Thought 1

It’s my lovely webmaster/dishwasher/gardener/romantic boy-toy’s 35th birthday today! That’s right, take a second to go on over to twitter and tweet something inappropriate to @jasonnewlin. He obviously loves inappropriatenessocity; he married me.

It’s also my co-blogger over at Wine and a Spoon’s birthday! I know, it’s such a weird coincidence that they have the same birthday! Except not really because they’re twins. Happy Birthday, Jen Newlin! You can feel free to tweet something inappropriate to her also, but I think she might be less amused, so don’t tell her I told you to (Love you, Jen!).

Thought 2

I’ve been thinking about the rapidly shrinking housing inventory in Metro-Phoenix situation we’ve got going on. I have a prediction for how this is all going to play out over the next few years and I want to get it out there in writing so that if I’m right I’ll be able to prove I’m practically a psychic, or at the very least a genius (and if I’m wrong we’ll just never speak of this again).

Here’s how it’s going to go –

Phase 1:  Buyers trying to get into the market while the interest rates are still low have an increasingly difficult time getting under contract because the pool of available houses has shrunk. They make higher offers and those who can, begin doing things like ‘waiving appraisal’.

Phase 2: Prices take a small uptick. The media reports that we’ve ‘really hit the bottom this time, no, we swear it’s for realsies, we’re sure’. This brings out more buyers who want to get in while prices are still low, further reducing the inventory and increasing competition. Prices continue to rise.

Phase 3: Everyone who hasn’t already short sold or foreclosed on the property they own that is underwater scoots to the edge of their seats and watches comps with bated breath to see if finally they might actually be able to sell and break even on the tiny house they bought before they had any kids and are now positively crammed into. Finally they can’t stand it anymore and waves of previously upside-down home owners list their houses in an attempt to get out while the getting is good. This will work for some.

Phase 4: The investors and wannabe investors all got burned and are still recovering from the last market crash, so they don’t come running to snatch up the houses and the market quickly becomes resaturated with property. Price increases grind to a screeching halt.

Phase 5: The remaining short sales and foreclosures (which continue to exist in a constant stream under all of this normal sale drama) begin to drop their prices to get-er-done, once again undercutting the normal sales and causing another market dip.

You’ll see.

Thought 3

My knee still hurts. I’ve ramped up my mileage this week because I’m really getting worried I’m not going to be ready for RAGNAR. It’s had the unfortunate effect of ramping up my knee pain as well. Apparently I can have cardiovascular strength or IT band strength, not both.

My sister says I’m over-thinking and it’s all going to be fine. Despite my well-documented history of over-thinking, I don’t think she’s right this time. I’ve given it a lot of thought and I really think I’m doing just the right amount of thinking about all of this, and not over-thinking at all. Plus she’s a super-athlete and it would be totally fine if she was doing it, but if we were twins, I would be the Danny Devito to her Arnold Schwarzenegger. I’m just not convinced it’s going to be totally fine.

So tomorrow I’m going to attempt the 7 mile run again. I’ve decided this is the determining run. If I can make it through and then in 8 hours I can still walk, I will push forward with RAGNAR. If I fail, if it hurts really a lot, if I attempt to hop any fences just to make it all end, well, then I’m waiving the white flag. The race is less than three weeks away; if I’m not well and trained up enough to accomplish 7 miles with mild hills by now, I’m just not going to be ready in time.

Thought 4

This is our 20+ year old cat, Six.

I’m pretty sure she’s just really considerate and has decided to start sleeping here so that when she eventually passes on in her sleep it will be super easy for us to properly dispose of her remains. (Don’t worry, it didn’t happen yet. I can still hear her snoring.)

Diets are hard. Also? Garlic and Parmesan Cheez-its are like meth; one hit and suddenly you’re 5 days into a downward spiral filled with carbs and sugar and you don’t even know how you got to Wendy’s, much less how you managed to eat not one but two double patty bacon blue cheeseburgers and a large fries.

Not that this has anything to do with today’s post. I just felt the need to confess.

Let’s talk about “The Market”. Yes, The Real Estate Market, hence the air-quotes I was just making in your head while you were reading this. I know, I know, you don’t really care that much about The Market unless you’re buying or selling right this very second. Even then you’re not sure you care very much. I get it. It’s boring. I’ll try to keep it brief. And as your reward for sticking with it, I’ll end this post with a sexy photo.

As of today, Maricopa County has 14,664 residential properties actively listed for sale. To give you an idea of scale, when The Market had gotten super schlumpy* back in 2009 there were as many as 50,000-60,000 properties listed actively in Maricopa County. Conversely, when the market was moving like lightening and prices were jumping up $10K every month back in 2005 we had as few as 5,000 listed properties.

The inventory has been steadily dropping for awhile now, but it’s starting to reach scraping-the-bottom-of-the-barrel levels.

OK, you’re saying, so how does this affect me and why should I care?

Well if you’re a buyer, this means it’s going to be more difficult to find a house. It’s like when you go to Walmart to try to find something cute to wear. You may be able to find something that will work, but it’s not going to be easy and you’re going to have to do a lot of digging through gross stuff ‘designed’ by B-list celebs. When you do spot a shirt that’s actually pretty cute and not at all disgusting, you might get into a fight with a lady wearing a leopard-print tube top who thinks she saw it first (and if you do, you should just yank on the bottom of her top, grab the cute shirt and make a mad dash for the register while she’s covering her chestal region. All’s fair in love and Walmart). House buying in a more normal market is more like shopping for a cute outfit at Target. You’ve got a reasonable amount of options and time to try everything on and make sure it doesn’t fit weird.

If you’re a seller, I have good news and bad news about the current state of The Market. The good news is that with so few options, if you price your house correctly it should sell fairly quickly. The bad news is, I know you’re thinking this means you can bump of the price on your house, but it doesn’t, really. Yet. As of right now, we haven’t experienced any real spikes (or even gradual increases) in pricing yet. But that said, a decrease in supply is generally an indicator of an upcoming increase in prices. We just may be finally getting back to a market where our real estate increases in value, rather than holding people hostage to houses they’ve grown out of or that aren’t in areas they want to live. That would be peachy, right?

And what if I’m not currently buying or selling, you ask? How does this low supply situation make any difference to me at all? Well, here’s the thing: Arizona real estate may always be volatile. Hopefully we won’t have an exact repeat of the insane roller coaster ride prices took from 2004-2009, but we may have that kind of activity again on a smaller scale. If supply gets low enough and people get desperate enough to obtain property, competition will drive prices up. Will you be one of the people who didn’t learn anything from the last time and who jumps into buying up investment property at inflated prices? Will you get caught up in the frenzy and help to push everything up further? Will you be party to the cycle so many of us (ME) didn’t see coming and that had a drastic effect on our bank accounts? Or will you be able to step back and understand the bigger picture and use this information to make smart real estate choices not because it’s what everyone is doing, but because it’s right for you? I’m just doing my part to keep us all in the latter category.

OK, I lied and I didn’t keep it short. But I totally have a sexy picture for you:

Who doesn’t find a young father with a hot new haircut reading to his adorable son before bed totally sexy? No one. You’re welcome.

*Schlumpy is a technical real estate term that means slow, shitty and depressing.

This is an outtake from a photo session with Jason’s family over New Years. We were setting up for what was meant to be a ‘goofy’ shot, which is why I’m sitting on Jason’s shoulders. Of course I like this one better than the actual goofy picture. Worth mentioning:

1. Bennett (front, left, seated cross-legged) is setting up for his shtick, which was a yogi-style ‘ohmmm’ pose. I feel like we’re in for a decade or so of watching him perform at amateur night in comedy clubs starting in about 8 years. Hopefully by then he’ll have worked out the difference between being funny and just insulting people.

2. My sister-in-law, Julene (in the grey sweater)’s fiance, Nick, all but disappeared in the mayhem. You can see a bit of his arm if you look close, but otherwise he’s been completely eclipsed.

3. Jonas (front and center in light blue) clearly knows he’s about to get crushed to death, but he’s been so successfully brainwashed by bribery and threats he can’t bring himself move from his designated spot or look away from the camera.

4. Gray (front right in green)’s face is my very favorite part of this picture.

5. My father-in-law, Kenny (in yellow) is totally oblivious to anything amiss.

Julene and Nick got engaged!!

My mother turned 60 a couple of weeks ago. I broke into my parents’ house while they were at work to find some old photos of her to scan in and have printed for a ’60 Years of Kathleen’ poster. Unfortunately my burglar skillz are lacking and once I took down a bunch of photos I couldn’t remember how they went back. Luckily my mom just thought it was her cleaning people stealing from her. This is my favorite of the photos I hadn’t seen before. She looks like a princess.

And last, but only least in size: my brand new nephew, Henry Robert Tolar! How damn cute is he?

As of five days ago my brother is now a father. And because becoming a parent is really only something you can wrap your brain around when it’s actually happened to you, we’re now regularly getting texts from Bobby and my sister-in-law, Erin, that amount to: Damn, newborns like NEVER SLEEP! and Dude, strollers are a pain in the ass and it takes a really long time get out of the house when you have a tiny baby! Who knew?! I’ve so far been successful in resisting the urge to say, “Can we please now rewind to 11 years ago when you and your friends were wearing my nursing bras on your heads because you thought it was just. that. hilarious. and have a small amount of empathy for me?”

My sister and I are heading to SF (because no one but tourists call it San Fran) to meet tiny baby Henry (who already has 4839 nicknames like ‘The Hankinator’ and ‘The Big HRT’) in three weeks and I CANNOT WAIT.

I’ve mentioned that I’ve been training for a RAGNAR that goes down in about a month. I basically have 18 miles to run in three sections over about 30 hours. I have to run 8.3 miles, then 6 and finally 3.6. I have been training regularly since early November, but lately I’ve taken a bit of time off here and there for the big anniversary trip and because I’ve encountered an IT band injury. I’ve been working on stretching and various other things to get my knee back in shape, but as RAGNAR approaches, I’ve been worried I need to get some decent mileage in so I’m not unprepared for the big 8.3 run.

Yesterday I planned to do 7 miles. It’s officially the longest run I’ve ever done. I did 6.5 at the very end of the year, and I did 6 a few weeks ago (before I figured out why my knee was hurting), but 7 was a new obstacle.

Suffice it to say 7 remains an unattained goal for me. I have, however, accomplished the new low of bailing on a run. That was a first for me.

In order to convey just how not only painful and soul-killing, but in typical Elizabeth Newlin fashion, ridiculous and idiotic this run was, I present to you: a screen shot of my heart monitor graph. I’ve labeled the parts worth mentioning. It really tells the whole story.

Ok, so I’m sure you know how a heart rate monitor works, right? This graph shows my heart rate on the left and the time on the bottom.

A: This was the first 3ish miles of the run. It wasn’t great, right from the start, but I was surviving. If, by ‘surviving’ you mean running as slowly as is possible for it not to be called walking and still sucking wind. I had stretched and iced and put this weird-ass magical voodoo tape on my leg before the run with the hope of keeping my knee pain under control. The knee was actually feeling great. Unfortunately, the new shoes I bought to facilitate the knee healing were banging the hell out of the big toe on my right foot.

B: This was where a car of elderly Canadians pulled up along side me on the road while I was running to ask me for directions. Who stops people while they’re running? Apparently lost tourists do. In addition, of course to the serial killers looking to snatch you off the street and cut you into tiny pieces.

C: During this section I had turned a corner and was actually running downhill, at my exact same pathetic slow-motion jog, but you can see my heart rate continues to climb. It’s like my body was getting wussier with every step. (Side note: I used to see people running really slow and pity them. Like, Dude, why are you running in public that slow? It’s embarrassing. I was an asshole and this is clearly karma. I’m pretty sure caterpillars were passing me.) This is also when I started to notice pain in my hip. Not in the hip of my left leg that’s been bothering me with the IT band issue, mind you. No, that would make too much sense. This was sharp pain in the other hip. And of course every step on the right foot felt like a hammer to my big toe.

D: The last few minutes of the downhill straightaway my heart rate climbed up into the 180s and I could not get it down. I was sucking wind hard, my hip and toe were throbbing and I knew that as soon as I hit the stoplight and turned right I would be straight uphill for a full mile.

E: This is where I hit the stoplight, took one look up the hill towards home and said fuck it and quit running. It’s also where I saw stars, immediately developed a stabbing pain under my rib cage and briefly considered heading into the CVS on the corner and calling someone to come pick me up. Or 911.

F: During this period I walked and had the following conversation with myself.

Me – Ok, so I’m going to walk 2 minutes and then try running again, right?

Me Also – THE HELL YOU ARE. Are you feeling the stabbing pain in your chest that’s probably a heart attack? And your right leg is about to fall off at the hip, you know that, right? You’re insane.

Me - I’m not going to quit this run. I need to finish. Only losers quit.

Me Also – Losers and people who want to live past today quit. And why do you even care so much? Didn’t you start this whole exercise thing to lose some weight? You’ve lost almost all of it; WHY ARE YOU STILL RUNNING? It’s not like you’re ever going to win. Wouldn’t this time spent torturing yourself be better used on your writing aspirations? Or even quilting for god’s sake? Something you don’t inherently suck at?

Me - I hate you. I also hate me. And I hate my ribcage and my big toe and my hip. Although, I think the voodoo tape might actually be legitimately magical. It’s just tape stuck to the side of my thigh, and yet, the only part of my body not in agony at this very moment is my injured knee with the magical tape on it. What. The. Fuck.

Me Also – If you turn in half a mile up you can cut across the desert and get home at least a mile quicker. This limping along pathetically on the side of the road is humiliating.

Me – Yeah, but there’s a six foot concrete wall separating the desert from my neighborhood.

Me Also – You can hop that, no problem.

Me – Oh really? I’m so worthless and pathetic that I can’t run two more miles to finish, but you’ve got tons of confidence I can scale a 6 foot wall in this condition? Now who’s insane?

Me Also – It will be so much faster.

Me – You had me at humiliating.

G: This is where the walking was taking a really long time, and even though I’d already committed to bailing on the run and had started the (very long) short cut, I convinced myself the pain in my chest was almost gone and I could try running a little bit.

H: I realized I was lying to myself again and the pain was not gone. Three snails and a turtle breezed by me. I considered laying down in the desert and allowing vultures to pick the flesh off my bones.

I: Here is where I made up a little song about how much I suck as I wandered through the desert toward my house. And I crossed paths with a 70 year old man out walking. I could tell he felt sorry for me.

J: This is when I got to the wall right across from my house. The heart rate monitor lost connection because after my first attempt to get a running start and jump as high as I could and try to pull myself up to the top of the wall failed spectacularly, I threw my leg up as high as I could and caught the edge of the top of the wall with my toe and my monitor became dislodged as I scraped and clawed up to a sitting position.

K: This is where I sat for a minute at the top of the wall and wondered if any of my neighbors had witness the spectacle I’d just performed. I also wondered if you can be fined by the HOA for acting like a jackass.

L: And where, finally, almost 6 miles after setting out for a 7 mile run, I limped back into my house and vowed not to speak to The Exercise for a really long time.

I’m not convinced I’m going to be ready for RAGNAR.

What can I say? Some of us are calm and even tempered and some of us are more up and down. I’ve never been accused of being even tempered.

My point is, I’m back to feeling opinionated this week! It might have something to do with the endorphins. I did a lot of The Exercising this weekend. I took my favorite ballet class Saturday morning and then on Sunday I ran 4 miles and went back to the studio for an hour of Ballet Boxing class. Then I went home and felt like a superhero except when I tried to stand or move or do anything but lie on the couch and watch rom-coms from the 1990s.

But I digress. I am currently enjoying many things about The Exercising. Which, a year or so ago, are words you probably would have only heard me say while role playing ‘Sexy Swedish Gym Bunny and Manly Trainer Guy’ with my husband. (Just kidding. We only role-play ‘Guy Snoring on the Couch and Wife Watching Teen Mom While Wearing a Snuggie’. Sometimes we switch parts just to spice things up.)

Besides the endorphins, I have to say, I’m totally getting into the outfits involved in The Exercising. It’s apparently not just about the sweating. There’s like a whole cute/functional clothing language I’m learning.

With ballet, beyond the tutus and ballet shoes (which are, admittedly, awesome), it’s all about layers. When you get to class you start in sweat pants and a sweater. Then you do plies and warm up enough to peel down to legwarmers, tights. After tendus you’re starting to sweat and you can lose the sweater. Finally, by the time you’re finished with the barre work and ready to come out to center and work on an adagio you’ve peeled off the legwarmers and you’re down to a leotard and tights. It’s like you’re an Oscar host and you get four costume changes. Or it’s like a really long strip tease with no real payoff at the end and the strippers all wearing their hair in buns.

I really like the ballet layering thing because I have a very small comfort window as far as temperature goes. I’m usually cold, but about 7 minutes into any kind of physical exertion I get tomato-faced and overheated. I find it super useful to just peel off a tiny bit of clothes every time my body temp rises by a degree. Plus layers are just kind of adorable, right? I tried to work this concept into my regular attire this weekend after class by layering over-the-knee socks on top of skinny jeans with calf-height boots and two thin shirts of different colors and shapes and a sweater on top, but when I came downstairs Jason looked me up and down and shook his head. I believe the words he uttered were, “You’re so weird.” I’m not sure that was an endorsement. So that’s still a concept in progress. I haven’t given it up yet. I might just need to do some shopping.

The thing I’m not enjoying about The Exercising is this whole ‘being injured’ nonsense. It’s kind of counter-intuitive for The Exercising to make you feel so awesome it’s like you can accomplish anything, but then when you move forward on that premise and actually try to run farther and faster your body breaks itself and hurts a lot. Who invented this shit anyway? I would like to speak to a manager about how this whole process could be improved. Is there a suggestion box I can put my paper that says, Stop hurting, Stupid Body, into?

Luckily, my current injury (some lame IT band thing) seems to be fairly minor. Plus, since I got my medical degree through Google, I’ve managed to diagnose it and treat it myself with stretching and several hundred dollars spent at the running store (none of which went to adorable outfits, sadly). I’m still planning to be ready to run the RAGNAR Del Sol in a month. (Don’t worry if you don’t know what that is; I’m sure I’ll be discussing it at length as we get closer to it.)

In conclusion and to sum it all up:

The Exercise, Endorphins, Outfits = Good.

My body refusing to live up to the awesomeness of my head = Lame, but we’re working on it.

Here’s how a visit to the new build models has a tendency to go:

The large colorful signs and banners draw you in on your way home from lunch Saturday afternoon. You may not even be seriously considering purchasing a new build. You might not really be in the market for a new house. That won’t seem to matter when you glimpse the circus-like atmosphere of the model home center. It’s inviting and fun. They’re begging you to stop by. Why not just take a look?

You walk in the door to the sales office and are immediately inundated with floorplans, color choices and a subdivision layout all over the walls. There’s a smiling, friendly salesman who acts so familiar you wonder for a split second if you already know him from somewhere, but you don’t.

You’re struck dumb. It’s sensory overload. You know these houses and the things in them must cost money, but you don’t see prices anywhere. You become tense at the possibility that it’s wildly out of your price range. What if you ask about the prices and they’re embarrassingly far out of your financial universe? That would clearly be humiliating and should be avoided at all costs, you decide.

You throw out a test question: Do you have a list of what’s available? The smiling agent turns to you and pauses. You see a deadness in his eyes. The silence is just long and awkward enough to make you realize how stupid you are for asking something like this. The answer must be utterly obvious, but you don’t know what it is. It was a terrible, stupid question. The sales rep finally answers, Well, why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll let you know what we have that would work for you. This is where you conclude you should just let the agent tell you what he wants to and avoid all uncomfortable conversations.

By the time you’ve left the new build office, two hours later, you think you’ve agreed to something, but you’re not sure what. You registered and signed your name on some document, but it was only presented to you long enough for you to scrawl your signature and then was whisked away. You remember remarking that a 6 bedroom, 8 bath home with a basement and both and indoor and outdoor swimming pools was a nice house and you wonder if you’ve agreed to buy it. The agent seemed really excited when you said you liked it. And you’ve got free bottles of water in your hands. That has to mean you’ve purchased something.

It doesn’t have to go like this. Don’t be afraid to ask the sales agent specific questions. He’s the dumbass, not you. To help you navigate the reality of buying a new build house, I put together a list of 10 questions you should never be afraid to ask.

1.    What is the average build time?

This will vary depending on the builder, the market and the availability of materials, but you can expect an answer of anywhere from 90 days to 8 months.

2.    Do you have any available specs?

A spec home is a newly built house that’s already had everything in it picked out by the builder and constructed. These are also referred to as ‘inventory homes’. They are usually ready to close in 30 days and they have a set price.

3.    Is there a lot premium?

New build pricing can be ridiculously confusing. There is usually a price range each floorplan ‘starts at’ (the range is for the different elevations), and then the upgrades increase the price from there. With some new builds all of the lots will have a cost or a ‘lot premium’. This will be higher if the lot is larger or in a better location. With other builders only the really great lots have a lot premium.

4.    What is the average amount people are spending on upgrades?

The builder isn’t going to be able to tell you how much you’re going to want to spend on upgrading the counters and the flooring and what have you, but usually the sales rep can give you an estimate of what other buyers have spent. This is sometimes in the form of a percent. So, if they tell you the average buyer is spending an extra 10% on upgrades, and the house you’re considering ‘starts’ at $300K, then expect to be up between $330K and $350K when all is said and done including upgrades and lot premiums, elevation and the like.

5.    How much earnest do you require?

Every builder will have a different amount required at the time of writing the contract to secure the lot and start the building process. This is usually not a negotiable figure. It’s also not usually refundable once building has begun.

6.    What are your incentives?

Most of the time (just to further confuse things) the builder will have some sort of incentive program that takes money off of the price. This is usually fairly convoluted and difficult to understand. Make sure to ask as many questions as it takes to feel like you are comfortable with what the incentive is and how it can be used. Sometimes they will have a $25K incentive to upgrade options that cannot be taken off the price. So you need to realize that you will have to use all of the money at the design center to get it. You can’t reduce the base price using the incentive.

7.    Does your preferred lender have any incentives?

Sometimes the preferred lender of the builder will have additional incentives for using them. Make sure you get all of the rules on this as well.

8.    What are your HOA fees and what does this include?

This seems like an obvious question, but you often get caught up in the whirlwind of all of the other info and forget to ask this one. It’s an important one.

9.    What is standard with your properties?

Different builders have wildly different base standards. With a KB home, you often start at a pretty low price, but that price includes 8 foot ceilings and laminate flooring with gold metal transitions to the carpeted areas. With a Blandford home, your base price is going to feel high, but you’ll usually get granite counters, 18 inch tile and lovely plumbing fixtures without spending a dime extra. It’s important to know where you’re starting. Ask the sales rep for a tour of the model and ask which things are standard with that model and which are upgrades. You’ll probably be shocked. Much of what’s in the model isn’t even available for the actual buyer.

10.    Is landscaping (front or back), appliances, blinds or paint included?

This is another one that will vary from builder to builder. Front landscaping is pretty commonly included, but still often not at all. Meritage had an EI package at one point that stood for ‘Everything’s Included’ (blinds, landscaping, appliances). Sometimes these things are not included, but can be added as an upgrade at the design center.

Or hey, better yet, call your agent and she’ll run interference with the sales rep. Your agent will be happy to meet you out there at a moment’s notice. She doesn’t get paid unless she goes with you the first visit. And it’s nice to see the sales reps get a little nervous when they’re evenly matched. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that deadeyes are countered with a steady gaze, an eyebrow raise and a head tilt.

I have a love/hate relationship with Momentum. Momentum is like my high school boyfriend who seemed more important than eating or sleeping, until we broke up and he started dating that blonde and then he was the reason all I wanted to do was eat and sleep. Momentum is the Nicole Richie to my Paris Hilton; my best friend and closest confidant until she invited me over and showed my sex tape in front of all of our friends.

A couple of months ago I had forward Momentum. It was glorious. I was writing 2,000 words a day. I was running 4 miles every other day. I had lost 5 pounds. Momentum was on my side. Every time I considered sitting on the couch under a soft blanket drinking wine, eating mint chocolate chip ice cream and watching The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, Momentum was there to whisper in my ear, “You did it yesterday. You can do it today. It’s not that hard.”

Because that’s the thing: if I did it yesterday, I can do it today. And I had. I’d done it again and again, so I knew I could do it tomorrow. Momentum stood behind me and pushed me forward. She helped me succeed.

But then I took a break from writing after NaNoWriMo ended to get through the holidays. And I took a break from the diet to go on the anniversary vacation. And I’ve taken a week long break from running to rest a sore knee. They were all legitimate reasons for breaks. I didn’t just give up because I wanted to watch trashy TV at night or because a Whopper and medium fries really sounded delicious, but I might as well have. I paused in my climb up the mountain and as soon as I did, that bitch, Momentum, turned and slapped me backwards. I tripped behind myself and rolled, just like Jill, tumbling after.

Last Monday was Back-to-Business Day. I should have written 1,000 words and eaten only greek yogurt, salads and almonds. I was busy getting back on top of the rest of life, though, and because it didn’t seem to matter if I did it that day or the next and it all seemed too challenging I wrote 0 words and threw myself a carb party for lunch. Momentum was against me.

Every day last week it got easier and easier to fail at my goals. “You failed yesterday; what does it really matter if you fail again today?” Momentum whispered evilly in my ear. I caught up on TV. I ate too many carbs and drank too much wine. I slept 9 hours every night.

Today I’m here to declare war on Momentum and her mind games. I can do it, regardless of yesterday. I’ve proven I can do it. Yesterday is gone and dead; whether I’ve failed or succeeded. Today is all that matters. Today I will eat better. Today I will write 1,000 words. Tomorrow I will run again even though I’m terrified of what that will feel like after a week off. I vow to listen to Momentum only when it benefits me and to block her out when she wants to do nothing but drown me.

Dear Momentum,

You never really cared about me. We have a toxic relationship. You’re an enabler. So I’m dumping you.

I feel better already.

Sincerely,
E

Jason forgot his trusty baseball cap at home, so he spent the first part of the trip trying on various hats at gift shops and roadside tourist traps. Apparently in comparison to either most tourists or most Mexicans, Jason has an enormous head. This one was a 'no'.

This was the winning hat. I think it makes him look like a Floridian mobster. But in a good way.

I'm posting this one as revenge for the beach bikini picture Jason tweeted of me without warning or photo-approval. In retrospect, the bikini pic wasn't a horrible photo, but dude. I'm pretty sure one of the commandments Moses brought down from the mountain was, 'Thou shall not post pictures of your wife in a swimsuit on the internet without first allowing her the right to delete it off the face of the Earth if she so wishes." AmIright?

Thursday we ziplined through the jungle. It was rad.

This is me, careening dangerously toward the small platform between ziplines. I completely suck at slowing down. If you could see the look on the photographer's face, it would be one of horror.

Jason thought he would only need dark socks for pants or flip flops for this trip. He didn't anticipate the need for an athletic shoe with shorts. Thus the sexy black sock with shorts look he's sporting here.

After we ziplined they took us to a 'special activity' that turned out to be a bungee swing. That little red spec is Jason getting ready to jump.

This is me a fraction of a second after the guy at the top said, "Are you going to jump or do you need to be pushed?" and without waiting for a response hauled me up by the back of my harness and dropped me over the edge. Which was probably for the best.

I wasn't super into the free-falling part, but the swinging kicked ass.

Then we took pictures with birds. I feel compelled to post this picture merely for it's intrinsic unflatteringness. I don't know how you could possibly look at it and not be immediately drawn to the gut and crotchal center of the picture. It's like the birds don't even exist. It's a black hole of gut and crotch and stiff posing and black socks with shorts and helmets.

We capped off the adventure tour with a zipline into a cenote. Because I'm not a pansy I did it twice even though I could think of nothing but dead bodies and lake monsters as I splashed into the water.

Jason doesn't get that this is what I see in my head every time I enter a natural body of water.

We could only get WiFi on the balcony of our room at the resort. Luckily it was a gorgeous, comfortable balcony.

Friday we took a ferry to the island across the water from us, Isla Mujeres. From there we drove around the island in a rented golf cart that allowed us to do more gratuitous couple posing and nature photography. I tried my best not to worry about how they would identify our bodies after the violent golf cart wreck we were bound to die in at any moment.

That, my dears, is the long and the short of it. Here’s to another 10 years of wedded bliss! I think I might need a trip to paradise every two years instead of 10 from now on…

How will I ever get through life without the overshare and occasional real estate tidbit that is Real Estate Tangent? I don’t even know what seemingly innocuous thing is making Elizabeth’s head explode today or what embarrassing situation she’s gotten herself into in the last 10 minutes. My life feels so empty.

It’s alright, my dear readers. I made it through the holidays and the big 10 year anniversary vacation to Cancun and I’m here again to entertain you and humiliate myself (Did I tell you about the time right before Christmas when I was on cold meds and showing property, neglected to lock the bathroom door and my buyers walked in on me peeing? No? Well that’s the whole story. But with more horror on both my part and I would imagine, that of the lovely couple who just wanted to see whether the downstairs lavatory had a shower, and not the color of my underwear.).

Well, I’m sort of here. I have to confess, after a full week in Mexico at a child-free all-inclusive resort I’m having a bit of culture shock back at home. I keep turning toward my middle son across the room and gesturing for another cocktail, and feeling confused and disappointed when a Pina Colada doesn’t quickly materialize. How am I supposed to live again in a world where drinking is only appropriate after 5pm and I’m the one expected to do things like pick my own towels up off the floor and make dinner when I’ve spent the last week in paradise?

So yeah. My brain is still a bit fuzzy with the unfairness and tragedy of it all. But don’t you worry, I’ll get through it all. To help facilitate my transition back into the cold cruel world, I just ate half a box of Triscuits with hummus, port wine cheese and salami for lunch and I’m finishing it off with a Reese’s peanut butter cup (ok, 2). And you’re getting vacation photos as my inaugural post.

I was taking this picture of Jason in his favorite place in the resort when a nice couple came up and asked if I wanted to get in the picture also.

And because I'm a wuss and didn't want to get into the cold pool, I climbed across to get in and the guy graciously took this flattering picture. I'm just glad he didn't get one where I was doing the splits or when I'm pretty sure my right boob had fallen out.

This is the largest temple at the Mayan ruins of Chichen Izta. Jason was in architecture-geek heaven.

This is an arena where the Mayans used to play some soccer/basketball hybrid that ended in the bloody sacrifice of the losing captain. Or the winning one. The archeologists aren't sure on that one. Suffice it to say being a professional athlete in Chichen Itza wasn't the awesome hooker and blow adventure it is in the present day US.

When we walked around the corner of this giant snake sculpture ruin thing two huge iguanas totally got into a fight and chased each other around a bunch. I'm pretty sure they're on the tour guide payroll.

Gratuitous posing.

Apparently in 2005 some lady fell off the top of this thing and died, so tourists are no longer allowed to climb it. I hope they put on her tombstone, "The dumbass who ruined it for everyone else."

Excessively up-the-nose shot.

This is the Sacred Cenote of Chichen Itza. Apparently it's a giant sinkhole with water at the bottom. It was dregged in the early 1900s and they found a bunch of human remains at the bottom. The Mayans used to throw people off that platform into the water below as a sacrifice. Because deep murky wells aren't creepy enough without that mental picture.

The Mayans were kind of dicks, right?

This was another cenote we stopped by on our way home from Chichen Itza. It had a very small opening up top and then stairs that went down into the dark cave with the water underneath. We walked down, but didn't swim like lots of people were down there. Mostly because of the dead people and underground river monsters I was sure were in the water, but also because I was fairly certain the stalactites were going to break off and impale us.

I was going to post all of the pictures today, but there are a ridiculous amount of them. And each with a story, natch. Come back Wednesday for the zipline, the bungee swing, the beach and several unflattering pictures of the Newlins in crotchally confining harnesses.

My turnout is more of a ‘turn-in’.

I can never remember the position my head is supposed to be in so I’m often looking out at the mirror while everyone else in class is looking demurely toward their hand on the bar.

Doing rond de jambes with the arm feels like rubbing my belly while patting my head and it probably looks pretty similar.

My ballet teacher regularly tells me I have ‘desk job posture’.

I don’t have the ability to follow the weight-loss advice handed down to me by one of the other ballerinas at my studio, “When you’re sitting on the couch and you’re hungry, instead of eating just do two minutes of crunches.”

I almost never have time to take more than one ballet class a week. My teacher says if I really want to get better I should be there 3-4 times a week.

Sometimes when I’m working really hard at having the perfect position and holding every part of my body in exactly the right way during the adagio, I glance into the wall of mirrors and realize the look on my face is the same as the one on my nephew, Colby’s, face when he’s taking a crap.

I will absolutely, undoubtedly, without even the remotest possibility, never be a professional ballet dancer.

None of that means that the very perfect Christmas present I could get from my husband wouldn’t be an awesome, over-priced, utterly impractical, adult tutu:

He just knows me that well. I am going to dance the shit out of that thing in my next class.

Here’s hoping you got the perfect, impractical, dream gift for Christmas, too!