Category Archives for ‘Experiences’

I’m turning 35 tomorrow and it’s sort of bumming me out.

Some of it’s the usual. I’ve very definitely reached the age where it’s undeniable that my face and body are not going to get more attractive. My leaps are never going to be what they once were. It’s quite possible I’ll never get my aerial back. Shopping in the Juniors section at Kohls is only going to become increasingly more humiliating.

A big part involves my inner conviction that I have greatness to offer. I blame this on my parents for successfully instilling in me that whole, ‘You can do anything you put your mind to,’ thing that was popular in parenting techniques in the 1980s. We don’t really do that so much anymore. Now it’s more of a, ‘You could be a lot of things if you work really hard, but it’s kind of a tough economy out there, so let’s shoot for not living with us once you’ve reached adulthood,’ mentality.

But the point is, my parents raised me to be empowered and aspire to affect the world or create in some way. So, you know, I sort of feel compelled to. But now that I’m 35 (- 1 day), I’m starting to wonder if maybe I shouldn’t have gotten my shit together about that sooner. Like if I’m really going to write a book or whatever, should maybe I have already done that? What if this means I really don’t have any greatness to add to the world?

Beyond the issues of vanity and ambition, I’m just not even sure I’m comfortable with the idea that I’m actually just. plain. old enough to ‘know better’. Do you know what I did this morning? I went around to each of the four bathrooms in our house and switched out the hanging hand towels for fresh ones. Just because it had been awhile. And you know what else? I used dry shampoo on my hair so I could go an extra day without washing it. That’s right, dry shampoo and fresh towels; that’s where I’m at. It’s possible I’ve been possessed by the ghost of Nancy Reagan.

Really, though, what if I’m not ready to commit completely to responsibility and proper hygiene?  I mean seriously; I have lots of mistakes I still want to make, but by 35 it sort of seems like I should be through with the ‘testing of the waters’ and ‘exploring phase’ of early adulthood and well into the ‘settled down’ and ‘striving for stability’ period, doesn’t it? But what if I don’t want to settle down? What if I don’t want to ‘know better’, yet?

But I’ve been ruminating on all of this, and I’ve come to the conclusion that actually, it’s probably a really good thing I haven’t done anything super fantastic or amazing yet. It’s probably in my own best interest I wasn’t a raving beauty as a small child or teen. I’m actually sort of lucky I didn’t do all of the wild and insane things I could have in my late teens and 20s. Why? Because once you’ve peaked, it’s all downhill from there.

I could easily list dozens child stars who achieved greatness early only to burn out quickly in a fireball of drugs and insanity, but it’s actually kind of a depressing task (Lindsey Lohan, Corey Haim, River Phoenix, GAH), and I do not need that shit today. So instead, let’s focus on the positive:

10 Amazing People Who Peaked Post-35

1. Jonas Salk discovered the cure for Polio around age 40.

2. Erma Bombeck didn’t begin writing her world-famous humor column on suburban motherhood/life until she was 38 and her first book wasn’t published until she was 49.

3. John F. Kennedy was 43 when he was elected to President of the United States (and he’s the youngest ever elected).

4. George Clooney was adorable at 24 on The Facts of Life, but I think we can all agree if you had your choice, you’d have him at 40 in Oceans Eleven.

5. Anna Wintour didn’t become editor of Vogue until she was 39.

6. Neil Armstrong was the first person to walk on the moon at 39.

7. Gwenyth Paltrow was named People’s Most Beautiful Woman at 41.

8. Kurt Vonnegut wrote Slaughterhouse-Five with he was 47.

9. Leonardo Da Vinci didn’t begin painting the Mona Lisa (which has been acclaimed as “the best known, the most visited, the most written about, the most sung about, the most parodied work of art in the world.”) until he was 51.

10. Keith Richards, famous for not only his music, but also for his hard-partying ways, may have peaked artistically younger than 35, but at 62 he fell out of a coconut tree in Fiji and gave himself a concussion, proving his proclivity for shenanigans hadn’t been retired, even if he sort of had.

In compiling this list I’ve come to recognize I obviously still have plenty of time to write a brilliant novel, create an amazing work of art, become POTUS, cure one of the worst diseases of my time and be voted Most Beautiful Woman… or at least one of those. And I certainly still have time to act like a loon if I want.

So, in conclusion, GFY 35. You are arbitrary, and I am and will always be, young at heart. I am ridiculous for worrying about you. Plus, I really do prefer to only get better as my years go by like an expensive Oregon Pinot Noir, rather than flame out young.

And certainly GFY ‘old enough to know better’. I have plenty more ill-advised decisions and poor choices to make.

Jonas: Mom, next time I’m allowed to play my DS* and Gray’s grounded from his then I’m going to play his DS.

Me: Um… that’s not how it works. He has to let you borrow it. You don’t just get free reign of his toys because he’s grounded.

Jonas: I know, but I have a ticket book that says I can.

Me: You have a what?

Jonas: A ticket book. Gray made it for me.

Me: Why did he give that to you? Just because he was being nice?

Jonas: No, because I really wanted a ticket book. And because I gave him 5 dollars.

Me: You gave him 5 dollars?

Jonas: Yeah, you know, from the card from Great Grandma Jean for Christmas? I gave him the 5 dollars from that and he gave me 4 quarters and a ticket book.

Me: What else does it have in it?

Jonas: It says I can sit on his bed for 10 minutes. I already used one of those, though. I don’t know what the other ones say.

Me: I can’t decide if that’s really sweet of him or he’s a total con-artist…

 ***

The comprehensive list is:

On bed – 10 minutes (I’m assuming this means Jo is allowed to sit on Gray’s bed, which is the coveted top bunk, for 10 minutes)

On bed with Blue – 10 minutes (Blue is our fluffy white cat)

Play DS – 5 minutes

Art on my desk – 5 minutes (Gray has a large collection of art supplies)

Use my duct tape – 10 minutes

Read my book to you – 20 minutes

So if we break it down, Jonas paid Gray $5 (well, $4 actually since he got a rebate of 4 quarters, which Jo may or may not have already lost) for an hour of Gray’s time and his supplies. Although I wish Gray would let Jo sit on his bed and read to him without payment, I’m hard-pressed to determine which of them is getting the short end of the stick. I guess that means it’s a fair deal in Kidland.

Carry on you little weirdos; carry on.

*Some video game crap.

If you sometimes drink at noon on Tuesday and work at 10PM on Saturday, you might be a Realtor.

If immediately upon opening a front door you can detect the difference between pet urine, sewer trap and cigarette smoke stenches, you might be a Realtor.

If the glove compartment of your car contains bottled water, granola bars, 75 business cards (a mixture of yours and other people’s), a car charger for your iPhone, iPad and eKEY, three flashlights and pepper spray you might be a Realtor.

If at any given time in your house, purse and car there are 5-10 random keys you aren’t sure where they came from or what they go to, you might be a Realtor.

If you didn’t have to pay any taxes for the three previous years, but this year you owe tens of thousands of dollars to the government, you might be a Realtor.

If you’re not offended by work phone calls at 11PM on Friday, but when someone tries to reach you at 8AM on a Monday you think, What the fuck? Do you people have no decency? Can a girl never get 10 seconds to herself???, you might be a Realtor.

If you’ve ever accidentally walked in on a total stranger showering in their own home, you might be a Realtor.

If you consider every Happy Hour you attend a ‘Business Function’ regardless of who you’re with and what you’re discussing, you might be a Realtor.

If you’ve ever driven from Buckeye to Maricopa to San Tan Valley in one day, you might be a Realtor.

If when the words ‘standard’ and ‘commission’ are used together in your presence you wonder for a second if the person who uttered them is a spy from the Anti-trust Commission, and are quick to assure everyone around that commissions are negotiable, you might be a Realtor.

If you have just enough wacky hobbies to keep your mind off the fact that you have no business right up until the moment you’re completely swamped and have to abandon them all, you might be a Realtor.

If you’re so superstitious about your income you won’t even calculate what your paycheck should be (because it’s bad luck) until you’ve heard it’s on its way, you might be a Realtor.

If you’ve ever spotted a client across the grocery store and immediately left and driven to another grocery store so she wouldn’t see you in your jammie pants and glasses, you might be a Realtor.

If you instinctually know whether a situation is most easily resolved with sweet-talking, threats or a combination of the two, you might be a Realtor.

And finally, if your checking account is overdrawn and you’ve eaten ramen for a week straight, but you have the entirety of what you made last year in commissions currently in escrow to close in the next 30 days, well then, you just might be a Realtor.

Bennett: Mom, listen to this quote from my book, “There are 80 billion stars in the universe and 300 billion planets and if one in a million has the capability to support life and one in a million of those have life and one in a million of those have intelligent life, then there are 1.5 million civilizations out there.”*

Me: Yep, see that’s why I always say aliens must exist.

Bennett: Stop it.

Me: Stop what?

Bennett: You’re mocking me. You always mock me.

Me: …I’m actually not mocking you. I’m serious.

Bennett: You’re making fun of me.

Me: Uh, I’m not making fun of you, but whatever. This is an annoying conversation.

Bennett: You really think there’s probably aliens out there?

Me: I do. It just makes logical sense to me. I feel like it’s probably not really likely that we’ll have contact with intelligent extra-terrestrial life any time soon, but they’ve found that even the very nearest planet to us may have supported life at some point, so with the vastness of the universe it really only makes sense that intelligent life is out there.

Bennett: REALLY? I just… say stuff like that all the time to my friends and they only make fun of me… I thought you were making fun of me too. I can’t believe you agree with me!

Me: Well… I mean I am your mother, so it kind of makes sense that we might have some of the same opinions about things, don’t you think?

Bennett: I guess so. So I’ve been thinking about all of this and – {Cue 20 minute long rambling dissertation on his opinions about space, dimensions, alien life and consciousness that he’s built out of 7 or so years of reading science fiction and fantasy novels, during which I cannot even understand most of what he’s talking about much less get a word in edgewise.}

Me: Nevermind. I don’t really believe in aliens. I was mocking you.

Bennett: I KNEW IT.

*When I asked Ben if he could find the quote from the book he was reading the other day when we had that conversation he was like, “I have it memorized” and rattled it off while I typed it out. And yet he was getting a D in Social Studies like a month ago because he couldn’t be bothered to remember the facts behind The Civil War. I know this is probably somehow my fault.

So… I did it. I spoke at Ignite Phoenix 14, last Friday.

I may have worked myself up into such a frenzy before the show that:

The entire week before the show I stopped being able to fall back asleep once I’d woken up in the middle of the night to pee and began having nightmares about forgetting to wash my leotard I was going wear.

I began to fully and completely regret ever submitting to speak. I started to think maybe the committee had made a huge mistake in choosing my talk and/or I really didn’t know what they were looking for and had written it/memorized it/put together my slides in completely the wrong manner for it to be successful.

I rewrote my speech four full times and almost had a nervous breakdown when the three people I sent it to to read didn’t come to an consensus about which was the best version. Plus my mother called my talk ‘serious’ so I started having suicidal thoughts. If it’s NOT FUNNY, I have NOTHING. I am NOTHING. Finally, my official, Ignite-assigned ‘coach’ for my talk stopped returning my emails because I was being such a lunatic.

I forgot the cardinal rule of fashion* and started to wonder if I’d really made the right choice to stand up in front of 850 people in a black leotard, lime green tights and a rainbow tutu.

On the day of the show I was so constantly jelly-legged and sweating I started to feel sea-sick. While doing my makeup I realized I had actual pit-stains on the shirt I was planning to wear before and after my presentation. I had to remove my cute platform shoes because I was afraid I was going to fall down a flight of stairs and break my ankle.

So it’s safe to say, when I walked into the lobby of the Scottsdale Center for The Performing Arts at 4:45 on Friday, I was a total mess. And yes, I’m usually sort of a mess, but this was messier than my normal level. Super messy. Like if normally I’m sort of Diane Keaton-y, Friday I was reaching Amanda Bynes levels.

Luckily, when I walked in, a bunch of my friends who are involved with the show immediately calmed me down and allayed all of my fears and I was totally fine.

OH JUST KIDDING – As soon as I walked in, my buddy, D.Patrick, said, “You’re going first!” and my head exploded all over the inside of the lobby and they had to cancel the event because there was blood and brains everywhere.

They sent us an email at the beginning of all of this with the list of presenters. The list didn’t seem to be in an alphabetical order or anything, so I had just assumed because I was 13th on that list, I would be going number 13 out of 18 for the night. This was one of those assumptions that made an ass out of me. Apparently they don’t tell you in what order you will be presenting until the night of the show.

AND I WAS SET TO GO FIRST.

Yep, you guessed it, that knowledge just managed to knock me up from Amanda Bynes into Lindsay Lohan territory. It… was not pretty. But I did have a bunch of really awesome friends who took some time to talk me down off my ledge and get me a paper bag to breathe into about it.

And… I got through it:

Although I effed up the end and GOOD LORD did I have to talk fast to get through all of my words. I really should probably have cut it down and given myself a little more time to speak like a normal human being.

But I did not pass out or just stand there staring blankly at the audience, like I was afraid. And it turned out going first was fantastic, because THEN IT WAS FUCKING OVER. I’ve seriously never felt such relief. By 5 minutes after I was done my body had stopped shaking and I felt like a new person.

After the show was over I stood outside at my assigned table and talked to a bunch of people who were totally interested in trapeze! I loved them. They were so cute. One girl actually came up and pointed at my husband and said, ‘OO! Are you the sexy husband?’ like she was a fan girl. It still makes me giggle.

It really was a fantastic experience to speak at Ignite, and I’m glad I did it, even though it probably took five years off my life to make it through. If nothing else, I’ve been avoiding recording a new voicemail message on my cell FOR LITERALLY MONTHS even though I’ve changed brokerages because I have weird stage fright about it, but this morning I did it! I told myself, If I can memorize a 5 minute speech and give it in front of 850 people, I can change my voicemail message, goddamn it. And it was true. I could.

Thanks so much to everyone who talked me down off a ledge about this at some point in the last month. I have the best friends and family (so suck it everyone who is not me). Super Special Glittery Thanks to my bestie, Amanda, of Nemec Photography, who came and took pictures of me to use in my presentation. She’s awesome and captured some of my favorites like this one:

and this one:

If you live in Metro-Phoenix and you’ve ever wanted to try trapeze, I go to Trapeze U, in Gilbert. They are awesome and will totally make sure you don’t die.

Also, if you’ve ever wanted to try public speaking and have something you’re passionate about (which of course you do, everyone does) submissions are currently open for Ignite 15, October 18. DO IT. You know you wanna. I’ll come and cheer you on, and when you’re green with terror that you’re going to humiliate yourself, I’ll come talk you down from Lindsay Lohan levels.

And lastly, here are a few of my favorite of the other presentations from Ignite 14:

NASCAR  (I know, it sounds terrible, but that’s why it’s awesome!) -

Fighting Back Against Hyperbole (she might be my nemesis… but I liked her) -

Chickens (this guy maybe thinks I’m a creeper because by the time he went I was a little drunk and afterward I think I told him he’s adorable and we should be BFFs like 5 times.) -

*Once you’ve made an outfit choice, commit to your attire. Even if it’s a dress made of meat: fucking own it.

Oh, This Week. This Week, you are kind of the worst.

I mean, really, with the houses that are supposed to close; but can’t because we don’t have loan docs. We are waiting on the documents from the lender. Title wants to know where the loan docs are and when we can expect them. The sellers want to know where the eff the loan docs are and what’s the holdup? The buyers want to know: When are the stupid, goddamn loan docs are going to get to title?

The lenders… well the lenders say ‘soon’. The lenders say, This afternoon, almost definitely. The lenders say, We’ll absolutely have them by Monday, worst case scenario. The lenders say, We have a small problem, but we’ll definitely have it resolved any minute now. Tomorrow at the latest. The lenders stop answering texts and phone calls because they just don’t know when we’ll have docs.

So the agents? What do we do? Well… we pace. And digest our own stomach linings. And we call and make empty threats. And eventually we decide there’s just really nothing we can do. So we drink.

And we distract ourselves by watching hair tutorials on YouTube like this one:

But then we feel depressed when we’ve followed all of the directions and we don’t end up nearly that pretty and still talk like a stupid American.

And sometimes (because, really, while waiting, waiting, waiting, there’s no point in actually attempting anything productive) we decide now is the perfect opportunity to figure out if we can still do an aerial after all of these years. If we can still do an aerial, well then we’re really not that old. We’re practically the same as we were when we were 15. And of course we video the attempt because it could either be spectacular, or we could end up in the hospital, and probably either way it will be good to have recorded.

But then it turns out to be a fairly unspectacular failure. Which is depressing on many, many levels:

So eventually we go back to waiting. And worrying. And calling the lender. And considering worst case scenarios. And feeling completely out of control in the situation. Plus old, and without a sexy accent.

You’re just stupid, This Week.

A Select Few Super Low-Key Home Inspections

Attended by:

No One

The inspector spends 3-4 hours solitarily inspecting the property, taking photos and recording his findings. When he’s done he stops and buys himself a beer for a relaxing job well done.

The Grand Majority of Normal Home Inspections

Attended by:

The Buyer
The Buyer’s Agent

The inspector spends 3-4 hours inspecting the home and then gives a tour of the house and what he’s found to the fairly tense buyer and almost completely useless buyer’s agent. By the end of the process the inspector’s exhausted from allaying (or sometimes confirming) the buyer’s fears, the agent’s exhausted from trying to look helpful in any way and the buyer is on information overload, but slightly relieved. 

Some Moderately Awkward Home Inspections

Attended by:

The Buyer
The Buyer’s Agent
The Seller

The inspector spends 3-4 hours inspecting the house and tripping over the (generally well-meaning) seller, who wants everyone to understand how very well made and cared for his house is. When the buyer and the agent show up, the inspector awkwardly explains all of the things wrong with the house to the buyer while the seller interjects defensively. The buyer’s agent desperately ensures she is standing directly between the buyer and seller at all times just in case either tries to make any assertions or promises that are not contractually represented. After the inspection is over, both the inspector and the agent have to stop at the bar to drink margaritas and wash the bad taste of that experience out of their mouths.

The Most Awkward and Confusing Home Inspection of All Time

Attended by:

The Buyer (named John)
The Buyer’s Agent
The Parents of the Buyer (father also named John)
The Inlaws of the Buyer (also the parents of the Buyer’s Agent)
The Seller (also named… you guessed it: John)

This one goes like this -

Buyer’s Agent: Oh… hi, Seller! I guess you’ve met the parents of the buyer here, since you’re all standing together in the house by yourselves.

Seller: Uh, yes. And you are?

Buyer’s Agent: I’m the agent of the buyer. And these people walking in behind me are the parents of the buyer’s wife (Unsaid: They are also my parents, but I’m afraid I’ll lose the small amount of authority I have over this situation if I introduce them as my mommy and daddy.).

Seller: I see. I didn’t realize you guys would still be here. I just came over to do some vacuuming.

Inspector: So the house has termites.

Seller: Yeah, I kind of thought that was a possibility…

Buyer’s Agent: Hey, John-

Buyer, Buyer’s Father and Seller: Yeah?

Buyer’s Father-in-law/Father of the Buyer’s Agent: I feel like I’m in that movie ‘Being John Malkovich’.

Buyer’s Agent: I was actually talking to the buyer.

Buyer: The house seems really well taken care of and you seem like a really nice man. I’m sure we don’t need to have you repair almost anything…

Seller: Well that’s really nice of you, too. We just love having a sweet young family buying our house who will care for it as much as we did.

Buyer’s Agent: NO! Stop it now! Stop bonding and getting emotionally involved! This is a business transaction and this house has termites! Termites! We’re going to be unreasonable and ask for lots of things to be repaired. And you’re going to be unreasonable back and refuse half of them. Because that’s the way it works! No more talking! This inspection is over and everyone needs to leave.

Everyone: *Looks awkward.*

Buyer’s Agent: Oh. Except for you, Seller. You can stay as long as you want. Because it’s your house.

And everyone drinks.

Have you ever set your alarm for 5:30AM to go for a run and when it goes off, turned it off and go back to sleep because it hasn’t been that hot out this week and you didn’t have any appointments scheduled for the day so you figured you could just run while all the kids were in school?

And then when you left for the run about 10AM, decide you’ve been wussy lately and doing the same 4 mile loop over and over, so what you should really do today is the 5.5 mile loop that starts straight uphill for the first 2 miles?

But during the run feel preoccupied with things you need to handle about work and then start thinking about your running form and whether you’re doing it right and realize you’re probably totally not? And then get a stitch in your side from running uphill and realize your ankle is sort of hurting and you’re feeling a little nauseous from the toast you ate for breakfast? And then you ask yourself, WHY? Why with all this running? Just because I want to be skinny? Maybe I should just eat less and not put myself through this misery all the time. That might be a smarter plan. Until finally all you can think about is how you DON’T WANT TO DO THIS RIGHT NOW?

So then at exactly 2.5 miles into a 5.5 mile loop YOU TOTALLY FUCKING BAIL like the losery-est loser who was ever born? And you turn around because you’ve done the math and you know it’s half a measly mile shorter than completing the intended route and you’re just. that. pathetic? Plus you totally abort your MapMyRun app and delete the data so it doesn’t post because the entire thing is even more embarrassing than just not even going running at all?

So at that point you’re left to walk 2.5 miles back to your house on the side of the road? And it’s not like you can even just pretend you’re out for an intentional stroll because you’re wearing your tiny, lime green running shorts and florescent orange running shoes that only a crazy person would wear to do anything but run in?

And you consider hitchhiking, but then you’d have to make up some story about how you were out running and you got an urgent text that said you’re needed at home because your kid fell at school during recess and broke his arm and you have to go get him right now! (because it would be too humiliating to tell anyone the truth) and then the person who picked you up would be like, OK, but your story doesn’t make a ton of sense because why are you walking right now? Wouldn’t it actually have been faster for you to continue running while you’re hitchhiking to get home in the quickest amount of time? And you’d be caught and have to confess the whole thing and she probably wouldn’t want to drive you home after you’d lied and everything?

So you just walk and walk, in your day-glo running outfit, on the side of the road… until finally you realize you feel better and your stitch is gone and your ankle is fine and you’re not nauseous and you might as well start running a little bit again, if only because it’s taking forever to walk home? So you run the last mile and a half-ish home and hate yourself even more because if you’d just sucked it the eff up you could have totally gotten through the entire run and you wouldn’t have to be dealing with all of this self-loathing and regret right now?

No? Just me? Yeah. I guess I can see that.

We had the appointment with our tax preparer yesterday.

I dread the tax appointment more than almost anything else in life. My income is different every year and of course I never do the things my tax guy says I should to prepare. You know, the stupid stuff like save business receipts or pay quarterly taxes. So I’m always sure we’re going to owe a bazillion dollars and I’m going to get yelled at for being horrifically disorganized.

The appointment always goes better than I fear, but that fact doesn’t stop me from putting it off to the very last possible instant and losing sleep for months. This time I actually had to have this conversation with myself as I pulled into the parking lot of the tax office:

Hysterical Me: I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS.

Logical Me: What’s the worst thing that could happen?

Hysterical Me: He could say we need to pay $111,834 and if we can’t write a check right now he’s taking me to jail.

Logical Me: That’s probably unlikely.

Hysterical Me: But not completely out of the realm of possibility?

Logical Me: I’m not totally sure. But the worst thing isn’t death, right? So that’s totally something.

Hysterical Me: That’s true… I’m pretty sure I will live through the appointment.

Logical Me: See? And then it will be over. So focus on that. The tax appointment most likely won’t kill you. Plus, if you just continue to avoid this and pretend there’s no such thing as taxes, they probably will come and take you to jail. So… going to the appointment is definitely the best plan.

Hysterical Me: I feel like they probably don’t have wine or Diet Coke in jail. OK, I’m going.

I actually sort of feel bad for my tax guy because I’m not in the least bit shy about communicating how painful the whole process is for me. He emailed me a couple of days before the appointment to confirm and ended with, “I look forward to seeing you Monday.” I replied back, “I’m not sure I’ve ever looked forward to anything less.” Because I’m an asshole. Although really it’s his own fault for deciding to make his life’s work as The Guy Everyone Hates to See. It’s kind of like the dentist. Or my waxer. They knew what they were getting into.

The point is, I would rather do almost anything than go to my yearly tax appointment. In fact:

1. I’d rather attend two back-to-back elementary school beginner band concerts that my kid is playing in. It’s actually worse when your kid is playing in it, because you can’t just zone out and go to your happy place in your seat to escape the asynchronous noise that’s reverberating off the school gym/cafeteria’s walls. No, you have to engage and pay attention so if he sees you out in the audience you can wave and smile and then afterwards you can tell him which piece of ‘music’ you liked the best, all while your ear drums are being assaulted.

2. I’d rather brush my teeth with the toothpaste flavor my kids concocted by mixing together the normal mint paste and the watermelon flavored gel. They call it the minty watermelon.

3. I’d rather be a contestant on Survivor and be forced to go without makeup, grow out my armpit hair and detox from wine and Diet Coke simultaneously all while being filmed for national TV. (Like seriously it’s no wonder the people on that show act like lunatics.)

4. I’d rather watch that scary movie Felicity is in, at night, home alone, while Jason is out of town. You know the one I’m talking about? The one they’ve been playing the trailer on TV to where the birds fly into the house and Felicity bangs her head against the window until it breaks. Sometimes I have trouble sleeping just because I saw that commercial too close to bedtime.

5. I’d rather submit to a four hour session of Realtor Torture (aimless driving from house to house while starving and desperately needing to pee, yet still continuously smiling and maintaining small talk).

6. I’d rather see that guy break his leg in that basketball game on Easter five more times in a row. Even though it almost made me barf the first time I saw it.

7. I’d rather have a wax done after a year of not waxing by an attractive man who is clearly repulsed by the task at hand. It might be the perfect, truly evil combination of humiliation and pain, but I’d rather do that than have my taxes done. I would.

8. I’d rather eat ‘grut’. Grut is something a girlfriend of mine was served at a backwoods family reunion a few years ago. Apparently you boil milk, stir in flour until it makes a paste, spoon the paste onto your dinner plate and then mix in butter, sugar and cinnamon. That’s the whole meal. And it’s called ‘grut’ (just to add insult to injury). I’d rather eat that than go to my tax appointment.

9. I’d rather read books 2 and 3 of the 50 Shades of Grey trilogy. Book 1 almost killed me with equal parts boredom and rage at the insipidness of the characters. Reading books 2 and 3 would almost definitely cause the part of my brain that enjoys reading to die.

10. I’d rather find out I’m pregnant and have two years of forced sobriety, gaining 50 pounds, changing diapers and sleepless nights to look forward to… OK, no. I didn’t mean that. I actually would rather go to my tax appointment than that.

So… there’s something else positive to focus on: the tax appointment won’t likely end with me knocked up. THANK GOD.