I’m sitting down to the first unaccounted for minutes of the day. The sun’s hugging the horizon between our tree-cluttered, muddy backyard, and I’m running a scalded tongue over the inside of my lips, lips still slightly buzzing and burning from all the Sweet Heat Teriyaki I doused dinner in. The kitchen fan whirs a flurry of cool air through my loose hair. My hair has grown, I think, as stray strands tickle the middle of my back.

The breeze dancing between open windows is like the first gulp of ice water after a too-long run. It feels unlike any other cool wind that blows across Wisconsin any other time of year. It weaves through near nostalgically, on a mission to jog a memory or stir reflection. It becomes a life of its own, a non-person you want to invite in for coffee or tea or neighborhood gossip.

It’s a welcomed relief after a day of running errands in sticky jeans I shouldn’t have been wearing. It’s quiet save for the fan’s steady white noise. It muffles most of the jabber and shouts from the biker gang racing up and down the block (I can’t believe the language these 7-year-olds are already using).

This is my evening last night after work. I’m sitting here, taking everything in and reflecting on the last week (or two) with no real motivation to blog or be online more than I already am. The heat is heavy, like its own 10-pound down jacket draped around me.

I wince. I’m feeling pain in my lower abdomen, and my mind is flying, dissecting every twitch, contraction, jab, pain, air bubble…

At the end of May I get punched in the gut with a Urinary Tract Infection. Haven’t had one since I was 16, thank you. So that’s no fun. Then two weeks later, or two weeks ago, however you want to look at it, I have my girlie follow up after my first abnormal test results. ever. period.

Scary.

Because they show the same thing. So, more tests to come. Of course, I get one girl saying, “Two weeks. Better get this taken care of within 2 weeks.” And the scheduler who counters, seemingly oblivious to my manic need to get these tests taken care of, saying, “First opening is end of July.”

Fantastic.

So I can have what-ifs and phantom pains stirring my childhood hypochondria daily.

Other than that, I am loving summer. The dog, AJ, weather, friends, get-togethers, weddings…even just moments when it’s quiet like last night and I can listen and appreciate everything I don’t pay enough attention to. In these moments, I know I’ve got all I’ll ever really need.

working

playing Wii

walking E

interviewing comedians

writing artist bios for area musicians

taking on more magazine articles

going to rehearsal dinners

finding dresses to wear for the 7 million weddings we’ve got

trying on said 7 million dresses

cleaning the mess made on the floor by aforementioned dresses, borrowed from friends

going “crap, now I better get those dry cleaned”

sweeping up an unending supply of pet hair that congregates (at least) on every square inch of surface. anywhere.

falling asleep to season 2 of The Sopranos

celebrating birthdays

debating going Palm Pre

having boss make decision for me, saying we’ll work something out (score, yippee, yay! no more flinging old phone across the room because does not get reception at home)

trying to catch up on sleep

laying out in the backyard in my new $8 swimsuit from target, which bursts open when I adjust, leaving me to manically and simultaneously try to fix it and flip onto my stomach so our neighbors don’t see a half-frontal

detering E from killing ghetto neighbor dog

playing more Wii and take AJ on in Tetris, winning, losing, losing, losing, winning, playing something else

vegging and laughing and eating popcorn and not watching movies I rent because we’d rather drink wine and watch Arrested Development

getting memberships at the local bulk grocery spot and listening to Cashier Man gush about how lucky I am “this guy here” wants to give me his other card (insert violins)

deciding at most recent wedding that, even at 27/28, we’re all going to “get drunk and make bad decisions” (I think I might have been in the minority of those who don”t, if only because I get too full and have to stop downing free beer)

laughing over hilarious wedding photos

sighing and thinking, “OK, I can do this again. weddings ROCK.”

And those are my excuses for why I suck at blogging.

Stay tuned.

You know how every few years you hear a news story about how some 84-year-old grandma finds a library book circa 1962 under her bed and decides to return it, late fees be damned?

I hope I’m not her.

I know every incarcerated maybe-criminal swears to high Heaven I did not do it! Which is why when I’m in the line to check out books at the local library, I imagine the thoughts about to run through the checker’s head. Sure, kid. You returned the book. Riiiight. That’s what they always say.

But this time, it’s! true! I remember checking out this cheesy mystery book the week I lost my job at the newspaper. I checked out a lot of books semi-regularly that month. Because I was always. at. the. library. You know, using their computer to look for jobs and update my resume and look for more jobs. So the book is Murder Talks Turkey. I know, cheesy, like I said. And after forcing myself through the first four chapters and still not getting into it, I figured, eh, it’s going back, when I got the e-notice saying it’s due Dec. 23. See? I even remember the date, without a receipt or the third mail notice, I swear.

But apparently the book isn’t properly checked in. Or a library employee decides to kype the copy and let me take the blame. Hey, this is a cold, cruel world.

I know I could just suck it up and pay the $14 for the book. I mean, what are the odds when I talk to this circulation dude he’s going to believe the I didn’t do it speech? Even thought I didn’t freaking do it. I should make them go back and search through hours of surveillance footage, that’s how difficult I feel like being.

Or I could remain deliquent. Or (shudder), this could come back to bite me in the ass if the book turns up under my bed in 57 years.

1. I’m normal again. Whew. You can all breathe a hearty sigh of relief, I know.

2. Memorial Day weekend is over, and might I say tons of fast-paced fun I shall now recap for you all:

On Friday, AJ and I get gussied up for a wedding on the water. It’s his old college friend-slash-girl he sort of dated back then. We know virtually no one (well, I know virtually no one; he knows maybe four people).

On Saturday I bachelorette! it! up! with a wine tasting/dinner/comedy club/ladies night out on the town (that resulted in a “van cab” ride home to a grinning boyfriend brushing his teeth in the doorway, who just chuckles while I’m heating up leftovers then reject said leftovers after three bites and opt for a shower to wash off four hours of straight dancing).

Sunday is the most down time we get; I believe the extent of our excursions leads me to the mall, and both of us to the grocery store. I believe we also take a family walk, but my short-term memory is a bit blurred between Saturday and Monday.

Monday is the Brewer game! It’s AJ’s parents’ 35th anniversary, and they treat their three kids plus significant others/friend to tailgating and club seats. We bring guac, marinated veggies to grill and … chicken brats! We’ve been wanting to try these mystical meat sticks for months, but I wasn’t fully convinced they existed till we find them at Festival Foods. We grab mango chipotle and buffalo chicken. Mmmm. A lot of homemade guacamole and pistachio nuts later, and we’re in our seats, and the view is AWESOME. The game flies by – no runs till the 10th inning when the Brewers pull it out with an amazing at-bat by Hall. They guys went nuts. NUTS. And it is perfect.

3. AJ’s good friend is staying with us tonight and tomorrow, then the guys are departing to the Dells for two full days of bachelor party fun. They will have a blast! and I’m glad he’s getting a chance to have a weekend away with his buds and I’ll get to party it up with April (though, she’ll be drinking the virgin-margarita varieties) at her hubby’s Second Annual Hawaiian Laua bash!

4. I’m hopefully going to have a Palm Pre in my eager palm in a week and half. Work perk!

I know, really exciting stuff. But when you write for a living and maintain a work-related blog, new material is tough. Especially when the highlight of your day is walking the dog, getting food at the grocery store or sleeping on fresh, clean sheets. Although, I am going out for sushi with Giomar tonight! So I’m not totally lame, right?

Between 2004 and 2007, it’s safe to say I invest enough money in trashy tabloids like US Weekly and Life&Style that, had I not convinced myself I needed to have new mags to get me through a.m. cardio sessions, I probably could’ve gone on another trip to Mexico or put a down payment on a house.

Yeah. You don’t think $1.99 a day ads up, but looking at it more cumulatively five years later sorta makes you sick. Which is why I gave up that particular “necessity” two years ago.

And then I find a new love yesterday. As in, new magazine. But this time, it’s not technically costing me anything, and I’m not becoming dumber for having read (and spent money on) it.

I’ve always loved Rolling Stone. On the rare occasions I flipped through it – waiting for my oil change, stuck in line somewhere, sitting in an airport awaiting my connecting flight. I think since they stuck Britney on the cover a few years back, it kind of lost some of the credibility I’d had for its ability to deliver music features in pure form, with passion and ability to capture the essence of that band so well. Great writing isn’t as easy to come by as I’d once thought. But, on the majority, I’d always hoped I’d become as great of a music writer as the names who give us cover stories like the one I just finished reading today on Green Day.

How do take a band that’s been written about, and dissected, and infiltrated and re-written about so many blessed times over the years, and make it new? and fresh? A page-turner? Very admirable.

So anyway…my excitement over the stories I’m reading in the May 28, 2009 issue is comprable to that feeling us girls get at finding that dress. Or those jeans. Something else to look forward to! yay! (I’m just lucky AJ loves it too and already has a subscription.) I spent the last two mornings before work (and longer today, as I’m working from home) reading amazing pieces on Green Day, Dr. Cornel West, a bevy of reviews on upcoming album releases and tours (Kings of Leon! Conor Oberst!) and finding new artists to love (St. Vincent!). It’s all fantastic, especially when you’re laying in your backyard in 80-degree weather with your pooch at your side.

Single (technically) white (German, mostly) female (of the XX chromosones) seeks magic pill (non-chewable potion in solid form) that vanquishes (terminates, eradicates, ends) the following symptoms: irritability (see also: the opposite of a joy to be around), fatigue, bloating, spotting (see also: annoying, sporadic but continuous stream of YOU KNOW that eats far too quickly at one’s supply of feminine hygiene products and simultaneously manages to serve as a major buzz kill) and pimples (see also: those stupid red pot marks that’ve alternated location in some form since Seventh Grade [!]).

Reward offered.

That is all.

Today’s the first time I’m taking E to the vet solo. It’ll only be his second visit, granted, but AJ took him to his first and I wasn’t there for it. But with him working, then shooting straight to rehearsal after, that leaves momma to take the boy in for his heart worm shot. Which is cool. He loves me (He has to; he spends more time with me than anyone else, poor guy, for which AJ can kind of tell he’s become largely a momma’s boy. Which no one reading this should repeat, by the way )

I’m not scared. Not exactly. I mean, he’s a good boy. And needles don’t really bother me the way they might most people. But…he hasn’t quite mastered the whole personal-space etiquette thing.

He loves people. Loves, LOVES people. And though he’s usually great about not mauling our visitors (he plops down on their feet and waits for a tummy rub instead), he still doesn’t get that puuullllling hard on his leash isn’t fun for me. I don’t like the fact that it chokes him, or nearly rips my arm out of socket. And, yeah, we’ve been trying the Dog Whisperer techniques, but apparently E speaks Portuguese or something because he’s not getting it.

I mean, you should’ve seen what happened when we returned from a family walk last week to see two big doggies chilling in the yard next door. Growls, spits, heaving his 68-pound body against my grip. I thought he would tear their heads off if he got loose, which is all very un-E like. But AJ’s theory is, it’s because he saw the dogs getting closer to his daddy and got suddenly protective. Or jealous. Or both.

So we’ll see how it goes. From what I hear, he’s a real playboy over at the vet’s office. Stealing hearts (no surprise) and earning every treat they toss him.

The gym gets old. So does the process of getting in my car to drive across town in traffic, which sort of defeats the purpose of getting healthy (right?) when you think about the driving vs. biking there and pollutants cars emit.

So while I’m still hitting the facility around three times a week (got to get my $34.95/month’s worth, ya know), I’m also completely becoming addicted to Wii Sports. Namely tennis. As proof, I’ve yet to regain full muscle strength and control in both of my shoulders. I literally could not reach above my head or give a good bear hug for the last three days.

AJ and I also have made walking Elmer a regular thing. Soon as he gets home every night, or after rehearsal, we let out the “Elllllmerrrrr…wanna go for a … WALK?” And our little guy proceeds to jump! up! uP! UP! and go completely mad when I get out his leash. I wonder if there’s anything in this world I’m as passionate about as he is about his walks. What a life. But…a good life. For all of us, I dare say. Since around March walking “E” has kind of been my thing, or AJ’s thing if I’m working on a magazine story or (I’ll say it) it’s freezing outside. But the last couple weeks, he’s made it our thing. “Wanna go for a family walk?” he’ll say. (Of course!)

So, I’ll consider myself an active girl. And not feel guilty for the amazing pizza I made last night (homemade whole wheat crust from breadmaker dough, spicy tomato pesto sauce from Classico (yum!), all pepperjack cheese, green and yellow peppers, tomatos and onions.) That’s why we work out, right? I mean, aside from all the heart and immune system and good mood benefits…etc.