A gift card to the mortuary.

My big girl job deals in real estate transactions, so it's safe to say I see my fair share of Realtors.

Yesterday a certain agent came in and she was talking to me in her frantic-realtor-jibberish manor. Telling me things that didn't pertain in anyway to this particular transaction we were working together on and rattling off random facts.

I knew that my grandma (Nana) was the one who had listed the property and that she was doing it for free because her and this certain agent were like, best friends.

I went over the numbers with her on this transaction and showed her the bottom line figures she should expect from the sale of this property.

She said those figures were just about what she had figured and was so excited because she would be able to afford a gift certificate for my nana.

Naturally one would think $50.00 at chilis or a gift card for a mani/pedi.
So I asked "Aw, you're so sweet to do that, where are you getting her a gift certificate to?"

She said "The mortuary. I want it to be for $1,000.00 so these figures are great."
I'm pretty sure I looked like I'd just shit myself.
I thought:
A) What a fucked up gift.
B) Is that what best friends do now? Go in on each others plots?
C) She's got to be kidding me.

Then she quickly followed it up with: "Well you see honey, she always says how much she wants to get her daughter a real headstone. One she deserves since she doesn't really have one at all."

It took .5 seconds for that to register.
My eyes started to well with tears that I couldn't hold back.
She noticed.

Then it clicked with her. "Oh my god, that's your mother, I'm so sorry"
Through my ugly-cry voice and balls of wet tears rolling down my cheeks I told her to not be sorry and that was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever heard.

Still the very thought of this kind hearted, thoughtful act brings tears to my eyes.

With all the mass amounts of bullshit that I deal with in the industry I work in, I'm pretty sure this one thing makes the board even keel.

Just one of those days, er months.

Do you ever have one of those days where you have to go to the grocery store for two fucking items?

And the only two items you need in the entire store are either blocked off by palates of canned string beans or the only isle you need to go down is filled up with old people oogling and hoarding the glucosamine for thirty god damn minutes!?

Young people need joint lubrication too.

I swear to everything holy in this life, every time I need to make copies, the copier is out of paper.

Every. TIME.

I went to take a short power nap between jobs in the parking lot of Shopko last Friday. I parked in the very far corner, away from all vehicles. I reclined my seat, rolled the windows down so I could feel a cool breeze and shut my eyes. Just then a guy driving a bullet bike pulled up RIGHT NEXT TO ME. He shut off his bike and made a phone call:

"Yeah man, I'm just in the Shopko parking lot. Ok, yeah, cool. See ya in a second."

A minute later his friend arrived in a white Tahoe.

"Hey dude, you gotta check out this new album. It's sooo tight."

The Tahoe began blaring death-metal-punk-skaw bullshit that made me want to immediately punch one million babies.

Why do you hate me Jesus, Why?

Last Saturday I had a two hour workout. Between running 4 miles, lifting for 45 minutes, making sure to get a killer ab session in and all my big girl stretches it was just over 2 hours.

Saturday was also laundry day.

The one pair of jeans that fit me best were wet.

Knowing I had piles upon piles of jeans in my closet I set out to find a second best pair.

Not one pair fit. Even my fat pants were snug.

I immediately threw on a big, black, baggy pullover man hoodie and sulked down stairs.

I'm extremely frustrated with my body. I put this curvy, spiteful bitch of a body through hell and back at least 5 times a week. Most women would get a flat stomach and thighs that don't touch.

Me?

I get wrecked up knees and shin splints.

Can a bitch just catch a break?

And then I received an email with this horrid thing:

And suddenly things aren't so bad.

There once was this boy

When I was 16 my dad bought me a white Chevy cavalier. Towards the end of senior year I remember parking my white cavalier in the east parking lot of the high school. I parked there because it had prime locations for stashing your empty six pack of mikes hard lemonade before going back to 4th and 5th hour classes.
Most every day I'd watch this boy walk to and from his car with his dude friends and this one obnoxious girl that tagged along.
This boy had swagger.
He walked with a bad-boy-don't-fuck-with-me kind of limp.
From what I could tell he had mysterious hazel eyes.
Eyes I needed to get to know.
That boy and I just recently celebrated our SIX year wedding anniversary.

The husband doesn't read this blog. For too many obvious reasons.
Nonetheless I'm giving him a shout out.

Dear Bradley

You're one of the hardest working men I know. You juggle work, school, me and our canine family quite impressively. You even manage to find time to do yard work and golf. You humor all my whacky ideas and hang anything I ask you to. I may not know what the hell you're talking about when you're explaining to me, with your eyes as big as they'll go, how exactly sunsets emit color, and what a galaxy's composition is, or how magnets work or how aliens are among us every day, but I love your passion.
You're one brilliant dude, who without a doubt is destined to do great things and I'm honored to be by your side, and couldn't be prouder of the person you've grown to be.
Thank you for always being my shoulder to cry on, my person to vent to, my designated driver (babysitter) and the best back rubber in the world. Seriously, you have hands of gold.
When I watch you interact with our niece and nephew my uterus tingles just a bit. Then they spit up or start crying and it shrivels back into it's cold, dark cave. But I know one day you're going to be a remarkable father.
I don't know what drew us to each other, but just like the magnets I hope we never stop working.
No matter where we are in life, I'll always be happy as long as I'm with you.

8-3. Forever and Always.

E.