When furniture attacks....

Being a homeowner is dangerous. I’m serious. I haven’t been injured this much since I was about 6, and regularly fell off my bike and various playground equipment. I feel like I am covered head to toe with bruises, cuts, scrapes, little puncture wounds from where I step on things, etc. House (that’s my house’s name, original, isn’t it?) has used me for its punching bag. I brought most of it on myself, though. So I guess I can’t completely blame House. You see, readers, andie and home projects don’t get along so well. My experience with repairing “home things” is laughably limited. Most of the time, I will just stand there and look at whatever object I’ve broken, poke it a few times, and, if no response from poking, sit on the couch and wait for Mike. When he arrives, I would promptly declare that this thing is broken! And please fix it. Quickly. Anything more advanced than changing a lightbulb (and sometimes I didn’t even do that! Hey, stop judging me. I’m only 5’2’’, and most lightbulbs are way up there) and I am lost.

However, andiepants decided to turn over a new leaf after becoming an illustrious homeowner. My first task was to assemble a two drawer-shelving unit that we bought to house some of our clothes. I insisted that I handle this project BY MYSELF. I guess I wanted to prove to Mike and Scout and myself that I was capable of wielding a screwdriver without the world exploding. I methodically worked for 2 hours, carefully following each direction, matching part A with part G, using screw 9. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of following crappy directions (that was my first lesson in homeowner-ship.. whenever things don’t turn out right, blame directions. Check), I had both the external frame and two drawers assembled. I turned to Mike with a triumphant smirk, lifted the drawers into the frame and ! of course they didn’t fit. Not even close. Crap! Upon further inspection, I had screwed (and nailed) the frame on backward, which andiepants should have noticed by the appearance of the unfinished edges, which were now unceremoniously displaying themselves on the top of the frame. Ah! Crap! I then had to go back and unscrew most of the frame and pry up the nails that I had smugly driven in. While cursing, and desperately trying to wedge my screwdriver underneath the f*%&ing nails, the screwdriver just happened to “slip” and slice into my hand. I am convinced that this was intentional and that the drawer and screwdriver were both conspiring against me. Really! Who cuts themselves with a screwdriver? Apparently I do. Anyway, I managed to resurrect the shelving unit into its intended form. Success, but not without quite a fight.

Here is another indicator that House hates me already. I decided that I would like to concentrate on making one room an andie sanctuary, because I was feeling very anxious about the unsettled-ness of House. So on Saturday morning, andiepants work up early, guzzled coffee, munched on cheerios and set to work on the office. I had great plans for this room! Books, candles, photos, yoga, music, etc, woo hoo! The first step to transforming this chaotic room into a peaceful office was to move the seven foot tall black bookshelf about six feet over so that the closets would be accessible and the room would be opened up. I quickly took all of the books and various other trinkets off the shelves, cleared a path and got ready to rock and roll. I grasped the bookshelf around the middle, bent my knees and lifted, slowly dragging the bookshelf to the left. As I did, the lower left leg of the bookshelf dug itself into the carpet and promptly cracked off. The bookshelf lurched to the side with me wrapped around it, like two drunken college students in a brawl. I managed to win that battle and was able to prop the now crippled bookshelf up against the wall, wedging in the computer chair to support it. My poor fingers were caught between the shelves and received the brunt of the trauma, with a nasty gash and big bruise. Well, crap. This was not part of my plan. I thought long and hard about what to do. At first, I decided to follow andie protocol. So I stared at it, ascertained that it was indeed broken, blamed the directions, poked it, and then figured I would wait for Mike.

But hey, why not try something different? I thought back to my determined and industrious almost husband, who fixed a splintered bench using about thirty L brackets and a whole lot of tenacity. If he could fix a bench that had been nearly obliterated, I could surely fix one leg of a bookshelf. Feeling renewed and confident, I set to work. I installed two L brackets from the main frame of the bookshelf to the top of the broken leg, using a power drill. I made sure that it was lined up correctly, and then installed two long screws into the bottom part of the leg, attaching it to the other side of the main frame to give it additional support. I then replaced the cardboard backing and slowly, carefully, backed it into position. I tested the bookshelf for stability by pushing it from side to side, and placing just a few books on it. The bookshelf held its ground! Huzzah! Andie 1, bookshelf 0! Take that!

I slowly and carefully loaded all of our books, scrap books, framed photos, etc, onto newly fixed bookshelf, taking care to make sure it wasn’t beginning to list to one side. Mike came home from his hiking trip, a tired Scout in tow, and I strutted around like a proud rooster, boasting about my incredible repair skills. I pushed him into the office to observe my masterpiece. I ran over to the bookshelf to excitedly point to where I had installed the L brackets and screws, and in my excitement, I ever so slightly knocked into the wounded bookshelf. I regret not having the foresight to video tape what happened next, because it would have made YouTube explode. As I bumped into the shelf, it began to list toward the side with the broken leg. Oh no!! As if in slow motion, I lunged to save it, and ended up getting hit in the face several times with text books as they plummeted off the now crumpling book shelf. The bookshelf exploded into splinters of parts, screws breaking off and shooting into the air, as I tried to protect myself from falling scrapbooks, picture frames and the pointiest books in the world. Attack of the college memorabilia!! It’s raining Tom Robbins and Steinbeck!! Take cover!! The disaster ended with the bookshelf no longer standing, but piled in a sad heap on the floor, and andiepants cursing wildly at it. Andie 0, bookshelf 1. 

I stood there for a few minutes, letting my cursing run its course, and burst into tears. Mike, knowing me as well as he does, promptly removed me from the situation. We went and had lunch at a local restaurant, and my chicken quesidilla tempered some of my anger toward the bookshelf. We returned to the house after I had cooled off, and removed the remnants of the bookshelf. I was able to carry on and complete setting up the office and turn it into a room in which I can relax, but unfortunately my books now reside on the floor. I’m not sure that I’m going to be able to get a new bookshelf. I may be prejudiced toward all bookshelves for the rest of my life and assume that they are all going to attack me.

I’m a little nervous to see what House has in store for me in the weeks and months to come. If my injuries in the last two and a half weeks are any indication, I am going to be one beat up andiepants.

Be happy and happy belated mothers day to everyone, especially my mama.

Andiepants.

homeownin' andiepants.

I became a homeowner on Friday April 22nd. Well, actually right now, I’m an unofficial homeowner, because its mike’s name on the paperwork, not mine. We figured that it was easier that way, because I don’t want it to be my maiden name on the paperwork, and then have to change it all over in September. So yes, readers, I can hear your cynical minds clicking away already… because my cynical mind already beat you to it. Is this really just a mike-ploy to have sole ownership of the house just in case I become intolerably annoying? Technically, since my name is not on the paperwork yet, he can kick me out when I become intolerably annoying. Quite a conundrum for andiepants. What to do, you ask? Well my plan of action for the next 4 months will be to try really hard not to leave my clothes everywhere, stop making up silly songs, take the dog out often, attempt to cook dinner every once in a while, etc etc etc. Mostly just try to do things that will distract him enough from me being intolerably annoying to ensure my safety in said house. Brilliant! However, once I sign Mrs. Andrea Caggiano (ooooh! Exciting! But I have to put some time in learning how to pull off those double g’s in my new signature… right now they look like a kindergartener… with her left hand….using finger paint) on that little dotted line, its on! Try and kick me out now, mikeyface! I will plant myself on the couch, guzzle bons bons while I watch Dog the Bounty Hunter marathons and yell loudly from my perch “Miiiiiiiiiiike, when are you going to clean the kiiiiiiiiiiiiitchen?” muahahahhahaha!

I’ll take a moment from evil giggling to share with you all my experience of this most recent move. I believe I can best express it in one word: holyshiticantbelieveihavethismuchstuffwherethefuckdiditallcomefrom.

That word (yes, it’s a word. Do you think I would lie to you and just invent words? Well, yes, I would, but in this case it’s a word. Go ahead, look it up in the dictionary. Beside this word, you’ll find a picture of me from moving weekend, sifting through all of my belongings while contemplating suicide) kept cycling in my head for the entire weekend, and continues to make regular loops today. But seriously. Where and when did I accumulate all of these….things? I’m truly frightened not because of the amount of stuff that I have now, but my potential for accumulating more crap. I’m only 25, people. Hopefully I have at least 40 more years of accumulating crap. If that tlc show Hoarders is still around when andiepants has to wear depends and get bifocals, I will totally be on it. You’ll see me, buried in a mountain of books, shoes and half finished craft projects, drowning in my own superfluous crap. Ah! Terrifying. I’ll just have to guard against this by having andie-sales every five years or so. Don’t worry. I’ll let you know when I begin to enact this policy. I’ll send out coupons.

Mike and I spent the entire weekend cleaning and moving. Friday night was filled with the delightful task of cleaning the house that we had just purchased. As previously mentioned in one of these posts, I have lived in 9 different living spaces that I did not own. As such, I had to clean them before I returned them to their owner. Ok, I know I’m not the best cleaner in the world when it comes to my own belongings and abode, but when it belongs to someone else, especially if they have been a good landlord, I can clean the pants off of an apartment. And I don’t expect everyone to follow my exemplary (if I do say so myself) example of cleaning their living space, but I have never in my life experienced the level of ickiness that the tenants left our house in. Ick-y. There were piles of clothes in the backyard, a package of tortillas in the front yard (a customary greeting in New Mexico? I think not…. Just icky), garbage outside everywhere and the inside was even worse. We rented a steam cleaner from the grocery store and deep cleaned every inch of the carpets. Tangent alert: does anyone else love steam cleaners? Because I do. Its so fun making little patterns in the carpet with the cleaner. You can make straight lines, or go the crop circle route. Perhaps write your name or a message to a friend. However, since turning with a steam cleaner is difficult and cumbersome, this might not work so well. Anyway, if you’ve never taken a spin with a steam cleaner, I’d recommend it. I’m sure that you can find a dirty floor somewhere and give it a whirl!

Mike and I soldiered on Friday night and declared war on the ickiness. Saturday saw M and I moving all of our belonging, down to the last Q tip, from the transition house to our new house. What a day! In addition to being physically exhausting, it was an emotional roller coaster. Mike and I would have moments of exhilarating motivation and enthusiasm, beaming with pride about our new house and we loaded boxes into Howie. We would high five each other on the way back to transition house to collect more things, declaring, “we could do this all day!” Ten minutes later, we were dragging, shuffling our feet on the way back to get more boxes, growling and snapping at each other. After an entire day spent schlepping our things back and forth, we deposited our boxes in the living room, set up our bed and fell asleep. Sunday was a better day. We decided to divide and conquer, so I was elected to clean the transition house, while Mike tackled our new house. I actually had a pretty good time cleaning the other house. The couple who had allowed us to stay there had gone so out of their way for us, displaying a type of generosity and community that we had never seen before, so it was easy for me to feel positive and thankful as I cleaned. And friends, I cleaned the hell out of that place. I left a shine so bright that entering this house might require welding goggles.

Following the cleaning to end all cleanings, I joined mike at our house and started the process of putting things away. We remembered that we have to eat, and made our way to one of the local restaurants where I devoured a burger and fries platter. Not just ate, devoured. I’m pretty sure I just lowered my face within several inches of the plate and it was swept away, like a big tornado when it encounters cows. Refueling at its core. The rest of Sunday saw us slowly but surely start to unpack our belongings into their new homes. It’s going to be quite a process, but we are slowly .... slowwwwwlllly.... setting up our home.

Be happy,

Andie.

the $64,000 question.

So my intent was to blog about something lighthearted today. The past two entries have been pretty heavy, even for my standards. I delve into heavy stuff, sometimes with reluctance, but most times with both feet. A swan dive into hectic and complex feelings and emotions. It’s the therapist in me, I can overanalyze and therapize just about anything. “Oh? You like chocolate, you say? Well, of course it represents your overactive libido and your inappropriate attachment to your mother….” That type of analysis would make Siggy proud. Andiepants breaks apart feelings into smaller and smaller fragments until their origins become transparent. I relentlessly pick apart the tangled web of emotions, carefully, methodically and examine and analyze every strand. But sometimes, my overworked, overanalytical (not a word, by the way), intensely anxious, underpaid (grossly!) brain decides to wave the proverbial white flag, puts in a call to its union rep and goes home. 

Sometimes, friends, I want to hang up my therapy pants. As much as I love it, there are times when I just really want to put this aside and adopt a whole new career. Doing what, you ask? Professional puppy-hugger, perhaps. How great would life be if you could hold and snuggle puppies for 8 hours out of every day? Mmmmm bliss. Or maybe a licensed, certified finger painter…call andiepants for all your finger painting needs. I could live in an industrial loft space, dipping my hands wildly into paint and splattering them onto a canvas, and then selling it for thousands of dollars. I like the sound of that. Or how about a highly trained and experienced high five specialist? I could just stand outside of a highly populated area and high five people all day long. Sometimes I need to give the brain a break… a chance to just float merrily along in its sea of brain-y goo. Take a personal day, brain! A neurological sabbatical, if you will. Take the day off from firing off millions of signals and responses and thoughts and stressors and gahhhh…. This is why I grind my teeth.

And in the interest of floating merrily along in a sea of brain-y goo, I’d like to put forth a deep and profound question courtesy of a movie I recently saw: If you could choose to be any animal, what animal would you choose? In the aforementioned movie (it was called “The Other Guys”, and it was hilarious), the person asked chose “BearDog”. However, it was his reasoning behind his choice of BearDog that made the absurdity of this choice insanely awesome. He stated that he chose BearDog so that he could live in the house like a dog, but poo in the woods like a bear. Now that is a well thought out argument if I’ve ever heard one.

This cinematic discussion caused andiepants to think of my own choice if ever faced with this important question. There was a time in my life when I would have immediately replied that I would like to be a cow. In my youth, I was something of a cow collector, a  bovine aficionado, if you will. Whenever someone incredulously asked “why?!?”, I would state that they are “sooooo cute”. However, after getting a bit older, and ESPECIALLY after moving to the southwest, I no longer feel this way for several reasons. Most involve the horrible and cruel treatment of the herd (especially the whole slaughter thing), but also because of the herd mentality that befalls those of the bovine persuasion. You never see any free thinking cows! No cows are standing on soapboxes, calling for change or attempting to unionize. I once explained to a visiting friend that cattle guards (those grated structures they place across the roads to keep cattle in one location) are there just in case the cows run amok. Mike, overhearing this, whipped his head around to my direction and speared me with a look of contempt. “Who told you that?” he asked, “Cows? Running amok? They’re the most docile creatures in the world, andie.” (Sidenote: apparently my husband to be has never heard of the running of the bulls…. Not so docile, my friend. Or mad cow disease… or the bovine equivalent of a complete overthrow of the government: a moo d’etat [ha! Get it! Moo d’etat! Sigh..]).

Anyway, no more dreams of being reincarnated as Bessie, so what then? Well, I have standards friends, and if I come back as an animal there are some rules to adhere to. First, nothing too small for fear of being trampled, eaten or just plain wussy. There goes mouse, squirrel, rabbit, frog , etc. Secondly, nothing nocturnal. I’m a big fan of the sun (proclaims my millions of freckles) and I’m not too fond of the dark (I think the lemur community might frown upon the use of a night light). Third, nothing overtly vicious. Yes, readers, being a lion might be awesome, but I don’t think that andiepants has the constitution to rip a poor little antelope to tiny bloody bits.

So to summarize, the chosen animal can’t be too small, can’t be slaughtered regularly for food or clothing, must observe the normal circadian rhythym that I am accustomed to, and not be especially carnivorous or violent. What animal does that leave us with? I think the answer is pretty obvious. Andiepants will obviously reincarnate as a winged unicorn. I mean, its really the only creature that fits the bill. And I will prance around the universe, swishing my little unicorn tail with reckless abandon. 

enjoy your thursday and be happy. 

andie. 

The Triumphant Return of Andiepants. Part Two- Transition

Welcome back. Now that I’ve expressed the brunt of my rage (if you missed it, see Part One-Anger) I can move forward to the second force which has been throwing me out of my proverbial comfort zone: transition. Ah. The big T. Even the word itself gives me a tight little knot of anxiety in my belly. Anyone who knows me is fully aware that I despise transition. It’s just so……..uncomfortable. Somewhere along the andielife, I have become a nest-er, a little barnacle. The running joke in my family for many years was to immediately assume, in a half joking accusatory manner, that I was pregnant, due to my strong nesting instincts. (I’m not, by the way). This strong impulse to nest arrived rather suddenly. One day in my early twenties, I realized that I like arranging things, I like setting up rooms, I LOVE making beds (weird!), and I like making a little andiehome for myself. I have now accepted the idea that I’m a homebody, and prefer snuggling up on the couch with wine and a good book to prowling dance clubs in my hot pants. I’ll choose a house party with 20 good friends over the “hottest new bar” any day. Don’t get me wrong, friends. I enjoy throwing some heels on and shaking the andie-butt from time to time, but much prefer the comfort and positive energy of a friends couch and some great conversation. This used to give me so much guilt in college! My sorority sisters would whine at me and attempt to guilt me into whatever bar was having a special that night. And I would go, begrudgingly, sipping my beer and making superficial small talk to whichever drunken frat boy happened to be in my vicinity.

Mike is obviously well versed in my barnacle-y disposition and now presents an idea, accompanied by the phrase “or something like that.” Consider this example: “Hey andie, do you want to go to Ruidoso for dinner? Maybe that Sushi place?…….. Or something like that?” He has adopted this necessary phraseology due to my nearly instantaneous attachment to ideas. Sushi? He wants sushi? Oh I’d like sushi, I wonder what I’m going to get, what should I wear, do you think they have hot sake there? For the andiebrain, the idea of sushi is a seed that has already taken root, and began to bloom into a little tree. Or in the case of my namesake, a barnacle that has permanently attached itself to the underside of the boat. Take that! However, for mike, and probably the rest of the world, these ideas are just wafting by, floating in and out of the brain like the wind, with no significant attachment. Mike might then decide that he is not in fact in the mood for sushi, but would like steak instead. He then presents this idea to me and I am horrified. But I already had my sushi order in my head! I was going to wear my favorite sushi shirt! Now I have to change! You can’t just change your mind! I have barnacled!

But yes, people can just change their minds and andiepants is just going to have to deal with that. I present the above, long-winded example to illustrate how resistant andie pants is to change. Sometimes I fight change with everything I have, which is always futile. The only thing that we know for certain is that everything will change. And for the past month, I have been up to my eyeballs in some good old-fashioned change. I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about it, without using the word icky, and could use your help. So lets try and figure this out.

I love having a home. Even though I have moved around incessantly, I always manage to become very attached to the places I live. Since growing up in the beautiful metropolis of NT, I’ve lived in three different residences in Geneseo, four different houses on Long Island, and two, soon to be three, residences in New Mexico. Each house (or room) held some character, some personality that I grew very fond of. There was my balcony in my childhood bedroom, my purple room in the sorority house in Geneseo, the ridiculously awesome closet in my Little Plains bedroom, the Main Street backyard, and most recently the 12^th street bathroom. Of course, some residences had their down sides (like psychotic landlords that screamed and cursed at you), but generally speaking, I have been pretty lucky in terms of living situations. My roommates and former landlords (save for one) have been great. As mentioned above, I barnacle very easily and I have cried when faced with moving out with every place I’ve lived. I’m serious. I cried during EVERY SINGLE MOVE. I’m continually shocked that I seem to have an endless supply of tears, because emotional andiepants becomes a wreck during moves. Moving has always been a very stressful, taxing experience for me, and when we arrived in New Mexico, which was a gigantic move in itself, I thought that I would be able to relax and nest. Mmmmmmm nesting. And that was how it was for the past 5 months, until Scoutypants came into our lives, and the true nature of Gary Krivokapich was revealed. But I refuse to give him any more space in my brain, or to send any more energy in his direction, so lets move on.

Currently, A-pants, Scouty McDoodle, and Mikeyface live in what I call a “transitional house”. An amazingly generous couple in our crazy little town offered to let us stay in one of their houses that was currently vacant. So that is where the cagg family has been since the middle of March. Though it is an adorable house with ample space and cozy rooms, I feel like I am going out of my mind trying to fight my nesting impulses. Most of our possessions remain in boxes in the addition to the house. We never know where anything is. Just this morning, as Mike was making breakfast, we had to dig through the kitchen boxes to find a spatula to complete the meal. I hate it. I want to unpack, to create my own space. And yes, I will be able to do that in about a month when we move into our house, but for now, I just feel a bit like I’m lost at sea. I have my life raft, and I’m thankful for that, but I just want to get to shore and move on with my life. You can’t decorate a life raft! Because you know its temporary. Why waste the energy arranging and unpacking just to pack up again in three weeks? I did however make a few concessions in regards to nesting. We hung my fathers painting on the wall, which always brings peace and calm to my mind. I also purchased a vase with some lovely silk hibiscus and dahlia flowers for the table. Mmmm flowers.

I am incredibly excited about becoming a homeowner. Woo! What a step. The house that we are purchasing is pretty awesome too. It has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a big kitchen (yay) and a big fenced in back yard. Mike is practically foaming at the mouth with all of his excitement regarding home improvement projects. It becomes clearer to me every single day that Mike and I are so different. My idea of relaxing involves a glass of wine and a bubble bath, where his mecca of relaxation involves lumber and power tools. Different indeed. But somehow it works. I’m already dreaming about what colors I’d like the bedrooms to be, and where I’m going to hang my favorite things.  

Becoming a dog mama is harder than I thought it would be. I had dogs growing up, Bandit and Fuggles, respectively. I’ve mentioned both of them in this literary masterpiece, and love them both to pieces. But, dear readers, I never had to train them. I was only 5 years old when Bandit came into our lives, so my parents and brother took the lead with him. I was able to just sit there and play with him. Not a bad gig. And with Fuggles, I was away at college for most of his puppyhood, so again missed out on the training. My mom and dad were the ones who had to instill the discipline, rules and regulations, who had to put their stern-pants on when Bandit peed on the floor, or Fuggs ate my moms slippers. I was able to just prance in and love on them. I was able to swoop in, play with them and console them about their mean parents. Now I’m the mean parent! Crap. Don’t get me wrong, readers, I loved Scout the instant I laid eyes on him, but sometimes I get so frustrated! We have only had him for 4 weeks, and he has made incredible gains. He is completely housebroken (hooray!!), does pretty well with sit, come and stay, (…..when he feels like it) and has the sweetest disposition. However, he is still a puppy in many ways. I came home the other day to my little Scoutypants, laying on the floor, with one of my black old navy flip flops clasped between his sweet little paws, contentedly destroying it. Ah! I bought him all these chew toys that lay on our floor unused, and he chews my shoes. Sigh. He also has boundless energy and runs laps around the house. We walk and run him constantly to try and burn off some of the puppy energy, but are still sometimes overwhelmed. We are so thankful for our friends around town of who have dogs he can play with. Scout had his first date yesterday with a lovely little two year old blue heeler mix named Dutchess. He behaved pretty well, and when he got in her face too much, she nipped at him to put him in his place. Go Dutchess! They had a great time running around the park together, while their people ate a picnic dinner.

To summarize, in the last 4 weeks, I have been kicked out of an apartment, have moved into the transitional house, purchased a new home and became a dog mama. Friends, I am exhausted!! I read an article somewhere that listed off the most stressful events that can occur during ones life. Number one? Getting married. I happen to be doing that later on this year. Number two? Having a child. No, readers, I am not pregnant, but I did become a dog mama, and sometimes attempting to train a rambunctious one-year-old puppy who follows you everywhere and drastically alters your ability to travel and move around freely, whose favorite activity is eating your shoes, and who depends on you for everything feels like caring for a baby. Number three? Buying a house. Yep, I’m in the process of doing that, too. Holy crap. When I moved to New Mexico six months ago, still battling with an intense anxiety disorder, it was my intention, my focus, my plan to adopt a simpler existence. To shed the extraneous stressors that had been popping up in my life like unwanted facial blemishes, to utilize this quiet environment and lack of stimulation to reset my internal balance. I did not anticipate that I would encounter three significant life changes in 4 weeks. Readers, I am exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally. There was a time where I was contemplating trying to make a move in my occupation, but I have decided against that, out of sheer exhaustion. No more life transitions at the moment! I am closed for business. 

Enjoy your tuesday and be happy, 

andie. 

The Triumphant Return of Andiepants- Part One - Anger

One of the most enlightening moments in my educational career came to me when discussing things that cause harm to the body. My professor lectured for nearly thirty minutes about this “one thing” that can change our brain wave patterns, cause migraine and vision problems, disrupt our sleep schedules, wear our teeth down by grinding, causing jaw pain. This “thing” damages our hearts and lungs. This “thing” creates muscle tension in almost every part of the body, most notably shoulders neck and back. It leads to serious digestive problems, such as ulcers and can even mimic more serious conditions by having symptoms such as chest pain and shortness of breath. This “thing” that can cause this catastrophic destruction of the body is chronic stress. Yes, dear readers, chronic stress is quite possibly the most damaging force to the mind body and soul. Andiepants recognizes that a small amount of stress during short periods of time can have a positive, motivating, invigorating effect on the body. Consider the example of the college student who writes an entire 10 page paper the night before its due (yep, that was me circa 2005 or so). In those moments I existed solely on coffee and stress, practically electric with the energy and pressure that it created. Ah! Exciting!

The stress that I’m referring to, the one that will take you down faster than a speeding bus, is chronic stress. Stress day in, stress day out. Wake up stressed, experience your whole day with stress and go to bed stressed. In my andie-experience, one of the most efficient ways to fill your mind, body and soul with this damaging stress is to carry around anger. Anger, my dear readers, is a natural human emotion, one of most primitive and necessary emotions known to man. But when anger is harbored, its almost as if it becomes acidic and starts to eat away the mind, body and soul. It ferments within the soul and feeds on the light, positive, innocent, happy parts of you, making it all twisty and dark and cynical. Those who carry the burden of anger inflict a vast amount of unnecessary stress on the body, and make it more vulnerable to things like cancer, stroke or heart attack.

Over the last few years, I’ve tried to recognize when my stress level crosses over from the short term motivating stress into chronic stress. I’ve been pretty successful at this practice largely because I have resolved myself to let go of my anger, my grudges. Oh and I had some big fat grudges. Grudges that would cause me to obsess, to clench my teeth, shoulders and fists unconsciously. And I have been working so hard to let those go with some pretty positive results. I also try to be proactive about this and try to confront whatever it is that angers me, and come to some resolution or closure and move on, before I have to waste any further energy on it.

However, I am currently being challenged by a situation that makes me so angry, so absolutely infuriated, that I have a good feeling this grudge will be taking up residence in my mind, body and soul for quite some time. I better store up on positive energy and thoughts now, because this grudge is big and I’m sure it will get pretty hungry. In order to tell the story accurately, I will have to start at the beginning. It might get pretty lengthy so if you’re feeling tired, fidgety or just don’t really feel like reading today, I’d recommend closing the window now.

…. Still with me?

Ok. The beginning. My brother sister in law and adorable snookums smushy face nephew came to visit in the beginning of March. It was a great visit! Uncle Mike finally got to meet his nephew, and we spent so much quality time together. Brendan thoroughly enjoyed his stay in the desert and has already experienced more in his six months of life than most people. Go baby! Danny (andie sibling) has become very into geo caching, which is the practice of using a GPS to find hidden objects. The general idea of the geo caching is to locate and sometimes transport small objects, logging in the date, time and finder of the object. The day before my lovely family were scheduled to leave, Dan decided he was going to take a walk around town to find some local geocaches. My town is incredibly small, and Dan had absolutely no chance of getting lost, and so we bid him farewell. He returned approximately an hour later, with a long haired, medium sized dog trailing at his heels. Dan said that this dog had followed him for the better part of an hour, and that he had tried to implore him to “go home” several times. My neighbors who were outside working on their building declared that dogs choose their owners, and that we had a new member of the family. The provided us with a collar, leash and a bowl of dog food and said “good luck.” Also working outside at this point was our (now former) landlord,

Our landlord was in the bottom part of the building working. Even though there was no pet clause in our six month lease, we decided to be accommodating tenants and just check with him first. He assured us that we were able to keep the dog “for a few days, to find his owner, and after that, we would talk.” He also gave us a leash to use. How helpful. After tapping some of the local gossip lines, we discovered our little furball had an owner. We ended up meeting with the owner of BooBoo (his old name), who was a lovely man. He ended up coming inside for about an hour, sat down and had a beer with us, and explained that he was not home nearly enough to care for the dog. He appeared very affectionate and loving with BooBoo, but stated that if we were able to give him a good home, he would be happy to leave him with us.

And just like that, we had a dog. Mike and I always knew that our dogs would come to us this way, very organically and naturally. BooBoo was christened Scout Bounty-Hunter Mega-Tail Caggiano, or Scout for short. Lately, I’ve been calling him all kinds of variations of his name, such as Scoot, Scouty, Scouty McDoodle, Scoots, etc.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

A few days after the Wright family left New Mexico, we were lucky enough to have another visitor, our good friend Joe. But before we were able to enjoy our next visitor, the landlord called Mike to discuss the dog. We had seen the landlord at the apartment just three hours earlier, when he informed us he would need an additional security deposit for the dog. We agreed and figured the matter was settled. However, true to his incredibly passive aggressive nature, he felt more comfortable calling Mike on the phone to express his displeasure. He stated that he had “changed his mind and wanted the dog out by 5pm the next day.” Mike responded that there was no mention of pets in the lease, and the landlord became verbally abusive to Mike, stating that he “should be a man, and not to make Mike treat him like a child.” Mike, wisely, ended the conversation. We decided to try to put that big bit of ugliness behind us and enjoy our visitor for the weekend.

Joe arrived on Friday evening and we had a lovely Saturday day hike. This was Scout’s very first hike and we weren’t sure it was a good idea to let him off the leash at this point. So we put an extension of rope onto his leash, and attached it to the waistbelt of my pack. So for several hours, I had a dog, attached by a pseudo umbilical cord to my womb. Dog mama, indeed. Scout did fabulously on his hike, and we concluded Saturday with a delicious dinner and much fun. The next day, Mike, Joe, and Scoutypants decided to go to the park in the morning. I wasn’t feeling so fantastic, so I decided to stay behind and clean up the apartment. The landlord had informed us that he would like to show his brother our apartment in the afternoon, so I figured it might be nice to clean the place up a bit. I decided to walk to the market to buy some kitchen cleaner. I stepped out into a beautiful southwestern Sunday morning, and began to chat with my neighbor who was painting his building. Things seemed really great at the moment for andiepants, a beautiful day, a new dog, a man who loves me, a friend visiting. I had the world by the ass….

….until the landlord came charging out of his portion of the building and began screaming in my face. At first I felt bad for the old guy. He had sweat streaming down his face, his tiny ineffectual fists balled up by his sides, shaking uncontrollably. He stated that “we knew that we weren’t supposed to have a dog” and that “we were taking advantage of him.” He stated that he “didn’t want that fucking dog pissing and shitting all over his beautiful hardwood floors.” He threatened to bring me to court and informed me that “if I wanted to play dirty, he could play dirty.” He called me a “bitch” and said that “he didn’t care if I was from New York, he could bring me down.” This whole time, I was doing my best to wear my andietherapist face. You know the one. The impassive face that I use when six year olds are throwing temper tantrums (which essentially was what was happening). The stone face that communicates the message “I hear you, but am not going to engage with you when you’re like this.” After he halted for a moment in his rampage, I politely reminded him that there was no pet clause in the lease. He stated that there “was no lease”, to which I responded that we had a copy upstairs. I retrieved my copy of the lease, and presented it to him. At first, he attempted to tell me that “this was not his signature”. What? He then proceeded to rip up the lease (with great effort, mind you), into tiny bits. I’m sure he did it for effect, but it was a bit of overkill for me. I mean, the man is standing there, breathing like he had just spent 3 ½ minutes underwater, sweating, face red, hands shaking, tearing this lease up again, and again, fold, and tear, and repeat. At one point, it seemed like he was having so much trouble, that I was almost inclined to help him rip it, just so we could move on. I could have done without the theatrics, but hey, when children are rampaging, its best just to let them get it out. After the ripping was finished, he shoved all the shreds into this pocket and declared “no more lease.” At this point, I had to laugh. I mean, come on!! The landlord has obviously never learned the idea of object permanence…. Or photocopies..

The rampage didn’t last too much longer. There wasn’t much left to say, but before the “conversation” was over, he hurled a few more ridiculous threats at me, such as “he was going to contact Mike’s boss and report him.” When I inquired as to what he would be reporting him about, he said “oh you’ll find out.” I’m sure I will. Now this whole time, I had been treating him like one of my 5 year olds, who was having a major meltdown, humoring the sweating, huffing and puffing old man who thought he was intimidating and scaring me, but then he crossed a very bad line. The landlord looked me right in my eyes and hurled the following words at me: “I’m going to come up into your apartment every day at 3pm, and take pictures of that fucking dog pissing and shitting all over my floors, and if something happens to him, well.. that would be sad, wouldn’t it?”

Oh no you didn’t. Say what you want about me, hurl ineffectual threats and insults at me, but you DO NOT threaten my dog. At that moment, I thought it best to end the conversation, before I used words I regretted.

I was so proud of not having a reaction in front of the landlord, but once inside the safety of closed doors, I became very upset. I was so angry, afraid for Scout and horrified that I had just been verbally assaulted in this manner. I immediately called Mike and Joe home. Mike came flying home and confronted the landlord. The landlord looked my beautiful man in his face and stated: “I don’t know what she’s talking about. Nothing happened.” Oh well of course. Obviously, andiepants became so unexplainably bored that Sunday morning that I had to concoct this whole story, and then find someway to make myself incredibly upset as “proof.”  I heard the landlord lie to Mike’s face from my upstairs window and began yelling at him to stop lying. The landlord decided to run away, which was a good choice, as I’m sure Mike had visions of destroying him.

So began the move. We decided that we were no longer able to stay in this apartment with his evil, vicious energy and within two days, we were largely moved out and into a house owned by a lovely couple in town. This lovely and generous couple is allowing Mike and I to stay in one of their homes that is on the market. On Monday morning, I filed a police report with the local Sheriff’s department to put this verbal assault on record. Over the next week and a half, we continued to move out of the apartment, and into our transitional house. We also looked at and submitted an offer on a house of our own. Andiepants and the rest of the Cagg fam is very happy to announce that we will be closing on our first house at the end of April.

But of course, the drama with the landlord was far from over. Oh, joy. We had finished moving out of the apartment, and cleaned the entire thing. Can I just tell you, reader friends, how hatefully bitter I was as I cleaned his apartment? Anyway, we contacted him so that we could return the keys and do a walk through. We met him on Saturday night right before a gallery opening in town. As I was walking up the building, I felt my heart start to race, and my hands start to tremble. Unconsciously, my body was gearing up for a fight. We entered the apartment and the landlord greeted Mike, and only Mike. Apparently, I no longer existed. During the walk through, I burned holes in his body with my furious eyes and he avoided looking at me with every fiber of his being. At the conclusion of the walk through, my loyal amazing almost husband turned to the landlord and declared that he owed me an apology and that it would help to smooth this whole episode over. and readers, do you know what the landlord said? He refused! I couldn’t believe it. Even though I had seen the landlord at his most hateful and vicious, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed that given the opportunity, he would apologize in an attempt to rectify the situation. Apparently, I was giving this creature too much credit. He said “No Mike, I’d rather just move on and put this whole thing past me and not stir it up again.” Mike reminded him that we were trying to move on and get closure and apology was a necessary part of that. I then chimed in and asked “So you are not going to apologize for screaming and cursing at me?” I heard him mutter under his breath “never happened.” And he reiterated his position that he was not going to apologize. Right before we exited the apartment for the last time, Mike tried to give him one more chance. He reminded the landlord that we live in a very small town and an apology could make a world of difference in my future attitude toward him. Again, he refused.

Now, I pride myself on being a reasonable woman. I recognize that humans are fallible and make poor decisions sometimes. I accept that no one is perfect, and that sometimes we say things that we don’t mean, that might cross lines, hurt others, etc. However, I also have no respect for liars and cowards who refuse to apologize when they know they are in the wrong. Oh readers, I was on fire. I was literally burning with anger as I walked out of the apartment and into the lovely Southwestern evening. I had to take a little while to compose myself before being able to attend the gallery opening.

In the wake of these events, I need help in figuring out a way to manage these feelings. The landlord walked into the gallery opening about an hour after we had arrived, and I could feel his evil and vicious energy seeping into the room like an oily black cloud. I again burned holes in the back of his head with my eyes, and it was only out of respect for the lovely woman hosting the gallery opening that I didn’t make a gigantic scene in which I outed him as the devious liar and coward that he truly is.

I have some decisions to make. Part of me wants to tell this story a thousand times to every resident or possible resident in the town, to write into our local paper and make this abuse known. It feels as if he got away with someone and I hate that feeling. I want him to be held responsible for his actions. The fact that he has no qualms about attacking a lone woman, but then backs down to Mike says something about his character and soul. I’m not sure exactly what, but I am sure that the landlord is not an excellent husband or father. His actions show a clear disrespect and disregard for women and his bullying attitude portrays a man who is very unsure of himself and insecure in his abilities. I should pity him, but I’m too angry to do that.

Another, more compassionate, part of andiepants wants to let it go and let karma take care of it. Anyone who treats other humans this poorly, and has no qualms about being so viciously dishonest I’m sure will be dealt with in the appropriate fashion. I’m sure that he has no true happiness in his poor meaningless life and that his attack on me was precipitated not by my actions, but by his ineffective coping skills, conflict management and lack of simple people skills. Rather than harboring my intense anger, I should be able to recognize this poor soul for what he is, and hope that he makes a change in his life before its too late.

But readers, I’m not there yet. Until then, I will be doing a whole bunch of yoga and mediation in the hopes that I can eventually reconcile this assault. Any support and/or advice that you readers can throw my way would be greatly appreciated. I’m so happy to be back, and I apologize that my first entry in nearly a month has to be of such a negative tone, but I guess that’s life. Stay tuned for part 2.

Doing my best to be happy,

Andie.

six whole months of andiepants.

happy thursday, friends. i can't believe this day is actually here, but tomorrow will mark six months since the birth of adventures of andiepants. ah! i can't believe it. i actually stuck with it for half a year. and though my entries as of late have been a bit more few and far between (thanks, wedding planning), i have been pretty consistent. there have times where i put off writing for over a week, telling my anxious fingers that i'll get to it "tomorrow." there have also been days where i race home from work, itching to fill a page with words that matter to me and to share them with all of you.

to me, this blog is so much more than words jumbled together on a computer screen. this blog allowed me to retain my sanity (somewhat... ha!) while moving across the country, away from my family and friends. it allowed me a forum to express my happiness, rage, pain, joy, confusion, insert other emotion here, while i slowly but surely navigated my way among the foreign landscape of dust, desert and cacti. it allowed a way for my beloved family and friends to get inside the andiebrain, poke around a bit, and get a feel for whats really going on out here. the irony of andiepants being a therapist is that in my personal life, i often have a inordinately hard time expressing myself verbally. when stressed, confused, anxious, angry, i often resort to an immature and vague dialect full of extraordinary words such as "bummer..", "dude..", "arrghhh...", "rarrrr.." and "merrrrhhhh". now that sounds like someone who completed six years of college. but something happens when i sit down to a blank sheet of paper [or in this case... a blank word document]. when the pressure is removed from speaking face to face, i'm able to process, to flow, to let the words that have been trapped and jumbled in my brain come sliding out.

when i'm speaking, i'm NEVER able to do a flow of consciousness [if you're unsure of what this is, google it! it's amazing!]. my brain is constantly working overtime to stay one step ahead of the words tumbling from my lips, like an overcautious mother trying to wrangle in an adventurous toddler who is too close to the road. the andiebrain throws up road blocks like a construction zone, constantly halting the progress of the frustrated words who are only try to express themselves, to be known, to be heard, to make an impact on the world. the words start to pile up, like frustrated cars behind the unfortunate construction person holding the "stop" sign. much grumbling ensues, and eventually the words just give up and i'm left with the aforementioned incomprehensible sounds. but when i'm writing... it's total freedom. i mean, of course, i can't write about and post on the internet EVERYTHING that comes into my brain. i have a very firm rule that disallows any people bashing in the andiepants blog, or too many details about work [gotta protect my beloved kiddos], and other things of that nature, but barring those things, the andiewords have free reign to rush out of my brain, through my fingers, onto this page and roam. go, little guys, go!

and might i just express a gigantic thank you to everyone who reads. over the last six months, i've heard from a few people that they enjoy reading my words and in some cases can relate. thank you for all the compliments and an enormous thank you to those of you who take the additional time to comment. moving thousands of miles away from my beloved family and friends has been the most challenging thing that i have endured yet. however, when i open my andiepants page and find that beautiful people, [i'm talking about you, reader], have taken the time to comment, to encourage me, to share in the silliness of one of my stories [a covered wagon... on a highway... come on! you can't make this stuff up!].., or to support me as i'm painfully missing my people, it really feels like you're here with me.

six months of andiepants also signifies six months of new mexico andie [well, almost... march 7th will be that date... i'm big on dates.. have you noticed?]. and i have to say that i love it out here. yes, its been super hard at times. i really miss grass sometimes... and trees. but the andiebrain feels different out here. an absolutely lovely and inspirational lady that i've met out here has a great theory that i'd like to share with you all. she suggests that those residing in highly populated, urban communities might have more stress in their lives because they are constantly privy to and receiving energy from all of those around them. of course this can have a positive consequence, as it might stimulate the creative side of people. but it can also have really negative consequences. being surrounded by thousands of other people who are overstressed, overworked, underpaid, unhappy, etc, on a daily basis will begin to wear down the precious psyche, bombarding it with negative thoughts and a stressful aura. and now that i look back on it, in my personal andie experience, this is exactly what was happening to me. i was constantly being challenged in my previous job by extreme human suffering, neglect, hate, rage, poverty, etc. in my personal life, i was incessantly surrounded by people, and yes, i deeply love some of the people [hi long island fam and friends!] i was surrounded by, but others, the strangers who were sharing my space, my air, my environment, were terrible people, greedy, excessive, superior, shallow, angry, who fed on drama and had a significant lack of simple human compassion. i realize now that i used to get calluses on my hands from gripping the steering wheel so tight it caused cramps as i felt like i had to fight every other driver on the road. and it was slowly chipping away at me. no wonder i had rampant panic attacks. my system was on high alert around the clock. terror level purple... whatever that means.

this lovely lady suggested that living in such a rural area [while it does have its significant drawbacks] allows the brain, the psyche, the soul more space. yes, interacting with less people can be difficult, but its also given the andiebrain time to settle into itself, to be at peace, to shut its doors toward external stimuli and concentrate on its own borders for a while. the andiebrain has pulled a Japan in the last six months, adopting an isolationist policy, not worrying about international affairs and concentrating on the andie empire. out here, with miles and miles of land, and less people than i attended high school with, andiepants does not have to constantly be on guard to combat the overpowering wave of negativity that cascades from some people. i can simply be. and the andiebrain, psyche and soul is happy. genuinely happy.

thanks for reading and supporting me in the last six months. i appreciate all of you more than you know and so look forward to the next six months.

be happy,
andie.

i choo choo choose you.

happy valentines day, friends! or... depending on your perspective... happy "intensely marketed consumerism day, which falsely forces you to love people, or feel badly if you don't". whichever floats your boat. andiepants happens to enjoy valentines day. not excessively. i don't count down the days or anything. but its nice. valentines day seems to say "hey world! you love somebody? take a minute and tell them!", which i am very supportive of.

but i dislike the whole "if you're single you can't participate in valentines day" bullshit. what exclusionary nonsense. like most of the world, i've been on both sides of the proverbial fence, single for some years, attached for others. and manfriend or not, i have stubbornly celebrated valentines day. i see valentines day not as a day for couples, but as a day that forces you to consciously be thankful for the people in your life that you love.

maybe it was my parents and their attitude toward valentines day that shaped my perspective. my parents seemed to always celebrate valentines day as a family. my brother and i got little chocolates and a bigger chocolate heart that we scarfed down after school. it wasn't as if my parents said "nope, sorry. this one's for couples. here, hold my chocolate while i accept all these diamonds and balloons."

and i have mixed feelings about valentines day at school. in elementary school (at least at my school), the teachers provided some supervision and seemed to make sure that everyone received a valentine in their adorable mail box ..... i choo choo choo choooose you.... elementary school valentines day parties were full of pink cupcakes and super awesome beauty and the beast and aladdin valentines. it wasn't until middle school/high school that things got a little dicey. my schools introduced the valentine candygram, where one can purchase an adorable little candy bag and a message and have it delivered during first period. and oh man, that was the worst! this process made everyone except the uber popular crowd feel terrible. i sat there in first period band, with my flute resting across my lap, while the "honorary cupids" called out the same name over and over, and the loveliest girl in the class rose gracefully to collect her 15 candygrams. each year i got at least one... my friends and i had arranged to send each other one, so we would at least get something.... but crap! thank you, valentines day candygrams, for reminding me how awkward and self conscious 14 year old andiepants was.

that being said, i do remember my first valentines day as a "couple." i was about 13 (young, right?) and this "young man" came over to my house on valentines day with a kermit the frog and hearts themed gift bag full of presents and matching kermit-y love balloon. now, kermit isn't exactly the most romantic figure in history but i appreciated the gesture. i've had some really crappy valentines days. obviously 15 year old andiepants wasn't exactly loving life while being passed over with candygrams. there were also a few years where most of my friends were "coupled" and chattering excitedly about their romantic dinner plans to which i was not invited. that was when i decided that single people deserve valentines day too. during college, single andiepants and some of her ladies descended on a local restaurant in some saucy little outfits, enjoyed some very colorful libations and celebrated. no significant others in sight and it was fantastically awesome.

and now, with six and a half months to go until i am a married lady, i'm still enjoying valentines day. this year, mike and i decided to scale back in the way of gifts since we are saving money for the wedding. but we made sure that we took the designated day to express the love. so, readers, enjoy this evening and take time to express the love. single, married, straight, gay, old, young,.... go! just go express the love. and next time, don't wait for society to tell you thats its time to tell the ones you love that you love them.

be thankful,
andie.

introducing snumbleweeds.

Hi Friends! Happy Friday. Whoa. this week has been ridiculous. andiepants made it to work on Monday, but have been off since Tuesday. A vicious snow storm moved into town Tuesday morning and created havoc all over the state. We didn't get a significant amount of snow, but the snow we did get was tossed around by 50 mile an hour winds. a little snow tornado, snownado, if you will. At once point, I noticed a large tumbleweed flying across the road filled with snow. I dubbed it a snumbleweed. have you noticed how much fun i have combining words, dear friends? Since the snow, the great southwest has been plunged into a deep freeze, and friends, we are simply not prepared for this. The irony of the situation is that it wasn't the snow that screwed up the area, it was the cold. In the Mike and Andie household, our pipes froze and burst (bummer) so we were left without water for a few days. Oh and by the way... i was under the impression that i moved to the desert to escape the harsh winter weather. this is NOT how the desert is supposed to behave. 10 inches of snow? negative 5 degree temperatures with the windchill? there's palm trees here, for petes sake! i have been misled!

Go, snumbleweed, go!!

So I've been doing this super crappy commute back and forth to work. I've blogged about my vehicular journey before (consult post regarding transportation), and the plethora of ways that it sucks. But today, I'd like to discuss my favorite part of the commute, the farm that I pass about 35 minutes into my journey. Most farms have no personality, no joy, no life to them. Farms can be a very somber place. However, this particular farm has a sense of humor. How do i know that, you might ask? No, I did not give the farm a personality assessment, althought that would have been hilarious. I discovered this little gem of info during the fall. In the month of October, the owners of the farm painted a big hay bale orange with a happy little jackolantern face on it. ha! how creative! they also made sure to paint a similar face on the other side so both north bound and south bound travelers would get some seasonal pleasure. thanks, farm people!

now, i was under the impression that the hay bale pumpkin was going to be the only decoration, but no! come november, the humorous farm people made a turkey (a turkey!!) out of a hale bay. this was fantastic! they painted two hay bales brown, attached a turkey head with a fashionable black hat, and made some dangly orange legs. They also stuck brightly colored wooden slats into the top for the feathers. again, they made the turkey in both directions, so no one would be deprived of his gobbily goodness.

I wasn't sure that I would be able to handle much more seasonal cuteness, but in december, the farm people unveiled... the snowman. ah! i almost crashed the car! this was the best one yet! a snow man? out of hay? brilliant, just brilliant. it was comprised of three bales of hay, descending in size, and was complete with a top hat, little stick arms, and a full face with pipe included. Though we have already entered February, Hay Snow Man still remains at his post, waving a stickly hello to passengers on this lonely desert highway.

The most recent explosion of cuteness that happened at the farm was this past Monday. This story needs a bit of context, so bear with me. So. Even though I have passed this farm twice a day, five days a week for nearly five months, i have no idea what lives or grows on this farm. It is an immense piece of land with acres and acres of lush green space (they must have to water this poor starved grass like 5 times a day... stupid desert), but i have seen no horses or cows or goats or ANYTHING wandering about. There have been a few times where I observed one or two llama's milling around, chomping on grass, doing their llama-stare, but thats it! and i always wondered, what in the hell do they use this place for? Just as a space to make seasonal characters out of hay bales? a hay bale performance arena? that can't be it. And why does this one llama get this whole place to himself? Does he not play well with other llamas? Is he the llama version of a Beta Fish, if he sees another llama, he'll attack it? does he smell bad? So puzzled. Anyway, this past monday, as I was journeying past the farm getting ready to wave hello to Mr. Hay Snow Man, I observed literally hundreds, and I mean hundreds!, of llamas. holy crap! how exciting! and the llama's were clustered in little llama families with little llama babies. llama babies!!! could my morning get any better?

but then, my andiebrain waded through the thick waves of adorableness caused by baby llama, and about a million questions popped into my head. such as, where have all of these llamas been? are they visiting llamas? are they on vacation? is that the purpose of this farm, to house visiting llamas, a llama resort? will they be getting massage and hoof work? maybe practice some llama yoga or meditation?

whatever the reason for the llama explosing on the farm, i was very thankful for the cuteness that overloaded my senses.

enjoy your weekend, friends, and stay warm!

be thankful,
andie

aquatic andie

happy hump day friends. mmmm three day weekends... they are just the best. and i had a pretty delightful one. hope that you did as well. new mexico continues to rock the house with its awesome weather and mike and i were able to get outside a bunch this weekend, exploring and wandering around our little slice of the southwest. we found ourselves up in the mountains today at about 8500 feet with snow all around us and ice challenging us to stay vertical. much to mike's displeasure, we hightailed it back down the mountain, but not before andie unleashed a torrent of tears. that icy hill managed to push my panic button in a way that hasn't been done in quite some time. not that i find this unreasonable. i don't know, friends, i have this thing against sliding down an icy mountain side to my untimely death. pretty weird, huh? no! not weird at all! but sometime tell that to my future husband....

anywho, we ended up finding a trail that paralleled a river. Now, friends, let me remind you that i live in New Mexico, and a river out here, most people could jump across. easily. but it was water nonetheless, and we had fun.

on that note, i miss water. maybe it was my destiny to have a deep and everlasting love of water. i did have a water baby. oh come on, lady readers, i couldn't have been the only one who owned this strange baby doll. for those of you who are unfamiliar, let me explain. one fills the baby doll up with water in the attempt to make it feel like a 'real baby'. this then allows said 'real baby' to cry and pee, teaching little girls everywhere the joys of motherhood (society is so f'ed sometimes, right? we're teaching our little girls from day one to be little mommy's.... ahhhh i feel a feminist tangent coming on... must steer back to the topic...)

oh right... water. So, i've always been around some sort of vast body of water. I grew up wedged between the Erie Canal and Niagara River, and just a hop skip and a jump from the great lakes. As much crap as it gets, the Erie canal is actually a very pretty little water way. Sure there are three eyed fish, and species that haven't even been named frolicking around in this aquatic mass, and probably more waste than i care to imagine. but when i was 14, unable to drive, and just wanted to get away, the Erie canal was a perfect little refuge. there were lots of flat rocks to sit on, multitudes of greedy ducks to feed, and the gentle rhythm of the water.

fast forward a few years to my time on long island. andiepants stepped her little andieboots onto the sand of robert moses state park on January 2nd, 2006, and this my friends was my first look at the ocean. ah! it blew my mind. i was almost in tears at the feelings that came over me as i looked out over the unending water. sigh. the ocean gave me perspective, balance, reminded me how small i am in this ridiculously large world. whenever i felt upset, irritated, anxious, or homesick, it seemed as though going to see the ocean was helpful in resetting my mind.

andie and the ocean, circa 2007

 

 

while visiting the island during the holiday, i was lucky enough to go and see it. oh, winter ocean is the best. it feels like in the summer, the ocean is on its best behavior, trying to be nice and inviting to the children who want to play in it. summer ocean puts its kid gloves on, with gentle swells. however, during winter the gloves come off. the ocean violently thrashes about with huge swells, dangerous currents, and enough power to knock you on your ass.

first look at the ocean in 2011

as awesome as the ocean is, i can't mention water without bowing down and paying homage to my first aquatic love, belmont lake. this 14 mile slice of heaven is located in canada, and our cottage is situated on its banks. throughout the past 25 years, andiepants has frolicked, swam, tipped canoes, tubed, water skiied, and been unceremoniously dunked into this lake. one of my favorite places in the entire world is to prop a chair on the dock during sunset, and breathe, letting the gentle waves take me on their journey, while the sun paints its colors all over the sky, in one last brilliant display before we all go to bed. during the hot summer afternoons, i would take our old surfboard, place a towel down on it so as not to get scraped, paddle it out into the middle of the bay, and float. i must mention the total relaxation that our old blue canoe brings the little andie soul. even though i have tipped it several times (earning me the native american name "tips the canoe"), the gentle rhythm of its shape, the way its paddles effortless cut into still water, is still my favorite mode of transportation. i can't wait for the day that I'll be able to canoe to work.

how great is this photo? thank you, future husband.

yep, i love water. and am missing it big time while out here in the lovely southwest. i have millions of cacti at my disposal, but very little water. i guess its a trade off. in order to have 60 degree days in January, I guess I should have to sacrifice a few things. but my little andiesoul is forever tied to the aquatic environments and i wouldn't be surprised if the soon to be mrs. caggiano finds herself somewhere close to water once again.

hey friends, cut me a break over here. little miss pants is deeply embedded in the all mighty wedding planning and i really don't want to turn this blog into "ways i'm losing my mind about the wedding". so, i may not be able to write as much. but will do my best to let my random words and run on sentences grace the pages more consistently.

be thankful
andie.

can a wedding dress get its own plane seat?

Hi friends. Happy Monday. For all of you that might not be aware, mike and I are currently planning a wedding. happy times, indeed. But, wedding planning is scaring me a bit. I’m trying to hold onto my mantra that it will all work out. I’m trying to channel this inner peace, hippie stuff that I like to share with you all, dear readers, on this literary masterpiece. Oh you know what I’m talking about. Always trying to espouse the community to live in the moment and be thankful. Ha! Someone please remind our dear andiepants how much hypocrites suck. Sigh. I’m not doing well with living in the moment right now. I’m desperately trying to remind myself that Mike and I are very laid back people, and are not caught up in many of the details that traditional weddings deem necessary. I’m trying to stay focused on whats really important; marrying mike. And to be quite honest, my marriage to mike will happen, with or without the “non wasteful centerpiece that best represents us”, the bad hair day, guests not showing up and/or saying the whole time, earthquake, famine, drought, etc. so what should I be worrying about?

Actually, everything. I’m worrying about everything. Holy crap. All of my “be thankful and enjoy the moment, inner peacefulness” has decided to take a prolonged vacation. Come back, centered and grounded andie!!! Its anarchy in the andie brain, ruled by various hot spots of anxiety. And the thing that is causing me the most mental pain is my dress, but for different reasons then you might think. Check it out, readers. I think I found my dress. Its beautiful, fits like a dream, makes me feel like a little woodland goddess (forest nymphs!), I actually teared up a bit when I put it on (yep, I was that girl… so disappointing.) but where the hell do I order it? In new mexico where im currently living? And then be charged with the lovely task of taking it through airports, xrayed through the new brain cancer machines (can wedding dresses get cancer?… maybe I’ll have them pat it down instead…. thoroughly) because its sure as shit not being checked. Ah! As if airports are not stressful enough, the thought of me negotiating security lines and screaming babies in seat 31f with my ever loving wedding stress stuffed into the overhead bins makes my anxiety want to eat my face.

My preference is to order it in either Buffalo or Long Island. That way, I only have to drive it on up the mountain (can anyone tell that I’ve been living in the west? Soon enough I’ll be saying “that there”…) rather than purchasing it its own seat on the plane (No, I’m sorry, standby passenger who has been stuck in an airport for 3 days, trying to get home to see his grandmother, there are no seats available, my wedding dress is sitting here). Ah, so many tangents. Anyway, buffalo or LI would be ideal, but guess what, favorite readers? I don’t have enough time to do that. The next time I have a significant enough break from work to travel anywhere is the third of week of March, and unfortunately, my dress needs to be ordered by then. Can you believe this? My wedding is 9 months away and I don’t have enough time? The dress is already made, is it not? And yes, ordering and alterations and blah blah blah, but seriously? It makes me think that for all of our technological advances and major modern marvels, there really is a gnome up in an attic somewhere spinning thread on a giant wheel, by candlelight, slowing piecing together weddings dresses, painstakingly, one bead at a time. Ah! Not enough time! Stop it. And now readers, this is why mike and I did not want to get caught in the all mighty wedding establishment, “McWedding.” Because I hate crap like this. I. Hate. It. Having snooty sales ladies tell me that “of course it takes 18 weeks for your wedding dress to come in, scoff scoff” like this is some common knowledge that should have been taught to me in kindergarten along with tying my shoes and finger painting. Puke. Things that should take 18 weeks: completing half of a pregnancy, college courses, remodeling your home, etc. not a dress, people.

Anyway, that’s McWedding for you, and as much as I don’t like it, I love this dress. So we deal and I’ve accepted that I need to order it within the next month “because of ordering and alterations, and giving the gnome time to rest his fingers, and blah blah blah” Unfortunately, this presents another problem for andiebrain to process and deal with. One of the traditions I enjoy regarding weddings is that its customary for the groom not to see his bride in her gown until the day of the ceremony. But since I’ve relocated to the southwest, mike and I have pretty much been attached at the hip. You thought we were close before? Check us out when we don’t have any friends within a 300-mile radius. So lets review: must order dress in New Mexico before March 1^st, can’t let Mike see me in dress, which puts me in a bridal shop, trying stuff on, making arrangements and doing all of that process……..by myself. Super crap! And please don’t misunderstand. I’m not trying to rally sympathy from my beloved readers, even though I love you for it. It is what it is. Some parts of living here are awesome (such as going hiking today, January 9^th, in a tshirt, being hot and getting sunburn because it was almost 65 in the desert, wooo hoo!) but this situation is really highlighting how much living here can suck. This is one of those times that a lady really needs her family and friends around. And I am so lucky to have amazing beautiful people who love me ready and willing to support and help me. And thank you, universe and Al Gore, for the internet which is going to make things so much easier to coordinate and plan with my family and friends. But this is one experience that really must be had in person.

Thanks, readers, for allowing me to vent about some of my frustrations with this process. Though I’m struggling with some things, I really am enjoying most parts of this endeavor. Mike and I are really trying to craft a wedding from the ground up, discarding traditions and “things we should do” that don’t fit with us, while still honoring some other timeless traditions (my dad is totally walking me down the aisle). One of the best parts of this is thinking about our amazing family and friends, and all of their many diverse talents, and how we could best involve them in our wedding. So I guess a bit of my “being thankful” is trickling back in. phew.

I’m going to leave you all with a request. If, while interacting with any of you, I even BEGIN to act like the dreaded bridezilla, please call me on it. A well placed comment, email, text, meesage in a bottle, note attached to leg of pigeon, whatever you need to do. Just don’t let me let this one day consume my whole life. Yes, its my wedding day. But its only a day. I’ll be married to mike for my entire life. That’s what I should be focusing on, what I should be cultivating, what I should be spending energy on. Those pink fuzzy dice make the rear view mirror look pretty, but does it affect the structure or integrity of the car? Not so much. And that’s really what all this stuff is to me, the flowers, the decorations, even (gasp) the dress. Its fluff, details, additions that in no way will affect my relationship.

Now. I might just go back and read the above paragraph out loud to myself so that it might sink into anxious andiebrain. Sometimes its so much easier to write these things than to actually process and believe them. But the journey continues. 

be thankful, 

andie.