Appliance Repairperson

I'm at war with my microwave. I've been saving it from Goodwill by repeatedly assuring Husband that no, we don't need a new one, this one works just fine, even if it is 12 years old and the door does stick a bit. And how does Microwave repay me? By exploding things. The first was butter: I nuked it for far too long, and it exploded. Fine, my fault. I cleaned the mess and the butter re-congealed. This time, in fewer than 10 seconds, Microwave blew up the butter again. Tomato sauce was next: in fewer than 30 seconds, this starts gushing. But. it's. still. cold. Frozen raspberries: set Microwave on "Defrost." Mic says "Autosensing." I walk away until I hear the chime, at which time I return to a diorama of the shower scene from Psycho.
I suppose Mic could be telling me it likes being cleaned. Perhaps, being practically a teenager, it is seeking attention. Perhaps Husband convinced it that it would be happier at the thrift store, making friends with other microwaves. All I know for sure is that I want my microwave back. Oh, Mic, don't you remember sharing recipes with me? Blowing the fuse in my 100-year-old house? And your chime is like the laughter of angels - can't we just be friends again?

Hoarder

I've been watching Hoarders. I understand that these people have very real mental troubles that I am not attempting to make light of. The show itself, however, makes a good drinking game. Rules: Hoarding due to tragedy - shot; Animals involved - shot; Hoarder is resistant to the whole process - shot; That one male organizer is being a dick - shot; Male Hoarder - 2 shots; hell, finish the bottle if you spot this rarity.
Hoarders makes me feel better as a housekeeper, but only because I recognize that it's a glimpse of what my life would have been like if I'd never married and had kids, and possibly even what my life will become once the kids have moved out and my husband has left me for Terry Farrell. I love to shop. I am reluctant to get rid of things. I don't have sufficient space for the things I currently have. I would have animals if it weren't for my allergies. Since I've started watching the show, though, I have been able to get rid of things, and I haven't bought as much. I've also thought more about what I am buying, whether I truly love or need it. Some things that I buy I never think of again, and that's the habit I need to break. If I don't, someone may have to call A&E.

Competitive Eater

I find it is time for a bonafide rant.
We humans can be, and usually are, our own worst critics. Even so, I believe that I have a pretty healthy body image for someone who readily admits that cotton candy is her Kryptonite. That said, I know I am at least 20 pounds overweight. I do not say this to gain sympathy, to fish for reassurance, because I feel bad about myself, or for any reason even remotely connected to my menstrual cycle. I am not saying this because I'm having a bad day. I am not whining about this; I'm not really even complaining. It is a fact.
Just because it is something I can change does not make it less of a fact. Just because you think, "No! You look great!" does not make it less of a fact. Actually, I feel like I look fine, too. I am proud of my body. It still functions wonderfully: I have my motor skills and all five senses in tact. My body grew and nurtured two entire human beings into existence. I recognize these as feats to be celebrated, certainly I do. But I also must acknowledge that the reason I am not more than 20(ish) pounds overweight is because I watch what I eat (at least I try to in earnest; I really, really do. Damn the inventor of Tiramisu!) and I exercise like a fiend when I can. If I ignore the fact of my extra weight, I only set myself up for further weight gain and all the health problems that accompany it.
So, if I order a salad, it's because that is what I want; don't "That's all you're having?" me. If I turn down your offer of more food, please be aware that your reassurance of my looks is not necessary. It is a difficult task for me to say no to food; please do not try to make it harder for me. Until science figures out a way for you to work off the extra calories I took in by eating that double fudge cookie you offered me, please give me the common courtesy of trusting my judgment about my own body.

Special Birthday Post! It is 1:45pm when I wake up. I eat my favorite breakfast, put some egg nog in my coffee, and get a big hug from my son. While I see the present sitting in my spot on the couch, it will have to wait for everyone to get here. I pick up my daughter from school. It is a warm, beautiful day in mid-December. So beautiful that the ice cream truck is out. The kids play outside. I work out, shower, run errands. When I come home, Husband is already helping to cook dinner for our guests. We make out in the kitchen. Everyone arrives, including my brand new nephew who I get to hold for several long stretches. Everyone enjoys my homemade alfredo. I leave for work, stopping to pick up my favorite coffee drink and pastry- which was the last cheese danish left in the case. I have 10 minutes, so I sneak over to Bath and Body Works to pick up gifts-and I find exactly what I wanted for the recipient. As I'm walking back to my car, it occurs to me that I can't think of a birthday I've enjoyed more. Thank you, family of mine, for making it possible (and a quick shout-out to the universe, for saving me that last cheese danish).

Etiquette Coach

I walked in to Old Navy to exchange some boots. Since I didn't have a receipt, I went straight to the checkout line. There was only one customer in front of me, a woman with two tween girls in tow. One of these girls was sitting in a stroller, legs dangling over the sides so she could scoot herself around. I saw she was doing this before I got in line, and I made sure to give her plenty of space. Very soon, however, she starts backing up straight toward me. The woman she was with was watching her do this, and continued to chat with the cashier. The woman made eye contact with me as I stepped back, and stepped back some more, to avoid the girl bumping into me. The woman continues chatting with the cashier, saying nothing to me nor the child trying to play the world's most unfair game of bumper cars with me. As I am being pushed further toward the back of the store, I decide to simply step to the side, out of the backing zone. Still not a word from the woman to the child.
Now, Mama always said, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." Not my mama, but someone's. Also, as an avid reader of Miss Manners, I know there are no occasions for which rudeness is acceptable. In those few minutes, my brain could not conjure a sentence that did not include a) a 4-letter word, b) a command, rather than a request, and c) the need to be spoken with my outside voice -to get this woman to tell the kid to KNOCK IT OFF! So I said nothing. I simply moved out of the kid's way and seethed silently with rage. There is truly no good way to either reprimand someone else's child, or to ask a parent to please remember that people other than their children exist, but I know that part of the reason I couldn't think of anything polite to say was because the devil on my shoulder said, "This lady obviously doesn't give a fuck how you feel, why should you show her any courtesy?" Luckily, Miss Manners won that round, and I will just remain hopeful that there will never be another.

Pilgrim

I'm convinced that I was meant to live in this day and age. Without intervention of modern medicine, my mother and I wouldn't even be here. If by some miracle I had survived my birth, there is a great chance I would not have survived the births of my children. I am painfully intolerant of the cold and am terrified of extended voyages across the ocean. Given that I almost gave up baking my own bread until I got my stand mixer, I can't imagine how I'd do making my own flour. Without my steamer, panini grill, and microwave, I might never cook at all.
As I am preparing some food on Thanksgiving Eve for the big dinner, Husband is lounging around doing absolutely nothing, demanding that I bring him food, water, and medicine like someone who just had knee surgery or something and can't walk - maybe because he did - Missey is underfoot trying to help with every measure and stir, and Bug is QUITITGOSITDOWN! Bug is cranky and needs a bath. Even after his extended bedtime ritual, he doesn't want to sleep. I catch him playing in his room half an hour after laying him down, then he throws a fit. Missey is done grating the cheese and needs another job. My feet hurt, my back hurts, smelling all this food has me hungry, and I'm exhausted. Hectic as all this is, I am grateful for every last minute of it - and not just on this one day.

Remodeler

The building I work in has been remodeled over the last year. I was one of the first to get a new desk - all my own, too - resting comfortably on the stylish new modular carpet. Not that the new stuff wasn't cool, but I missed my old cozy office, tucked away and locked from all but a select few coworkers. The new area was cold, and no space heaters were allowed (which may or may not have to do with one catching fire on my watch). My new computer was missing essential programs that I had to wait to have installed. I realized that as adaptable as I had always believed myself to be, I really don't like change.
I tend to live in the here and now. I forget to take photos of major events because it doesn't occur to me that I will one day be present in a future where I may want to revisit these moments. Even so, I rarely look at old photos, because I know where they are if I want to see them, but I'm too busy right now. The future will come when it comes, and bring with it what it will. The past, I can't change, and has led me to where I am now, which I do not at all regret.
That said, I catch myself using the phrase, "I remember when" a lot. If we ever drive around my town together, point out a building, and I'll tell you the business it used to be before it was the business it is now, as well as who I was with when I used to hang out there. This is why I don't like change: It makes me nostalgic. I don't want to be that guy - "Hey, did I ever tell you about how that Taco Bell used to be-" "YES! You've told me about it!" I accept that change is inevitable, and I wouldn't want to live in any other time than this one. But a large part of me cheers every time they recycle parts of the old house on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Memories deserve a place in our now.