Things I Can’t Remember

Yesterday was my birthday. It’s not a big deal, except it reminds me that I can’t remember things…namely how old I am. People still ask me how old I am, though at this point in my life I’m kinda getting to the point where I’m like, WTF, you shouldn’t ask me that. But, when they do ask me, I get this panicky feeling because I honestly forget how old I am, and I’m deathly afraid of telling them the wrong answer, because I don’t want to be one of those people that lies about their age because they are ashamed – which in itself, is a stupid statement, because I’m not doing it because I want to lie, I HONESTLY CAN’T REMEMBER HOW OLD I AM. Today I remember that I’m 34. I’m not sure why I remember that. Maybe because I still have the image of the half-eaten wedding/birthday cake in my head with the two candles on top that remind me. It’s probably the coolest birthday cake I’ve had since the Ms Pacman one my mom made me when I was like 8.

This was before the candles were lit...

This was before the candles were lit…

There are other things I can’t remember…like where I parked in the parking garage at work when I don’t park in my normal spot. Sometimes I’m this opportunist that likes to park on a lower floor, and when that happens, I always end up walking around the 4th floor looking for my car that isn’t there. I tell myself I’m only going to park on 4, but we all know that’s not going to happen. If I see a spot on 2, I’m going to take it. It’s bascially the law of parking in garages.

I also can’t remember everything I need at the store. Now, this may be normal, but if I run into CVS to buy a diet 7up and some Advil, I’m going to come out with just the Advil and 7 other things I didn’t need, and I’m going to forget the diet 7up, especially since the diet 7up wasn’t for me, and forgetting it is worse. But look honey, we have new bobby pins and hairspray! Totally makes up for it.

Today, I’m supposed to go pick up our portraits from our awesome photographer after work. I have to put in multiple calendar reminders on my phone, leave the email in my inbox, and put a note on my monitor, or else I will forget. Chances are, once I get home, I WILL FORGET. I’m not sure why this is. Do I not care? No, of course I care. I want my photos, some of them are Christmas gifts, and I also made special arrangements to get them. Does this make me a crappy human? Maybe so. I kinda don’t blame myself, because part of this is genetic. Have you ever met my grandfather? Not only is he famous for being completely frontal and saying whatever crops up in his brain (‘are you pregnant? or just getting fat?’ ‘are you ever going to get married?’), he is also famous for being forgetful, especially of people’s names. For instance, just this past weekend, he walked up to me and asked me if I’d seen Christy. Why yes, yes I have.

I can never remember that crunchy tacos cut the sides of my mouth when it counts.

I can never remember which foods give me indigestion. Though, right now, I can remember it’s Fruity Pebbles and something else….

I can never remember which year my husband was born in, but it was either 1976 or 1977. (He’s going to kill me for that one) I’m pretty sure it was 1977 because he’s only like 18 months older than me, and if I’m guessing right about my age it has to be 1977. HAHAHA

I don’t remember anything at work, but I don’t think that counts. It’s also boring. And I don’t want to write about it.

I remember lots of things: my social security number, my husband’s social security number, my checking account number, my parent’s checking account number, where I live, what day I was married, Sid’s birthday, what my husband was wearing on our first date to Taco Bell, what Laney looked like when I held her for the first time, that Matt used to have a My Pet Monster and Pee Wee Herman pull string doll, that my dad won’t eat corn or mushrooms in his stuffed bell peppers, what kind of hair stuff my mom uses… I sometimes remember where my parents live.

Maybe I just need to be rebooted. It fixes the laptop most times.

update!! I am sitting at one of my favorite lunch spots, El Tiempo, and realized that I can never remember the name for the melted butter. I ask for melted butter, mantequilla caliente, hot butter, but they always bring me pads of butter. Last time I was here I asked what to call it, and I was like, I’m going to remember this!!!! Well, I didn’t. Today, I’m happy to solidify it on the interwebs as GARLIC BUTTER. I am never forgetting it again. Possibly.


My Brother Matt – A Wedding Blog

Most of you know that I have a younger brother, Matt. This weekend marks a major milestone in his life – he’s getting married. I’m super excited…not only is he marrying someone that I couldn’t have picked better myself, but also because he’s really getting to the point of living. He’s always had so much to give another person, and the fact he’s getting to share his life with Jen is really…fantastic. Magnificent. Awesome. HYPERBOLE!!!!

Matt is my only sibling. He was my first friend, my first foe, my first ally, my first enemy. If you have a brother or sister, you know exactly what I mean, unless you are from one of those freakish families that never fought. I honestly don’t remember if I was excited to have a little brother, because I was only 4 when he came along, but I can tell you that we had a lot of time together growing up.



We watched A LOT of movies. And acted them out. Built forts. He really enjoyed being put in the closet and buried in the blankets a lot. I swear, it wasn’t something I did to bully him. He asked for it. I swear somewhere there’s a picture of him in the closet, with his head poking out, smiling. I did pick on him, and when he was able to, he picked on me. We had a LOVELY flower patterned couch, and he’d fart on a flower, and ask me to go smell it. We would wrestle, and it would inevitably turn into a real fight. One time we were fighting while my mother was backing the car out of the garage, and the back door was opened into the side of the garage….oops. We also hid together when things weren’t so fun.


Rocking the mid 80s

I’ve always had this sense of needing to take care of him, and now, as I look toward tomorrow, that job is going to fall to his wife. I’m so happy that I know she is up to the challenge, is capable, and will never give up. As they have lived with us for the last 9 months, I’ve seen evidence they are both up to the challenge of marriage. It’s comforting to know that your brother is in good hands. It’s comforting to know that the sister I’m getting is exactly what I secretly wished for when I was a kid. =D  I never wanted to trade in my brother, but the addition of a sister was always on the wish list.  LOL

My new sister!

My new sister!

I know this post is exceptionally sappy, but this is sort of my wedding toast to Matt and Jen. I love them both, and am extremely happy to have Jen be an official part of the family, though it feels like she’s been here for some time already. My life has always been better because of Matt, and it’s going to keep getting better now that we have Jen, and EVEN BETTER once I have neices and nephews. No pressure. HAHAHA!

Read this if you love a female, have female friends, know a female, or a female gave birth to you.

Ok folks, things are fixin’ to get personal.  I feel like I need to put this blog out for a few reasons.  One, for my friends and family who know me, and who wonder why I am the way I am.  Two, for those of us that may go through this same thing, and might feel ashamed or scared of it.  And three, so everyone can see just how ballsacks bananas this thing is, and how there really is no way to fix it or control it. 

I’m talking about PMS.  And not just any PMS, the worst case scenario PMS.  It’s officially defined as “Premenstural Dysphoric Disorder” or PMDD.  This is the most severe type of PMS one can have, and for approximately ten-ish days of every month (yes, EVERY MONTH), you lose your damn mind.  I’m talking, out of body, Carrie at the Prom, one move away from being on an episode of Snapped, crazy. 

The National Institutes of Health defines PMDD as: a condition in which a woman has severe depression symptoms, irritability, and tension before menstruation.  They go on to say that many women with this condition also suffer from anxiety, major depression (not just regular that comes with PMDD) and seasonal affective disorder (SAD…sorry…everytime I see this acronym, it makes me laugh inappropriately).   There has been a push to categorize this not only as a medical condition, but also as a MENTAL condition.  OK.  I will admit to feeling totally mental during this time, but there is no real evidence to suggest that it is purely a psychological problem.  There has got to be a physiological cause for this increase in…everything.  Anger, sadness, anxiety, all of it.

This crap is horrible.  HORRIBLE.  I’d rather have corns on all of my toes than have PMDD.  I’d rather have warts on my hands and elbows with corns on my toes, PLUS constant postnasal drip than PMDD.   Let me give you a scenario:

It’s your average Tuesday.  You are sitting at your desk.  Your boss asks you how your morning is going.  You respond with, “HOW DO YOU THINK IT’S GOING? I WORK HERE, WHERE NO ONE HELPS ME, I COULDN’T FIND ANYTHING TO WEAR THIS MORNING THAT FITS, AND MY DAUGHTER DECIDED THAT SHE DIDN’T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL TODAY!”  He backs away slowly from your desk. Your phone rings, and it’s your husband.  You answer, and he asks how your morning is going.  You sob uncontrollably and he hangs up apologetically, saying has a meeting.  Your mom calls and you just tell her you’re busy because you don’t want to take anything out on her because, really, she’s your mom. You IM your best friend and tell her that you’ve lost your mind, and your life sucks, and no one cares about anything you do and she placates you in every way possible and agrees with what she can agree with, and tells you yes, you have lost your mind.  And you agree, because you are astitutely aware of everything that just happened and just how insane it is. 

This scenario repeats itself for 10-15 days every month for the rest of your fertile years.  Hooray for the next decade-ish!  

If anyone tries to tell me this is all in my head, or it’s not real, you will be assaulted.  For that, I am certain.  

References (because we are legit, yo):