Confessions of a Chronic Over-Analyzer

Yesterday morning I was catching up with my friend Chelsea. A Christmas recap of our days, the gifts we gave and received and our family updates. We try to do this weekly but our busy lives sometimes get in the way. We talked about my newly established hobby, my blog. She's been reading it while up early in the morning feeding the newest addition to her growing family. I asked her what she thought of it, and she replied '' I think it's real, and I think that story about your sister-in-law is hilarious.'' ''Well...hilarious like how? Like just being funny? Or mean hilarious? I wasn't trying to be mean. Do you think she would be mad if she read it? Do you think it would make waves? I really REALLY don't want to deal with any shenanigans...'' My mind began to race with the potential upcoming drama I would be facing due to the sharing of my Saturday adventure. Quickly my subconscious went from a fun, happy place, right into panic mode. What am I gonna say if she's angry? Is she gonna know I didn't mean it to be perceived that way? That was absolutely not my intention. My uneasy thoughts were interrupted by Chels' next comment. ''Why don't you write about how obsessive and crazy you are? You have the worst thoughts, and you snowball into the worst case scenario...''

They say acknowledgment is the first step so here goes nothing. Yes. It's true. I am guilty as charged with the obsessive negative snowballing. Folks, I'm an admitted panicky, over-analyzer. My man calls my little attacks and rants ''freak out-sessions''. And even when I try, I simply can't help myself. This condition, although manifested in an unhealthy manner, does come from a good place. Perhaps part of it is my embedded ''catholic guilt''. I'm honestly unsure of the full origin of these Debbie Downer thoughts but the bottom line is that I never want anyone to feel like I've done something intentionally ugly to them. So if I think it's possible that something can be perceived as hateful or mean, I tend to panic. I'm naturally a sarcastic individual but I never mean negativity towards others. Hence my panic over the potential that I could be sighted for ugliness due to my over-sharing in the previous post. I try to be kind to others and I never want to hurt people's feelings. But no good deed goes unpunished, as I have to live with this nasty curse of these crazy, stressful, over-the-top thoughts. 

Us over-analyzers... we live in a prison. Constantly concerned and consumed by the worst possible scenario. There have been days where I have made myself physically ill over the thought of someone being angry with me, or with the potential that a good thing can go really really bad. It's nutty, to say the least. My man always tells me, ''Why are you so fired up and freaked out over something that hasn't happened yet?'' My response, ''Because I KNOW it's going to happen''. Reality: Sometimes it really does happen. But most of the time, it doesn't. So even knowing that statistically most things don't go sour, how come I can't put this irrational line of thinking to rest? (Disclaimer: these feelings of panic do not exist in situations where I feel like someone is being an a**hole. I do not typically turn away from putting someone in their place and providing them with a much earned verbal assault if I deem that they have it coming. This is solely an issue of potentially undeserved angst that others may feel coming from me unintentionally).

And it's not for lack of intelligence. I don't want to toot my own horn but I'm no dummy. I'm educated, an avid reader, I ask lots of questions and plus.. I watch almost every single reality show known to man. So naturally, I've got tons of world knowledge in my favor and yet, my panic of upsetting the balance in the relationships in my life (involuntarily), sends me to a really dark place. Regularly. And even when I can hear myself verbally acknowledging my ''crazy'' for others to hear (like when I asked Chelsea 21 questions, 50cent style) I still can not stop myself. 

If acknowledging our condition is the first step, how do we correct this ailment? How do we over-analyzers make ourselves less crazy? And not just hide it, I mean really cure the condition? How do I put my cloudy, negative thoughts about other's perceptions of me to rest?

A little help from google and the first 5 pages of a free self-help book on my Kindle led me to conclude that seeing positive in others helps others see the good in you. Ding ding ding, we have a winner. Although I don't like to admit it to just any 'ole person, I tend to gravitate towards the non trusting view of others and the world. I remind myself constantly that male passer-byers could potentially be rapists, I always lock my doors for fear of a robber, when people stand too close to me during grocery check out I wonder if they are trying to steal my debit card pin, the list goes on and on. I'm a chronic worry wart. And although it's better to be safe than sorry...maybe I'm playing it just a little too safe.

With this newly established acknowledgment of my cynicism, I've decided to add yet another resolution to my list of changes in 2014. I vow to try my very very best to take things for face value in the new year. I will not read into statements, subtexts, potential hidden agendas, or eyebrow raises. I will do my best to take people and situations at face value. In the hopes that my positive energy will enter the universe and others will do the same for me. I'm excited for the potential to be liberated from my worrisome thoughts. I would however, like to clarify that this is only going to work if nobody looks at me funny, whispers in my vicinity, sends a text message while hanging out with me, or gives an impromptu sigh while I'm speaking. Also, please be cautious not to walk too quickly behind me,  or stand too closely near me. I'm going to need my friends and family to promptly respond to my texts and answer my calls to ensure we are in good standing. Please place smiley faces at the end of any sarcastic written statements so as to indicate that it is only in ''good fun''. Otherwise, my vow of rationale thinking will unfortunately no longer be possible. One missed call..and all bets are off. 

New Year's Eve Attire...the space between sexy and slutty

On Saturday, I had an experience that I haven't had in many years. I went shopping with my sister-in-law. I'm fairly certain that the last time we went shopping for anything beyond wedding shoes or housewares was in college, when we were both single and ready to mingle. The tighter, the better. A lot has changed in the years between our excursions. Married, mother of a 2 year old and 1 month old, her closet make-up has probably shifted out of party mode and into adult/mommy-mode, and I, teacher/coach have definitely collected a few pieces of the more classy variety in those lapses of years between our last party-outing, shopping trip. But it's New Year's Eve, second only to Halloween, with regard to the amount of tolerable sexiness, right?  I thought dress shopping for ringing in 2014 would be a no-brainer. We went straight to the place where I had one week prior purchased my sex-kitten, New Year's ensemble. She's gonna love at least ten dresses in here, I thought to myself.  She was in search of a bridesmaids dress for a New Year's Eve wedding. Perimeters, had to be black and had to cover her boobies. Seemed simple enough.

Upon entering sexy dress heaven, I wasted no time and headed straight toward the new arrivals, in search of all-black ''glad rags''. I quickly weeded through the boobilicious numbers that were strictly forbidden, and pulled an eclectic mix of strapless, one shoulder, deep v, halter, spaghetti strap, open back, netted, and lacy numbers. Fringe, buffles, slim fit and poofy bottom, there was absolutely something for everyone in my armfull of hand-selected dresses for her styling pleasure. I proudly presented my discoveries to my sister-in-law but to my dismay, just as quickly as I pulled those beauties, she shot them down. Too short, too tight, too revealing, not enough coverage, not comfortable, her list of objections went on and on. I politely advised her that she should at least try them on. ''You are a little, itty bitty thing, with big boobs. These dresses are going to look great on you'', I encouraged. ''I can't wear dresses like these. I'm a mom.''

Those two sentences sent my mind into a talespin. You can't wear dresses like THESE because you're a mom? Excweeze me? Ever heard of a MILF? I'll leave out the explicit content and stick to the acronym. But is this real? Are these the thoughts that moms out there are having? I can't wear a sexy dress on New Year's because I'm a mom? Is this what I have to look forward to someday? This is complete and total bull$**t. And does it stop with moms? Or is there an age bracket where sexy dresses are no longer deemed acceptable? This idea was 100% disturbing.

We left the store without a sexy LBD and after a couple other strike-outs in various stores, we bought a few baby outfits and headed home. Back at mi casa I pulled my sexy little cocktail dress out of the closet to give it the ole' once over. Strappy, tight, shows some booby, some strategically placed netting...it is a total New Year's Eve dress. But is it too slutty? Even though I'm not a ''mom'', am I dressing innapropriately? Who makes the guidelines for the space between sexy and slutty?

And then I decided.. Me. And my sister-in-law, my mom, my best friend Jaci, Courtney (the Southern Belle), Alison, the leggy brunette, my coworker Lauren, all of us with extremely different styles, bodies and ages, all of us making the decision to wear what we love on New Year's Eve, and every other day, regardless of our age and titles. The most important thing is to feel good about what you are wearing and wear it well. Dress for what makes you feel good about your body. And don't worry about what anybody else thinks about it. Because ultimately, you are your biggest critic. If you love it, wear it!  As for me, I'll be strutting my stuff in my ''smidge above prostitute'' style, New Year's number. Because I LOVE ''ho dresses'' (as my friends and I affectionately call our party outfits). But I believe a more appropriate description of my 2014 New Year's Eve LBD would be ''classy escort'' style dress.. with flats on... because I'm far too old to try and be cutesy in heels ;). (And I recently made the cutesy heels mistake in Vegas. Lesson learned).

2014 A new year with new beginnings

A new year always brings new ideas, changes and beginnings. There are new hopes and dreams.  As I get ready to move into a new year, an almost 30, newly established Mrs., I got to thinking about what I want out of the next 365 days. I decided to compile a list of my top 5 hopes for 2014.

5) Better Financial Choices. My man and myself can both benefit from this. Now is the time to start gearing up for our future. I haven't quite worked out all the details but I would like to put money in my savings account every month. (Something a mature 20-something with full time employment should have been doing all along.) Now I know realistically I can never 100% free myself of occassional inappropriate shopping, impromptu purchases here and there and a few trips we probably can't afford each year, but I vow to limit this string of poor choices for 2014. I will also pay all my bills, on time.

4) Live a more ''patchouli'' lifestyle. I don't literally mean dousing myself in patchouli oil and taking less showers but I do mean getting out there and experiencing nature. I want to spend more time outdoors this year. I'm going to start a small garden (if we don't get some sort of water ordinance due to the fact that we've had 2 drops of rain all winter). I want to go on hikes, walk the river trail (mace in hand just in case anybody tries to get fresh), read books in the park, have picnics, the whole 9 yards. I might get really adventurous this year and even try to go camping. (That last one was a bit of a stretch but the idea has crossed my mind). Nature is the best free entertainment out there. And I want more of it.

3) Turn down any ''guilt engagements''. I have a lot of ''guilters'' in my life. You know, the people who make you feel so low and bad about yourself until you finally concede to whatever obnoxious request they have made. I want to rid myself of these people completely. They are the absolute worst. But I have so damn many of them, the tasks is far too daunting to take on. So, in 2014, I will say no to their obligatory engagements. If I don't want to do it, I am going to say no. No excuses. The answer will be ''No''. Not, ''maybe, let me talk to Brendan''. The answer is going to simply be a direct, firm and final, ''No.''

2) communicate better with my man. Although my non verbal communication skills with him are impeccable, I would like to work on expressing myself in a less dramatic and more thought provoking manner, when it comes to my man. Rather than shooting him a death glare and then gritting my teeth to hiss ''last night when you blacked out and attempted to sit on the bed but missed and fell on the floor and then sat there slurring your words into oblivion, part of me was completely and utterly disgusted and the other part was wishing you did serious injury to yourself (for my pleasure and also for your pain). '' I'd like to come up with something a little more thought and conversation provoking. I'd like to get past the point of me venting and more towards resolution. How to do this? Clearly in the last 6 years of our relationship I haven't quite mastered the art of thought provoking, two sided conversation with resolution. 2014, here's hoping.

1) Fit and fine for summertime! Although this is a consistent goal in my life, I rarely find the motivation and self discipline to bring this to fruition. Number one road block, laziness. Ewww. As ugly of a word as that is, it is indeed the number one demon I have when trying to get my Victoria Secret body on. ''I would love to go to the gym but... Teen Mom2 just started and I'm pretty sure Janelle is getting arrested this week. I simply can't do it tonight.'' ''It was a long day today'', ''I can't go by myself'', ''Nobody wants to go with me'', ''Baby, it's cold outside''... my calculated list of excuses is endless but ultimately points to laziness. I really really want to end this cycle of backing out of working out and get into a routine of working out everyday. I need to do something athletic and fitness related at least 4 nights a week. It would be fabulous if I could convince friends, or my man to do it with me..but my track record of follow through is shit. I need to do it and be able to do it with or without a companion.

I feel more accomplished already now that I have thoughtfully penned my hopes/goals for 2014. And in the spirit of getting my shit together, and new beginnings, there is no better time than the present to put my new mindsets and goals into play. Today will be the first of my healthy, fit and fine for summertime lifestyle. Just let me finish my slice of peanut butter chocolate cake for breakfast and watch the Law and Order SVU marathon and I'll be headed out the door. Tennis shoes, iPod and a smile.

Every story starts somewhere

 I stepped over three piles of laundry, two dog bones, a humpy baby (that's what we call the toy that gets brutalized nightly by my alpha-female Pomeranian), two boxes of Christmas gifts that I have yet to find a home for, and an iphone chord just to get into my bed last night. I couldn't find the tv remote (our room was too messy) so I laid in the dark. As I laid there staring at the ceiling I began to feel short of breath. I started to get hot and the walls began to feel like they were closing in on me. I had enough of that mess. At 11:42 pm, I was going to clean that shit up. I turned on the light and began picking items up off the floor. A couple of shirts here, a sweater there.. and low and behold I picked up a soaking wet Christmas bag. "What the..." I thought to myself. I gave it a sniff.. but I didn't need to. I knew what happened and I knew who the culprit was. But just to be safe I gave one inhale to the soiled santa gift bag. Pee. Urine of the naughty, spoiled rotten, needs to be neutered, territory marking three year old cocker spaniel variety. "OSKI!!!!!!!!", I screamed from the hallway. As I rounded the hallway corner and kitchen entryway to get a good look at the perpetrataor, I found him staring up at me in between the legs of a ginormous man child on the couch. The two of them did not move a muscle as I screamed from behind the couch about how ridiculous the situation is. They didn't so much as flinch. When my rant was over, the man child lifted one arm with the remote in hand and changed the channel on the tv, gave the little dog a pat on the head and asked him in a calm, almost disbelieving tone ''did you potty in this house?''. I waited to see what he would say and do next. Spank him? Put him outside for the night? The dog laid in the man child's lap and didn't stir. The manchild patted his head once more and mumbled ''didn't think so''... Seriously? Thats your intuitive and profound doggy discipline?????? Awesome.

This is my life. I am 29 and recently married to 'the smartest, funniest, best singing person I have ever known' (his words not mine). I live in Sacramento, California. I have two dogs, one sassy little six pound Pomeranian, and a clumsy, playful, mischievous three year old cocker spaniel (who I want to strangle and hug, all at the same time, daily). (for the record, that is also how I feel about my husband. I love him more than life but occassionally have dark thoughts in his direction. We can address those dark thoughts later) In my spare time I teach kindergarten, surf-and-stock on Instagram and Facebook, watch mindless reality shows and immature, ''feel good'' teeny bopper mellow dramas. But that's just what I do in my down time. My formal title, where I do the main stretch of my life's work, the name I find brings me the most pride is ''House Servant and Caretaker of Two Naughty Spoiled Rotten Dogs and a Manchild. After all, isn't that what every woman lives for??

I've never blogged before and I don't consider myself any sort of phenomenal writer. In fact, I wouldn't even attempt to indicate that I've got any sort of writing talent. But what I do have are stories. And the situations and conversations that take place in my house are sometimes just too funny not to keep track of in some way. Maybe someone out there will find our lives mildly entertaining. Maybe not. But at least this gives me an opportunity to document this first year of 'marital bliss' (again, other people's words, not mine) More to come. :)