the Suburban and two passengers, but that we would have to call a taxi for the rest of us (I guess they wanted us to pick favorites?!?) and pay out of pocket for both the taxi and the separate tow for the trailer.

They also were "unable to locate" the MAJOR FREEWAY upon which we were stranded.

Um…. so how are you assisting me on the roadside then? When I have three young children stranded in a broken vehicle on the side of a very busy freeway late at night?!? And when I gave you my exact mile marker location, and the cities both north and south of me?!?

Needless to say, we quickly became utterly disgusted by their version of "roadside assistance". I also quickly learned that these claims of "agents available 24/7" is… complete BS. Though our agent's office voicemail said they were available 24 hours a day, she didn't call us back until regular business hours the following day.

This whole debacle is something we will be discussing in person with her this week; while we have been loyal State Farm customers for well over a decade, we will likely be looking for a new insurance company without some serious ass-kissing and reparations on our agent's part. Because damn.

So during Husband's third attempt to get any sort of useful help from State Farm, I went ahead and called AAA. The woman I spoke with was able to find our exact location, find and dispatch a tow truck that was big enough to tow both the Suburban and trailer AND all five of us (no picking favorites!), and she expedited it because of the obvious safety issue of us sitting on the side of the freeway.

Finally, a competent human being and a company that gave a crap!

We got towed the 10 minutes south to Brigham City, Utah to a Chevy dealership that the tow driver just happened to work at. We spent the night in the trailer in the dealership parking lot, listening to the service department's radio station being played through the outside speakers… not exactly conducive to a restful night, but at least we were safe.

The next day, we got the initial assessment on the Suburban's engine. We had blown at least three pistons, which had shattered the oil pan and caused other shrapnel-style damage. It would take at least a week to repair, at a starting cost of $7000…

Not only did we not have $7000 just sitting in our pockets, but that also didn't include the cost of a rental vehicle (something State Farm also wouldn't cover) to tow the trailer back to Cheyenne, and then the gas to drive all the way back to Brigham in a week to pick up our newly rebuilt Suburban.

We were completely screwed, and spent half the day just trying to wrap our heads around what the hell to do next.

(And I may have cried a lot. Like, a lot. Like, probably embarrassed myself in public but was too distraught and stressed to even care.)

While we were wandering around the parking lot of the dealership trying to get a handle on the situation, a salesman came out and said that he assumed we were over at the service department, but wondered if there was anything he could help us with. When we told him we were the Suburban, he gave us a look of pity I've never experienced before! We joked that we had a great trade in for him, with perhaps a bit of engine trouble…

The sales guy showed us their used trucks, and we found one we liked. It was a blue diesel GMC Sierra 2500 quad-cab. While I've never had the desire to own a truck, like, ever, it was beefy enough to tow our trailer and could handle anything Wyoming had to throw at it (no more getting stuck in snow drifts!)

The sales guy let us take it for a test drive, and Husband was pretty impressed with it. I wasn't quite as sold, as I was (and still am) fairly attached to my Suburban, and was quite honestly struggling to cope with the events of the previous 14 hours. After driving around Brigham for a bit, we went back to the dealership and Husband went inside to discuss the actual realistic-ness of trading in our dead Suburban for the truck.

In truth, I did not expect them to accept it, and knew we were wasting our time. The sales guy let us take the truck and go to lunch, and said he'd see what he would work out. I wasn't holding my breath.

As we were sitting there eating, not 20 minutes later, sales dude called back and said he'd worked it out!

He said that what they'd do is give us just under Kelly Blue Book on the trade, and put a used engine in the Suburban, making it plausible for them to sell it and make it worth their while. We lost all the equity we had built up in the Suburban, and would essentially be starting from scratch with the truck. But we were pretty much stuck at that point, and this was our best option.

He then told us what the payment on the truck would be, and my stomach flipped so hard I almost puked. We would be tripling our car payment.

Yes. Tripling. As in, three times as much. As in, ouchies to my budget.

After discussing it over the rest of our lunch, Husband and I decided to go for it, because it was the only way (and the cheapest way in the short run) to get us out of Utah. And this meant we could still continue with our vacation, which we had accepted was otherwise totally done-sies.

We got all the paperwork sorted, hooked up the trailer to the truck, and headed back on our way to Washington. Husband was immediately impressed with how well the truck pulled the trailer- no more bucketing in the wind or when being passed by other big vehicles, no struggling to go up even minor hills. It seemed like everything was back on track, and though I was still quite stressed over the looming loan payment, I was starting to shake it off and let Future Sarah deal with it.

We were about 15 miles past where we had broken down the night before, and suddenly the truck lost all power…

The fuel filter indicator, which had just read 100%, suddenly read 0%, and we weren't able to go over 30 mph. Husband immediately called the dealership, and the sales guy was stunned. He told us to come back and they'd take a look at it.

We slowly crawled back to the dealership, where they unhooked the trailer (again) and pulled the truck into the service bay. The same guy who had given us the tow the night before ended up being the one who swapped out our fuel filter (thanks again Juan!) After that, everything looked peachy keen, so Husband and the sales guy hooked the trailer back up (again) and took it for a test run, to make sure nothing bigger was wrong. They went up this steep hill behind the dealership, and everything was looking great until they got about 3/4 of the way up.

The truck lost power again.

Sales guy was baffled, since the dealership prides itself on selling quality used vehicles. He called the owners of the dealership to tell them what had happened, and the owners were there to meet them when they slowly crawled back into the parking lot. Several profuse apologies later (and a near stressed-induced cardiac event on my part), the owners presented us with two options.

Option A: they would do a straight swap of the blue truck for a red one. Same model, one year older, less miles, and one of the owners had just used it on his family vacation to Yellowstone, towing a similar trailer as ours, so they knew it was reliable.

Option B: borrow the red truck for the week and continue on our vacation, while they figured out what was wrong with the blue truck, fixed it up all pretty like, and had it waiting for us when we came back through the following weekend.

Husband and I discussed the options, and I was initially leaning toward doing the swap. However, while the interior of the red truck was nicer, it had fewer features and a little less interior space than the blue truck. It was also a short bed, as opposed to the long bed of the blue truck (something I didn't really care about, but it mattered to Husband). We finally decided to just borrow the red one and fix the blue one.

We unhooked and re-hooked the trailer (AGAIN) and were finally, finally on our way. We made it to Boise that night, and then after sitting in awful Sunday traffic on I-90 in Washington, finally made it to my mom's house Sunday night. A full day after we had been expecting, but at least we made it.

Of course, the unexpected delays associated with our Suburban's catastrophic engine failure shook up our entire week's visitation schedule, so we had to make some last minute adjustments. Some people were… displeased… with our limited time frames, but quite frankly, by that point I had no patience for it. We drove 1200 miles and went through two vehicles; I think you can handle driving 20 minutes to meet us for dinner and survive not eating exactly at your predetermined usual dinner time. Suffice it to say, we found out who some of our true friends are (and are not) this week!

We also got a call on Monday afternoon from the sales guy back in Utah, to tell us what they had found on the blue truck. The injector bank went out. Now, as stated above, I'm not exactly an automotive expert, so to me, that pretty much means nothing. They could have said the phalanges were broken for all I know!

Husband explained that, basically, what happened on the Suburban's gas engine is what happened on the truck's diesel engine (only less catastrophically so). The engine was kaput!

Because of course.

Because Utah hates us.

So they ended up replacing the injector bank (and the phalanges, probably), and we have a warranty on the engine so that we don't have to deal with this again any time soon (fingers crossed, knock on wood).

The rest of our vacation had a bit of a pall over it, though we tried to make the best of it, despite some friend drama and a few minor irritations (because seriously, I fought this hard to make this vacation even happen in the first place, but yeah, let's make it all about not inconveniencing you) and some serious homesickness for Western Washington and my boo-thang Kym.

We left Seattle Saturday morning, with the intention of getting all the way to Brigham that night so we could swap vehicles for our truck and get back on the road first thing Sunday. We only got as far as Mountain Home, Idaho, because it took us 7 hours to even get out of Washington.

7 hours!

I don't even know how that is possible. It was like all travel slowed to a crawl.

Sunday we made better time, and got to Brigham shortly after noon. However, as we were coming back down I-84, about 10 miles or so north of the exit for the dealership? THE RED TRUCK LOST POWER!!! Same effing thing that happened to the blue truck. In the exact same spot as where our Suburban blew.

I swear, Utah hates us. I mean, I know things happen in threes, but come on!

(We did see a lot of other truck and trailers pulled over on the freeway, also having issues, so maybe Utah just hates road-trippers in general?)

After swapping back to our blue truck, the rest of the drive home was relatively uneventful, though still wracked with stress. I spent the entire rest of the drive just waiting for something else to go wrong, because the precedent was set. Our truck has a few quirks on it that we need to get checked out, like weak air conditioning, engine fans that aren't terribly effective, and the door handles have some issues. Plus, it's not my Suburban, and I loved my Suburban.

So now, I have a massive loan payment on a truck that, at the moment, I loathe (though I'm sure my emotions have as much to do with that as the quirks and stress).

This week, we have the joy of dealing with digging out, both in terms of unpacking and settling back into being home, as well as dealing with the financial and logistical fallout of this week. Our insurance agent will be having a meeting with us, which will be non-fun for her. We need to refinance the truck through a local bank so we can get a better deal on the interest rate (and hopefully ease the burden on my budget). And I will be looking into new paid writing opportunities, since Yahoo decided to shut down its contributor side… meanie heads.

So that road less traveled?

I have a gypsy spirit, I'm all for the road less traveled. I mean, hell, I moved to Wyoming of all places, just to experience something new!

But when I'm on a road trip with a predetermined destination, and limited time frame and financial leeway? I'd like to stay on the intended road, and not have any mechanical issues along the way, thank you very much.

It's how I roll

You're welcome.

Highs and Lows

So this weekend was… a bit of a roller coaster. To say the least.

Things started off really great. Friday morning, my insurance agent called to tell me that I had to stop by her office that day and sign my new life insurance policy. I asked her what she meant by "new", and she said that the results of my health screening had come back, and my numbers were so good that my insurance premium dropped dramatically. Enough so to warrant it being considered a "new" policy!

Apparently I am considered "premier preferred", which isn't very common. Meaning I'm crazy healthy, which made me feel pretty good. (Better than just being crazy, I guess!)

So yeah, that glass of Pepsi and handful of jellybeans I had for dessert last night? Not feeling guilty about it! Boom!

Then after hanging up with my insurance agent, I got another phone call. I don't usually answer numbers I don't recognize, because I'm sick of those damned robo-calls. You know the ones.

"Hi! This is Andrea from cardholder services!"

*grumblegrumble*

But this number was from Seattle, so I took the risk and answered it. It was a travel company in Tukwila, calling to inform me that the drawing I had entered at the Women's Show back in March had been that morning.

And I won!

Three day, two night, all expenses paid trip to San Francisco, baby!

Of course, there is always a catch. In this case, I have to sit through a 90-minute presentation (or rather, sales pitch) on this travel company's timeshare program.

But I've sat through those before. Got me and Hubs a free beachside steak dinner last time we were in Hawaii. If I can sit through a predictable sales pitch for a free beach dinner for two, I sure as hell will sit through one for a free trip to San Fran!

You want to show me how great your timeshare program is by sending me on a trip to prove it? Go for it! Twist my arm.

Haight-Ashbury, here I come!

And yes, I will be sure to wear some flowers in my hair.

Going to San Francisco is bucket list material for me. For one, because it is just a beautiful city with amazing culture, history, arts, etc. It has this vibe that it just really unique, and I totally dig it. 

And for two, because I am *somewhat* obsessed with the counterculture movement of the 1960s. Summer of love, baby! It was such an incredibly special piece of history, and not something that could ever be duplicated. I've always felt a connection to that period of time, even though I was born a couple of decades too late to experience it. I'm a hippie at heart, dammit!

So after finding out about the trip, I was naturally quite pumped, which resulted in my best workout I've had in… well, probably ever. My giddiness gave me the energy to just keep going, way past my usual goal. Feel the burn, baby!

Then, after my kick ass workout, I went upstairs to get ready, and a miracle happened. My eyeliner came out perfectly even. Winged perfection.

As any girl understands, this is effing miraculous in epic proportions. Because they're never even. Never. It's like one of the lesser known laws of physics or something.

Then, to top it all off, I realized I am officially halfway through my last quarter of school before I get my Bachelor's degree. Hallelujah! 

So yeah, suffice it to say, my Friday started out pretty awesome.

And then… it all went to hell in a hand basket.

I've already rehashed this multiple times over the course of the last few days, both explaining it to people asking what the hell happened, as well as just running it through my brain on repeat. It mentally exhausts me, so I'm not going to go into full details here. 

The reader's digest version is this:

I received a nasty text out of the blue from a member of my family. Apparently, this individual felt, I don't know, pissed off, or threatened, or disproportionately bothered in some way by the fact that I dared to called my grandpa.

Inorite?!?

How. Dare. I.

So I received the text in response to having made this otherwise completely benign phone call.

The text caught me off guard, because for one, I have not spoken to this person in months, so they were pretty much the last person I expected to hear from. And for two, the level of vitriol made me sick to my stomach. Like, hurtful, unnecessary, disgusting, appallingly immature kind of behavior.

But unfortunately, this isn't anything new for this person. It's just how she rolls. Which is a huge factor in why we haven't spoken in so long. I don't feel compelled to put myself in a position where I will be treated like that. It is my job to protect myself and my family from people whom I feel are negative, and potentially dangerous, influences; that was something that everyone seemed to understand and be on board with.

But recently I had begun hearing whispers to the contrary. This toxic person had managed to infect others. She had continued her habit of lying and manipulating those around her in order to get them to feel sorry for her, when she was the one causing the damage to begin with. She shows others this carefully constructed fabrication of her life in order to maintain this myth, this house of cards illusion, that everything is just peachy keen. When it's not. 

I saw through the lies, I saw through the manipulations, I chose to not drink the koolaid; I saw the reality of the situation, which is why I'm on the outs. She felt threatened that I didn't buy into her story. And now she is actively turning whomever she can against me, playing the victim, pulling the strings, all because her life is falling apart and she needs the distraction. She's trying to start a full-fledged family war; sides are being chosen, bunkers are being built. All because she can't take an honest look at her life and realize the one commonality to all the crap she is going through. Herself. 

But the kicker is the reason I pulled back from her to begin with has been proven right time and again. When the dust settles, the bodies are retrieved, and the wounds are cleaned, she will have a trail of destruction behind her, whereas I will not. I have not once treated her in the same manner that she has treated me. I have not behaved in the same abhorrent way. And she will have to face that some day. She has hurt me more deeply than words could ever adequately express, but her behavior will end up hurting herself worse. It's never pleasant witnessing someone in the throes of self-destruction, but I have to keep reminding myself that she is not my problem. It'll all come out in the wash.

I've been repeating the Serenity Prayer to myself over and over the last few days. I'm not particularly religious… like… at all. But I grew up with the Serenity Prayer, and I feel it is something that applies in all aspects of life.

Serenity. Courage. Wisdom.

What more do you need?

To make up for my lousy Friday afternoon, Hubs and I went to our friends' house for dinner (where I had elk for the first time in… oh… 20 years?)  They also kept the lavender cosmos coming, which was good.

Saturday we ran some errands, and in the process I discovered this cute little kitchen store in downtown Cheyenne. It had some pretty nifty stuff (that you can't find anywhere else in this hick town), so I left there with a few goody bags in tow!

Then Sunday we took the kids to the circus. They had a blast, and my daughter ran into some friends from school, resulting in suddenly being surrounded by a gaggle of 9 year old girls. Something my older son was fairly displeased by!

All in all, my weekend turned around, and ended on a high note. Ain't nobody gonna keep me down!

*sassy snaps*

It wouldn't be spring in the Front Range without insane weather patterns

Friday: sunny and 78 degrees.

Saturday: sunny and 75 degrees.

Sunday: snowing and 22 degrees….

Welcome to spring in the High Plains?

The Husband and I took our new travel trailer for a test run this weekend, and went camping down at Cherry Creek State Park just south of Aurora, Colo. (Or, more accurately, the campground is actually nestled within the city, which was… a new experience for us. Our campground back in Washington was 30 miles north of nowhere!)

There's snow in them there clouds...

It was a lovely, albeit quick, trip, and we made many, many camping and road trip plans for the coming spring and summer months! We did, however, get snowed out on Sunday, so our weekend was cut short. Thank goodness we left when we did, because we hit a perfect break in the weather that made it (at least slightly) less hairy getting back to Cheyenne.

And I have to say, I felt sorry for the poor saps in their tents… been there, done that, it sucks when the weather turns on you and all that is between you and Mother Nature's fury is a thin wall of polyurethane-coated fabric!

My day thus far has consisted of massive loads of laundry; getting the trailer linens and dishes cleaned and squared away; paying bills; and other general housewifery items.

I had planned on making a grocery run as well, but yesterday's stupid snow fall and subsequent deep freeze put a damper on that, on account of the ice rinks we call roads. I'll get to it tomorrow, since it'll be the only nice day this week!

I also need to attend to that whole pesky school thing. Spring quarter starts today.

Blergh.

BUT!!!!! FINAL QUARTER!!!!!

I've thus far managed to avoid any and all school work today. Because what better way to kick off my last quarter than through intense procrastination, amiright?!?

Lucky it's a super light week. (And one of my only light weeks all quarter… le sigh…)

I'll get it done. I always do. I just have to put my house back together first. Because as it turns out, while RV camping is in many ways much easier and more convenient than tent camping, there's one thing they don't tell you. Your house still ends up looking like a bomb went off in it when you get back!

Is there anything better than a campfire?

Duhn-nun… Dunh-nun, dunh-nun, duhn-nun… Ay Ay Ay...

It's safe to say it's been a pretty hectic couple of weeks for this Emerald City girl. Between school, kids, family, and random life stuff, I feel like I've been going 8 miles a minute lately.

(Yes, that's a Bob Seger reference)

(And yes, it's okay to combine Ozzy and Bob Seger references… I encourage it, actually)

Winter quarter is winding down in a few weeks, which means that everything is due all at once and none of the instructors seem cognizant of the fact that we have more than one class. So that's fun.

On top of that, this happened:

This was her first night here. She wouldn't leave the door mat!
Now she's my shadow.

Meet Luna!

She's an 8-month old German Shepherd mix that we adopted from the Cheyenne Animal Shelter. She's the sweetest pup ever. Now, I'm not really a dog person, but the kids have been dying for one for a couple of years now. We were waiting until our little guy was big enough (and potty trained enough), and began keeping an eye out for dogs in the last couple of months. Then, through some sort of kismet, we met Luna.

Her first few days with us she was very quiet and timid, but she has warmed up really quickly to us, and in some sort of ironic twist, I have become her favorite. She's adorable, and we're buds, and she's already super protective of all of us.

Maybe I can be a dog person after all…

Then this happened:

New couches!!!

Leather. Reclining. Need I say more?

Finally, this happened:

Yep. I got braces. My top teeth have been crooked my whole life, and I had sort of resigned myself to it. I felt like it would be ridiculous to get braces as an adult. I felt like I'd lived with my teeth the way they were for this long, I might as well just let it go. (Or try, at least)

Then I changed my mind. I think part of it had to do with turning 30, and deciding to take charge of things that I had the power to change. Like working out regularly again. Pursuing writing more. Getting more involved politically.

And getting straight teeth.

The Zen Veggie

By the way, I started a new blog called The Zen Veggie.

Check it out!

37 life lessons

Here is an article by Dawn Gluskin on 37 ways to live life to the fullest. I have to say, I love all of it!

Never work with animals or children

So this week has been… hectic.

And we're only half way through.

HUMP DAY!!! Woot woot!

I love that commercial. It never fails to make me giggle hysterically.

Anyhoodle, as I've mentioned before, I'm severely lacking in the motivation department with regards to school. Half way through week 2, and it's not getting much better.

Part of it stems from the fact that we are supposed to hear back from the underwriter today on whether or not our docs are approved. While she said that everything should be fine, and despite the fact that our credit is really good and we have a substantial down payment and we've given them every single piece of OCD-level documentation they've asked for (I'm almost expecting a request for organ tissue samples at this point), I'm still nervous. Because you never know.

The other part of my distraction stems from the fact that it is uncomfortable for me to type, properly hold a text book, or basically function like a regular human being on account of the vicious assault I suffered Monday night.

Yes, it hurt. And yes, I have a forearm tattoo. It's Anglo-Saxon and Norse runes. It translates into "Fate is wholly inexorable". 

Yeah. Courtesy of my cat. Little bastard.

So, I mentioned before about how he is a Long-Haired Asian, and so without regular trimmings, he can sometimes get poop on himself if he doesn't position himself properly in the litter box. It's gross, but it's something I just know will occasionally happen.

Well, it happened again Monday night. He just got a little bit on himself; better than usual, no biggie right? 

Wrong.

So wrong.

I'm right in the middle of making dinner when this happens, so of course it was super awesome timing.

So I stop what I'm doing, carry him to the bathroom, and clean his bum fir with baby wipes. I then discover he had also gotten some on his tummy as well, probably while attempting to clean the first mess. It becomes clear that he just needs a bath; baby wipes won't be enough in this situation.

We confine him to the bathroom while we eat, and then I start gathering the supplies for bath time. 

Well my daughter accidentally let the cat out of the bathroom at this point, and seeing as how he was already stressed about me cleaning him and pissed that I locked him in the bathroom when there was food smells he desperately needed to investigate, he bolted into the bedroom and tried to hide under my daughter's bed. I grabbed him and gingerly carried him back out, trying not to touch the still-stinky parts of his tummy.

And this is when he flipped the eff out and ripped my arm open*.

Let me tell you, it hurt. A lot.

And it bled. A lot.

To the point that I had to bust out the family pack of paper towels because the first-aid kit was too far away.

So I clean my arm and wrap it in gauze, and The Husband taped me up, and we proceeded to trim the cat's excessive fur and give him a good bath.

It didn't go well.

Lots of growling and angry mewing and escape attempts.

And of course, being that I was newly injured, I was only slightly helpful in the whole process. And a little jumpy about more potential attacks.

But we got him clean, we got him somewhat trimmed, and I kept my distance from him for the rest of the night.

All I can say is he's lucky I am morally opposed to de-clawing and find it utterly cruel; and he's lucky that I understand he was stressed and pissed about being cleaned; and he's lucky I understand that he hates being in the confined space of an apartment. He never used to act like this in our old house, so once we're in the new house (knock on wood) I'm hoping his attitude gets better.

Post-bath look of shame… or hatred...

Cute, fluffy, evil bastard.

*You know my priorities are a little screwy when my first thought was not "oh crap I'm bleeding profusely", it was "oh no my tattoo!"

Lazy Monday should be a thing

So I'm officially one week into fall quarter. My last fall quarter ever.

And I couldn't have less motivation if I tried.

Oy vey, this isn't a great sign!

I think most of it has to do with being preoccupied with the house and moving soon and everything that goes with that. Like oppressive amounts of stress.

I'm not sleeping super well, and I've just sort of been perpetually tired lately, and thus we have the lack of motivation to do school work.

Le sigh.

This first week was interesting though. I think I'm going to like my classes- the subject matter is interesting, and not overly complicated for my obviously struggling brain right now.

I also have already gotten into somewhat of a tiff with a fellow classmate, so it should be an interesting 10 weeks dealing with him.

See, we were discussing how racial and gender issues influence modern American families, and a gal and I were specifically discussing the integration of post-slavery African Americans into American society and the impacts that had on their family structures.

A guy in my class who hadn't been involved in the conversation to begin with decided to jump in then, and basically ripped me a new one. He was apparently trying to point out what he felt was a flaw in my comment, but decided to reference something incredibly violent and disturbing in order to do so. Not only did it not make any sense at all, but it was highly inappropriate for a class discussion.

Several other students jumped in and defended me, pointing out his non sequitur and the inappropriateness of his comments.

He then went on to attack me in other post threads that also did not involve him and did not apply to anything I said.

Basically, he's an icky troll who appears to hate women who have opinions. He was completely cordial to the men in the class, and kind of a wank to the women. Why someone with such an angry and bitter outlook would take a Sociology of the Family class is beyond me, but cheers to what looks to be an unexpectedly exciting quarter!

Beyond that, I have had AWOLNATION's Sail stuck in my head for a few days now. I was working on a Yahoo! article discussing movie releases, and after watching the trailer for The Counselor several times, that song is sufficiently lodged in my brain.

Which has made me miss 107.7 The End...

I think I'm going to go drink some tea... and maybe crack open a textbook... maybe...