Beer in a Bag

Since I don't know if confessions are still a thing, it's been a while since I've had the balls to show up on a Wednesday. I don't want to confess like it's a thing and be the lone and stinky cheese, and I don't want to post a non-confession and be duped by an unprecedented record-setting day of confessions in the blog world. That's why I'm coming to you on a Thursday, and not to confess but to say hello and share more about my new home and life since I've become employed. 

I'm also coming to you on a Thursday because the boy has had a few unfortunate evenings this week buried in his work laptop and I'm sitting close-by for a second set of eyes to look over his work now that I can have an informed opinion on what he's trying to accomplish. 

Speaking of this man, we celebrated our two-years-since-I-met-your-face-iversary last week with beer in a paper bag and a shot for each of us, the same thing we both ordered the night we met in Toronto two years ago. We've both lost a little on our tolerance, but we haven't lost any ground on the way we make each other laugh. I'm all for an easier two years than the last, but won't take any years without this silly, smart and (another s-word) handsome man by my side. 

That night we also celebrated my one month in Memphis and my third day of work in a new role at my former employer. 

Being a temporary employee at a place you used to work full-time is strange. People know your name, you know the ropes and don't need much help to on-board, you can accomplish things immediately and feel confident with mostly anything that hits your desk. It's also strange - yet heartwarming - to get messages from your former co-workers asking "You're back??". 

I immediately have to stop their minds from thinking that my move was a flop and that I've already come running home to sulk and be comfortable. I tell them where I'm at, what I'm doing, that I actually make more money now and that I actually have to be restricted to hours and a time-card and all those crazy things I haven't done for years in the corporate world. Then comes all of the envy and wow-yes and congrats, but I have to remind them that Insurance through COBRA is yucky and I have sales tax now. Plus, I'm not contributing to some of my favorite things like the stock market or my 401k. 

But, at the end of the day I now have a paycheck and can justify my purchases from our Tennessee Tax-Free weekend. Wedges on wedges since I have to wear closed-toe shoes at my new job, and Brian was gifted two new pairs of jeans because he was embarrassing me himself by walking around with holes in the crotch of his favorite pair. 

Oh and that meal prep? We ROCK the kitchen Sunday nights but somehow it just turns into a platter of leftovers every weeknight. We can't form together a proper meal even when I'm writing down on paper what exactly we will be having each night. We pace the kitchen intending to put together a plate, but instead we find ourselves with seven open tupperware containers and sometimes bacon in bed instead. 

I swear we're putting all of this together, just give us time to act like adults. It's hard sometimes.