Love That Kid

When my brother left on his mission, I was glad. Happy he was serving the Lord? Yes. Elated that I wouldn't have to deal with his incessant teasing? Definitely. Don't get me wrong, he's a great brother, always affectionate, constantly showing his love, my greatest supporter and one of my dearest friends. But he knows how to push my buttons. OH how he pushes them in all the wrong ways.

While he was away, serving the people of Scotland for two years, I saw him grow. He changed from a smallish annoying teen into an inspiring and humble man. He matured. I watched him blossom through his letters. I began to realize that he wasn't the kid who used to wrestle me to the ground and dangle spit from his mouth, sucking it up before it hit my face. Hallelujah! He had changed!!!

Then he got home.

At first he was wonderful! Never did I leave a conversation with him without hearing the words "Is there anything I can do for you?" after. He was respectful and kind. So pleasant to be around. I was so happy to have him for a brother. Then something happened.

I tried to show him some self-defense moves I had learned while he was gone, what a mistake that was. After he had pinned me to the ground, as I was starring up at him, his giant mouth full of spit just waiting to be dribbled before me, I saw it. I saw a little twinkle in his eye, a glimpse of his old self begging to be let free.


Thankfully he resisted. He didn't torture me, but since then, slowly, his old self has been creeping back out.

Yesterday I received a text from him. The day before we had been teasing each other, when he went too far. He pushed it, YES, the very worst button he could push. He teased me about my weight. We all know I'm more than a little self-conscious about my figure... curse you thunder thighs!!! But, he went there. Oh he went there. I was furious, of course.

Thankfully he must have come to his senses because the next day I received the following text:

Jake: Love You

Me: Did you mean to send that to me?

Jake: Yes of course

Me: This is Torrey, you know that, right?

Jake: Yup

(Then, a bit later)

Jake: Can't a bro tell a sis he loves her?

Me: Sure, I just heard you have a hard time loving fat people. ;-)

Jake: I love mum don't I?

What a way with words! So charming, isn't he? The worst part is, I know he meant it (the part about loving me). Yes, he can be a pain, but aren't all brothers? For that matter, aren't all MEN?

His last text made me laugh, it made me laugh like I haven't laughed before! Yes, he teases, yes, he pushes buttons, but MAN, I love that kid.

A Woman's Duty

I came home from work the other night, excited to partake of a bowl of cereal (preferably something full of sugar), to find that there was not a clean dish in the house. I rummaged through every cupboard, rifled through every drawer, explored every shelf. There WERE a few pots and pans, which I suppose I could have eaten cereal out of with a mixing spoon, but other than that, nothing. There weren't even any clean coffee mugs (which I have been known to use for cereal and other like foods in the past).

I decided to find another solution to my problem before busting out the sauce pans. The dish washer seemed like a logical place to look for clean dishes. Unfortunately my dish washer was FULL of dirty ones. Apparently, it had never been started. I then turned to the sink, to find it full of dirty plates, bowls and cups all soaking in the most rank smelling water I've ever had the pleasure of encountering. We didn't even have any paper bowels in the pantry.

I finally collapsed on the counter in utter disgust. How had I let my clean dish situation get to be this miserable? There I was, weak from hunger and weary from a long days work, a grown woman laying on the kitchen counter. It was despicable.


Just when I thought I had gained enough energy to get up and actually do the dishes, I opened my almost teary eyes to see our garbage can, with pizza boxes and milk cartons stacked half way up the wall. Ugh.

The husband finally meandered into the kitchen to see what all of the crying and slamming of drawers was about. I was so thankful to see him! "Good, you're here! Can you please take out the garbage?" Now, the Husband has never been a cruel man, but he has a habit of loving to tease me in my weakest moments. "Can't YOU take out the garbage?" he asked.

I didn't lash out at him, at first. I tried very hard to control my boiling temper. "No, I can't." I snapped, "Do you know why I can't? Because, HONEY, taking out the garbage is a MAN's job. Are you not a MAN?" I knew, at that very moment, I had won the argument. It was a very nice feeling, especially after all of the anxiety I had been feeling up to that point from the tremendous pile of dirty dishes I had pouring out of my sink.

"You're right HONEY," he said (the man actually admitted that I was right), "I'll take out the garbage, now you get to work on the dishes." Um, 'cuse? At this point, the room fell silent. My husband just stared at me with a snarky grin spread across his face. I stared back, my jaw still on the cold tile floor. He raised his eyebrow, daring me to speak. My eye twitched out of shock. The Husband finally broke the silence, "I mean, you ARE a woman honey, and that is a WOMAN's job, right?"
I don't know why I was so taken back, he was using the same argument I had used on him to take out the trash. Yet, for some reason, I just couldn't see how the task of taking out the trash was equal to the task of tackling the monstrous pile of dishes.

I began to see how weak my argument really was. I thought, sure, I would be more than happy to take the garbage out, why does it have to be a "Man's Job" anyway? But, at the same time, that didn't mean The Husband would do the dishes. In fact, I guarantee that he wouldn't. I started think, hey, I go to work every single day, just like The Husband. I equally contribute to our household income. Doesn't that mean we should be equally contributing to the household work? If this is true, how do I help my husband see that the social norms that he and I grew up with are no longer the "norm"?

Suggestions? Opinions? All are welcome here, my friends, all are welcome here.

Separation Anxiety

Those of you who have read my blog before can attest to the fact that, well, I'm not so good with pets. I've caused the death of many a marine animal. In fact, I've seen so many pass, I stopped naming the *insert profane expression* things! Its ridiculous. I mostly blame my innate lack of motherly nurturing skills. I really don't know how on earth my 3 current fish are still alive, as I hardly ever feed them.. maybe once every two weeks at best.

I thought I had redeemed myself when we got Dexter. The Husband and I had been yearning for a puppy for a long time. For me it was to temporarily satiate my need for a baby, for the Husband it was to gain a life long companion (well, one that doesn't constantly nag i.e. moi.)
Our ideal puppy was an English Bulldog. Adorable in every way, from the rolls to the slobber, we were convinced a bulldog would be perfect for us. Until we noticed the (wheeze, gasp, choke) cost. I mean, we're not exactly living in rags here, but 2,000 bucks is not exactly "petty cash" to us. So, we decided to adopt.
If you have never had the experience of going to the animal shelter to take a gander at prospective pets, I would NOT recommend it. You will want to adopt every animal there! These abandoned/abused animals stare at you with their giant "please love me" eyes and they are impossible to resist.

After looking at several dogs I pulled the Husband aside and asked him what he thought. Usually, when asked this question he responds with "I dunno", but this time he actually had an answer. "I like the white fluffy one, over there". Well then, ok! I was down with that, besides, I find it incredibly attractive when a man knows what he wants (suggestive raising of eyebrows and winking of eye).

We walked over to the cage of a beautiful American Eskimo. The Husband knelt down and gently opened the cage door. The dog bolted out and immediately jumped up on the Husband and licked his face. The Husband was in love. I've got to hand it to Dexter, he certainly knew how to get adopted. Looking and acting all innocent and loving, he made us believe he was the perfect dog. American Eskimos are known for being smart, case in point. So, we adopt him. We had to, he practically made out with my Husband for crying out loud!

Once we got Dexter home I figured I needed to take a long hard look at my pet keeping skills. A dog is NOT a fish, obviously. Maybe this is hypocritical of me, but I would feel a whole lot worse if I killed a dog via neglect than I do with my fish. So, I made a pledge to myself to treat this dog as I would want to be treated. Live by the "Golden Rule" and such. I swore I would feed him diligently, brush his mangled mane, clean up his poopie, even bathe the animal! I would be the best pet owner of all the freakin' land! And I tried.

Then, the real Dexter came out. Sure he was cute and cuddly, but the welcoming eyes we fell in love with at the shelter gave no indication that he liked to bark. He waggly tail never once led us to know that he liked to poop on the carpet out of spite. His playful and attentive ears wouldn't tell us his REAL secret, never would we have know that he LOVES to bite small children!!!

So after MONTHS of dealing with angry parents, annoyed neighbors, animal control and yes, even the police, I just couldn't take it anymore! I was doing my part, I honored my pledge, but Dexter just wasn't holding up his end of the bargain. I had to get rid of him.

I felt terribly guilty about it, wanting to give my dog back to the horrible place I had saved him from. The Husband was the most depressed out it. It was HIS dog, after all, his life long companion. I made him swear he didn't care if we got rid of Dex, swear on his life, swear on all that is good and holy. He did. I still don't believe him. But, because I am a selfish and small minded human being, I made the Husband wrangle Dexter into the car, one Saturday morning, and we made the long drive back to the humane society.


We walked Dexter into the receiving department, and suddenly, he was so well behaved. He sat quitely as I filled out the necessary paperwork. Happily looked at the camera as they took his picture. Didn't even flinch when we took off his collar and tied a rough leash around his neck.

Then the strangest thing happened. The ladies at the desk asked me to describe Dexter, his pros and cons, his personality, etc. I couldn't think of a single bad thing about him. I couldn't think of how he had chewed up all of my favorite high heels, how he attacked 3 little girls, how he barfed in my bedroom. I gushed about how he was the best dog on earth. He was always so happy to see me when I got home from work. He loved to cuddle and could make anyone smile. He was so smart and funny. The ladies assured me that because he was up to date on his shots he would get adopted out that same day. I said my last good byes to Dex and watched, suddenly stunned, as he walked down the long hallway to the next room.

We walked out the front door and I immediately burst into tears. I mean, REAL tears. Uncontrollable, mascara ruining, snot running down my face, tears. I cried the entire drive home. What is wrong with me?! I know I'm a hormonal woman, but really, I've got problems.

So, the fact is, I'm not so good with pets, or separation for that matter. There's no going back. Dexter has worked his magic on another unsuspecting young couple by now and is chewing up someone elses brown suede stilettos. (sigh) Please bless having kids won't be this hard.

Diploma Dilema

Today I realized that I have been going to school (and, by "school" I mean "upper level education" aka "college") for 5 and a half years now. Sounds impressive, right? WRONG! Why? Because, I have absolutely nothing to show for it. Yeah, nothing. No degree. No Master's Degree. No Bachelors Degree. Not even a freakin' Associates Degree. Nothing!


I'm not a complete idiot (I know some of you are thinking that... admit it), I just can't seem to settle on a major. So far I have "majored" in Theater Performance, Theater Education, Musical Theater, Anthropology, English, History, and now Communications (Broadcast Journalism). Don't get me started on my list of minors...

I suppose you could say that I'm majoring in college. The problem is that I just want to be so many things when I grow up (I'm still young enough to say that I'm not grown up yet). Perhaps you are thinking "Come on now, Torrey! Make up your mind already!" But, I cannot! The career paths I want to take are all too appealing. To prove it to you, and so you can understand just why Torrey can't decide... here are my Top 10 Things to be:

10. A Rock Star
Ok, maybe this is a little far fetched, considering the only instruments I play I don't play very well, but, I can dream, right? I can just imagine myself, on stage... the lights are dim, I am wearing an amazing outfit that all of my fans will try to replicate the moment they get home from my concert, when suddenly, the flash of fireworks light up the stage to reveal me with my SA-WEET electric guitar, the coolest band mates ever and my wild (but tasteful) hair when I start to produce pure and passionate rock! The crowd goes wild! Not sure any of my previous majors have helped me to achieve this dream, but I don't think they offer a degree in "Bad A$$", as of yet.

9. An Anthropologist/Archaeologist/Paleontologist
Ok, maybe not the Paleontologist thing (I don't want to seem like TOO big of a nerd, I swear I've only seen Jurassic Park once) but seriously I cannot think of a cooler job than digging up the bones and artifacts of an ancient civilization. Pondering the meaning of Stonehenge (and other henges for that matter), studying the stone heads of Easter Island, experiencing the pyramids of Teotihuacan! Is this making anyone else drool?!

8. Book Author
Yes, it is every blogger's dream to get paid for their ramblings, but mine especially. I mean, I'm spending precious time sending my meaningless thoughts out into cyberspace, might as well get paid for it. The only problem is that first of all, I am most likely not as brilliant as I think I am, and second of all, suppose I compile all of my blog posts and get published... who would want to pay for something they could read for free on the Internet? Of course, these are just minor issues, I'm sure, if I could get a great mentor like Richard Paul Evans... Richard Paul? Are you out there? If you have come upon my blog by Googling yourself... let's do lunch. (And please ignore my grammar mistakes, that's what an editor is for, right?)

7. History Professor/Guru
Every time I watch a Ken Burns history production I day dream of having his job. Mmm... Delicious! History, of course, not Ken Burns. I love it when history comes to life, when it becomes important to me, to you, to well, everyone! Besides, the only way we can create a better future is by learning from the past. I want to tell the world about our history! Heal the world, make it a better place, for you and for me and the entire human race... See, there's the Rock Star coming out it me. (Michael Jackson, RIP.) Oh, and Ken, we can do lunch too, I am willing to pencil you in (disregard the "Delicious" comment).

6. Fashion Designer
Ok, I will admit, I have not always had the best sense of fashion in my life... but I swear I get more and more fashionable as time rolls on. It would be so amazing to see one of my own creations, walking down the runway during fashion week in Milan! Not to mention, I would probably make BANK, boi! I'm not THAT into the money, but I seriously wouldn't mind being successful in this realm... or being able to afford all of the clothes, shoes, and purses I could ever want.

5. Food Network Star!
I don't have cable anymore, but when I did, Food Network was by far my fave channel to watch. I think I would be the perfect Food Network star, because #1- I love to eat food and #2- I love to bake food. See, I'm the perfect candidate! I can't cook, of course, so my show would have to be about baking. Hmm... what could we name it? "Torrey's Tasty Treats!" No, that sounds ridiculous. I'm sure Food Network would make up a name for my show anyway. I just need to get my work out there. Perhaps I should consider broadcasting my own show from my basement, like Wayne and Garth (what inspirations!)... only I don't have a kitchen in my basement... I suppose the upstairs will have to do!

4. Lawyer
Maybe its because Legally Blonde is such a great movie, maybe its because my neighborhood is swarming with them, maybe its because I just love blood in the water... whatever it is, I would LOVE to be a lawyer. It just seems like a very satisfying job, bringing people to justice, putting away the bad guys, wearing an ill fitting pants suit! No... not the pants suit part. I just look at these attorney's I know and I think "Wow, this Lawyer sure is Smart, Sophisticated, a Smooth Talker, and Surprisingly Attractive" and then I think "Hey, I pretty much just described myself!" Really though, all joking aside, the life of a Lawyer is a life I'd like to live. Mostly because of the "bringing people to justice" thing, it sounds rewarding.


3. Special Ed Teacher
Ok, I know this seems totally random, but truthfully, I would love to be a Special Ed teacher one day. I think kids who have mental or physical handicaps are the sweetest kids on earth. Yes, they are difficult (I once got lock out of my own car by a Down syndrome girl I was babysitting who happened to be inside of the car) but there is something so heart warming about them.

2. A White Oprah
This is my most current career endeavor, hence the Communications major. I figure, I've already got the struggles with weight loss down, I could easily start my own book club, and I am a true role model... well, working on the role model thing... pretty sure no one modeled their role after me yet... but just you wait! I mean really though... who is the white equivalent of Oprah today? Dina Lohan? No. It WILL be me. Not sure how I'm going to make it happen... but just know that in 10 years from now, I'll be kickin' it with Oprah on the beach in the Bahamas and she'll be asking ME for advice.

1. A Mom
Yes, I want to be a mom. Which just takes the complications of my career dilemma to a whole new level. How will I be able to be a good mom when I'm on tour, digging up remains in Egypt, taking down the bad guys, or filming my next show? I don't exactly have that part worked out yet. But, mom is definitely #1 on the list.


So, as you can see, its no wonder I have no degree after 5 and a half years! It's a miracle I am even a functioning member of society, considering the weight of the decisions I have to make about growing up. Right now I'm thinking of doing it all, and why not? I have an entire life ahead of me, I'm still young. Now, which career should I work on first?...

Even MORE Embarrassing

There are definitely some items that I purchase at the store regularly that I would rather other shoppers didn't see me buy. Tampons, for one, are always very awkward. I put them in my cart and its like suddenly I have the scarlet letters "PMS" pasted to my shirt. It's true. I know people are thinking "Lucky her", "Glad I'm not a woman", "Her poor husband", etc... because, I will admit, I've thought the same thing when I notice a similar item in other shoppers carts.

It's even worse if I see a guy buying tampons because EVERYONE is thinking "Poor schmuck". Am I right, or am I right? I'm proud to say I've never made my husband buy me ANY type of "That Time of the Month" supplies before,nor do I plan on making him in the future. It's just cruel and unusual punishment, that's what it is.

I also feel totally uncomfortable picking up my birth control from the Pharmacy each month. For some strange reason, even though there are an equal amount of men and women Pharmacy Techs working when I go, the men always help me get my prescription. The reason I hate that, is because I use the Nuva Ring (most amazing birth control EVER... you only need to worry about it once a month), which states on the front of the package (sorry for the bluntness) "Insert Vaginally Once Every 3 Weeks". So when these men Pharmacy Techs retrieve my lovely pregnancy prevention prescription, THEY always get embarrassed, which makes ME embarrassed! After I pay for it they quickly hand it off and then wipe their hands on their smocks... like my birth control has poisoned them!

Of course buying any sort of medicine that indicates you have bowel problems is always fun. Who doesn't love to be seen carrying around Ex-Lax or Bean-O. Tell me you feel the same way! Same with purchasing a toilet plunger. Purchasing one basically screams "I clogged the toilet, BIG TIME"... this item is even more embarrassing if purchased in conjunction with Drain-O AND Imodium.

Or how about gossip magazines. Yeah, I like to read them... call it a guilty pleasure. But there's always that one person ahead of you in line who gives you "the look". You know the look, the "HOW COULD YOU" or "Don't you have a life?" look.

So, I'll admit when they came out with the "Self Check-Out" system, my embarrassing item shopping anxiety was greatly lessened. Sure people still see me in the aisles of the store hauling around Tampons, Pepto-Bismol, Hemroid Creme (never yet, but that would be horrific, I'm sure), and toilet plungers (hopefully only 1 at a time).... but I don't have to stand in line with those items presented on the check-out belt of doom for all (in front of you, behind you, and those checking you out) to see.

Well, the whole entire point of this post is to tell the following story:

The Husband and I were purchasing something at the store some time ago (not sure what we were buying, but positive it wasn't any of the a fore mentioned "embarrassing items") and it was PACKED. It must have been around a holiday. So we had to wait in line to even use the self check-out. Finally it's our turn and this lady just swoops in ahead of us and STEALS our self check-out machine! Seriously, how rude! The Husband and I both looked at each other in shock, and he said something to the effect of "I think we were next in line", just loud enough so that this lady could hear us. She heard it alright. She turns around and snaps at us, "Well, if you would help me, I'm sure this would go a lot faster."

This lady has long insane looking hair and "crazy eyes". She was holding a bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide and a turkey baster. We were both rather taken back. Then she says, "I've got a doggy emergency!" Ok... she's buying a turkey baster and hydrogen peroxide... Several horrific images ran though my mind when I put everything together, but the fact is, I did NOT want to know what type of "doggy emergency" she was dealing with. I was more than happy to let her butt in line.

See, the moral of the story is: Yeah, there are a lot of embarrassing items to purchase, but there is ALWAYS someone buying something even more embarrassing than you.

"Doggie Emergency" supplies, for example.....

Another Fishy Fatality

Yes, it's true, I've had yet another Fishy Fatality! Last weekend the Husband and I went to feed the fish, only to find Fritz sucked into the water filter! Yes, just like Trevor had been several months before. I was devastated! Poor little Fritz.

Upon discovering this terrible scene, the Husband quickly unplugged the water filter to free our fishy pal. I have no idea how long he had been there, but it caused massive amounts of damage. Fritz's once full shiny fins were now frayed and sparse. The poor little guy barely had any energy to swim around... who am I kidding, the sad fellow was just bobbing at the surface. He wasn't dead though. If I tapped the glass he'd swish his little fin to show he was hanging in there.

When I fed the masses, Fritz just watched the flakey meal float about him. It was truly heartbreaking. I felt especially sad because Fritz was MY fish. I picked him out all by myself. I was drawn to him because of the black mark above his mouth, which looked like a little Hitler mustache (hence the name Fritz, I was convinced he was a follower of the Fuhrer). Not that I'm in support of a fascist dictatorship, I just thought his little mustache was quite endearing.

Now that I think about it, Fritz did kind of rule the roost... er.. school. Hey, maybe he was the one who killed Trevor! Perhaps Trevor was edging in on Fritz's power, so Fritz pushed him into the water filter. Now that I think about it even MORE, one of our fish is named Joe... GI Joe (because of his camo spots)... maybe he over threw Fritz!!! I digress.

Well, unfortunately, the Husband and I had to go away for the weekend so I was unable to watch over Fritz while he suffered in that cold dark tank.

When we got back, however, Fritz was STILL ALIVE. What a trooper! The Husband moved him to his own little bowl, a private healing chamber. But, Fritz wasn't looking too good. When I tapped on the bowl he hardly even moved a gill. Occasionally he would adjust his floating position, but let's just say, he had one foot in a watery grave.

Well, yesterday I got home excited to see some increasing maritime movement in my favorite Fritz, only to be destroyed. The Husband informed me that Fritz had passed on a few hours earlier. He didn't want to tell me while I was at work, knowing it would ruin my day. Poor, poor, Fritz.

I'm feeling much better today, I know he's in a better place now and all that jazz. The thing that concerns me is, why can't I keep a freaking gold fish alive?! Seriously! I've been wanted to get a puppy and of course one day I'll want a baby... but how on earth can I possibly be trusted with more serious things when I've let two of my favorite fish get sucked into and paralyzed by a water filter?! I've got some serious issues that need to be reckoned with. It think I need to go see an aquatic grief counselor...

Just so you know...

I would just like to say that today I ate the following:

1 Cafe Rio Pork Salad: Black AND Pinto beans (I don't discriminate), Shredded Lettuce, No Pico, No Cilantro, all lovingly topped with the Creamy House Dressing.

.... And I LOVED it.