I Hate The World Today You're So Good To Me I Know But I Can't Change

Dear Car Dealership Lady,

I want to apologize for my bad behavior on Saturday. It's just that when you told me that I didn't have an appointment (not "I don't have your appointment marked down" or "someone must have recorded it on the wrong day" but "you don't have an appointment today *eye roll,* *sigh,* *sneer*") it stressed me out. It stressed me out because Shawn and I had already driven for over an hour to drop his car off at his dealership and then make it to your dealership on time for my 10:30 appointment. The 10:30 appointment that had been booked for days. And then, when you told me that it would "be awhile," I may have raised my voice a little. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Car Dealership Lady. I've worked in the customer service industry before. I know how much abuse you must deal with. I know that customers can be angry, bitter people. That's why I always try to be especially kind to customer service representatives. The fact that you pushed me over the edge, and so quickly, really is a testament to the combination of snarkiness, disdain and general bitchiness that you've managed to cultivate. So no, I was not willing to "leave the car and come back in a few hours" like you so helpfully suggested. I didn't mean to make your life difficult, it's just that I had another appointment I had to be at that afternoon and we had planned our day down to the minute. I'm glad that your manager stepped in at that point and told me my car would be serviced next. Things could have ended there. We could have gone our separate ways and never had to see each other again (rest assured I will not be bringing my car back to your dealership ever again.) But you had to engage me again; you couldn't leave well enough alone. You see, the only reason I brought my car back to the dealership was because my first service was free. So when you asked me to sign the slip of paper (that said I acknowledged the $49.95 fee) and I refused, I don't think you should have acted to surprised. I don't care that the salesperson that sold me the car doesn't work there anymore. I don't care that the dealership was sold to another company. I don't care that it's no longer company policy to give the first service free. It was policy when I bought the car. End of story. The eye rolls and exaggerated sighs were not necessary (or appreciated.) Nor was the muttered, "I'll see what I can do."

In the end, my car was serviced for free and barring any future warranty issue with my car, you and I will never have to see each other again. So Car Dealership Lady, I'd like to take this chance to apologize for the scathing letter I sent to your boss.

Cheers!

Hillary

* * * * * * * * * *

Dear Matt,

I've been seeing you for 4 years. For 4 years you have been trying to convince me to go blonder! shorter! more layered! with bangs! For 4 years I have been telling you to take half an inch off the bottom. So when I sat down in your chair on Saturday, I was excited. "Take it all off!" I told you. "There's no limit! Do whatever you want!" I had high hopes, Matt. High hopes that you so cruelly dashed when you turned the chair around to the mirror and showed me my new hair. My new Weather Girl hair. My flippy at the bottom Weather Girl hair. There are no words. I hate you.

Hillary

* * * * * * * * * *

Dear Stella,

I know that you hate your puppy seat belt. The problem is that you hate being in your crate in the car even more. When you're in your crate, you cry and you howl and I cannot concentrate on driving. I tried letting you free in the car, but that almost ended in disaster when you dove down to my feet while I was driving. The puppy seat belt is our compromise (oh how I wish I could explain compromise to you.) The puppy seat belt goes around you like a harness and attaches to my passenger side seat belt. You're attached to the car, so you can't get tangled in my feet, but you're close enough that I can still pet you. Win win, right? So why do you hate the puppy seat belt? Why do you chew the puppy seat belt? More importantly, why do you chew the car seat belt? I know it's just two little pieces of plastic that you chewed but I had it priced while I was (patiently) waiting for my car to be serviced on Saturday. To fix the two little pieces of plastic, the entire seat belt system needs to be replaced. The parts alone will cost $1100. So obviously I'm not getting the car fixed. And you, obviously, will be traveling in the crate from now on. Asshole.

Love Mom

* * * * * * * * * *

To my menstrual cramps, headache, lower back pain and sore ankles (tell me this is a result of non-supportive (but cute!) shoes and not my period and I will eat your face),

Go the fuck away.

Hillary

* * * * * * * * * *

Dear Shawn,

Thanks for inviting your pretty, skinny, smart, judgey friend over for dinner tonight when I'm fat, bloated and have bad hair (not to mention a half-organised kitchen and a dirty bathroom.)

You better bring home ice cream. And pick up your socks.

Your loving wife,
Hillary

* * * * * * * * * *

Dear Chocolate,

Thank you for being you.

I will love you forever,
Hillary

All That I Want Is A Photograph Of Photo Jenny

Wedding Recap A - D
Wedding Recap E - H
Wedding Recap I - K
Wedding Recap L

My wedding recaps have stalled. If you're still interested in all the juicy details (bless your patient heart) you can read them here. Also, Angella wants input on her photography site, so if you have nice, helpful things to say, say them here.

ABC 123 Baby You And Me Girl - Part 4

Wedding Recap A - D
Wedding Recap E - H
Wedding Recap I - K

Last Name: I am keeping my last name. This created some tension between me and Shawn. Shawn's argument for why I should change my name was that it's "what people do." He's a "traditional guy" and thus expects his wife to have the same last name as him. He feels like getting married makes us a "family" and how can we be a family with different last names?

My response?

When do I ever do anything because it's "what people do?"
Define "traditional" - is it traditional that we lived together for over two years before getting married? You can't play the traditional card only when it's convenient to you.
If having the same last name is so important to you, why don't you take my last name? Or why don't we blend our names together? Or come up with a whole new last name (like Kickass. Hi, I'm Hillary Kickass and this is my husband, Shawn Kickass.)

Here's the thing, I don't see the point in changing my last name. It doesn't make me any more married to Shawn, it doesn't mean I love him more than if I don't change my name, it doesn't make our marriage more likely to last. I feel like it's an antiquated ritual that holds no importance in my life. This is also why I didn't have my father walk me down the aisle and "give me away" - I had both parents walk me down the aisle and there was no "who gives this woman to this man" stuff when we reached the end.

Besides all that, I actually like my name. My last name is not common - I have never met another person (not related to me) with the same name. It's unique, it goes well with my first name, and it's mine. My identity is not determined by my name but I feel (perhaps irrationally) that changing my name somehow changes my identity.

If Shawn could come up with an argument more compelling than "it's what everyone else does," I would consider it. He hasn't though, so the situation remains the same. My perception of the situation is that Shawn feels like I should have his last name because that is what society expects. Shawn's perception of the situation is that I'm not changing my last name because I'm stubborn and I feel like I shouldn't have to change my name if he's not.

We've reached a ceasefire. Shawn can't force me to take his name. I can't force him to understand my view. It's not an ongoing argument, it's just one of those "agree to disagree" scenarios. I'm not militant about my choice - people have referred to me as "Mrs. Shawn's last name" and it doesn't bother me at all. I'm just not legally changing my name.

The only argument I heard that made sense to me was from a friend. She took her husband's last name so that she would have the same last name as her children. If we ever have kids, I could see myself changing my name to match theirs. That's the beauty of it though, I don't need to decide right now. There's no rule that says that I can't change my name later if that's what I decide.

Disclaimer: I just want to clarify that when I say things like "it's an antiquated ritual that holds no importance," I'm not judging other people who choose a different path than mine. When I mock heart-shaped whisks or say that I didn't want my father to "give me away," I'm just saying that those things aren't right for me. I don't want to offend anyone with my babbling, so if I've worded something harshly or come across as a moody cow, I apologize. Variety is the spice of life and I fully support everyone's right to choose what is right for them.

Carbon's Anniversary The Parting Of The Sensory - 1

Dear Shawn,

Happy 1 Monthiversary. The wedding feels like it was ages ago but at the same time I can't believe it's only been one month. I'm glad that the wedding planning is over and I'm sure you're glad that the Crazy Wedding Planning Nutbar has disappeared.

I haven't finished recapping our wedding yet. I struggled with starting the recap. The wedding was both the most significant thing I've ever done and the most insignificant life event. Significant because, holy crap, now we're married. Insignificant because, umm, nothing really changed. The day after the wedding, you didn't wake up and start putting your dirty socks in the laundry basket instead of leaving them on the floor and, surprise surprise, I didn't stop bitching about it (okay but seriously - IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE. You take your socks off at night, leave them on the floor, Stella chews them, they get holes, you yell at Stella, lather, rinse repeat. THE BASKET IS FOUR FEET FROM WHERE YOU LEAVE YOUR SOCKS. EVERY. FREAKING. NIGHT.)

Our first month of married life has been a busy one. We went to Montreal to visit your dad's family. I was concerned about meeting them but I was just being a worrywart. They turned out to be fantastic people, who made every effort to make me feel included. It made me realize how difficult it must be for you, living on the other side of the country from them. I hope you never decide you want to move home though, because the mosquitoes made me want to cry. Maybe you could just convince your family members (all 50 of them) to move out West.

We took your computer with us to Montreal, to give to your dad. Your computer was old and full and it was getting harder for you to record music on it. Your dad had no computer (blows my mind) so he was happy to get your old computer. The plan was to give your dad your old computer, you'd take my newer computer and I'd buy a new laptop. The laptop has been put on hold for now, so we're currently sharing my computer. This situation has brought to light how much time you spend looking at cars online and how much time I spend reading blogs. It has also illuminated our need to learn how to compromise.

We still haven't managed to organise the condo since the wedding. We've made an effort though; we've put away almost all of the wedding gifts. We spent most of our wedding gift cards. We've sent out our thank you cards. Our next project is finding a kitchen table and cleaning out the closets. You and I both have a tendency to collect junk, shoving it away in closets or cupboards, out of sight out of mind. This has got to stop.

Thank you for making our first month of marriage so much fun. We've laughed a lot this past month. Like last night when I was trying to describe how I wanted to cut my hair and I was reminding you of how it was cut when we first met and you said "Oh yeah. You were hot back then." To which I replied, "Back then?" And then you got all flustered and then I laughed because you were so cute, trying to remove your foot from your mouth. Good times, my friend. Good times.

Love you, dude.

PS: Pick up your damn socks.

Too Much Red Meat And Ale

Jive Turkey tagged me for a "Six Quirky Things" meme last week and I'm just getting around to doing it now. Because that's one of my "things" - I'm effing lazy. I'm very Type A though, so I'm a bit mixed up all the time. I'm organised and OCD and a tad bit crazy, but also really freaking lazy. Try to figure that one out.

It is just occurring to me that I've already done a Quirky meme. Now I have to think of six additional crazy, erm quirky, things about myself. This will result in me revealing eleven quirky things about myself and then no-one will want to be friends with me because I am so crazy. Gah.

Oh hey, that's my second thing. I worry ALL THE TIME. About the stupidest things. For example, Shawn's brother was dogsitting Stella on Monday because his Mom was going out of town and we were still in Montreal. His brother was also installing our new tv. Sunday night I couldn't sleep because I was convinced that Shawn's brother wouldn't install the new tv properly and it would fall off the wall at the exact time that Stella was walking underneath it and we would come home to a flat-as-a-pancake puppy. I wish I was kidding. I got so worked up and guess what? The tv is still on the wall. Stella is still 3-D. Life is good.

3 - I cannot eat food court meat. I am not a vegetarian. I am not a picky eater. My list of things that I will not eat is pretty short. I am so disgusted by food court meat that I'm pretty sure you could classify it as a phobia. Foodcourtmeataphobia. The thought of food court meat grosses me out beyond comprehension.

4 - I hate it when people can hear me pee. (This doesn't apply at home, where I pee with the door open because I am too lazy to close the door. Eh, I'm married now. Who do I have to impress?) Our office space is a large, open-concept area that encompasses the entire floor of the building. This means that instead of having the bathrooms that are removed from the offices, like on other floors, our bathrooms are right in the middle of the working area. Yes, there are walls but they are flimsy walls and some of the ceiling tiles are missing. Everyone can hear everything that goes on in the office bathrooms. This shouldn't bother me, seeing as I work with eleven men and only one other woman (okay it should bother me, but for different reasons than what I'm talking about right now) but it does. I get performance anxiety. I realise this is completely ridiculous and I can't believe I'm even writing about it. I've got two more quirky things to come up with though, so it stays.

5 - I am generally a pretty decent speller but I have never been able to remember if it's field or feild. I know the "i before e" rule, thank you. It doesn't matter. I type field, it looks silly. I type feild, it doesn't look right. Thank you spellcheck. Without you I'd be spelling it feeld.

6 - I want laser eye surgery but I am too afraid to get it. I have had glasses or contacts since I was twelve years old. That's thirteen long years of not being able to see when I wake up in the morning. Thirteen years worth of contacts, contact solution, glasses, glass cases, etc. The cost of laser eye surgery is nothing compared to the cost of another fifty years of contacts, contact solution, etc. I have the means to get the surgery now. I just don't have the balls to do it. It's not even the surgery or the risk of blindness or anything like that. It's the thought of willingly putting eye drops in my eyes. I CAN'T DO IT. When I was a kid, I got eye infections all the time. I'm blaming it on weak genes but honestly, I was just a dirty kid. I hated to wash. Anyway, eye infections. Right. So I used to get eye infections and my doctor would prescribe this nasty, gummy, paste-type medication. I was a scrawny kid and yet it still took both my parents to get that shit in my eyes. One would hold me down on the bed and the other would try to aim the Vaseline-consistency nastiness into my eye. They'd finally succeed and then I'd cry it all out. So we'd start again. I am so traumatised from the experience.

So I'm supposed to tag some people to do this but I kind of hate doing memes. I'm hoping that by not tagging anyone I'm earning some meme karma. Hear that, universe? I'm not tagging anyone.
Do it if you want to, just link back here so I get some credit.

Gimme Ice Cream On My Birthday

Happy Birthday, Turtle!


Thank you for being the calm to my storm.
Thank you for understanding my crazy.
Thank you for setting such a good example.
Thank you for teaching me about good chocolate.
Thank you for being such a good sister.
Thank you for turning 29 first.

The Littlest Things That Take Me There I Know It Sounds Lame But Its So True

I'm too tired to form a coherent post, so here are the randoms bits and bobs floating through my head this morning:

I'm home from Quebec. I've been without the internet since Friday night (oh it was haaaard) so I have a lot of catching up to do. I had almost caught up on my google reader and now? Now my google reader is giving me panic attacks again.

Quebec was fabulous. I only managed to eat poutine twice but I think I gained about 17lbs. I will elaborate later.

I missed out on Blog Day '08. I wanted to participate but I couldn't get my act together before leaving. These lovely ladies included me in their Blog Day posts. Thanks, ladies! It's always nice to be on the receiving end of bloggy love.

I had to step over a pile of vomit to get into my building this morning. I'm not really going anywhere with this, I just wanted to put it out there. I feel like going to work sucks enough without having to maneuver around bodily fluids.

The Over-Thinker is attempting to post every day in September. If you feel so inclined, head over and support her. And by "support her" I mean "threaten to send her hate mail if she doesn't succeed." That's what I'll be doing.