Oh Yes, I'm Going There... Tiger & Trust

After serious consideration, I have decided to tackle the Tiger Woody, ooops, I mean Woods, "issue". This choice of topic for our blog was not taken lightly, I would like to add. In fact, I debated for quite some time as to whether to broach the subject for fear that my inner Feminista Bitch might overtake my more rational, empathic, and psychologically-informed mind and spew some things that might one day come back to haunt me. This still might happen - we'll have to see. Read on...

I ultimately chose to blog on this subject because, well, it's interesting to people. Who doesn't love a good sex scandal to help melt away the humdrum of "get up, go to work, eat dinner, go to bed"? And more importantly, as a newly married woman, it has personal relevance. Not that I am sleeping with Tiger Woods, of course (Except for that one really hot night in Miami... I mean, who can resist that nine iron? Seriously...), but because at the heart of this topic, beneath the celebrity and a damaged SUV and the pay-offs to random women, is a family, now broken. And who can't relate to that? Or, at least, to the fear of that?

A quick Google auto-complete of "Tiger Woods" reveals endings like "affair", "mistress", "scandal", "jokes", "wife", and "latest". And that's in order of popularity. Hmmm.... wasn't this a golfer we're talking about? Potentially the greatest athlete of the 20th century? And yet words like "Masters" or even "sponsorship" are nowhere to be found. Putting in "Tiger Woods Go--" brings up the word "gossip" before "golf". Pret-ty crazy (and yes, I realize I spend inordinate amounts of time on Google). This tells me two things about our culture at large: 1.) We as humans exemplify ridiculous levels of schadenfreude due to our own dissatisfaction with life (and thus need to get a life) [and/or] 2.) Men cheat. Alot.   

Okay, okay... before I get angry comments on here (though that implies readership...), I will make the very necessary statement: Women cheat too. The National Marriage Project, a great consortium out of the University of Virginia, tells us that, in fact, approximately 15% of women and 25% of men have reported having had extramarital sex at least once. And, yes, those numbers are statistically significantly different, so men are, in fact, more likely to cheat. But the "women are better" argument is not what this blog is really about, so we'll move on. Based on those numbers, one in four men will cheat on their wives at some point. One. In. Four. I don't know about you, but that sounds like a lot to me. That's more than experience premature baldness or get cancer or smoke cigarettes. But not more than watch the Superbowl, of course [sigh....].

This 25% statistic, in fairness, does include men who are now divorced. When considering only men who are currently married, the number drops to 16%. While we won't even venture to guess what might have led to a termination of the marital contract.....suffice it to say that these numbers become a little more hopeful. And further, the number of men who consider an affair "always wrong" has actually increased significantly since the 1970's and continues to rise. But before you start smiling blissfully and packing your sweetheart's lunch, remember that answering that something is "always wrong" on a survey you filled out online and turning down the offer for a bathroom quickie from Tina in accounting are two very different things. And, alas, evolutionary psychology tells us that while there are factors that make men less likely to cheat (e.g. not wanting CaveChick's dad to throw that big rock at his head), it would take thousands of years for our species to become truly monogamous.

So knowing all this, why do we choose (at least the majority of us) to enter in monogamous relationships, the culmination of which being marriage? I suppose I could talk about research on the psychological and physical health advantages, the financial savings, or the social and career benefits derived from matrimony, but instead I'll get more personal. I chose to get married because everything in my heart and mind told me that that was what I was meant to do. Not to get married for the sake of the institution of course, but to get married to Justin. This is not to say that some or all of the above named factors did not, at some unconscious level, operate on me to induce this desire to marry Justin. However, I, hopelessly romantic despite my rigorous scientific training, would prefer to believe that I married Justin because I loved him. And because I didn't want (I won't say couldn't) to live a single day without him. And because he has a cute butt that I didn't want anyone else to touch. Ever.

So I married Justin, and happy we are. I unfortunately cannot say, however, that fears don't occasionally creep in regarding (in)fidelity. A lifetime is a long time, right? And, in honor of full disclosure, I have at times been the cheater in previous relationships, and thus I likely project some of my fears about my own ability to maintain a lifetime of trust and monogamy onto poor Justin. And when the newspapers and internet and the radio and the lunch table is talking about Tiger or John Edwards or Michael Jordan, I think... Justin's a good guy, but those were good guys too. And no one would have expected... Granted, one could talk about the issues of being a man with some kind of power, a sense of entitlement, a childhood wrought with a lack of attention or a cheating father. But still, when iconic figures like these get caught with their "pants down", we wonder what makes the men in our lives any different?

So what is a girl (or guy) to do? Here it is: I've chosen marriage, and thus my only option is to now choose trust. This is an incredibly difficult task for me personally (as you can probably tell from the last several paragraphs...), but it is thing I need to do. It is the only thing I can do. And most importantly, it is what I want to. So I put my trust in Justin that he will put me and our future family first as we go forward, and that he will protect my heart at all costs. And I will do the same for him. I will not be naive and say that there may not be challenges for each of us as our years of marriage multiply, but I trust that the family and life that we are slowly building will help keep our marriage vows (all of them) in the forefront of our minds.


As for Tiger (an ironic name, as tigers are in fact monogamous), he has a lot of work to do to repair his broken family and his sponsorships. In fact, I think that's it's time that he re-branded his image. No more Mr. Nice Golfer family man on the Disney channel. Maybe he'll start calling himself T-Wood and start doing commercials for gold chains and FUBU apparel.... Like marriage, only time will tell.

The Little Things...

I don't think any strangers read this little blog, so I'm going to take this opportunity to talk about my fair wife. Ashley has many qualities that make her absolutely incredible (but I don't think anyone has any desire to read about those), and at the same time she has many… idiosyncrasies… that just make me shake my head and laugh when does them. So my intention is to let you know about a few of my favorite little tidbits about Ashley.

When you buy a new article of clothing the tag is always attached using a small plastic hang piece that is pierced through the clothes. Somehow Ashley has the unique ability to ALWAYS tear off the tag while leaving the plastic piece sticking out of the clothes. I sometimes wonder if she thinks it’s part of the actual clothing, like a fashion accessory or something. A few months back I distinctly remember she was getting ready for work, looking good as usual, then she does a little spin for me to see how she looks, and there, sticking out of her back is her favorite plastic tag holder… I laugh, shake my head and go for the scissors.

The other week I was doing the laundry (yes I do laundry - as little as possible, but I do it) and I was folding a pair of Ashley's underwear when I find her favorite accessory sticking in them. Alright, must be a new pair... no, wait. I've seen her wearing this pair for at least the last year. A year, really? It was on an inside tag, but doesn't it itch? Isn't it at least annoying? Later that night I ask her about it and she tells me it's no big deal... I just shake my head and smile while I now cut the tags off of all her new clothes.

Next, Ashley hates when I need to teach her things. I mean HATES! As a little example we have recently decided that we need to stop being ignorant Americans and learn another language... That's good right. We're really excited to learn something new and even better do it together. So we decide that what better language to learn in this day in age than Spanish (well maybe Mandarin but that seemed a little too ambitious, plus I figure it's probably only 10 years until China takes over the world, so we can learn Mandarin then).

I explained to Ash that I took 3 years of Spanish in high school, and was pretty horrible then and I am sure to be exponentially worse now. So as our very romantic 1st anniversary present to each other we buy a language learning computer program to help guide our process. We set the plan - 45 minutes a night 5 days a week. The first day, lesson numero uno, and I recall literally one Spanish word and Ashley gets mad at me because she doesn’t like being taught by me.

She then goes off on a tangent saying that I know how to do everything and I always have to teach her everything and she never gets to teach me anything. I tell her how there are billions of things to know and I probably know 3 of them, she then lists three things that I know and have taught her and gets more upset. I tell her we could lean mandarin instead and she tells me to shut up. I just smile and shake my head... she assures me this is not a good time for laughing.


Third… Ashley loves to paint her nails. I don’t mean she does it like once a week like most women. In one day I’ve seen her paint and remove said paint at least 3 times. Every time she does I assure her that she is giving me brain cancer from the fumes, she glares at me and continues with the paint and remove routine. I sometimes wonder if she is just trying to kill me off.

Honestly though, Ashley has been cursed with extremely brittle nails. She will go to pet the cat and somehow break four nails in half; I’ve never seen anything like it. However, I can’t help but think that the brittleness is due to all the excessive application and removal of paint using harsh chemicals that they scent with coconut oil so you feel like the fumes aren’t really eating your brain. When I suggest this theory to Ashley she tells me I’m ridiculous, the coconut oil helps moisturize her nails… sure. Since the “moisturizing” chemicals didn’t seem to help she decided to buy some nail strengthening stuff paint to help out. So now she will precisely paint then strengthen… and remove three times. Honestly I think she just wanted to be able to paint more. I watch her, smile, and shake my head while I put on my fumes mask.

Fourth… Since the day I met Ashley I have probably heard the sentence "my eyes hurt" no less than 5 million times… literally. I have taken her to the emergency room at least twice for her eyes, and those are just the times when it got so bad she couldn’t see.

Now one would think that if you had a lot of eye problems you would take exceptionally good care of your eyes to make sure no more problems arise. Three years ago she left her contacts in for MONTHS at a time, then one day she complained that her eyes were killing her, she couldn’t understand why. I secretly thought that maybe it had something to do with her eye actually growing over the contact…

After that emergency room visit, things got better for a little while. She would leave them in for a couple of weeks at a time. Then came the next emergency room visit. Shortly followed by an emergency morning rush to the eye doctor because her eyes hurt so bad she couldn’t drive herself to the doctor. Literally since the first ER visit I have heard complaints about her eyes every day. I do have to give her some credit though, she has been slightly better about taking care of her eyes, while still complaining about them hourly.

So, two weeks ago we were hanging out at home and she lost her contact case and she asked me to look around for it. So I find one of her cases, look inside, no contacts, but what I do find is utterly amazing. I find my third grade science fair project in her contact case. She had solution in there, along with hairs, crumbs, dust, and an elephant, truly remarkable. It all became clear to me… her eyes have hurt for the last 3 years because she never takes out her contacts and when she does she puts them into solution that The Swamp Thing could comfortable thrive in. I smile and shake my head slowly.

I think we finally have her eyes figured out, she just needs to change the solution once every couple decades and all future problems may be avoided. We go to the optomologist last week for her to get a check up, find out all the crazy things wrong with her eyes, and then she gets new glasses, which is great because they will be the proper strength, and she will be able to take her contacts out every now and again. So she picks up the new specs today after much waiting and tells me “they are ok, I don’t love them” It will never end.

As an introduction to the final topic I’d like to say I HATE washing dishes. On top of not liking to wash dishes, I’m incredibly paranoid about making sure the dishes are immaculately clean, meaning it takes forever, which makes it all even worse.

Then of course we move into an apartment without a dishwasher. PERFECT! So, Ash and I will take turns at this hellish task. It worked great… for about a day. Then I saw our “clean” dishes after Ashley’s turn. To say they were still dirty was a drastic understatement, to say they still had food stuck to them doesn’t do the situation justice. Somehow she found a way to get more food stuck onto the “clean” plates, forks, knives, and bowls than was on them as our meal.

So I ask her about our dishes, telling her they probably aren’t safe to eat off in this condition, she assures me that I’m only being anal about the whole thing and to stop worrying. I now run to the sink as soon as we are done eating to make sure I get to be the one to do the dishes… It might be a little overboard, but I’d rather spend 20 minutes washing a spoon than be sick for a month from food poisoning contracted from eating 4 day-old chicken that was stuck to my plate. Every once in a while I will still remove a dish from the cupboard only to be surprised by last week’s lasagna on my plate; smile and shake my head while pulling out the industrial strength detergent.

I know it sounds like I’ve complained a lot about my wife, it’s true, I have. But in the end it truly does keep every-day life interesting, and I don’t know that I would want it any other way. While I may now have exceptionally dry hands from all the dish-washing, she always keeps me company while I wash away, which makes it well worth it. We kind of get to deal with each other’s idiosyncrasies, shake our heads and smile a lot, but in the end I’m insanely happy and wouldn’t change a thing (except maybe for her to change the solution in her contact case from time to time).

The Three Memorable Things Rule

With the Christmas trees (or menorahs, if you swing that way) dismantled and the cookies bordering on stale, I have been thinking recently about makes a year "memorable". A couple of years ago Justin mused that he was scared of getting old, not for fear of gray hair (he probably won't have much anyway, so gray would be an improvement), but because he worried that once out of school and deep in the "humdrum" of life, the years would blend together. He worried that everyday life would lead to monotony and that monotony would lead to a life forgotten. Or worse: wasted.

Justin's was a sentiment to which I could relate. If you know me, you know that I have a very hard time sitting still and doing "nothing". Apart from possible neurological issues related to my self-diagnosed ADHD and/or anxiety disorder, I think that my restlessness is rooted deeply in an existential crisis. Put more simply, I fear death. Not the physical experience of death. No, that I actually fear very little. Rather, I fear, immensely in fact, leaving the earth without having made a mark and without having evolved into the person that I desire to be.

Justin's solution to his own fear of "forgettableness" was to make a rule (oh us and our rules - how we love structure!). Actually, maybe it could be called more of a challenge. Regardless, he set out to ensure that each year he had done or experienced three memorable things. One might call this the Three Memorable Things Rule. This sounds deceptively simple. Despite our relative youth and rather unstable life, Justin frequently has difficulty coming up with these Three Things each year. This is not because our lives are not full of chaos, but more so because Justin has many rules within his rule. For example, the Three Things cannot be more related to someone else than to him (e.g. celebrating Dylan's graduation will not count, but his own will) and they have to reflect some accomplishment. As you can see, this can lead to a decent amount of pressure come December.

Since Justin began talking about this practice, I have been very supportive of his endeavor. In line with both my personality and therapy training, I think setting goals and recognizing accomplishments is extremely valuable. For myself, I spend inordinate amounts of time writing lists of goals for myself and trying to learn as much as possible in an effort to make each day "worthwhile".

Then today, Justin and I had a brief exchange that I will paraphrase for you here:

Justin: Ash, I need to write down my Three Things for last year, and I can only remember two. 

Me: Well, I guess the last one wasn't that memorable, huh? 

Justin: Not funny. I really can't think of a third thing. What a waste of a year. 

Now, Justin clearly doesn't think of 2009 as a true waste... at least I hope not. It was our first year of marriage after all. The year we moved away from home to establish a new life, independent. The year that the Bengals disappointed us all again. But nonetheless his statement took me aback. Could a year really be a waste? 

My immediate response to the year being a waste question is to say, no, of course not. But some might disagree. Some may contest that in order to live a life worth remembering, you must actively create memories. You must do and create and accomplish. And up until the past couple of months, I think I would have agreed.
In general, I spend the majority of my time doing or planning to do. I have an internal dialogue telling me that life is passing me by quickly and I must hurry to keep up with the pace. I need Things to add to my own list.

But Justin's words today made me take pause. I began to think about measuring the value of a year. This may have been in no small part also related to the fact that I hurt my back this week and was unable to move today, so I was, quite literally, forced to slow down. But anyway, I wondered whether having or not having that Third Thing to add to his list could or should make a difference. Had we not experienced so many things in 2009? Had we not survived our first year of marriage and saying goodbye to family and friends? Had we not traveled throughout the U.S. and had we not celebrated the milestones of our loved ones? Had we not seen movies and danced at weddings and eaten birthday cake and played blackjack in Vegas and sang karaoke? Had we not lived?

As I'm writing, I'm reminded of the song "Seasons of Love" from the show Rent, the lyrics of which pose the exact question I'm contemplating. How do you measure, a year in the life? The song suggests sunsets, cups of coffee, laughter, strife, and... love. All of which we had plenty of last year. Well, not much coffee for Justin, but you get the point. It's not measured in the number of marathons run or awards received. Not at all. In fact, I hope that when I'm old I remember the details instead of the major milestones: the cups of coffee (or tea or whatever), the from-behind hugs, the feel of the ice cold floor in our tiny kitchen, the cats throwing up on the carpet, and the curling up under the heating blanket to keep warm. If I can remember those things, that will be okay.

So my new stance on the Three Things Rule, at least for today, is that it will need to become the Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand Six Hundred Things list in order to account for all of the individual moments that made 2009, and every year, memorable.

So, what are your thoughts?

2009: Forward Stumbling

When I met Ashley, she and her friends had this little tradition of doing a "Year in Review" for each birthday. It was an opportunity to reflect on both the ups and the downs of the year gone by and to recognize how little we can truly predict about our lives. Since then, Ashley and I have adopted this tradition for ourselves. With our recent anniversary, we had the opportunity to reflect on our adventurous first year of marriage. We'll keep that review private, for our sake and yours. However, as many of you were a major part of our lives over this past year, we would like to review 2009 with you as we begin our forward stumble into 2010.

2009 was rung in unceremoniously sitting in the back of a Saturn as Jack drove us back from the airport, having said goodbye to the gorgeous rainforests and beaches of Costa Rica. After ten days in paradise, we were so excited to return to the paradise we fondly call Norwood, Ohio. We did have lots of new wedding presents to begin playing with. You know, fun toys like crock pots, vacuum cleaners, and flatware (I'm still waiting for Ashley's domestic gene to kick in)...

Costa Rica, Not Norwood

The honeymoon was quickly over when Ashley left me freezing in Cincinnati and resumed flying all over North America for internship interviews. Flying from Baton Rouge to Denver to L.A., she soon learned that living in a hotel is not all it's cracked up to be. One of the most memorable interviews for me was when she called me at 11:00 p.m. on a Tuesday sobbing about insane L.A. motorists, narrow lanes, and a lack of road signs. I calmed her down just in time for her to arrive at her destination, step out of her car, and experience her first earthquake. It was a sleepless night... for both of us.

As February began, our anxiety began building, waiting to find out if and where Ashley would match, and thus where we would be spending the next year. As alcohol is always a healthy means of coping with anxiety, we traveled to Columbus to bottle wine with Lucia, Mark, Molly, and Jason. It was a nice escape right before Match Day, which proved another sleepless night for all involved. The night before, Ashley's friends came over to distract each other... translate: lots of drinking, games, and dancing while I tried to sleep before a long day of work. After falling asleep despite the thumping bass, I was awoken at 2 a.m. and asked to drive everyone home so that they could each check their match status alone. Seriously???

At the Wine Store in Columbus

As expected, Ashley and her friends all matched and we learned we were moving to... Philadelphia. In celebration of the match and March Madness, we spent the next few weeks living at Bdubs and consuming many, many hot wings. We also decided to take a rather random trip to Las Vegas to capitalize on their suffering economy and take a little break from the grind of graduate school and work. In April, I turned 27 and began thinking about what my own future in Philadelphia would hold, job searching and applying to new MBA programs. Ashley also began studying for her licensure exam in order to deal with the fear of impending "free time". We were clearly a lot of fun in this month.

In May Ashley turned the ripe old age of 24 and began saying goodbye to her grad school friends as they left for internship. Dealing with this was not my favorite part of 2009. Fortunately, we had a trip planned to Lake Ocoee in Tennessee for Memorial Day Weekend. We had a blast boating, swimming, jet skiing, white water rafting, and playing lots of games. Of course the girls got all sentimental as they guys drank and played poker... typical.

Trying to Sink the Tube

The summer brought the joys of Finance for me and Ashley's excessive studying started picking up. We also hosted an apartment full of girls in preparation for Lucia's Bridal Shower. Believe it or not, living with a bunch of girls is not nearly as fun as it was in your dreams in high school... Around this time we trekked to Philly to begin searching for a place to live... what a waste that was! We picked out a nice apartment, but were delighted to find out a week before moving that the previous occupant was conducting a sit-in. This meant we had to find a new place, quite quickly, which we fortunately did. More on that to come.

As July ended, Ashley took her big exam and learned she was super competent. We also headed to a conference in Toronto. What a dreary city. At least it encouraged us to learn a few things at the conference and get some ideas about moving to New Zealand in a few years. Mom, don't freak out yet! When we got back, it was time to quit my job, pack up our life (and our cats), and head to Philly with a caravan of family. When we arrived, we got to see the aforementioned apartment for the first time and minorly (or majorly, more accurately) freaked out. With the help of our family and the deaf-mute movers, we managed to make it work. We are forever indebted to all of them.

Living Room - Kind of Deceptive

After a few days in Philly, we decided we needed to get out. So we drove the 10 hours up to Maine to camp at Acadia National Park and stopped in Mystic, CT for a few days on the way back. Despite getting lost on bikes in the park and stuck in a hurricane, it was a great trip. Upon arriving back in Philly, we quickly left again, this time to celebrate Lucia and Mark's wedding in Akron. By the time we got back, we had no desire to ever drive again. It was also time for me to start the full-time MBA program at La Salle and Ashley to start her internship at Friends Hospital.

Over the next few months, we got acclimated to Philly. We tried to immerse ourselves in Philly culture by attending a Phillies game, eating cheesesteaks and "wuter" ice, drinking Yuengling, and learning about tapping the MAC. We also visited NYC for our friend Steve's birthday and began to understand why the Chinatown bus is only 10 bucks. Meanwhile, Ashley got homesick in about a day and took a surprise trip home over Halloween. She celebrated her least-favorite holiday at her brother Zach's house in a really slutty costume...

With Bradley, who dressed as Bruno

For Thanksgiving I decided to leave my wife and head to Detroit, by way of Cincinnati. I got to see my whole family and enjoy our favorite traditions of eating Lebanese food and playing whirly ball. Ashley's family came to visit her in Philly for the holiday since she couldn't get off work. Let's just say they left ten cases of diet coke behind, so Ashley was in heaven. Soon after, we visited our friend Maria in D.C., where we got to experience the joy of the Holocaust Museum and attend a Ukrainian party - they sure know how to throw a party!

That brings us to the recent Christmas season, which included our first wedding anniversary. We got to spend a little over a week at home in Cincinnati visiting with family and friends and putting on a few pounds. We also celebrated the engagements of our friends Craig and Jen and Joe and Meredith. We sure love weddings. When we returned to Philly, we got ready for a visit from Leigh and Matt for New Year's Eve, which was spent feeling entirely too old for certain bars. It was a lot of fun however, and was a great ending to an adventurous year.














So, what's to come in 2010? Well, much like 2009, we again don't know where we'll be living come September. Until then, we have lots of adventures planned, like more interviewing, learning Spanish, taking a cruise, Ashley getting her doctorate and me my MBA, moderating the Biggest Loser Challenge, and attending the way-too-built-up UD Reunion Weekend.

2009 was great, and we can't wait to see what 2010 has in store. My real goal for this year, however, is to find out where those damn gym workers park.