I am Pretty Sure Sweating is Bad for Productivity

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You know that hot sticky feeling you get when the hair on the back of your neck is wet with sweat and your pants stick to your thighs? You know how awful that feels? You know how most people have that feeling while sitting outside in the summer heat at BBQs or baseball games or at swimming pools?

I get that sticky feeling inside. At my office. All. Day. Long.

Now, I wrote about this before, and I am sad to relay that the situation has gotten increasingly worse. Before, one only got that glistening feeling from walking around a lot, running between various meetings, etc? Oh but now just sitting at your desk envelopes you in a force field of heat. I just try not to move too much.

And it gets worse. Tomorrow begins temperature change day when all offices in my building will experience a three-degree change in temperature. Now, instead of being set at So Warm I am Sweating in My Cube, it will be set at So Hot I am Tempted to Show Up in My Bathing Suit and Flip Flops. Wah.

My question is: how has it been so hot before July’s temperature switch? Is it part of some conditioning treatment? Slyly get them so uncomfortable before July so that when we change the temperature, they hardly notice how additionally sweaty everyone looks? Hah!

Good thing my office relaxed the dress code slightly before all of this temperature shenanigans. However, I think our policy should be amended further during these hot sweaty days to allow for shorts, flip flops, and sarong dresses. In the meantime, I remembered to bring a fan, so when I get too hot, I turn it on, close my eyes, and pretend I am in the Caribbean.

One Year Down

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When people ask me, “how’s married life?” I feel compelled to come up with some astute and thoughtful answer.

But all I can come up with is that it is pretty much the same as our unmarried life except now we have bedding that matches and nicer plates.

It amuses me that it is assumed that we are “different people” now that we were transformed from regular Sarah and Dan to married Sarah and Dan.

Nope, pretty much the same. Except now we have more stuff.

But as we celebrated our one-year anniversary Sunday, I got to thinking that while it is true that neither of us underwent a dramatic transformation, our life definitely shifts and changes shape and alters paths everyday. It just seems that us – we – are able to change course while still remaining the same people we were last year and the year before that. The same people who graduated from the University of Virginia together. The same people who helped each other limp along through the trials and tribulations of first jobs. The same people who decided to get married. The same people who moved themselves into their first condo together. And now the same people who move to their new home in two weeks.

We are still best friends. Dan still lets me use 100% of the DVR to record my favorite shows like “The Little Couple” and “Mystery Diagnosis.” He still makes me dinner. And I still find our life together very sweet ;-)

Cake Doctor

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A couple of weeks ago I shared my glazed lemon cupcakes a la Martha Stewart, and I decided to make those cupcakes into a bundt cake for my mom’s birthday.

In preparation for the grand celebration, I baked the cake on Wednesday, doubling the cupcake recipe to make one full-sized bundt cake. It took about 45 minutes to cook, but it came out smelling lemony delicious.

When I make the cupcakes, I injected them with my special Wilton tip designed to insert filling into cupcakes. However, I had no idea how I would fill my cake. I decided not to layer in filling and then bake it off because I was pretty sure that the blueberry jam would turn into a soggy blue mess in the middle of my cake. So, to help with this conundrum, I enlisted the help of the Engineer Husband.

He came up with a couple interesting ideas – cutting the cake in half and spreading the blueberry jam in the middle, cutting around the cake from the top and dolloping in the jam and putting the top back on, etc? I did not approve of these ideas because, well, I like my cakes to look nice. And I do not want big gaps or cut marks. No, I told him, try again.

And then he came up with a super ingenious method that I am really mad at myself for not thinking of to begin with. He suggested we turn the cake over and I use my Wilton tip to inject filling into the cake upside down. Now, that is why I married him.

So we did just that. He flipped the cake back over and into its pan, and then I filled my pastry bag with blueberry jam and injected the cake from the bottom. I selected an injection site about halfway in the middle, and I went around the cake in a circle, making injections pretty close together. Now, this was a bit of trial and error because I could not see just how far I was injecting the filling or really how close together I was with the injection sites. So I sort of winged it. (And this paragraph sounds like I am a cake surgeon.)

But I think it came out great, and I love that no one can see the hidden filling holes. I made a glaze of lemon juice and powdered sugar, and I topped it with blueberries while it was still wet so they stuck to the cake.

And it turned out pretty good, I must say. I love bundt cakes because they just look so darn cute. It love the ridges and the symmetrical look. And I love that I can use the glaze to hide any places where the cake did not come out perfectly from the pan.

So another successful baked good from Sarah Rosemary. And, to be fair, Dan also contributed. That is what you get for having an engineer husband :-)

Clearly Not Special Enough for My Own Elevator

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So the other day at work we needed to play a little game of parking space shuffle, so I ended up on another parking level of which I was unaccustomed.

First I drove around like a goofball trying to simultaneously read the painted parking space numbers and not crash into other cars/cement poles. Then, once I found said spot, I hope no one was looking at me as I tried to reorient myself and figure out which elevator I need to take to get to my floor (I know this sounds silly, but, please, I already confessed to directionally challenged disorder). I found my bearings and made my way to the elevator bank, and when I tried to use my badge key to beep myself in, the darn thing beeped back at me angrily and the door refused to budge.

So of course I tried again. And again. And again. All the while praying no one would come over to where I was and find me unable to open the door.

And of course it would not open. I felt myself begin to panic. I am going to be stuck in this sweaty garage! I have a meeting in 15 minutes! My cell phone does not work down here! How will I get out? I wonder if the garage door will open if I stand in front of it? Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

Right before full on panic mode, I realized that this elevator looked suspiciously different. It only had one elevator, first off. The other banks have three. And it did not have employee information like do not forget to get your flu shot and wash your hands stuff plastered with wild abandoned over its walls. It looked…clean. Like only special people ride it.

And that must be why my badge does not work.

So, I realized that this must be a special person transporter and scouted for a normal person elevator bank.

Lo and behold, another, regular person looking elevator bank let me in, and I joined the other regular workers in said elevator. And as each of them decided to get off at floors 1, 2, 3, and 4 before finally making it up to my floor on 5, I realized that I, too, needed my own special elevator.

I am desirous of an express elevator for myself and my fellow 5th floor companions because, well, 1) we do not like stopping at every floor and 2) these darn elevators have been on the fritz lately (two of my coworkers got stuck in some already this past month), so they are slow as molasses getting up to the top. So clearly I need my own special elevator.

Well, come to find out, that elevator is for the executive office staff only. Not my lowly budget office staff. Sad. I was really hoping we all could work out some sort of 5th Floor Transportation Agreement so we could all ride the express train upstairs. But, no. I do not think they want to share.

And so I suppose I will make do without my express elevator and instead get a scenic tour of every floor every time I want to go upstairs (yes, I am aware there are stairs, but I have no clue where they are). But, the next time I see someone from the executive’s office, I am going to ask them for a ride.

Sarah Rosemary: Primary Borrower

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Buying this house is providing me with endless entertainment.

During the house buying adventure, Dan and I developed clear roles in the process. He assumed responsibility over the financial pieces, the loan, getting all of our hundreds of thousands of documents to the lender. I charged myself with finding the homes and showing Dan the hidden potential in some of the shag carpeted 1970s-looking abodes. It was a tag team effort.

Now that we are almost done, Dan spends most of his days coordinating the various parties – bank, realtor, title company – to ensure that we can get all of this business taken care of before our fast encroaching three-week deadline.

So while Dan slaves away on two-hour long phone calls with the bank, I cruise around the Behr Web site, reading about painting techniques and playing around with the online color selector program. And I pick out blinds and think about where I want my scant furniture and pick out Martha Stewart line paper towel holders and patio furniture. You know, the hard stuff.

Yesterday was a particularly hard day for Dan, trying to get all of our various players on the same page. So, imagine the irony when Dan told me that, according to our bank, I am the primary borrower on the loan while Dan is merely the co-borrower. I laughed and laughed for a solid 10 minutes about that.

After we got married, Dan joined me at said bank and this bank also provided us with car insurance and renters insurance – but everything was under my name since I am the original member. So, even though all I did to contribute to the loan situation was signing my name, I get to be the primary borrower.

And I decided this delighted me, and I would tease Dan about this for pretty much the next couple of days.

That evening Dan asked if I would get us some ice cream. But I said, no because that sounded like a job for the co-borrower. When one of us needed to call our realtor with the bank information, I decided that that task was also a duty of the co-borrower. Pretty much anything the primary borrower did not want to do became the responsibility of the co-borrower. And evening entertainment for me ensued.

Dan does not find it as amusing as I do, but I still think he got a good laugh. Now, I am going to keep careful eye on our online banking to make sure Dan does not try anything devious, like try to change my name to the co-borrower.

Yes, Ma’am?

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Whenever I go to an establishment, be it the grocery or a restaurant or CVS, without fail the clerks refer to me as “ma’am.”

Ma’am? Since when should I be addressed as ma’am? It makes me feel real old, like I should be wearing a dowdy floral print dress and orthopedic Aeorsoles.

I am 24, not 94, and even if I was, I still would not like to be referred to as a ma’am.

I get it when people talk to me on the phone, too. They even call me Mrs. and also use the ma’am, doubly offensive to me. When they ask me if they are speaking to Mrs. B, I usually feel confused and start to tell them they called the wrong number and are looking for my mother-in-law before I realize I too am Mrs. B.

To be fair, the clerks and waiters and people on the phone are attempting to be polite, I get that. I suppose they worry they would insult me by addressing me by my first name. I rue the day when my children’s friends will call me Mrs. B; while I prefer everyone to call me by my first name, I do not suppose all parents will feel likewise. While they might feel it is a matter of respect, for me, it feels…old.

Yet, I find I am somewhat guilty of this myself. Even as a Mrs., I find myself tripping up and calling my friends’ parents Mrs. simply out of habit. And it feels weird to call them by their first names. I choke out their first names like I am committing a grave disrespect. Sometimes I cannot even remember their first names.

So clearly I need a new word instead of ma’am or Mrs. or lady. Something that others can use so they feel like they are being polite while also not making me feel old. Unfortunately, all other words I come up with sound, well, more offensive than ma’am. Since I do not wish to be called “cookie” or “sweetie” (the only other terms someone in public has used to address me), I am just not sure what would be the best solution. Perhaps I should copy Madonna and be known by my first name only. Just Sarah.

Inspector Gadget

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I have learned more about reverse polarity than I ever thought possible.

Saturday Dan and I met with the home inspector to begin the next phase of the home purchase process. I was pretty anxious, coming up with potentially huge problems the inspector could find around the house. A sinking foundation? Water leaking into the basement? A furnace on its last leg? To me, the horrible possibilities seemed endless considering we are dealing with a rambler built in 1958.

So we met with Pete the home inspector, and he could not have been more awesome. He knew everything and he had some super cool gadgets I wanted to get my hands on. When he said he wanted us to participate, I am sure he did not know just how much enthusiasm I had :-) I think he appreciated than Dan and I wanted to learn as much as possible about this most expensive item we will ever buy. So he had me crouching on the floor to check out plumbing, twisting into tight spots in the utility room to find the pilot light in the hot water heater, and helping me label various valves and shut offs (I told him my exploding toilet story, so he made a special point to show me the water shut off valve for the whole house).

And so we inspected – or rather Pete inspected and we trailed behind him attempting to soak up house knowledge – and luckily he had nothing major to report.

But, we did find some rather unusual items left in the attic. Dragon figurines. Chinese lanterns. Bean bag chairs galore. Tiki torches. Hmm?I suppose the previous owners liked to party…while sitting in bean bags.

At the end Pete gave me this cool homeowner’s handbook filled with page after page of terms and diagrams and information on just how a house is supposed to work. I am planning on studying that manual and keeping it handy because, well, you never know, and perhaps the next time I have a household emergency, I will be capable of containing it on my own ;-)

Transitions

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In keeping with our yearly transitions, it seems that Dan and I will transition from renters to home owners next month.

Pending the home inspection, we cut a deal, and are preparing to move to our first place in July.

And we are excited and a little anxious and definitely ready to pack up all of our worldly possessions and move to a single family home in the next town over.

While we ready for this transition, it struck me yesterday that it also will be a transition for our parents, too. They transitioned from parents of college grads to parents of an engaged couple to parents of newlyweds and now to parents of first-time home buyers. And they definitely were not bystanders in any of those life changes, oh no.

My dad moved me from one college dorm to another and back home again. Our parents listened and helped as we changed wedding dates and locations and attire and color schemes, and they still decided to show up June 28 even though the year leading up to the wedding was less than smooth. They moved us into the condo, came over for dinner and squeezed in our small dining room and living room. And I am pretty sure I called my mom and dad at least three times a day alone this week about the house.

And so we will call upon them again for help selecting paint colors and where to put our couch and how much longer we can go until we need to buy a new furnace. We are so lucky they live close, to dispense with advice and sit at our table while we serve them dinner. So we no longer have rooms at their houses (both our little sisters managed to take over our rooms) but we now have a space to share with them. And that, I must say, feels very sweet :-)

Survivor: Realty Edition

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Buying a house makes me feel like I am on a really mean game/reality show. Sort of a like Deal or No Deal meets House Hunters.

Before we started this adventure, one of my favorite HGTV shows, House Hunters, always made it look real simple and easy. The couple sees three houses, the couple weighs the pros and cons, and the couple picks. And the next thing you know, it is three months later, and they are all moved in and showing off their new digs.

Well, HGTV, you lied.

We saw a lot of houses. Many of them required a tetanus shot before entering. Some sold before we could think about the pros/cons stage. A couple houses had appliances from – get this – Montgomery Ward circa 1950. One did not even have a dishwasher?and you do not even want to know how much it was listed for without such a basic commodity.

And so we attempt to weigh the pros and cons, like the folks at House Hunters, but I was thinking it would be more fun to have an interactive experience and phone some friends or poll the audience, like Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.

Should Sarah and Dan buy this one-level rambler with new appliances but also features teal carpet and a leaky roof or this two-level split foyer with a big backyard but a dungeon-esque basement?

Then family and friends can vote, and that would be more exciting. Perhaps everyone who voted for the winning house can come help us move. That would also be exciting.

Another thing about House Hunters is they conveniently leave out the negotiation stage and the home inspection stage, probably two of the most contentious pieces of buying a home. As this is our current state of affairs, I think it would make for entertaining and dramatic television. Perhaps the dueling buyers and purchasers could enter into a sword fight.

At this stage of the house game, I am thinking I should call HGTV with my new idea for a show called House Hunters: Extreme Negotiation.

To be continued.

Fun with Forms

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Yesterday I swallowed a big girl pill. Dan and I put our first offer in on a house.

While this whole ordeal is far from over and who knows if the offer will be accepted, I am now well versed in some exciting legal/real estate jargon.

We signed and initialed about 847294 forms, and, to me, each form seemed slightly more hilarious than the next. So, while Dan was turning a pale shade of green about the price of the home, I was attempting to amuse him with what I thought was super funny form language.

Sarah: Hey, honey, just take note that any act of God that demolishes the house before the end of this deal will make it void. Isn’t that something, what if that happened?

Dan: …

Sarah: He he he…If the seller refuses to move out, he or she is considered a tenant! Why would anyone do that? He he he?

Dan: …

Sarah: Oh, oh, did you see this riddle-like statement – The masculine includes the feminine and the singular includes the plural… Whoa.

Dan: …

This whole business reminded me of when my girlfriends and I leased a storage unit for the summer while undergrads at U.Va. We had to sign a contract that stated we would not try to live in the unit, we would not have a party at the unit, and we were prohibited from storing fireworks or weapons at the unit. I just about died laughing.

I mean, come on. We were six Ralph Lauren-wearing, U.Va. undergrad women, complete with U.Va. flip flops who needed a place to store a TV, bedding, shelves, etc? for the summer. What did he take us for, gun slinging fireworks crazed girls?

I figured someone had to have committed the aforementioned prohibited activities, otherwise who would have dreamed of putting them in the contract? What did someone do? Send an e-vite that said “Hey amigos, come to a happening party at my storage locker, and make sure to bring your fireworks! I will supply the firearms. Oh, and if you get tired, no worries – you can sleep here!” I think not.

Anyway, back to yesterday. Dan did not find the forms nearly as amusing as I did, but we managed to sign them all and get them on their way. And now we wait. If this goes through, I am definitely looking forward to settlement. I hear there are a lot of fun forms.