A Few Matters of Note

Ok, I know I've been MIA & really, I have no excuse other than despite the facts of my current employment, I've been delightfully engaged in life around me. Believe it!

Here are a few important matters in my recent life that beg discussion.

Pee Wee Herman was on Hoda & Kathie Lee this morning. This man never dies. What is going on here? How is it that Pee Wee still has a job and (ahem) others of us are still struggling at this endeavor. And please Hoda, that was your fake laugh - but thank you for faking a laugh cause no one else was laughing - we're back on the movie theater incident. I say this without laughing: I know you are, but what am I.

As many of you know, I've been having the P90X experience. I quite like it, as Colin Firth would say. The benefit of this thing is that I've seen some physical changes to my earthly body. [This distinction is important as I've often remarked that my heavenly physique will find me in constant angelic confusion with my friend Lindsay Schuette - but for our purposes, I'm referring to my earthly body, complete with attached winter layer.] Anyway, believe it or not, my calves have reduced in size, ever so slightly. Cute under shin guards, not so much in rest of life, I've often wished I could squeeze these puppies into a sexy pair of black boots. Yes, I just said sexy in self-reference. Further, I am broke, so naturally the boot shopping in Vallejo, California was going to be a full dignity reduction. In I walked to Vallejo Marshall's (like TJ Maxx) in search of boots.

I feel like what happened next would a) only happen to me & b) only happen in Vallejo. So, if you've ever lost weight or had any other emotional attachment to clothes shopping , you know you're already dealing with some head stuff when you reach for the only pair of black boots in your size. You're having to tell yourself "don't be stupid, just try them on" and "maybe they won't look so ugly on" and "you won't know unless you try", etc. Ok, so I set the boots on the floor, kick off my shoes & attempt to jam my leg into them. I get them on ok, but they're kinda bunched weird & I can't figure if they're supposed to go higher than my knee or if they're supposed to bunch like that (I know better than to go shopping without Jake, let's be honest). I stand up & rotate around to the mirror - while the boots are kind of ugly, they actually fit & I'm having a brief moment of satisfaction when a Marshall's employee buts into my experience.

She's an older, African American lady with a big voice & a bigger, unsolicited opinion. She's standing about 30 feet from me, but can see me down the aisle. "You're supposed to pull those up higher!" she shouts at me. Awkwardly, I only glance up (as I'm bent over trying to adjust these weird boots). I say dryly, "thanks. But I think my legs are too short for these" [read: eff off lady]. Still from a grave distance, she shouts "nah, I think your calves are too big." WHAT??? And she didn't stop there: "And, DON'T step away from your purse like that. God, do NOT step away from your purse, I tell ya...". UH UH UH....what?? First, she shouts at me about my calves being too big for the boots I'm trying on. Ah helllll no. Who says that?! Then she lectures me about my purse which, by the way, is all of 3 feet from me in a nearly empty store. WTF?! If only I'd been accompanied by LA Anna. This woman continued to stand at her distance of 30 feet and watch as I flung the boots off, grabbed my vulnerably-distanced purse and ran out of Marshall's. Kill. Me. Now. When strangers are telling you your calves are too big, you have no reason to go on living. Have I mentioned recently how excited I am to get the hell out of this rat hole in one week's time??

Jake's reaction was "I find it hard to believe the lady at Marshall's doesn't see bigger calves than yours, like, every single day." Well, thank you.

Let's not move on from body news too quickly. These things always happen to me in twos. So, the women on P90X wear workout gear that a much fitter me packed for my move to Bellingham in 1998. I remember this because looking good in spandex at Lou Parberry was an important part of my freshman year (as were the 3 bowls of Lucky Charms at Viking Union late night afterward...no one ever wondered why Brian & I got so fat in college). Anyway, I told myself when I got a few months into the workouts, I'd buy some hotter workout clothes. Why not? It's only me in my livingroom anyway. So, I get some new gear. I know I look better & I'm making it through the workouts without breaks, making improvements, feelin' good - until I had this great idea. I really wanted to see how my form was doing. Afterall, a key component to P90X success is performing the moves correctly. One day a couple weeks ago, I decide I'm going to move our big mirror out into the livingroom to 'watch' myself work out. And so I did. OOOHHH why did I do that? I expected to see Dreya Webber in the mirror. I saw Kirstie Alley. I was so completely horrified. I'm scarred forever. I'll never do that again - not because I can't handle reality, but because shortly after my workout, the mirror fell over & shattered. See? Pending suicide everywhere.

Jake's reaction: "yeah...I didn't think that was such a good idea." Oh THANK YOU.

In other news, I head north next week. Obviously I'm having a lot of stress about this that I'm not addressing during my waking hours because BOY am I addressing it during my sleeping hours! What a complete lack of sanity. Last night I laid in my bed for about an hour trying to decide if I could fit double jelly roll pans long ways into a counter-depth refrigerator for my G Street kitchen remodel circa 2017. My tossing & turning woke the sleeping prince - he said "what are you thinking about?" I groaned knowing how stupid it was going to sound coming out of my mouth. "Uh, getting a new fridge for our house".

Jake's reaction: "Carrrrr......." I know. Insanity.

There are a few other things that are not sitting well with me right now:

WHY isn't Emily Matson on facebook yet? This is just getting old & I'm getting pissed. I keep thinking Gavin will get sick of being the go-between but so far, he's not annoying her ENOUGH into compliance. I mean, how many seconds does it take to set down your picket sign to set up a fb account? It's cruel to the rest of us.

There's not enough I can do to prepare this apartment for my departure. I'm anticipating really ridiculous all-nighters leading up to next week - the kind where Jake comes out of the bedroom & finds me completely inside an unplugged refrigerator, ass up, with the world's greatest commitment to something that doesn't matter. That's a Carlee Stellfox Loya staple - it does NOT need to be an important task for me to completely panic-obsess about it in the 48 hours prior to moving. There will be bleach, there will be Q-tips, there will be ziplocks/paper towels/sharpies/new files/reorganization/new Goodwill piles/stacking boxes in ascending size order, all in the final moments. And there will be tears. Not over moving - I love moving - over the imperfection of the process.

Jake's reaction: "if you're giving that to Goodwill thinking I won't notice when you want to replace it in 6 weeks, I've noticed." Damnit.

Ok, I think I've mentioned this before, but I'm getting so grossed out by the sudden increase in toilet paper commercials. Have you seen the new one where the women say "it's time to talk about something serious" and then you think they're going to launch into a commercial about the dangers of well vodka or the necessity of re-using shopping bags. NO. These women launch into a gross dialogue about "toilet paper is about getting clean. It's time to start talking about getting clean." WHOA - hang on a second. Are we suggesting that the clean asses of grown women are so at-risk that a discussion of brand quality deserves the same level of concern as say, how to do a breast self-exam? Excuse me, but if the choice between Angel Soft & Charmin Ultra Strong makes the difference in your ability to clean or not clean your own ass, you've got bigger issues. ...and I don't want to hear about it on TV. You want real toilet paper spokespeople? How about 3 year olds. They are the real at-risk demographic here. If I saw a toilet paper commercial where an adorable little 3-year-old says "when my mom gives me Angel Soft, I don't have to yell 'MOM, COME WIPE ME!'", I'd want to buy it. Hello, THAT is a marketing strategy.

There are a few things I'm VERY into right now:

The breeding ban appears to be lifted in the Loya family. We're in heavy anticipation of a new niece or nephew due in August to Bree & CJ. We find out next Tuesday if their little angel is a boy or a girl. Can't. Wait. Oh. My. Gosh. I know this child will have it's own precious identity blah blah but for now, I can't keep thinking of them as Lily 2.0. She's so premium.

So far our new car has not been stolen from infront of our apartment. Bonus.

Season #6 starts in 2 weeks. Despite my separation from Tobias LeRone, it's going to be a great season. There are very few things I feel terribly optimistic about in life (it's just not really my style to see the bright side), but having a great season in SE Alaska is a given. It's one of my favorites of life's pleasures. I feel extremely lucky to be spending this season exactly where I want to be (and I don't even believe in luck). Jakey will be visiting in June & August & THAT will be awesome.

I get to see Sean Naylor tonight! One thing about having a friend with a consistently inconsistent love life is phone calls like this "Hey, Car, I think I'm going to be coming through this week, can I stop & see you before you leave town?" "Uh, yes...why are you coming through town?" "Wellllll....there's someone in San Francisco I need to break up with." A decade of friendship is a blessed thing. Can't wait to see that little butt tonight. Love him.

Have a great day peeps, love you.