Sanka! Ya dead??

Dear Friends,
I am writing from prison.  Please send carrot cake.

(Okay, I couldn’t come up with a better excuse for my MIA-state for the past couple of weeks. It’s been so long since I’ve blogged that I’m staring blankly at the keyboard trying to find the letters for: don’t hate me!)

So this is what happened:

Mr. J and I are what you call overachievers. (I realize there’s not many of those types left in this country, so for those of you I’ve lost already, bear with me.) We set unreachable goals and then he jumps around like a half-Asian kangaroo trying to reach them [he really is half-Asian; I'm not picking on him this time...] while I go to DSW and by the tallest stilettos I can teeter around in. Eventually we reach our goals one way or another. It works for us.

This time was not unlike the rest. About four years ago we bought our first home. A cookie-cutter home, as I like to call it. In a pretty little culd-e-sack in the middle of midwest suburbia. Are you yawning with me yet? We live within a two-minute walk from a middle school and it takes 45 minutes to make the 10-mile drive into the office each morning. Anyone hitting the snooze bar? Ordinary, I know. Comfortable. Safe. Modest. Neighborly. Blah blah, blah blah blah.

Hey, we were young. In love. We didn’t know any better.

This is our “5-year house” and while most people are a good 15 years into their 5-year houses, I refuse to settle for ordinary. So one year out, we decide that we’re going to go be hillbillies and buy a beautiful piece of country land outside the city and raise Junior to be an All-American Redneck. Talk about giving a city-girl a challenge!  You can take your ordinary and shove it!

(We went to a Jason Aldean and Luke Bryan concert on Sunday… from now on you may refer to me as the future Mrs. Jason Aldean and/or Mrs. Luke Bryan (whichever one is available at the time) *sigh*………*ahem*………… so I’m still fired up from the awesomeness of the country folk…. them country boys sure know how to rock it out!!!)

So we’re looking at our train wreck suburbia of a house and thinking to ourselves, “‘Selves… let’s get this dump spick ‘n span and ready to put on that there market this spring. That’ll give our lazy busy selves a good 8 months or so to get our acts in gear. Go team!“

But then we made a critical mistake. We got our country-wannabe-blokes-of-selves a relator.  A peppy, energetic one at that. Who said, “You can have this place in top-shape in THREE WEEKS! Then we’re listing!  Yeeeee haaaaaaw!”  Echo my twit of a husband, “Yeeeee haaaaaaaw!”

ARE THESE PEOPLE NUTS!? THREE MOTHER-F’IN WEEKS!?!

That’s 4 years of date night Target runs and mounds upon mounds of crap shoved into closets, hidden under beds, stuffed into corners, and the unpainted walls because we were too busy spending money on crap to shove under the beds, then there’s the lime green walls I HAD to have for the baby (million dollar tip for all you guys out there: when your knocked-up wife tells you that is THE color and the baby will NOT be happy with any other, pick out a new one when she’s not looking), then add in every closet/cabinet that doesn’t actually have a floor/bottom because there’s so much stuff in them, and the ones that you’re not actually sure if it is a closet or a bedroom because you can’t see the other side from where you’re standing, all the stuff on the countertops that has to “disappear,” there’s all the mirrors that have to be framed and the lights that need to be updated and the flower beds that need weeded and the fence that needs painted……

………….and then, AND THEN, the relator doesn’t even offer up a stow-a-way program for husbands and dogs to enroll in while the house is showing and you’re trying vainly to keep it picked up and clean….!!!!!!!!!
Ohmygod, this is what a heart attack feels like!!!!!!!!!

So I’ve pretty much been drinking and throwing away everything within my reach the past couple of weeks, and I plan to continue for one more week until it’s game time.

Then I’ll likely be signing temporary restraining orders from Mister and the dogs so they can go far far away with their messes while all the nice people oooh and aaaaah over our not-so-ordinary (mainly because it’s empty and clean) house.

So, until then, be well, dear friends. Have a drink for me. And if you don’t hear back within the next two weeks it’s probably because I actually am in prison for murdering my spouse.
“Your Honor, he left his dirty ‘drawers on the floor again. What else did you want me to do???”

Note: this blog title is quoted from the most awesome Cool Runnings in case any of you wondered just how much I’ve been drinking lately.

All Things Unlearned chronicles my journey in unlearning everything I already thought I knew through my experiences as a wife, a mother, and an American through funny, overly-opinionated, witty, sometimes offensive, and yet always entertaining banter. Come be amused.