tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64820879699857479402024-03-02T09:29:41.989-08:00The Snarky WriterA little wit, a little truth, a little sarcasm. OK, lots of sarcasm.Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00249931435021464536noreply@blogger.comBlogger367125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-38004886410939778532023-12-31T12:38:00.000-08:002023-12-31T12:41:37.665-08:00My Cocoon Year<p>I was so hopeful at the start of 2020. I was about to get married. It was a new decade. Husband and I got through <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2019/09/when-your-dog-gets-cancer-and-how-to.html" target="_blank">the worst thing to happen to us</a>, plus an immediate move, while planning a wedding, in my first year at a new job. Our friends were doing well — employed, seemed to know what they wanted out of life, married or dating or happily single (for the most part). We had just had a niece. We booked our honeymoon flights.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhycSf4NEKZxk55WWmkz3JnouXGYLlefwOY_cy6yRVMDyn4wKJ89VIubkMmhFWERvSMwYezsws4Hd-RPJ7H4VmwlPTJ8d1A0fPLnc5HnbL9SBXRNXCRCByDwdEa8xcxUXGZ_j-zhvGjOHoC4bRb4Yecqtu3wJkEJcQm1HMknwfIMXicZbYmpgt3tR8b0oE/s4032/IMG_4357.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhycSf4NEKZxk55WWmkz3JnouXGYLlefwOY_cy6yRVMDyn4wKJ89VIubkMmhFWERvSMwYezsws4Hd-RPJ7H4VmwlPTJ8d1A0fPLnc5HnbL9SBXRNXCRCByDwdEa8xcxUXGZ_j-zhvGjOHoC4bRb4Yecqtu3wJkEJcQm1HMknwfIMXicZbYmpgt3tR8b0oE/s320/IMG_4357.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Garmin setting the mood for 2024.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I've lost all hope going into 2024. It's going to start out hard and get harder, personally and professionally. I'm facing the loss of </span><a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2023/11/i-said-no-more-rats.html" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank">at least four pets</a><span style="text-align: left;">, including the one who's been with me throughout my entire adulthood. I'm deeply dissatisfied with everything about my job, from my pay to my influence to my ability to do what's best for the organization, even the very role I'm in (I hated marketing, how did I end up here?). I still feel </span><a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2023/04/stuck-in-paradise.html" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank">geographically stuck</a><span style="text-align: left;">. And it's unlikely that husband and I will get meaningful time for travel, or even a couple of long weekends that aren't for work or weddings or family obligations. I took six trips in 2023, five of which were for a wedding, a funeral, or work. We have one fun trip in mind for 2024, but that may not happen.</span></div><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_8U_YHP_gv9PN7GSdB8FGVZv4HKejqpV1BR2GNY0qwjt4oZbIvCklVDX9PZxoTECTQizO5-0hC98rYvr0UKhnkz3gwdSAFWT7Ipwk4bmdvRQsAPpAs_Bm6fyhlDMCtYaQaC6v-P59ceO0azOXabspPM2QwvvFEapNCQ6z7F8MkrNBBp8OsSMMElG1eM/s4032/IMG_4165.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_8U_YHP_gv9PN7GSdB8FGVZv4HKejqpV1BR2GNY0qwjt4oZbIvCklVDX9PZxoTECTQizO5-0hC98rYvr0UKhnkz3gwdSAFWT7Ipwk4bmdvRQsAPpAs_Bm6fyhlDMCtYaQaC6v-P59ceO0azOXabspPM2QwvvFEapNCQ6z7F8MkrNBBp8OsSMMElG1eM/s320/IMG_4165.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">One of my favorite photos from the one fun trip we took in 2023.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Worse, a lot of my friends are struggling to find something in their lives. Most are unhappy with their jobs, not finding meaning or purpose or even a decent paycheck. Some are unhappily single. Some have their own family drama. Some moved far away and feel disconnected. And some are just getting through this year, too.</p><p>I'm thinking of 2024 as my cocoon year. Not that I expect to emerge a beautiful butterfly, or even have goals for 2025, or think much of anything will get better. But I need to acknowledge that 2024 is not the year for hope or goals or progress. It will be the gross, lonely, difficult year that sometimes has to happen. And honestly, maybe just acknowledging it will help me endure it — having expectations for the year ahead will just lead to disappointment, but if my expectations are rock bottom anything unexpected will fit right in. I want to skip this year in terms of the good cheer that I've always felt at the start and hold out that <i>maybe</i> I can feel that way again when I welcome 2025.</p><p><br /></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVm0xXC5rQ4VfrKf0bu103oLLpsbLv-kMX1mIQZy_J1BN-T9oLEap3msKFLUrseX9YVQnaz9ENImRpLbseIiQYsFzUPSereq3Y6iWIhQ26n2u6oxzA-1_oBRQahnmNPhXU_O8DlMEmeKyQz9C4CXHgaQUtFKDP04qa-vaIYQIk2U031DCK977HyNJXVg/s4032/IMG_4067.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVm0xXC5rQ4VfrKf0bu103oLLpsbLv-kMX1mIQZy_J1BN-T9oLEap3msKFLUrseX9YVQnaz9ENImRpLbseIiQYsFzUPSereq3Y6iWIhQ26n2u6oxzA-1_oBRQahnmNPhXU_O8DlMEmeKyQz9C4CXHgaQUtFKDP04qa-vaIYQIk2U031DCK977HyNJXVg/s320/IMG_4067.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Maybe I should call this my mushroom year.<br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Recently, husband and I had a conversation about spirituality. Neither of us believe in an after life or any kind of higher power, but we do feel connected to the universe in a way. What I've always thought of as superstition might be better categorized as spirituality: like karma, if you do something bad, something bad will find you.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-S8YExZSRfd5peixi47B_LCZ1UIhX3BoH9wh9y5iUs8MBw_xDMyOh1N0iDVrlUFtc9SfMpOVHaGmvvRF8FF3Qdjzbsya-rWN6N9kPCTD-XUQqoV_LAJeX6I3uqYXVVN23WuPdyjgT2sjQl1qXp-mafC5kXwk6wpNkBAKMmZX2AkZucqmsTQUBphVnNx4/s4032/IMG_4024.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-S8YExZSRfd5peixi47B_LCZ1UIhX3BoH9wh9y5iUs8MBw_xDMyOh1N0iDVrlUFtc9SfMpOVHaGmvvRF8FF3Qdjzbsya-rWN6N9kPCTD-XUQqoV_LAJeX6I3uqYXVVN23WuPdyjgT2sjQl1qXp-mafC5kXwk6wpNkBAKMmZX2AkZucqmsTQUBphVnNx4/s320/IMG_4024.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Little miss Rosa holding my hand — and the ring I lost.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Over the summer I lost a ring I'd had since... jeez, at least college. It was a three-strand infinity braid that lived on my pinky. The three-strand braid was a relic of my religious past, the holy trinity, but also how my life was inextricably intertwined with the higher power I was once deeply devoted to. The lack of a visible seam, no beginning or ending, was symbolic of eternity. My wedding ring has similar symbolism: the two-strand infinity twist reminds me how my husband and I are inextricably connected. For a few months I was upset about the loss of my pinky ring and looked everywhere for it, even dug through the Roomba discards. But then I started thinking that maybe it's time to say goodbye to the symbolism that ring held. Maybe I was holding on to something that no longer served me. Maybe I should look ahead, instead. So I bought a new ring. It's one solid ring that's been hammered flat. The single, solid ring represents just me. The hammered texture and infinity style will remind me that life will give me a beating sometimes, but life goes on. I'll wear this on my right ring finger because my relationship with myself is just as important as my relationship with anyone else, arguably even more so. Hopefully this reminder through what's going to be a very challenging year will be a comfort, and will stay with me for many years to come.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4tgsVzrKcaCfn0igC4H4ocQ9vLgQxS0bUcw5LShAnZmecwmW9rNSG4GjJ5IHaTRVTGS9hF2udORM6MpezkbC64K6nfhG_8Px6CKlwEdHG3M2L2q8cfAIRK1-mzfWyIYXMWM7uoYznkgoAAGZp0xapn5X5hux_cabfQDfiG6rOLRzBJN0zspCyP9qHqOU/s4032/IMG_5807.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4tgsVzrKcaCfn0igC4H4ocQ9vLgQxS0bUcw5LShAnZmecwmW9rNSG4GjJ5IHaTRVTGS9hF2udORM6MpezkbC64K6nfhG_8Px6CKlwEdHG3M2L2q8cfAIRK1-mzfWyIYXMWM7uoYznkgoAAGZp0xapn5X5hux_cabfQDfiG6rOLRzBJN0zspCyP9qHqOU/s320/IMG_5807.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Randomly, I started a small worm farm in 2023. Hello, darkness.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>I have to end this with a shoutout to husband (hi, husband). When <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2020/05/this-quarantine-life-how-covid-19.html" target="_blank">the world felt like it ended</a> right after we had <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2020/05/we-did-thing.html" target="_blank">the best day ever</a>, we had a strong feeling of togetherness, joking that we had promised to be together forever but not <i>every minute</i> of forever. I had big family drama in 2020 and he listened to all of it and held my hand literally and metaphorically. Then it got bad in 2021, <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2022/06/guilt-and-judgment.html" target="_blank">depressing in 2022</a> (we started doing drugs, highly recommend) and worse in 2023. I know he must really love me because he doesn't just stick it out — he's genuinely and deeply hurt if I even joke about him leaving. He knows what he's facing in the coming year. He knows I'll need him more than I ever have in our dozen years together. I know I could do this without him if I had to, but I'm grateful I don't have to. Marriage may not be sunshine and rainbows all the time, but nothing compares to the feeling of having that person in your corner no matter what. So, thank you, husband, I love you.</p>Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02011137066680126659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-20357386973731051852023-11-28T23:11:00.000-08:002023-11-28T23:11:37.758-08:00I Said No More Rats<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3JIxc4pNAXLh6IyovR-EkERHbCLECWP5lTw7lPVpFRjCpfk08_HmYp5eliE09LZXelFtYIT7kVLK6o51jTeQD22JJGZEjTykeufM3lhanjhcQ4MfqJkHvL6v4lMMLIh_JiMeOMfe7a_TshP1snZ6u-98QYMYbgCOQ0lINprvVPveoj42NvcqM75yPlE/s2700/RS2_7362.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3JIxc4pNAXLh6IyovR-EkERHbCLECWP5lTw7lPVpFRjCpfk08_HmYp5eliE09LZXelFtYIT7kVLK6o51jTeQD22JJGZEjTykeufM3lhanjhcQ4MfqJkHvL6v4lMMLIh_JiMeOMfe7a_TshP1snZ6u-98QYMYbgCOQ0lINprvVPveoj42NvcqM75yPlE/s320/RS2_7362.jpeg" width="256" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A dramatic trio of rodents.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>We have 6 pets: the cat, two rabbits, and three rats. The rats were pandemic pets. (The first group, anyway. The three we have now are actually our second group.) We adopted three sisters the day they were able to leave their mom. The mom was nearly a baby herself — accidental pregnancy. We had one very old gal left and I sold husband on the cuteness and chance for a stronger bond compared to the older ladies from the first group. (Side note, the humane society full-on lied about their ages online. In 2020 they only adopted small animals sight unseen, so your only information was the online profiles. They said they were 6 months but they were really 18 months, giving us only a year with them.)</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWKBN90GCH4N8MOH-yfNq7dmAjysZUY5hTyaKsocu3dxla-165E3lQTWTN9Q-jcH__Up0wAmn3r5lYOC8c7W_XgnxnZyXKDORtY1dSsc5lTS-pZkjU-r7JS9-5eaf_xJRnezs0xIihCVu3VXfVW58P7bkI13uLnUR_mSr1EFZYOujhRWqygNBb0_Bn9s8/s4032/66958207788__D39DB3A3-19ED-47BE-9A27-0CDD4DE9FBAC.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWKBN90GCH4N8MOH-yfNq7dmAjysZUY5hTyaKsocu3dxla-165E3lQTWTN9Q-jcH__Up0wAmn3r5lYOC8c7W_XgnxnZyXKDORtY1dSsc5lTS-pZkjU-r7JS9-5eaf_xJRnezs0xIihCVu3VXfVW58P7bkI13uLnUR_mSr1EFZYOujhRWqygNBb0_Bn9s8/s320/66958207788__D39DB3A3-19ED-47BE-9A27-0CDD4DE9FBAC.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The babies were so tiny the day we brought them home to Maya.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>They are stinking cute. Their names are Harriett, Billie, and Rosa. You can guess where we got the names.</p><p>I'm spending a lot of time in my bathroom lately. Sitting on a blanket on the floor, next to the rat litter box, while they crawl inside my hoodie or on my shoulders or groom each other or chase each other or try to chew the baseboards or stick their noses under the door gap. We don't have a playpen or other secure area for them, and they're active, so the bathroom (between the outside door and the inner door to the toilet) is perfect. Loud, from the fan, and not fully comfortable, but otherwise perfect. They get play time, bonding time, and the cat is excluded so they feel much safer than on the couch. Right now one of them is in my hoodie on my stomach wildly gritting her little teeth in happiness. They boggle a lot in here, too. It makes me so happy and I barely even notice the fan or the hard floor for the hour. It's time to go when they are falling asleep, stretched out flat on the floor, curled up in my hoodie, or sometimes even asleep on my shoulder.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYym8L26gaCAE-58USG7OAsHCQFBnIQMO231oh4JwC2Tt09kF-jSdNTMVCvZAcukhcy388sOANFWqWouuMRg2ps_tOxF2rseO8fL7osw809y5a8AxMBogVGwi4B82WDKkkQc65Q7gvUJjniOvHhflaF2e5njJySw4Q1UunfDTfoe5RkDpEtvr-MASIBo/s2592/IMG_3187.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="1952" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYym8L26gaCAE-58USG7OAsHCQFBnIQMO231oh4JwC2Tt09kF-jSdNTMVCvZAcukhcy388sOANFWqWouuMRg2ps_tOxF2rseO8fL7osw809y5a8AxMBogVGwi4B82WDKkkQc65Q7gvUJjniOvHhflaF2e5njJySw4Q1UunfDTfoe5RkDpEtvr-MASIBo/s320/IMG_3187.jpeg" width="241" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A less comfortable way I would isolate the rats for playtime.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>I love having a house full of pets. I love cleaning the rat cage and the rabbit boxes and rearranging their spaces to add interest and making hiding areas and when they seek my affection (which is everyone except one bunny, who hates me). The rats especially. I adore the way their little bodies feel both lithe and round in my hands, how they wrap their tails around my finger or chin for balance, how they fling themselves up my legs or chest to climb to a better spot, how they let me cuddle them and the way they protest kisses on their heads and bellies. I don't know why, but their protests are my favorite. They dramatically thrust their whole hands, which are just tiny human hands, on our lips and push us away with their itty bitty might.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGuXFcYXXSRlbHbSGBXUvmWdExxh_mwz-iWBHARIMisnidrItk9BTgywRRDxmFY-htktWOq0Ho2oGvsUyOaYU_JV_vr7HuRbQDy-K9kyS0uz_hnmUCWAPFeLOvZEyRJkMfAaCq-BXKDe9FKnkZWBWovZFjKvQwNy8oVbpPJSTVvSPhw4F1bJUhCTl0riw/s2160/IMG_4346.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1441" data-original-width="2160" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGuXFcYXXSRlbHbSGBXUvmWdExxh_mwz-iWBHARIMisnidrItk9BTgywRRDxmFY-htktWOq0Ho2oGvsUyOaYU_JV_vr7HuRbQDy-K9kyS0uz_hnmUCWAPFeLOvZEyRJkMfAaCq-BXKDe9FKnkZWBWovZFjKvQwNy8oVbpPJSTVvSPhw4F1bJUhCTl0riw/s320/IMG_4346.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Billie on her first birthday!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>There's only one downside: We miss travel. Now that it doesn't make me sick with stress, leaving for any length of time is an unfair burden. Even with a trusted friend a few blocks away and a pet sitting service I like, it's still not fair to leave the rats in cages or the cat uncuddled for more than a day. So we don't travel unless we have to. And that's meant work and weddings only. Plus, one of us has to be home every 12 hours to give the cat a pill, so even leaving for a day or having evening plans requires an almost parent level of coordination. I can't be spontaneous (though that's almost a non-issue with the friend group) or go with the flow. Which is OK. I would rather not travel right now. Even if I miss it. I'm allowed to recognize the downsides in the choices I make.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdIDLzK8VtBZaWtO5MZAof7SYe0t_Jt_eRVwQoY6s0gaOSzcrFu0jsg1fx3_aBLYixzsR5vBMoDp-f9j6tdO72bdNrcER_TEKpe7IzlLTZARtEhsp1_rrgT0oscxZKfE_ypZyY5ehlC9ztDYMPWY_vMHmF9NrgrFUOVy_NDiVBxHLJuDhJDC43igWxZCc/s4032/IMG_5548.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdIDLzK8VtBZaWtO5MZAof7SYe0t_Jt_eRVwQoY6s0gaOSzcrFu0jsg1fx3_aBLYixzsR5vBMoDp-f9j6tdO72bdNrcER_TEKpe7IzlLTZARtEhsp1_rrgT0oscxZKfE_ypZyY5ehlC9ztDYMPWY_vMHmF9NrgrFUOVy_NDiVBxHLJuDhJDC43igWxZCc/s320/IMG_5548.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">They live in a top of the line cage with lots of hiding places and newspaper to shred to bits.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Everyone is around the same point in their respective lifecycles. Chloe is 18. The rabbits are both around 7 or 8. And the rats are turning 2 in February. Husband and I have talked a lot about taking a pet break to travel. We still want to go to New Zealand (the honeymoon we never had) and at this point want at least three weeks. We want to road trip to national parks. We've talked about Germany and Tanzania and Japan and Chile. We want to do big trips before we feel like being mostly home again for a while. So I promised, no more rats.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-3feLys0r9AqPtS2wy-6c5U_7fh98iK64zaAoyP_oLjKqXjmS_X_lDBVViZQuhvXlnmLFyv85XRxRmmbquk8OCz1I_0ZmVz_sZpbZxjfYZQ0-AIrxSUHc2HlQht1NOeYyICAmBU9jolDLGjZ0RC50Y22AC3nNZf0dVtDH6Rpo9G36cXfkYy4-hj6EMZY/s4032/IMG_5583.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-3feLys0r9AqPtS2wy-6c5U_7fh98iK64zaAoyP_oLjKqXjmS_X_lDBVViZQuhvXlnmLFyv85XRxRmmbquk8OCz1I_0ZmVz_sZpbZxjfYZQ0-AIrxSUHc2HlQht1NOeYyICAmBU9jolDLGjZ0RC50Y22AC3nNZf0dVtDH6Rpo9G36cXfkYy4-hj6EMZY/s320/IMG_5583.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I made a dig box and sprouted barley for a fun playtime activity.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Last weekend, in the bathroom, Billie was hanging out in my hoodie for a while. She pretty much only does that at the end of the hang when she's sleepy, and even then she'd rather stretch out on the tile. Billie is the independent spirit of the trio. She'll test limits, stick her nose in things, chew or pull at anything, and explore wherever she damn well pleases if I'm not watching. Which is why we're in the bathroom. Being that chill for no reason isn't like her. That's when I noticed her face looked odd. It was like her cheekbone was jutting out on the left side. I felt it and it was hard, like her skull. But only on that one side. I looked at Harriet and Rosa and they both had perfectly round rat faces. So this was new. I took her to the vet today worried about an abscess or tooth issue, expecting to need x-rays or surgery.</p><p>The vet inspected her and said, "oh Billie girl, I haven't seen this in a while." </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLWO1euXKc784j_9Ot_x2nRInv6SFE9YnXAsNCqlYV6MMRV3rSC1T6xpbHU9C5qIlEs92JtVaCILGLztvkiaYXORzhX9x9fhKgBLVKxTSqOWVuEFalrDGEBJbTTbELzYBCu7q6XT8Fjw84nnlIWDfWqFGONBmPRiuFo8XPPf4j6HaIcBAV-NkIG8VaN3U/s2160/RS2_7318.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1441" data-original-width="2160" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLWO1euXKc784j_9Ot_x2nRInv6SFE9YnXAsNCqlYV6MMRV3rSC1T6xpbHU9C5qIlEs92JtVaCILGLztvkiaYXORzhX9x9fhKgBLVKxTSqOWVuEFalrDGEBJbTTbELzYBCu7q6XT8Fjw84nnlIWDfWqFGONBmPRiuFo8XPPf4j6HaIcBAV-NkIG8VaN3U/s320/RS2_7318.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Just look at those whiskers. Criminally cute.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>This vet loves rats. In our visits over the last couple of years she's taken a few extra seconds each exam for a cuddle. She's all business with the rabbits but <i>adores</i> the rats. I didn't want to hear her say that, especially in that resigned tone that says there's nothing we can do. The tumor is in an inoperable location next to her ear and eye. It will keep growing outward, eventually looking cauliflower-y. It's not malignant and it's not painful, though it will get uncomfortable as it grows. She told me about a couple that had a whole family of rats with this kind of tumor a few years ago. They tried all sorts of treatments hoping something would reduce the size of the tumors. But one by one they all eventually had to be euthanized. She said they kept some of them longer than was probably right. This vet was alone with me when I had to euthanize my girl Ruth unexpectedly, I'm sure she remembers that. (Interestingly, Ruth and Billie would have been kindred spirits.)</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit-DpMdFNt822E3gD4MuTvkZK72xdiCaNcqcYtKbwWpM2rkYNJIZsTIowR706QtGZLhIG7_mZR1s6CMk6UybFYSjIyBBJAN61LJ6Gqfahr79xxOVjH6zELj796HLgn0UMGnRR1dMUdrSv6pwMqCmiwgR7auRrCQCQcM7sv-L59bCvWXU-gGCWWoIMW59k/s4032/IMG_3106.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit-DpMdFNt822E3gD4MuTvkZK72xdiCaNcqcYtKbwWpM2rkYNJIZsTIowR706QtGZLhIG7_mZR1s6CMk6UybFYSjIyBBJAN61LJ6Gqfahr79xxOVjH6zELj796HLgn0UMGnRR1dMUdrSv6pwMqCmiwgR7auRrCQCQcM7sv-L59bCvWXU-gGCWWoIMW59k/s320/IMG_3106.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Rats are just really small puppies. You can't change my mind.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>The vet then remarked on how healthy Billie is. Other than barbering, which they all do to each other relentlessly, they're the picture of health. No mammary tumors, even, which is almost a guarantee with female rats. Then I said, "well they're only 22 months." She kind of paused. The average lifespan for rats is about two years. She said she saw one once who was 4 (my Tux was just over 3, and was quite old at that point). She couldn't give me an answer to how fast the tumor will grow. I think, and hope, that we'll have a great celebration in February, when they turn 2. But all three won't be making it to their third birthday. The vet sent me home with antibiotics just in case it's some extremely aggressive ear infection ("it can't hurt").</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQlQ_0TMusWx-zH-BE9wFaxABkk8BOGTh3XFcItrDk-A7YaNuzy4py8FaHil4IoPb5kPklGobQPjDoMgqdC_Ta5HaMI1yOEGopln8MbBCMq0fm5FhQjKZW_uImdNNLShqPvgDGcO6x7DhCb3rXoHibIfLYekcYZnDm_2MJrQuqfmZaAep2fKtosXCYmMU/s4032/IMG_6079.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQlQ_0TMusWx-zH-BE9wFaxABkk8BOGTh3XFcItrDk-A7YaNuzy4py8FaHil4IoPb5kPklGobQPjDoMgqdC_Ta5HaMI1yOEGopln8MbBCMq0fm5FhQjKZW_uImdNNLShqPvgDGcO6x7DhCb3rXoHibIfLYekcYZnDm_2MJrQuqfmZaAep2fKtosXCYmMU/s320/IMG_6079.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Billie's chicken legs - bare from barbering.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>So, there are two downsides to a house full of pets. I said no more rats, and immediately got a terminal diagnosis. I didn't think it would be that quick. In <i>Friends</i>, when Phoebe's brother wants to give her one of his kids because triplets is too much to handle, he struggles to decide which one. Each of them is his favorite for a unique reason. That's how I feel about these girls. I don't have a favorite, but Billie is a favorite. She was a little runty when we first brought her home and took longer to gain weight than her sisters. She's so curious and brave and determined. I hand fed her snacks and saved the bigger pieces for her and celebrated the first time she weighed the most at monthly weigh in. And soon I'm going to have to decide when it's her time to go.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRox4XlqwBM-noM9ZOLBQfXRid9yCSKIFpugw25TFMkjRG73nt6vm6SlAv2eir2bnHxqVzQTzlF7lBf-R6wEl8SwZcl8uJn6As3YeVwOhnV0w7sIz84patuhTMh08guIuJxfqUBk_t7EFHaglETJCjRskDyol27WoQPi62oSkwhovYWVIvDMNjmbscJp8/s4032/IMG_2847.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRox4XlqwBM-noM9ZOLBQfXRid9yCSKIFpugw25TFMkjRG73nt6vm6SlAv2eir2bnHxqVzQTzlF7lBf-R6wEl8SwZcl8uJn6As3YeVwOhnV0w7sIz84patuhTMh08guIuJxfqUBk_t7EFHaglETJCjRskDyol27WoQPi62oSkwhovYWVIvDMNjmbscJp8/s320/IMG_2847.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Two of my favorite things: reading and rats.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>It's a cruel joke that creatures as wonderful as rats live so short a time. Two years is nothing, yet it's everything. They bring me so much happiness some days I could cry. I understand how people have a rotating collection of rats: every year integrate one or two new rats into the group and offset the one or two you lose every year. Constant pain but also constant joy. Just thinking of losing one of my trio made me want to adopt another already, even though I promised no more. It's going to be a hard couple of years.</p>Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02011137066680126659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-37248180374786040812023-04-17T17:01:00.004-07:002023-04-17T20:31:35.526-07:00Stuck in Paradise<p><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">A week ago I signed a tax document sent via email. I noticed my husband had signed it a week before me, which was weird because the email had only been in my inbox for a few days. But when I checked the date of my email I realized it had been waiting in my inbox for<i> twelve whole </i>days. How did almost two weeks feel like just a few days?</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">And why was it this mundane action that made me realize how time is slipping by? Borrowing a phrase from Queer Eye, my life has turned into wash, rinse, and repeat.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Getting married and then immediately entering a global pandemic where “can’t” dominated my life erased so much possibility I thought I still had. And now still isn’t the right time to make a big change. I want so many things and no matter what decision I make I feel like I’m giving something else up. Every time I feel like I’m coming around a corner the next milestone feels like it got further away while I wasn’t watching. I’ve felt stuck for a long time, like I don’t have complete ownership over my life.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORlQmvKxmftgAhMm2B5s2i2Tr6zirl14pGm5b9rUsx4HmtVYRgVrdbRVmcptBfs75En_b_jpNCP9lrjBuDsRVDAfkDBshw-oyfxoVGFfntmGUfRc8y2fd6ZNTmPdWZgNHhDWo7LBPlDjbdJW8kcBXnteT8Kt8Tr8VOCwB54E36tNYSxxoHePa74HX/s4032/IMG_1285.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORlQmvKxmftgAhMm2B5s2i2Tr6zirl14pGm5b9rUsx4HmtVYRgVrdbRVmcptBfs75En_b_jpNCP9lrjBuDsRVDAfkDBshw-oyfxoVGFfntmGUfRc8y2fd6ZNTmPdWZgNHhDWo7LBPlDjbdJW8kcBXnteT8Kt8Tr8VOCwB54E36tNYSxxoHePa74HX/s320/IMG_1285.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Seattle skyline from a boat tour on a very hot day.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I have this fantasy of what my life would be like if I moved. I say fantasy because husband has no desire to leave our city, and would be genuinely depressed living where I want to live, and because it's borderline impossible unless I somehow make a shit ton more money, which is unlikely even if I left the nonprofit world. But it doesn’t mean I can’t indulge myself a little here.</p><br /><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I imagine us buying a townhome in West Seattle, where parks and nature and the water are less than a mile away. By then we’ve adopted a dog and can take bikes or even go on a long walk to the beaches. We have a small little yard, or at least a decent balcony, and there’s space to sit and read or work and grow plants. We’d be close to the neighborhood center and walk around in evenings and weekends, getting coffee at one of the many shops around, finding new favorite Vietnamese and Thai and Chinese restaurants, and drinking on brewery patios. Husband would open a new studio nearby and he’d bring the dog with him sometimes. He has photography friends he meets up with and we regularly see my friends and cousins who live in the state. Maybe once a year we drive east to see friends just over the mountains, and we take long weekends to visit the islands, take the dog hiking, even take longer trips to Montana and the rainforests.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1QuzDVuzlTY-PodEJhrvizjQtEQKsMbwMGRsUKK4X8kTxrryh2qls5F0Z7VR4pXu5XqDmInFUper__xZHKbuF5bTnLvAmXfvqTZ7PdYLnw0ncXr9PIOSFzC3jjg0F1s0VRmVWts0mPg_lytwg6kDF7xb4IXXD34lY6Bw9Irh9xWMMlhHkWxyHMzeq/s4032/IMG_1335.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1QuzDVuzlTY-PodEJhrvizjQtEQKsMbwMGRsUKK4X8kTxrryh2qls5F0Z7VR4pXu5XqDmInFUper__xZHKbuF5bTnLvAmXfvqTZ7PdYLnw0ncXr9PIOSFzC3jjg0F1s0VRmVWts0mPg_lytwg6kDF7xb4IXXD34lY6Bw9Irh9xWMMlhHkWxyHMzeq/s320/IMG_1335.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Fresh wild blackberries!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">In the townhome we have, that we own, we’re intentional about its design and layout. We take our time finding pieces that we love that fit our needs. We install permanent solutions that work for us, because it’s ours, and we both love the space that we’ve created. We’re surrounded by tall, green trees, maybe have a view of the sound from our top floor, and have tons of windows to let in as much natural light as possible. For a while we’ll have just the dog, who runs with us (in perfect year-round running weather), because she’s portable and we want to explore this new area. We’ll foster cats and small animals as often as we can, at least until we have a network we can turn to for cat sitting (I can’t not have a cat, not for long).</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmmJrJmk6vVbAKbOK_uXJZ8lRLRpsZtSmcAVT-PdVR5s5b0Bhh-UgUSKm8YMKnFd1cL44ERoSE6kHauUI0lBjasXcHdrNF_PUcOvA6X-KWn4YX044_WQXsKuraD_uI6KoE5aueqMqwiJXfNzYRtVmgxjTKZoT-C0yJw6QXjYfwePJwa8EVjjJ3nb0_/s4032/IMG_1359.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmmJrJmk6vVbAKbOK_uXJZ8lRLRpsZtSmcAVT-PdVR5s5b0Bhh-UgUSKm8YMKnFd1cL44ERoSE6kHauUI0lBjasXcHdrNF_PUcOvA6X-KWn4YX044_WQXsKuraD_uI6KoE5aueqMqwiJXfNzYRtVmgxjTKZoT-C0yJw6QXjYfwePJwa8EVjjJ3nb0_/s320/IMG_1359.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Dino topiary!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I think part of what makes this fantasy so appealing is it’s something to look forward to when one of the biggest parts of my current life changes. I’m intentionally not going far, or going for long, to spend as much time as I can with Chloe. Despite her age and early kidney disease she’s in remarkably good health. And is laying across my arms as I type this (slowly). Travel will be a consolation for a while, maybe finally going on our honeymoon and taking other extended international trips.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">And now I couldn’t ask my partner to change everything about his life, which he absolutely loves, to go live somewhere he would have no close friends or family, have to rebuild his business from scratch, and feel isolated and lonely. After the wet and gloomy winter we had this year, I know that this move will remain a fantasy. It wouldn’t be a fantasy if my partner was miserable.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBwGOAhVMsuCgtAlXoRImp5MEwvcp5cZqxIhDgKM4p0HHxi_dBCxb_bXmFkAS5ySWWj4rUT430IDE_NZHy6WBOFNEXktnVpYaT3oV2FEAI5EQ1_wAgVmyDbIAoG7Yd79fqB66UXPBHe3MtyKdzB2xgxbOAvf9mda3m_KnYphWE9lzf4M4ymJI6k8A/s4032/IMG_1258.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBwGOAhVMsuCgtAlXoRImp5MEwvcp5cZqxIhDgKM4p0HHxi_dBCxb_bXmFkAS5ySWWj4rUT430IDE_NZHy6WBOFNEXktnVpYaT3oV2FEAI5EQ1_wAgVmyDbIAoG7Yd79fqB66UXPBHe3MtyKdzB2xgxbOAvf9mda3m_KnYphWE9lzf4M4ymJI6k8A/s320/IMG_1258.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Seattle is not lacking in amazing beer.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">Which means I need to figure out how to be happy living where I am. I didn’t want to live in one place my whole life, but practically speaking it’s not really feasible to move states, much less move countries (I have a similar fantasy about moving to the UK). But this is why we have fantasies, right? It'll be interesting to look back on this in a few years and see what's changed, what new fantasies I have, or what parts of this one might have come true.</p>Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02011137066680126659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-43735811819943466542022-11-20T16:43:00.002-08:002022-11-20T16:43:47.196-08:00You're So Lucky<p><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Strangers like to tell me how lucky I am. They say it at events, out of earshot of anyone else, when they learn I am my husband’s wife. These strangers are always women, and are not strangers to my husband. They also often fawn over me, as if we’re besties, even though we just met. Even men insinuate my luckiness: one man told me to “take good care of him”.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">What am I supposed to say in response? I default to “yes, I am lucky” and hope they drop it.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I’ve never understood their meaning. What makes me so lucky? Is it that I’m married to my husband, who they presumably think is just the best? Are they envious, secretly hoping he’ll be back on the market? Or is it simply that I have <i>a</i> husband, because <a href="https://open.spotify.com/episode/6neuBm0vVeeawV5eYNnm4p?si=2528014914644dd1" target="_blank">being a single woman is the worst</a> at this age (and perhaps a little also that my husband is not an asshole)? Or could some of them be hoping for gossip? How would they react if I told them his farts don’t smell like roses? It makes me uncomfortable.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">No one tells my husband, or any man, that he’s so lucky. If anyone pays my husband a compliment about me it’s regarding my looks. But even still, he’s not lucky to have a pretty wife, since he's too attractive himself to have an unattractive wife. It’s expected. <i>Of course she’s beautiful.</i></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><i></i><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">My husband hears how great he is in some capacity every day. His clients rave about his work, colleagues he mentors look up to him, his former boss has told him (indirectly, but still) he’s a better photographer, even the little kids we know talk about him to their parents. He makes an impression and there’s no one who doesn’t love him. But he rarely hears from me how great he is.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Instead, I keep the domestic sphere going to he can devote himself to his craft. I make sure the animals are cared for, supplies stocked, and entertain them (including bonding a new rabbit, which I said I’d never do again). Lately I’ve cooked dinner, ate alone, and cleaned up, making sure he has dinner waiting for him after a late shoot. The last two months I’ve spent a whole day off deep cleaning alone, and always during the week do the smaller tasks, like run the roomba and wash the sheets and towels.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Maybe it’s just because those are the expected tasks for a wife, even in whatever this day and age is (where quite a few people would love to have us go back to traditional gender roles). Maybe it’s because I work from home and can wash some dishes on a break or vacuum while listening to a meeting. Maybe it’s because I care more about a clean and well-kept home than my husband, so it makes sense that I spend more of my energies that way.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It’s a lonely life, though. But I don't think the people who tell me I’m so lucky would like to hear that. Shouldn’t a little loneliness be worth the sacrifice to be married to such greatness? Shouldn't I be eagerly awaiting his arrival at night, happy I'm the one he comes home to?</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">My husband doesn’t know people say this to me. All he knows is that everyone except his wife tells him he’s wonderful. I know it frustrates him because he says things loud enough for me to hear. Like how he knows not to expect support from me (said in reference to fantasy football, which I started doing to spend more time with him, but the wording was “in anything ever”). Or when I didn’t know what I wanted to eat and he muttered I never do (despite him also not having an answer). Or when I brought up that something (can’t even remember what) upset me and he said it’s always something.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I’ve thought what our relationship might be like if we shifted to traditional gender roles. We don’t have kids so it would never fly, plus we couldn’t afford to live here without my income. But if I wasn’t working full time of course I’d take complete care of the home. The grocery shopping, the cleaning, the cooking, the animals, arranging our social life and travel, all of it would be done without him lifting a finger, me being mad that the workload is unequally distributed, and might even mean I have more energy and desire for intimacy.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Or, more likely, our relationship would implode. If I already feel worth less despite all I contribute, how worthless would I feel if I contributed nothing financially? I’d need to be medicated, and then I’d really be a stereotype. On his end, he would be working more than ever to support two people and we likely wouldn’t see each other any more than we do now with opposite schedules.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">If I wanted that life, I could have had it. My high school boyfriend’s plan was to be a lawyer, or some other super high paying career, where he would work long hours so I could have the luxury of staying home to raise our kids (in his plan, we’d have two). He said this to me in a sad, determined kind of way. This was his sacrifice.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">I rejected that life immediately. Even then, when I assumed I’d have kids because it’s what you do after getting married, being a stay at home mom was not for me. Further, why would I go into a marriage knowing my husband was going to be working all the time and we’d rarely see each other? I wanted to get married because I loved my spouse and wanted to spend time with him. Marriage was never a means to an end for me. Yet he wasn’t the last boyfriend to pitch this life to me.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Of course, that life required having kids. When I got married—to someone who also didn’t want kids and valued an equal partnership—I was excited about creating a different kind of life. Having the flexibility to move around, live in other cities and countries. Travel where and when we want, not when school schedules dictate. Taking the fulfilling job even if it didn’t pay that well.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">But so far we haven’t done this. Husband says someday, even soon. I have doubts. Looking back on our 11 years together there’s always been something: stress and unhappiness with jobs that underpaid and overworked, grad school, sick pets, planning and paying for a wedding, not working for 5 months and then taking every job possible in case the pandemic gets worse.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Work will always take priority for my husband. It took me a long time to realize that, longer than it should have. I’ll still be disappointed but I no longer expect him to block off time if there's even a chance he could book work. I can count on my birthday, his birthday, and our wedding anniversary. Even this year, for his 40th, he took the day of off but worked the following day.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It’s time for me to get used to the idea that I’ll need to do more things on my own. Which honestly should be my ideal, because I enjoy my alone time and enjoy traveling solo. If he can swing a day or two of a trip, like he did last year when I went to Seattle for a week, great. I married him because I love him and want to spend more time together, but I’m not doing our relationship any favors by waiting around for him to block off potential work time.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">So, yeah, it’s been lonely. I have some loose plans for the next couple of years that involve short trips to see friends, focusing on my old and at-risk pets, and doing some volunteering and possibly freelancing to stay busy and earn extra income. I’m starting to form a longer-term plan, too, which is dependent on that extra income. Maybe having something to look forward to that’s all for me will help.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">In the meantime, people should stop telling others how lucky they are. The grass is always greener, and I’m worried one of these times I’ll tell some unsuspecting woman the reality of living with greatness.</p>Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02011137066680126659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-84411180892415422712022-06-10T13:00:00.001-07:002022-06-10T13:06:08.267-07:00Guilt and Judgment<p>Most teens and young adults go through a period of feeling isolated, misunderstood, alone, or just plain different from everyone else. Some people don't grow out of this entirely. I might be one of those people, but I'm not sure why, exactly.</p><p>I don't always feel this way, but the isolating periods last a long time. Or maybe my baseline is a depression and I have long periods of happiness. Whichever it is, this depressive period started sometime last summer. I may have put too much stock in the vaccine ending the pandemic. I definitely put too much stock in the changing administration (I never thought we'd go back to being united, if we even ever were, but I did think <i>something</i> would change). It was this time in 2021 that we were double vaxxed and feeling good about spending time back in the world after a year of "apart together". In fact, it was exactly one year ago as I type that I had my first beer in a brewery since 2019.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidVeelFCEEQdlJQUiabxl7IV-92_9I0D2uRBcvgX_jt2KwOUv8PWeL7QqXgQTurHnOSVDF4QrzB0pba4p7nOEWXbRnC_3iHH4-KTcmgUDMsTsLsAt2gI3kC5RbLfxcm6_bF-xDlEFupiYynjd-lr_MzX6vy8bL5UhtfzveZcxJBz6v2_GH7u7QZVeU/s4032/IMG_0871.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="A theatre marquis sign: 'Life is hard the best thing we can do is pick each other up.' Eric Nam." border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidVeelFCEEQdlJQUiabxl7IV-92_9I0D2uRBcvgX_jt2KwOUv8PWeL7QqXgQTurHnOSVDF4QrzB0pba4p7nOEWXbRnC_3iHH4-KTcmgUDMsTsLsAt2gI3kC5RbLfxcm6_bF-xDlEFupiYynjd-lr_MzX6vy8bL5UhtfzveZcxJBz6v2_GH7u7QZVeU/w320-h240/IMG_0871.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some uplifting words on the closed theatre marquis.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>It's the loss of human kindness, I think, that did it for me this time. In early 2020 most people were all about beating the virus, doing our part, supporting the frontline and essential workers and small businesses. Then we got tired of our homes and all that pent up energy came out as anger and frustration. The pandemic was politicized immediately but we hadn't had a chance to see that in each other in person until the lockdowns ended. It was like everyone had a point to prove and were going to prove it as often as possible at all costs. I can scroll or swipe past something I don't like on social media but it's harder to avoid in person. Those interactions stayed with me a lot longer.</p><p>And a lot happened in the last year personally, too. I lost Gandalf (I was alone for that), then Ruth (I was alone for that, too), then Amelia, then Maya. Chloe was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism and, later, early kidney disease, though she's doing well with both. Instead of going wine tasting on my birthday I marched for reproductive rights (I mean, I still had wine, just not with friends at a winery). There's a 50% chance I had Covid. Even if it wasn't Covid, I still passed whatever illness I had on to medically fragile Ruthie, causing her death. A couple of weeks ago, I watched a man die in my alley after efforts to resuscitate him failed. All this in addition to social unrest, racist mass shootings, racist mass shootings of children, inflation, Russia starting a war, abortion rights ending in the US (at the same time as a baby formula shortage), renewed LGBTQ+ violence and discrimination, and a few particularly damning climate reports.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4k7Fj2_qKytbQvdGyY9ZDM5RjYFT7WyOWaHifOg4Dv-Fkh_LG1OTBDBplMf1pe-V4sm81_VZt4BOKcgxwPd5nlnL5hjZ-tdfSAPlXcI6y9FVF3TeNlT5Zvjq30Gx2odnrbEynDP9vJSTO4Sjktw3UnTtzEMckuxbJmcd6fXrxt-3jo_5CNs4tjLo7/s2592/IMG_1622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Me holding a cardboard sign: It's my birthday and I want reproductive freedom." border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="1944" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4k7Fj2_qKytbQvdGyY9ZDM5RjYFT7WyOWaHifOg4Dv-Fkh_LG1OTBDBplMf1pe-V4sm81_VZt4BOKcgxwPd5nlnL5hjZ-tdfSAPlXcI6y9FVF3TeNlT5Zvjq30Gx2odnrbEynDP9vJSTO4Sjktw3UnTtzEMckuxbJmcd6fXrxt-3jo_5CNs4tjLo7/w240-h320/IMG_1622.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My birthday morning activity.</td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Clearly, I don't feel anxious or isolated or judged or different solely because of the pandemic. The sheer number of things I feel judged for or guilty about surprised me, as has how long I've felt this way. Some of these may be in my head, some of them are not. The very first thing I do most days is go on a run, which often is the only alone time I get. So by 8am the good part of my day is over with. Then the judgment starts:<p></p><p>Judged for needing caffeine every day. Husband does not need caffeine and will comment on how I drink tea all day (though all I do is refill the water with the same leaves, so the caffeine level is zero after a few cups) or need coffee on weekends. It got me in trouble once when we had planned to get fancy coffees at a shop before going somewhere, but ran out of time and I was worried about getting a headache if I didn't have something. Now I make sure I have caffeine before I leave the house or go alone to a shop.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtbYH4K_IfLrI7AmyAqsxgq8vWeMDEHIRvkNosj91bcqoM7x_T2xo0fAXDt3cCL-8TlrhAZs3-dfpClsiJb4P6fbm0cp-AegaqWRMEHdMNFcc9mTKXSKHzBlRD88BddJKvW-koVMOE2aSrnj9QNCjlJGcmvrYkNpG-GzXEnR5XTDHJwHmcJQ14hZV1/s4032/IMG_1143.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="A reusable coffee cup with a unicorn sticker that says 'I believe'." border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtbYH4K_IfLrI7AmyAqsxgq8vWeMDEHIRvkNosj91bcqoM7x_T2xo0fAXDt3cCL-8TlrhAZs3-dfpClsiJb4P6fbm0cp-AegaqWRMEHdMNFcc9mTKXSKHzBlRD88BddJKvW-koVMOE2aSrnj9QNCjlJGcmvrYkNpG-GzXEnR5XTDHJwHmcJQ14hZV1/w240-h320/IMG_1143.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was very happy when reusable cups came back!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Judged and guilty for going to coffee shops. In addition to my need for caffeine, coffee shops are expensive. It's like the number one thing the boomers tell the millennials to skip if we want to afford things like housing and healthcare (or is it avocado toast now?). And it <i>is</i> expensive: after non-dairy milk and tip (I'm still tipping like it's 2020) I spend up to $7 for a mocha. I bought a grinder and pitcher and learned to make cold brew, but I love the experience of going to a shop and sometimes justify it by using their wifi for a couple of hours. I felt extra guilty going to coffee shops in 2020 and 2021 when reusable cups weren't allowed. So in addition to feeling guilty spending $7 for a coffee I also felt guilty for getting a disposable cup I didn't <i>need</i>. But somehow also guilty for not supporting my local coffee shops more often. Guilty no matter what I do.</p><p>Judged for eating three meals a day during the week. Though I don't often feel judged for what I eat or how much I eat, husband doesn't eat much more than a small bowl of cereal during the day (except when he gets lunch out after doing the grocery shopping) and it sometimes makes me feel I shouldn't need as much food. If I were more active I probably wouldn't need to eat, but I've never been able to sit at a desk and not think about food. However, the guilt and judgment comes from the extra dishes more than the food itself. I complain about dishes being left in the sink for extended periods of time, which makes me feel I must clean everything the moment I'm done using it. When I'm the only one eating during the week I'm the only one dirtying dishes, so I must maintain a perfectly clean kitchen or hear about how I don't follow my own rules. You can't complain about something and then do that thing yourself without being a hypocrite. Also, the only reason I don't feel judged for my eating habits outside my home is because I'm relatively thin and athletic, which makes me feel guilty: if I had different genetics and ate like I do I wouldn't be as thin.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQot-z8O5xIKGDKcMlK8iu8a4dRksck7F5GO4tqYFpIvOPHR8qSaHX5_dGls5UJlv6tjW4gGCKXNso6jpLZz3YhMwQ65Sj-yTElBSOjz2EPJ7e91_xXoa5mz5xvkWvMOcoTZEv6mClyoERpy7kNp_DuEvUszNrwQqOTcPsYz80BOkKW9BnY6DQgF8s/s4032/nachos-decorated.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="A cookie sheet of nachos." border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQot-z8O5xIKGDKcMlK8iu8a4dRksck7F5GO4tqYFpIvOPHR8qSaHX5_dGls5UJlv6tjW4gGCKXNso6jpLZz3YhMwQ65Sj-yTElBSOjz2EPJ7e91_xXoa5mz5xvkWvMOcoTZEv6mClyoERpy7kNp_DuEvUszNrwQqOTcPsYz80BOkKW9BnY6DQgF8s/w320-h240/nachos-decorated.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The thing that makes me happiest.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Judged for my recommendations at work. I try (and sometimes fail) to choose my words extremely carefully and back up every suggestion and recommendation with outside sources and data as insurance against pushback. I fear that every word I say or type is scrutinized. I'm a relatively low level employee trying to make recommendations above my pay grade since there's literally no one else to do it for my field. I have a strong impression that, while I'm liked my most of my coworkers, my direct superiors think I need to stay in my place. Plus, I'm a full-time remote employee and didn't fly out a few weeks ago when most of the team got together informally (I didn't want to risk Covid to sit in an office), so I didn't get the chance to be charming and personable (as much as I can be, which isn't much) to my superiors.</p><p>Judged and guilty for showing affection to my pets because I don't show the same level of affection to husband. I'm not a kissy person or a huggy person or one to show physical affection very often. In a lot of ways (romantic and otherwise) I'm not an initiator. This is understandably very frustrating to someone whose love language is physical touch. But I am this way with animals. I will do the baby voice and tell my girls how pretty and smart they are and force kisses on their bellies and foreheads and go out of my way to give them anything they want, whenever they want it. I thought a lot about why this is and I think it's because animals are the only ones that don't judge me. They're always happy and excited to see me, even if only because I'm about to feed them. There's not a human on this earth that's always happy or excited to see me. I also feel guilty when I don't spend as much time with my pets. The rats need free roam time every day but, since they're rats, it has to be in a contained area. So I lock myself with them in the bathroom which is admittedly not the most fun way to spend time with them. I can't multitask very well like that, so it's an hour of not spending time with husband, not doing other household tasks, and not working, and I feel guilt for all of the things I'm not doing and judged for choosing the rats.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFzJ1q7dxg0aql-f92pn-q9LfRhnPGtV9FaAppqRLfANjFJANUhqfZSkD8c6OkkgQjIC7xiXcSwlhoTPDEJXenZdK0syKlj21mFz47sf3FySJkFhqDLx-TExSoxl3UXEFOxz8e829HwEOwj_UH_D-2OwbwTS5kT5-hp1r16PY2tvtxFwROciksQwd/s4032/IMG_0816.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Three rats cuddled in a basket together." border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFzJ1q7dxg0aql-f92pn-q9LfRhnPGtV9FaAppqRLfANjFJANUhqfZSkD8c6OkkgQjIC7xiXcSwlhoTPDEJXenZdK0syKlj21mFz47sf3FySJkFhqDLx-TExSoxl3UXEFOxz8e829HwEOwj_UH_D-2OwbwTS5kT5-hp1r16PY2tvtxFwROciksQwd/w240-h320/IMG_0816.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My old girls, Amelia, Maya, and Ruth, who passed within months of each other.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Judged for buying, keeping, and caring for houseplants. I admit I have quite a lot and it's probably annoying that they're all in one part of the apartment (only one halfway decent window). A couple I rescued from a trash pile in the alley, a few were gifts, I've propagated several, three were wedding leftovers, and the rest were purchased very cheaply at grocery stores or second hand. I even obtained most of the pots cheaply: terra cotta pots that I painted myself (which allows me to be creative, something I lack in my life), gifts, or repurposed items. If I could spread them around the apartment without killing them they might not be so noticeable. It's probably because houseplants became <i>the</i> trend after breadmaking in 2020. I always liked plants but now when you can buy them at coffee shops and gift shops and grocery stores and the corner shop it's easier and more affordable to have some greenery around. Plus, plants are proven to improve moods and it's something to care for and pay attention to outside of the rest of the world.</p><p>Judged and guilty for wanting things that don't fit into husband's lifestyle. Before I got into grad school I planned to move to a new city. <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2018/11/grad-school-is-lonely.html" target="_blank">I got in</a> and had to commit to where I was for three years. After I graduated <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2019/07/he-proposed-i-panicked.html" target="_blank">we immediately got engaged</a>, so moving didn't make sense. Then <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2019/09/when-your-dog-gets-cancer-and-how-to.html" target="_blank">Argo got sick</a>. Then <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2020/05/we-did-thing.html" target="_blank">we got married</a>. Then <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2020/05/this-quarantine-life-how-covid-19.html" target="_blank">there was a pandemic</a>. Now we can't afford to move because husband's work connections are here and I don't make enough to support us long term, <i>and</i> I'm worried we can't afford to stay here because housing prices have skyrocketed. During the pandemic I decided that if we are going to stay here forever I'd like to buy a place, but husband wasn't ready in the brief window I could afford it. Now condos are $200k+ more and if we ever want a second bathroom or in-unit laundry or a dishwasher we'll be paying at least $1,500 extra rent each month and buying will be an even more distant dream.</p><p>Judged for wearing a mask indoors, guilty and afraid when I don't. Everyone is over masks and the pandemic in general, even though cases are rising again. I avoid eye contact when I wear a mask just so I won't see if anyone looks at me with judgment. I skip it sometimes if I'm in and out in under two minutes, like grabbing takeout, but whenever I'm inside without a mask I get this queasy feeling in my stomach. I'm so fortunate to live in an area where so much is outside that it's really felt like the good parts of the old normal are back and I'm not sacrificing, but every now and then an invitation will come along and I'll have to assess whether it's worth the risk. The big thing is going to movies: it's husband's favorite thing to do but now that no one is wearing a mask it's less fun for me. Only going when it's a really important movie that won't be streaming isn't the compromise he wanted.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTRhH93VsNb5ciAh4TZwHOXejhRl-kx9hxmjUT_h73qjxQm3tlacfNUQxIxGYhnE0BHl2-Whg-dDGkHCmPfH5FqYeMsQ3049JlWhVe0PiyJXWBelnAqjrH_fNMqvxHHgxhFxkxiDtaUgWCy-BDdzXO9odTg2Jjx8HyTDKs_cNEBIBRUs4_0eDzEb5/s3088/IMG_1986.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Me double masking with a cloth and a hospital mask." border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTRhH93VsNb5ciAh4TZwHOXejhRl-kx9hxmjUT_h73qjxQm3tlacfNUQxIxGYhnE0BHl2-Whg-dDGkHCmPfH5FqYeMsQ3049JlWhVe0PiyJXWBelnAqjrH_fNMqvxHHgxhFxkxiDtaUgWCy-BDdzXO9odTg2Jjx8HyTDKs_cNEBIBRUs4_0eDzEb5/w240-h320/IMG_1986.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hospital staff didn't trust my cloth mask so they gave me a fresh disposable one, even though I never even went inside.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Guilty for not making enough money. I used to make more than husband but he outpaced me last year. Yet he's more content to stay at the level we're currently at and have more day to day luxuries than I am. He's less interested in upgrading our housing, which makes me feel that if I want it I need to figure out how to get it. I also don't want to say no to the little things that make us happy, like take out and brewery visits, so I feel guilty saying yes and spending the money when I know it's not contributing to my long term goals. Plus, I have very expensive pets. Old animals require so much more medical care and rats are not cheap. I'm trying to mitigate this with a separate savings account so their expenses don't come from my regular checking or savings.</p><p>Judged by my family for my appearance. I don't see either of my parents so there isn't as much judgment anymore, but I still fret over what clothes I'll wear, if I'll do my hair, of how much makeup to wear. During the pandemic, makeup became a special occasion look. I only wear it now when seeing people I don't see often or doing things I don't do often. I have trouble deciding if family should fall into the "people I'm comfortable with" category or "people I don't see often" category, since both are accurate. Last time I didn't do either hair or makeup and it was fine, so maybe this is a worry I can somewhat put to rest.</p><p>I've been told I don't find joy, which I don't think is true (see: photos). So many of the things I'm judged for bring me joy by myself: my pets, coffee, plants, food, having goals and dreams. But I don't exist alone. I'm great at projecting a fuck off attitude towards strangers and acquaintances, but when I feel judgment from the people closest to me or the ones I interact with the most, I want to escape into the woods where I know no one.</p>Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02011137066680126659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-54165634749174031242022-05-18T16:30:00.001-07:002022-05-18T16:30:00.151-07:00A Love Letter to Nachos<p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 12px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Dear nachos,</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">There are few things in life that bring me as much joy as food. Food is nourishing, food supports my lifestyle and activities, food energizes my body and mind.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;">But not all food is nachos. And not all nachos are my nachos. Nachos are pure joy in food form. Sure, my nachos are piled high with sliced tomatoes, black olives, bell peppers, jalapeño, cilantro, and avocado, all of which are quite nourishing and healthy. My nachos also use home-cooked black beans and soy chorizo (same taste, less grease, no pigs). Even the cheese has nutritional value. In fact, the only unhealthy aspect of nachos are the chips.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: 12px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfgJaj9mT1QgCsm7NaqrnvXXaVKHOCgm1YYEF0sLYb8r-CpXy9DddSAuPKi22rAQuffDl-EXcENhjFFOd7jg9QGrZclrtQvR2AjxDQQFYTAhIefktQ4Ln_hsiXduOaRcgIbqVV19LgyPgNlxzDntdWSgcOJbWGi7LJnUl8m0fcpr9VdWfUSZII8H8P/s4032/nacho-veggies.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfgJaj9mT1QgCsm7NaqrnvXXaVKHOCgm1YYEF0sLYb8r-CpXy9DddSAuPKi22rAQuffDl-EXcENhjFFOd7jg9QGrZclrtQvR2AjxDQQFYTAhIefktQ4Ln_hsiXduOaRcgIbqVV19LgyPgNlxzDntdWSgcOJbWGi7LJnUl8m0fcpr9VdWfUSZII8H8P/s320/nacho-veggies.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Multicolor tomatoes, red bell pepper, green jalapeño, and black olives make nachos sort of nutritious.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Chips, and the genuine mountain of nachos. The absurd quantity is definitely not healthy. My nachos begin on a cookie sheet lined with foil, chips spread from end to end, and everything else layered on top. Nachos bring me more joy than the sum of its parts. Nourishment is not why every other Wednesday is nacho night.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;">I fully understand and appreciate (and, if I’m honest, pity) that many people have strained relationships with food. Many must see food as nutrition only, certainly not as a reward. Others are uninterested in food, seeing it only as a way to keep their bodies going. One person even told me that eating is a waste of time and it’s too bad that bodies need food. Far too many people are unskilled at making food and depend on re-heating and take-out. Some go so far as to forget to eat when they are busy or stressed. For a year and a half, I lived with someone who had such a difficult relationship with food that she ate the absolute bare minimum required to stay alive and not a molecule more.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: 12px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiTmNXC5WYArKjXN1LagomHoSnE8zmAw5jV3D4T_J0ak2jW237yn5IOItuTaNI83Rujfct7hkSb9KPM8YJkNAXOtBCJ4DFWDXW88Clg1rHccCFfvlQj7KN0Fx_qLvhlwSR5KYtBZoJmJB7SRG0-02k9NDEFDRCawJSZkcVE_S-LdXdMU73hwR1Sc0Z/s4032/nacho-mountain.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Side view of nachos piled high." border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiTmNXC5WYArKjXN1LagomHoSnE8zmAw5jV3D4T_J0ak2jW237yn5IOItuTaNI83Rujfct7hkSb9KPM8YJkNAXOtBCJ4DFWDXW88Clg1rHccCFfvlQj7KN0Fx_qLvhlwSR5KYtBZoJmJB7SRG0-02k9NDEFDRCawJSZkcVE_S-LdXdMU73hwR1Sc0Z/w320-h240/nacho-mountain.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Nacho mountain!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;">But to me, food is love. Eating food I love is self care. Making food is how I show love for others. One of my greatest joys is cooking and baking for others. Yes, I relish the enthusiastic praise for my food gifts, but I equally love gifting food when I don’t have the opportunity for praise. It’s a gesture of appreciation and community.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Food is also how I accept love from others. I have frequently told my husband that it’s his job to feed me (a task he takes seriously to ward off my hanger). I long for a dishwasher and don’t love the task of cleaning up after meals, but sitting down to a home-cooked meal he prepared makes me feel loved. Same when he buys take-out, double when he treats me to a coffee or brings home cookies from our favorite bakery. Similarly, there’s a reason we don’t get sushi take-out. Sitting at the table with friends, sharing drinks and appetizers, and swapping pieces of our rolls brings us closer together. Eating together is an act of love.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;">Cooking and baking are my creative outlets. I sprinkle massive flakes of finishing salt on my chocolate chip cookies to enhance the flavor of the chocolate and make them fancier. I enjoy trying new cake recipes in search of the one perfect cake, practicing my frosting skills, and experimenting with recipes to make them my own. My nachos are art. We call layering the rainbow of veggies over the baked tray "decorating". Because it is. They are as pretty to look at as they are delicious to eat. Well, almost.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmtLyYN7nbuhDr8WJsssRBKPX9WJ7TNQb_vN9nniJuWw0Nc5IuzjXExdzexq30AhGXTxq0bcjle_kmG0IEUAj1Qzx6qvPrgPoy9cvWYDSwZp3kLPmaufcjdC4HV6Jwyko-CfoeYXgHK97yNRBQs58tfIpL7aRR0TlcumdMQ6ehPcgtl5GcCZkUObBs/s4032/nachos-decorated.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmtLyYN7nbuhDr8WJsssRBKPX9WJ7TNQb_vN9nniJuWw0Nc5IuzjXExdzexq30AhGXTxq0bcjle_kmG0IEUAj1Qzx6qvPrgPoy9cvWYDSwZp3kLPmaufcjdC4HV6Jwyko-CfoeYXgHK97yNRBQs58tfIpL7aRR0TlcumdMQ6ehPcgtl5GcCZkUObBs/s320/nachos-decorated.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">"Decorated" nachos piled with avocado, cilantro, and all the other veggies.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;">My nachos are why I can’t order nachos anywhere else. I’m a nacho purist. Some might say I’m a snob. My food opinions are strong and unyielding, especially when it comes to something I’ve perfected. The best compliment I’ve ever received was that my food opinions are to be trusted. My nacho opinions are:</span></p><ul class="ul1"><li class="li3" style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Cheese sauce does not belong on nachos (the only cheese we use is pepper jack)</span></li><li class="li3" style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Jalapeños should be fresh, not pickled</span></li><li class="li3" style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Chip structure and integrity is everything (we have a Costco membership almost exclusively for the toddler-sized double-bag of tortilla chips)</span></li><li class="li3" style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Nachos are not a vessel for hot sauce (hot sauce it up, but don't drown them... oddly, we use sriracha)</span></li></ul><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;">Yet nachos are infinitely customizable. Sometimes we add sour cream. People can put meat on their nachos. Nachos can pay homage to other cultures and accommodate dietary restrictions. They're naturally gluten free! The advances in meltable vegan cheese means they can even be vegan now!</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: 12px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2uOC7iWZINQH_T7JokXOLd2SKZNAfgy9zBb5W7WvT_5r0XZVO0dIAO21ShNwV4KXEGnkqtCmuYcpTB5xVGGZLkfkXHBkdWun2m-LSyGY2kn1o4ndVay3pPsqaRxBg4wzruNoWfXr4IXLmzXuMrsvTfA1r5zpKLLGQXR9I1ekVOKTKsc0rqhWI65y/s4032/nachos-baked.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Chips, cheese, beans, and soy chorizo on a foil lined pan in the oven." border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2uOC7iWZINQH_T7JokXOLd2SKZNAfgy9zBb5W7WvT_5r0XZVO0dIAO21ShNwV4KXEGnkqtCmuYcpTB5xVGGZLkfkXHBkdWun2m-LSyGY2kn1o4ndVay3pPsqaRxBg4wzruNoWfXr4IXLmzXuMrsvTfA1r5zpKLLGQXR9I1ekVOKTKsc0rqhWI65y/w320-h240/nachos-baked.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Cheesy baked nachos with black beans and soy chorizo.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;">I’ve written about nachos for a college paper, preached my nacho opinions to anyone who will listen (or at least humor me), invited friends to share in nacho night, and moved nacho night when other obligations have meant we would not be able to fully enjoy the experience. On nacho night I lovingly craft each chip with each ingredient for the perfect bite. I hope my last meal is nachos.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;">When the rest of the world has gone to utter shit, nachos are the bright light that make me forget, for an hour, that there are so many things I can't control or influence, so many wrongs I can't right, so many mistakes I've made. For that hour everything is OK because I have my nachos.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: 12px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllWkhxmv0ruYm4x8GaWAfG46vRINw3IwbcU3W3sE2OGQcsb6aSwhJdfqu9P_SCJPK3rjE1SBOqbKJnhow0_jCnk7fQKNSn21npkxB-CFT3Dbju8G4aOJsxPFpmNDl5RBmP93sjEVLj4L4weVMkCthP0la6_XhyN3jITwhiRyYiCZBRpc5f5na45TR/s4032/nacho-sour-cream.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Nachos with veggies and sour cream." border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllWkhxmv0ruYm4x8GaWAfG46vRINw3IwbcU3W3sE2OGQcsb6aSwhJdfqu9P_SCJPK3rjE1SBOqbKJnhow0_jCnk7fQKNSn21npkxB-CFT3Dbju8G4aOJsxPFpmNDl5RBmP93sjEVLj4L4weVMkCthP0la6_XhyN3jITwhiRyYiCZBRpc5f5na45TR/w320-h240/nacho-sour-cream.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sometimes we add sour cream to nachos if we have it.</span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p class="p5" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Nachos, you are perfect and I love you.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><br /></p>Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02011137066680126659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-83681390169452005832022-02-26T19:06:00.001-08:002022-02-26T19:06:15.212-08:00My Postmodern Family<p>The nuclear family never appealed to me. Even when I was a kid, turning into a teen, imagining my adult future, the mom and dad and two kid household wasn't something I dreamed of. For a long time I assumed I'd get married and have kids, because that's just what you do. The message about choice I got as a young woman in a conservative town was <i>after</i> getting married and having kids: to work or not to work. Presumably I'd go to college (something my parents never actively encouraged) and work for at least a little while, then also presumably I'd leave the workforce for at least a little while to raise my kids. Only then did my ability to choose my future begin: I could choose to be a stay at home mom, like mine was, or I could choose to return to my chosen field.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5nCKHxL_MyqAhEZZlf8xip2r3pQkAompKNLznQOlP1T5bsl3O11RPY-40qoRfxqyRtBgz2TdY1IxaxaS8GSvayfV21ShyRsjdigABu0jQD3th2Q2wQ6wXQJswomMY6J8PZ9k2EUqOminlnm4tuS2kM2WC3SwJsz8_RF5295CW4IG0f05gVcHq8z2C=s3088" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Two people kissing a cat." border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5nCKHxL_MyqAhEZZlf8xip2r3pQkAompKNLznQOlP1T5bsl3O11RPY-40qoRfxqyRtBgz2TdY1IxaxaS8GSvayfV21ShyRsjdigABu0jQD3th2Q2wQ6wXQJswomMY6J8PZ9k2EUqOminlnm4tuS2kM2WC3SwJsz8_RF5295CW4IG0f05gVcHq8z2C=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our family: Chloe at the center.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>My first two boyfriends were insistent that I be a stay at home mom. It's better for the kids, after all, if a parent raises them, and naturally women are better caretakers than men so it just makes sense for the mom to stay home. Sure, they would have to work long hours to make that happen but it'd be so worth it, you know? Me, home with a couple little screaming poop machines all day long, rarely seeing my husband, being a nice, dutiful little housewife.</p><p>I noped out of that even then, to my boyfriends' frustrations. While they romanticized traditional gender roles, also having grown up in a conservative town (interestingly, one had the very traditional nuclear family and one did not, yet they both idealized it), I feared it. Maybe I'd have kids but I would not under any circumstances leave work for longer than necessary. I told one of them that if they wanted a stay at home parent household they were welcome to stay home. He laughed. The man raising the children was <i>that</i> ridiculous.</p><p>It was in between those two boyfriends that I first realized that the choice I had wasn't to work or not after kids, but whether to have kids at all. Or even whether to get married. It just never occurred to me, and was certainly never presented as a choice. We say "when you have kids", not "if you have kids," like a person's future children are inevitable.</p><p>This is frustrating and needs to change, but what's bothering me now is the prevalence of the traditional family at work. And somehow both the parents and the non-parents feel slighted.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXA2ak0BGD4BeHGlM5EXtW0BzIs1lUo6y9EdsnYUkvFrr7XWDCjnQtKajh1Cvm7s7gJNZ1JjwlF6seGHVL-3IPeEJa4RD3HzeCgrnlZGcJEzlMjbhl7FDhZNvUJ9Rb5n2naZ8M0JmGUpIbvkoT8Lfi8giLWKqoXsMPOfjqkhphxCWjNzF1m51TNvIv=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Two rabbits eating pellets out of a hand." border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXA2ak0BGD4BeHGlM5EXtW0BzIs1lUo6y9EdsnYUkvFrr7XWDCjnQtKajh1Cvm7s7gJNZ1JjwlF6seGHVL-3IPeEJa4RD3HzeCgrnlZGcJEzlMjbhl7FDhZNvUJ9Rb5n2naZ8M0JmGUpIbvkoT8Lfi8giLWKqoXsMPOfjqkhphxCWjNzF1m51TNvIv=w320-h240" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">People can understand cats and dogs as "part of the family" but anything else isn't as acceptable.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>First, the parents. The pandemic has revealed just how hard it is to be a parent in America. Back in the 1940s when the term "nuclear family" first appeared, women had only just entered the workforce. Working women were supposed to be temporary, just to support the economy during WWII when so many men were absent. But some of them liked working. A lot, actually. And for a bit the economy still needed the labor of women so they were <i>allowed</i> to continue earning an income. Women never really went back home. Not fully. Though I'd be willing to bet (I didn't research this) that a lot of women worked part time for a few decades. After all, the household chores and childrearing still needed to happen, and our war hero men were <i>certainly</i> not going to do it. This mentality is, sadly, still prevalent today, as is the myth that women are better caretakers (hopefully my previous boyfriends have unlearned this) and are better suited to raising children in the home.</p><p>By the time women entered the workforce in large numbers, the 40-hour work-week was standard. It was even law! An eight hour day resulted in more productive workers, more workers for round-the-clock schedules, maximum productivity, and low unemployment. But the 40-hour work-week wasn't designed because it benefitted the worker, it was designed because it benefitted the employer. If you run a 24-hour operation and had two sets of employees working 12-hour shifts, they'd burn out between the 8 and 10 hour mark, and you'd be paying for the other 2-4 hours but not getting the same level of production. But if you hired three sets of employees working 8-hour shifts, you're still paying for 24 hours of labor but getting so much more out of those workers. It was just math. Employers didn't care who was taking care of the dishes or the kids, they just wanted production. I'm not sure where the "8 hours for labor, 8 hours for sleep, and 8 hours for leisure" saying came from, since your (unpaid) lunch break, commute time, overtime, and prep comes from either leisure or sleep.</p><p>The pandemic opened a lot of eyes to the unsustainable nature of our current labor setup. I won't go into the hardships that parents have had these last two years except to summarize that parents lost their external support but still had to keep up their jobs. In a global pandemic and period of increased anxiety and tension. No wonder so many people left their jobs.</p><p>The ones that stayed feel at a disadvantage to non-parents. Us non-parents can veg on the couch or sleep more or take additional risks for old pleasures like vacations and eating at restaurants because we don't have little unvaccinated creatures with still-growing immune systems to worry about. We can sleep through the night, probably. We don't have to juggle virtual classes and mommy can you open this and sibling fights and where did your pants go get out I'm on camera and can I go play outside <i>while working at the same level as before the pandemic</i>. It's fully justified, I don't know how parents have any sanity (I mean, I wonder that in general but the last two years have validated my childfree-ness in a way I never thought possible).</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQdHYYh1RCgDW9MYUTmAdh2mWvhrH1M5Ci6T4UyEkE81YCTYZMLfDKFcvck7UlQxKJRNOOFoAAdeL9yNN0dLNXZQK1k78Q0MmocsW5FL3T6eN8X0rumr5hkTrrjLTvsln3hpK5hjfn8e2J70kbL4Jbj_TcXHJjEO-H3ebwxGE-yIEguj3cL-Ez-w-o=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Three rats cuddled together in a basket." border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQdHYYh1RCgDW9MYUTmAdh2mWvhrH1M5Ci6T4UyEkE81YCTYZMLfDKFcvck7UlQxKJRNOOFoAAdeL9yNN0dLNXZQK1k78Q0MmocsW5FL3T6eN8X0rumr5hkTrrjLTvsln3hpK5hjfn8e2J70kbL4Jbj_TcXHJjEO-H3ebwxGE-yIEguj3cL-Ez-w-o=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most people have a hard time understanding rats as pets.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>But now, the non-parents, who also feel slighted. The struggles of parents are <i>so obvious</i>. Parents are shouting about them, bringing up their pain at every opportunity because if they don't they will burst. Some might legitimately explode. Before, comedians made jokes about stay at home moms (something something it can't be that hard of a job if you can do it in your pajamas) but <i>no one</i> is making those jokes now. Even for women who aren't also working. </p><p>But we're about to start our third year of the pandemic and pretty much everyone is over it. We're tired of masks, tired of restrictions, tired of being judged for going out, tired of being judged for staying in, tired of hearing about how tired everyone is. So the plan is currently to pretend it's over. We never stopped working at full capacity, we just had to do it from our kitchen tables or couches or bedroom dresser or laundry machine (or you were a teacher or healthcare worker or "essential worker" and had to risk your health every single day). It's too much to start a third year of acute awareness of these very obvious problems, so we're just going to sweep our problems under the rug.</p><p>And non-parents, who have been keeping up when our parent colleagues had sick kids or zoom lessons or needed a mental health day (for those who are lucky enough to have compassionate employers), our struggles are not as obvious. We've been too afraid to voice them because we <i>know</i> we don't have it as bad as the parents and we don't want to look like ungrateful assholes for saying we're also tired and burned out. However, in this soon to be third year of the pandemic, our struggles haven't gone away, either. We've picked up the slack and kept our mouths shut, and any time parents are given the understanding and compassion that they fully deserve we wonder if our efforts will ever be recognized. </p><p>Maybe it wouldn't have been important to recognize our efforts if the pandemic was over in a year. We were so ready to pitch in and help because of the blindingly obvious horrors of being a pandemic parent, but we <i>are</i> burned out. We <i>are</i> exhausted. We <i>are</i> over it. And we're feeling slighted.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgL9h6iXTgWP37LMD6qzm2LN1dgeiu1U1uEqZWkD1aT8WwVWJmFHKbUP5gawGAbLNB1Sz3FqmsNhRGSyfh5jGCFMTNA82RWSOc7nh15dKMG_aRPqptcELRfKP_FnTdoSZTgHFsCXW0WiFzsu4adV4kFxNgCQZSiutYEKQERAay-OxSys7kwricLcJeY=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="A cat laying on a rug, a rabbit in the background." border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgL9h6iXTgWP37LMD6qzm2LN1dgeiu1U1uEqZWkD1aT8WwVWJmFHKbUP5gawGAbLNB1Sz3FqmsNhRGSyfh5jGCFMTNA82RWSOc7nh15dKMG_aRPqptcELRfKP_FnTdoSZTgHFsCXW0WiFzsu4adV4kFxNgCQZSiutYEKQERAay-OxSys7kwricLcJeY=w320-h240" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My kids.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>When both parents and non-parents are feeling like our employers give preferential treatment to the other group, the problem is with employers. Parents should be given the additional understanding and compassion, but when non-parents are working extra hard they should also be rewarded. Or at least acknowledged. Where I'm working, we're still operating under the pandemic structure for performance evaluations, which makes it extremely difficult to get any sort of raise or promotion. But how long are we going to operate like this? How long will "due to the pandemic" be the excuse for leadership to continue not recognizing effort?</p><p>It's also making me realize how atypical my family is. Along with saying "when you have kids", we also say "start a family" when we're trying to have a kid. When we say family we really mean nuclear family: one mom, one dad, and at least one biological kid. Americans are starting to be more accepting of same sex families, blended families, extended families, mixed-race families, and other non-traditional family structures. But they all have kids. "Family" still means a parent figure and at least one child. It does not mean, for most, husband and wife. Which is a pretty significant bummer when I think about it.</p><p>I started my family almost 9 years ago when husband and I moved in together. I considered us a sort of blended family: him and his dog, me and my cat, then we got our bunnies. Our family became more official when we got married. But since we're never having children, some people will never see us as a family. I've been thinking of my family more lately. All my babies have four legs and hair all over. They are all old, and we've already lost some. When Argo's cancer diagnosis was terminal, I told husband that this would be the most difficult thing we ever go through together. And it was. It will be more difficult than losing parents, friends, siblings, and any future pets. Last year our old bun Gandalf died suddenly, as did one of our rats. One rat is not doing well at all and Chloe has gotten a couple of worrying diagnoses recently. We know our time with all of them is very limited.</p><p>I feel like I shouldn't talk about this, especially not at work. Most of my colleagues who have pets also have children, and once you have biological children you don't see your pets as your babies anymore. And only one other person on my larger team has more pets than I do. My direct supervisor has neither pets nor kids (nor partner) and kind of doesn't understand them. (Side note: He mentioned wanting to get a cat but is "kind of worried about taking care of it that much". He also shared with me that a friend can't go on vacations or go out anymore because their dog is old and, having been in that situation, I wanted to yell at him... Also, this was mid-pandemic so vacationing and going out shouldn't really be the fun metric you judge your friends by, but things have returned to normal for him.) I do my best to schedule vet appointments and other life necessities for late in the afternoon when he won't notice I'm not online because I feel... atypical. Not understood. My family isn't taken seriously. I even recently got the "you're next for maternity leave" half joke for the first time in a really long time.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPNfG3YACKkDtTWC1ywKvIZDluWFBjFYJdnNhgvD86aU4u03lRDbUZDuho0BfS3LuQpCFY2G_XTaRfy2K5XZCEYHX3_WwNz4Sa3b3wNLVp3P_PdCYo9wmejCJy_wuvGN8MWy3PsywysAl8NSPcEmplYzkJZzKALD2oNcjBcWj0Y-KPEBW1U2LiWt6_=s1440" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Two people in tiki decorations holding a cat and a parrot tiki glass." border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPNfG3YACKkDtTWC1ywKvIZDluWFBjFYJdnNhgvD86aU4u03lRDbUZDuho0BfS3LuQpCFY2G_XTaRfy2K5XZCEYHX3_WwNz4Sa3b3wNLVp3P_PdCYo9wmejCJy_wuvGN8MWy3PsywysAl8NSPcEmplYzkJZzKALD2oNcjBcWj0Y-KPEBW1U2LiWt6_=w320-h320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We take family portraits at the holidays just like other families.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>It's not just having pets instead of kids. Sometimes I forget that even though we're in a traditional heterosexual marriage, being interracial still has implications. Even in our very liberal little neighborhood (in a purple-ish city in a blue state). We live a pretty white life. I don't notice, and sometimes choose to ignore, looks in public. When we do step into Black spaces I feel welcome but a little like I'm intruding. There are online meet up groups for Black people (runners, artists, etc.) and for women, but what about mixed race couples? If husband wanted to join a Black runners group, for example, I wouldn't feel comfortable joining even if I was welcomed, just like he wouldn't join a women's running group.</p><p>So between my interracial marriage and my childfree-ness, I've been noticing how different my family is. I had to Google what the opposite of nuclear family is and "postmodern" was my answer. It includes childless couples, unmarried parents, extended and blended families, and anyone who considered themselves part of a family, regardless of blood or marriage. I guess if my availability and effort as a non-parent is going to be taken for granted, it might be nice to have the family I do have recognized.</p><p><br /></p>Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02011137066680126659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-75590937592411676502022-02-20T20:05:00.000-08:002022-02-20T20:05:19.515-08:00Marriage Inequalities<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrRTh1_i3NYKHHBfLgajHDzQ4tG24CWfbSNa0dFeIcBXHtCklY0MJ76qUu2MsQ7UlSzUeK0bbAVix3ZDOqq8wbbfTiGPZ33V9QiIKKwTvMC0AZ-r8FgRo5ZTG8vgdlcnnaMrlDYk5S50iL6HgdMW6dgpPMyoSsHl8NuFubeqXZHXoq2jFUhvy4OrMU=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="San Diego skyline and ocean view from a boat." border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrRTh1_i3NYKHHBfLgajHDzQ4tG24CWfbSNa0dFeIcBXHtCklY0MJ76qUu2MsQ7UlSzUeK0bbAVix3ZDOqq8wbbfTiGPZ33V9QiIKKwTvMC0AZ-r8FgRo5ZTG8vgdlcnnaMrlDYk5S50iL6HgdMW6dgpPMyoSsHl8NuFubeqXZHXoq2jFUhvy4OrMU=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">San Diego skyline view from a whale watching tour during our staycation!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Husband and I recently celebrated our second wedding anniversary with a full week off of work. We somewhat strategically selected a wedding date that would guarantee a day off work for a couple of years (and since we got married on a Friday we had three days post-wedding before we had to respond to professional responsibilities). Also somewhat surprisingly, in all the time we had been together we had never had a staycation. We chose to do that this year for our anniversary because of covid (even spending one night out would have been highly expensive and not necessarily been enjoyable with all my pandemic anxiety) and because I'm very hesitant to leave the cat right now (my lady is at least 16 and going through old lady medical issues).</p><p>What I'm perhaps most surprised by is how much I loved our staycation. From Sunday to Sunday, we visited the Safari Park (where we met), the zoo (where we formed our friendship and cemented our relationship), had many of our favorite foods, had a movie-marathon day, went whale watching (which had been on our list for many years - and ended up seeing dozens of whales, dolphins, and sea lions), and had beers with friends. We decided we'll take a full week off every year from now on, and if traveling somewhere isn't feasible for whatever reason a staycation will be just as fun.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_cc3tXdQH-U38Aj6l5-HTpi36tphwAcafyhBn21sK-3698pQgFKvOYyDDNroH4EK65YpjY9Zvu-vIJDAblBCI03I75kGNJOoHWK1zyeHQPdSSlxnBsR1S1u3_VU8AlUK_fWCDJqOpkE3WgUnlRsfm2BSZT3jOWcf8hP2DZDZXiwNVUPebRZUi86WR=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_cc3tXdQH-U38Aj6l5-HTpi36tphwAcafyhBn21sK-3698pQgFKvOYyDDNroH4EK65YpjY9Zvu-vIJDAblBCI03I75kGNJOoHWK1zyeHQPdSSlxnBsR1S1u3_VU8AlUK_fWCDJqOpkE3WgUnlRsfm2BSZT3jOWcf8hP2DZDZXiwNVUPebRZUi86WR=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drinks overlooking where we (kind of) met.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Husband mentioned a few times the last two years how he's treated now that he's married, and each time it took me off guard. I didn't really realize why until the last week or so. Being a man, husband is given some additional respect when he mentions being married or having a wife. Apparently, people see men who are married as more responsible. As opposed to having "just" a girlfriend, having a wife means a man is stable, that someone (a woman) has decided that he is worth marrying, and that he is worth giving responsibility, priority, and money to.</p><p>This has not been my experience. I haven't changed jobs since getting engaged or getting married, and I admit that saying "husband" gives me an air of adultness that "boyfriend" didn't (especially when among other married people). However, I have been interviewing. And I have been very careful to not mention being married. While men are free to admit to having a wife, a woman having a husband has implications that makes me, at least, hesitant to admit the situation to strangers who might otherwise give me money.<br /></p><p>So while a man being married implies he is responsible, stable, and has long term goals that align with an employer's long term goals, a woman being married implies she is more likely to leave a job, get pregnant, and cost a company more than she is bringing in. It's illegal to not hire someone because of their marital status, pregnancy status, familiar status, etc., but it's very easy to simply not move forward with the interview process if a woman mentions anything about her husband or children or family.</p><p>Small anecdotal example: I recently interviewed for a digital marketing generalist position with a very well known company based in San Diego. The recruiter asked if I had experience in videography (which was not listed in the job description). Rather than saying "no, but my husband does and I could learn from him" or "no, but my husband does and he could be a consultant", I simply said no. I don't, after all, and they weren't interviewing my husband, they were interviewing me. The fault clearly lies with the interviewer for asking about something not listed in the job description (if you need a digital marketer with video experience you need to say so - but those are two very different jobs so good luck finding a digital marketing generalist who is also experienced in video for the salary they were willing to pay). But it surprised me that I had such a low hanging fruit right there - a person I live with who could easily help with this skill and yet I was so hesitant to admit to having that resource.</p><p>Meanwhile, my husband has relayed multiple positive reactions to him being married. Part of it is due to him appearing a LOT younger than he is. His clients are sometimes surprised that he's even old enough to be married (which just irks me to no end... dude's almost 40 and people still think he looks barely old enough to drink). But part of it is a validation that, despite his youthful appearance, he is clearly responsible enough for a woman to commit to and has to return that responsibility to her, AND he probably is as skilled as he says he is, and that his prices imply.</p><p>I also have been struggling to get the professional recognition I feel I deserve for the work I've put in the last few years, which may have nothing to do with being married. But it is difficult to feel like I'm spinning my wheels while my husband has been enjoying professional success that's at least partly related to being married, especially when he remarks to me later on how great it is being married because of how he is treated by clients and potential clients. Just... not the same for me, and I'd be willing to bet not for most women of childbearing age. </p><p>And what am I supposed to do, mention my sterilization in my interviews and let them know I won't be leaving to bear children? That's fucked both because it's not any of their business and it puts women who <i>do</i> plan to become parents at a significant disadvantage.</p><p>This came up before we got married, too. When we were engaged I asked him why it was important that we get legally married, and he brought up several points. At the top were legal validation and social validation. Turns out that second one was more for him than for me. But we did experience the importance of the first one while we were engaged. My sister had a baby a few months before our wedding and we were at the hospital for the birth. The receptionist didn't question my presence but her look at my fiance was... telling. "And <i>your</i> relation to the patient?" she asked him. I let her know he was my fiance and she relaxed and provided him the wristband that would get him into the room.</p><p>I guess being legally married is extra important in mixed-race relationships. Just wish the gender inequities weren't so pronounced in marriage.</p>Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02011137066680126659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-66806796542707329402020-05-25T18:36:00.001-07:002020-09-23T18:42:07.530-07:00This Quarantine Life: How COVID-19 Changed San DiegoIt's Memorial Day today and we've been staying at home for 11 weeks. I started taking photos from around my neighborhood (and sometimes beyond) to document what this time is like. I'll be updating this as I gather more photos as life changes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNy-w5WvcCFSmEGL1FuFtWcNAgkS5qUoahEUcRZv2NGVH0LOLmmnQzD8fGh3s4rH1EXhEK8-yE2EBC6wLKSbBb9nVedQvsGowLDRLLaqPX2C3_eYtpfFxAHqPgdt6d3bKuzDxvPPaQ0ME/s1600/IMG_7124.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNy-w5WvcCFSmEGL1FuFtWcNAgkS5qUoahEUcRZv2NGVH0LOLmmnQzD8fGh3s4rH1EXhEK8-yE2EBC6wLKSbBb9nVedQvsGowLDRLLaqPX2C3_eYtpfFxAHqPgdt6d3bKuzDxvPPaQ0ME/s320/IMG_7124.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hella COVID-19</td></tr>
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COVID-19, the new coronavirus, was associated with one of my organization's offices in the Bay Area in early March and, "out of an abundance of caution," the state chapter decided to close all offices. I had been working from home for a week already due to a cold and figured I might be home for the rest of the month. No big deal. I work from home 3-4 days a week anyway.<br />
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California recommended we keep our distance from anyone we didn't live with as much as possible. Don't go out unless you have to, shops were supposed to limit the people inside, and no gathering in large groups. The first couple of weeks were rainy in San Diego so people pretty much stayed inside anyway. Running was very enjoyable — streets and trails were empty and I had Balboa Park almost all to myself. I still went on my long runs, preparing for my favorite race at the end of March, the Hot Chocolate 15K.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirRpArgBWt5ZHlluoRw-sOxRE1Lf1aRXP2zwbNcTZBATR7pHOOHcgzfQTtXDwaJ2c1DkSYYtdXJI6zxAxHU1egynw2R9UzefkDsii4_c_zbM78UT6kOjUlc6_LGX8ywM_XhqW7kyGcezY/s1600/IMG_7063.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirRpArgBWt5ZHlluoRw-sOxRE1Lf1aRXP2zwbNcTZBATR7pHOOHcgzfQTtXDwaJ2c1DkSYYtdXJI6zxAxHU1egynw2R9UzefkDsii4_c_zbM78UT6kOjUlc6_LGX8ywM_XhqW7kyGcezY/s320/IMG_7063.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trail going through the cactus garden in Balboa Park - empty on a rainy day.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXyJc2lLu5bIHEOHlDzjqoQf8x5t8HQ3P4vbtWObzHEKeTbAko-km-5PItqogNAtwtERUFkwI74gUmqr0Xpsa_mlPJKnZtBnD4wlzqZvJhPhzI-r5aR_jYHMabzVPFjEA1gg4GafldbHM/s1600/IMG_7064.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXyJc2lLu5bIHEOHlDzjqoQf8x5t8HQ3P4vbtWObzHEKeTbAko-km-5PItqogNAtwtERUFkwI74gUmqr0Xpsa_mlPJKnZtBnD4wlzqZvJhPhzI-r5aR_jYHMabzVPFjEA1gg4GafldbHM/s320/IMG_7064.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Balboa Park on a rainy day, making socially distant running easy.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">30th Street in North Park - eerily empty even for a rainy day.</td></tr>
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Then several other state chapters also closed their offices. Our bi-annual work week event (set for May, which at that time seemed far away) was cancelled. Then local and global events, small and large, and entire sports seasons were cancelled. That was surprising, but at the time we figured it was a financial decision. Then all restaurants and bars closed in California. It was a Sunday afternoon when we heard that news — they would close the next day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV4yNhKLsSvkCFLoTDsWL2MZVw9YV1AWVyUofsRTeUx4-1DITNm_CGt7Fva_GjENGCIrWqbcVUuBrCrcD-VPLNcbzv9n0VviuLxDhzrJCOobFsegPasOzl2ffr2YJv-Y5A098LgOEXkAE/s1600/IMG_7134.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV4yNhKLsSvkCFLoTDsWL2MZVw9YV1AWVyUofsRTeUx4-1DITNm_CGt7Fva_GjENGCIrWqbcVUuBrCrcD-VPLNcbzv9n0VviuLxDhzrJCOobFsegPasOzl2ffr2YJv-Y5A098LgOEXkAE/s320/IMG_7134.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bottlecraft introduced safe shopping guidelines for picking up beer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Pretty much immediately, I went to the bottle shop around the corner to stock up. I didn't know if they would also have to close but I wanted to get as much from them as possible, both for the variety and to support the local business. The shop employee (owner?) said they'd be open as long as possible and, since they weren't a bar or a restaurant, would probably be able to remain open (though their in-shop taps did close, as did the cheese shop in the back).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ5NwrKzbzw9iudADOb7WQ-7dN7Qx2xEMFkT5Jcl52B_fE0V9ECLDMSN-bMQdh4LUDwH6W1F67lVSxpyab08lx8aFUu2DTh_gvsXGdrheJs-YFHbCJsynAPm4V8QPOtXbHE0Nrv5hYFuk/s1600/IMG_7066.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ5NwrKzbzw9iudADOb7WQ-7dN7Qx2xEMFkT5Jcl52B_fE0V9ECLDMSN-bMQdh4LUDwH6W1F67lVSxpyab08lx8aFUu2DTh_gvsXGdrheJs-YFHbCJsynAPm4V8QPOtXbHE0Nrv5hYFuk/s320/IMG_7066.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coronavirus casualty: bringing my reusable mug to coffee shops.</td></tr>
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I'd picked up a coffee habit during grad school, and my weekend treat was a mocha. The last one I got, when the shops were still open, had stopped accepting customer's reusable mugs. Though some coffee shops stayed open for to-go only, knowing every coffee would come with a non-recyclable plastic (or plastic coated) cup this was the end of my fancy coffees for the foreseeable future.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0-xckcKwU3CNXaBlVgqI8b8_BQyZFyVkQhOIVVezHgzaAAU0QQIIaEHSN28KZnAgyaMeUG2WVqOhi4PKUcvcHCXyZQdfO882vyliYglHYS6oKW_WnYVJU3jjUsyG_2pmVHWHhaOR23Zg/s1600/IMG_7090.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0-xckcKwU3CNXaBlVgqI8b8_BQyZFyVkQhOIVVezHgzaAAU0QQIIaEHSN28KZnAgyaMeUG2WVqOhi4PKUcvcHCXyZQdfO882vyliYglHYS6oKW_WnYVJU3jjUsyG_2pmVHWHhaOR23Zg/s320/IMG_7090.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Husband dancing in the middle of the street on a Friday night. Our main intersection was closed due to construction but the streets were already empty.</td></tr>
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<br />The phrase "socially distant" was introduced. It sounded like a joke at first, like a silly phrase to get the point across. Like "click it or ticket" to get people to wear their seat belts. Man, did that phrase really turn into a whole movement. Everyone on social media was touting their abilities to go through a socially distant life while shaming those who ignored the rules.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Y3MpO6rJ4OKp8PaFcQ42gi34oAQjHsdcYGjCnVl1zznVYvOUA9Kiu-IE1Yz00wugp-s_g4jdeLmCOc1PlgUTTGJ_Ka_mSzMjJ2pFK3ktaDvy3RsMPkoyhwSrwr2YBpFq6bmN4q94azY/s1600/IMG_7068.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Y3MpO6rJ4OKp8PaFcQ42gi34oAQjHsdcYGjCnVl1zznVYvOUA9Kiu-IE1Yz00wugp-s_g4jdeLmCOc1PlgUTTGJ_Ka_mSzMjJ2pFK3ktaDvy3RsMPkoyhwSrwr2YBpFq6bmN4q94azY/s320/IMG_7068.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our last zoo visit before they closed due to the coronavirus. Still got a beer.</td></tr>
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The zoo also announced they'd be closing with the restaurants and bars. Husband and I decided to go, one last time, and do our best to maintain distance. The zoo is all outside and walkways are quite spacious, so we did pretty well. We bypassed any area with a crowd and when a crowd did start to form near us we moved on. Husband and I had dinner that night at a latin-inspired restaurant a few blocks from our apartment. We ordered a drink, appetizers, and entrees, and the server gifted us tequila shots. The restaurant closed for good during quarantine, and that was the last we'll ever eat there.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vdnmYmckXvmFdyOL8JAV2zxNHodSMjxaw696gJE2jz41WfEqqy1D_Ai_T0Mxw2zwmZzxdJkdkcK0wEtKoQTkn1lQB2TNAEeini__SBREfut9sux6rPtyEcRNz4QDK_jj0PQwxUEg2-o/s1600/IMG_7084.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vdnmYmckXvmFdyOL8JAV2zxNHodSMjxaw696gJE2jz41WfEqqy1D_Ai_T0Mxw2zwmZzxdJkdkcK0wEtKoQTkn1lQB2TNAEeini__SBREfut9sux6rPtyEcRNz4QDK_jj0PQwxUEg2-o/s320/IMG_7084.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some retail stores closed early. Simply Local, here, put up signs.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaw-iuJKbGJpoH7jTe806KMlnsfr4AIWsCAsY7bZgHqRoBF5Pzc8i1r7u6tfDcM9_UDF784zubC5en1z8fxTs6yzhxGjPenGO9zn4KIvUq8KPF1ylxPuLJBvPppYoIkJIf1u-6nrmTdwE/s1600/IMG_7085.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaw-iuJKbGJpoH7jTe806KMlnsfr4AIWsCAsY7bZgHqRoBF5Pzc8i1r7u6tfDcM9_UDF784zubC5en1z8fxTs6yzhxGjPenGO9zn4KIvUq8KPF1ylxPuLJBvPppYoIkJIf1u-6nrmTdwE/s320/IMG_7085.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Simply Local was one of the first stores to add encouraging signs: We will get through this together.</td></tr>
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Things happened rather quickly after that. Or, I guess they stopped altogether. Suddenly the reason we moved to this apartment in this neighborhood — the bars, the restaurants, the shops, the social activity — didn't exist. Some shops closed completely while others attempted to conform to new regulations.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_TLJZhTiN__hyphenhyphenLlDULTuHBUnNzD0gYeLhAvBBLLme-n-Yi9S_FatLdlE3tG-DH2g4XWePfYD5P4Hgwda5Hozr6mSR-ingBZxab-v51jPIaESIFVn4xzXb0SBJIyHS6pettQqWI7AkvQ/s1600/IMG_7143.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_TLJZhTiN__hyphenhyphenLlDULTuHBUnNzD0gYeLhAvBBLLme-n-Yi9S_FatLdlE3tG-DH2g4XWePfYD5P4Hgwda5Hozr6mSR-ingBZxab-v51jPIaESIFVn4xzXb0SBJIyHS6pettQqWI7AkvQ/s320/IMG_7143.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thorn Street Brewery simply closed rather than try to work out pick ups.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjuymKhPcQjwPqQYD1UB_EW8PY5_Cw5AGg4FpXow3TLiCl8m7ofpyg0ncxU4oPRko8S16EYKyM_DxPnBb6zGuG8SGNQRr0-uDcZ3pc7_V7KbEIZMfJ0zSU-XaNb-VeSBRIzdSsATcmJg/s1600/IMG_7205.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjuymKhPcQjwPqQYD1UB_EW8PY5_Cw5AGg4FpXow3TLiCl8m7ofpyg0ncxU4oPRko8S16EYKyM_DxPnBb6zGuG8SGNQRr0-uDcZ3pc7_V7KbEIZMfJ0zSU-XaNb-VeSBRIzdSsATcmJg/s320/IMG_7205.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Modern Times taphouse in North Park - closed.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWvB6vF-KsNj07AhBCQ-DCAxKD92Moj3HXJ5np8qnPHaw9IJw3HLHwROw064-k9nG1ePKejluUvGTRymueeHAbPFdlDNFMBxnbOLJkcgYJdsqDxh47DbMs5TnI1Ho-f7Jqz4lL3kDgMN4/s1600/IMG_7206.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWvB6vF-KsNj07AhBCQ-DCAxKD92Moj3HXJ5np8qnPHaw9IJw3HLHwROw064-k9nG1ePKejluUvGTRymueeHAbPFdlDNFMBxnbOLJkcgYJdsqDxh47DbMs5TnI1Ho-f7Jqz4lL3kDgMN4/s320/IMG_7206.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Modern Times introduced distance beer purchases - only available if you ordered online ahead of time.</td></tr>
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Bars could stay open for takeout only if they served food, some of which even also offered alcohol to-go. Some bars that didn't serve food also offered alcohol to-go: breweries sold cans, bottles, crowlers, and new growlers, while some regular bars canned and sold whatever beer they had in kegs. Honestly, otherwise it would have just gone bad and been dumped, and plenty of people were happy to get discounted beer from their favorite local bar. Husband and I even got a Bloody Mary from a breakfast place to-go once because why not?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLTVQXhCgP8xBk8VbPjuRBsyClExK-XVKZ302LdygnQwbecvBm4djtqT8fWpSLKUmuN1nfQEXUgtDIiQG1ExAivLALqe8c1p2FHSS7aPKfeUjs9H6akRln-TXYcNngAOwoKKkgBcurGEg/s1600/IMG_7210.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLTVQXhCgP8xBk8VbPjuRBsyClExK-XVKZ302LdygnQwbecvBm4djtqT8fWpSLKUmuN1nfQEXUgtDIiQG1ExAivLALqe8c1p2FHSS7aPKfeUjs9H6akRln-TXYcNngAOwoKKkgBcurGEg/s320/IMG_7210.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breakfast Republic celebrating the small wins - getting out of bed.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiebIjgyaeOLQw7DILr7psktXJ0UFIW_C3-P3x2j4xeOYehS_mKu_ixYyLtMH9Vr1H2OLmJFpEkEWw3fooBg55q6CmvfNt-9sNllBU-bzYCB1kyyYlNhPdXDHLSNK95FC9NCxbrIGYQV8A/s1600/IMG_7211.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiebIjgyaeOLQw7DILr7psktXJ0UFIW_C3-P3x2j4xeOYehS_mKu_ixYyLtMH9Vr1H2OLmJFpEkEWw3fooBg55q6CmvfNt-9sNllBU-bzYCB1kyyYlNhPdXDHLSNK95FC9NCxbrIGYQV8A/s320/IMG_7211.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What brunch looks like in the times of coronavirus. Eggs in a box, coffee in a can, and a pre-made Bloody Mary in a plastic cup.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRWKW510E_bi1kMRA33VgtRcCQQAOcOG_ifbYnRP03srFSD-8QgOcy2crOwOqyObdbd29sObOHwFWM4w6P4l6MgPFfuL8k5DZfwC5uCWxlukACObMpZBiNNNIrP_2SS9720o8-myFMthI/s1600/IMG_7382.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRWKW510E_bi1kMRA33VgtRcCQQAOcOG_ifbYnRP03srFSD-8QgOcy2crOwOqyObdbd29sObOHwFWM4w6P4l6MgPFfuL8k5DZfwC5uCWxlukACObMpZBiNNNIrP_2SS9720o8-myFMthI/s320/IMG_7382.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"We are open for take out" signs as part of a Stand Behind North Park campaign to support local restaurants.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLcRpzjwcgfcojAyseH148A2awxLbGlkC5aPGj9c6u0Fs2usNOtVsP1pkpHFdZk24Kqj6r7DNhVbSc9SlyI9YZvT_bCSLVf8GnLEVFA6q9iTa5NxcAaMljX2y791BPPKzzuJ9Kjvy6ha8/s1600/IMG_7365.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLcRpzjwcgfcojAyseH148A2awxLbGlkC5aPGj9c6u0Fs2usNOtVsP1pkpHFdZk24Kqj6r7DNhVbSc9SlyI9YZvT_bCSLVf8GnLEVFA6q9iTa5NxcAaMljX2y791BPPKzzuJ9Kjvy6ha8/s320/IMG_7365.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Thank you for your support San Diego" sign in front of Crazee Burger.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSC79K8n2kfwZiPnz526fScF65-1ZmQ7veM7cNNsFtvcca0NuqxpVhL9HZumn2LXE5JgygM6fl2UTw2MbOszDD2JWxnk6LLGyra9iyl7tC5Yuf40tTyaflChn3dc6QHG3rEzKREueErA/s1600/IMG_7364.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSC79K8n2kfwZiPnz526fScF65-1ZmQ7veM7cNNsFtvcca0NuqxpVhL9HZumn2LXE5JgygM6fl2UTw2MbOszDD2JWxnk6LLGyra9iyl7tC5Yuf40tTyaflChn3dc6QHG3rEzKREueErA/s320/IMG_7364.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Eat here! Or we both starve." Sign in front of Encontro.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuI1a7seMyAvtPCUAcppvn81yFiNA61nrdRi9adU9A13wY2Bi7bkkYqsP9rEKryVAWz2ktb628BAUq9UM4FZ9-MYQMt278JPW_wYfohBmMy3YiduNs8L4zKZ_8A8sarvCTABRt7L077qg/s1600/IMG_7274.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuI1a7seMyAvtPCUAcppvn81yFiNA61nrdRi9adU9A13wY2Bi7bkkYqsP9rEKryVAWz2ktb628BAUq9UM4FZ9-MYQMt278JPW_wYfohBmMy3YiduNs8L4zKZ_8A8sarvCTABRt7L077qg/s320/IMG_7274.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Take out welcomed" sign on the door of Poke One 'n Half.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp9gaV3Y6dVDaQw8caalYWO6yXHBrm9WLOMpsKP7cklhbYmf6PPfPvp-WSLT70Zx_GNyZyx7WaZlolL9jvkQiF_q7HjUA0e2TFK-_-IwzJM-piFy3KQlkXExOqoJSdxY6Lq2apX0uURag/s1600/IMG_7275.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp9gaV3Y6dVDaQw8caalYWO6yXHBrm9WLOMpsKP7cklhbYmf6PPfPvp-WSLT70Zx_GNyZyx7WaZlolL9jvkQiF_q7HjUA0e2TFK-_-IwzJM-piFy3KQlkXExOqoJSdxY6Lq2apX0uURag/s320/IMG_7275.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where to stand markers became common pretty much everywhere.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUesR_bfRGeLM8ggTwAiK47ULR8FFdb265RSQq0eVzuClqwmpZDIjMwNR9VdlN3z23UJL51cLbEFOAGKKwYBWn2WKHpRiNknfO6Q1kPDGjYg5hn_dQMKJSHMFkC9XV2Ee1aQm5wUe3HHU/s1600/IMG_7333.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUesR_bfRGeLM8ggTwAiK47ULR8FFdb265RSQq0eVzuClqwmpZDIjMwNR9VdlN3z23UJL51cLbEFOAGKKwYBWn2WKHpRiNknfO6Q1kPDGjYg5hn_dQMKJSHMFkC9XV2Ee1aQm5wUe3HHU/s320/IMG_7333.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Social distance saves lives" and "Keep calm and keep your distance" signs at a pizza place.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It was a bummer when our St. Patrick's day celebrations had to be virtual. A few of the bars had just put up their Guinness bunting days before closures were announced. (Some of them are still up.) I joked to our friends, over Zoom, that if we had to also spend Cinco de Mayo at home we would break into the fancy tequila we got as a wedding gift. (Spoiler alert: we did.)<br />
<br />
Zoom gatherings became regular, and normal. My yoga studio (along with all yoga, pilates, cycling studios and regular gyms) closed and Zoom yoga replaced in-person classes.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHoJL3wc-cN06cYtVI20f83wmxJb3U1NxvaD-m36DSjpESfm0IXiLBm4WVLPnXurD6O56NA26SiBQX_mxKFvShQiAHRWNOcS2S2Vfd5HzSe-OV4OwVGTwWnrlsTOnSmPXp3ECqSwUbAMA/s1600/IMG_7130.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHoJL3wc-cN06cYtVI20f83wmxJb3U1NxvaD-m36DSjpESfm0IXiLBm4WVLPnXurD6O56NA26SiBQX_mxKFvShQiAHRWNOcS2S2Vfd5HzSe-OV4OwVGTwWnrlsTOnSmPXp3ECqSwUbAMA/s320/IMG_7130.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yoga at home is not ideal. Turns out cats love yoga mats.</td></tr>
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Among all the cancellations was my favorite race. This year I was running with a friend so I was double bummed. The Hot Chocolate Race is the most fun I've had at an organized race and I was so excited for my friend to experience it this year. So when it was cancelled two weeks before the race date, I decided to run it anyway. After all, I'd already trained for it.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq3DxtB5wKPj0LB0xeQZjXdFLGswHnbhfKSKTC450k9M-aalWsDqOtvpoSehLxJNn4DLOqmW_-7tKMkOu9IsGqCNP2rs3Hp75E11HalrzVphSXQaXarjaS7PahZkDKB_vZ3p7SJsNwuQs/s1600/IMG_7097.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq3DxtB5wKPj0LB0xeQZjXdFLGswHnbhfKSKTC450k9M-aalWsDqOtvpoSehLxJNn4DLOqmW_-7tKMkOu9IsGqCNP2rs3Hp75E11HalrzVphSXQaXarjaS7PahZkDKB_vZ3p7SJsNwuQs/s320/IMG_7097.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-race selfie, one of us is not as excited.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzRN4H8Jaria7Axfx5zgc96bROaCSEWu-4yIwf6VYEaEBOmrk0rEhUYbxsZjJ7rgMHtLE4cN9rV0y5iKTiFWMa2pMMuavIO6MTrxDLw3npjp42aoK2A-nO2UuYIj1vgihdWTdtCjgFHAI/s1600/IMG_7099.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzRN4H8Jaria7Axfx5zgc96bROaCSEWu-4yIwf6VYEaEBOmrk0rEhUYbxsZjJ7rgMHtLE4cN9rV0y5iKTiFWMa2pMMuavIO6MTrxDLw3npjp42aoK2A-nO2UuYIj1vgihdWTdtCjgFHAI/s320/IMG_7099.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My race planning skills turned out to be pretty fantastic. Beautiful daisies along the route.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEmNgBA5ycuOjOz3zW8JcNHpkALd4g1XCHQaOo_lPzAODoFbKK3UeCyeWxKsRRTGW7BNYwwgdNEl2WVXF49feuerimwd6EAjn0L2QCijn9YjIgeK4zkc_TqRVdmvWV695_talFQ1KDTY/s1600/IMG_7100.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEmNgBA5ycuOjOz3zW8JcNHpkALd4g1XCHQaOo_lPzAODoFbKK3UeCyeWxKsRRTGW7BNYwwgdNEl2WVXF49feuerimwd6EAjn0L2QCijn9YjIgeK4zkc_TqRVdmvWV695_talFQ1KDTY/s320/IMG_7100.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A coyote! Just to the right of the white sign.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinHe_-cdfUQ9dk9OyGLIJnNwrfrVpyzTzlZhzM6uRsXQ_AAK_sxkIEG9tfOEBryyMImgiOwWcZL3B6bxKPBHc-VjoL5mwGJDIHUtbfQ2KzyW_ijYypfUyGHsDW27GEJKw2TDvHzuXnsBs/s1600/IMG_7105.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinHe_-cdfUQ9dk9OyGLIJnNwrfrVpyzTzlZhzM6uRsXQ_AAK_sxkIEG9tfOEBryyMImgiOwWcZL3B6bxKPBHc-VjoL5mwGJDIHUtbfQ2KzyW_ijYypfUyGHsDW27GEJKw2TDvHzuXnsBs/s320/IMG_7105.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Part of my course went through Balboa Park, so I detoured through the cactus garden.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgevFd3FFSCZgfKXv8pl0qKfDDDesW8kcrR7AD8w0d283Ge7kYZ6QnUA7VmjTZdyPSVxNVgSBjWxl_cmyyOVnIINMGZALWM0cG-rda7RZTBikDnq540-zbwnDyJ7mPOU2xrKmgD2kPDQ/s1600/IMG_7106.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgevFd3FFSCZgfKXv8pl0qKfDDDesW8kcrR7AD8w0d283Ge7kYZ6QnUA7VmjTZdyPSVxNVgSBjWxl_cmyyOVnIINMGZALWM0cG-rda7RZTBikDnq540-zbwnDyJ7mPOU2xrKmgD2kPDQ/s320/IMG_7106.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Balboa Park in the early morning.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-wryzt9LrdvShUkwCOeO8sxJUx-c5cBQUTV4VBRSFh88i7e1B31DlM6UXsPGbNHnqjZDmy_Da9UsRyz49xoMQmgKKbCqcZco6tfE0BWOsBQtRihfoIyuElZkfq-ViwvOKUat1YFF4aRc/s1600/IMG_7108.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-wryzt9LrdvShUkwCOeO8sxJUx-c5cBQUTV4VBRSFh88i7e1B31DlM6UXsPGbNHnqjZDmy_Da9UsRyz49xoMQmgKKbCqcZco6tfE0BWOsBQtRihfoIyuElZkfq-ViwvOKUat1YFF4aRc/s320/IMG_7108.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite bridge in San Diego, on Quince Street.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHALuofXNlEWucF70KkHl-QYTfNpv4-kWoOKQNmOGlan6IRIk805aO4Up75oKUsu9zXplbZHRp5bAZuOtn3rLBlY-USzcwq4vwBMG3SgdU4cIFQMnNpw8YNue_K5S_fxDmadVexPprQg/s1600/IMG_7109.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHALuofXNlEWucF70KkHl-QYTfNpv4-kWoOKQNmOGlan6IRIk805aO4Up75oKUsu9zXplbZHRp5bAZuOtn3rLBlY-USzcwq4vwBMG3SgdU4cIFQMnNpw8YNue_K5S_fxDmadVexPprQg/s320/IMG_7109.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The coolest bridge in San Diego, Spruce Street Suspension Bridge.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I designed a new course that went along part of the real course and was exactly 9.3 miles from door to door of my friend's house. Then I baked double chocolate chip cookies, packaged up water and extra chocolate chips, and recruited husband as our race support.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiExk4xii1r6i_7m6HsenPGRakT33u9yD0fcumtZjvde08GBwWi_d3Gv9S1fGueIKoaz6L63db8BN_R6bZJSI5NAWpwqIKiq058fbsBT7KRV4HDhbTB989FV-muH1SoD8pqmXnCBWT4iv0/s1600/IMG_7103.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiExk4xii1r6i_7m6HsenPGRakT33u9yD0fcumtZjvde08GBwWi_d3Gv9S1fGueIKoaz6L63db8BN_R6bZJSI5NAWpwqIKiq058fbsBT7KRV4HDhbTB989FV-muH1SoD8pqmXnCBWT4iv0/s320/IMG_7103.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cutest race support I've ever seen!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_mF1QHNyBOf-sC0HK016yX_DyEmZj1XuKVvWUwvUckxrX7FiPD96O14NR-dnlo9To0ZFULaf8EaZABSUm0vJF7KJf3npFKIZfgxTmoa2jLUpCSW_8P77VV22zLeZCwWqKFmIJsDqJmJ0/s1600/IMG_7104.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_mF1QHNyBOf-sC0HK016yX_DyEmZj1XuKVvWUwvUckxrX7FiPD96O14NR-dnlo9To0ZFULaf8EaZABSUm0vJF7KJf3npFKIZfgxTmoa2jLUpCSW_8P77VV22zLeZCwWqKFmIJsDqJmJ0/s320/IMG_7104.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiny bowls of chocolate chips to give us a sugar hit every few miles.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZMFJKw8kBxmAzkWGhTlMMU5oZzws4GytdCK7yRialGDa_V6uABlUSeRyan3bv2nmbGofL0dfe24RzyILiMlEQPiKhnKZHhm3iMFN2DgW40dtH5eEnUmXb1ViCeNcA_MhSteOqmWqjlv8/s1600/IMG_7107.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZMFJKw8kBxmAzkWGhTlMMU5oZzws4GytdCK7yRialGDa_V6uABlUSeRyan3bv2nmbGofL0dfe24RzyILiMlEQPiKhnKZHhm3iMFN2DgW40dtH5eEnUmXb1ViCeNcA_MhSteOqmWqjlv8/s320/IMG_7107.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can't hear the music blasting from the car radio keeping everyone's energy up.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
He drove ahead to pre-planned stop locations every 2-3 miles, blasted music from his car, and gave us tiny bowls of chocolate chips with our water. Being who he is, he also took "official race photos".<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUcQ7FqPifrf4IhRelZT-pcQUaC88f6oZOh_RvNJnKXXbF_V_GebImx6Fa7gmTWlIp5M_JS3I4rBSPpbNczY0Jucb2AbTN0yhL-aniIdnQJLtcxMC8j9uAySP3Hd3b8fCpoCDtH3cNsE/s1600/IMG_7112.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUcQ7FqPifrf4IhRelZT-pcQUaC88f6oZOh_RvNJnKXXbF_V_GebImx6Fa7gmTWlIp5M_JS3I4rBSPpbNczY0Jucb2AbTN0yhL-aniIdnQJLtcxMC8j9uAySP3Hd3b8fCpoCDtH3cNsE/s320/IMG_7112.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, being who I am, decided to screenshot the race photos rather than "buy" them.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs6uTp-9nVnIARUER9msonC39zvcn88i_4U7kK9g-sUCbo4E3hGWzcR4dJ7hEqq-LQR3aySiStWHaIqaEp1daQSqFWe5Oa1q2JIdCwKjM0I193HOwrjoCd8GQHv_YSGPHQCeCZ4Z_ViTU/s1600/IMG_7113.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs6uTp-9nVnIARUER9msonC39zvcn88i_4U7kK9g-sUCbo4E3hGWzcR4dJ7hEqq-LQR3aySiStWHaIqaEp1daQSqFWe5Oa1q2JIdCwKjM0I193HOwrjoCd8GQHv_YSGPHQCeCZ4Z_ViTU/s320/IMG_7113.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My finish line photo. Husband came up with the race name: Social D 15K.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Neighbors have been doing what they can to bring an uplifting message to others. Sidewalk chalk art usually increases in the summer but it exploded in April and May.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHzBAqMSkoXnuMBu5W9RDRXqbp3NXygBnGMrRvwI8vmphpNsJ3uGLSwoWge-Sg0Y2kwDS1XIfzSaJIr-ENaWzUkP4haI3zjiFueTIfcxAoisblGjsAX7TAT9b0BKH4P1HVSpnQhJYNfuk/s1600/IMG_7195.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHzBAqMSkoXnuMBu5W9RDRXqbp3NXygBnGMrRvwI8vmphpNsJ3uGLSwoWge-Sg0Y2kwDS1XIfzSaJIr-ENaWzUkP4haI3zjiFueTIfcxAoisblGjsAX7TAT9b0BKH4P1HVSpnQhJYNfuk/s320/IMG_7195.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best way out is through.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioN2bKv6yHK0KcpfuAnTEnvT56ecGhodsuefgKx5eZ4cUamLbtiG_mnDfhlKAJ7aRkYaAP41Hykelsu6iF7ReCHZ9iSSKgo123iOtQw29vtc6xeU14nz9gaZ64dVG0YDu8thIcYNaIo-I/s1600/IMG_7196.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioN2bKv6yHK0KcpfuAnTEnvT56ecGhodsuefgKx5eZ4cUamLbtiG_mnDfhlKAJ7aRkYaAP41Hykelsu6iF7ReCHZ9iSSKgo123iOtQw29vtc6xeU14nz9gaZ64dVG0YDu8thIcYNaIo-I/s320/IMG_7196.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hang in there!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCbTzXcjMS9zrTZT6A28qtbhO8lEwP4OLnCiWLq5ckPvs-A7iciJtzgxPdDgczXC8bZPYWFPvVywZSOBsf2giMQVm2hy96VVD9TLA1IuUGmiRd_ZQGM89EP0Rxq_9E3NkAxLcxTaE07R4/s1600/IMG_7242.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCbTzXcjMS9zrTZT6A28qtbhO8lEwP4OLnCiWLq5ckPvs-A7iciJtzgxPdDgczXC8bZPYWFPvVywZSOBsf2giMQVm2hy96VVD9TLA1IuUGmiRd_ZQGM89EP0Rxq_9E3NkAxLcxTaE07R4/s320/IMG_7242.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Various uplifting messages in chalk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAKwUbzAcmu7ZYyUyN6MomPPI3g8yxUJGaTQBJNVWpRbQwgK0goprqbu771m_qOP1FNFSc7TA_MW2IX5wTk218C7RcZxsKkIrQezWbnpiz7G8ctNr_EE8WZ2tqg0CpXEOSLp4i1xKQUuI/s1600/IMG_7292.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAKwUbzAcmu7ZYyUyN6MomPPI3g8yxUJGaTQBJNVWpRbQwgK0goprqbu771m_qOP1FNFSc7TA_MW2IX5wTk218C7RcZxsKkIrQezWbnpiz7G8ctNr_EE8WZ2tqg0CpXEOSLp4i1xKQUuI/s320/IMG_7292.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Be kind, better days ahead.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN0KQFEnWhYriMX2oWC4VLKKLSkEZlcZU4qao2KJnoCUMlOqm96ulKMgoxlBPavytryzD_FUNxZDgPUsj7p-Be78sTAsG9iLDMuYypY9Ljs5YIvx8m6qI0cJwbSZ2J7QWHkmJRNfty3Hw/s1600/IMG_7293.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN0KQFEnWhYriMX2oWC4VLKKLSkEZlcZU4qao2KJnoCUMlOqm96ulKMgoxlBPavytryzD_FUNxZDgPUsj7p-Be78sTAsG9iLDMuYypY9Ljs5YIvx8m6qI0cJwbSZ2J7QWHkmJRNfty3Hw/s320/IMG_7293.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You are loved.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32w4rAWcqIJt7yd4XSrXvCDSAHwjzPSvRtMvNpw0LiBJI8Vut7h7nIpv7p-jAq9oaN3ljoFyLUOH754i1E5Rv0YSSPFvfjEyi0l10J4b3rd67nRIbps0btm8C-ra2VaBf96wqg-T1-Y0/s1600/IMG_7295.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32w4rAWcqIJt7yd4XSrXvCDSAHwjzPSvRtMvNpw0LiBJI8Vut7h7nIpv7p-jAq9oaN3ljoFyLUOH754i1E5Rv0YSSPFvfjEyi0l10J4b3rd67nRIbps0btm8C-ra2VaBf96wqg-T1-Y0/s320/IMG_7295.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know it's hard now but it will get better. All you need is love.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Other homes took the call to be positive a little further. Some let us know in a more permanent way that things will get better.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vEXW2fUBO6eEJUFyyrArTRKW-ZFC3S02wFjjwZfvdtz-cRVpeMeCJhG1dradBf47HPCPd3rVPWv-y1FMotEhMFExDFalxgWvCNkh-GBmu6mTYSByDGONTI90TKaawd60KCwI_QCP5NQ/s1600/IMG_7235.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vEXW2fUBO6eEJUFyyrArTRKW-ZFC3S02wFjjwZfvdtz-cRVpeMeCJhG1dradBf47HPCPd3rVPWv-y1FMotEhMFExDFalxgWvCNkh-GBmu6mTYSByDGONTI90TKaawd60KCwI_QCP5NQ/s320/IMG_7235.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving holiday decorations up longer than usual. The sign says "Hello friends! My name is Happy Bappy!!! I am here to bring joy to all my neighbors. We can do this together!"</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMqDH9FkHRg7tM8GiNf00ReHnsOya6xDexMrpv8PyyNHpEGUQvVdIGuJip5owkaQ2D3F_4kuJml6QErSCvPPASvtJ3Pj2x7j3H6p7ngaQKy_GUEn4mGf3z_Zu48Alr06qudwWgpj8xJt8/s1600/IMG_7249.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMqDH9FkHRg7tM8GiNf00ReHnsOya6xDexMrpv8PyyNHpEGUQvVdIGuJip5owkaQ2D3F_4kuJml6QErSCvPPASvtJ3Pj2x7j3H6p7ngaQKy_GUEn4mGf3z_Zu48Alr06qudwWgpj8xJt8/s320/IMG_7249.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A food donation box near a closed park. "Take what you need, leave what you can. #WeAreInThisTogether People helping people"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJvjeqWBqdFi7a8Dp0uH0db2xAFxfMJQ3hHu7KJHV7L0js5F2C30xrSXFyEeqZxaTkVWdGXXJOMxmZYS6ivGGB9Db4KmC3B2_RJqhwlujvyBGIcagshM3Oz7FepfiqcnbWSRxj9YChTcM/s1600/IMG_7259.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJvjeqWBqdFi7a8Dp0uH0db2xAFxfMJQ3hHu7KJHV7L0js5F2C30xrSXFyEeqZxaTkVWdGXXJOMxmZYS6ivGGB9Db4KmC3B2_RJqhwlujvyBGIcagshM3Oz7FepfiqcnbWSRxj9YChTcM/s320/IMG_7259.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keep calm and carry on.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSWcZm0PVaKkWS1QeFl_EFK8VlSJY8JUpjokcWB7eGS7Kh8mSBOkFVpcCHKnqhcIO-o2SaXygl9d_Q8IE-rk0mL_q64hF3JMTmbE7tCWsfaroKwFmUx69ud8nks3o4IrqAY3c_MIZlPHI/s1600/IMG_7336.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSWcZm0PVaKkWS1QeFl_EFK8VlSJY8JUpjokcWB7eGS7Kh8mSBOkFVpcCHKnqhcIO-o2SaXygl9d_Q8IE-rk0mL_q64hF3JMTmbE7tCWsfaroKwFmUx69ud8nks3o4IrqAY3c_MIZlPHI/s320/IMG_7336.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"And have fun." I'm not sure this is coronavirus-related...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hyphenhyphenmJgL6yIrZRGonNnz9jw4sMp25u2rKxA2jWYTfO_oqba0g0twfXZaISNWWr1ZK6rE0mkhrke0LFTOMKsq-IhUDE3m8tHus1w2ya2EYKtIUbPYMQV8YvWcq8jlpKt5j7r0yw9cICqWo/s1600/IMG_7337.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hyphenhyphenmJgL6yIrZRGonNnz9jw4sMp25u2rKxA2jWYTfO_oqba0g0twfXZaISNWWr1ZK6rE0mkhrke0LFTOMKsq-IhUDE3m8tHus1w2ya2EYKtIUbPYMQV8YvWcq8jlpKt5j7r0yw9cICqWo/s320/IMG_7337.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"We'll get through it together" and "This is tough but so are you."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Others reminded us of our new social norms and that some things that we might think of as restrictions are actually there to help our neighbors and those more vulnerable than us. Masks became mandatory in public as of May 1st — especially in an enclosed area like grocery stores and to pick up take out —but also anytime you're out and are unable to maintain six feet between you and others.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnIj2fjwPRuOcTmT4AuAbXtCmAZ9jlGyPImLJ6kHV3sOV3DgbOOHKmjwOb9qBqPLRIK0oP94P1YXh9JRCTNo_3cZIHrrFBwYt7lgT7bBEeB6m_GQ5nC350lyFtDhAT6XA-g7W8v0pX0EM/s1600/IMG_7352.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1339" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnIj2fjwPRuOcTmT4AuAbXtCmAZ9jlGyPImLJ6kHV3sOV3DgbOOHKmjwOb9qBqPLRIK0oP94P1YXh9JRCTNo_3cZIHrrFBwYt7lgT7bBEeB6m_GQ5nC350lyFtDhAT6XA-g7W8v0pX0EM/s320/IMG_7352.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This sign says "We can do it!! Wear your mask San Diego" using a variation of Rosie the Riveter wearing a mask.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Grocery stores and restaurants took this seriously and posted signs reminding customers that they would not be allowed in without a mask. Some bitched and moaned about this but employees (some of whom were undoubtedly not excited about working an at-risk job) didn't care. If you don't want to wear a mask you must not want groceries or food that bad.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigJ8wqUm2q_hg8kiUE4hYgZ53831a30i-HU7-3ZpyZK1jImvOwEe3-wyONLCXyKyAj2nfp0GBsZ026R-yLEU3f_rVoSySYwfB9fcvbbn-RxEZc984WDSHnTxKabiUDGaOx1aHrPHRVo_g/s1600/IMG_7354.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigJ8wqUm2q_hg8kiUE4hYgZ53831a30i-HU7-3ZpyZK1jImvOwEe3-wyONLCXyKyAj2nfp0GBsZ026R-yLEU3f_rVoSySYwfB9fcvbbn-RxEZc984WDSHnTxKabiUDGaOx1aHrPHRVo_g/s320/IMG_7354.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trader Joe's introduced new shopping rules and staffed an employee out front to check for masks.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUXChuRaYxxp5AO8pP-JSWa_3srY2GjqY1jZ6NCjS10MCPBgybjxcJXpbYRJBX_vgfXS5Bxhyu_Ar3vR4Al37ZPkfe1Klj8eUrorBameNX1nHopfWWaW2S_ZPERLvQKZWCXsTVKKFpxWc/s1600/IMG_7255.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUXChuRaYxxp5AO8pP-JSWa_3srY2GjqY1jZ6NCjS10MCPBgybjxcJXpbYRJBX_vgfXS5Bxhyu_Ar3vR4Al37ZPkfe1Klj8eUrorBameNX1nHopfWWaW2S_ZPERLvQKZWCXsTVKKFpxWc/s320/IMG_7255.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My most negative grocery experiences were in Barons. It was difficult to introduce order in the store layout and certain customers loudly balked at the new lines.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Starting even in February certain items were hard to find. When we just happened to run out of rubbing alcohol (terrible timing, since a bottle lasts years), husband had to learn when the CVS by us was getting a shipment, go there at that time, and wait three hours while they unloaded the truck to buy a single bottle.<br />
<br />
We've also paid closer attention to our toilet paper supply than we ever have, buying well before we need to when we can just in case it becomes hard to find again. It got so bad that many places were selling individual rolls of toilet paper, and Good Samaritans were offering up individual rolls to those in need online. Seeing the artificial shortage of many important items was really discouraging for a few weeks. As of May 25, I still haven't been able to find disinfecting wipes in any store or online (another item I use rarely but would be pretty handy right now).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzvLFUuV3k-AyDdlAXrRnp9UIYpwUKKV6amPT5nRbV2jmzxpGcbCJ3I1O_nvH-KkGbalxXnAzYDSvrqzhmDtHgPOtANw3NzBtQVsLdb5rs1Z3mCbCKzueUX8e49bTcKTDzEoto7zYjIY/s1600/IMG_7253.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzvLFUuV3k-AyDdlAXrRnp9UIYpwUKKV6amPT5nRbV2jmzxpGcbCJ3I1O_nvH-KkGbalxXnAzYDSvrqzhmDtHgPOtANw3NzBtQVsLdb5rs1Z3mCbCKzueUX8e49bTcKTDzEoto7zYjIY/s320/IMG_7253.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Individual rolls of toilet paper rather than packs.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Stores were limiting the number of high demand items per customer but some of the limits were barely even limits. Like Ralph's limited each customer to three packs of toilet paper. Seriously, who needs multiple 12-packs of toilet paper? We were encouraged to stock up on what we'd need for the next two weeks and if people really needed 36 rolls of toilet paper for a two-week period they need to see a doctor.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAqNZDx9YZiRACGpv-vVgLROEjT9ID7PDABMCa8AlB9ZmvjM_yZ5GXo6p6KAyg79au2GjE4clVrWmWMjBoSJEZg4F3JYXyppTdTHcyvSgwycYUW2FUa7t8wQSczoScjWmRWxjR8wX-x9A/s1600/IMG_7263.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAqNZDx9YZiRACGpv-vVgLROEjT9ID7PDABMCa8AlB9ZmvjM_yZ5GXo6p6KAyg79au2GjE4clVrWmWMjBoSJEZg4F3JYXyppTdTHcyvSgwycYUW2FUa7t8wQSczoScjWmRWxjR8wX-x9A/s320/IMG_7263.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Due to high demand... we will be limiting the quantity of dry goods to 8 of the same item per guest." Super helpful, Target.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUxSe-g3Lqhy_saFqO700zFcuipGhS2DJ52IyZ4iuoAEUhUXCbQCUI0YNCrF65ERJKbRXG3lsHFn9fAbDA4QPJ0iu1NnJTU8Yl2oHyzaAUlsswtKGYt4OPiXFQe4XcACe8KF9P_yWTic/s1600/IMG_7264.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUxSe-g3Lqhy_saFqO700zFcuipGhS2DJ52IyZ4iuoAEUhUXCbQCUI0YNCrF65ERJKbRXG3lsHFn9fAbDA4QPJ0iu1NnJTU8Yl2oHyzaAUlsswtKGYt4OPiXFQe4XcACe8KF9P_yWTic/s320/IMG_7264.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Due to high demand... we will be limiting the quantities of toilet paper... to 1 each per guest." Still can't keep up with some people causing false scarcities for everyone else.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Other businesses made changes, too, especially churches. Mass gatherings were banned, which included religious gatherings. Smart, since I remember how much communal touching there is in churches. Many adapted.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpXkD8uy97epIyjuPLbF08QDws2eSI8ZsdsbcOxGqSodywDbD1lP6MQ6_f82_LaoqE4F2Xnz62Ho4lJOp3_7HE1qkh07AZ7y8PsDf7uJp4_wqU6TY5KVUblFgZIZSXGj7X1LD6oPhLbgw/s1600/IMG_7221.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpXkD8uy97epIyjuPLbF08QDws2eSI8ZsdsbcOxGqSodywDbD1lP6MQ6_f82_LaoqE4F2Xnz62Ho4lJOp3_7HE1qkh07AZ7y8PsDf7uJp4_wqU6TY5KVUblFgZIZSXGj7X1LD6oPhLbgw/s320/IMG_7221.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One church offering drive-through confessions.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGu7__4TNbZhTO3irZJIwruVFAF-2XNUYO5FR_zz6IDRtldrddrTlnOdx-BIWFUaJVGPnCpQbMgS7zm3ALp1sQpQtAP832G_FfSt0hFADuY2Hm_tunyt2hTMB9FP3qpgmppVTqzFFvKbU/s1600/IMG_7296.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGu7__4TNbZhTO3irZJIwruVFAF-2XNUYO5FR_zz6IDRtldrddrTlnOdx-BIWFUaJVGPnCpQbMgS7zm3ALp1sQpQtAP832G_FfSt0hFADuY2Hm_tunyt2hTMB9FP3qpgmppVTqzFFvKbU/s320/IMG_7296.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Praying for our community. God is still with us."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcPRsOc6Rvr6PvzP1Hf6qQHE0Rv1cSC4rmmOCNblf7SgHO0vjcaTw6C7pReaf6qH6M2itFQVt6eB4J6m7J7yACJOOu1ryQgKM_GoyH2iOVvnVu7iQe7JrsMRUo6FzPEZJzRfU-tJvmZL4/s1600/IMG_7297.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcPRsOc6Rvr6PvzP1Hf6qQHE0Rv1cSC4rmmOCNblf7SgHO0vjcaTw6C7pReaf6qH6M2itFQVt6eB4J6m7J7yACJOOu1ryQgKM_GoyH2iOVvnVu7iQe7JrsMRUo6FzPEZJzRfU-tJvmZL4/s320/IMG_7297.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"He is risen" sign. The church stoop is still a place where a homeless man can sleep. I felt weird taking this photo but also wondered what the churches are doing for the most vulnerable right now.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqrZXbeI34DkZ0hucuqSoLMDB2FtQlN0bdWXUs1XgsY6-WG_YnAJVZRHY5AFc-l5ih7QQYdhRDMxYxBhzUpRSJyUhcuZBJkjHyuDt_ElJtUxvUPZofP-kPEhgNH_V7r3BuYKt9KpFKFik/s1600/IMG_7229.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqrZXbeI34DkZ0hucuqSoLMDB2FtQlN0bdWXUs1XgsY6-WG_YnAJVZRHY5AFc-l5ih7QQYdhRDMxYxBhzUpRSJyUhcuZBJkjHyuDt_ElJtUxvUPZofP-kPEhgNH_V7r3BuYKt9KpFKFik/s320/IMG_7229.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Call for phone reading" of a local psychic. Obvious joke about predicting the pandemic.</td></tr>
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<br />
One thing hasn't changed, at least not for husband and I. And that's take-out from our regular places. Fortunately, our favorite restaurants stayed open so we didn't have to alter our habits too much. Friday night Thai food wasn't interrupted, and neither was our tradition of almost-weekly pho.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsWSvnwWHbfuOefDAkBkX_ccLZSp-bBZc9nbpvo_UGoXHnH8kYGJgaZgEhDmXb8xOAswmyNgZIlYbLto0QMRpeBQ8Q_zr-iDhffpTgUljP-SWUh9HR4AIKc0HsqKPwglt5Byk288_xrZw/s1600/IMG_7087.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsWSvnwWHbfuOefDAkBkX_ccLZSp-bBZc9nbpvo_UGoXHnH8kYGJgaZgEhDmXb8xOAswmyNgZIlYbLto0QMRpeBQ8Q_zr-iDhffpTgUljP-SWUh9HR4AIKc0HsqKPwglt5Byk288_xrZw/s320/IMG_7087.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best Thai food in San Diego as fas are we're concerned.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Supporting our local restaurants has always been important to us. As regulars at these places, we've gotten to know the owners and staff. We're kind of friends with the owner of our favorite Thai place (who regularly gives us small gifts, such as treats from his vacations and even comped our meal when we got take out after our wedding) and want to do what we can to make sure he stays in business. We also have gotten to know the husband and wife owners of the Vietnamese restaurant we get pho from, who scaled back their business to just themselves to stay afloat. About twice a month we drive to La Mesa for a shrimp burrito from a taco stand there, which we were regulars at when husband lived there.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVD97_jUziv9RuawiPHuGW_bXah2C3ZPE9cCz4wHY9HPuXbXyPK9rHv6Xie6fCjMRkrYuy0u1BJe8hC1TsSGqRXvNS_nfZCp9JAhS2v056IoCNod5kPhE23PyQdu7L9YMb_mHLu-4e_ps/s1600/IMG_7448.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVD97_jUziv9RuawiPHuGW_bXah2C3ZPE9cCz4wHY9HPuXbXyPK9rHv6Xie6fCjMRkrYuy0u1BJe8hC1TsSGqRXvNS_nfZCp9JAhS2v056IoCNod5kPhE23PyQdu7L9YMb_mHLu-4e_ps/s320/IMG_7448.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pad see ew and a Thai face mask!</td></tr>
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<br />I'll keep updating this with more photos, as they come, especially as we ease back into whatever normal life looks like in the coming weeks and months.<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>UPDATE: September 23, 2020</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's been six months since lockdown started. I had an emotional break the other night. Everything had built up over the course of ten-ish days and I just needed to cry it out. The boiling point was Ruth Bader Ginsburg passing away. I just... she's been in and out of the hospital like every other month but with only a few weeks to the election I figured we were safe. It's hard to believe how much is riding on this election. What will four more years of this administration look like, even with a Democratic Senate? The attacks on the environment, the blatant support of white supremacy, the outright lies about every topic imaginable, not to mention the 200,000+ Americans who have died from COVID-19. It's overwhelming. I broke down.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Since this was originally published in May, San Diego has had multiple waves of reopening despite never making it out of the code red alert level. My best friend is back teaching and has already had to quarantine twice. Restaurants have built outdoor seating on the sidewalks and in the streets, so even walking around the neighborhood is crowded and stressful. We moved here last year excited to be closer to the bars and restaurants that we love going to, but now getting takeout is awkward and uncomfortable. We're regulars at a few places and the owners occasionally ask us when we'll be eating in. Or drinking in, at our regular brewery.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSjRGaE-ngn3P6g2jHp7hAqtEcEg2palWmH2WHuVFW_6qJa9zbetKaMaHI4E_Rp4rv3udSfbNsT14qMgM-8uJsUl2p_-ck9qYzcpzP6gzkJWYL2nPWZfPz_rx1-3HTQ5WPemrGRJtwwA0/s2048/Mask+Mandate+Second+Chance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSjRGaE-ngn3P6g2jHp7hAqtEcEg2palWmH2WHuVFW_6qJa9zbetKaMaHI4E_Rp4rv3udSfbNsT14qMgM-8uJsUl2p_-ck9qYzcpzP6gzkJWYL2nPWZfPz_rx1-3HTQ5WPemrGRJtwwA0/s320/Mask+Mandate+Second+Chance.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No mask = no beer at Second Chance Brewery</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And we want to, very badly. Or I do, at least. The husband doesn't mind as much. I miss sushi the most, and drinking in breweries. Summer has been really hard with no sushi and no breweries. We have beautiful patios and my favorite way to spend a Sunday is to get breakfast (though my favorite place no longer exists) then have a couple beers on one of those patios.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-BSdxAPIjV8LEWcyWSe9zZZ2AF_WoTMQxRLNAcEs8MNBgUpgmZolA-Egl0erSq5E8foMODFzbNJb0f_mtqfCx9GemDIwqa1_Xo2QqaFRggLcwDH4gtj8IQgEkKtuSUHDAV4hMNqI4U0Y/s1280/Six+Months.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-BSdxAPIjV8LEWcyWSe9zZZ2AF_WoTMQxRLNAcEs8MNBgUpgmZolA-Egl0erSq5E8foMODFzbNJb0f_mtqfCx9GemDIwqa1_Xo2QqaFRggLcwDH4gtj8IQgEkKtuSUHDAV4hMNqI4U0Y/s320/Six+Months.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Six months married, had beers at the park.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">One good thing is that the husband is working again. After five months of forced unemployment, he opened back up (in his own studio!) in August. It was good timing, too, since unemployment payments ended in August - it would have been really tough if he couldn't work. Plus he's so much happier and fulfilled, especially because opening back up meant he can work on his side project again. And it's nice for me to have a couple of hours to myself every so often. When we said "I do" we meant forever, just not 24/7 forever.</div>Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00249931435021464536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-27921791308865479182020-05-09T16:18:00.000-07:002020-05-09T16:31:18.769-07:00We did the thing!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjPoiypBJr__VNgFvNuujBZowaxa4h4qiCDXrh4U55fAv7fJpsu5SUPxpYenB70td8-TN3T_9WsXMOVHeh_LMhylI609IAV90weQD37nncbtAjqH38M6v81tp_546V3QEiB57ZaMifF0w/s1600/3098358392900295006-8U2-005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjPoiypBJr__VNgFvNuujBZowaxa4h4qiCDXrh4U55fAv7fJpsu5SUPxpYenB70td8-TN3T_9WsXMOVHeh_LMhylI609IAV90weQD37nncbtAjqH38M6v81tp_546V3QEiB57ZaMifF0w/s320/3098358392900295006-8U2-005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smooching in Balboa Park</td></tr>
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We did the thing! After knowing each other for almost 10 years, including 8+ years of dating, 6+ years of living together, and 382 days of being engaged, we finally got married. And it was perfect.<br />
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Really perfect. Every element was exactly what we wanted and we had <i>so much fun</i>. Well before we got engaged we talked about what type of wedding we wanted and decided our priorities were great food, amazing music, and plentiful drinks, and our wedding delivered handsomely on all three.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi53VackNH0V_llZBucdG9jFdd39P74ufb7hSvolW9Zq1aeeHA2gU751azpP3FkI51xjXh5ljKPu-QDLEyc5xuhYN7M68prYPMNlSqkI0D1AGwpG4YzNRcjgUrg-DzWOHB2Sjw7J12h5p0/s1600/hand_in_hand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi53VackNH0V_llZBucdG9jFdd39P74ufb7hSvolW9Zq1aeeHA2gU751azpP3FkI51xjXh5ljKPu-QDLEyc5xuhYN7M68prYPMNlSqkI0D1AGwpG4YzNRcjgUrg-DzWOHB2Sjw7J12h5p0/s320/hand_in_hand.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just the two of us.</td></tr>
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We got married on a Friday: January 17, 2020. Husband* had always wanted to have a surprise wedding: throw an engagement party and <i>surprise!</i> get married right then and there. I was on board with the idea but <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2019/07/he-proposed-i-panicked.html" target="_blank">was more than a little shocked when he actually proposed</a>... so I needed extra time, and by then it was too late to plan a surprise wedding that would have surprising. On top of that, we spent a lot of our engagement worrying about <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2019/09/when-your-dog-gets-cancer-and-how-to.html" target="_blank">more important things</a>.<br />
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So semi-traditional it was. I had always talked about a fall wedding, but my sister's pregnancy meant push it or risk her not being there. So we pushed it. January 17 ended up being perfect: the following Monday was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, our anniversary would usually fall on a 3-day weekend, and 2020 makes it easier to calculate how long we've been married. Not surprising, October ended up being really hot, which would have been a pain. I'd rather worry about the cold than the heat in San Diego.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilSaXdpOyVrrlX1665raIDQawfzbKu_lQ_XC-0LGvVMYOUBYz7wVkml83hkkn9rac_t7YHUU23TDR_dpqNZmtovjFQ7Dj-xIOwmwb1xFT9IXhhB7xu-YHDk1NecGREIBC_Od_eCr4-3J4/s1600/kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilSaXdpOyVrrlX1665raIDQawfzbKu_lQ_XC-0LGvVMYOUBYz7wVkml83hkkn9rac_t7YHUU23TDR_dpqNZmtovjFQ7Dj-xIOwmwb1xFT9IXhhB7xu-YHDk1NecGREIBC_Od_eCr4-3J4/s320/kiss.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smooching!</td></tr>
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So here's what we did!<br />
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<h3>
The day before</h3>
<b><u>Time for the two of us</u></b><br />
We both took off Thursday to have some time to ourselves before the craziness of the weekend started. Husband got his hair cut and shaped while I took a yoga class, then we went to breakfast together where we exchanged our gifts. We agreed a few months before to gift each other Garmin watches. I also got husband custom socks with the pup's face on them (that matched his tie) and made him a photo book filled with photos I'd taken of him taking photos (it sounds lame but he liked it). Husband also printed photos from the last few years and added them to an album he started when we first got together.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBU4p07Q4R_7bLVf6y_BFEPUg30ljAht7SAOqiB4vsihvh94rNDLScjQGNJeySFq0ly4rpRUzMakJHqH5pfzavF0qhGhEYY01gSdYfQvF_j0Qh78lNVq-6P6qIwBsZ3U0xBZQqomdQwt4/s1600/socks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBU4p07Q4R_7bLVf6y_BFEPUg30ljAht7SAOqiB4vsihvh94rNDLScjQGNJeySFq0ly4rpRUzMakJHqH5pfzavF0qhGhEYY01gSdYfQvF_j0Qh78lNVq-6P6qIwBsZ3U0xBZQqomdQwt4/s320/socks.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Custom socks as part of husband's wedding gift</td></tr>
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By the time we were done with breakfast, two of my best friends had landed and my sister arrived at our apartment. The next several hours were appointments and errands. Husband had a bit of editing to finish, while us ladies went to our nail appointment, picked up my dress from the tailor, and stopped at the bank, Starbucks, and photo lab. Back home, I showed a couple of them how to bustle the dress, and we left it bustled for photos the next day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgenZ9qZ53Fd-O6YCe9YyGPQs43C59qiHfk93wJfhnVLLevjq5RjSts9zjFGdkS-PmoIRjysegK1ijbEsPPDDePYpidFTWOgae87z3vfOslyWen1cxZNfOJGT65vxOrdBvJD49ZZWcP0Zo/s1600/IMG_6574.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgenZ9qZ53Fd-O6YCe9YyGPQs43C59qiHfk93wJfhnVLLevjq5RjSts9zjFGdkS-PmoIRjysegK1ijbEsPPDDePYpidFTWOgae87z3vfOslyWen1cxZNfOJGT65vxOrdBvJD49ZZWcP0Zo/s320/IMG_6574.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bridesmaids carrying flowers from the farmers market.</td></tr>
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After that it was time to head to the farmer's market, conveniently a few blocks away from home, to pick up the flowers. We had about an hour to make our bouquets, which was a lot easier than I thought and they turned out so beautiful! Meanwhile, husband picked up a large bucket and a card table and chairs from friends. He also made the boutonnieres for himself and his dad.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWV7T29uw4SViqjOAhKz1gdltRMJxRzD7pVjgezl_oepZWXdIHDU4PyycVshhYG__V3YJc2uDkN974-8vAt8UxIOK-kOb8ODaxI01NDQ1pt3HL_eWmkWWDHDXeXhSZHH7DlKUqczWKgRE/s1600/flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWV7T29uw4SViqjOAhKz1gdltRMJxRzD7pVjgezl_oepZWXdIHDU4PyycVshhYG__V3YJc2uDkN974-8vAt8UxIOK-kOb8ODaxI01NDQ1pt3HL_eWmkWWDHDXeXhSZHH7DlKUqczWKgRE/s320/flowers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bridal bouquet! I foraged the eucalyptus.</td></tr>
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<br />
<b><u>Rehearsal and dinner</u></b><br />
At 4pm we packed up a couple of cars and went to our rehearsal and dinner. We didn't want to pay to reserve the outside area at Stone with the massive tree, so our space was just beyond that in the open promenade. It ended up being a better perspective for photos, plus it was free and we didn't need a permit. Husband directed the rehearsal — he has a booming voice, loads of experience directing, and more of a vision for how things should go. Fortunately, the rest of us are good at following directions and we ran through it twice to get it down.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQ_7hDT5x_AyWPanwLIf17VtaLteQO5bkvN5c13RdbRfkbElfSlLuJ1u-6yvnnmdv_Yyt5AhXP3LQvVVEgqZH09mb-my402CG0WnIYc4prYfi0bHEKKP8bapQT27mlcUFQghm3w309ss/s1600/3098358392900303781-8U2-005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="567" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQ_7hDT5x_AyWPanwLIf17VtaLteQO5bkvN5c13RdbRfkbElfSlLuJ1u-6yvnnmdv_Yyt5AhXP3LQvVVEgqZH09mb-my402CG0WnIYc4prYfi0bHEKKP8bapQT27mlcUFQghm3w309ss/s320/3098358392900303781-8U2-005.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This amazing tree was the highlight of our ceremony space.</td></tr>
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<br />
On our way to dinner we dropped off the table flowers, signs, guest book, and succulent jars at Stone, leaving it up to the captain to place them. Our flower vases for the tables were Stone beer bottles that we collected for years, and table signs were photos from our travels that husband photoshopped to look like postcards.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC8mnkbL7g4n_nqKtstqqbd4Xk-WlHDJ4A5-s-AeR8liy97mMeWQXbstUjhNXjuB9gwwXUuZUMBduLs1gPnMNi0hxktC-3r0Kb3QUDJK108r53_lrLfvwYO3JOLkkAgfMsoSHfEYsV9nY/s1600/table_setting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC8mnkbL7g4n_nqKtstqqbd4Xk-WlHDJ4A5-s-AeR8liy97mMeWQXbstUjhNXjuB9gwwXUuZUMBduLs1gPnMNi0hxktC-3r0Kb3QUDJK108r53_lrLfvwYO3JOLkkAgfMsoSHfEYsV9nY/s320/table_setting.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woot Stout bottle flower vases and photos from our vacations.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Dinner (co-hosted by husband's parents and my mom) was around the corner at the best Italian restaurant, <a href="https://buonaforchettasd.com/officine-buona-forchetta/" target="_blank">Buona Forchetta</a>. Husband's dad made a small toast but otherwise there were no formalities at the dinner. Just good food, lots of wine, and our most favorite people all getting to know each other. This was the first time our parents met. My mom had shared interests with both of my in-laws: wine and goofing around with my father in law and religion with my mother in law. My mom also very sweetly gave them both little gifts.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXhYwjMdbQCt8M6OQYGxKPE71NrWh8XEQkIPqZKFgLX83qqoJYvyvmnjh8e_yxrV1nfHpH44xNKW9NkHCQ0EdpA6o2-RMx05LpLwLWeSP4WY-yTY8IIRBHGbSTgozMGLDPphMw41h_zFM/s1600/bar_selfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXhYwjMdbQCt8M6OQYGxKPE71NrWh8XEQkIPqZKFgLX83qqoJYvyvmnjh8e_yxrV1nfHpH44xNKW9NkHCQ0EdpA6o2-RMx05LpLwLWeSP4WY-yTY8IIRBHGbSTgozMGLDPphMw41h_zFM/s320/bar_selfie.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At a local tap house after the rehearsal dinner.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After dinner, we took my sister and my two out of town friends to a neighborhood tap house for a beer since it was still early. All day I wore this mostly-white, lace, knee-length dress that I had had for years but never get to wear (since I mostly wear dresses for weddings), paired with a jean jacket and sandals (because I didn't want boots to mess up my pedicure). I was way overdressed for a local bar and absolutely freezing but dammit I was wearing that dress, I didn't care how cold it was.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Wedding day</h3>
<b><u>Getting ready</u></b><br />
We woke up around 7am to rain. Not your usual San Diego sprinkles, real rain. I was stoked. The weather report had been saying there would be a chance of rain for a week and we had no ceremony backup plan, but I love the rain and was sort of honored there was rain on my wedding day. It would make the one thing I was adamant about doing that morning more fun: going for a run alone. If I could plan my perfect day — which is essentially what I'd been doing — it would include a morning run. I did my usual loop to a community park (testing out my new Garmin), took a last single selfie (which I got to post with a certain Alanis Morissette song), and by the time I was home the rain had mostly subsided. I couldn't have planned it better if I tried.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJUtbM3ndQSwF7MpMWpZoI2i0lUYRPCc7YdwqZ4iFJMb5Q9OXwFypy4Zk4igryiJ32ylM7FpuS8j6XvnLgpPf0gQMeNaOAxcHmg-MbWjkwftOWJgvptaB7NE9SWtdGgd_p0BKqmQvlMs/s1600/IMG_6577.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJUtbM3ndQSwF7MpMWpZoI2i0lUYRPCc7YdwqZ4iFJMb5Q9OXwFypy4Zk4igryiJ32ylM7FpuS8j6XvnLgpPf0gQMeNaOAxcHmg-MbWjkwftOWJgvptaB7NE9SWtdGgd_p0BKqmQvlMs/s320/IMG_6577.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's like raaaaaaain on your wedding day!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Husband went to breakfast with the guys while I showered and got things ready for the hair stylists. I managed to scarf some banana bread that our officiant had baked and dropped by the day before and my sister very generously went on a coffee run for a few of us (both total lifesavers). The stylists arrived around 9:30am, as did my other sister with my niece and my local bridesmaid. My sister asked me to put on a cartoon for my niece. Husband had been watching <i>King of the Hill</i> so I put that on, rationalizing that she wouldn't understand it. But it was bothering me. Then I remembered we had <i>Avatar: The Last Airbender</i> on DVD, so put that in instead and eased my guilt.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOWGlg8bn_QYi8J9LQrF_e_lxoP5d_LcWfcFHC8yhaMxgAiHLm5rDg2djpfA8u111tFiA_6JX9tDuHmG8jqThwVUcSFuK9e6YRt1q7MWJ1oLwGd6CemssvtNoax7VUk7dlwA_sT6Od6Y/s1600/guy_breakfast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOWGlg8bn_QYi8J9LQrF_e_lxoP5d_LcWfcFHC8yhaMxgAiHLm5rDg2djpfA8u111tFiA_6JX9tDuHmG8jqThwVUcSFuK9e6YRt1q7MWJ1oLwGd6CemssvtNoax7VUk7dlwA_sT6Od6Y/s320/guy_breakfast.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Husband went to breakfast with the guys.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Another friend very kindly agreed to help me with my makeup, and ended up basically doing it for me. She's one of the most put together people I know and I was so happy she was willing to help me. I didn't want a professional makeup artist because I'd done that for other weddings and hated how I looked. I barely wear makeup normally and didn't want to look or feel like someone else on my wedding day. My friend did an incredible job and I felt so beautiful the whole day. I didn't even need a touch up!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYO3iWdnkUBHUAt3HDdSgJaKe245BAfoxbe6IzUWBKL0e_E1VE4iPgi1qz6w1VRZSDQ5FONPCWW5jwwOYJgwr5wF_JaoRIzMs4NVKwnyP_PnTDTayz9qGuMm0Pqa6tId4Q3T7IqkJ_mPc/s1600/IMG_6667.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYO3iWdnkUBHUAt3HDdSgJaKe245BAfoxbe6IzUWBKL0e_E1VE4iPgi1qz6w1VRZSDQ5FONPCWW5jwwOYJgwr5wF_JaoRIzMs4NVKwnyP_PnTDTayz9qGuMm0Pqa6tId4Q3T7IqkJ_mPc/s320/IMG_6667.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My hair: half up with a braid and flowers and curls.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After that it was a whirlwind of people coming and going. Husband had a ton of errands to do (picking up the dessert and delivering it to Stone, checking into our hotel and dropping off our bags, deliver the boutonniere to his dad), our officiant came by for my Kindle to use for his speech, and I spent time configuring the PDF, my other two bridesmaids arrived for their hair, my mom came to pick up the leftover flowers and take them to Stone, my brother in law arrived for my niece, and I had a couple of pizzas delivered.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1o6laNzySVq57jeFsVZ9AihjlvTFfuhPoFlBbdT8hCd4vD2aSwKVXkS8XI7n-xnykpVbNXJ6XHwT4gj4HVhNRc1I3fGszSyb-OfQpQsLAdlgIkj73hPqciHoW1S_cdKEFnmShWtq7eg/s1600/IMG_7427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="824" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1o6laNzySVq57jeFsVZ9AihjlvTFfuhPoFlBbdT8hCd4vD2aSwKVXkS8XI7n-xnykpVbNXJ6XHwT4gj4HVhNRc1I3fGszSyb-OfQpQsLAdlgIkj73hPqciHoW1S_cdKEFnmShWtq7eg/s320/IMG_7427.jpg" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheers! Champagne to celebrate.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Despite the chaos of the morning, all five of us had our hair and makeup finished an hour ahead of schedule. We popped a bottle of champagne, polished off the pizza, and put on the ridiculous <i>Diva Brides</i> show on Netflix and relaxed.<br />
<br />
And here's where I made a timing mistake. Previously, I got into my dress mostly on my own and in under a minute. But I didn't realize all those little buttons on the back weren't decorative — they were real clasps. My bridesmaids helped, but it added 15 minutes I hadn't budgeted. I also didn't have everything in my tote that I needed, so we ended up being about 20 minutes behind schedule despite the extra hour. Whoopsie.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAc89beUEcwriEWkj2ZO3lMc6KuT8XRYdY1Um4uOhyphenhyphenqQD_2BgJlDw4M4Bq_G_f_KC5lRDwNPJCmfai1ByM3J5Hr4yCjaW5xu_jyRkWEYt_wxNSCn-3g22EG80A_NkQpPujF1Y2iLwCwGM/s1600/3098358392900268110-8U2-005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAc89beUEcwriEWkj2ZO3lMc6KuT8XRYdY1Um4uOhyphenhyphenqQD_2BgJlDw4M4Bq_G_f_KC5lRDwNPJCmfai1ByM3J5Hr4yCjaW5xu_jyRkWEYt_wxNSCn-3g22EG80A_NkQpPujF1Y2iLwCwGM/s320/3098358392900268110-8U2-005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Family portrait. More than one person said this was a bad idea. They were wrong.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But weddings are notoriously late and husband and I discussed that reality quite a bit. <a href="https://misharockovaphoto.com/" target="_blank">Our photographer</a> arrived to take the one photo I <i>had</i> to have: us with our animals. It was a bit of an ordeal. She recommended the patio for photos so we had to get the cat and rabbits out there. Not a single one of them was chill about it. I held both my bunnies while husband held the cat and a photo of the pup (just because he wasn't physically with us didn't mean he wouldn't be included). It was so worth it to have our whole family in a photo together on our most important day. We gave everyone plenty of treats, spent a minute with a lint brush, and were on our way!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSghzZWQfXUrlhltGZN9oyPCxOV5uZfaUKS2zj4OJ6re1YotKQ9XqMsyehtPZ11npAB1693zxNQtveLsHt5tJz7XT5t93MP-lkDUkFB9bzxTiJmDEw1Vm9m6pWqJzpuyuIlVU6xLdBksc/s1600/argo_locket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSghzZWQfXUrlhltGZN9oyPCxOV5uZfaUKS2zj4OJ6re1YotKQ9XqMsyehtPZ11npAB1693zxNQtveLsHt5tJz7XT5t93MP-lkDUkFB9bzxTiJmDEw1Vm9m6pWqJzpuyuIlVU6xLdBksc/s320/argo_locket.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A locket of Argo that I carried with me on our wedding day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b><u>Wedding Party Photos: Balboa Park</u></b><br />
Our original plan had been to get married in a semi-private ceremony in the cactus garden in Balboa Park. Just our wedding party, parents, and a few special friends and relatives. When husband accidentally sent the ceremony invitation to people not in one of those groups, we decided to open it up to everyone and just do it all at Stone.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzle4td4sbxQIADlJq35j-Yksdoh90lubzbH4GZ46jeLZyfY1y3GmWgofzYyy_KI0uJKhQO3gugvQ4RmxGV2h9eVIwIAjmkw03HJaSDe9EW9C8zeYfYKTht3YsJiFCu00D4HsNnsU9BL8/s1600/3098358392900280544-8U2-005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzle4td4sbxQIADlJq35j-Yksdoh90lubzbH4GZ46jeLZyfY1y3GmWgofzYyy_KI0uJKhQO3gugvQ4RmxGV2h9eVIwIAjmkw03HJaSDe9EW9C8zeYfYKTht3YsJiFCu00D4HsNnsU9BL8/s320/3098358392900280544-8U2-005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Having some fun with my stunning bridesmaids.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But I still wanted some Balboa Park photos — it's my favorite place in San Diego. When we arrived, our photographer recommended the butterfly garden because it was less crowded and less muddy (though I suspect the particular lighting situation also had something to do with it). It was gorgeous! She got all the wedding party group and individual shots there, including a few fun ones with the sunglasses we got everyone.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingvbKjVVEZDzpOwrvVF7lqSruPacp48hCKh5B-9xfcGf_vZDcRy8d44lK6jBnAzXjgA5wq0Ho3xZI5T37Alp9XI34AKOJYPDx2bPYH9bFrQWDTH4otMiCe9qZKJ2OVLQHHn9DGy_JCdg/s1600/groomsmen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingvbKjVVEZDzpOwrvVF7lqSruPacp48hCKh5B-9xfcGf_vZDcRy8d44lK6jBnAzXjgA5wq0Ho3xZI5T37Alp9XI34AKOJYPDx2bPYH9bFrQWDTH4otMiCe9qZKJ2OVLQHHn9DGy_JCdg/s320/groomsmen.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Groomsmen having a good time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Then we sent the wedding party ahead to the ceremony site. Since we hadn't reserved the space, our wedding party needed to be the ones to secure it and let the guests know where to stand. Another friend brought a few chairs for the older family members, but otherwise it was standing only. While they did that, husband and I took a few private photos by the koi pond and botanical building (someone generously offered us their prime spot on the bridge — wedding dresses are magic).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqsTVOsG-5rtfmsrU4hkWVZNbc-ivYMcgt3hfsdjiYlgaFqkLuYyXPveS34MxSqDtJ9Wrd3xVXggww729W_Qd3zL6DP7j3AErZ4v3-q6v3P3Va78pdbUxFZM5CCYuFpVQxUvVG1EX5r4/s1600/3098358392900282830-8U2-005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqsTVOsG-5rtfmsrU4hkWVZNbc-ivYMcgt3hfsdjiYlgaFqkLuYyXPveS34MxSqDtJ9Wrd3xVXggww729W_Qd3zL6DP7j3AErZ4v3-q6v3P3Va78pdbUxFZM5CCYuFpVQxUvVG1EX5r4/s320/3098358392900282830-8U2-005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our wedding party looking sharp.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The photographer went to grab the car and we stayed behind to share private vows. I wrote mine in a card, but made the mistake of writing husband's name on the card. He noticed it, opened it, and read it... But I wanted to say the words anyway. He had much more written, though on his phone. We'd had a trying few years, none more difficult than the last one, and that's the whole "for worse" part about getting married. We knew we could handle anything together after losing Argo.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxq6SWc9oI9oE_cjjYWVhos9WXKw7jDnrwHb_RH4BNkBrRcFWlendi4jnj5EocmlfimNpXl_OvFDAdRG5miCbpqM8JOf0qPh1IcbvGi8Sn5aBhFsNHjpSj10jwR_Tlyj4rXD7xLyhLwc/s1600/scooter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="567" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxq6SWc9oI9oE_cjjYWVhos9WXKw7jDnrwHb_RH4BNkBrRcFWlendi4jnj5EocmlfimNpXl_OvFDAdRG5miCbpqM8JOf0qPh1IcbvGi8Sn5aBhFsNHjpSj10jwR_Tlyj4rXD7xLyhLwc/s320/scooter.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All we really wanted to do was have a good time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We had one other minor setback: the photographer's assistant accidentally put in the wrong location in the GPS. We offered to provide directions but they said we should just relax. Oops oops oops.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK1xzLSKf7xC-U3ViuBTnlaQnAxdV1BRgLhxVJ39G3wdG3T4mPhWdJkojMFTecqSuXWfcscK2uHqUhDoUlVRl5iXJeAE1Q2enFjlFQe4wOYZcg_Tz2x26UI4Olk3cjXgKh0gRQxRs66HM/s1600/koi_pond.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK1xzLSKf7xC-U3ViuBTnlaQnAxdV1BRgLhxVJ39G3wdG3T4mPhWdJkojMFTecqSuXWfcscK2uHqUhDoUlVRl5iXJeAE1Q2enFjlFQe4wOYZcg_Tz2x26UI4Olk3cjXgKh0gRQxRs66HM/s320/koi_pond.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Balboa Park koi pond — the perfect backdrop.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b><u>Wedding Ceremony: Liberty Station</u></b><br />
Our ceremony was supposed to start at 4:30. I have no idea when it actually started, but from the setting sun and the temperature it was definitely later than that. I was shaking like a leaf half due to cold and half due to nerves. I gave my engagement ring to my sister, my maid of honor, to leave my ring finger free for the wedding band. My bridesmaids unbustled my dress and we sort of hid behind these big columns while waiting for things to get started. Our photographer caught me taking a sneak peek at our guests.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_hrLfrpRgbI2eJK2jRfnSkEUl7ycoTyw8MwlL48dGLMEgQNLzxe4NhpAWBL9UM8PMPKlCp8yHUL6YMzyDlX-fYKraZhmONVBRKunDKv_wSrrYsGFG-ivBdvwWZSET2j4usXgq2MgDcYM/s1600/sneek_peak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="567" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_hrLfrpRgbI2eJK2jRfnSkEUl7ycoTyw8MwlL48dGLMEgQNLzxe4NhpAWBL9UM8PMPKlCp8yHUL6YMzyDlX-fYKraZhmONVBRKunDKv_wSrrYsGFG-ivBdvwWZSET2j4usXgq2MgDcYM/s320/sneek_peak.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I couldn't help but peek at my guests.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I chose two songs for our DJ to play, including our procession song: an instrumental version of Death Cab for Cutie's "I Will Follow You Into The Dark". When it started playing everything was suddenly real and I was so soothed by it. To me that song is romance and love and commitment — albeit in a not very traditional way. Our parents walked down the makeshift aisle together, followed by our wedding party, and husband and I walked together, arm in arm. I tease him that he was my second choice: had Argo been with us he'd have walked me down the aisle.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_RaFhQrQL01WQ8AseyihIMq4irFQaYjjaTOpk5_JVCWf-jQXadDubE0NjiqDQWzor0QjjQ3gXlU1onprusne5zQ5MfWm6WR8S8vfbLeR7it7W3jFxgp5ExlKn2DCkCVwoituo4amBXtY/s1600/walking-down-aisle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_RaFhQrQL01WQ8AseyihIMq4irFQaYjjaTOpk5_JVCWf-jQXadDubE0NjiqDQWzor0QjjQ3gXlU1onprusne5zQ5MfWm6WR8S8vfbLeR7it7W3jFxgp5ExlKn2DCkCVwoituo4amBXtY/s320/walking-down-aisle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We walked down the aisle together because we're in this together.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Walking together was important for both of us. This wasn't my fairy tale day and I wasn't property to be given away. Walking together set the stage for the theme of our ceremony, which was that getting married was us celebrating our decision to continue the commitment we've made for 8 years. Nothing was changing. This wasn't the start or end of anything. This was a day — a special day, but a day nonetheless — in a lifetime together. We were already living our vows (some days better than others) and wanted to continue doing so.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVfJiWef85R2nuEk77L-6z-NyeSywSEsyMB5MwMSVqzE8dQR1TSI7EKvYUh1mRf2dxllAoqOXL0pvOLx2257KNW9fgZuAv846pPjcTbXeQzLv_RSdSaE-lYtoi_GzoX3QOj-OFAjVo6ds/s1600/group_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVfJiWef85R2nuEk77L-6z-NyeSywSEsyMB5MwMSVqzE8dQR1TSI7EKvYUh1mRf2dxllAoqOXL0pvOLx2257KNW9fgZuAv846pPjcTbXeQzLv_RSdSaE-lYtoi_GzoX3QOj-OFAjVo6ds/s320/group_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling a lot of love from these people.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In the weeks following, a few people asked me what my favorite part of the day was. I said the dancing, but looking back I think it was our officiant. We asked one of husband's best friends to officiate and he was absolutely incredible. We met with him a couple of times leading up to our wedding to discuss why we were getting married. A lot of wedding ceremonies focus on religion and having children (and awful gender roles), and both our families had traditional expectations for us, all of which we wanted to put to rest for good. This was about <i>us</i> and our idea of marriage, no one else's.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXQMLgYY9vVfZnzpbMCPK8VeL6aJYDBcozlmSGxk-3suz8yHMUYc08hNLyfc8m0smbRPnXzUxWIjqMw9NhPC01OnMw1IcAh3lOWR6YUBkwWK0qWoCIJKLrZp4fyjn79wW9i8feF5m534/s1600/ceremony.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXQMLgYY9vVfZnzpbMCPK8VeL6aJYDBcozlmSGxk-3suz8yHMUYc08hNLyfc8m0smbRPnXzUxWIjqMw9NhPC01OnMw1IcAh3lOWR6YUBkwWK0qWoCIJKLrZp4fyjn79wW9i8feF5m534/s320/ceremony.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our officiant friend was the absolute best.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
To illustrate this, our officiant read a quote from the TV show <i>The Good Place</i>: "Soul mates are not found, they're made." This quote was especially poignant because a demon delivers it. Neither of us believe in soul mates, but we do believe in the work it takes to create a lasting relationship. This quote encapsulates that belief (and, you know, he's a demon).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv4XD9wp40-IPZz3y8tZrGxDSbzdlnhouLqB0TzBp__A_t1DCSyiMwfq-cGjZn5VGz_JHGYyf124Deto3YdKEEOisRNHs_jsHYhmsUXvStu8_t9xabIsNj8AOuvyKrkBTVAawgOr1IPko/s1600/hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv4XD9wp40-IPZz3y8tZrGxDSbzdlnhouLqB0TzBp__A_t1DCSyiMwfq-cGjZn5VGz_JHGYyf124Deto3YdKEEOisRNHs_jsHYhmsUXvStu8_t9xabIsNj8AOuvyKrkBTVAawgOr1IPko/s320/hands.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holding hands as we officially become husband and wife.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
There were a few other pop culture references in our ceremony: <i>The Princess Bride, The Lord of the Rings, </i>DC superheroes, and a vow that husband made up as a joke but loved so much we said it: "You are the Batman to my Batman." I had to explain it later to my mom: "I'm not Robin."<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1QXMjhPiIcRBzwgiZFYenAOcse62S3ozZR_-g4_c8_HJ95MN3lH3Lb5pNDBHbx-ASZscbqAMi4XSLXXr0qr1nFoK6jd4d5hWCAOCLDbDQ-MPiCsvKYkyV8CJHZ_xSyS4qAfC0f67jixA/s1600/love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1QXMjhPiIcRBzwgiZFYenAOcse62S3ozZR_-g4_c8_HJ95MN3lH3Lb5pNDBHbx-ASZscbqAMi4XSLXXr0qr1nFoK6jd4d5hWCAOCLDbDQ-MPiCsvKYkyV8CJHZ_xSyS4qAfC0f67jixA/s320/love.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My very almost husband, our officiant, and my two sisters.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
He also had a few perfectly placed jokes. He acknowledged the tourists watching us and the private outdoor party at Stone (which even I could see watching us out of the corner of my eye). One joke was related to a quirk of the ceremony location. Being so close to the airport, not 5 minutes goes by without a low airplane drowning out all sound. When the first plane went overhead the three of us stopped, looked up, and followed it with our gaze until it was out of sight, then picked up right where he left off as if the plane was never there.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9DhQhF5XmkOmMKdzLr6F1Ni5t2L0lq4sv-IEdyrp0q0FZrm5elh9eDNrOxLF_V8Qc9aKW1sQ_OOscZ_StNYj_2ES1cd_6N4FEnFxCAbtEg0jPJ_a1VGpzSxv3Tm2LjSC6wamtfHRHYbQ/s1600/3098358392900304386-8U2-005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9DhQhF5XmkOmMKdzLr6F1Ni5t2L0lq4sv-IEdyrp0q0FZrm5elh9eDNrOxLF_V8Qc9aKW1sQ_OOscZ_StNYj_2ES1cd_6N4FEnFxCAbtEg0jPJ_a1VGpzSxv3Tm2LjSC6wamtfHRHYbQ/s320/3098358392900304386-8U2-005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing along with our officiant's joke, watching the plane above.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When the second plane came, he kept moving his mouth as if he was continuing with his speech and, as soon as the plane was gone, said "and wife!" He probably added at least 2 minutes to the ceremony time because of everyone laughing.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbez73kM_5J9oawMI6FR2mq0IDYdB12rp61BZnZtpDD1VZQtVf0LDSctvb3JwHnz4et0eTG6cDRYUUfB1erX0oS8KIXkRa9RDuIE569wxinPERX_ALRT4T43qa6VSRaH8q5g0sED0KAs0/s1600/3098358392900303168-8U2-005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbez73kM_5J9oawMI6FR2mq0IDYdB12rp61BZnZtpDD1VZQtVf0LDSctvb3JwHnz4et0eTG6cDRYUUfB1erX0oS8KIXkRa9RDuIE569wxinPERX_ALRT4T43qa6VSRaH8q5g0sED0KAs0/s320/3098358392900303168-8U2-005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Husband and sisters laughing really hard — wish I knew at which joke.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But my favorite joke was one I knew was coming. In traditional vows we promise to love each other for richer or poorer. Well, husband's name is Rich. So when it was my turn I said "for Lindsayer or poorer". The laughter came in waves as people took a second to get it.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPaZZ5GqYfpg2CHHYwp-43HeG0qTy9QqZlNjvNo-ZO87z8RkFPIg15GvHFHSUp9JeUqvXNv38tlNmJCMp_AOPrqMovx9pzvSnuDeMcaRAPNybMt0ymcA_6SuWjOV6DXwlBSr4EehFQZIg/s1600/3098358392900307053-8U2-005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPaZZ5GqYfpg2CHHYwp-43HeG0qTy9QqZlNjvNo-ZO87z8RkFPIg15GvHFHSUp9JeUqvXNv38tlNmJCMp_AOPrqMovx9pzvSnuDeMcaRAPNybMt0ymcA_6SuWjOV6DXwlBSr4EehFQZIg/s320/3098358392900307053-8U2-005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Husband trying to get my ring over my knuckle.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I learned with <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2019/07/on-being-engaged-and-my-lab-grown-ring.html" target="_blank">my engagement ring</a> that my ring finger has a large knuckle. My wedding band fits better but it was still a bit of a struggle for husband to get it on — we did not practice. Then, at the very end, our officiant said ,"Lindsay, you may kiss the groom." And I did!<br />
<i><br /></i>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZDep_31rMyu0VCroqTrQksQcGsffLSgoNCo3bcsK0bu7JHtwQ92efxqiAxbb6NDPBu6mbTx7mVP3f1BxVqPWu-jRMq2AZlnKnYtqj6vATMErNAEhZeH-gDVpG94FZpJw9egEvDvS8IA/s1600/IMG_6691.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1132" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZDep_31rMyu0VCroqTrQksQcGsffLSgoNCo3bcsK0bu7JHtwQ92efxqiAxbb6NDPBu6mbTx7mVP3f1BxVqPWu-jRMq2AZlnKnYtqj6vATMErNAEhZeH-gDVpG94FZpJw9egEvDvS8IA/s320/IMG_6691.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite guest photo: my sister's reaction to our first kiss.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><u></u></b>And then we literally ran back down the aisle to "Don't Stop Me Now<i>."</i><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXu7-dXPorpkJCHHdF7Od1fFHLSq8-DX4YrTcZJAf36HjJAuJ6dgGFr-vTSKdg3csxUO1KITyCUdxXzx5mGKouLcSVZ929R6OrDCTS4baqERoTlBv5N1J_QbrDEKQeFqaaCuvybdWsfbc/s1600/run.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXu7-dXPorpkJCHHdF7Od1fFHLSq8-DX4YrTcZJAf36HjJAuJ6dgGFr-vTSKdg3csxUO1KITyCUdxXzx5mGKouLcSVZ929R6OrDCTS4baqERoTlBv5N1J_QbrDEKQeFqaaCuvybdWsfbc/s320/run.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Literally running back down the aisle together.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><br /></i>
<b><u></u></b><b><u>Wedding Reception: Stone Brewery</u></b><br />
All of that took 10 minutes. But somehow it didn't feel like a blur. Maybe because I was extremely aware of how long everything was taking because I was <i>fuckin' freezing</i> but nothing about the day was a blur. I got to really enjoy each moment. After the ceremony, our guests went inside for appetizers and drinks while we took a few family and wedding party photos. My bridesmaids helped me bustle again — this time in a foyer that was so much warmer than outside!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17v2OwDC1B5gv5cSPr_tR4pRfdswKePGTYgiXwNIoyx4jHCvslJ3qcDbPnQPnkgJcGKEikfS7un-OCY8w30xZFY849wRtUWUjVfFYuQZNKf8zTykPHffxoPsQQY3iNJXsK6G0NCCiCeo/s1600/IMG_2803.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17v2OwDC1B5gv5cSPr_tR4pRfdswKePGTYgiXwNIoyx4jHCvslJ3qcDbPnQPnkgJcGKEikfS7un-OCY8w30xZFY849wRtUWUjVfFYuQZNKf8zTykPHffxoPsQQY3iNJXsK6G0NCCiCeo/s320/IMG_2803.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My best friends bustling my dress!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We entered our reception area to our first dance song and the DJ announcing us. Sticking with our less-traditional theme, we danced to "Spread Your Love" by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. Not your average romantic first dance song about how we've always loved each other or are meant to be, but we saw them on our (second) first date, which started our relationship. We only danced for a minute before inviting everyone to join. <a href="https://www.songstruckdj.com/" target="_blank">Our DJ</a> recommended pre-dinner dancing and looking back that was definitely the right call. It got everyone on the floor and moving in between the appetizers and dinner.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo5RsL5OrHVOW69vb-gY0suZdByrL4MgjoQLlxVIsIuKC7OEGhhZNyMZ69RFkotzLMv4PzfMDTtLtJhTWiMaX1Mf4UT-1B7CdPimzedPwVg-2nJbbSO1HJNZr6FGao83txMBA3mEDS4Rw/s1600/IMG_6683.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo5RsL5OrHVOW69vb-gY0suZdByrL4MgjoQLlxVIsIuKC7OEGhhZNyMZ69RFkotzLMv4PzfMDTtLtJhTWiMaX1Mf4UT-1B7CdPimzedPwVg-2nJbbSO1HJNZr6FGao83txMBA3mEDS4Rw/s320/IMG_6683.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Twirling my new husband during our first dance. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7rqx7v7NXoy1q6N-NChRq0IIR5hmflqqS727boPDZFQi3efF0yjx7mrk0RvVbeYXMw0ictkbde2R1eYEnGLW_-g6nxm7UGFHcQvCZZT4CyGupVbSTB80mgCreOxetu7R8PlGnzXOW83s/s1600/dip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7rqx7v7NXoy1q6N-NChRq0IIR5hmflqqS727boPDZFQi3efF0yjx7mrk0RvVbeYXMw0ictkbde2R1eYEnGLW_-g6nxm7UGFHcQvCZZT4CyGupVbSTB80mgCreOxetu7R8PlGnzXOW83s/s320/dip.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He gave me a heads up but I still squealed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQMn-iZc-1ph3FzwpovzFw9NHlre5_HOu2UxUZFT1G5wcNI15lZKU4g5dYDJyFTMuIwWut4hoz2sLmjsR8sAe7vfUtZNMD0oq23adO7NeU6NUMFPAFDBGcXkg95r_WYy7hEHtO8zaIbWc/s1600/dancing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQMn-iZc-1ph3FzwpovzFw9NHlre5_HOu2UxUZFT1G5wcNI15lZKU4g5dYDJyFTMuIwWut4hoz2sLmjsR8sAe7vfUtZNMD0oq23adO7NeU6NUMFPAFDBGcXkg95r_WYy7hEHtO8zaIbWc/s320/dancing.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dancing!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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After a song or two husband and I decided it was time for our first drink. There was a small private bar with a bartender, beer we hand selected, and a bunch of wines. We both stuck to beer the whole evening: it's the best way to drink throughout the evening and not get hammered, it went better with our food, and, after all, we <i>were</i> at a brewery. So, you know, when in Rome.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXogxVf7sIVczgYjaC5x9yzMrkbFgqUs7BB9jVpoYV7IHadXlfZYl9AWt5SiivaWFyRT85GFqfIWbsst1NnBsCq-xX0SMSYK7QAPSW7VXqWTdnStvI-c-LEJvptKMVRjGY-bxR1C7ghw8/s1600/IMG_6673.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXogxVf7sIVczgYjaC5x9yzMrkbFgqUs7BB9jVpoYV7IHadXlfZYl9AWt5SiivaWFyRT85GFqfIWbsst1NnBsCq-xX0SMSYK7QAPSW7VXqWTdnStvI-c-LEJvptKMVRjGY-bxR1C7ghw8/s320/IMG_6673.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My second favorite guest photo: our first cheers as husband and wife.</td></tr>
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<br />
Right before dinner our DJ gave us the opportunity to speak directly to our guests. We carefully hopped onto a ledge. Husband welcomed everyone and thanked them for coming and I invited guests to take a succulent jar from the table as a favor (that some of the wedding party helped put together). Seeing an opportune moment, our photographer took a group photo with every guest and us at the front.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8q8kzTjqSuPWHsPxfV6Erz_xdArWyein4qQKU0lIDPV3zsJq3rHOHyaadwzjem38SApr8FTpLo_vd0ALnx1TGRKdXxqdA3Vewc53oV8inHGhno4Jv4ynJWIlPcBbtiLC9Wn5DcjCpdSk/s1600/menu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="567" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8q8kzTjqSuPWHsPxfV6Erz_xdArWyein4qQKU0lIDPV3zsJq3rHOHyaadwzjem38SApr8FTpLo_vd0ALnx1TGRKdXxqdA3Vewc53oV8inHGhno4Jv4ynJWIlPcBbtiLC9Wn5DcjCpdSk/s320/menu.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The custom menu for our wedding dinner: tacos!</td></tr>
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Husband and I were the first ones through the buffet line. I'm actually not sure it was even officially open yet but we would be damned if we didn't get what we wanted, especially after missing the appetizers. I hadn't eaten since the pizza and husband probably hadn't eaten since breakfast.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjn875V3WYp2w8tAiWVP5-Nh8T7UCORjUy8K-fVlse6m5c296vVfiALPLq4FnJLj6mebkkti6sPv8o0KX7cMI5_j64Mm_XZvTh6laEpZHwV1Ag7qjJpw1BKdyRK3x2FS2D4fxiokEhdzA/s1600/get_lit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjn875V3WYp2w8tAiWVP5-Nh8T7UCORjUy8K-fVlse6m5c296vVfiALPLq4FnJLj6mebkkti6sPv8o0KX7cMI5_j64Mm_XZvTh6laEpZHwV1Ag7qjJpw1BKdyRK3x2FS2D4fxiokEhdzA/s320/get_lit.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Custom matchbooks: "Let's get lit!"</td></tr>
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<br />
Our buffet was tacos, and this was pretty much the reason we picked Stone. We needed food that could be gluten free and vegan and wanted each guest to enjoy as much of it as possible. I've had too many experiences as a vegetarian wedding guest where I felt forgotten and didn't want my guests to feel that way (seriously, I went to a wedding where they only served ribs... I drank a lot). Our food was <i>so good</i> — our friends even said as much in the days and weeks after<i>.</i> We had chicken, fish, and soy chorizo and potato, paired with a baby kale salad with a spicy vinaigrette dressing (a surprising hit, you never hear people talking about the salad), rice and beans, and chips. Some of our more intelligent guests made nachos.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0pq8Bhn41PC3brzW-blGBFAiAc_WZb4GFreA5YTlAtn6BtfNQ_5E3158t7rgEbY0ZLhugn41-LjpPWbPWTd1MQA8Ga8bd-8tNhwpGDkXaS7khYISuhNJuyabz0AbcbJwvUZLSkDL8LwQ/s1600/3098358392900389283-8U2-005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0pq8Bhn41PC3brzW-blGBFAiAc_WZb4GFreA5YTlAtn6BtfNQ_5E3158t7rgEbY0ZLhugn41-LjpPWbPWTd1MQA8Ga8bd-8tNhwpGDkXaS7khYISuhNJuyabz0AbcbJwvUZLSkDL8LwQ/s320/3098358392900389283-8U2-005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Husband hugging his new sister after she witnessed our wedding license.</td></tr>
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Once groups of people were finished eating they moved back onto the dance floor. Our seating arrangement had the wedding party and family members seated at the large tables in the banquet room, which had a nice little fireplace, while everyone else (mostly friends and younger guests) had open seating at small tables in the bocce court outside, surrounding the dance floor. This kept the older folks, who (I thought) would be less likely to tear up the dance floor, in the warmer space, and let the younger folks have easy access to dancing and drinking. But some of the older folks ended up cutting loose! We formed a dance circle and one by one people would dance through it while the rest of us cheered and clapped. My uncle got way down, our friend actually got on her back on the ground, even my new mother in law let her hair down a bit.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPxxfwty9-g1NqIXQMMcHafI2SDoB5QMM-kXhU9SZPiMOuG-U-DOZK_aaXG952Ka2IotpRbkFzN5yN9VEa6IUKcJk-2z7XcA9VWFk_WqUvktJTp-AbN_qIYSFfyjiLBMg1YYr-JcLZChk/s1600/3098358392900386846-8U2-005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPxxfwty9-g1NqIXQMMcHafI2SDoB5QMM-kXhU9SZPiMOuG-U-DOZK_aaXG952Ka2IotpRbkFzN5yN9VEa6IUKcJk-2z7XcA9VWFk_WqUvktJTp-AbN_qIYSFfyjiLBMg1YYr-JcLZChk/s320/3098358392900386846-8U2-005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My uncle getting way down on the dance floor!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnnfl1d6FscGAqV795m9rIAi095wMbiFz0zTuymf9Ve1OAncgzGLMIIUnZhpAswbRNsEpZPDPTyKhITWMcPjGCoFbHKwRkRy_yw4HPeMMGP4i5lHUZ9GwMy-n7gScUGLlFWyN7aP-kNA/s1600/hug_from_behond.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnnfl1d6FscGAqV795m9rIAi095wMbiFz0zTuymf9Ve1OAncgzGLMIIUnZhpAswbRNsEpZPDPTyKhITWMcPjGCoFbHKwRkRy_yw4HPeMMGP4i5lHUZ9GwMy-n7gScUGLlFWyN7aP-kNA/s320/hug_from_behond.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giving husband a hug during a dance break.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Husband and I also took this time to say hi to individual groups, especially people we don't see that often and who weren't dominating the dance floor. It's hard to spend enough time with everyone at a wedding, especially your own, and I wish I got to hang out with some people more. There were a few invitations to visit people and we intend to take them up on those offers. Someone requested a photo with all the couples that had husband as their photographer.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tqktU_eCQa0JU3mO1AEpHVGkMyNP7Vs5OJETxDafXOWiYeGqwzY-jdTPAJW5PMRz5hklxNC-wZuJvhsyYe8-KspDus0DMNuu9nxQXVD-OKTVKB4pDPyf-9PQ0oIhOS-TrdmmXqXb9rE/s1600/group.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tqktU_eCQa0JU3mO1AEpHVGkMyNP7Vs5OJETxDafXOWiYeGqwzY-jdTPAJW5PMRz5hklxNC-wZuJvhsyYe8-KspDus0DMNuu9nxQXVD-OKTVKB4pDPyf-9PQ0oIhOS-TrdmmXqXb9rE/s320/group.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All the couples that husband was the wedding photographer for — at his wedding!</td></tr>
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<br />
After an hour or so of dancing it was time for the speeches. First up was a toast given jointly by two of my bridesmaids, my best friends since middle school. They compared how I was reluctant to being their friends at first (which was true) to taking a while for me to start dating husband. Now I've been friends with them for over 20 years and husband and I are married. They toasted to me not always knowing what was good for me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-JwP5saBZCM6j_fyKnHcFUGst0RZspBwOOGBFv-SC9fyyudlagnEwe6pjb0xMv97xOjMtzJIBvXlqg0BIxX5EqZjoAgGvsyWL9RgJGVWTtxgNC4OUe0duF684jcTKboD6sW3JEhyphenhyphen7rw/s1600/toast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-JwP5saBZCM6j_fyKnHcFUGst0RZspBwOOGBFv-SC9fyyudlagnEwe6pjb0xMv97xOjMtzJIBvXlqg0BIxX5EqZjoAgGvsyWL9RgJGVWTtxgNC4OUe0duF684jcTKboD6sW3JEhyphenhyphen7rw/s320/toast.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My oldest friends toasting us.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Next up was another bridesmaid, my best friend in San Diego and someone who is a huge part of my life and even our relationship. She's seen us in our ups and downs, seen how we've grown as individuals and as a couple, and seen how we support each other. She shared how when I was in grad school, husband took over meals (he called it the trifecta: doing the grocery shopping, the cooking, and the cleaning for all our meals). She also shared how I supported and encouraged him to grow his photography business (which really took off). No one else has such visibility into our relationship and I was so glad she agreed to give a speech.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM6ZOl17gd2hOGeyfs6Anhi-6bcVbtKjd_Dmxp35elumvd-XLj5Zlfkjn0_XVq1k9dB-Ev1oZ8FMm3WH1Ai1IezxEZHFszDTynYOVYyutNq1L4OFLz7Slhv68rZn5WBiDP3qjOknWihpQ/s1600/speech.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM6ZOl17gd2hOGeyfs6Anhi-6bcVbtKjd_Dmxp35elumvd-XLj5Zlfkjn0_XVq1k9dB-Ev1oZ8FMm3WH1Ai1IezxEZHFszDTynYOVYyutNq1L4OFLz7Slhv68rZn5WBiDP3qjOknWihpQ/s320/speech.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best speech from the person who knows us best.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Last was the best man, husband's best friend since college. He shared a couple funny stories of when they lived together, talked about how he was a protective friend, and that when he added my phone number to his address book he used husband's last name — which was apparently not something he did with other girlfriends. This touched me, because when husband and I first started dating his best friend was not my number one fan.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjabAqG4K2F4FTzQQXfBrSfz9Rc6JSrofO6vs90vOKWqXbJNeeZJt-wRIdXouEKicrVln0oL4Fa4nCac9CeLGO-c6Ne9njhSs6Zo4ztf7kuBYoyPwnecpkaZGCU-sX4Z8h1rUyRKDxAt4Q/s1600/best_man_speech.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjabAqG4K2F4FTzQQXfBrSfz9Rc6JSrofO6vs90vOKWqXbJNeeZJt-wRIdXouEKicrVln0oL4Fa4nCac9CeLGO-c6Ne9njhSs6Zo4ztf7kuBYoyPwnecpkaZGCU-sX4Z8h1rUyRKDxAt4Q/s320/best_man_speech.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best man mimicking husband during his speech.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When the speeches were over I group hugged my best friends, then thanked the best man. I told him that, as he may have learned from the first toast, he was the only person I'd ever had to work really hard to win over.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWTBX_xDDxRBpgNufgcwpS5eNA_azh8obYulpxXKjOW983UFrGZwr_hTym2x9cRRYz5dLMDGV3b8b_miwfsmaZtadcEdob0v8VVXlrznHo1RpGVGOgCAUtSbHby1jH95xyreEYiQ_2yyU/s1600/hugs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWTBX_xDDxRBpgNufgcwpS5eNA_azh8obYulpxXKjOW983UFrGZwr_hTym2x9cRRYz5dLMDGV3b8b_miwfsmaZtadcEdob0v8VVXlrznHo1RpGVGOgCAUtSbHby1jH95xyreEYiQ_2yyU/s320/hugs.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hugging our best friends after their speeches.</td></tr>
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<br />
With the speeches over the party could get started for real. Our DJ turned it <i>up </i>and we danced nonstop for the next two hours. There were a few songs that are traditions at weddings in our group. One is "Benny and the Jets," which we sing as "Brendan and the Jets" for a friend of ours.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdB-Z5EhtQpMBQuwx48yj2rKmThoWoTGhcHlQaraa7U7zndwFxn4nf7cY8Atgq8kNrmn4Xv07MIn7Sl8J-LdJfqAjvPhvxlKNm5E2nE52tpXZkPhsN8IGiUvvMaMu7kIZ7UIfb-Hjii1U/s1600/brendan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdB-Z5EhtQpMBQuwx48yj2rKmThoWoTGhcHlQaraa7U7zndwFxn4nf7cY8Atgq8kNrmn4Xv07MIn7Sl8J-LdJfqAjvPhvxlKNm5E2nE52tpXZkPhsN8IGiUvvMaMu7kIZ7UIfb-Hjii1U/s320/brendan.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brendan and the Jets.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Another is "It's Tricky." When this song came on I was getting a beer and, while the bartender was pouring, I asked if she could save it for me because I had to go do a thing. More than one person took their shoes off and danced in socks (on the wet turf...), many a jacket and sweater were shed, ties came off, and we all worked up a pretty good sweat.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZx7aBCyGVZ0xwS1IvEb5ojgiNZes-98BWrI6d7r29KGr2a1gU4hekhuC4vXCAhtdMlOSSWrmbVQL8E4xELNUhQjXMwFDx_pzr9EpVNlQhSNRCk5qhZ2MqfwLJ2nP1VtuicNOT1bM4Ic0/s1600/its_tricky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZx7aBCyGVZ0xwS1IvEb5ojgiNZes-98BWrI6d7r29KGr2a1gU4hekhuC4vXCAhtdMlOSSWrmbVQL8E4xELNUhQjXMwFDx_pzr9EpVNlQhSNRCk5qhZ2MqfwLJ2nP1VtuicNOT1bM4Ic0/s320/its_tricky.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's tricky!</td></tr>
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At one point desserts were set out. We'd brought several dozen cookies from the bakery we go to more often than we should and part of Stone's taco package included churros (which were vegan!) and chocolate. I wasn't really feeling sweets but nabbed a churro because it's so rare that I get them. Several of our guests ate their cookies on the dance floor, very excited that they didn't have to sit down with cake. Since my mom can't eat gluten, we had brought a dessert specifically for her from <i>yet</i> <i>another</i> bakery we go to quite often, which she was really excited about.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDx6DH45di7vYjMo0HVrKpMDwu9AItvkB9orXR5K_qKVdxKhIQm80EQ_9zGLTezQvgmBovOVNjbFZLY5F9xl0_Xni7EkWJbuluX5XtRU6pgSIFcvZ3GCef81_612r0y4YebqhyphenhyphenR_BcD4s/s1600/3098358392900332091-8U2-005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDx6DH45di7vYjMo0HVrKpMDwu9AItvkB9orXR5K_qKVdxKhIQm80EQ_9zGLTezQvgmBovOVNjbFZLY5F9xl0_Xni7EkWJbuluX5XtRU6pgSIFcvZ3GCef81_612r0y4YebqhyphenhyphenR_BcD4s/s320/3098358392900332091-8U2-005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Husband and I getting low.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh60kAnxmF4roqNYPWzZBouiEmbXvL_DUAZGMhck1LUY-fzgJo23rSbeG1SmoUQCpi9z0YMp3pmxshadnQUPo7ND93ziY2O2wPxu_NG9RopZ_fS7RhPBT-X7242Uf07O8KUK43d48euyU/s1600/dances_with_beer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="567" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh60kAnxmF4roqNYPWzZBouiEmbXvL_DUAZGMhck1LUY-fzgJo23rSbeG1SmoUQCpi9z0YMp3pmxshadnQUPo7ND93ziY2O2wPxu_NG9RopZ_fS7RhPBT-X7242Uf07O8KUK43d48euyU/s320/dances_with_beer.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dancing with my other SO.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I wanted a wedding party because there are people in our life who are incredibly important to us as individuals and as a couple, and their presence as we said our public vows was a way of showing support for us that day and into the future. But wedding parties also serve another important function, especially bridesmaids: helping you go to the bathroom. I'd heard plenty of stories about how women need significant help to pee wearing their wedding dresses, and had no idea if I'd be able to do it alone. So I asked one of my bridesmaids to come with me just in case. My dress was loose enough that it ended up being no problem but it was also kind of nice to have an escort — walking through a restaurant to the communal bathrooms in a wedding dress was a new experience. People look.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm8CM1HGJkayDmhXLRFenqBGGINxWjTzonuc-aMjlCrMDiWNYxAbg04ceYYvr-_BgrHB9Bi7bs-NCYeCtduOaA7P6AZuNnni7s9iZgv49Uha198BGLpioEygn8ggNJihY2AJmsw_isRaY/s1600/3098358392900403967-8U2-005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm8CM1HGJkayDmhXLRFenqBGGINxWjTzonuc-aMjlCrMDiWNYxAbg04ceYYvr-_BgrHB9Bi7bs-NCYeCtduOaA7P6AZuNnni7s9iZgv49Uha198BGLpioEygn8ggNJihY2AJmsw_isRaY/s320/3098358392900403967-8U2-005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wedding parties do more than dance with you.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The second song I chose was our last song. Our DJ, a musical genius, played part of the opening song from <i>Lion King</i> as a lead up to the final song and completely shocked myself and one of our guests. We just stood there for a moment staring at each other with open mouths in wild surprise. I knew my last song was coming and turned to my husband and got real giddy. Then it started: Toto's "Africa." By that time there were fewer than 30 people left, and most of them gathered in a circle around us as we sang to it. Husband then held me close and we swayed through the end of the song.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYcwHVNMLIsVSpxLtnKexnOKiG5RwvfN9iUQSyARiEj8uQEuVHZejsEbagnepTHCyizF923sqSd2ZYpEvQ8Mvq6ym9FopKPCSmK-MDZlLQT_WosvoD-9ZzvRebHHHpiKZaktu6GH6Inc/s1600/3098358392900411136-8U2-005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYcwHVNMLIsVSpxLtnKexnOKiG5RwvfN9iUQSyARiEj8uQEuVHZejsEbagnepTHCyizF923sqSd2ZYpEvQ8Mvq6ym9FopKPCSmK-MDZlLQT_WosvoD-9ZzvRebHHHpiKZaktu6GH6Inc/s320/3098358392900411136-8U2-005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dancing to Toto's <i>Africa</i> for our last song.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And then it was over. We took a final group photo with the last people on the floor. Stone gathered our belongings so we could deal with them the next day and we invited those left to our after party. My brother in law called a car and a ton of us piled in to go to the hotel downtown.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhXwRozvB1kNP8SsWq94OolhuXrqZm_OGgj3T3Pwkfy96cePPTZ0K3lE_ugAbNnVZEaeQvGTS_4A78pYDJu-zCUXyFmyPXOBn-2KThzTa2TjUqlTucd8_0zaDAVor-xmunWBgRyGFAVl8/s1600/last_photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhXwRozvB1kNP8SsWq94OolhuXrqZm_OGgj3T3Pwkfy96cePPTZ0K3lE_ugAbNnVZEaeQvGTS_4A78pYDJu-zCUXyFmyPXOBn-2KThzTa2TjUqlTucd8_0zaDAVor-xmunWBgRyGFAVl8/s320/last_photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The people who stayed on the dance floor until the end.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b><u>After party</u></b><br />
We chose our hotel in part for its ability to host the after party. It had a full rooftop bar, didn't charge cover, was open until 2am, and was spacious enough to accommodate a group even if it was busy. This hotel was also one of the only hotels to let us see a room before we booked, solidifying our choice. We needed to drop off my tote bag so everyone came up to our room. The staff left a bottle of champagne with a note of congratulations, and we popped it and poured for everyone.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjT60iCnImBq_hcbEp-vMM6cceVAn_SMG_VWDViXC89kAaXL2dR15Uc7EwtWvGCpvxdOIZYddtNvGJPZWJgKPIpKlfgUB0r1Fz9eShtUWvOqVrzV-LCiBawmfzd3-2hOQvZcbRtr0fYp4/s1600/IMG_6588.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjT60iCnImBq_hcbEp-vMM6cceVAn_SMG_VWDViXC89kAaXL2dR15Uc7EwtWvGCpvxdOIZYddtNvGJPZWJgKPIpKlfgUB0r1Fz9eShtUWvOqVrzV-LCiBawmfzd3-2hOQvZcbRtr0fYp4/s320/IMG_6588.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wedding night selfie: champagne in our hotel room (not pictured: the 5 other people also in the room).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The after party was super chill. The bar vibe wasn't really for dancing, and I think most of us were too tired anyway. I switched to wine (pretty sure husband switched to liquor, since we were too busy to drink much during the reception) and chatted with my cousin, sister, and another friend. One by one people went home, and eventually the rooftop bar closed. Husband and I made our way back to our room. I remember taking off my makeup, undoing my hair, and husband drunkenly figuring out how to undo the dozens of buttons keeping me in my dress. We then fell asleep having sex. Romantic.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>The next days</u></b><br />
We woke up at our normal time the next day, despite having gone to sleep probably around 3am. We laid in bed for a while and sort of watched a few episodes of <i>The Office</i> while kind of also trying to sleep in. Eventually we decided it wasn't working so we showered and dressed and packed up our things.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNVOID3lf64zcqjODt2E4doBWqCA7SFi5ondh8vN7yNjAVghB0Rt8Ep40BHUzm66dJhKGY1QkLdzqQC2ngMqkKtGjnhQt2AS5IWq8YSPW1pxqk3M5F20NaeBEP5RhAnBZx8abjzyYiJb8/s1600/hotel_room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNVOID3lf64zcqjODt2E4doBWqCA7SFi5ondh8vN7yNjAVghB0Rt8Ep40BHUzm66dJhKGY1QkLdzqQC2ngMqkKtGjnhQt2AS5IWq8YSPW1pxqk3M5F20NaeBEP5RhAnBZx8abjzyYiJb8/s320/hotel_room.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with my wedding dress catching up on my phone.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Our room had a little window seat overlooking the downtown street below. Husband took a selfie of us with our new rings. After that, as nice as the room was there wasn't much reason to hang around (and I was getting desperate for coffee) so we called a Lyft and went home.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqU2fNbshibDoI56rFmZVpRmQ4pRtRKwTc2Mq9tIEcwuEpkZ81zTO2rbGw8myOZQ3Vixui7dyqnTITcuQ2eigOYhJjR32BYJYSrI1kfZiKFTXLd3NywqMzljvIpN8MByP1sALBaGY3cc/s1600/ring_selfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqU2fNbshibDoI56rFmZVpRmQ4pRtRKwTc2Mq9tIEcwuEpkZ81zTO2rbGw8myOZQ3Vixui7dyqnTITcuQ2eigOYhJjR32BYJYSrI1kfZiKFTXLd3NywqMzljvIpN8MByP1sALBaGY3cc/s320/ring_selfie.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're married!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
My sister spent the night at our apartment, and once we dropped off our things and sent a few texts the three of us walked down the street to one of our breakfast spots. There was a wait, but a few people said they'd join us. Then a few more agreed to join. By the time we were seated we needed a bigger table. We were probably being very annoying to the staff — this restaurant is extremely busy and we were there at prime brunch time on a Saturday. Fortunately, we were there long enough that it was no longer prime brunch time when <i>even more people showed up</i> and could commandeer another table. We left a generous tip.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhavDZe2uSpGP1gfj92a82D5FOUc06uF5NPGxVfwLNI9RL9dpbjyj8CnIZUZCJhu1LGfVYQk0uiUwr2DU0BJ0SlbtLO8OVlqWNasEcA6C1L4FaFpIMueEL_5xrvfJyvcx8L99NtCj4ixTw/s1600/zoo_selfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhavDZe2uSpGP1gfj92a82D5FOUc06uF5NPGxVfwLNI9RL9dpbjyj8CnIZUZCJhu1LGfVYQk0uiUwr2DU0BJ0SlbtLO8OVlqWNasEcA6C1L4FaFpIMueEL_5xrvfJyvcx8L99NtCj4ixTw/s320/zoo_selfie.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My best friends with us at the zoo!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We had talked about going to the zoo that day and my out of town bridesmaids were into the idea. It was a great day! Lots of animals were active and husband and I got to show off our favorite place. By the time we got there I was feeling a bit hungover so we got beers — turns out hair of the dog works!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtirgjGmbiUMQjt7fRe_Rw_pYplh4-ch29qsqsEP_4xjaJhQeUv0xkJTZOvIq7Ee_4EeeqX50nuRKQoqhJJ_hh_OTZCDXX0VTQLsLp3bmmafYWHGX_v1qKkUWDAIsyMc-V3fjQDZwLEOA/s1600/red_panda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtirgjGmbiUMQjt7fRe_Rw_pYplh4-ch29qsqsEP_4xjaJhQeUv0xkJTZOvIq7Ee_4EeeqX50nuRKQoqhJJ_hh_OTZCDXX0VTQLsLp3bmmafYWHGX_v1qKkUWDAIsyMc-V3fjQDZwLEOA/s320/red_panda.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The red panda was being extra adorable that day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
That evening, husband and I had a less relaxing dinner with his parents. Restaurants were packed for the holiday weekend. After a lot more walking than his parents liked we found a place that didn't have a long wait. Then someone needed to switch tables for... a heater? I can't remember. Husband and I were exhausted and his parents were a bit on edge. We called it a night with them early and met back up with my friends at the bar we went to after getting our certificate. But the exhaustion was really starting to set in, so even after all that we were home before 9pm.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4n5VKxmKTE7z6TilgW8_MDkjKtZQ9OygsQTVIHQVxo99COf8nV_GDz-PGSXYCpTRtHF10amzI7r8QKIVZpDc_Nw3Mj5WhlAHDnwS7lGQD6pSOtpV8YtIZ9-l9_g8EZtvfBUc4eznp74/s1600/three_amigas_bar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4n5VKxmKTE7z6TilgW8_MDkjKtZQ9OygsQTVIHQVxo99COf8nV_GDz-PGSXYCpTRtHF10amzI7r8QKIVZpDc_Nw3Mj5WhlAHDnwS7lGQD6pSOtpV8YtIZ9-l9_g8EZtvfBUc4eznp74/s320/three_amigas_bar.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bridesmaids and I at a bar.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
My sister had gone back home after breakfast (but not before being a literal angel and cleaning our entire kitchen for us) so we had our place to ourselves. We got in pajamas, cuddled on the couch, and put who knows what on Netflix. It was perfect.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThYGFH2XD2jvX6G5vjwtcC2YaOMaF_yA2HY2tP_jCWRrtruQr3yWsK4X6_my9uL9ysl_JAKh0_sw6Q-NkT941HU_rWbUuxkeD9LhIVnAOOJD-Rvo9UYZWyqoFMmIIFRkpVs9nqhLUWGU/s1600/couch_cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThYGFH2XD2jvX6G5vjwtcC2YaOMaF_yA2HY2tP_jCWRrtruQr3yWsK4X6_my9uL9ysl_JAKh0_sw6Q-NkT941HU_rWbUuxkeD9LhIVnAOOJD-Rvo9UYZWyqoFMmIIFRkpVs9nqhLUWGU/s320/couch_cat.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The only place we wanted to be: on the couch with Chloe.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The next morning we went to breakfast with my mom. It was kind of like pulling teeth, though — she was only still in town because other relatives were, but I was like... can we see you? We went to the same place we had the day before because it's down the street and she loves it — and has an extensive gluten-free menu. The waitstaff definitely recognized us... oops again.<br />
<br />
We ended up having a lovely breakfast. She asked how being married felt, which everyone had been doing, and we gave the same answer we gave them: if this weekend is what being married is like it's awesome! I can't remember what led to this, but she told us why she got married. She said that divorce had just become common enough among her parents generation that a lot of people in her generation — her included — saw it as an out should a marriage not work out. Which it is. But I guess a lot of them didn't fully evaluate the person they chose to marry, since they could always get divorced. She didn't say this, but I assume the pressure to marry young was a stronger influence then. So you married the person you were with in your early twenties, had a few kids, and if it didn't work out you got divorced. She said she thinks our generation has learned from that and that we're making better decisions about who we marry. I hope so.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6HL79DTIzJvkPvcfr0yE3X1EA4oJxO7tWp8-ryOOjI7MORuEIavoei6QnhCBcXvQKG1altg9RvKMSkx50xM301lHKLik52f2COmSOijvHZXuoJ-XKrl_Avy-s2m8tY1NtSf726EhT240/s1600/bouquet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6HL79DTIzJvkPvcfr0yE3X1EA4oJxO7tWp8-ryOOjI7MORuEIavoei6QnhCBcXvQKG1altg9RvKMSkx50xM301lHKLik52f2COmSOijvHZXuoJ-XKrl_Avy-s2m8tY1NtSf726EhT240/s320/bouquet.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had this bouquet times ten around our apartment.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
My mom also dropped off the leftover cookies, all our flowers, the signs and cards from the welcome table, and everything else we'd left at Stone. Apparently the captain had gushed about our party. He said the staff had a good time (and I hope were sent home with our leftover food), that our guests were fun (truth) and generous (more truth), and it was a pleasure to have us. Husband has worked enough weddings and events to know that they definitely do not say that about everyone. It made us both really happy to hear. Plus, we had a whole box of leftover cookies and our small apartment looked and smelled like a florist with all the flowers.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghTka8nB4IV8G5djvXzKHv4ZgMaIr4FzXKJ4t5dsy-nMkT0248fy2bT-PYTNlVYjuFfyx88bIlH1V1JyOodpAp14CoIko3mMW34W8TUn39wjTPZGEKR2p3TPiFpkv11XhZNkuntDRNF3o/s1600/cat_nap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghTka8nB4IV8G5djvXzKHv4ZgMaIr4FzXKJ4t5dsy-nMkT0248fy2bT-PYTNlVYjuFfyx88bIlH1V1JyOodpAp14CoIko3mMW34W8TUn39wjTPZGEKR2p3TPiFpkv11XhZNkuntDRNF3o/s320/cat_nap.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I really want to watch one of the games today." Promptly falls asleep with the cat.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The rest of the day was pretty lazy. Most of our out of town friends had gone, so husband and I went right back to the couch where we fell back asleep. Our only intermission was his parents coming by to drop some things off before their flight home. We got takeout from our favorite Thai place (and chatted with the owner, showed off husband's new ring), returned to the couch, and life went back to normal.<br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
So yes, it was amazing. For the next couple of weeks I said I wanted to do it again probably every other day. Husband said we can do this every 5 years. Honestly, in normal times, I think if we scale it back we probably can — we wouldn't need as many expenses (clothes, flowers, gifts, photographer). I so want to.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ghXROlde0N212Dfmt1nHxOvRwY6mxXUymR1JIsaXIk2rHWq_V417FVEouvIKL1pqXIMW2vk-wHz9GlCLwckCY82iNsFvE7HL4ftSTngq6AynsPJuIkz2KtrYWA5FqpczyzXg3-9wZx4/s1600/wedding_party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ghXROlde0N212Dfmt1nHxOvRwY6mxXUymR1JIsaXIk2rHWq_V417FVEouvIKL1pqXIMW2vk-wHz9GlCLwckCY82iNsFvE7HL4ftSTngq6AynsPJuIkz2KtrYWA5FqpczyzXg3-9wZx4/s320/wedding_party.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All dressed up in a gorgeous garden and we can't contain ourselves.</td></tr>
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But since COVID-19 hit us a month later things changed pretty quickly, and I don't know what big celebrations are going to look like in the months or even years to follow. However, I am very excited that we have a venue we can return to every year for our anniversary, even if just for dinner, and could actually throw an anniversary party there as often as we want. How often do adults get the opportunity to eat and drink and dance together like that? Pretty much only at weddings, and sooner or later the weddings will stop. Why not have an elaborate anniversary party every now and then?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5eKmu-ZiVYSU8HjozyuHCJovh_Buxs9AjMeAK1cFqxqBHOhEH9x49a-2HwD7fhmBctl7BAG6rgY0lkQlkAqJEdHud25aRJ64ysqphhQGBXAyc4i3_401IDPPceGPvIfLtVAQ6s9yf4d8/s1600/guest_book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5eKmu-ZiVYSU8HjozyuHCJovh_Buxs9AjMeAK1cFqxqBHOhEH9x49a-2HwD7fhmBctl7BAG6rgY0lkQlkAqJEdHud25aRJ64ysqphhQGBXAyc4i3_401IDPPceGPvIfLtVAQ6s9yf4d8/s320/guest_book.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A photo book we have to remember our guests.</td></tr>
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In the meantime, I have this to read over and over, hundreds of photos to look at, and thousands of memories that I'll keep forever.<br />
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*Since one person once commented about my use of The Boyfriend, who then became The Fiance, I wanted to address that I just didn't like The Husband. And since I'm dropping the The, I also have to drop capitalization. So husband it is from here on out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrYVkmNvab4AQgjZNb7PfEVq1lkbXEKi5XeHQfNYG1PrbbZTv2_dsv0l3h0UPBD3KksBW-mRiDl4ZA64_I9JcwY4_IjHIautHxbfMxNRxNRWFOaW2Z8gyoblo-O6Urz5K_J1S-Qj8YGuE/s1600/kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="567" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrYVkmNvab4AQgjZNb7PfEVq1lkbXEKi5XeHQfNYG1PrbbZTv2_dsv0l3h0UPBD3KksBW-mRiDl4ZA64_I9JcwY4_IjHIautHxbfMxNRxNRWFOaW2Z8gyoblo-O6Urz5K_J1S-Qj8YGuE/s320/kiss.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Husband: I hope this post lives up to your expectations. The constant harassment to finish it both inspired and annoyed me, which is probably a better metaphor for marriage than anything else. I love you the most and can't wait to throw massive anniversary parties for decades to come.</td></tr>
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<br />Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00249931435021464536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-33296864628930220972019-09-12T22:25:00.001-07:002019-09-12T22:25:07.033-07:00When your dog gets cancer, and how to say goodbye<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Best dog ever.</i></span></div>
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A month ago we said goodbye to Argo, the best dog ever. Sure, everyone thinks they have the best dog, but we really did. Even other people with dogs said so. But even the best dogs get sick, and all dogs eventually leave us.<br />
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I grew up with lots of pets, and said goodbye to lots of pets. The Fiance didn't. He got Argo as an 8-week old puppy 12 years ago. It took me four years to <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2011/08/boy-and-his-dog.html" target="_blank">come into their lives</a> but I was accepted immediately. Argo had a different relationship with me than he did with his dad - we joked that Argo loved me more because of the way he followed me around the apartment, sat next to me on the couch, cuddled me at night, and lost his damn mind when I came home. It didn't matter how many pets I had or even how many pets I lost. <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2011/09/happy-18th-birthday-milo.html" target="_blank">Some pets are special</a>, and Argo definitely was.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>We booped his snoot at least once a day.</i></span></div>
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It feels like the world is ending when your pet gets sick. Argo had symptoms since early February that our primary vet didn't flag. And, if I'm being fully honest, I had my concerns but didn't want to voice them in case... well, in case what happened happened. We were treating blood-tinged urine with a medicated food, which worked until it didn't. An agonizing week of specialist visits and tests and procedures got us a prostate cancer diagnosis. We learned that by the time prostate cancer is detected in dogs it tends to be pretty advanced. So we started June with a plan (chemo every 10-14 days, a strong-as-hell anti-inflammatory, and stay on the medicated food) but also a timeline.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The face of a dog after a chemo treatment.</span></i></div>
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Six months. I assumed (and hoped beyond belief) that was without treatment, if we let the disease run its course. Which, of course, wasn't an option because the tumor was limiting his ability to pee at all. As our urologist said, "that's incompatible with life."<br />
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The first few days were truly horrible. While we gave the anti-inflammatory a chance to kick in we had to manually drain his bladder with a catheter every 12 hours. Around the 36-hour mark it finally worked. We were out watching the Rock n Roll Marathon, my favorite Argo-and-me tradition since <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2013/09/two-weeks.html" target="_blank">we moved in together</a> (this year, The Fiance joined us). Argo had been squatting and straining for a few blocks but then, all of a sudden, a stream came out. I was so happy I cried.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Our last traditional Rock n Roll - the day I cried over urine.</i></span></div>
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Like the absolute champ he was, Argo handled the chemo really well. Animals don't typically have the same reaction to chemo that people do, fortunately. There was no hair loss, no appetite loss, barely any energy loss. Though he wasn't a fan of all the hospital visits, all the doctors and nurses adored him. We heard them playing with him in the back, asking for tricks and giving him treats.<br />
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But we eventually ran into challenges. All the cathetering gave him a UTI, and the oncologist prescribed an antibiotic that was supposed to be better for sensitive digestive systems (which he definitely had) but several hours after the first dose he vomited profusely. And I mean <i>profusely</i>. It would have been a lot of vomit for a much larger dog. Cue a 2am call to the hospital asking the on-call doctor what we should do. Our solution was giving him the antibiotic half an hour after he ate, which did the trick (coating it in peanut butter helped, too).<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Normal before-cancer activities. My study buddy.</i></span></div>
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Then in the first few days of July, he stopped urinating again. We knew this was a possibility (well, an eventuality) but had hoped the chemo and anti-inflammatory would have done more, or at least worked longer. On July 3 we met with a urologist to take a closer look at the tumor and talk about placing a stent in his urethra. The stent would keep the urethra open - super important since the tumor had grown right up to his bladder and was blocking the urine flow.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> Another normal view before cancer. Those shaggy eyebrows.</i></span></div>
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And here's where I want to mention how fantastic animal doctors are. Every person we met throughout this process has been kind, compassionate, and amazing to Argo and to us. We were especially comforted by his urologist. She let us be encouraged by a solid stream of urine after his last catheterization and didn't push us to place the stent that day. In fact, she let us know that placing a stent is something she rarely recommends - it has to be the right solution for the dog at that time. She also let us know that she's Canadian and on call on the 4th, so if we didn't place the stent that day we could the next or the day after. She wrote her cell number on her business card and said to call or text.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Our last road trip with Argo - he could have done without the rain.</span></i></div>
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Well, we had to. In the afternoon on the 4th he still hadn't urinated so we called the urologist. We dropped him off and sobbed together in the car. It fucking sucked leaving him. Placing the stent was our last option. There were no other chances after this. It was a matter of when, not if, the tumor would grow through the stent. It could never be removed, replaced, or readjusted. Some dogs come in days later because it doesn't work... and that's that. One dog, she told us, made it a year ("he had no business surviving that long"). The average is a month or two.<br />
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We took him home that night and he was immensely more comfortable. Urinating a fresh stream, sleeping, and acting like himself again. We were relieved.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The time I accidentally took him to the beach on his birthday.</i></span></div>
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Argo had a mostly good month after that. Since we knew we were on borrowed time every day was truly a gift. Argo was peeing like a prince, eating, taking his medicine like the good boy he was, and still very much loving his walks. The stent made him incontinent (not that he had any control whatsoever) so he had to wear belly bands, which he did not love. We bought washable ones but since he was still taking chemo we had to be really careful. The oncologist told us not to wash them by hand, but we didn't have laundry in our unit. And, oddly, the expense and hassle of getting quarters and going down to the laundry room every day or two was where we drew the line (despite the thousands of dollars and hours we spent at various hospitals).<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>He peed on a person's foot on this day. Looks pretty pleased.</i></span></div>
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Our new normal had become pretty different since Memorial Day. Further, that "normal" had changed several times. Normal was at least one daily pill, a belly band at all times except outside, mopping regularly, multiple loads of laundry a week, and just an incredible amount of emotional stress. But it was also a good appetite (supplemented with half a scrambled egg broken into little pieces to make the medicated food more appealing and all the treats he wanted), trotting on walks, oinking during pets, snuggles on the couch and in bed, and losing his mind with happiness when his favorite people came to visit. The good days almost felt like the old normal. But the reality that the clock was counting down very quickly was very obvious.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>This may have been his happiest day. It was his birthday. I can't get enough of that grin.</i></span></div>
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It all happened so quickly. From Memorial Day, when we got his diagnosis, to 4th of July, when we placed the stent, to mid-August, when we knew it was time to say goodbye, our lives changed in less than 3 months.<br />
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There was only four or five weeks in between the time the stent was placed and when it was clear Argo had declined. Most of that was time well spent with him, but eventually his lethargy was unmistakable. He wasn't interested in food - we sat on the floor and hand fed him whatever we could: scrambled eggs, boiled chicken breast, and an obscene amount of peanut butter. We bought all sorts of treats, including CBD treats, in the hopes that one of them would make him want to eat. We stopped the chemo and even the anti-inflammatory after a few weeks, just to see if his appetite would come back (it clearly wasn't doing anything to slow the tumor).<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Another birthday - his last. He sure doesn't look 11.</i></span></div>
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We barely left the house in those last few weeks. I switched to working from home full time. If friends wanted to see us they came to our place. The Fiance made dinner for our anniversary instead of keeping the fancy dinner reservation he made. We didn't talk about Argo. We just tried to enjoy what time we had left. Both of us hoping he'd see his 12th birthday.<br />
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He didn't. At each vet appointment he had lost another half pound, which was too much for an already skinny dog. The week before his birthday he was 15 pounds, down from his peak of 20-21. He wasn't the same dog - it was time. I was lucky to have gotten a recommendation ahead of time from a friend who knows about saying goodbye to pets you love so much. I made the appointment for 4 days before his birthday.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>He liked me pretty early on. The feeling was mutual. </i></span></div>
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On his last day we went to Coronado dog beach. He relaxed in his bed in the back seat and when we got to the sand he trotted around. Other dogs came to sniff him and ask him to play, and he indulged them. We found a quiet spot and the three of us sat together and watched the waves. We took our last group selfie. His energy was up on the walk back and he even ran a little. Argo seemed to really enjoy being at the beach. My very first photo with Argo was at that same beach 8 years prior (when The Fiance and I were just friends), and now my last photo with him was taken there.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Our first photo together.</i></span></div>
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I carried him from the car upstairs to our apartment and put him on the couch. He went to sleep and, except for a brief period, didn't wake back up. A very kind vet came over and gave Argo what he needed to go peacefully and painlessly. He reassured us that we were doing the right thing, that waiting until they're so far gone isn't what euthanasia is meant to be. We're in the position to prevent suffering, not simply to end it.<br />
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It really was comforting to hear that. We held his paws until his heart stopped. The vet played with our bunnies while we said our final goodbyes, then bundled up our boy. We cried for a long time.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Argo's prime lasted a really long time, and for that I'm so grateful.</i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
And now we have another new normal: a home without a dog. When Argo got his stent placed and we were sobbing together in the car, I told The Fiance that this will be the hardest thing we ever do. And it will - we have families and other less important things we can and will lose, but one of the ways I know we're right for each other is that we both believe family is the one you you make, and this is ours. We are having our first birthdays without Argo, will have our first holidays without him, and, worst of all, he won't be with us when we get married. We have a million photos and stories to remember him by, but sometimes something catches you in just the wrong way. Like seeing one of our dog friends with Argo's toy. Or going to bed feeling really alone because Argo isn't cuddled in my crook. Or seeing a stranger dog with the same brand of collar that Argo had. Or realizing we haven't left the house in a couple days because there's no Argo to walk. Or leaving food on the counter because Argo won't get it. Or not needing to make the bed because Argo won't sleep on my pillow.<br />
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In my paradise, I would see all of the animals I've loved again. Each of them would be in their prime, cats and dogs and rats would get along, and we would all cuddle at the end of a long, fun day. I would get to see Argo happy and excited again, like I'll always remember him. I'm not religious, and even when I was I was told animals don't go to heaven (which is one reason I'm not religious anymore), but I desperately want this to be real.<br />
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Goodbye, Argo. You were the best dog.<br />
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<i>*Note: I wrote some of this before he died. I had this weird superstition that if I published it when things were going relatively well we'd be saying goodbye sooner. It ended up not mattering. I changed the tense to past and deleted the parts about what I hoped for and was afraid for and instead wrote what happened. The pain of losing an animal is no less real than the pain of losing any other loved one. All people are flawed, but our pets are perfect.</i>Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00249931435021464536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-28173574460533499402019-07-27T16:03:00.001-07:002019-07-27T16:03:58.571-07:00On Being Engaged - And My Lab-Grown Ring!We've been fiances (fiancees?) for over 6 months now and since neither of us care about a lot of the traditional wedding <i>stuff</i> we've been enjoying it. We toured a few different venues, picked one, had a food tasting, continued tasting the leftovers for a couple of days, met with our DJ, and super casually picked our photographer (which basically involved The Fiance accepting an offer from a colleague since she knows us). Meanwhile I tried on some dresses and have been saving rings on Etsy. Our dessert will be cookies, the centerpieces will probably be photos from our travels and favors will be planted succulents in jars I've been saving pretty much since we started living together. And I think that's it! I'll pick up some flowers from our neighborhood farmer's market the day before and us ladies will make our own bouquets.<br />
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It has taken up a lot of my mental energy, though. I'm glad we waited until I was done with school. Grad school also took up so much of my mental energy - when I was at work I often thought and stressed about my paper and sometimes had to just work on my paper for an hour so that I could get back to being productive at my job. There wouldn't have been enough small moments in my days to think about work <i>and</i> school <i>and</i> wedding stuff.<br />
<br />
Two of my colleagues are also getting married in the near future and we recently chatted about the changes that come with going from girlfriend to fiance. An older (male) colleague said he and his wife were surprised at feeling different after getting married - something the three of us were equally surprised to hear, as we all hope nothing changes. But we did agree that being engaged sparked a stronger feeling of partnership and togetherness, which The Fiance and I have definitely felt (though it's hard to decide if our pup's cancer diagnosis didn't contribute more to that).<br />
<br />
One thing that's been difficult to get used to is calling each other fiance (fiancee?). I've been calling my significant other "boyfriend" for 17 years, 8 of those were him. Breaking that automatic response is taking some time, even though I haven't felt that "boyfriend" really encompassed what we are for a while. At the same time I'm not a huge fan of the word "fiance". I'm finally starting to come around to the idea of having a husband, though wife still sounds awful. I wish we could use partner and have it mean the same thing, but then I wish a lot of things about how our society does marriage (like t<a href="https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/shortcuts/2019/jul/24/is-it-grossly-sexist-to-propose-at-girlfriends-graduation" target="_blank">he trend of men proposing at significant moment in a woman's life</a>, like her graduation or after winning a goddamn <i>Olympic medal.</i>.. way to minimize her years of hard work and shift the focus from celebrating her intellectual or physical achievement to celebrating the achievement of finding a man).<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Our "we're engaged!" pic for the non-locals.</span></i></div>
<h3>
<u>My lab-grown ring:</u></h3>
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For years I would feel this twinge of jealousy any time I saw an engagement or wedding ring. They were broadcasting that they had their person. I had my person, we just hadn't legalized anything so it didn't have that outward permanence. Being engaged is like telling the world the things we've told each other for a long time. It's not someday or maybe anymore, now it's tangible.</div>
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Poor, wonderful Fiance was apparently quite concerned with getting a ring that was pretty and something I'd like to wear after so many years of commenting on people's ugly ass engagement rings. To be fair, some of them are super gaudy. I like very simple jewelry. When I finally saw the ring after he proposed it was lovely... but it was a diamond. The only thing I was sure that I wanted for my engagement ring was a lab-grown gemstone. Or no gem! Apparently he looked for a lab-grown diamond ring that wasn't hideous or a million dollars with no luck. While I felt bad rejecting the ring <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2019/07/he-proposed-i-panicked.html" target="_blank">after the proposal didn't go as he planned</a>, I just <i>couldn't</i> have a mined diamond. He wanted me to have a ring I loved wearing and a diamond just wasn't it.<br />
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<i>*Note: I researched diamond mining practices and learned that the checks and balances that are supposedly in place are mostly talk. Legally, any diamond sold in the US must be conflict-free, but diamonds are shipped to several different countries during processing, often mixing in blood-diamonds along the way. It's nearly impossible to trace any one diamond to its source and therefore verify that particular diamond is truly conflict-free. Plus, there's no such thing as environmentally-friendly mining, so that was a definite no for me. Lab grown all the way.</i><br />
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Fortunately, I found the same exact style on <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/618304785/100-ct-round-cut-moissanite-engagement" target="_blank">Etsy</a> with a Moissanite diamond. The jeweler used Moissanite in the side stones, too, and (I think) recycled gold for the band. My ring could not be more me and I sometimes get distracted staring at it. Even better? It was half the price of the ring The Fiance originally bought (which he returned for a full refund) and has a bigger, clearer, and more sparkly diamond. We also supported a small, woman-owned business rather than a big box store. I love it. It still comes with a lifetime warranty and certification card for the stones and thanks to the modifications it's far less likely that I'll see the same ring on anyone else's hand.<br />
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Now I just can't wait to see The Fiance with his ring - that will be the big change. I imagine gushing over that even more than I do my engagement ring.Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00249931435021464536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-5523270271004662792019-07-05T09:03:00.003-07:002019-07-05T09:03:42.219-07:00He proposed, I panickedOn New Year's Eve, during the countdown to midnight, The Boyfriend proposed. But this is not a perfect engagement story.<br />
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Between Christmas and Valentine's Day (known as engagement season) our social media feeds are full of screaming, crying, happy, perfect proposals. People who said yes, people who can't wait to marry their best friend, people who had zero doubts that this was the person and this was the time. Not all of us have that story. In fact, I'm learning that that story might actually be a loud, flashy minority.<br />
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Here's mine.<br />
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We decided to spend New Year's Eve in Palm Springs, just the two of us, just to get out of town. I graduated two weeks before and was feeling like we had barely spent any time together in... well, a couple of years. As much as I had been wondering why it was taking us so long to do the thing, I also didn't want to get engaged while I was still in school. As graduation neared, taking 2019 to reconnect as a couple started sounding better and better.<br />
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Apparently I didn't communicate this part well enough.<br />
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So, in the middle of a rain storm (and a cold), we drove out to Palm Springs. The hotel laid out hats, whistles, beads, and a bottle of the worst champagne we've ever had. We forced down a glass, got dressed up, and walked to our old people dinner reservations at 5:30. The food was decent but the restaurant was all decked out and our server was wonderful.<br />
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Warmed up from our drinks, we walked back to the hotel to dress down. He bought tickets to an outdoor 80s rock concert that didn't start until 10:30 so we had some time to kill. We talked through an episode of some sitcom while finishing off the champagne, only barely more palatable after being chilled. We made it to the venue right in time for the Times Square ball drop and had what I'm only just now realizing was our only "midnight" kiss.<br />
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For the next hour and a half we listened to a DJ play 80s hits, watched a conga line form to a Gloria Estefan song, and stopped at the beer garden a few times. There was a huge lighted 2019 display that people were taking pictures in front of, so we got in line. I asked The Boyfriend if he wanted to do a kissy one - we would be backlit and romantic. But when we got to the display he dipped me! I squealed and laughed and kissed him, while the lady taking our photo (and her whole family) said to do it again and again and laughed and cheered us on.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Is this not the most romantic pre-proposal photo ever?</i></span></div>
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The concert itself was surprisingly good. The band was from the musical Rock of Ages and they played their hearts out and got the crowd dancing in the cold.<br />
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Then the countdown to midnight started. I watched the jumbotron and may have started to count out loud with everyone else. The Boyfriend asked me if I remembered our first date (also an outdoor concert). I said yeah (duh, like what is he even talking about, I'm watching the countdown). He said he remembered how even though there were hundreds of other people there it felt like it was just us two. He said he wanted to do that forever.<br />
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I'm still focused on the countdown. Out of the corner of my eye I see him turn fully to me and hold something out. I distinctly remember hearing the words "marry me" (I don't know if he asked "will you" or said "I want you to" or just "marry me"). Things started to feel foggy. I faced him and saw a box in his hand, his eyes were wide, and he seemed so far away. Then he knelt. And probably saw my panic. As everyone cheered happy new year I reached out to pull him up. We hugged. Knowing I needed to give him an answer I told him I couldn't say yes right now.<br />
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It's really amazing how quickly you can go from pretty tipsy to super sober. It's also really amazing how you can imagine something happening hundreds of times and have it not turn out that way at all. We watched the fireworks. My heart was pounding and I was starting to really worry I was about to throw it all away. He excused himself for a minute and when he came back one of us said we should go. So we did.<br />
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We stumbled towards the direction of our hotel among hundreds of others. Not surprisingly, his emotions ran the full gamut, shifting mostly between sadness and occasionally shouting at happy couples. My panic only got worse, I just tried to keep up with him wherever he was going (I had absolutely no idea where we were) and attempted to explain that my answer wasn't no, just not yet. I asked for time. Begged for time. I did not want to say no, did not want to lose him, did not want anything at all to change. Not yet.<br />
<br />
Finally we made it back to our room and the next 7 or 8 hours were the weirdest of our relationship. We cried, talked, and made love. I said the things I should have said sooner, and would have if I had <i>any</i> inclination he was going to propose. I was afraid - shocked at the timing and terrified of repeating the same mistakes I saw others make over and over again. Finally we slept. A few hours later we woke and talked. He told me how much he loved me, how he just wanted to marry me and be with me forever. I started to realize that my fear was misplaced. I wasn't afraid of being with <i>him</i> for the rest of my life. I wanted to marry him and had since we moved in together over 5 years ago.<br />
<br />
I wanted to say yes. Seeing the love of my life in so much agony, and knowing I caused it and could so easily end it, was horrible. I love him more than anyone and had been wanting this for so long. Why was I so scared? So I said I wished I could go back and say yes, and he said I still could. So I did.<br />
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(Not gonna lie, I still didn't get that oh em gee this is the best thing ever feeling. That's OK. It took me a while to figure out my fears [pre-marital counseling, guys, do it] and decide to trust that we aren't my parents or their friends or our friends or anyone else.)<br />
<br />
There was some more crying, some more kissing, and some more hugging. His relief and happiness was palpable. He said I put him through quite the roller coaster, but seeing him smile like that made me so happy. He said we could keep it quiet until I was ready, and that gave me immense relief. Being so surprised I needed time to come to terms with the idea that we were <i>actually</i> engaged - it didn't matter then how much I had dreamed about it over the years, I was in shock. He asked if I wanted to see the ring - I never did when he proposed. He got the box from his jacket and opened it, displaying a gorgeous but simple, elegant ring, perfect for me and better than anything I could have picked out myself. Unfortunately it was too big, so it stayed in the box, and I moved my pinky ring to my right hand.<br />
<br />
Back home we called our families. We told our very best friends. We asked everyone to keep quiet because we wanted to enjoy our privacy for a while. Over the next few weeks we started going to pre-marital counseling, which I had wanted to do before even getting engaged, and discussing timelines and real plans. The excitement bubbled up the more we talked - and hearing our counselor tell us how excited he was for us, how he wished every couple had our strength and communication and foundation gave my confidence a huge boost. A professional saying our relationship has what it takes was crazy validating.<br />
<br />
But I still felt like there was something off. We had been together over 7 years, and I had wanted us to get married for most of that - and was actively waiting (not ironically) for a proposal for over 5 years. So why, in that perfect moment, couldn't I say yes? Why couldn't I have finished the romantic story he started ten seconds to midnight the way we were both hoping, the way everyone on social media does, with a yes and screaming and hugging and happy crying? I did some googling, trying to find if anyone else had my experience. I read about lame proposals (not our case), about saying no and ending relationships (not our case), and even saying yes and regretting it (not our case).<br />
<br />
Finally I found two stories that resonated with me. One was a woman lamenting her shitty honeymoon - how she was anxious and maybe a little depressed and snippy and did not have a good time. When they returned home, she and her new husband decided to renew their commitment every year, just the two of them. They would take each year one at a time and decide at the end to stay together. (I first heard of this type of arrangement in a <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/3591262-cutting-for-stone" target="_blank">book</a> before The Fiance and I were dating and loved the idea.)<br />
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The second was a woman who described the exact same feelings I had in the moment, only she managed to say yes. Over the next few months she felt depressed and overwhelmed. Putting the wedding together piece by piece helped her see how she and her almost-husband would put their life together, piece by piece. She said that because men (in a heterosexual relationship) tend to be the ones to propose they take months to plan not just the when and where and how and buying the right ring, but months to get used to the idea of being engaged, being married, being with this one person for the rest of their life. That even though most women have probably spent years imagining a proposal and a life with this person, they only get a few seconds to actually make that life-altering decision.<br />
<br />
That's exactly how I felt. I had just said I wanted to wait, to enjoy my graduation, to be a couple again for the first time in 3 years. I even told this to a friend - that if he asked I would say no. That was so hypothetical, though, because there was <i>no way</i> he was going to ask. We'd been together so long I figured it would be at least six months before he proposed, maybe a year. That we'd have time for counseling, for serious talks about the things you're supposed to talk about, for getting mentally ready. I didn't realize how important that last part was to me until I was saying not yet.<br />
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When we started to tell friends, acquaintances, and coworkers we hinted at the lack of perfection, emphasizing just <i>how</i> surprised I was. Sometimes I even admitted that it took me a little while to say yes. This felt like a huge risk because so many people see us as this perfect couple (surprise! we're not). But we also weren't willing to lie when people asked for the details... I wasn't expecting to see understanding and even relief in the women's expressions at hearing our story, diluted as it was. Turns out some of them also took a while to say yes. Some of them were also a little too surprised. Some of them, perhaps, might have picked a different time.<br />
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We're not talking about these overwhelming moments. We're getting on Facebook and Instagram and sharing photos of our rings and how happy we are and how we said yes - doing all of the things that are expected of us even if that's not our reality. Then we wonder what it means when we aren't screaming and crying tears of joy like on YouTube.<br />
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Our marriages aren't doomed. We just didn't get a say in the when and the how. Women who have grown up with full autonomy over their lives, who are in relationships with equal decision making, and who plan and organize for the future can feel trapped when given only a split second to make a decision that their men spend weeks or months making.<br />
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For me and The Fiance, waiting a couple of months to tell people gave us time to get some of our ducks in a row and, more importantly, gave me the opportunity to get to the same place he was. We discussed renewing our commitment to each other every year, which makes it seem less overwhelming. For a little while I wished we could go back in time and have a talk before that night so that I could have had that expected story, but now that more time has passed I can see the lessons to both of us that will stay with us throughout our life together. I certainly know more perfect proposals and very imperfect marriages, so if it takes one bad proposal to set us up for a lifetime of happiness, I'll take it.Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00249931435021464536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-90088956833764071772019-04-30T19:11:00.000-07:002019-04-30T19:11:01.279-07:00Ode to the San Diego Zoo Safari ParkSome very wonderful things have happened in my life and there's one place I have to thank for the best of them: the San Diego Zoo Safari Park. It's where I had my most favorite job, where I learned that there are other people who are passionate about conservation, where my friendship with my best friend grew, where I met my partner, and where I got my master's degree. It's astonishing to think how different my life might be if not for this incredible place.<br />
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<i>If I remember correctly, this was my favorite giraffe, Chinde. (2009)</i></div>
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In 2009 I got laid off from my first post-college job. The financial recession was in full swing, and I applied for a temporary position at the zoo (the actual zoo, I thought) figuring why not? I was unemployed and loved wildlife, so working at a zoo seemed like it might be fun. But I had hoped I'd have a better, real job before my interview.<br />
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I didn't, and went to the interview. I learned what the job actually was, since it wasn't clear in the job description, and was so excited. I got the job and spent the next 5 months driving a truck full of people into the 100-acre open space exhibits, where giraffe, rhino, gazelle, and birds freely roamed together. Occasionally a rhino or giraffe would approach my window and take pets. My days were spent in "Africa", looking at the incredible landscapes and stunning wildlife. As a perk, I could bring friends and family when there was open space, and took my best friend a few times. Years later we still spend our Sundays at the zoo, walking around and chatting about life among the animals.<br />
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My Safari Park coworkers taught me that it's not just OK to be passionate about conservation, but that you can have a career in conservation. For the first time in my life I felt at home with the people I worked with, like I wasn't so different and so weird. I learned that I needed to seek out people like them, and I'm happy now that I have a strong network of passionate conservationists.<br />
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<i>When conservationists find a tarantula in the desert. (2017)</i></div>
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It was that spark that made me apply for the Advanced Inquiry Program, provided jointly through San Diego Zoo Global. There I met a couple dozen new people who were equally passionate about wildlife, conservation, and inspiring the next generation. I learned from people who are working in their fields, researched issues that are important to me, spoke with people around the world about conservation, and even went to Africa. In the end, it led to a job with a major non-profit conservation organization, and I couldn't be happier.<br />
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<i>Ready to run! In my awful high school gym shorts! (2011)</i></div>
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The Safari Park was the location and the reason for running my first half marathon. I had never run so much as a 5K but had been getting into the idea of running for exercise. This half marathon was cheap compared to the others I had heard of and the proceeds were to build a new tiger exhibit. It was a bit of a cluster, but I ran faster than I had trained and felt so proud that I could finish. I've since done several others, including a couple others at the Safari Park, but that was the best (even though it's no longer my fastest). I still carry a souvenir keychain that is one of my most prized possessions. I'm more into running these days and credit that race.<br />
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<i>On Skyfari during one of our zoo visits in 2013.</i></div>
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It was also where I met a friend, who became The Boyfriend, who became The Fiancé. He and my best friend came to my graduation reception, held of course at the Safari Park, overlooking the same exhibit I drove the truck 10 years ago in my most favorite job. I often think about how different my life might be if it wasn't for that temporary job at the Safari Park.<br />
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Thank you, San Diego Zoo Safari Park (or Wild Animal Park, which I still can't stop saying).Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00249931435021464536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-7854397672847088782018-11-14T17:44:00.000-08:002018-11-14T17:44:02.710-08:00Grad school is lonely<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">My first grad school selfie, taken after spending 6 hours at the hippo exhibit for a research project.</span></div>
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Grad school is lonely. Yeah you meet a bunch of new people all doing similar things and you think you have this awesome community (which you do) but you’re all grad students with lives and jobs and homework and no one has time to hang out. You don’t have time to hang out. You can’t even make it to the once a year happy hour because it’s at an inconvenient time or place and it’s your only Saturday off.<br />
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I'm not gonna lie - the last two years brought some hard times. It wasn’t just having to turn down social events because all my time and money was going to class. I left my well-paying job (which allowed me to pay for grad school) because I couldn’t handle the stress. I was in a car accident that left me without a car. I had 0 dollars thanks to a lower stress but much lower paying job and didn’t work for the month I was in Africa. We got kicked out of our house because our landlady wasn’t paying her mortgage and the investment company that bought the house wanted to flip it. After weeks of searching and either finding crap options, too expensive options, or being turned down due to pets, we’re in a small but nice apartment and paying an extra couple hundred a month. I took on an extra class and had one month where I was technically taking 11 units. There were multiple months where I didn’t run even once (forget yoga).<br />
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And that was just in 2018.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Me most Friday and Saturday nights. Happy here because animals.</span></div>
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It’s like having a kid. Your whole life changes, but everyone else goes on without you. My relationship changed, I was back on a school schedule, I’m perpetually exhausted, barely see friends and had no impromptu get togethers, and my grad school friends were either just as busy and broke or both those things in addition to being <i>actual</i> parents (how did they manage that???). Hearing “I don’t know how you do it” for working and schooling full time didn’t help, because I didn’t know. The Boyfriend makes dinner and cleans up and I spend 22 minutes with him a day (the amount of time it takes to watch an episode of Parks and Rec while we ate dinner). I get jealous when he has a lazy weekend napping with the animals or going out with friends.<br />
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But it's all coming to an end. In a month from today I'll be in Ohio with my classmates, walking across the stage to get our diplomas. I'm looking forward to it, especially to getting my social life back, to being a more present girlfriend, and to focusing on wellness and mental health. But I also know that despite feeling lonely and stressed AF for 2.5 years I’ll miss it. I’ve loved every minute of learning and reading and talking with my cohort members about conservation. Even the long, boring, technical articles contributed to my understanding of what people around the world were doing. Not to mention, it led me to Africa, where I finally saw wild, healthy elephants. Lots of them. (I touched some. Seriously, I almost died of happiness.) I know that in January when the holidays are over and life returns to normal that I’ll feel this emptiness.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I have truly found my people.</span></div>
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In addition to planning a bunch of trips for next year, I have another new way I'll fill my time and hopefully continue learning about conservation: I just started a new job with The Nature Conservancy! I'm so proud and excited to have reached my goal of working in conservation before even graduating. I also hope that I can keep the connection to my cohort and surround myself with those who share a mission-driven purpose and believe in the importance of conservation. The biggest thing I learned has been that conservation isn't for the animals - it's for us. Our very survival depends on what we do in the next 10 years, and I'll be working hard to do my part.Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00249931435021464536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-41146697528957895922018-10-14T20:51:00.000-07:002018-10-14T21:10:14.338-07:00Of Goats and CheetahsIt’s weird to think that my favorite memory of my time at <a href="https://cheetah.org/">Cheetah Conservation Fund</a> in Namibia is the <a href="https://cheetah.org/2018/10/ccfs-model-farm-support-our-research-education-and-conservation-programs/">model farm</a>. It’s not like I’ve never been to a farm or that this farm was particularly spectacular. It was really just a big dirt pen, a couple of ranch hands, a dog, and a lot of goats and sheep. But it was a beautiful, clear day and we got to spend it outside, and who doesn’t love farm animals?<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I love farm animals but they don't always love me.</span></div>
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Though it might seem odd that a cheetah conservation organization has a farm in the first place, the farm has an incredibly important function. Without a working farm, any recommendations made by CCF staff to Namibian farmers would not come from a place of experience (and would sound downright preachy) and would likely be ignored. How would you react if some foreigner came to your house and told you to change your way of life to protect a pest animal they seem to care too much about? <br />
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Fortunately, the CCF team, led by <a href="https://cheetah.org/about-us/message-from-dr-laurie/">Dr. Laurie Marker</a>, figured that wasn’t going to work. Their model farm is the solution, allowing the organization to show farmers that predator-friendly livestock management techniques work - a farmer that isn’t losing livestock is less likely to kill cheetahs either in retaliation or as a preventative measure.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">These had very thick tails that provided extra fat reserves.</span></div>
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<u>Farmers vs cheetahs</u><br />
At CCF we learned that there’s often a lack of education among farmers regarding proper livestock management and cheetah behavior. This is especially important because 90% of Namibia’s cheetahs live on farmland (Marker, Mills, & MacDonald, 2003). Cheetahs also hunt during the day, so they’re more visible and blamed for livestock deaths more often. If a farmer is losing livestock to predators and all he sees are cheetahs, killing them seems the most obvious way to protect his flock and investment (Nattrass & Conradie, 2018).<br />
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With the model farm, CCF can physically show why that’s not a viable long-term solution. Further, they provide in-person farmer training and education on predator-friendly livestock management techniques and cheetah behavior. Cheetahs, it turns out, prefer to eat wild game than livestock (Boast et al., 2016). It’s more likely that livestock were killed by other predators, but farmers don’t see this because it happens at night when livestock are free to roam.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Part of farmer education: Who killed my goat? Fake dead goats demonstrate what predation by different species looks like.</span></div>
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<u>Predator-friendly livestock management techniques</u><br />
So what does the CCF farm do differently? First, they bring their livestock in at night. Leaving goats and sheep out in the field overnight is an invitation to an easy meal for any predator on the property. Second, pregnant, sick, injured, and young livestock are left in the kraal (fenced area) during the day. Any member of the flock that can’t keep up is a prime target for a predator, so keeping them protected lets them live to see another day. Third, a rancher is with the flock during the day. Having a rancher physically present in the field reduces the number of livestock lost to predators (Nattrass & Conradie, 2018). Fourth, the flock is accompanied by a guard dog - usually an Anatolian shepherd that was raised with the flock. This big dog is a big deterrent for predators (I’ve heard that booming bark and it is to be feared), especially for smaller livestock like goats (van Eeden et al., 2017). </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A rancher, a dog, and a flock of sheep and goats out grazing on a Namibian farm.</span></div>
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But why would farmers want cheetahs on their properties anyway? It goes back to cheetahs having a preference for wild game. A healthy cheetah population means wild game numbers are kept in check, ensuring enough grazing for everyone. Overgrazing leads to a lack of food for both livestock and wild game: if there isn’t enough wild prey the predators may turn to livestock. Overgrazing also allows an aggressive thorny bush to take over - reducing the amount of usable space on the farm. Plus, many farmers are turning towards eco-tourism activities to make extra money, and wild cheetahs are a huge draw.<br />
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All of these activities directly increase the amount of money a farmer can make from his property, ensuring survival of cheetahs. If farmers aren’t killing cheetahs on their properties, cheetah populations can grow and the ecosystem can maintain its balance. A major theme of my time at CCF (succinctly stated by CCF Farms Manager Johan Britz) was “if it pays it stays” and that holds true for any animal on Namibian farmland.<br />
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<u>Citations:</u></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Boast, L., Houser, A., Horgan, J., Reeves, H., Phale, P., & Klein, R. (2016). Prey preferences of free-ranging cheetah on farmland: Scat analysis versus farmers’ perceptions. African Journal of Ecology, 54, 424-433.</span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Marker, L., Mills, M., & MacDonald, D. (2003). Factors influencing perceptions of conflict and tolerance toward cheetahs on Namibian farmlands. <i>Conservation Biology, 17</i>(5), 1,290-1,298.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Nattrass, N., & Conradie, B. (2018). Predators, livestock losses, and poison in the South African Karoo. <i>Journal of Cleaner Production, 194</i>, 777-785.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">van Eeden, L., Crowther, M., Dickman, C., Macdonald, D., Ripple, W., Ritchie, E., & Newsome, T. (2017). Managing conflict between large carnivores and livestock. <i>Conservation Biology, 32</i>(1), 26-34.</span></span></div>
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</style>Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00249931435021464536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-73567385653846261552018-02-03T19:08:00.003-08:002018-03-11T15:24:51.023-07:00Bouncing BackIn December <a href="http://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2017/12/quitting.html" target="_blank">I quit my job</a> without having anything else lined up. I intentionally wanted to take some time off because I was overly stressed out. My time off would be at least partially no work and no school, and possibly school with no work, which I was really excited about. However, the spring semester started January 29, and on February 1 I started a new job. So, back at it.<br />
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Why this job? In early January I found out I was accepted to an optional course that will take me to <a href="https://earthexpeditions.org/namibia" target="_blank">Namibia</a>. The course spans summer and fall (7 credits, holy shit) and includes 10 days in the country working with conservationists on a particular issue in that region. For Namibia, that means cheetah conservation. But it's expensive. The course is over $3,000 not including airfare or extra expenses (souvenirs, extra travel days, extra snacks, etc.). Obviously I'll want to travel to other countries while in Africa so I'm looking at $5,000 bare minimum. For what I'm getting it's actually very affordable (7 credits, a flight to the other side of the world, unheard of educational opportunity, and a visit to a place I've been dreaming about for decades), it's just a lot all at once. I've been saving for this so I'm set, but definitely couldn't keep living on my savings for funzies.<br />
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This job also comes with the title I've been wanting: content and communications coordinator. Far more than SEO manager, this title is something the nonprofit organizations I'm interested in actually hire for, so having this on my resume is going to be really helpful. This role will give me much more relevant social media experiences and involves the kind of writing I'd like to be doing.<br />
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One of the most appealing things about this job is the flexibility. It's slightly less than full time, meaning if I need to not work a full 40 hours I don't have to (which will be a massive break from my previous full-time-plus job), and I'll be working from home a lot of the time, which gives me back that commute time. When I do need to meet in-person it's in a co-working space in my own area, so I can walk or ride my bike. Win win win.<br />
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That said, I'm also taking my two regular classes plus an independent study, totaling 6 credits this semester (the most I've ever taken at once was 5). Soooo I'm a little nervous that I've over extended myself.<br />
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Which brings me to the title of this post: bouncing back. It's kind of two-fold. I'm back to working and schooling, so I fully anticipate the same level of stress I quit my job to avoid. But it also means I very likely won't be doing much in the way of exercise. I didn't for several months in 2017 and it was brutal. I love running and miss it very much. The weight gain and general depressive state I'm in when not running <i>suck</i>, so running was one of my top priorities during my break (almost every day, even if it was only a mile). I also did a (very) little weight lifting with the free weights we have at home and loved the tone and strength my arms started to show. It's amazing how quickly my body bounces back after neglecting it for some time. I only had a month to really prioritize exercise and eating well and in that month lost some weight, fit better in my jeans, and felt good. <i>Really</i> good. Like I felt when I was running again after recovering from an ankle injury and <a href="http://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2015/10/getting-my-laparoscopic-bilateral.html" target="_blank">surgery</a>. I have a <a href="http://enormouselephantrun.com/" target="_blank">5k</a> next month, but by this time next year I'll be signed up for a bunch of races. It's encouraging that in only a month of running not even particularly far distances I'll feel great again, even after stopping for several months. Just need to remember that the yucky that I feel is temporary.<br />
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Edit: I ran that 5K faster than I've ever run anything! Finished under 25 minutes, which is a minute faster than I expected and two minutes faster than my goal. Felt really good to see that end time and be at the front-ish of the herd and to get the validation of the training paying off. Maybe a little extra good because it was raining, on a dirt and somewhat muddy trail, and I was wearing a tutu.Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00249931435021464536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-31805104044398596262017-12-26T18:09:00.002-08:002017-12-26T18:10:44.931-08:00QuittingThis week I did something I've never done before: I voluntarily quit my job with nothing else lined up.
As a planner and saver and general worrier, up and quitting my job is extremely unlike me. If I'm being honest, it's terrifying. Exciting and gratifying and freeing, but terrifying. But I didn't just say f-you to my bosses and walk out the door - I planned this for a few months. Longer, actually. Since starting grad school a year and a half ago I knew I probably wouldn't be able to keep up a full-time job throughout the whole program. At least not the full-time job I had (I not so affectionately called it "full-time-plus"). I'm in school to change my career path so I really want to give it my all, learn as much as I can, and hopefully get a job that gives more meaning to my life and allows me to give more of myself. I started to realize I wasn't excelling at either my day job or my classes. I needed to quit one, and it wasn't going to be school.<br />
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A lot of lucky things happened to make this possible. The Boyfriend and I lucked out with cheap rent, we don't have a lot of expenses, and I made enough at my job to pay for school and still put money in savings. I have enough to live on for a few months and still not dip below my "don't touch this" threshold. The only thing that makes me nervous (and which I have cried about on more than one occasion) is that I worked really hard to build up that savings. It's modest - in the range of a down payment's down payment, but that and my car are all I've got to my name. The logical part of me says it's ridiculous to waste it on not having a job for a few months. But the logical part of me also understands that everything else was pretty bleak. Realizing the types of thoughts I was having (and some quick Googling on grad school and depression to validate those thoughts) was scarier than the thought of being voluntarily unemployed.<br />
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I did know this was coming, but I was hoping to hold out until June 2018. That would have meant a solid 3 years at that job, another 6 months of savings, potentially leaving at a really busy time in my program, and a summer to not work. The breaking point was a new account at work. I'd asked to stay at the accounts I was currently managing - I felt I was barely keeping my head above water and a new account would sink me. This wasn't unreasonable, as I was meeting the standard for which we were judged for being considered "full". I was honest with my team and bosses about school, so they knew it wasn't out of laziness that I was asking for this. The new account I was given was sold to me as half an account - won't take much of my time, I can delegate most of the work, we just want to show them our capabilities. It didn't seem like a big deal, but that project quickly engulfed my time. In one week I spent over 30 hours on that project alone, all but ignoring my other accounts. I couldn't ignore them completely, so I worked a lot of overtime to make up for it, which meant I turned in some really crappy assignments for school, lost a lot of sleep, stopped exercising, and barely even got to see The Boyfriend or our pets. I was worn.<br />
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After a not so great presentation with this account, my manager said I could have prioritized them more and not focused on school so much. Those words could not have been further from the truth. Fortunately, I said so, but it was in that moment I knew my efforts were not enough and would never be enough. Here I am, feeling like I'm giving my all, stressed the fuck out and not doing well in other aspects of my life because of this one client, and that <i>still</i> wasn't good enough. So I gave my notice the next week.
I gave almost two months notice. I didn't have anything else lined up and I knew the company was already short-staffed, so why not? It was a relatively awkward two months... I don't recommend giving that much notice - give a month but not more. But the shitty part was two of my accounts weren't staffed until two weeks before my last day, so I was still scrambling to get everything in order. I ended up leaving not very confident that my replacement on those two would be able to renew the projects, but, as The Boyfriend reminded me a few times, it wasn't my problem. This job was not my passion. It seems that to do it well you either need to be truly passionate about SEO and/or not have any other hobbies or interests so you can spend your nights and weekends working. For some people that's dandy, but not for me.<br />
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Today is the first day I would have normally been working. I cleaned and set up my home desk, took care of some personal paperwork I hadn't gotten to for weeks, finished a book, cleaned the kitchen, got lunch with The Boyfriend, finished my late Christmas shopping, and went on a really long walk with a friend and the pups. I even already had a phone interview with another agency, but it doesn't sound like a good fit for me (same stress, less money, no thanks). I'm looking forward to being a better girlfriend than I have been the last several months, getting back to exercising regularly, reading more, and prepping for my independent study in January. I've gone back and forth as to whether or not quitting my job is a good idea, and I may go back and forth some more, but today I'm feeling good about it. I want to feel like a human being again and enjoy the things that make my life full, and I just wasn't able to do that before.Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00249931435021464536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-73002583291610582352017-09-25T11:26:00.000-07:002018-02-03T19:15:39.890-08:00My Turn: Or, Why You Shouldn't Ask Rude QuestionsAfter a year and a half of being engaged and 8 years together, my sister got married this weekend. She planned a gorgeous ceremony and reception with countless small details and personal touches. The DJ and photographers were amazing, family friends expertly coordinated, and the venue was stunning. She asked both sisters to walk her down the aisle and I could not have been more proud to play such an important role in helping her start this new chapter of her life. We partied well into the night, she got a bus to take us back to the hotel, and even booked out a whole boutique hotel for her closest friends and family for the whole weekend. They took care of everything and everyone for two whole days. I couldn't stop hearing about what a wonderful wedding it was, and how fun it was, and how beautiful we all looked (especially my sister).<br />
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Unfortunately I also kept hearing some variation of "so when is it your turn?"
The Boyfriend and I have gotten this question more than once. Weddings bring out the best and worst in people, and my well-meaning relatives just want the next event to be excited about. It didn't help that The Boyfriend was the officiant... Normally I shrug and say we're not in a rush - and I did tell a few relatives to focus on this one before thinking of the next one. Fortunately also my youngest sister had eyes for the DJ and made it known she might be next. Being older, in a serious long term relationship, and both of us being in this wedding added more pressure.<br />
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This is probably the most un-feminist thing I've ever written. I'm embarrassed by what I'm about to write, but am going to because we have this culture where it's not acceptable for women to talk about all this.
This time it bothered me more because <i>I actually really want to get married</i>. I always liked the idea of getting married and figured I would as long as I was sure it was right. I've known for a very long time that I want The Boyfriend to someday be The Husband, but because <a href="http://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2015/10/getting-my-laparoscopic-bilateral.html">we aren't having kids</a> there's no pressure to hurry. Plus, my sister and her husband have been together longer, I'm in grad school and do not have wedding-planning-level free time, and I really wanted to not get married in my 20s. But "boyfriend" makes the relationship seem temporary or unimportant. We live together, have animals together, our families and friends know this is it. But if we decided to not get married and simply be together without the formality I'd be fine with that, too. I don't need to be legally married, and part of me thinks that might help with the bit of anxiety I have over the permanence of marriage.<br />
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So why did it bother me this weekend? The only answer I have is the timing. The Boyfriend and I talk about getting married all the goddamn time. He's a wedding photographer so he's seen the intimate details of of hundreds weddings. When he tells me about them he'll say why he would or would not want to do that for our wedding. We've basically already planned our wedding through these small conversations - all we'd really need to do is book the things. We also couldn't do anything until my sister was married, which I didn't think she would take a year and a half. Now that the coast is finally clear, I'm about to head into my last year of grad school which is going to be the busiest. If we get married in the next year I probably won't be able to enjoy much of it - I'm already stressed to the max between work and school, how could I fit a wedding in? But the alternative is waiting at least another year, and we've talked about moving away when I graduate because there aren't jobs for me in San Diego. We'd either have to plan a wedding long distance or ask everyone to spend a ton of money flying for it.<br />
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There's one more reason this bothered me this weekend. I can't help but wonder if getting married is actually a priority. We talk about it and I <i>know</i> it is, so why the doubts? I didn't like not having an answer for the questions. It's frustrating to be asked that, like we haven't talked about it. What do people expect me to say when they ask when I'm getting married? What if we weren't on the same page about marriage and you're bringing up a sore issue? My sister told everyone she was waiting until she got her master's - but I don't want that to be my answer. Not only is it not true necessarily, but I don't want a wedding to follow my degree like I checked a box. My generation is more educated than any other generation so a master's is almost at the same level as a bachelor's was: first you get your bachelor's then you get your master's <i>then</i> you marry your live-in boyfriend. I'm not just checking some box - this degree really matters to me. Maybe no one else actually thinks this way, but it still bothers me.<br />
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So next time you feel that awkward silence of not having anything to talk about with a relative you don't actually know that well, try your best to not go for the personal questions. Don't ask why someone isn't married yet, or when the wedding is if there isn't even an engagement yet. Don't ask someone why they aren't pregnant yet or when the kids are coming (ever, guys - that could be extremely hurtful if someone has been trying). It's ok to make small talk about the weather or, if you're currently at a wedding, how beautiful it is, how beautiful the bride is, how much fun you're having. And if you're at a wedding, don't ask about the next wedding. Enjoy the current one. I'm sure you mean well, that all you want is to see your relative happy and settled (barf) or happy and a parent (double barf), but maybe think for a second about how the person might take it.Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00249931435021464536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-51184086065436252122017-06-23T23:29:00.002-07:002017-06-23T23:29:45.914-07:00A bad kind of weird<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Sometimes I morbidly look at my pets and think about how I will feel when they die. I not so secretly hope that my cat will live forever. Or at least another decade. Same with the dog. There's no reason they can't - they're both super healthy. But even the rabbits, who haven't been easy pets, I know I'll be devastated. I would get so attached to my rats, even though they only lived a couple of years. When they died I was heartbroken. Sobbing, sadness, guilt, anger, true heartbreak. So much more than I've ever felt for a boy.</span><br />
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I've never lost a person that I was very close to. I don't have any living grandparents and have been to quite a few funerals, but still no one that made a real impact on my life (other than reproducing so that I might exist). I know the day is coming, but sometimes I think about what my reaction might be when that day does come, and I can't help but wonder if I'll feel the way I do about my pets. If I'm being honest, probably not.</div>
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And then I think I just shouldn't exist among people.</div>
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I've always had kind of a weird reaction to death that really, <i>really</i> unnerves people. I smile. It's because it's that uncomfortable, because I usually know how much other people are suffering (like my mom when her parents died) and I don't know how else to react. As a kid I didn't realize I did it until someone would angrily point it out. As an adult I am extremely conscious of my facial reactions and words so that I don't seem like I"m happy someone is dead. But I've still been accused of callousness around death.</div>
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How will I react when it's someone I love? Will I cry? Will I care? Will I maybe go back to work to focus on something else and be accused of moving on too quickly? If I don't care about wills or inheritance or legacy, does that make me a bad kid? If my world doesn't stop, did I ever really love them?</div>
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My dad and I don't speak anymore (<a href="http://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2016/01/texts-from-dad.html" target="_blank">long story</a>) but other relatives have said that he has cancer. I truly don't know if I believe it, but even if he does I don't really care. He hasn't been in my life for over 6 years and my peace is made. Will I suddenly be hurt when he dies? Will I regret our estrangement? Will I wish I had made amends, even if it meant apologizing when I wasn't in the wrong? Maybe, but I really don't think so.</div>
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But then I think about those who I do value, who I am very close with. Assuming I live long enough, surely I'll be devastated at the loss of my sisters, my boyfriend, and my best friends. Right? I think I will. <br clear="all" /><div>
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But what if I'm not? What if I do move on? What if I move on too quickly? If I don't I'm just normal. But if I do I'm a bad kind of weird. A kind of weird that people think of when they hear about sociopaths. Am I a sociopath? Should I go live in the woods with a dog and a cat and lose my phone?</div>
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I'm not religious. I'm not romantic. I'm not maternal. I'm barely even sentimental. People wouldn't describe me as warm. So, what is it about me that makes me human outside of biology? I love, deeply even, but I don't think that's an emotion exclusive to humans (and I'm not talking about cats, though I'm pretty sure deep down my cat does at least like me). Maybe reincarnation does exist, and I was a snake in my last life and I haven't quite shed those tendencies yet. </div>
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I recently took a strengths assessment for school and discovered to absolutely no one's surprise that I'm a strategic thinker: intellectual and analytical. The only outlier was harmony, which basically means I don't assert myself (also true). I love being alone, I miss living alone, I worry that I'll always miss it. I believe I could be alone my whole life and not miss people too much. But do I want to be?</div>
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I don't <i>think</i> so. But maybe that's my problem.</div>
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Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02011137066680126659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-56692334897690081862016-12-24T21:07:00.002-08:002016-12-24T21:57:41.707-08:00Laparoscopic Bilateral Salpingectomy FAQsIn October 2015 I got my fallopian tubes removed, which is called a laparoscopic bilateral salpingectomy. As I'm writing this it's been 15 months since surgery, and I still get a lot of comments on my previous posts about this procedure. To make one easy-to-reference location for the most common questions I've gotten, I made this post.<br />
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Anyone is still free to post here or on any of my other posts with new questions! But now no one will have to read through dozens of comments to find out if their question has been answered.<br />
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Best of luck to anyone considering this procedure or recovering from it! I do love hearing your stories, so continue to let me know about your experience.<br />
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My experience:<br />
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<li><a href="http://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2015/10/getting-my-laparoscopic-bilateral.html" target="_blank">Getting my laparoscopic bilateral salpingectomy</a></li>
<li><a href="http://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2015/11/getting-spayed-six-week-update.html" target="_blank">My 6 week update</a></li>
<li><a href="http://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2016/11/dealing-with-insurance-for-my.html" target="_blank">Dealing with insurance</a></li>
<li><a href="http://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2016/11/getting-fixed-one-year-later.html" target="_blank">My 1 year update</a></li>
</ul>
About laparoscopic bilateral salpingectomy:<br />
<ul>
<li>What is a laparoscopic bilateral salpingectomy?</li>
<ul>
<li>Salpingectomy is the surgical removal of both fallopian tubes.</li>
<li>Laparoscopic refers to how the procedure is done: through a tiny incision with tools that go inside the body, rather than big cuts into muscle. Much faster and easier recovery.</li>
<li>Bilateral refers to both sides: both fallopian tubes were removed, so the procedure was done on both sides of my abdomen.</li>
</ul>
<li>Who needs a laparoscopic bilateral salpingectomy?</li>
<ul>
<li>It's a great sterilization procedure! Removing the fallopian tubes is getting pretty darn close to making it impossible to get pregnant. </li>
<li>If you have an ectopic pregnancy this is what you'll get to save your life.</li>
<li>I chose this procedure over a tubal ligation and essure because I wanted the most effective form of sterilization and I didn't want anything left inside me. It was the best combination of pain, recovery time, and long term effectiveness for me.</li>
</ul>
<li>Why did you get fixed?</li>
<ul>
<li>I don't want kids.</li>
<li>I don't want to get pregnant.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<b><u>FAQs</u></b> </ul>
<ul><b>Pre-Surgery</b><br />
<ul>
<li><a href="#timeoff">How much time off work do I need?</a></li>
<li><a href="#exercise">How long until I can go back to exercising or working my physically intense job?</a></li>
<li><a href="#doctor">How did you find a doctor to perform this procedure on you?</a></li>
<li><a href="#insurance">Did your insurance cover this procedure?</a></li>
<li><a href="#cost">How much does laparoscopic bilateral salpingectomy cost?</a></li>
<li><a href="#ovaries">Do your ovaries get removed?</a></li>
</ul>
<b>Post-Surgery</b>
<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="#period">Did your period change?</a></li>
<ul>
<li><a href="#heavierperiods">Did you get heavier periods after surgery?</a></li>
<li><a href="#cramping">Did cramping get worse?</a></li>
<li><a href="#irregular">Are your periods more irregular after surgery?</a></li>
</ul>
<li><a href="#hormones">Did your hormones change?</a></li>
<li><a href="#menopause">Will you get early menopause?</a></li>
<li><a href="#scars">How long do the scars take to heal?</a></li>
<li><a href="#bloating">How long until the bloating goes away?</a></li>
<li><a href="#shoulderpain">Did you have shoulder pain from the gas?</a></li>
</ul>
<div>
<b>General</b></div>
<ul>
<li><a href="#regret">Don't a lot of women regret sterilization?</a></li>
<li><a href="#iud">Why not just get an IUD?</a></li>
<li><a href="#worry">Do you still worry about getting pregnant?</a></li>
<li><a href="#really">So you <i>really</i> don't want kids?</a></li>
</ul>
<b><ul><b><br /></b></ul>
Answers</b><br />
<b>Pre-Surgery</b><br />
<div>
<ul>
<li><a name="timeoff"><b>How much time off work do I need?</b></a></li>
<ul>
<li>It depends on your job. I had an office job, so I only took the day of surgery off (a Monday). I worked from home the next two days, and by Thursday I was back in the office. I could walk around the office and to and from my car fine by then. I did take the elevator, though!</li>
</ul>
<li><a name="exercise"><b>How long until I can go back to exercising or working my physically intense job?</b></a></li>
<ul>
<li>I took the full 6 weeks off exercising, but I was also recovering from an ankle injury at the same time. You could probably go back to a physical job within two weeks, depending on what you do and how fast your body heals. You're not supposed to lift anything more than 10 pounds for up to 4 weeks, though, and I don't think I could have run sooner than 4 weeks even if my ankle was good.</li>
</ul>
<li><a name="doctor"><b>How did you find a doctor to perform this procedure on you?</b></a></li>
<ul>
<li>Check this site: https://www.reddit.com/r/childfree/wiki/doctors</li>
<li>I had a couple of consultations before finding my doctor. I felt a real connection with her, like she truly understood what I wanted. She did not push me or talk down to me. I <i>highly</i> recommend finding someone who makes you feel this way.</li>
<li>If you're young you might have more trouble finding a doctor to sterilize you. Also, I live in California which is pretty liberal about this stuff.</li>
<li>If all else fails, Planned Parenthood will sterilize you, and it'll probably be less expensive than in a hospital.</li>
</ul>
<li><a name="insurance"><b>Did your insurance cover this procedure?</b></a></li>
<ul>
<li>Partially. Mine was covered as a general in-network surgery, but it was not 100% covered as a sterilization (a requirement of the Affordable Care Act). This is because laparoscopic bilateral salpingectomy is not considered "birth control only". If you need a sterilization procedure that insurance will cover 100% you might want to consider a tubal ligation (which is only done to prevent pregnancy, unlike salpingectomy).</li>
<li>Every insurance company is different. Check with yours before surgery. Get the codes your hospital will use and ask for everything: doctor code, surgery code, anesthesiologist code, etc. Ask your insurance company what your cost will be for those codes.</li>
</ul>
<li><a name="cost"><b>How much does laparoscopic bilateral salpingectomy cost?</b></a></li>
<ul>
<li>A lot. My cost was just over $2,000 after insurance covered a portion.</li>
</ul>
<li><a name="ovaries"><b>Do your ovaries get removed?</b></a></li>
<ul>
<li>Nope! The only things that were removed were my fallopian tubes.</li>
</ul>
</ul>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Post-Surgery</b><br />
<ul>
<li><a name="period"><b>Did your period change?</b></a></li>
<ul>
<li><a name="heavierperiods"><b>Did you get heavier periods after surgery?</b></a></li>
<ul>
<li>No.</li>
<li>I was not on hormonal birth control before surgery, so my periods were normal for me. Many forms of hormonal birth control make periods lighter, so going off them makes periods heavier (though heavier really is just back to normal). Since most women who get this surgery go off hormonal birth control at the same time, they attribute the heavier period to the sterilization.</li>
</ul>
<li><a name="cramping"><b>Did cramping get worse?</b></a></li>
<ul>
<li>Nope! See answer above.</li>
</ul>
<li><a name="irregular"><b>Are your periods more irregular after surgery?</b></a></li>
<ul>
<li>Nope! My periods have always been very regular, including after sterilization.</li>
<li>It did take a few months for them to find their new groove, though. I had my surgery in October, and skipped my period that month. By January I was back to my regular cycle.</li>
</ul>
</ul>
<li><a name="hormones"><b>Did your hormones change?</b></a></li>
<ul>
<li>Nope! Fallopian tubes don't have anything to do with hormone production, so removing them doesn't change anything.</li>
<li>I was not on hormonal birth control before surgery, so there was no hormonal change before and after surgery.</li>
</ul>
<li><a name="menopause"><b>Will you get early menopause?</b></a></li>
<ul>
<li>Nope!</li>
<li>See answer above.</li>
</ul>
<li><a name="scars"><b>How long do the scars take to heal?</b></a></li>
<ul>
<li>The scars fade quickly - mine started to fade within 6 weeks, but were still noticeable. </li>
<li>The incisions are low on my abdomen, so they're covered by clothes. One incision is in my belly button, which is not noticeable at all.</li>
<li>It's been over a year now and one of them is 99% gone. The other looks like a light birth mark now, and will continue to fade until it's gone.</li>
<li>It was surprising how quickly they faded!</li>
</ul>
<li><a name="bloating"><b>How long until the bloating goes away?</b></a></li>
<ul>
<li>I felt back to normal within two weeks. </li>
<li>I wore jeans a week after surgery.</li>
</ul>
<li><a name="shoulderpain"><b>Did you have shoulder pain from the gas?</b></a></li>
<ul>
<li>No, not really. It was all in my abdomen.</li>
<li>Other women do have shoulder pain, though. Walking around should help.</li>
</ul>
</ul>
</div>
</ul>
<b>General</b><br />
<ul>
<li><b><a name="regret">Don't a lot of women regret sterilization?</a></b></li>
<ul>
<li>Not as far as I'm aware. So far I sure don't!</li>
<li>From what I could find online, the women who regret sterilization tended to never want the procedure in the first place. They were coerced into it during childbirth. Many regretted it after their relationships ended and they realized they wanted more children with their new partners. </li>
<li>I've never heard of anyone who never wanted kids regretting sterilization. Doesn't mean it never happens, just that it seems pretty rare.</li>
</ul>
<li><b><a name="iud">Why not just get an IUD?</a></b></li>
<ul>
<li>Because I wanted something permanent that didn't leave anything inside me.</li>
<li>Laparoscopic bilateral salpingectomy is as close to being 100% risk-free as you can get. IUDs are great, but not <i>as great </i>as salpingectomy.</li>
</ul>
<li><b><a name="worry">Do you still worry about getting pregnant?</a></b></li>
<ul>
<li>Nope! It's awesome.</li>
</ul>
<li><b><a name="really">So you <i>really </i>don't want kids?</a></b></li>
<ul>
<li>I <i>really</i> don't.</li>
</ul>
</ul>
Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00249931435021464536noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-44486239049416279822016-11-06T15:29:00.000-08:002016-11-27T16:56:40.383-08:00Getting Fixed: One Year LaterIt's been a year since my laparoscopic bilateral salpingectomy. Unless you know that I've had surgery (or are a medical professional, probably), you'd never be able to tell. Now that it's been a year I feel even more secure that it was the right decision. I know I can't get pregnant and will never have to worry about what-ifs. Instead of raising children, I'm in <a href="http://aip.projectdragonfly.org/" target="_blank">grad school</a>, hoping to use my life to make a big difference in the world.<br />
<br />
Here's what I look like now. The only visible scar is on my left side.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6sE8PJb8QQyYk1q_k4GN9EokVHn0IEMv_hKXIQtK53raL2RofEuWwN_XAqsRzGIM5VcRRjpRFC6cGxDG5Ie42qj9RCFzSJg_AUxRgxbm6Bw619JlgiH_DXO9vPPQTiKe11tvWU2GcoLA/s1600/1+year+anniversary.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6sE8PJb8QQyYk1q_k4GN9EokVHn0IEMv_hKXIQtK53raL2RofEuWwN_XAqsRzGIM5VcRRjpRFC6cGxDG5Ie42qj9RCFzSJg_AUxRgxbm6Bw619JlgiH_DXO9vPPQTiKe11tvWU2GcoLA/s320/1+year+anniversary.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
If you need a recap of my tube removal experience:<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2015/10/getting-my-laparoscopic-bilateral.html" target="_blank">In depth diary of reasons, research, surgery day, and the first 10 days of recovery</a></li>
<li><a href="http://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2015/11/getting-spayed-six-week-update.html" target="_blank">6 week update</a></li>
<li><a href="http://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2016/11/dealing-with-insurance-for-my.html" target="_blank">Dealing with insurance</a></li>
</ul>
<div>
One year later, and here's what changed:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>The Boyfriend and I don't need to think about pregnancy prevention anymore. I still do sometimes, but I was taking pills for 10 years and habitual worrying takes time to die off completely. The panic that I didn't take my pill subsides as soon as I remember I don't need to.</li>
<li>This means we've been able to have more spontaneous sex. </li>
<li>This also means sex has been better because we aren't worried about the time of the month or that slim chance pills and/or condoms will fail. I went off birth control pills 10 months before getting spayed and we relied on condoms, which unfortunately meant we used them on occasion and tried to time sex for when I wasn't fertile the rest of the time. Since I had just started tracking my cycle, this was recklessly dangerous and I 1000% do not recommend it. Not to mention, it made both of us worry a lot about sex (mostly me, since I'd be the one actually pregnant).</li>
<li>I use an app to track my period now because I'm in less control over when I get it than when I was relying on a pack of pills (meaning I have no control). Fortunately it's crazy regular (more on that below) but it's been helpful having an app.</li>
<li>I've been extremely personal on this blog. Before I tried to be pretty vague and not use it as a completely personal platform, but I've since shared about being cut open, my personal decisions for not wanting to be a parent, details <i>and advice</i> about pooping, discussed my period in depth, shared photos with my face in them, shared photos of my bloaty and scarred belly, and now I've shared more details about my sex life than I thought I ever would on the internet. But, you know, I've said before I wanted to shout this from the rooftops and now that I've seen how helpful the previous two posts were to women considering this I'm more than happy to have been as candid and personal.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
More importantly, some things haven't changed.</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li><b>I still don't want kids</b>. I got fixed 10 days after turning 30 and I'm 31 now. My biological clock didn't magically start ticking. In fact, my beliefs have strengthened. People in our lives are starting to have kids or talk about having kids and while they can have nice moments they are still so much work. Every time someone we know talks about how challenging it is being a parent I'm like, "...yep." </li>
<li><b>My period hasn't changed</b>. I've always been fortunate in the monthly cycle department. It came right on time when I was 13, is usually very light and cramp-free (I know, lucky), and is extremely regular, even without hormonal birth control. My first period post-surgery kind of skipped - I had all the symptoms of being on my period without any bleeding, but then it showed up a few weeks later. It took a few months to return to its normal mid-month cycle but now I can depend on it within a few days. I did have one period that was really crampy, but on rare occasion that would happen before surgery, too.</li>
<li><b>My hormones haven't changed</b>. Because the only thing that changed was my fallopian tubes were removed, and they don't affect hormones, everything else has and will continue to happen normally, including menopause. That's also why my period hasn't changed. No weight change, no mood change, no change in appearance, nothing.</li>
<li><b>I can still wear bikinis</b>. Not that I wear bikinis often due to circumstance (more of a mountain person than a beach person) and I would have even if my scars were bigger (because judgmental people can fuck off), buuuut my scars are totally not noticeable. In fact, on 4th of July The Boyfriend took a photo of me in a <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BHdCiAkj3dk/" target="_blank">patriotic bikini</a> and my belly button ring hole is more visible than my surgery scar. (Can you see it? I can if I squint.)</li>
</ul>
<div>
Quite a few women looking for information on laparoscopic bilateral salpingectomy as a sterilization method have found my previous posts, and I'm so very glad to have helped them. The biggest selling point for salpingectomy for me was there would be nothing in my body - no copper or plastic IUDs, no clips, and no metal coils. Even the stitching dissolved and glue came off. My risk of ovarian cancer is potentially reduced, my risk of pregnancy is essentially gone, and I won't have to think about having an IUD removed in 5 years. Win-win-win-win-win.<br />
<br />
<i>Edit: Now that we know the election results I'm even more happy I've gotten this taken care of. The next president could, and likely will, significantly roll back access to and affordability for procedures like this (and birth control and abortion access). I would be quite worried for my future if I was still dependent on temporary birth control. </i></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I doubt there will be much to report back on but maybe I'll do a 5 year or 10 year follow up or an update if there's anything to update on. Until then, I've been really enjoying the comments on the previous two posts and love hearing all of your stories. Please continue to leave comments! I may not always respond right away, especially over the next couple of years as grad school takes up most of my time, but I will respond. This has been a fantastic experience and I'm so glad to be in the company of the many, many women out there who decided they don't want (any more) kids and are sick of dealing with temporary and inadequate birth control. Much love to you all.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<u>Photos in order of when they were taken:</u></div>
<div>
Day of surgery</div>
<div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV8OlMPsaZfQmm0dpi7UBNs1Oj1-bgrSqJReOnsbZhz6J-rAhumggopKkfyYNdGiCwcKRehzrYD41Pr6xM6QVYQiS1CMc5wZkEtBU6x2V5redAzf-ybMddPqe1C6OKD3OUYyncPwHL3AU/s1600/surgery+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV8OlMPsaZfQmm0dpi7UBNs1Oj1-bgrSqJReOnsbZhz6J-rAhumggopKkfyYNdGiCwcKRehzrYD41Pr6xM6QVYQiS1CMc5wZkEtBU6x2V5redAzf-ybMddPqe1C6OKD3OUYyncPwHL3AU/s320/surgery+day.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
</div>
<div>
6 weeks after surgery<br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPcwYgody36y0PzutDNHysiPkuosyNB81BUYOwMu9Ty1TnAIaTDQtkoH4xhjyK0N80q8jSg61R3M4GPNUJ1gO2DbGMwNKvw2WxhbT9CXOeX_vX82HawCPVYEWebGeJTjih2s72-T76mE/s1600/Post+op.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPcwYgody36y0PzutDNHysiPkuosyNB81BUYOwMu9Ty1TnAIaTDQtkoH4xhjyK0N80q8jSg61R3M4GPNUJ1gO2DbGMwNKvw2WxhbT9CXOeX_vX82HawCPVYEWebGeJTjih2s72-T76mE/s320/Post+op.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<div>
<br />
1 year after surgery<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDuFuAFX3Uq4gvKtR6omJU5Zr4GGxmg22_MI3LjQEk55Frsp2LzIKnNgJXIsQPJUcI7A4jI2wBMuUJYCm9uL4sP8lq-eEMnQMIKFk2JEM3TWxil0zBqwSDRa3fZC7WnZI0Co6l0-kZjXg/s1600/1+year+anniversary.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDuFuAFX3Uq4gvKtR6omJU5Zr4GGxmg22_MI3LjQEk55Frsp2LzIKnNgJXIsQPJUcI7A4jI2wBMuUJYCm9uL4sP8lq-eEMnQMIKFk2JEM3TWxil0zBqwSDRa3fZC7WnZI0Co6l0-kZjXg/s320/1+year+anniversary.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00249931435021464536noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-65016205209623492112016-08-07T15:42:00.000-07:002016-11-06T15:44:17.820-08:00Dealing with Insurance for my Laparoscopic Bilateral Salpingectomy<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The least fun part about <a href="http://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2015/10/getting-my-laparoscopic-bilateral.html" target="_blank">getting spayed</a> has been dealing with insurance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Let's start with the end: <b>I lost.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Backing up a bit, before you go and get this or any surgery call your insurance company and ask what your costs will be. First, get the precise codes from your doctor. Make sure to get all codes, all of the codes that each doctor will use (I had two), the code the anesthesiologist will use, the code the hospital will use, and any other code they might need. Second, tell that code to the insurance company, have them read it back to you so you know you're on the same page, and ask what your total costs will be. DO NOT ASK IF IT'S COVERED. "Covered" in medical insurance language does not mean the insurance company will pay for it, it simply means it's an approved procedure (wtf an unapproved procedure is I have no idea). This was mistake #1 for me. Third, before you actually go in for this surgery call your insurance company again and make sure they're giving you the same answer as before. If your plan suddenly changes and they don't inform you (cause they're dicks like that) you'll be on the hook.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Another important point: the Affordable Care Act states that all birth control costs are 100% provided by insurance companies, including female sterilization. HOWEVER,</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> sterility is only a side effect of a bilateral salpingectomy. Fallopian tubes were historically removed as part of a hysterectomy in order to <a href="https://www.ahcmedia.com/articles/120323-tubal-sterilization-has-the-time-come-for-routine-bilateral-salpingectomy" target="_blank">reduce the risk of ovarian cancer</a>, and only recently are women turning to the procedure because of how effective it is at stopping pregnancy (no tubes, no babies). Compare this to a tubal ligation, which is <i>only</i> done for birth control purposes. This makes sterilization an off-label use of bilateral salpingectomy. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0d0600; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Some insurance companies have this procedure labeled as sterilization because of its quickly growing popularity (up to 33% of sterilization procedures are bilateral salpingectomy), but mine did not. In principle I felt that insurance should have covered it because my primary reasons were for sterilization. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Further, and this is an argument I had with many people at my insurance company over many months, is that even if laparoscopic bilateral salpingectomy is used for other things, I used it for birth control, as a preventative measure, so why isn't it paid for? The only answer I got was the code didn't specify either of those things.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What I learned is that there are generally two codes a doctor can use for laparoscopic bilateral salpingectomy: one that says it's birth control, and one that doesn't. There were two codes in my paperwork: one that described it as "female surgery" (no shit) and one that described it as a "medical procedure" (imagine that). The super weird thing was when I asked the insurance rep to read the codes back to me she said it "tubal ligation." Which would be paid for. When I asked why it said tubal ligation and they still weren't paying for it she said that's where that second code comes in, the one that called it a "medical procedure." Apparently, in order for Blue Shield to pay for this surgery, it would need to have a code that indicated it was a "preventative procedure." What differentiates a medical procedure from a preventative one is something I still don't know. </span><br /><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Call your insurance company and find out what their rules are. If they consider it birth control, awesome. If they don't, do your best to find out what your costs are going to be when all is said and done (hospital fees, doctor's fees, anesthesiologists fees, medical waste fees, administrative fees, any and all fees they can throw at you). Honestly, I'm an educated person and am used to talking with medical professionals and I feel insurance is needlessly and possibly intentionally complicated so people will just pay to avoid the headache.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Since this was the surgery I wanted and I wasn't going to get a less-effective surgery with a longer recovery period and more potential for risk because it would be cheaper (some things you just need to pay for), I didn't try too hard to determine all these things. Plus, I knew my company would pay my deductible so my risk of actually paying anything out of pocket was pretty small.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I had my surgery in October and finally paid up in April. When all was said and done, it cost just over $2,000 (less than my deductible, which my employer pays as part of our medical benefits package). The upside was the hospital was very understanding and worked with me to try and get Blue Shield to reconsider. They resubmitted the paperwork twice, I talked everything over with both my doctor and the billing department multiple times, and they put several holds on my fees to give me time to get it sorted out. I still can't believe it took 6 months. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Here's my <a href="https://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2015/11/getting-spayed-six-week-update.html" target="_blank">six week update</a>, the official "back at life" time for anyone currently considering this procedure and the recovery period. And here I am <a href="http://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2016/11/getting-fixed-one-year-later.html" target="_blank">one year later</a>. Good luck to anyone considering a salpingectomy! Despite the struggles with insurance, it has been 100% worth it.</span></span>Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00249931435021464536noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-55943077439531381902016-01-17T16:15:00.000-08:002016-11-12T15:42:35.640-08:00Texts from Dad<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I'm keeping these here so I have a record of proof that can't be tarnished by a faulty memory. My extended family got very involved in this because my dad alienated himself from so many people over the years, and they've been trying to get us all back together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Over 5 years ago my dad started seeing this new woman. Things moved pretty quickly between them and she was living with him after 6 months, while he was still legal guardian to my underage sister and our other sister was living there, too. His new girlfriend's sparkling personality aside, we were concerned she was taking advantage of him (he had a house, a successful business, and was financially comfortable, while she owned very little and wasn't making much money - when she moved in she lived rent free, which is something his own daughters weren't even allowed to do). Our dad had a track record of letting women use him and he has never been the one to see a relationship for what it was, much less break one off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">In one instance, his girlfriend made a list of rules for my sister to follow if she was going to be living in "their" house. The rules were absurd, and one was medically irresponsible, so I agreed to be there for a conversation between my sister and our dad. I had a pretty good relationship with my dad. We had what I thought was a great talk, where a lot of issues were brought to light and my sisters and I walked away from it feeling much better. Now that we were able to talk openly about the rules and some other lingering issues, things were looking up. However, a few days later my dad called me to ask me to never do that again. He said by being there I was both robbing my sister of the ability to speak for herself and disrespecting him and his girlfriend. I told him I couldn't agree to that – if either of my sisters asked for my help or presence in any issue, I would do it. I suspect that his girlfriend had a private conversation with him after we left, because he seemed perfectly happy with my presence and what I said at the time. Only later did he change his mind and claim to have felt disrespected.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The next time I was in my hometown I asked him to have lunch with me so we could talk about things. I told him about my concerns about his girlfriend and suggested he could do better. He reaffirmed his love for his girlfriend, told me how the life he had had when he was married was never what he had wanted, kids were never what he wanted, and essentially that he had the chance to live the life he felt he always deserved. I was given the option of getting on board or not.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">A couple months later I turned 25. I spent it with my best friends on vacation, my sisters called to wish me happy birthday, my mom, a few relatives, and I got lots of texts and messages from friends that day. When I woke up the next morning I realized my dad was the only one who missed it (and it's not like he forgot, my mom and I share the same birthday, that date is engrained into his head). I was pretty crushed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Several other birthdays came and went without so much as a text from him, and multiple holidays, too. A few times he would group text my sisters and I to say "merry christmas, love dad and [girlfriend]". And it was fine, after a while. I accepted that this was the way he wanted it and watched my dad alienate his own siblings, close friends, and several other family members. Turns out I wasn't the only one who brought up concerns about his girlfriend, and he responded to them the same way he responded to me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Could I have done more? Absolutely. I could have promised my dad I would respect his authority and not support my sister if she asked. I could have apologized for even hinting that his girlfriend was not the most wonderful partner. I could have sent him happy father's day wishes even when he wasn't speaking with me. But I'm a pretty strong and often headstrong person with solid self esteem and an undying loyalty to my sisters. I would never choose my father's ridiculous need for approval and authority over my sister asking for support. I would never sit by while I thought my dad was being taken advantage of and say nothing. And I'm just not the type of person who is going to force another person to have me in their life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I've been hearing a lot from other relatives who have still been trying to make amends lately. To he honest I'm not sure what is a rumor and what is fact because my dad hasn't told me anything, even through all this texting (below). Apparently he married his girlfriend after being told he had cancer (or a non-carcinogenic tumor? Honestly I don't know). My dad has chosen to not share these parts of his life with any of his daughters, but he reached out to our mom. To be honest, I was hoping he wouldn't do this, and after the following texts from him I wish he hadn't. To be cut out of someone's life because you said your piece and meant it is one thing, but to be cut out because someone has delusions about what actually happened is another.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The gist of our conversation was he doesn't want to acknowledge (or doesn't remember) any of the things he said to me, but by not reaching out anyway this is my fault. He's only interested in starting over if it means he doesn't have to take responsibility. The only apology in here was sorry for being wrong about me not wanting him in my life. And the shitty thing? I don't want a relationship anymore. It would be shallow and fake and I couldn't trust him and I don't think I could be civil to his new wife. So what's the point? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">A few days later he started up again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">And again a few days later. I'll give him the persistence award, but god damn at this point he's beating a dead horse. I've explained in direct words exactly what happened, twice. If he doesn't remember or won't believe me I can't help him. If he doesn't believe me and doesn't remember (or is choosing to remember a version of events that doesn't make him seem as shitty), then what's to stop this from happening again? This is not how a fresh new relationship is made, dad.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">After that he texted on my birthday. I didn't respond. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Bullies don't remember the things they say to others, but the people who get bullied sure as hell remember what was said to them. The simple reason is because you remember how you feel when hurtful things are said to or about you, but you don't remember saying hurtful things to or about others because it didn't impact you. If this were anyone other than a father saying these things no one would be encouraging me to bury the hatchet (after taking it out of my own back, no less). I think that's an awful double standard. What sort of message does that send? That it's OK to say hurtful things and tell your kids they're less important to you than your new girlfriend as long as you give a half-assed apology later? No gracias.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Maybe one day I'll forgive him but for now the anger is a good reminder to not get into a situation like this again. Feeling used sucks. Feeling unwanted by your parent sucks. I have wonderful people in my life and I'd rather not have a superficial relationship with someone who wrote me off for five years for apparently being late on a father's day wish. </span></div>
Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02011137066680126659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6482087969985747940.post-33439531128430042092015-11-27T16:55:00.000-08:002015-12-03T08:23:09.097-08:00Getting Spayed: Six Week Update<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It's been six weeks since my <a href="http://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2015/10/getting-my-laparoscopic-bilateral.html" target="_blank">laparoscopic bilateral salpingectomy</a>. It's a ton easier (and admittedly more fun) to say I got fixed. Now, except for two tiny little incisions that are still healing, you wouldn't be able to tell I had surgery.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As a reminder, here's what I looked like the day after surgery:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfiWch9xIEzoyYZJveSzouujch9ZS_7uyg6MDej5SjJ9PYD6tPKQGM24Pd34G8BWV5I5KLVD0nvzuVqnsulFq-WfuaP-e4hfaV3l_m6xUQJPT7K4ogfhnFuQXZ1VxqZqKC8y5jd8LlUF4/s1600/Day+1+front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfiWch9xIEzoyYZJveSzouujch9ZS_7uyg6MDej5SjJ9PYD6tPKQGM24Pd34G8BWV5I5KLVD0nvzuVqnsulFq-WfuaP-e4hfaV3l_m6xUQJPT7K4ogfhnFuQXZ1VxqZqKC8y5jd8LlUF4/s320/Day+1+front.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I covered the big events of the first month after surgery in <a href="http://thesnarkywriter.blogspot.com/2015/10/getting-my-laparoscopic-bilateral.html" target="_blank">my previous post</a>, and really there wasn't much to talk about. Like most people who have surgery, there was bloating and a small amount of pain, which was managed with extra strength ibuprofen for about a week. But I was working from home and visiting friends the very next day, back in the office on three days later, and eating and drinking normally that week, though not as much as I usually do. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I haven't shared this with a lot of people yet. Part of me really wants to, because I'd love to shout this from the rooftops. But part of me understands how sensitive people can be to things they aren't familiar with and, as it was put to me, being so sure you don't want kids that you'll change your body is such a foreign concept. However, those I have told have been almost uniformly supportive. My close friends and family members who do want kids have been the most supportive, saying they're happy for me and reminding me I'll be a great aunt. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One thing I am very, very happy to be doing again is running. I had taken a few months off due to an injury, combined with an extra hot summer, so adding the surgery was just one more reason to not exercise. Now everything has fallen back into place and running feels so good again. I've even started doing some weights. Since I'll never be pregnant I'll also never have to work as hard to stay fit and in shape. It's amazing how quickly the body readjusts to exercise; even taking almost three months off any form of exercise except walking the dog, after only a few short runs I feel my muscles returning and my jeans are a little looser. It's lovely.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The final thing I'm still waiting on is that sweet, uncomplicated, risk-free sex. Six weeks was the time I had to take off from both sex and tampons, and it was something I didn't think would be so hard (<i>that's what she said</i>) to stop, especially when you're still going to bed every night next to this person you think is really sexy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">However, it's Thanksgiving. Which means traveling and staying with family (his) and a further moratorium on sexytimes. I would say I'd give an update on what this risk-free sex is like once we get back, but I'm not. So here's a photo of what my scars look like today, because that's basically the same thing, right?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguKh_3sCRpnEsLH1OmQbfGwvUKkNR-h2Z50lvUIzR8eQI-92qa-lVUzceIKuWQdl7esHoJClTI01JcbLfkrA4vMKsTeaACn0-Zya6uqBfTbTIO0PObVkFfQ6uN40JsKIcT6E941WhO7Eg/s1600/Post+op.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguKh_3sCRpnEsLH1OmQbfGwvUKkNR-h2Z50lvUIzR8eQI-92qa-lVUzceIKuWQdl7esHoJClTI01JcbLfkrA4vMKsTeaACn0-Zya6uqBfTbTIO0PObVkFfQ6uN40JsKIcT6E941WhO7Eg/s320/Post+op.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And here are the two photos, six weeks apart:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Feel free to leave a comment if a salpingectomy is something you're considering, or share your stories from your own spaying!</span></div>
Lindsay Mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02011137066680126659noreply@blogger.com38