A Foundational Discovery, Part 1: The Backstory

Travis and I purchased our first place 2 years ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Going out each weekend with our realtor, we saw almost 40 houses before two great places jumped.  Benefit of a buyers market.  The first had charm with a beautiful yard in our desired neighborhood, but it was barely steps bigger than our apartment and over budget.  The second was spacious with a large kitchen, on a quiet street in our second choice neighborhood, but only had two bedrooms and the back yard was junk.

We originally chose the first house because of #1 A.OK. location, but when that couples realtor insulted us by saying "their offer doesn't stand a chance," we said well fuck you and your small... square feet*.  The second home accepted our offer right away, even with an under-asking price and all closing costs paid.  That's right bitches!  I can negotiate!!!   * That couple got theirs: that same realtor called 30 days later, wondering if we were still interested because they were dropping the price because no offers had come in.  HA!

house 1

house 2

We knew cosmetic elements were needed inside - paint, curtains, art, the Clarks' touch, etc.  The floors are in great shape, walls solid and everything is well constructed.  It's just the kitchen cabinets and bathroom counters wouldn't be the finishes we'd choose today.  But again, nothing was wrong and those changes will come later.  My focus was the yard.

During this time, my mother in law offered to help us plant, tidy and reinvigorate the outside living space that had been dutifully neglected.  She had many years of experience and at one point, studied to be a geologist!  I credit her with giving me two things I totally dig: foliage and Travis.  awww... gross.  I fell for both though, hard.  After her tips & tricks, I set out on my own.  You'd find me in the front / back every weekend, trying to keep up with the green Jones'.  Today, I can truthfully say, I've been working in that yard for more time than I care to think about.  And I'm done.

The last 12 months, I've fought a 100-foot rage tree which housed 20 pound seed pods, spawned two giant rage logs, got poked numerous times by one nasty, bitter old mediterranean palm, chopped 4 misguided & diseased queen palms, unearthed AND moved thousands of pounds of white sparkle rocks (with thousands more to go,) destroyed weed city in the back lawn, had the front lawn die, manually trimmed all 9 of our old timey awesome Camellias plants, busted up oodles of strange bricks, removed the spikiest succulent cactus' one could imagine, found random painted blue objects buried in the dirt, had all 5 rose bushes kink out because of something, plus about 100 other things.  And after all this, it still feels like I've done nothing.  Like I look at the yard and think WTF Brandi, it still looks like junk.  That stinks.

Then there's the detached garage.  It's had numerous bouts of termites, mold within the walls, the back wall is half missing, and we continually snip hundreds of vines growing up from our neighbors ground, each who have fould their way into the rafters.  mother fu...

But there are positives my friend!  I LEARNED so much.  I'm talking ginormous amounts of information.  About time management, the care of plants, growing habits, organic vitamins, herbs, bulbs, sun influencials, mulch, scale, layout and thinking I may go to school for landscape design one day.  That's a pretty rad, unexpected outcome!  Do I wish I could have gained this knowledge not having been through all the above - YES - but a couple years of pain is the springboard to a lifetime of knowledge!  Plus, when I can sit back and peek at the things thriving, I am way proud.

limes

zucchini and mega hot peppers

I have become so invested, almost obsessive, in this vision to better our home.  I think about it all the time; I want to talk ideas all the time.  I want to be the envy of the neighborhood instead of the gentle eye sore.  But it's not a fleeting hobby, it's about enhancing the time Travis, Leroy and I can spend together that pushes me.  Spending time outdoors, which Leroy loves, or indoors in a comfortable space - I don't want to feel beholden to the dirt by spending hours each weekend, working towards an unknown game plan.  I am slowly learning to let go of feeling I must do everything myself or be some sort of failure.

I don't want to resent it; I want to enjoy it.  So I had an idea...

Shutterdud

I am not a person who is comfortable being filmed.


I wish I could dismiss the low perception of myself when photographed, but my brain knows that's when you're judged the most.  That's probably why I prefer taking the photos instead of being in them.  At least I'll capture where I was, even if you can't see my awkward face acknowledging so.

It wasn't always that way, but I know the moment the chair legs were kicked out from under me.  I think it's remarkable I can pin point the exact cause of my self esteem crutch.  And maybe I'll never grow out of it.  But maybe I can learn to simply be more accepting of who I am when the shutter stops.

A friend asked if she could video Travis and I for her film class.  The idea is we're being interviewed about our life/podcast.  They will edit down the footage to about a minute.  Travis will then visit the class as the in person talk-show guest, where each student in her group will live interview him.  They will throw to the minute clip and discuss.  Simple, no?  High anxiousness for me, yes.

I of course said yes because she's our bud and Travis is seasoned so I can mentally pull confidence from him.  Or squeeze his hand.  Even with that, I'm still an anxious mess.  Does my hair compliment me in this light, how do my clothes make my body look, did I smile in the way that flatters my face or did I bone it?  Luckily I have all these thoughts running through my head on loop!  They only recede when it's over.  My ultimate goal is to simply be as charming and realxed on camera, as I am off.  Why should that be so hard?

It's only a class.  If I get nervous with only 30 pairs of peepers staring, what am I gonna do when I'm in front of the world*!?

* world in-frontance currently not planned, but seeking dates.

Forget you Timely Thursday... It's Tell You Thursday time!

Timely Thursday will now be known thus forward as Tell You Thursday.  I never loved timely, but as I will forever have an aversion to saying/doing what's popular, it was the kinda ok thingest I could devise that related to throwback but wasn't the word throwback.  The goal was to have a word that promoted the notion of telling you old stories, that don't necessarily have a point.  Timely was sorta opposite funny, in the smallest way.  Tell You is better.

I've been going over words for weeks trying to sort a new name.  I asked Travis for help but he wanted me to change the day and asked why I insisted on a Thursday.  I told him "Because Thursday is after Wednesday, and people need a pick me up story before they focus too much on Friday."  It's true. think about it.

Here are a few other options I considered:

• TellTale Thursday (but I kept pronouncing it wrong)
• Talky Thursday (I felt I needed a Walky in front, which would have really limited my stories)
• Thoughtful Thursday (nixed this after I googled it and discovered it's a christian thing)
• Thinky Thursday (Marc Maron uses this word for his new book, so no)

Timely was sorta opposite funny, in the smallest way.  Tell You is better.

You can read what I've published, thus far.

The streak is over!

Ring the bells, close the shops, confetti some recycled scratch paper!!!  Travis has accepted a job offer doing junk for this company I can't mention.

It's exciting x 100.

Anti-Twenties: Good Idea, Bad Idea

Last night was a treat because Travis stayed home instead of seeing his comedy spouses.  I'm not jealous because (a) most are men and he swings the lady door, (b) it's what he's pursuing and (c) so far, they aren't a wedge in our relationship.  But if those cows ever do... shakes fist.  I truly love when he's home since we don't spend as much time together as we'd like.  We heart spending most of our time together and I'm lucky for that.  But in as much as we love the idea, we both don't always know how to behave.  Not like we're staring at the floor awkward, but when he's out I can watch stupid TV and read.  When he's out, he's doing his comedy things around town.  It's separate spaces that when combined, you have to ask and be considerate.  But we made our way through and decided to watch the documentary Twenty Feet from Stardom, Daily Show and Colbert.  Play with puppy and battle via Ticket to Ride: Fast Track or some such (an app on our phones.)
 
I've mentioned before how when Trav and I moved in together, we combined CDs, food, bank accounts and two tempurpedic mattresses.  This extra mattress is great for the few guests we have, but too big to combine into some super mega awesome bed.  I lugged it out when we had friends stay a month ago.  I haven't put it back yet because Leroy loves to run and jump onto it.  He'll leap off a pillow onto the bed, like it's home plate.  When he runs to chase the squirrels he leaps off the brick and bounds onto the grass and tells them what's up.  It's really the cutest fucking thing.

"And here's the pitch of Leroy's favorite hedgiehog.  Bop.  It's really out there folks, flew all the way to the door!  He's running... a quick slide into the wall, and he's grabbed the toy.  voice speeds up.  Leroy stops only for a second, birds and germs.  He's heading back now.  You can see the determination in his eyes... AND A GIANT LEAP FROM THE RUG, all the way to the middle of the bed... HE'S SAFE!  HE'S SAFE!  HE'S LANDED HOME and the crowd jumps outta there seats!!!!!!!"  You know how this goes.

Last night Trav was playing the game with Leroy and as I watched, remembered something I used to do as a kid.  I had this strange obsession with practicing alternative means of living, should I become incapable of something.  I used to practice writing with my left hand in case I broke my right.  I used to practice walking on crutches or with a cane, in case one side suddenly stopped working.  And I used to practice falling down, wait for it, in case I needed to fool some baddies into thinking I was dead.  wow.

As I snapped back from space, I saw they were done.  I silently walked over to the mattress, stood in front of it with arms crossed over my chest, and looked at Travis.  I asked him if falling forward without moving was called a deadfall.  He said "No."  I said "You know when stunt people fall, they have to call that a name."  He laughed, but didn't know.  He asked what I was trying to do, so I kept explaining I wanted to fall straight forward, without moving.  Stiff as a board like...

I know my neck tweaked, but I don't feel it there.  I feel it around the Thoracic T5 area.  I used a heat pad last night and it's better today, but still stiff.  What a bozo I feel like, but I fucking committed!


Good Idea was spending time with Travis playing Ticket to Ride.
Bad Idea was thinking falling forward onto a cushiony, but rigid bed, with no experience, when I'm not 7, was a Good Idea.




Trav has this great way of observing and beautifully illustrating both my silly and poor choices in life.  It's why he's talented and does what he does.  He takes a jumbled mess and puts each piece back, in exactly the right way.  Spine and all.

And he's my guy because of it.

Anti-Twenties: Weekends

The inaugural post will be short & sweet.

I have not been in my 20s for some time, but over the course of three weekends, I'm going to pretend like I am.  Just for Chucks.

Last weekend, without even realizing it, I drank three days in a row.  Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.  What a fucking feat.  I haven't done that stretch of business for many years, and yet I woke up almost perky each morning.  That was a miracle.  Friday and Saturday I was drinking a new drink I made * and since it was mostly water, I wasn't a too bad of shape.  However, Sunday's lunch with a friend had him drinking a glass and me knowing I shouldn't waste the rest of the bottle.  By day's end, I felt exhausted, sore, fried, kinda old-lady hungover (which is not quite but close enough to not do anything productive.)  I laid on the floor stretching, swearing off booze for a while.

This weekend, in just a few hours from now, I'll be leaving home and driving to Las Vegas for one day only.  Yes, leaving Friday by 6am and shipping off Saturday by 9am.  I haven't done that in over 10 years.  Ugh, a long fucking drive for a single great day.  And memba that thing I swore off last week?  Well I am panning on enjoying myself, but old lady Clark will just remember to pacer herself and drink lots of water. Her bones and stomach will thank her.  My trip for a stint is to visit the Star Trek convention.  I don't partake in the organised activities, but I can't pass up seeing friends I've made during and since.  I'm leaving early Saturday because we have our book club meeting in the afternoon.  We're discussing Lolita and I've been too pasionately not a fan, so I have to make it.  We absolutely, 10% always discuss the book - for at least an hour, pray tell - but of course there's drinking. Just coming off a binder, maybe I'll skip this round.  But that wouldn't be very 20s of me, would it.

Finally, next week our friends requested out presence via email.  "Hey! My cousin is the front man for Spoon and they are playing Hollywood Forever Cemetary... wanna go?"  Um, sure!!? So next Friday we'll be partying up here. I use that term so lamely. And then... Oh that may be it.

All this means to say is I don't normally book this much drink heavy activities into 9 days worth of living.  That is what you do in your 20s. In your 30s, you pace it out over a glass of wine (or preferably sippin' whiskey,) snacks and board games, talking about how tiring that notion simply is.