A Little Pre Ho, Ho, Ho

The holidays always make me pensive. Not sure if it's the Christmas music, or the cooler weather (think, 65 degrees in Arizona), the ubiquity to drink and eat in excess, or just the sheer time away from the everyday grind. And although we're not there yet, I can already feel it coming on like a bad hangover, or a case of the impossible-to-rid hiccups. My mentality is merry, and with that, the need to build things (see displayed cabinets).

I'm in my new house now, and beginning to settle in each day. And as I start to peruse and plan for Christmas presents for those in my life that have made the cut this year (the list counts nearly 20 people, yeaaaaaahh), I also find myself slipping into that nostalgic holiday mind-set. As I said, I'm jolly, and I'm also more thankful than other times of the year - for an amazing family that loves me unconditionally; deep, lifelong friendships; James Taylor; a dead mouse; and really, for all the love and happiness that somehow inevitably surrounds my fortunate 25-year old self.

Here we go, holidays. Here we go Razorbacks (kiss it, LSU)! I'm excited for what you've got this year.

Goodbye PTC, Goodbye Biltmore

From the moment I laid eyes on it, I fell in love. And within hours, the ink was dry and it was all ours. It was all Neil and I could do to gather all of our belongings from our third story, 900 square foot apartment and into the new glistening, oyster-of-a-place downtown, as fast as humanly possible. It was a beauty. Allow me to be more specific; it was a goldmine of a discovery, at the exact right time and in the exact right place. I had the butterflies like in a new relationship or from a new pair of shoes. All I wanted to do was be with it, near it, get to know it better... and that's exactly what we did, leaving behind the Pinnacle Towne Center (PTC) like a bag of used diapers. Hello, downtown Phoenix!

It took me one solid week of unpacking and just exploring the nuances of my new love to realize - I hadn't given a proper goodbye to the old place. When I sat down to think about it, I was ashamed in myself. How could I move on so quickly, and not stop and recognize good old unit 349? Yes, it had its flaws (monster pigeons, creepy cats, a dryer that needed to be run three times per load), but scrolling through the list of changes that old pile of rocks saw me through, it only seemed fair. Off the cusp, the PTC endured and saw me through quite some shit:

Ahem...

- A newfound passion for Yahtzee (thank you, Focker). Many-a-night did I resist the urge for sleep for just one more round of "Yahtz" on the patio with Big Neil.
- The breaking into of Sam (also known as my car). One less air freshener later, the Neil Diamond CDs remained. That's just bad judgement.
- Heartbreak and Stalkers. Wasn't going to put this on the list, but let's be honest. It made the cut.
- My First Gray Hair(s). Grrrrr
- The befriending of a [neighbor] prostitute. Part Jamaican, part Puerto Rican, all lush. We loved ole girl.
- BECOMING AN AUNT. To a red-headed little guy, too. Words can't attempt to describe my love.
- The joining of not one, but two book clubs. Busy reader bee
- The first cavity. Which caused me to have a complete breakdown on the drive back from the dentist at which point I had grasped the severity of what had just happened WHICH led me to a speeding ticket, which leads me to...
- FIVE speeding tickets. And one shiny, running a red light ticket earning me one full day in defensive driving school with the other maniacs.
- Roller Derby. I don't know about you, but I'm rooting for Jenna Talls. Or, Nacho Girlfriend.
- Serving my civic duty. Six week murder trial leading to a hung jury, lots of life lessons and a new nickname - #9
- Mr. Itule - round two. Produce anyone? Keep "slangin' that produce," sugar.
- New job. With state government at that. Who would have thought I'd love it so much?
- The breaking of the metatarsal. Also known as possibly the worst six months ever. Third story apartment and 33 stairs each way = death. However, that experience took the first handicapped step in bridging the prejudist gap between myself and fat people. Whatever it takes.

I salute you, PTC apartment unit 349. You did us right.

The AC Joint Monstrosity

See that camel-esque bump on the tip top of my shoulder? Greeeeaaaat job on my part. One wouldn't normally think trying to shimmy a box down from the closet shelf would produce a separated AC joint, but one would also not traditionally expect to discover gray hair at 25, so apparently I'm breaking all kinds of fun norms. Seriously uncool on both accounts.

This separated AC joint is not conducive towards my week ahead in Vegas nor moving into our new home on Friday (details to follow!). And I know I have a high tolerance for pain, but when you can feel the joint grinding out of socket, and when trying to curl the beer to your mouth, it begins to spasm- nobody wins.

Sympathy/house-warming beer accepted; pale ale preferred.

The Small Victories

When I sit down and think about it, it's the mini-victories in my life - the ones that sometimes happen every day and take place in mere seconds - that have come to make up my proudest moments. Maybe I'm just overly competitive, or maybe - I'm not alone. I'm willing to bet the latter.

The other day, I had about half an hour to spare and found myself sifting through racks of discounted clothing at one of my favorite stores. It was one of those circular racks, and as I neared the end of my circumference, there was a woman going the opposite way and rapidly nearing me as she weeded through the apparrel. We both saw each other, and as we got closer and closer to colliding, the question presented itself - who's going to have to step back, and around whom? I stayed strong and increased my sifting speed. She took one look at me, and quickly folded. Small Victory.

Not surprisingly, a good amont of my mini-victories also revolve around driving. Sliding in just before the opposing car to snag the front-row parking spot is gratifying obviously, but also...weaving through traffic, finding the small holes that set you in front of the pack, and then catching the light just right to allow you to keep on your merry way, and leaving the others in the dust. Huge Victory.

The flipside of this scenario is NOT catching that light, and ending up waiting at the light with the others, nothing gained and all the shame in the world. The key is to not look up, unphased as if nothing devastating had just taken place.

And then, there's the victory of the race home. Picture two roomates departing from the same location, and selecting different routes home. The point in which you cross paths again on the journey and wind up visibly in front - triumphant. In fact, this specific scenario merits a victory fist pump out the window, which I generally adhere to.

As the photo technician at CVS lives by, "it's the little things in life, ma'am." I think yes.




 

All Roads Lead to the Montelucia

The past few weeks haven't left me with any large amount of spare time. That's actally terribly delicate. In a little under a month, I have shown face in Colorado, Arkansas, New Mexico, Virginia and several locations outside of the Phoenix metro area. And for an already overbooked dual book-clubber, newly healed runner, bridesmaid, and painfully overworked ad gal who NEEDS free time to clean, do laundry and keep in-touch with out of state pals - let me just say...this month has been trying. I'm still not sure how I got through it, but suffice it to say I'm alive.

Part of my sanity is in large part due to mani/pedis, eucalyptus steam rooms, rooftop pool access, margaritas and sweaty, naked old women with fake boobs. That's right - I spent my day yesterday at the Montelucia's Joya Spa, and it quite literally rejuvinated me back to life. Mr. Produce Itule gets MAD props for setting this up for not only me, but one of my girlfriends as well.

If you've got to go hard for a month, there might as well be some pampering at the end of the road. And on my photoradar ticket laden journey, my desert mirage in the far distance proved to be fabulous.

Things always find a way to work themselves out. :)