No Use Crying Over Spilled Milk

Life’s a bitch. Sometimes. Not all the time – mostly just yesterday, really.

Ever have those days where it just feels like the whole Earth is off balance? That was my day, in a nutshell. I have recently become part of normal society again, getting up at a ridiculously early hour of the day (the time my husband has been getting up for the past 8 months – props to you, mister). My life previous to Monday was filled with laziness that I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed, until it wasn’t available anymore. Now I have to become a functional human being before noon. WTF.

I recently found a baby to spend my days with. I mean, I didn’t “find” him, but he is new to my life. How creepy would that be if I just “found” a baby? But anyway… do you know how much work a 3 month old is? A lot. A LOT. I love the little man, but of course, he was cranky and fussy all day yesterday, which just added to my Tuesday-feels-like-Monday. He might hate me – it’s still too early to tell. I only changed my jeans three times – because projectile vomiting was happening in my house… all day (by the baby, not me, in case that wasn’t clear).

My mister was also feeling that “off-balanced-Earth” feeling (the best way I can describe it). But after a long day, he still managed to prove to me that he is the better cook. A delicious grilled chicken, corn on the cob, and potato dinner was the highlight of my day. Leave it to me to get that excited about food. Then he spilled a cup of milk on my laptop. That actually made me laugh, mostly because it was my fault. I was eating Oreos (football-shaped… cute but not as delish as double-stuffs) and I didn’t want to drink the milk, so I not-very-carefully passed it across the laptop. Bad karma for eating unhealthy… thank you world. But the upside to this situation was I got to say – “No use crying over spilled milk.” I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to use such a cliché phrase. Laugh it up, guys. I don’t get out much.

To top off my day, my fall classes started and I couldn't access the webpage where I do all the work and such. There’s nothing like starting off a semester with a little slacking. The kitchen was a mess, the cat smelled like wet dog (I haven’t figured out why that is), and my entire body was so sore that I just wanted to cry with every breath. I have recently started running (seriously!), and my body hates me for it. That’s probably not accurate, but that’s how I feel.

But on the upside, today’s another day, and we’re halfway to a long weekend. I’ll drink to that.

'90s Kid

A few days ago, Neil Armstrong died – in case you hadn’t heard. I, of course, was born in the 90s, and therefore was not around when he stepped foot on the moon. I can, however, finish the sentence: “That’s one small step for man...” because I (would like to think that I) have a slight knowledge about the history before my wonderful introduction into the world. It took me a long time to learn that people functioned on this planet before me, and they will (probably) function when I’m gone. Unless 2012 is really the end. I hope not – we have plane tickets for the day after “the end of the world.” What a waste of $950 that will be. But before that incredibly strange tangent, Armstrong’s death made me reminisce on being a ‘90s brat. I’m not sure how the two correlate, but whatever.

It makes me sad for all the kids born after the millennium – how they’re growing up in technology-crazed world and becoming attached to the i-whatevers. I do have an iPhone – don’t get me wrong. I love technology. But I loved growing up without it, too. Being a ‘90s kid was the best thing, hands down. Except – on a side note – I always felt like I should have grown up in the ‘50s. The music, the clothes, the house-wifey-ness. But that’s beside the point. None of my memories as a kid have anything to do with iPads, laptops, Facebook, or Angry Birds. I do remember getting the internet – good ol’ AOL dial-up with that ear-piercing tune. I remember building blanket forts in the living room (and staying up ‘til midnight), riding my bike down to the river (and surviving – imagine that), carving initials into tree trunks (with a knife…), trick or treating (Stranger Danger!), camping (in a tent – not a high-class RV), and having pancakes with chocolate syrup for dinner (alright – that was only a few special occasions, but still). It’s sad to me that these things are slipping away, and that maybe my kids won’t get to experience some of them. That’s a joke – you bet my kids are sleeping in a tent. They’re even sleeping on the outer edges so they get all wet in the morning. They’ll thank me someday.

But for now, we don’t live in the ‘90s. We live in 2012, where we’re all crossing our fingers that the Mayans were wrong so we can continue living in our weird world, walking around befuddled without phone reception. How did we ever survive before?

And by the way – I just wrote “befuddled” because I heard it on an underwear commercial. Thank you Michael Jordan.

The Little Things

It’s the little things in life – like smiley-faced text messages, sparkly shoes, and alcohol in a bag (hold your horses… I’m getting there). Of course, there are more “little things” to my life, but this just seemed to wrap up my today.

Today my first baby sister moved into her dorm. Hour to hour, I waited for text messages, pictures, phone calls, and updates on how it was going. I was nervous for her, since I never faced that moment in my life (boo “bad life choices”), but after I said “So proud of you :)” and she messaged back with “Thanks :)” I knew she’d be okay. I knew that just a few exchanged words were a clear understanding – I know she’s going places, and I couldn’t be happier for her. If I had been granted a magic genie today, my first wish would have been to be there in the unbearable heat, walking up and down three flights of stairs, arranging and re-arranging her little corner of the world. My next wish would have been for three more wishes. Yeah… I’m a little selfish, but this is a no-judgment zone, people.

And since it was Friday, I got to spend just a little more time with the mister. That’s more than a little thing, but I love it just the same. We ate pizza at a strange little downtown bistro, went to Target for the 47^th time this week, bought sparkly shoes for the upcoming Air Force Ball (for me, not him), and spent an evening in watching The Big Bang Theory… Bazinga! If you don’t know what that means, watch the show dammit.

So it’s just those little things that make the time pass, from AM ‘til PM, that make me feel like I’m the luckiest gal around. Many of my “little things” are things that normal people just wouldn’t understand, like how hard I laugh when my kitten hides around the corner just to jump up three feet in the air to scare me. Someday, I’ll catch that on video, but for now, just believe me that it’s laugh-out-loud hilarious… except when she makes me spill my colorful alcoholic drink on my not-so-colorful carpet. And speaking of, one of the greatest little things in life, I discovered today – alcohol in a bag. I promised you I’d share my secret, so here goes. Tonight at Target, I found a bag of frozen Strawberry Daiquiri… for $1.99. Nothing could be better… except that the front of the package says “ALCOHOL IS IN IT!” and something about that grammar usage makes my skin crawl.

So the mister and I enjoyed some not-so-frozen drinks (I’m way too impatient to wait 8 hours), and now he’s asleep on the couch. I’m not sure if it’s the half beer and half daiquiri, or the fact that he woke up at 5am. Either way, it’s just another little thing that makes me smile – having to turn the TV volume up so I can hear over both his and the kitten’s snoring. Seriously – my cat snores.

Hope

A few weeks ago, some of the bloggers I follow through Facebook wrote a handful of posts about HOPE – what hope means to them. I believe it had something to do with the ending of the Olympics. I’m just a day late and a dollar short (or however that little saying goes). Of course, I was slacking on starting my blog – I pondered starting a blog for about three months before I actually did it. I was afraid I’d write a blog and nobody would read it. Between you and me, I’m actually still kind of scared that nobody’s reading this. So I guess that’s where my hope started. I hoped that if I (for once in my life) followed through with something, I wouldn’t fail miserably. Here’s to success – or something close enough.

So what does hope mean to me, besides hoping that a handful of strangers would stalk me on the internet? Let’s face it… in a sense, that’s basically what’s happening here.

To be completely honest, when I think of the word HOPE, I think of a silly teenage mistake I made in getting the words HOPE and FAITH tattooed on my hip bones one random afternoon. How are those going to look when I have babies? In case you’ve never actually met me in person, I should tell you – I’ve been known to not think things through all the way. “No, you? Really?” Yeah. Me. No mocking, please.

On a serious note (I promise “Kaila with an i” won’t be full of “on a serious note” moments… just tonight)… hope is one of those things that I think about quite often, and it gives me that slightly sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I am just hoping things work out… in the short run, in the long run, in the end, whenever. In high school, I thought things were fine and dandy and that life was pretty acceptable (not great, not good… just acceptable). Looking back, I realize that I was hoping for all the wrong things. Granted, I’d like to pride myself in growing up a whole lot since high school, but still. Then I graduated (6^th in my class, by the way… not tooting my own horn or anything…) and I hoped that would help me get a great college degree, a great job, and of course… a great salary. Now it’s been three and a half years and I am unemployed and finally about to get a degree – an Associate’s Degree – in Liberal Studies – from a community college. And I can’t fend off all the job offers I’ve gotten with that impressive resume of mine. Yes, that’s a joke people.

So now my first little sister is going off to a prestigious nursing school this week (tear tear, I’m getting so old), and I have all the hope in the world for her that she succeeds in achieving all of her dreams. And I hope that she has the experience of a lifetime. And all that other cheesy stuff.

So for now, to me, hope is just clinging on to something in my gut that says I’m gonna be alright. There’s really no evidence that says I won’t. In fact, I have a pretty awesome life - an amazing and dedicated husband, a sweet little house three minutes from the beautiful ocean, a handful of irreplaceable friends scattered across the country, and a priceless family that’s always there for me – mentally if not physically – thank you 4,000 mile separation.

And to wrap it all up, I have an undying hope that when I wake up, my blog will have hit 200 views. I’m not sure if I even know 200 people. I sure as hell don’t like 200 people, so thanks to you, strangers (and my mom, because I know that half the views are you, mother). Seriously… thank you.

Just a "Poor Me" Kinda Day

I could complain that it’s Monday, and what did I really expect from a Monday? Except it turns out, when you have no job, Mondays aren’t as much of a drag as if… you know… you do have a job. Today was the mister’s first day back after a nine-day vacation. In turn, I had a lot of laundry (and laying around) to do… oh the life of a military wife with no children. So I did laundry and watched about 10 episodes of Friends. I love Friends, in case you have never met me. I also love Jennifer Aniston a ridiculous amount. I am proud/comfortable to say that I have a serious girl crush on her. But that’s completely off topic.

Then I made cinnamon swirl banana bread, ate half a loaf of said bread (I’m not proud, nor am I kidding about half the loaf), ate a few Oreos (they were football-shaped… how could I deny myself?), and felt terrible about myself. So I spent the day wallowing in how out-of-shape I am, and finally after dinner, I went to the gym.

Things I don’t like about the gym = working out, people. So it turns out, this wasn’t the best place to spend my evening. As I walked in the door, I saw 20 (very fit, very pretty… go figure) women doing Zumba. If I tried to do that, I’d probably look like I was having a seizure. I wish that wasn’t a joke. A few steps further and I see the cardio room is packed with people running and sweating, and all way more in shape than I am. I really just wanted to use the pool, but how lazy am I if I drive all the way to the GYM and don’t even work out? So I climb a few stairs, ride a bike, and end up swimming. I’m the only one in the pool (hallelujah), but alas, there are 10 screaming children in the kiddy pool. Of course, the parents aren’t far, just yelling a tad louder than their obnoxious children so they can gossip. I literally spent more time changing, tying my shoes, and walking to the water fountain than I did working out and swimming combined. Wallowing in my own out-of-shape-ness, I headed home and almost hit a skunk that was dangerously close to my house. I got home and put my favorite purple pants on, and now I’m watching more Friends.

On a side note, I had to mention the purple pants, because they’re so comfy and so terrible looking. Before the mister and I got married, I said to him one night, “You know how I know I love you? Because I can wear the most ridiculous pajamas and you still love me.” And without missing a beat, he responded, “Like those purple pants?”

I have convinced myself that I’ll end on a positive note. I promise you, not all my blogs will be so “poor me.” I actually have nothing to be so “poor me” about, except that I am just so lazy/tired all the time, and I pretty much hate people. Don’t get me wrong, there are a handful of people on my “You’re Acceptable” list. I enjoy being around those people. Everyone else is just… ehhh. So on a positive note… drumroll please…

At least I didn’t get sprayed by the skunk.

I love ecards, by the way. Excuse the language,

except that I say the "F" word quite often...

so I can't really apologize.

Santa Cruz and Such

Last night I saw Daniel Tosh. Live. I can die happy now. 

If you don’t know who Daniel Tosh is, you and I probably are not friends. If you SERIOUSLY don’t know who he is, watch Tosh.0 someday. You could probably even settle for one of his stand-up specials… I think they’re on Netflix (I should get paid for all this damn advertising). Disclaimer: He has a super raunchy and absolutely inappropriate sense of humor… so don’t participate if you aren’t into that kinda stuff. I, however, am totally into that kinda stuff.

Anywho, the mister and I went to Santa Cruz last night (Hippie-town, USA). After we got lost over and over and over again (who created one-way roads, anyway?), we finally made it. After a hurried dinner of burgers and drinks, we made it to the auditorium.  Dwayne Perkins was the opener. I’d never heard of him, but I guess he frequents Conan O'Brien's show. I hate Conan, for the record. The mister loves him. I don’t understand most of his humor (Conan, not my husband). So Perkins was pretty funny… full of black jokes (cue “that awkward moment where I’m not sure if I’m allowed to laugh… because I’m white…”).

And then enter DANIEL TOSH.

I had to remind myself to stop looking at his butt and start listening to his jokes (seriously… he’s that great). The show was awesome and I laughed until my “abs” hurt. (I don’t have abs… not the point). Best $100 I ever spent. Kidding… I don’t have a job. Best $100 the mister ever spent.

Aside from the show, being in Santa Cruz was entertaining itself. 45 minutes from our house and it’s taken us five months to venture there. And only because our tickets said we had to. Supposedly there’s a great boardwalk not far from where we were. We aren’t adventurous so we just stuck to hamburgers, alcohol, and the civic auditorium. But holy hippies - lots of local street art and music and homeless people with signs (and the smell of weed… everywhere). I’m definitely not in the 207 anymore.

So after this little experience, I’m a wee bit more thankful that I live in Monterey. And on that note, Daniel Tosh (I promise, only one more bit about him) did a joke about the dirtiness and hippie-ness (don't mind me... just inventing words over here) of Santa Cruz. Of course that earned him a bunch of boo’s from the audience, but he wrapped up his joke with… “Seriously guys… Monterey is SO much better.” And the mister and I were the only ones that clapped.

A terrible picture - but cameras weren't allowed. Please don't tell on me.

Here Goes Nothing...

Hello stranger (or not).  I'm Kaila... Kaila with an i.  It's one of those funky things that kinda sets me apart.  It’s not all that original.  I had three “Kayla’s” in my graduating class (maybe more… I am currently trying to forget all those so-called glorious high school years).  But it’s also not out-of-this-world strange like some I've heard.  Do you realize your kids are going to get beaten up in 3^rd grade for being named ___[insert ridiculous name here…I won’t because I’m sure I’ll offend someone]___?

Anyway, end the name rant.  So I’m Kaila.  I live on the West Coast… while everyone I’ve ever known is on the East… my thanks to the military.  And on that note, I’m a military wife.  I’m new at that, so I don’t have much to say.  I know a thousand and one people who have it worse than me, so I’ll save my complaining for another night (but trust me, it's coming).

I'm way new at blogging.  I mean, I dabbled in "Blogging for Dummies" (that's not a joke), but I feel like a 85-year old woman discovering Internet Explorer for the first time.  Don't ask me why that image came to mind.  I read a bunch of blogs via good ol' Facebook, and they're all laugh-out-loud hilarious. Cue myself setting the bar too high.  Just a head's up... I'm not that funny.

I've recently transformed into “a housewife,” for a lack of better terms.  My little slice of California isn't like what Katy Perry sings about.  It's actually quite cold... so I occupy myself indoors for the majority of the week.  I’m addicted to Pinterest.  I’m becoming a handy little do-it-yourself-er, decorating my house with all kinds of ridiculous-looking hand-made crafts (“No, I don’t have a toddler.  I did that myself”).  I’m also learning to cook… (very) slowly but surely.  Bear with me if I get too excited and have to share a recipe or two.

I feel like I’m growing up too fast.  Maybe putting my not-so-exciting life into words for the real world to read will help me track all of this disappearing time (and by the real world, I probably just mean a few family members).  Or perhaps it’ll just keep me busy while my husband’s at work.  We’ll see.

And speaking of growing up too fast, I’m in my pajamas and slippers at 7:30pm eating macaroni and cheese for dinner, and my mom just wrote “BRB” to me like I’m on AIM in 6^th grade… guess I’m still kind of a child after all.