Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.

So, My Guy and I bought a house this time last year ... a 4-bedroom, 2-bath, 2-story house.

The house was a foreclosure. We got a hella deal. We work on the house every weekend. We still don't have use of the second story. That means we only have 1 bathroom.

Now, kudos to me for mentioning this when the county assessor guy stopped by a few weeks ago. Guess whose tax bill dropped by $700?

But not-so-awesome is the fact that our 1 bathroom has not-so-hot lighting. And the mirror is really high, so I have to stand on my tip-toes to get a good look at my sorry face.

I've never thought much about it ... until the other day when I was in my car. I had something in my eye, so I pulled the visor down and took advantage of the lighted mirror. What I saw was terrifying.

I had eyebrows everywhere. I looked like a yeti.

So, that night, I girded my loins and got out my tweezers. But when I looked at my face in the bathroom mirror, I saw none of the offending yeti brows.

You know what had to be done.

I put the tweezers in my car. But with the sun glaring into my car, I still couldn't quite discern all the rebel brows. Now, you could argue that if I can't see them, they aren't exactly visible. But it's the principle of the thing.

I had no choice but to tweeze my brows in my car, someplace dark with no glare. Someplace like ... the parking garage at Corporate Behemoth.

Yes. I tweezed my eyebrows in my car in the garage at work. While I was gettin' it done, I thought about how wrong it would be to be known as the woman who tweezes in the garage. But frankly? I don't give a shit.

This is perhaps a statement both on the condition of my brows and my burned-out brain.

Tell it like it is.

Nobody asks my advice. And I have a lot of good advice to give. If I’m feeling this way at 36, just imagine what it will be like when I’m 86. Oh, Lord help us all.

So, it occurred to me the other day that I should have taken many, many things in my dating life as signs. Signs that OMG, this is totally not the man for me. For example:

Ex-Ex thought nothing about using the afghan that his grandma knitted as a moving blanket, wrapping it around a washing machine as he and a pal maneuvered that machine up four flights of stairs, destroying said afghan in the process.

I didn’t heed that sign. And I didn’t pay attention a few weeks later when I caught him using my grandma’s tablecloth as a rag while replumbing the bathroom sink. Sure, I grabbed the tablecloth and asked him WTF he was doing. But I didn’t see it as a sign of narcissism or stupidity.

Pay. Attention. Ladies. This shit is important.

Also? I don’t know what sort of vendetta Ex-Ex had against linens derived from grandmas. He needs counseling. Obviously.

Now, I did pay attention in college, when a suitor asked me to either call him or walk over to his fraternity house to wake him up so we could go to the movies. Even my young brain knew that this was a bad sign and most likely a ploy to get me into the vicinity of his bed. If you wanna go to the movies with me, you should also be able to set your alarm.

I asked another guy to the movies instead. We saw Tommy Boy and it was fine. It was fine even though that suitor wore the ugliest sweaters ever on each of our 3 dates. But I guess I get props for knowing that ugly sweaters were fixable. Expecting to be babysat was not.

My Guy does stuff that makes me crazy. I could write a year’s worth of blogs about his kitchen cleanliness or lack thereof. However … I’m a list-maker. And the other day, it was Monday, and I just needed a different flavor of list.

Things I like about My GuyGives excellent hugs
Very funny
Kind and supportive of my crazy ideas
Super smart but not in an asshole sort of way
Always has the right tool
Reads and learns stuff and is always an interesting conversationalist
Gives me sips of his beer even when I should probably just get my own
Is silly
Puts up with the 27 dogs
Makes delicious food
Loves blue … because such allegiance to 1 color is admirable
Is both pro-pancake and pro-cake
Acts like I’m pretty even when I’m not and I appreciate that very much
Teaches me stuff all the time, like how to throw a spiral or how to calm the fuck down
Plans carefully but also takes stuff in stride
Keeps secrets
Tells jokes
Has the best laugh EVER

Again, pay attention. This is the important stuff.

W.W.E.P.D.?

I try to have good manners. Impeccable manners, really. But sometimes? Sometimes, I am at a loss. I just don't know the proper etiquette.

Case in point: I breezed into the ladies' room at Corporate Behemoth the other day. I was wearing dress shoes that clanked on the tile floor, and I was walking fast. I was on a mission. You know, that lady-plumbing-maintenance sort of monthly mission.

So, I breezed into the ladies room, and there were 2 women huddled together near the sinks. As I walked past and got into a stall, I realized that they were praying. One woman was teary, and the other was praying with her.

That is awesome. We should all be so lucky to have friend / coworkers who will comfort us in the ladies' room.

But then I got into my stall, and I dug my ladyparts plumbing maintenance supplies out of my purse. And then I stopped.

They were still praying. How could I possibly pee during a prayer? It would be like saying, "I piss on your higher power!" And I am not about that at all.

So I stood in the stall. And started to feel like I was intruding. And being really creepy for just standing in a stall, listening to these women pray. I couldn't really leave - I had business to attend to. But this was the longest prayer ever in the history of Corporate Behemoth ladies' room prayers! And all that standing in the stall made me realize that I totally had to pee. I was so close, and yet so far from my salvation!

Finally, the prayer was over and I did my business and everybody lived happily ever after. But did I do the right thing? I want to ask what Emily Post would have done ... but I'm pretty sure she is so elegant and correct that such lowly concerns as peeing and monthly ladyparts maintenance are not her concern at all.

Think about it. Can you picture Emily Post farting?

Didn't think so.

Mute no more.

Hi friends. It's been a while. I've missed you!

I am so humbled and thankful for blog friends who've asked where I've been or just kept checking to see when I'm going to get off my ass and write something already. Thank you.

The long and the short of it? All is well. There's just been stuff going down that I didn't feel like I could write about.

Case in point?

I was required to participate in a moandatory - oops, I mean mandatory - corporate flash mob.

Yes. My team at Corporate Behemoth was required to perform like Solid Gold dancers at an all-hands meeting. In front of a couple thousand coworkers.

It was a big secret, and we had to attend 7 hours of rehearsals for a 1-minute dance. Ever showed up for a meeting in the middle of the day all sweaty and gross and unable to offer an explanation, other than "I'm gross?" I have! Because secret rehearsals were in the midst of the regular work day.

Now, I will admit that the flash mob acted as a team-building activity, because we were working together to avoid public humiliation. I actually ended up kind of enjoying the dancing. And it was nice to be praised for being a good dancer, even though as a high school sophomore, I didn't make the show choir. So, my old vocal teacher can suck it.

Buuut ... it was mandatory. During a super-busy time of year. And I don't know about your workplace, but a quick glance around mine shows some really obese people. And a guy with a severe spine problem. And contractors who are expected to work just as hard as the full-time employees but who aren't included in stuff like, oh, say, mandatory corporate flash mobs. This activity did not take into account the interests and needs of these individuals.

And it made me mad. And being praised for being one of the best dancers and having folks request to stand behind me in the formation so they could follow my lead was sort of like pouring salt in the wound. Yay - you're super good at selling your soul! At 1 rehearsal, I actually thought, "Oh. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be stripper." But with name badges instead of body glitter.

And have I mentioned that the performance of this little flash mob was a week after I had to confront a very sexist coworker? A coworker to whom I actually yelled, "I'm not your secretary!"

Yeah. So, droppin' it like it's hot was just what my career and my minor case of burnout needed. Yee-haw!

But it went OK and now it's over, and now we can move on to other things.

So ... what have you been up to?

Fun with household appliances.

So, the other day, when I was all, "reading trashy books is so much more virtuous than watching trashy teevee?"

Yeah. Umm ... I've been watching a lot of trashy teevee.

My Guy and I lived without TV for 6 months. It was a time of self discovery. It also coincided with the 6 months we lived without a dishwasher. Needless to say ... the beginning of our marriage was rough. Really rough.

But we bought a dishwasher. And the day it was installed, My Guy texted me a photo of the shiny new appliance with the caption, "Marriage saved!"

And it was so.

And since we agreed we couldn't possibly live without cable during football season, we got cable. So much has changed in the 6 months we didn't have cable - I feel so behind the times! Did you know there's an entire show about people who get, like, $500 worth of groceries for $5 because they spend 40 hours a week clipping coupons?

Not to be all mean about it, but ... considering that those groceries include 89 bags of croutons, and it works out to "earning" $12.50 per hour of coupon clipping? I'm not so sure the extreme couponing is worth it.

I've also discovered That Metal Show. It's 3 music geeks arguing over the merits of various heavy metal albums and interviewing hard rock musicians. The stories are great, and I can relate to wanting a forum to talk about random music trivia.

Side note: Did you know Toni Tennille from The Captain & Tennille performed on Pink Floyd's The Wall?

Anyway.

I'm taking requests - what other shows should we add to our DVR? The trashier, the better. Obviously.

All the news that's fit to print.

I should have something witty to talk about.

I could write about hosting Poochie's university railroading club at our house last weekend, and how My Guy confided that he had no idea how to properly host and relate to a bunch of train enthusiasts. "You're a computer programmer," I said. "Are you telling me you don't speak Nerd?"

"I do!" he clarified. "But theirs is a different dialect!"

So, I could write about that. Or I could bitch and mooooaaaaan about the fact that Miss Universe spent a whole 60 seconds displaying not all the national heritage costumes, but only the top 10. Like there's any other reason to watch the pageant. Shame, SHAME on you, Miss Universe!

Side note: you can see fantastic national heritage costume recaps at Tom and Lorenzo. They're fabulous and opinionated.

Or I could write about my mighty triumph at Corporate Behemoth, wherein I convinced a senior VP that no, we don't need more videos (thereby creating a shit-ton of work for yours truly), but rather, we need to leverage the other content we already have.

You can call me a savvy content strategist if you like.

However?

I don't feel savvy. I don't feel like strategizing anything. I don't feel entertaining or even remotely interesting. I feel ... depleted.

I guess unbalance in your day-to-day life doesn't go away just because you go on vacation and come up with a long-term plan. You still need those little baby steps to improve your quality of life along the way.

Also? I think we can all agree that vacationing with your in laws is not a vacation at all. It is a tour of duty.

Now, I'm going to retire to bed with my Grover Cleveland biography. And before you're all, "Pshaw ... Grover Cleveland - whatevs," let me just tell you this: Ol' Grover (known as Big Steve to his friends) looked after his BFF's widow and daughter, treating the daughter almost as his own child. Until ... her married her. The daughter. Not the widow. He married his BFF's kid.

Reading trashy things about dead people: It feels more virtuous than watching trash teevee.

I am an equestrienne.

I just got back from a 5-day Colorado vacation extravaganza with My Guy's family. As you might expect, my brain is swimming.

Let's just put it this way - I have a new life motto: You can't change people. But you can write about them.

But I need to ease into that, lest my brain explode, ka-pow style. So, let's start with the basics: I rode a horse. For the very first time ever.

Now, my grandparents were the sort that clambered upon 1 horse with 7 siblings to head to school, sans adult supervision, starting at the age of 5. Somehow, the fact that I made it to the age of 36 without ever riding a horse feels like I have failed my ancestors.

But I tried to make up for it. A group of us family vacationing fools went for a trail ride in Rocky Mountain National Park. The ride was 2 hours and involved tourism horses. You know, the horses that have been doing this same damned trail all summer and are just over it? You know, those rides that require absolutely no skill on the part of the human passenger?

Yeah.

My horse's name was Bravo. He was not pleased being the second horse. He wanted to be the first horse and so spent 2 whole hours attempting to pass the horse in front of him. Each time I corrected him with my meager horsewoman skills, he "accidentally" brushed me up against something. Like a boulder.

My common refrain during the ride: "Dude. Give me a break."

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

My Guy and I compared notes and had many similar experiences during our first riding experiences. I was not alone. In fact, maybe my experience was even ... universal!

And so, I determined The 8 Stages of New Equestrianism:

1. Apprehension.
OK, I've never been on a horse. I was never one of those little girls who fantasize about ponies. I never even had a My Little Pony. But this will be a great life experience! And this horse is really pretty.

2. Terror.
This horse is pretty, but it didn't seem pleased when I stroked his nose. And he's really, really tall and the guide had to hoist my ass up to get me on the horse and now I'm sitting here and the horse is supposed to be standing still but he's moving. He's moving under my crotchal region and ohmigod I don't think I remember what I'm supposed to do with the reigns and WEAREALLGOINGTODIE!

3. Resignation.
Oh. The horse knows what to do. I just have to sit here and make peace with the fact that there's a moving animal under my crotchal region. Look how cute the guide girl is in front of us. She is so darling. Maybe I could be an outdoorsy girl.

4. Hallucination.
I'm on a horse! Outside! On a trail! In nature! Maybe I have missed my calling. Maybe I'm meant to be an outdoorsy girl, an outdoorsy girl on a horse. Maybe I'll start taking riding lessons. Maybe we'll start taking vacations where we ride horses.

5. Realization.
Fuck that shit. My knees hurt.

6. Impatience.
This is the longest 2 hours of my life. I'm covered in dust and have no feeling below my waist. The trail has a crappy view and my horse is flatulent and keeps trying to cut in line. The guide actually fwapped him in the head because he kept trying to pass her. I guess he's bored, too. I'm pretty sick of looking at the guide's back. At least she isn't farting as much as my horse.

7. Relief.
I see the barn. The end is in sight! And I almost don't even care that it takes me 3 minutes to dismount Bravo the Asshole Flatulent Horse because I'm numb and my knee is totally torqued and I can barely stand on my own. I will gladly take my place along the fence with my other wounded compatriots.

8. Sanity.
That was an interesting life experience. Let us never speak of it again.