Last weekend Hubby and I had our 12th anniversary and went to a B&B, it was a nice place but I never want to go to a B&B again. #1, the people who owned it were older and our room was unbearably hot. We had to sleep with the windows open and I felt my carbon footprint growing to Armageddon proportions. #2, we were informed that the other rooms were boarded by a group of women visiting for their 50th high school reunion.
That's all fine and dandy, but my respect for others prevented me from having the kind of celebration that I wanted... naked and loud! Instead, we were in by ten o'clock and quiet as church-mice thereafter. Quiet naked church mice.
And being in someone's HOME, I just felt guilty about everything. When we checked out I mentioned that I'd spilled some steak juice from my after-dinner styrofoam container. Hubby asked me, "Why the hell did you tell them that?" And I said, "well, I don't want them to think it's something else (it looked like poop) , plus if they know what it is, they'll have a better chance of getting the stain out."
I need a hotel, man. That much is clear. I don't want to tiptoe, I don't want any guilt, and I don't want to sweat my tits off just because my circulatory system still works. I want to have sex, chill my beer in the sink with free ice, watch cable, shower under fire-hose water pressure, shove tiny soaps in my purse, throw a tip on the dresser and LEAVE.
It was nice though... and even though I was peer-pressured into going to bed by three am, I must admit it was a good night's sleep. Nice sheets. I would've have gone to bed before three in the morning, but I'm not accustomed to so many cable options.
Then on Monday, I signed up for real estate school. It's official. The tuition is paid and I'm pretending it's not refundable. I begin class on the 23rd of this month and I'll be done by Dec. 16th.
I've been dressing the part every day. My husband is like, "Why are you doing this?" To me it's simple. I've been home ruling the roost for a long time now. Pajama pants are my casual wear, and jeans are my formal wear. Unless there's a wedding or a funeral or a party, you'll find me in jeans or slippers. I feel I have to start playing the part now, so I'll have time to get accustomed. At this point, I feel about as comfy in a business suit as I would in a chicken suit. But I'm hoping that consistency will help me feel more relaxed and professional... and maybe even credible.
This is a big leap for me, you guys. It might sound simple, but I'm nervous. I need to re-train myself so those insecurities die in the face of confidence. I want to do this and I want to be good at it (replace the word "want" with "need," and the word "good" with "superfuckingfantastic!"
Love to all!