Finally, photos

So this is going to be photo heavy.

Remember when I told the story of T and I staying up all night to watch the sunrise/I was terrified by a seal?

Here is the proof.







Yeah, so it's five thirty in the morning and I have been up all night in that pic. Forgive me and my lack of eyelashes.

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Ok, so here are some pics from my holiday weekend, where I spent my time trying to pretend that I don't hate most of my family, hiking the most aptly named beach on the planet, and eating a lot.






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Also, we believe we have picked our reception site for the wedding, which thrills me to no end. I have pics of that as well, but I will post them later.

We are leaving for Vegas on Friday, and it promises to be a great time all around. We will be visiting the Grand Canyon while we are there as well.

There will be no posting after this Thursday until the middle of next week.

I'm sure you are all wildly disappointed.

Hot Hot Hot

And not the Cure song, kids.

I am lucky enough to live in a part of the country that is not plagued with oppressive heat. Summer months are sunny, warm, and mild. The thermometer rarely leaps over the 85 degree mark. I am thrilled with this, having spent eight years in a state where if it cooled off to 85 degrees at night in the summer, everyone heaved a huge sigh of relief and wiped their sweaty brows.

Today, it was 94 degrees here. The thermometer will remain in that area for at least a week.

My displeasure cannot be measured. I am travelling to Las Vegas in two weeks--I will fill my camel hump with uncomfortable temperatures then. I don't want, or need, to get a head start.

T and I went to the hardware store today, along with everyone else in the county, to purchase fans.

The relief these fans has brought forth is....meager. I hope they do more in the night time, lest T and I explode.

Due to the heat, I am sitting on the couch wearing an outfit that if anyone other than T were to see me in, I would probably set off a flash bomb to try and scare the mental image out of the minds of those around me. (I am really only ok with T seeing me in this outfit because he has truly, truly seen worse of me. Stomach flu, major loss in the family, and total emotional bereavement come to mind. That, and he seems to want to spend the rest of his life with me--He should know what he is in for.)

This outfit involves a pair of shorts that, by their existence in this world in a size meant for women with asses my size denotes a level of insanity and delusion in the american public these days. These shorts are, and were, I'm sure, intended for women who are tittering size twos, tossing their long blond hair and dotting their "I's" with hearts and smiley faces. They are named things like, Candi or Cindi, Heather, Tammi or....Something cute. (If anyone reading this fits this bill, I commend your small ass and cute, pert nose and breasts. I know you have them--use your powers for good instead of evil. There are women with bodies like me that hate you.)

It is hot enough that I am willing to debase myself on this level. I fear for my cohorts in Vegas.

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My oscars have taken to assaulting the in-tank heater as though it has offended them in some way. The internet tells me that they are behaving this way due to boredom, and that I should purchase toys for them.

Somehow I can't see the fish enjoying a fake mouse or dog bone. What kind of toys to you get a fish? I can't see them frolicking over a frisbee.

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I decided to learn to crochet. I already know how to knit, and my sister crochets, and I watched her do it and it seemed faster than knitting. Being an instant gratification sort of woman, I picked up a hook and some yarn and cast on.

T asked me to make a blanket, something big enough for the two of us to use on the couch or something. So I went a little bigger than I thought I should.

Being unskilled and unfamiliar in the ways of crochet, I didn't realize that the cast on stitches will be bigger than they seem when you progress into the project, unlike knitting.

I am crocheting a blanket that will be over six feet long and wide. T refers to it as a marquee, my mother, a carport. Right now it is an incredibly long scarf.

So, here I sit, sweltering in the heat, wearing ridiculous "Bunni" shorts and a tank top that shows my boobs off if I bend over, the hair that isn't plastered to my head with sweat flapping in the meager wind provided by our new fan, crocheting a blanket you could hide a family under.

Logical.

Inspiration!

I really need to start writing again. Like, writing for real. Like I used to--the words used to fly out of me, it took everything I had to slow my brain down enough to get them out and onto paper in a somewhat decipherable fashion.

I stopped writing when my life fell apart. Just stopped--nothing. I have had a few blogs here and there since then, hoping that would inspire my brain to get the old juices flowing again.

But nary a word in almost five years. That's a long dry spell. Sometimes I worry that my writing was fueled by the insanity of my life when I was in HS and college.(Especially college. Jeebus.) I used to know I was good. I would get the writing bug and disappear for days at a time, headphones on, oblivious to nothing but getting words on paper. That feeling...

I haven't had it for a long time.

I do best during dry spells when given an assignment--weird, I know. If someone tells me "Write me a story about this!", I can do it. My friend J gave me a set of parameters for a story, and I have outlined and done research and character developments and all that....but the fact that he asked for a romantic comedy is setting me back. I don't do romance. Maybe I will change it, I know J would be ok with it, or just do my best to stay within the parameters and hope that it helps me grow as a writer.

I just....miss it being effortless.

Kicking and Screaming, Don't You Ever Look In a Mirror?

I am writing this blog entry from the living room of T's house.

While sitting in front of the television.

Wireless Internet....oh, how you will change my life.

T's computer is a complete bastard. I have mentioned this before, of course, as well as the annoyance of sharing the computer with a house full of people, all of who believe their need for the internet is equally as great as yours.

T and I received a wireless router for an engagement gift. We purchased the wireless card today. After hours of troubleshooting and three phone calls to IT friends in California, I can now write blog entries while sipping a diet pepsi and watching Investigation Discovery (my new drug of choice.).

I love to multi-task. Love to use the computer in front of the TV, while listening to the radio. The knowledge that I can take my laptop into ANY ROOM OF THE HOUSE, including the YARD or GARAGE(!) and dick around to my hearts desire....I'm thrilled.

And out of reasons not to blog. (Stay tuned!)

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My sister and niece (who is a year older than me) were in town this week.

Kill me.

After lots of passive-aggression, lots of closeted insults, and lots of my wanting to set fire to them both, T and I were set free to do as we pleased in the Metropolis. We shopped some, visited my new favorite over-priced store on the planet, and visited the most disappointing coffee house I have been in for a long time. Voted best coffee and gelati in the metropolis, they offered up improperly named desserts (that were not gelato/i in my humble non-italian opinion, nor in T's humble italian one)(Oh, and panna cotta and creme brulee are different things, dicks.) and shitty coffee. So there.

Anyway, all that aside, we were taking a mode of public transport back to our car that evening, and a couple sat directly across from us, eating vegetarian burritos. The woman had on blue socks and black sandals, as well as a scarf. The man was wearing shorts and hiking boots with a tye-dyed shirt. It was not the clothing, nor the unwashed smell that horrified T and I. It was the length of the mans fingernails.

Ok, kids. I like nails....on women. I have acrylic nails, which I keep quite short. I got them to stop me from biting my nails, as a smoker that also bites their nails needs to go get on some serious anti-anxiety meds, and liked the way they looked so I ran with it. Nails (depending on what you do for a living, there are exceptions to every rule) should be short, clean, and orderly--especially on men. Always on men.

This man had fingernails that were longer than mine. Longer, and stained and pointed....it gives me shivers just to think about it. He had to clean the burrito out from under them when he was done eating.....oh, sweet Lord.

What motivates people to do thinks like that? What could this man do for a living that would require, or even facilitate nails of that length? Why is his wife/spouse/lover/life-partner/anyone-he-sees-on-a-regular-basis ok with this?

So. Gross.

BBQ, Family, and Screaming As a Form of Birth Control

Our engagement party went well. Better than expected--there was no screaming, no real fighting, no real hysteria
or drama. My bloodline was represented by my cousin, (older brother to
the cousin who had heart surgery) and his common-law wife.

That's it, btw.

Lots of people were in attendance, family friends, parents of my close friends, T's family almost as a whole.

My
future father in law made a quip about my being a heathen, which was
par for the course and if that is the worst thing that happened I am
thrilled.

The food was great, there was enough beer for everyone
(but not enough scotch....why I didn't see that coming I will never
know) and lots of laughter. Nothing more could be desired from an
engagement party. Except, perhaps, the bride's family. But whatever,
I'm not bitter or hurt or anything. Ha.

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My
mother is, as usual, making a spectacle of herself in attempt to assert
herself into the role of "More Important Than 'Blank'". This week,
'Blank' was the company that came from out of town and the BBQ itself.
She called no less than five times, once during the party to remind me
that she has a new dog (and still lives in a motor home. It doesn't
make sense to me either.), once the next morning at 6am to remind me of
the new dog and inform me that the state she lives in is suing her for
back taxes, again that afternoon, where she left a message telling me
in a horribly morose tone that she had done something "terrible", that
she needed help, please!

I returned this phone call. Mind, I was
in the car with my friends from out of town, attempting to run errands
and prepare a feast/scrabble tournament for that evening, and have a
good time.

I return the call, concerned. I have told my mother,
starting the week before the party, that I was NOT AVAILABLE TO TALK TO
HER for this entire weekend, and, assuming she has blown up her house
or killed someone by her tone on the voicemail, that it was not a cry
for the wolves.

(Backstory. I also told my mother the week
before (Thursday) that if I am going to pay for her to come visit me in
MY HOME at totally MY EXPENSE, she was not allowed to drink. She became
hysterical, which I expected, angry, which I expected, and defensive,
which I was totally prepared for. She then called me on Friday (the day
my company arrived, and my first day of "unavailability") to inform me
that she would NOT be coming out if she couldn't drink. My mother hasactively
, and of sound mind (at the time, I guess) made the choice to drink
alcohol rather than take part in the wedding of her only child. She was
also at varying stages of intoxication during each of the later calls I
have been detailing, even the one at 6am. Idon't think she realizes she
has uninvited herself from the wedding, but she has. I am far, far more
upset by this, as well as the story I am recounting, than I am letting
on.)

Anyway, I call mom back. I ask her what terrible thing she
has done, what sin was so atrocious that she needed to interrupt me,
again, to share it with me.

After a long, drunken pause, she informs me that she has slept with a friend of hers.

This friend is my age.

This friend has two children under the age of five.

This friend is married.

When
I asked her 1)If that was the 'terrible' thing she was speaking of and
2)Why in the name of all things holy she would share this information
with me, she said

"Yes, that is the terrible thing! It's terrible! I had to tell someone!"

When I told her that since she felt so terrible about it (and rightly so, I think) she should NOT DO IT AGAIN, she said,

"Oh no, missy. I am so doing it again, it was amazing....." She then went into more detail than I would like to remember.

I
then let on that this was not behavior I condoned, simply because this
man is married. (I seriously could give a shit that he is my age. Or
that he has kids. But married+young enough to easily be her child+two
small children=My sensibilities are offended. And it's gross.) She
became, guess what, enraged, and hung up on me. She then called five
hours later, SHIT FACED, a call I did not answer, and left me this
precise message:

"I pressed five, you bitch, you called me. Fuck
you." (I understand all of it besides the pressing of five. I didn't
call her, but she was shit faced and looked at her caller ID and saw
that I had returned the previous ill-fated call. Not being sober enough
to understand the concept of time, she assumed I had called again and
went on to swear at me, which she does a lot.)

Tomorrow/today is
her birthday. I sent a package. I doubt I will call. I really am over
it. It upsets me. A lot. I could write a book of this shit and it
wouldn't explain what I am feeling.

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A coworker of T's was getting rid of two large fish tanks, complete with fish and all accessories, which we agreed to take.

Damn.

These
tanks are not even close to big enough for these fish--two 9 inch
Oscars in one and one 8 inch Jack Dempsey and a catfish in the other.
We went today and priced 100 gallon tanks, which we will be buying so
that the fish don't explode from over crowding. (and it's mean to keep
them confined like that....even though they have been in there for 7
years.)

We have spent a good chunk of dough already trying to
get things patched together well enough till we can afford a fish
mansion. I was terrified that the fish would die a slow, horrible death
when we reintroduced them to the new and 'patched together' tanks. (The
man who delivered them had stuck them in a kettle and driven them over
in the back of his truck. No, I'm not kidding.) The man mentioned in
passing that the Oscars had been extra aggressive that morning, and he
wasn't sure why. (Yet dumped them in a canning kettle with two new fish
for a thirty minute drive. Brings to mind the 'lets put them in a box
and shake it' mental image.)

We reintroduced the fish to their
respective tanks, after adding appropriate bacteria, plants, gravel,
rocks, etc. and letting feeder fish add to the symbiosis for a few
hours. (they poop a lot and get the bacteria going. Plus the big fish
will eat them later, so everyone wins.)

When the newly
aggressive HUGE Oscars went in the tank, it did not look promising.
They were sad, quiet, not really swimming. The Jack Dempsey and catfish
were happy as hell.

T and our company stood around the Oscar
tank, holding our breath. Would they just up and die? Would we be
digging graves for these fish too big to flush? We watched as they
ignored the feeder fish (which are still happy and living, as odd as
that is three days later), slowly came around and began to swim. A sigh
of relief was had by all.

Until they immediately started fucking. And laying eggs. And fucking. And laying eggs.

T was horrified. "NO! BAD FISH! STOP!!!! NoNO!", like they were children reaching for a grease fire or something.

That's
why they were fighting! Fish Foreplay! All they have done since they
were put back in the tank is lay eggs. Christening the new home, as it
were.

This development was met with some anger and confusion by
yours truly. (Not to the extent of T, however.) What the hell do we do
now, I wondered.

I looked online. I will let the eggs hatch, (I
can't really stop them, and the Oscars will attack us if we try to take
them out) but not feed them. The babies require special food, and I am
going to ignore that fact and let the tiny, tiny corpses either be
eaten by the feeder fish in a cruel, ironic twist or get sucked up in
the filter, as they will die rather quickly even if fed properly, and
almostimmediately without food.

And I was worried about them
being sad, unhealthy in a too small tank. (technically they are, and we
are going to change that shortly.)

T has taken to admonishing the Oscars every time he walks by the tank.

"STOP FUCKING!", he will yell. "QUIT! THE! SCREWING!"

I don't think they are listening.

Wherein I announce my Engagement to Store Clerks; Also, Learn to Play Dirty

This weekend is T and my's engagement party.

We took a trip today to large franchise overlord #1, and, upon check-out, the cashier said, "It looks like you kids are having a barbecue!". Rather than poke her in the face for stating the obvious (pickles, paper plates, relish and ketchup....I wonder...) I said, "Yes! We are! It's our engagement party, and we are morons and having it on Father's Day!". (Seriously. Father's day no longer applies to me in any real sense, and T seems to try and ignore it as best he can....so without consulting a calendar, we picked a date and it just happened to fall on a holiday I won't celebrate and T ignores. We rock. We did set a date for the wedding, however, and I need to Google it and make sure it isn't a holiday either. Just to be safe.)

Anyway, the cashier was overjoyed at our engagement. It's nice when strangers are thrilled for you, more than your own family. (One member of my family will be in attendance. We're looking at 80 people all told. One is related to me. One.)

We then went off to Gigantic Members-Only Franchise, where I wholeheartedly drink the Cool Aid. (I know its spelled with a K.) Five gallons of mayo? Sign this bitch UP. Of course we need 15 pounds of pasta! I cannot go in that store unsupervised....my need for a bargain is to great.

A car payment later, we left. The clerks there were not as interested in our engagement, but oh, did I tell them. After they made the same "You must be having a BBQ!" statement. (They refrained from calling us drunks. We bought.....70 beers? Something like that. I doubt its enough.)

When we returned home, I found that J, T's brother (who doesn't like cleaning up after himself) had left a huge mass of garbage and food wrappers in the living room....and left. This is after he and I had a serious talk about "There are people coming from out of state to stay with us this weekend. I need to feed 80 people on Sunday. I'm not asking you to re-grout the tub or anything, but please, please, PLEASE clean up after yourself so T and I don't have to.....at least for the weekend!"

I don't think he heard me.

So I was faced with options. I could leave the garbage there, where it would stare at me like a toad, mocking me and filling me with rage. I could throw it away, wait for J's return, admonish him and have nothing change--since I don't think his ears catch the frequency of my voice that often. Or I could......

Take the garbage (A styrafoam take out box, a plastic bag, chopstick wrappers and some soy sauce packets) and place it gently, delicatly upon J's bed.

Which is what I did.

I don't think I would be this irritated about it if I hadn't spoken with J about this EVERY DAY FOR THE LAST THREE MONTHS.

Sigh.

Also, I am not handling the whole "My family refuses to come to my engagement party, even though I hate most of them" thing that well. I know I am better off for it, not feeding people I hate, but.....yeah.

Also not handling the whole "I am getting married without either of my father figures in exsistance" thing that great either. Which is weird, because I thought I would be fine.

I have great pics to post, but T's dinosaur of a computer won't accept my cameras software, so I have to get my ass over to my place and do it there.

Happy Father's day. :)

Whoops

I suck at posting on a regular basis, even if I have no excuses. However, most of the blogs I read haven't been updated as regularly as in months past, so we can all blame eachother and call it a day.

All I do is clean. Seriously? I try to not clean for one day and the house is trashed. I don't like cleaning a trashed house, so I clean. Daily. And I grow weary of having to ask for help.....Oh well. I suppose I am a 'wife to be', so I can wear the 'housewife' shoes a little early.

But I did tell T's brother J that if he doesn't start pulling his own weight I am going to torture him.

As I sit here I need to empty the dishwasher, reload it, run the vacuum, sweep/mop the kitchen floor, put clothes away and start another load of laundry. If I stand in the center of the house and squeal at the top of my lungs, pointing at what needs to be done, J and his girlfriend will leave rather than help and I will be able to clean in peace.

Better put my keening outfit on.

Yeah...nothing else is really new. Booked our trip to Vegas in July, so that is going to be fun (and I bet I get a sunburn even with the 50 proof sunscreen), and I'm sure T is looking forward to another plane ride with me.