Sunshine & Roses

Where, oh where has snarky Rachel gone? I don't know! I have been in an uncharacteristically cheery mood recently. For those of you who enjoy my grumpy posts, apologies, this is going to be sunshine and roses. I promise I'll find my way to wanting to punch people in the throat again soon.

As it turns out 38 isn't so bad. My birthday was yesterday and I had been dreading it, for it was just another year closer to the big 4-0. However, my actual birthday was so fantastic that I can't help but believe that turning 38 wasn't such a bad thing.

The day was awesome for obvious reasons. I went to the spa. Not just any spa, The Claremont, where one pays a ridiculous amount of money for a massage but is treated like royalty and given access to the hot tub, steam rooms and a crazy shower with 15 heads. It was phenomenal. I arrived early enjoyed the facilities and spent a good 30 minutes reading Redbook while wearing a fluffy white robe. BLISS. There was also sushi for dinner, flowers, gifts and plenty of facebook friends wishing me a great day.

But what really made my day amazing? My boys. The boys were so stinking excited about my birthday they could hardly contain themselves. They talked about my big day for weeks leading up to the main event. They asked what kind of cake I wanted, and planned a top-secret birthday surprise for me. I admit when I arrived home from the spa, pampered and relaxed I had to take a mighty big breath before opening the front door to the chaos of my life, but I was pleasantly surprised. The boys greeted me at the entrance to the dining room which they had adorned with streamers and balloons. "Welcome to the party room!" Zack and Evan both yelled and each child, including Julian had a flower for me. There was a crazy Hello Kitty birthday cake they had made with our nanny and party hats. I was given hugs and kisses and homemade birthday cards. The boys also made me my very own video "Zombie Kids." As it turns out our lovely nanny was also a film student and it is evident in her work. The video is amazing and I will cherish it always. You can check it out here.

The bottom line is that yesterday was another reminder of how blessed I am. Years ago, I would have thought staying at home and eating cake with the kids on my birthday sounded lame. It was far from lame. I felt so loved and so lucky. I'm 38 years old and it's pretty great.

Summer's gone

Summer is coming to a close, and as usual I am left shrugging my shoulders and wondering "where did the time go?" As a child summer used to seem to last an eternity. Long humid Wisconsin days, all running into each other, never ending. Has summer gotten shorter or is it just another inevitable consequence of growing up?

Next week Zack will be a first grader. I have an elementary school age kid and I can't understand how it happened. I swear to God he was just toddling around the mall charming everyone with his babbling. My baby. On Monday I will take him off to school with this backpack and his lunchbox and give him over to his teachers and to the world. A baby no more, Zachary is growing up. He will learn math this year, have homework, write book reports and take several million more steps towards becoming his very own person. It's exciting, but a part of me wishes we could have held on to summer, and his babyhood just a little bit longer.

It was a good summer, all things considered. Due to my ankle injury we didn't do everything I had hoped we would, but we did a lot. There were hot days at the amusement park, getting drenched on the water rides, there were picnics and beach days and many, many moments where I looked at my family and thought "this is what is all about."

And now we move into fall. Zachary in first grade, Evan a precocious preschooler, and Julian, my last toddling little baby. Autumn will be gone as quickly as the summer past, and the year will tumble by, giving way to more change and scattering behind so many lovely memories. 

Bravo T.V.: Better for you then heroin.

God damn Bravo TV. I love that freaking station. I am mesmerized by their programming. Million Dollar Matchmaker, Million Dollar Listing and The Real Housewives, these are my all time favorites. Thought provoking? No. Educational? No. Heart-felt? No. None of the above. It's all pure garbage designed to make us regular folk feel inadequate. And I eat it up. I'm addicted. When I want to turn the brain off, I turn to Bravo. Bless them.

Million Dollar Listing: I should not enjoy this program. When I watch these young whipper-snapper real estate agents earning a $500,000 commission on a home sale I feel jealous. When I see the immaculate, gigantic homes that they represent, I feel disgusted. Disgusted at the ridiculous display of wealth. 8,000 square feet? 7 bathrooms? 2 pools? A bowling ally?  Really? The owners should give a few million to charity and move into something more modest. Then I look closely at the beautiful furniture, the spotless immaculate rooms, nothing out of place, no silly knick-knacks that don't match. No dust bunnies, not random socks covering the closet floors, and I feel disgusted by my own pathetic home. My filthy, cluttered, unorganized home with all of the worn furniture and I want to scream into the television set "It's not fair!" Nobody makes me watch this program, yet I do. Oh, yes I do. Again, and again.

Million Dollar Matchmaker: There are so many reasons to hate this program. #1: Old, ugly rich men with thick wallets demanding 22 year old playboy models for "soul mates." Nauseated much? #2: First dates that involve helicopter rides, private dining rooms and caviar. OMG. That is so my life! The Hubs and I are always whisking away to Vegas in our private jet! #3) Patty critiquing the potential dates by insulting women who are too old, too fat or just not hot enough. Patty, take a look in the mirror! You are not doing any of us any favors. Who can live up to your freaking standards? Not even you!!! Stupid show. And so very fabulous.

The Real Housewives: I don't care what season or what city it's all the same. Cat fights, fake boobs, tummy tucks, designer clothing, ridiculous parties, expensive jewelry and fantasy vacations. One of their birthday celebrations is worth more than I can earn in a year. They are shallow, nasty bitches and they are so much fun to watch! And who can resist the ever charismatic Andy Cohen? I totally want to grab a cosmo with him! Sure, watching these housewives makes me feel like an unattractive bag lady with my highly unglamorous Old Navy wardrobe, but I can't turn it off and you can't make me.

What should I be watching? PBS? CNN? Nothing at all? Right. I should probably be reading. Cleaning. Doing something to better myself. But no, it's so much more fun to sit on my butt and get mad. Right?

Well. It's better for me than heroin. So there is that. 

Thirteen Years

Today the husband and I celebrate thirteen years of marriage. This October will mark twenty years together as a couple. Twenty years. Over half of our lifetime. I'm not exaggerating when I say that we grew up together. I don't know a life without Mr. David Kargas. I am a lucky woman indeed.

I usually try and post something sweet in honor of our anniversary, but just like writing a meaningful greeting card, it gets more challenging each year. Is that because we have been together for so many years that there is no longer any romance? Is it because I have nothing left to say?

No.

It is because with each passing year it becomes more impossible to put my feelings into words. After twenty years everything feels so trite. I can say that I love him, but we say that everyday. I can say that he is an amazing husband, father and man, but I have said that a million times and it doesn't express enough.There aren't any words that can express my gratitude for my life, and after all this time, David is woven into the fabric of who I am. I used to think that it was so important to have an identity separate from my spouse's. While I still feel the need to have occasional time to myself, and explore my own personal interests, it is now impossible to untangle David from my identity. We grew up together. We have influenced each other in so many ways, he will always be a part of who I am and who I will become. I could not be any more grateful that at 18 years of age, I found him.  Lucky doesn't begin to describe it.

So Happy Anniversary David. Even if I can put it in words, I think that you know how I feel.

Peaceful Demonstration Turns Violent At Kargas Inc Corporate HQ

Oakland, CA

A peaceful demonstration turned violent at Kargas Inc company headquarters on Tuesday evening. It has been reported that employees were participating in a protest as a means of drawing  attention to the inhumane working conditions at this 13 year old company. Employees have complained that they are required to follow unfair rules that limit use of television, Ipads and other varieties of media. They have also filed formal complaints about job duties, specifically janitorial/cleaning work that are not believed to be a part of their written job description.

On the evening of Tuesday, August 7, employees could be heard chanting "Not Fair! Not Fair!" But the tension grew when company CEO, Rachel Kargas announced that there would be veggie burgers for dinner. This new piece of information sparked an out and out riot. Spoons and forks were thrown, milk glasses pushed to the ground and Ms. Kargas was verbally assaulted with taunts such as, "You are the meanest person in the whole wide world! We HATE you!"

Ms. Kargas could not be reached for comment but it has been confirmed that senior leadership found her hiding in her office in the fetal position,  with a glass of wine and a copy of 50 Shades of Gray by her side.

Tuesday Ramblings With Rachel

There is a lot going in the world today; shootings, refinery fires, Olympics, mean guys selling chicken. I could write about any of these topics, but I know what you really want to hear about. MY HAIR OF COURSE.

It is getting out of control. I have very few options at this point. It is starting to look shaggy in front, and like a curly mullet in the back. H.O.T.  I am struck by how very slowly my hair seems to be growing. I have not had a haircut since March. Good Lord, this is a process. You will see my latest style in the picture to the right. Basically I'm hiding my hair as much as possible without wearing a hat. Yay.

You are *probably* also looking for an ankle update. Sure you are. My ankle sucks, thank you very much. It shows no signs of improvement. I have been clunking around in this boot for 3.5 weeks and my ankle looks exactly the same. I am not feeling very hopeful at this point. Will I ever run again????

Okay, since I am rambling, I'll go ahead and get on my soapbox. The Olympics..Women's volleyball. Can someone please tell me why it is necessary for the women (THE WOMEN ONLY) to wear little bikini bottoms to play volleyball? They are not really on the beach after all. It isn't as if they might just go for a swim after a match. If it is for better mobility, why aren't the men wearing speedos when they play? Instead male competitors wear long shorts. Yes, I realize that these are athletes with hot bodies. These women may even enjoy showing off, but I believe society is taking yet another opportunity to objectify women and use their bodies to sell products and ratings. It contributes to a sexist culture that values women's appearance above all their other contributions. Take a look at the below picture.I think I've made my point.

Cats: Why They Suck

These days nobody would call me a cat lover. I complain about my feline companions often. The puke, the messy litter box, the shedding and the urine soaked attic of our last rental home (which cost us nearly $2000). Cats, not a fan.

But it wasn't always that way, not at all. At one point in my life you could have called me a cat fanatic. I loved the four legged creatures and was rather vocal about it. When I was in my early twenties I actually owned a cat sweater. I'm not joking. People used to email me crazy cat photos with great frequency. I was given cat related gifts, mugs, stationary, art, you name it. On our wedding day, the Cantor who married us actually mentioned our two four legged friends in her "sermon." I know. I know. I had crazy cat lady written all over me.

My, how things change. The truth is, a huge percentage of my life is effected by the bodily functions of cats. To begin with, cat litter pays our bills. That's right, my husband actually works for a cat litter company. He lives, breaths and dreams about cat crap. You can view his work here. It actually quite amusing.  I justify the fact that my spouse does all the litter box cleaning by assuming he is doing company research with each scoop. But I cannot avoid cleaning up after my kitties, Wynkoop and Flanders. Flanders is at least thirteen years old. I'm not sure anymore. There was probably a time where we actually celebrated his birthday, but I'm blocking that out. That cat weighs about 5lbs. I can feel every bone in his scrawny little body. He pukes with great frequency and produces a great stench every time he uses the litter box, which is located in my office. Don't ask. I have to light candles and sweep up litter constantly just to make it through the work day. Just the other night I awoke to him pawing at my covers, doing "the litter box dance" because he had just done his business. On my bed. Yes it was gross. Very, very gross.

Wynkoop is about two years old. He is my grief cat. I picked him up after my beloved Wiggum passed away. I thought it would ease the pain. It did. For a while. Then the cute innocent kitten turned into a big ugly cat that likes to toss out litter with a mighty paw after every use. I sweep up litter. Lots and lots of litter.

Nobody in their right mind would ever adopt Flanders. This bag of bones could easily destroy a home in a matter of days. Giving him up to the humane society would be equivalent to a death sentence and I simply don't have it in me. Just look at his face. He is cute after all. I figure if we have to keep Flanders than we might as well keep Wynkoop. So we are two cat family. Even though I really don't like fur balls much at all.

And thus, my life is ruled by cats. Specifically the cat box. It pays our bills, it's with me in the office, and it keeps me sweeping and sweeping and sweeping day in and day out. While I'm grateful to cats across America for using litter boxes, I must say I am starting to despise the species.

In conclusion, would someone please instruct my husband to stop gifting me Kitty-Cat Christmas ornaments each and every holiday? What I really need is a nose plug and a new broom.