My Thoughts on Aging

I’ve been feeling out of sorts lately, and it always surprises me how much better I feel after writing. It’s exactly the reason I started this blog in the first place—to see my thoughts written out in a somewhat coherent way is cathartic for me. And yet, I forget how good it feels every time. My journal, (which is a little less sarcastic and has a whole lot more feelings), doesn’t require drafts or editing (except when I’m redacting my high school years for posterity’s sake), so it doesn’t have the same therapeutic effect. Believe me, if you think my blog is erratic and tangential, you should read my journal. It sounds like it’s written by 7 different people.

            So, it finally happened to me. Back in January, I turned 25. I’ve been in denial ever since. I had to rent a car the other day, and my hands started sweating when I realized I could put my own information in and not my 30-year-old sugar daddy’s info (Billy). And you know how when you subscribe to a website, they ask what age range you’re in? I’m not even in the first age category anymore. Rest in peace, 18-24.

I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal, but it has really thrown me into a panic.  I threw out all of my beauty products and stocked up on anything and everything with retinol in it. I’m pretty sure I have retinol in my deodorant. I’m also toying with the idea of getting preventative Botox. A few years ago, my sister-in-law was getting certified to give facial injections of the miracle drug and offered to practice on me for free as part of her training. I completely trusted her, but I declined because I didn’t feel like I was “that kind of girl”. At the time, it seemed hypocritical to get Botox since I’ve always identified as a tomboy and didn’t obsess about top of the line makeup or expensive clothes. I always try to look good, but Target suits me just fine. But on the day I turned 25, I woke up seriously regretting my anti-chemical/surgery stance. Give me all the Botox.

I know you’re probably supposed to worry about your health your whole life, but I missed that memo. Everyone warned me, “Tanning will make you look like Yzma from the Emperor’s New Groove” or “Diet Coke is how they administer chemotherapy orally”. I’ll blame it on my brain not being fully developed until 25 (the only positive of this ghastly age, although it’s not that positive because I can’t blame my ineptitude on my brain anymore), but when people would tell me these things, I would wave it off. That stuff happens to old people. I think I even used to say, “I’d rather look good while I’m young and have skin cancer when I’m older than be pale”. *Gritted-teeth emoji* That’s just the narcissistic version of YOLO, right? My parents really should have given me a good slap every now and then. But now that I’m 25, I’m scared as hell. I’m positive that I’ll pay for my recklessness and disregard for my health pretty soon, so I’m trying to reverse all the damage I’ve already done*. I’ve even started another stint of working out and eating clean. I’m hoping this time it will stick, because Billy and I both feel like we would be the first to go in a zombie apocalypse because of our sitting-at-a-desk-all-day muscles. Or lack thereof. 

I’m in the worst shape that I’ve ever been in. I tried to hike a mountain with a bunch of the wives down here. I think it’s a 4-mile round trip hike (that’s probably being generous) and I gave up. There were 3 girls with 6-month olds strapped to their chests that did the whole thing. Mind you, the hike was pretty steep, I hadn’t worked out for 2 months for medical reasons and we were going at a very fast pace--I’m more of a hike 2 minutes, rest for 10 kind of girl. But I can’t get over the fact that I actually quit. I’m 25 years old and if I had to run up that mountain to avoid a tsunami, I would die. My ancestors and Charles Darwin would be ashamed. (Just so you don't think I've entirely let myself go, mangoes are back in season and it's all I eat now. My colon is very happy!)

Going to town on a mango. This is why no one ever wanted a second date with me.

I guarantee you I will not live until I’m 100, so I’m more than ¼ of the way through my life. Which is beyond scary. When I got married at 3 weeks shy of 21(yes, that means 20), I figured I might as well start popping out children before I turn 26. Why 26, you ask? It is the magical age that Obama designated when I get booted off my parents’ health insurance. The goal was to have at least 2 kiddos by now so I could get my parents’ money’s worth of prenatal and maternity care. However, my fallopian tubes have quite the sense of humor.  Since I’ll definitely be 26 and childless, I’m back to being a student again while fighting off wrinkles, sun damage, and obesity. Did I mention I live on a Caribbean island where the sun is always shining, and it’s too hot to run outside? Every outside yoga class is Bikram whether you want it to be or not. Even swimming laps in the ocean (water temperature is an average of 80.6º F) could give you heatstroke. So, these self-improvement plans might also be on hold until we’re back in the states. But I always feel better knowing that Billy is turning 30 next year. Because if I think 25 is bad, I know 30 is going to be miserable. I feel so lucky to have Billy and his receding hairline to put things into perspective.

*I wrote this post yesterday, and then today, I played beach volleyball and went swimming. And got super burnt in the process (pictured below). So, probably don't ever listen to anything I ever say. I'm not to be trusted. BUT NOTICE THE FOREHEAD WRINKLES!!!!

            

Call Me Master Tori, Please

Grenada in the winter months is a dream. I didn’t think it could get any more perfect here, and then I stepped off the plane and felt a heavenly breeze.  The temperature is the same as it was in August, but the difference is the humidity I think. And there are some lovely winds coming from somewhere—probably Antarctica. But this weather is really crappy timing, because I don’t have much free time to enjoy it this term. Why is that, you ask? Well, it’s because I am 4 weeks deep into my Master’s in Accounting program through Texas A&M. Aggghhhh! I’m gonna be a Master! Whatever that means.

Judging from all the confused laughs I generate when I make this announcement, I better clarify for everyone what the deal is. And it’s probably just as funny as you originally thought. I have ZERO background in accounting, but I have always loved the order that comes through math and especially problem-solving. I’ll admit it—I’m obsessed with worksheets. Plus, my four years at Vivint sparked my obsession with the business world.

I considered going into accounting during my undergrad but, a parent of mine, who will not be named, told me I had too much personality to be an accountant (I can say that now that I’m going to be one, right?) and so I pursued psychology. Which, I really, really loved, but now my career options are really, really pitiful. The plan is to become a CPA. I like the flexibility of the career—I could have my own clients and work from home, or if I start getting stir-crazy, I could go work for Vivint. Or another business I guess, but I’m Vivint for life, baby.

And not only that, I just hate that I have no knowledge on the subject at all. Once we start making money in ten years or so, it’ll be so useful to know what to do with our money. And if nothing else, it will save us $250 a year from hiring an accountant to do our taxes. That’ll really add up, guys. It may cover my tuition by the time I’m 87.

The whole idea came about as I was sitting on the beach one day, drinking my Miami Vice thinking about Leonardo DiCaprio, of course, which led me to The Wolf of Wall Street. And then I said to myself, “I don’t think we are in enough debt, what could I possibly do to drive us farther into the hole?” And alas, a dream was born. They should make a Disney Channel movie about me.

I only doubt myself every hour or so. The material is pretty effing hard for someone who knows literally nothing about the industry. Almost as hard as trying to go to the bathroom in a one-piece bathing suit. And it’s completely online which is the worst. But, I have nothing but time, so it gives me the option to go over the chapters two or three or ten times.

Being back in school has really helped put me in Billy’s shoes too. Last week, I was having a really hard time and feeling overwhelmed and I worked my butt off so I could have a pool day. I was crying to Billy that all I wanted was to lay at the pool and get fat. Life goals, ya know? As he was holding me, comforting me, I could have smacked myself. Because Billy feels all that same stress times 1,000, but he doesn’t get days off. He just goes to bed and starts all over again. What a freaking brat I’m being! So hopefully, by going through this with him, I’m getting a better grasp on what he’s going through and I’ll be more understandable on the hardest days where I’m missing him. Fingers crossed.

It's also nice because we go to school together in the morning and we have much more to say to each other than:

Me: How was your day?
Billy: Good.
Me: What'd you do?
Billy: Studied
Me: Cool!

I tell him what I'm learning and what I like and dislike about it, and it's somehow easier for me to listen to him talking about the crazy scientist stuff he's learning. 

I’ve actually had this post drafted for a few weeks now, and I keep chickening out about posting it. I’m totally fine talking about farts, sex, bodily fluids, how many days I’ve gone without pooping (2), etc. But ask me about my life goals and I turn bright red and clam up. That feels way more personal to me for some reason. Billy told me about this TED talk that he listened to once. I never listened to it myself, so this is passed down the “he told me that she said” telephone line. Billy’s synopsis is that when we tell people our plans or our goals, a small part of us feels proud and feels as if we have already accomplished the task and we don’t feel as motivated to actually complete the goal. So, I’ve been waiting until I had a month of classes under my belt and that I was actually learning and passing before I told a lot of people. If you see me in 2.5 years and I’m not a CPA—blame it on this blog post. And then my Disney Channel movie can be called The Girl Who Was Almost a CPA. Riveting.

Here is a photoshoot of me trying to study.
***Disclaimer: I do not wear glasses. I wear them to make me feel smart while studying***

My grainy iPhone view from my study spot on campus.

Real Housewives of Grenada

I feel like I need to make a formal apology. I always knew that being a housewife was hard work and I’ve always respected the hell out of those mothers that are juggling kids and housework and social lives and personal hygiene. But maybe I just couldn’t relate? Or a small part of me was elevating myself above them because they should just be grateful they can have children and I work full time so I’m actually paying bills? Whatever my subconscious thinks, I’m a real brat when it gets down to it. That’s the 3-year old part of me that has never fully grown up and I apologize for that as well.

When people asked me what I would do with my time while we were in Grenada, I always thought “Good question. What am I gonna do?” I’ve been either working, in school, or both since I was 18. Well, technically since I was 5, but we all know a monkey could pass K-12, especially in Utah.  I can’t legally work on the island because they reserve jobs for the locals unless you have some very specific skill set that others don’t. So a Psychology degree doesn’t really count here. Or anywhere for that matter.

This whole tangent is to shed light on the fact that I have been so busy and I had no idea that not having a job could be this much work! Okay, a lot of it is not technically work. But I have this whole new social life with the other med school wives, it’s kind of amazing. I have yoga class Mondays, Wednesdays, and Friday nights. Pool days are on Mondays and Thursdays. Bachelor in Paradise Monday nights. I just barely caught myself saying to Billy “I can’t meet up with the scooter guy tomorrow, 'cause I have Bachelor.” I can’t believe what I’m turning into.

Bingo night is Wednesday, and the Farmer’s market is that morning. And then I have to factor in when I’m going grocery shopping (which can take up a whole afternoon if I’m not careful, plus I have to plan it around the fact that the store gets in new shipments on Thursdays, so good luck finding any milk on a Wednesday). Laundry gets tricky because it can’t be on a rainy day because I have to line dry it or else it smells like BO. I also factor in how much time I need to make dinner, do my daily sweeping of the house (living by the beach is dirty!), explore every inch of Grenada, all while trying to schedule my life around Billy’s free time. Oh and I can’t forget the ceaseless F-bombing the ants as I spray them away from my kitchen. Just kidding, I only say the F word when I’m golfing. 

I also try to devour as many mangoes as I can in one day. Am I the last person on this earth to discover mangoes? I’m obsessed! Anyway, I had no idea how productive/exhausted I could feel just keeping a household for two running! So, I sincerely apologize to everyone that “stays at home”, because I have been subconsciously judging you when I had no idea what it was like. It was ill founded and you are now my heroes. And now I’ll shutup, because I just realized that I wrote a whole blog post about my weekly schedule and that can’t possibly be interesting to anyone else, even my mother. So here are some pictures!

 

At the SGU White Coat Ceremony. Can I keep him?

Obligatory "we dressed up" selfie

 

You can't really see, but our friends gave a local boy a ride up the hill and there was no room in the car, so he hopped on the back hood. Grenada, man.

Grand Anse Farmer's Market. Mangoes and avocadoes and eggplant, oh my! 

Luckily, I made friends with a starfish whisperer and I always happen to be with her when she finds them. My second so far!

And I really wanted to make friends with this kid. He was just floatin' in a life jacket 5 sizes too big, pondering the mysteries of the world.

I was one number away from winning a dinghy. Earlier, I was one number away from winning 4 pigs, but I wasn't too upset about that one.

Home, Sweet Home

I don’t think I can call myself a local yet. I haven’t even pooped while on the island, which means my body thinks it’s in vacation mode. Hopefully my bowels catch up with my brain at some point.

Moving to Grenada has been a whirlwind. Aside from the actual preparation to move to a foreign country, the plane rides were awful. I threw up on the airplane. Like all over myself. Luckily all I had eaten was a banana, so it just looked like baby spit-up. But it was still possibly the worst thing I have ever experienced. I was sitting by the window and Billy was on the opposite row on the window seat so he had no idea. I had to politely ask the woman and her teenage boy sitting next to me whether I could please get out, because as you can see (and hopefully not smell), I have vomit all over my jacket.  I went to the bathroom and rinsed off my jacket (my whole outfit was black, so the white spit-up contrasted quite nicely).

Another positive to this story is that I was so drugged on Ambien that I don’t think I even had the self-awareness to be properly embarrassed.  I got back to my seat and tried to sleep some more. Our first leg arrived at JFK at 7 AM—hence the need for an Ambien or two. Then, we hit some turbulence and I proceeded to throw up again. This time, a flight attendant had given me 2 barf bags, so it was much more hygienic. Those poor people sitting next to me. And the poor people reading this post—I’ve already mentioned 2 different bodily fluids and I’m not even done yet.

Anyway, I was ecstatic to finally land in our new home. We were picked up at the airport and taken to the grocery store to get a transformer (all the outlets in our apartment are 220v and all our electronics are 110v). Who do we think we are—thinking we could charge more than one device at a time? Spoiled Americans. Even in the few days we’ve been here, we’ve realized what entitled people we are. I’ve never looked at prices so hard as when we went grocery shopping for the first time. Since we’re on an island, most everything is imported—especially our favorite brands. A small jar of peanut butter cost us over 10 USD and a gallon of milk was 7 USD.  And when you’re living on student loans that haven’t even come through yet—you start having to budget and think about costs a little bit more. Plus, we haven’t had to pay rent for 2 years while living at our parents’ houses. When we talk about a lifestyle change, we weren’t kidding.

We live about a 15 minute walk from a small beach. There is never anyone else there, so we call it our own private beach. There’s a volleyball net, so we need to hurry and make some friends so we can get some games going. We tried another beach yesterday—Grand Anse beach, which is famous in Grenada. But we didn’t like it as much as our beach. It was still beautiful, with fabulous views of the capital, but it wasn’t remote enough for our hermit selves. We bought snorkel gear today—which obviously takes a priority over Internet or a car, right?

For some reason, I start crying every day out of nowhere. It’s not from sadness, or loneliness, because we are having so much fun and I’m really loving it here. I think maybe that I’m a little bit afraid and out of my element. I love the things we are discovering about this country and the cultures and customs, but sometimes it all gets too much and I yearn for something familiar. Back in Utah, I was so comfortable in all of my roles. We had good friends that we loved spending time with, we knew what we could afford and what we couldn’t, I was so comfortable at my job, we had our favorite restaurants, and Billy and I spent as much time together as we possibly could. But here, my roles have all shifted. We will need to make new friends, I’ll have to learn how to cook in order to save us money, we still need to figure out how everything works on the island, and once school starts, I’ll rarely get to spend time with Billy. But, I’m going to focus on the positive and let things happen on their own. 

My goal is to make life so easy for Billy that he won’t have to worry about anything other than school. Our time here is about him, and I’m so proud of the sacrifices he has already made and will continue to make so that we can live a comfortable life. I can’t even imagine how hard his studies will be, so I’m taking a vow to be the most independent, non-needy wife there ever was. He will have no reason to worry about my feelings whatsoever! I have to write this on the blog, or else I won’t remember my vow when I’m having a bad day.

Mostly, we are just enjoying this time where we don’t have cell phones, a car, or even an Internet connection. I don’t bother to wash or style my hair, because I know I’ll be getting in the ocean again. Things are simple. We sleep in, and our biggest worry is which beach or waterfall we are going to go to that day.  Real life will begin for us once Billy starts school, which isn’t for a couple more weeks. We feel so grateful for all of the opportunities we have been given and that Billy will be able to receive such a phenomenal education. We miss our friends and family, of course, but we are waiting to see who our real friends are by who comes out to visit us first. 

At the airport with all of our possessions crammed into 6 duffel bags, 2 carry-ons and 2 backpacks

Our own private beach

Billy was suckered into buying a shark tooth necklace that he doesn't even like. Doesn't he look straight out of the '90's?

We have a long way to go working on our tans 

We got caught in our first Grenadian torrential downpour on the beach. I've never been so soaked from rainwater before!

Pretty proud of our wedding ring tan-lines

Sea otters