The nervous voms

We put another offer on a house.  Then they counter-offered and we had to decide what to do about it. I ended the night scrolling through pictures of adoptable dogs on the Internet to calm myself down. Except I did not calm down and I haven't calmed down since.

This house is at the top of our budget. Slightly over it, actually. Let's break down the reasons this makes me want to nervous vomit all over the place.

1. This is a house that we cannot afford on just D's salary. If we buy this house and have children we will struggle to allow me to stay home for six months and then I will have to go back to work. End of story.


2. D$ makes really good money. What the fuck is wrong with me that I want to buy a house that isn't affordable on a salary that is more than the combined salary of almost everyone I know? How is that even possible?  What is it that I think I need that can cost so much money? 


3. The house has three bedrooms. It has a dining room, a garage, a full basement. It is cute. I feel like buying this house (when I could buy a smaller house in a not-as-nice neighborhood for an amount that would allow me to take more time off of work) I am selling my future children down the river so that I can have nicer "stuff." Wrapping my  hypothetical babies up in blankets and leaving them on a church doorstep so that I can have a guest bedroom.*


4. What happens if we become miserable in our jobs and cannot follow our dreams because of our mortgage? What happens if we lose our jobs? 

Of course there are counter arguments: the neighborhood has the best elementary school in the state. Those three bedrooms mean that we can live in this house with our children for many many years without having to move again. It's a really good price for the neighborhood and the amount of space.  I don't know if I would want to stay home anyway. We have free, amazing childcare in my mom(s) so staying home is a bad financial decision regardless of the price of the home we buy (not to mention the impact on my career, independence, etc). 

All of these facts did nothing to soothe the ache in my gut when I think about 1-4 above. None of these facts eased the guilt I felt about not living in a dirt-floored cabin, sharing a bed with my children, and Living Simply So That Others May Simply Live. That rationale did not stop me from wondering what our (artist/teacher/librarian) friends will think when they see it. Will they whistle under their breath and decide we must have lots of money, then hate me when I am home with a baby and stingy about going out because of the cost? 

Really, I should have had this freak out a long time ago. When we set our housing budget D$ told me what the top of the budget meant. I knew it. But I didn't know it. Now - now that I was deciding if I wanted to  sign my name to documents that will commit me to that amount of money -  well I sorta started to lose my shit. I second guessed my priorities. I doubted what I thought I knew. I spoke to my dad on speakerphone while huddled in a ball on a stool but failed to be swayed by his advice. It felt like there was basically no way for me to know if we were doing the right thing. 

*      *      *      *      *

After hours of deliberation we took a deep breathe and counter-offered back. Neither one of us felt good, or sure, or remotely sane. 

Today, they countered (again, these assholes!) with something we'd considered offering. 

And I was excited. D$ was excited. 

Hopefully, that's all we need to know. 

We're gonna accept. 

*D$ rightly pointed out that the third thought is pretty much 100% about me. I don't think that D$'s choice to work is selling our kids down the river, do I? 

Um, help?

Guys, I have a very important question.

You know how you read a blog for a long time but never comment because I dunno, you are lazy or shy or a natural born lurker, but then one day you feel the drive to actually comment because you realize that is sorta how the internet community works? 


Um. How do you start commenting without coming off like a weirdo? My go-to is to just to write a comment like I would write to a friend, which feels all "super confident and funny and sassy!" when I type it...but then later I realize it probably comes off to the blogger as "overly familiar weirdo who may or may not have been quietly stalking me on the internet for months." This is particularly problematic when something that felt sassy! turns out to read sort of accidentally mean.

Needless to say, I have a complex about this. I'm hoping I'm not the only one. What do you dooooo?

Please. Please help me keep from being such a weirdo on the internet.

Step Right Up

"Test your Strength" by Ben Shahn, via the Library of Congress

I set up an 8 a.m. meeting with Young Guy tomorrow to talk about group expectations.

I'm scared, but am trying to feel strong and assertive.

Here's hoping I'll hit that mallet right out of the park.

A bone to pick

Normally I avoid talking about work on the blog because, well: the internet is scary, I work in the public sector and I would like to keep my job. I also deal with a lot of confidential information. Tonight, it just so happens that I need to vent.

I am really struggling with my job right now. The work I am doing is intense in both content and amount but that isn't really the issue. The issue is that I am working on a team with two people who make me crazy. Two men who make me crazy, to be more exact. 

When I am being diplomatic about these men I say that we are very different. When I am bitching about these men (which happens a lot these days) I say much, much more. 

We are very different and that is a lot of the problem. They are both young, from small towns, married with pregnant wives, and very, very sheltered. That isn't just the problem, though. The problem is (just a few examples):

Both of them talk about their pregnant wives like they are fucking disabled. "Well, she's pregnant so she doesn't make any sense," "Well, she's pregnant, so..." It makes me want to punch them in the face.

One of them told me that he likes his cul-de-sac because you know right away if someone is on the street who doesn't belong. When I - trying to piece together a response that didn't betray my horror - mentioned living in the city because there are lots of people around his response was, "Oh, you'll change your mind when you have kids and start thinking about their safety." I was unable to stop myself from saying, "No, I won't. I want my kids to grow up and know how to interact with lots of different kinds of people." (Note: this man is not white.) (Double note: I was able to stop myself from asking him to please not assume anything about my desire to have children and/or my ability to keep said hypothetical children safe.) He also micro-manages me like a motherfucker.

The other guy is three years younger than me but gets to act as my in-charge when cul-de-sac man goes on paternity leave (Quote: "I'll probably end up getting bored and coming back to work early." GRRRR) because this was his first job out of college. This man told me that the only woman he would ever be alone with outside of work besides his wife (who he married at 21) is his mother. He goes to the kind of church that encouraged him to stop carpooling to work with another woman from the church because she is single and he is married (something about avoiding the appearance of evil, I don't know). He unabashedly doesn't care about politics, loves to hunt, and either talks down to me or jokes with me like I'm his buddy.  He is completely unaware of the insane amount of White Male Privilege that has afforded him almost everything that he has. He thinks he the world is owed to him and that he has earned it.

Phew. I could go on but I feel I may have said too much already. I have a meeting with my mentor tomorrow to ask her advice on how to handle this situation as I have to work with these men (and pretty much only these men) for another year. I am trying to sort out what is really an issue and what is my own snobbishness/oversensitivity. I am also trying to remind myself how lucky I am to have made it through 28 years and many jobs before encountering people like this.

Any suggestions welcome. 

Get me out of here

Oh god. I just had a silent mini-panic attack and fled my parents' house.

We were all gathered there to spend time with my nephew. Another brother flew in from California last night to be supportive and spend a few days with us. He is staying with my parents and my nephew's family's house is fairly small so it made the most sense for everyone to gather there.

What's stupid is that it was  mostly a really nice day. Nephew is doing well, and it is nice to spend time with my brother and his wife and get to know Teenage Nieces a little better. The panic didn't set in until the last two hours or so.

The root of the panic likely lies in the simple fact that it was day two of "sitting around all day and trying not to think about Nephew's potential cancer." I do not do well without activities.

The intensification of the panic came from the pairing of "nephew-cancer panic" with "parent money panic," which is an old and well-known panic that lies just below the surface of my being.

This fun pairing of panics began when my brothers and nieces all started trying to convince my step-dad that he should get an iPhone or iPod or MP3 player. You know, my step-dad who does not HAVE A JOB and who is BAD ABOUT SPENDING MONEY HE DOESN'T HAVE. I had a really hard time not screaming at everyone to SHUT UP or saying something to my step-dad that would have hurt his pride.

I think I could have recovered, but after Nephew's family went home the conversation turned to my parents' year-long battle to get the house loan re-modified  After a few minutes I realized that my stomach was clenched, my shoulders were arched, and I couldn't sit still in my seat. I wanted to stay and hang out with my brother but I had to GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE. So I did. I made up an excuse about the roads getting icy (although I didn't really make that up as I was worried about that) and left as quickly as I could.

Now I am home. Drinking a beer, writing this, and waiting for my shoulders to relax.

16 tons

I went to get a massage this weekend (a gift from my step-mom who is a magical human being). The masseuse is a friend of my sister and since I felt weird about being nekkid around a friend-of-a-friend I asked her to concentrate on my head and shoulders, since that is where I hold my stress. About halfway through the massage I mentioned off-hand, "Oh yea - I think I clench my teeth pretty badly at night, so it might be good to massage my jaw a little."

That was it for the rest of the massage.

Before I left the masseuse told me that my jaw is in pretty bad shape. The instant she tried to massage it it clenched up insanely tight. This could be linked to my headaches and shoulder aches, not to mention the jaw-popping sounds.

What, me, stress?

*p.s. I really, really don't want to get a night mouth guard. I have no need to be that unsexy or to be reminded on a daily basis of how horribly the inside of my mouth actually smells. The masseuse say she can do a few sessions of jaw massage and that might help. Frankly, laying in a quiet room and having someone rub my face sounds a LOT better than making D$ sleep with the worlds weakest hockey player every night. Opinions? 
**Diamond Skill from Damien Hirst