I have had something of an epiphany.
(One of my favorite excerpts from a book is in Augusten Burroughs' "Magical Thinking", where he says, 'Then it came to me, the way Jesus comes to people in trailer parks.....an epiphany.') (My apologies to any and all readers who are born again christians who live in trailers. The rest of you are....exempt.)
I am really, really digging on French Europop at the moment.
Please take a moment to let your shame wash over you at reading that statement.
And now allow me to explain.
I don't love France. I have never been to France, or to Europe at all, (Oh, but I will go. I will load my self up with enough anti-anxiety medication to take down a family of elephants, write a missive of apology to T for the next 16 hours of his life, and board that fucking plane.) but France doesn't really do it for me. I love Provencal style food, pan au chocolat, cafe au lait, and a good Beaujolais now and again, but....nah. (I am willing to amend that statement upon research. But sensors are pointing to no for the time being.)
Anyway.
Daft Punk: French. (That makes me love France. Well, at least have a small bit of respect for it. It can't be that bad if this sort of magic comes out of it.....)
Saint Germain: French. (It's totally obscure. Love, love, love. Everyone really needs to go hear this song. I'm serious. I can't think of a person that wouldn't like it. Maybe a communist or something.) (It gives me amazing memories of consuming illegal psychotropic substances on a roof top in the summer with more than a few bottles of wine, good friends, warm breezes through the top tree boughs, twinkling white lights.....Pot will do that to you. Anyway.)
Air: French. (Everyone knows these kids. Great stuff, though. I have really strange coming of age memories to this song. But this is good too.) (It's also T's theme song in my mind, but no one wanted to know that. Sorry, family.)
I was recently introduced, due to my insomnia and constant internet surfing, that there is something new (to me) to come leaping out of France and into my head, which gave me so much joy.....It is the most ridiculous thing I have seen in a long time, if you discount Japan. (They love them the weird pop.)
Sebastien Tellier.
I read the synopsis under the video, written by a blogger whose impression was very similar to mine. She compared him to a pre-Scientology Beck, and also said that if she had kids, she would tell them that he was Jesus.
Wildly inappropriate, but hilarious if you're a heathen like me. Apologies.
I do love me the inexplicable and strange music/ians. The Flaming Lips? Love. Modest Mouse? (Yes, they are main stream now, but they sure didn't use to be.)(Not the song I would have chosen to encompass their earlier work, but whatever. Another song with great memories.)
Anyway, all that linking.....Lord, it's 4:15 in the morning.
I can't sleep. Have I mentioned my insomnia? Yeah.
Anyway, all that linking goes to show several things you already knew.
1)I have really, really weird taste in music.
2)I want to go to France to get cheap(er) CD's
3)I cannot sleep, and therefore have too much time on my hands.
I'm off to collect T from work.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Friday, August 8, 2008
Victory....For a Moment
When T and I returned from our mini-vacation, the house was clean.
No, let me say that again, so you can genuinely understand....
The house? It was CLEAN.
No dishes, no laundry, no random detritus on the floor. No pop cans, no take out bins, no garbage. (Even the recycling went out!!!)
We were gone for four days. FOUR DAYS.
I could not leave for more than three hours without returning to a Hoover-ville prior to this.
My joy--It was epic. I gushed, I think, my thanks at the boys. My pride, my pleasure at knowing that they were capable....and all that needed to happen to make sure those abilities would continue to be used is the threat of my leaving....for good. You see, this is how I struck the fear of filth into the boys--I told them I would move out. That I didn't pay more than they do every month to be a maid servant--to clean, and cook, and launder, and clean, all the while they all sit and play video games at full volume.
This fear seems to have been a great motivator for them. They want me to stay, they want me to be happy, they enjoy my company, and most of all--I give good advice. (So they say. They could be buttering me up for all I know.)
Anyway.
Today, I had laundry to do. T has to work essentially every day for the rest of this month, and he needs his work clothes clean, and so on.
So I gathered the laundry, my heart aflutter with the knowledge that the only laundry I needed to do belonged to me or someone who sleeps with me every night. Took it to the garage, sorted it. Looked in the washing machine.
And this is where things went wrong.
Have you ever been in a situation where you were so confused by what was before you that your mind went blank for a few moments? Where you needed a mental "do-over" to make sure that what you thought you were seeing was not, in fact, what was actually the reality of the situation?
It was kind of like that.
So I had my mental do-over, and nothing changed. I could only come to one determination as to what was in the washing machine.
I went directly into the house, and asked J if he could assist me in the garage.
J came out, and I asked him, "J, where is the laundry soap scoop?"
He responded, "I don't know, I never found it."
"How did you get the soap in the machine?"
"Just picked up the box and poured it in."
I looked at him, I looked at my Cost*co sized 200 load box of Gain. I looked into the washing machine.
"J, is that why there is powdered soap in every orifice of the machine?"
"I guess I just have bad aim." He smiled, and went back into the house.
I followed him, got a 1/8th teaspoon out of the drawer, and began the arduous task of scraping laundry soap, now the consistency of cement, out of the fabric softener dispenser, bleach dispenser, hinges of the lid....the whole upper-level of the machine.
Several minutes, a few cups of hot water and a salad of curse words later, I was ready to unplug the holes in the agitator where the fabric softener cascades into the rinse water, and begin digging for the soap scoop throughout the entire laundry area. (It was behind the dryer. I don't want to know.)
Needless to say, I fixed everything. It was fine.
It was, I can only assume, like when your children make you breakfast in bed and pour coffee down the hall rug, the comforter, your foot....but you smile and thank them. You understand that the intentions were good, that they did this for you out of love, and simply because they don't have the adult thinking skills that tell them that blindly shaking four pounds of laundry soap towards the washing machine and calling it good is not the best idea....you can't be mad. You can't chastise good intentions.
But you can spend thirty minutes cleaning it up.
No, let me say that again, so you can genuinely understand....
The house? It was CLEAN.
No dishes, no laundry, no random detritus on the floor. No pop cans, no take out bins, no garbage. (Even the recycling went out!!!)
We were gone for four days. FOUR DAYS.
I could not leave for more than three hours without returning to a Hoover-ville prior to this.
My joy--It was epic. I gushed, I think, my thanks at the boys. My pride, my pleasure at knowing that they were capable....and all that needed to happen to make sure those abilities would continue to be used is the threat of my leaving....for good. You see, this is how I struck the fear of filth into the boys--I told them I would move out. That I didn't pay more than they do every month to be a maid servant--to clean, and cook, and launder, and clean, all the while they all sit and play video games at full volume.
This fear seems to have been a great motivator for them. They want me to stay, they want me to be happy, they enjoy my company, and most of all--I give good advice. (So they say. They could be buttering me up for all I know.)
Anyway.
Today, I had laundry to do. T has to work essentially every day for the rest of this month, and he needs his work clothes clean, and so on.
So I gathered the laundry, my heart aflutter with the knowledge that the only laundry I needed to do belonged to me or someone who sleeps with me every night. Took it to the garage, sorted it. Looked in the washing machine.
And this is where things went wrong.
Have you ever been in a situation where you were so confused by what was before you that your mind went blank for a few moments? Where you needed a mental "do-over" to make sure that what you thought you were seeing was not, in fact, what was actually the reality of the situation?
It was kind of like that.
So I had my mental do-over, and nothing changed. I could only come to one determination as to what was in the washing machine.
I went directly into the house, and asked J if he could assist me in the garage.
J came out, and I asked him, "J, where is the laundry soap scoop?"
He responded, "I don't know, I never found it."
"How did you get the soap in the machine?"
"Just picked up the box and poured it in."
I looked at him, I looked at my Cost*co sized 200 load box of Gain. I looked into the washing machine.
"J, is that why there is powdered soap in every orifice of the machine?"
"I guess I just have bad aim." He smiled, and went back into the house.
I followed him, got a 1/8th teaspoon out of the drawer, and began the arduous task of scraping laundry soap, now the consistency of cement, out of the fabric softener dispenser, bleach dispenser, hinges of the lid....the whole upper-level of the machine.
Several minutes, a few cups of hot water and a salad of curse words later, I was ready to unplug the holes in the agitator where the fabric softener cascades into the rinse water, and begin digging for the soap scoop throughout the entire laundry area. (It was behind the dryer. I don't want to know.)
Needless to say, I fixed everything. It was fine.
It was, I can only assume, like when your children make you breakfast in bed and pour coffee down the hall rug, the comforter, your foot....but you smile and thank them. You understand that the intentions were good, that they did this for you out of love, and simply because they don't have the adult thinking skills that tell them that blindly shaking four pounds of laundry soap towards the washing machine and calling it good is not the best idea....you can't be mad. You can't chastise good intentions.
But you can spend thirty minutes cleaning it up.
Vacation.....sort of.
So T and I went off to the fortress of solitude for four days, ending last night.
One would think it would have been quiet, uneventful, and relaxing.
Then that one person would realize that it is me we are talking about here, and I will only relax under the influence of coma-inducing drugs, and that's even questionable.
We did have a nice time, however.
I finished my first knitted sock, which, it would seem, makes me a 'real' knitter as well as a much larger dork than I knew. I am just over half way done with the second one....and then I will knit for the babies. (I'm not making them anything they can wear now anyway, plus, after the present hysteria clams down some when everyone gets used to the baby......That's when I will strike.)
We kind of threw our diet out the window this week, which was counterproductive as well as delicious. Ahhh. I did try to stay on track, and then I ate 5 peanut butter cookies.
We took my friend A (not T's sister A, my old coworker....So confusing) out bowling for the anniversary (I shant say which one) of his 29th birthday. A bowls. A lot. He knows what he is doing, he loves it, he does it all the time. He has jewelry and coats with '300' on it--and I assume you all know that has nothing to do with Frank Miller. (Oh, but if he made a bowling novel....)
I do not bowl. Sure, I knock things over all the time, I rock that that. But doing that shit on purpose? Not a chance. Me, hurling a sphere of 10 pounds in weight down a wooden hallway with the intention of knocking shit over? It's not pretty.
But we had fun, and I convinced A to come back to my house and cook me breakfast the next day, because I rock and am not above guilt tripping people circa their dates of birth.
The next day was the anniversary of my dad's death. (See guilt trip reference above.) I really just wanted to spend it quietly, eating homemade eggs benedict (Yeah, the diet was pretty much forgotten at this point. Bereavement eating, I tell you.), knit, and watch television.
My mother put a quick stop to that, as I'm sure none of you are surprised to hear.
It would seem that my mother has broken her shoulder. She seems to think that she broke her shoulder six years ago, and is just now suffering the consequences. She has been to at least 5 orthopedic doc. appointments, and none of them (!) ever picked up on it. I tried to explain to her that is physically impossible to have a broken bone for six years. She's not listening.
She is, however, enjoying the benefits of an unlimited prescription of Vicodin.
She told me it upset her stomach. (My mom has a long, long history of stomach issues. She nearly died a few years ago from internal bleeding from not eating anything, drinking super heavy, and taking aspirin and ibuprofen like it was candy. She has now reached the state of alcoholism where her diaphragm is swollen and engorged, along with the lining of her stomach, and so any 'hiccup' style movement of the tummy causes her to vomit. This can lead to rupturing one of the blood vessels in the diaphragm/tummy area, and cause her to bleed out quicker than she could be saved. This sounds like a recipe for an unlimited script of vikes to me.)
I asked her if she told the doctor about her stomach problems. (Of course not.) I told her that there are pain meds out there that don't upset your stomach like that, that if she would just tell the doctors about her medical history she would be fine.
She yelled at me, called me a hypocrite (I'm not sure how that applies.) and then asked me how my vacation was going.
I got off the phone and took a nap.
She called again, and again, but it doesn't matter.
At least she took my mind off of being sad.
One would think it would have been quiet, uneventful, and relaxing.
Then that one person would realize that it is me we are talking about here, and I will only relax under the influence of coma-inducing drugs, and that's even questionable.
We did have a nice time, however.
I finished my first knitted sock, which, it would seem, makes me a 'real' knitter as well as a much larger dork than I knew. I am just over half way done with the second one....and then I will knit for the babies. (I'm not making them anything they can wear now anyway, plus, after the present hysteria clams down some when everyone gets used to the baby......That's when I will strike.)
We kind of threw our diet out the window this week, which was counterproductive as well as delicious. Ahhh. I did try to stay on track, and then I ate 5 peanut butter cookies.
We took my friend A (not T's sister A, my old coworker....So confusing) out bowling for the anniversary (I shant say which one) of his 29th birthday. A bowls. A lot. He knows what he is doing, he loves it, he does it all the time. He has jewelry and coats with '300' on it--and I assume you all know that has nothing to do with Frank Miller. (Oh, but if he made a bowling novel....)
I do not bowl. Sure, I knock things over all the time, I rock that that. But doing that shit on purpose? Not a chance. Me, hurling a sphere of 10 pounds in weight down a wooden hallway with the intention of knocking shit over? It's not pretty.
But we had fun, and I convinced A to come back to my house and cook me breakfast the next day, because I rock and am not above guilt tripping people circa their dates of birth.
The next day was the anniversary of my dad's death. (See guilt trip reference above.) I really just wanted to spend it quietly, eating homemade eggs benedict (Yeah, the diet was pretty much forgotten at this point. Bereavement eating, I tell you.), knit, and watch television.
My mother put a quick stop to that, as I'm sure none of you are surprised to hear.
It would seem that my mother has broken her shoulder. She seems to think that she broke her shoulder six years ago, and is just now suffering the consequences. She has been to at least 5 orthopedic doc. appointments, and none of them (!) ever picked up on it. I tried to explain to her that is physically impossible to have a broken bone for six years. She's not listening.
She is, however, enjoying the benefits of an unlimited prescription of Vicodin.
She told me it upset her stomach. (My mom has a long, long history of stomach issues. She nearly died a few years ago from internal bleeding from not eating anything, drinking super heavy, and taking aspirin and ibuprofen like it was candy. She has now reached the state of alcoholism where her diaphragm is swollen and engorged, along with the lining of her stomach, and so any 'hiccup' style movement of the tummy causes her to vomit. This can lead to rupturing one of the blood vessels in the diaphragm/tummy area, and cause her to bleed out quicker than she could be saved. This sounds like a recipe for an unlimited script of vikes to me.)
I asked her if she told the doctor about her stomach problems. (Of course not.) I told her that there are pain meds out there that don't upset your stomach like that, that if she would just tell the doctors about her medical history she would be fine.
She yelled at me, called me a hypocrite (I'm not sure how that applies.) and then asked me how my vacation was going.
I got off the phone and took a nap.
She called again, and again, but it doesn't matter.
At least she took my mind off of being sad.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Wed-Dink
Alright, since Moni posted photos of her little bundle of joy, I will add more info about the wedding.
For fear of boring the world, I had not mentioned much about the wedding. I don't want to come off like a bridezilla, or like one of those girls who allows their entire identity to become the wedding.
I am neither of those things. Big time. It is fun, I guess, to be planning a huge (and I mean HUGE) party in the name of T and My's love for each other. It's endearing, really, the concept that it will be a matter of public record, and therefore, history (to those people who like to pour over old records in little towns, anyway) that T and I loved each other.
I am not a romantic. I am not a girlie girl. I don't like dresses, I don't really like flowers, I am not the hearts and pink rhinestone kind of girl. Woman. Whatever.
This has been a bit of an issue for me. I am clinging to the expertise of others, to the ideas of those women more into girlie things. Sigh.
Anyway, here is the general idea(s) for the wedding. (All penis-owners out there, I'm sorry. Prepare to be bored.)
Alright.
Wedding colors:
Matte Black
Ivory
Dusky Tiffany Blue (More slate than that)
Dusky/slate lilac purple
We're going for more of a vintage feel. The black and ivory are the main colors--all other color is going to come from the flowers. (Those secondary colors are still kinda up in the air. I'm thinking the flowers are going to be in those families....but I am still kinda drawn towards the really bold colors as well. We will see.)
The men are wearing slim-fitting pin-striped suits. The girls are wearing very 'Audrey Hepburn' dresses, black, boatneck, with an ivory sash and under skirt.
Everything in the reception site is going to be either ivory or black, with candles everywhere and flowers. The flowers are going to not really match each other...does that make sense? Different styles of decanters, same flowers, but different arrangements.
Anyway. I'm boring even myself.
Here is the site:
Anyway, T is wandering around in there, as well as the site director, and E, my dude-of-honor.
Well....Any thoughts? Help is good. :)
For fear of boring the world, I had not mentioned much about the wedding. I don't want to come off like a bridezilla, or like one of those girls who allows their entire identity to become the wedding.
I am neither of those things. Big time. It is fun, I guess, to be planning a huge (and I mean HUGE) party in the name of T and My's love for each other. It's endearing, really, the concept that it will be a matter of public record, and therefore, history (to those people who like to pour over old records in little towns, anyway) that T and I loved each other.
I am not a romantic. I am not a girlie girl. I don't like dresses, I don't really like flowers, I am not the hearts and pink rhinestone kind of girl. Woman. Whatever.
This has been a bit of an issue for me. I am clinging to the expertise of others, to the ideas of those women more into girlie things. Sigh.
Anyway, here is the general idea(s) for the wedding. (All penis-owners out there, I'm sorry. Prepare to be bored.)
Alright.
Wedding colors:
Matte Black
Ivory
Dusky Tiffany Blue (More slate than that)
Dusky/slate lilac purple
We're going for more of a vintage feel. The black and ivory are the main colors--all other color is going to come from the flowers. (Those secondary colors are still kinda up in the air. I'm thinking the flowers are going to be in those families....but I am still kinda drawn towards the really bold colors as well. We will see.)
The men are wearing slim-fitting pin-striped suits. The girls are wearing very 'Audrey Hepburn' dresses, black, boatneck, with an ivory sash and under skirt.
Everything in the reception site is going to be either ivory or black, with candles everywhere and flowers. The flowers are going to not really match each other...does that make sense? Different styles of decanters, same flowers, but different arrangements.
Anyway. I'm boring even myself.
Here is the site:
Anyway, T is wandering around in there, as well as the site director, and E, my dude-of-honor.
Well....Any thoughts? Help is good. :)
Fortress of Solitude
So our bum-rush of wedding planning went well. Aside from some traffic hang ups (We do live in a part of the world that could only be more difficult to enter and exit if it required a bush pilot. Actually, that might be faster.) and oversleeping issues (A, thank you for being ok with a minimal time line!) everything went famously.
We crashed a wedding (well, pre-wedding) at our reception site, which, rude though it may have been, was quite informative as we could see what it looked like all 'trussed up'. Granted, these people had no taste and their colors were insane, but, whatever.
(Ours is going to be so much cooler. I mean, how could it not be? It's us.)
While A was in town, we stayed at 'my' house--the condo. I had forgotten! It's so quiet! It's so clean! I can watch television uninterrupted!
It has become my fortress of solitude. I did not realize how loud T's house is, with the constant video games, stomping, yelling, clanking of dishes and hurling of detritus.....Ahhhh. To be able to sit on my deck and listen to the ocean and birds--and that's it. No traffic, no top volume japanimation, no yelling....
After dropping A at the half way point, I went back to the condo to pick up the luggage and whatnot, and wound up lounging on my couch, watching an "American Justice" marathon on A&E. Such pleasure!
Then, my friend from my old place of employment stopped by (Also known as A....Sigh.) and nearly had a heart attack when I freaked out when a moth flew down my shirt. He assumed, from my reaction, that I had dropped my cigarette and was now aflame, and was somewhat....crabby, I guess, when it turned out to be 'just a moth'. (Dude, moths scare the holy be-jeebus out of me. I don't understand it either.)
I thought it was funny. Well, not at the time, but you understand.
When I returned to T's house, it was...CLEAN!!!! It would seem that yelling at our roomie, M, along with disappearing for a while will light a fire under the heinies of some. And, to ice the cake? No one was here. Alone. All evening. (Aside from the moth incident, but whatever.) So, so great.
Our fish are still (Have I mentioned this?) trying to kill themselves/each other during their mating ritual prize fight. I can only hope that they quit or succeed. It's getting old.
Did you know that Bobby Flay is married to the blonde ADA from Law & Order SVU?
How nice for him. (I hate him. He hasn't done anything to me, personally, but he's a pretentious ass. And he looks like a bratty kid. Does that make sense? Like the neighbor kid from "Leave It to Beaver". So there. NO! Howdy Doody. That's who he looks like....an evil, annoying puppet. Yes..... Anyway, there are very few celebrity chefs that don't come off as complete assclowns in my mind. So there.)
Anyway.
I'm quickly running out of topics. Someone give me a shout out with what they want to hear from me! Help! Help!
Oh, and go check out Moni's beautiful son. He has red hair (!!). Playing for the right team already, I tell you.
Moni, you and your husband are so blessed--I am thrilled for you both. The little man is gorgeous, and when you are less sleep deprived, I require more pictures. (I know you have four million of them! Your mom wouldn't have it any other way.)
We crashed a wedding (well, pre-wedding) at our reception site, which, rude though it may have been, was quite informative as we could see what it looked like all 'trussed up'. Granted, these people had no taste and their colors were insane, but, whatever.
(Ours is going to be so much cooler. I mean, how could it not be? It's us.)
While A was in town, we stayed at 'my' house--the condo. I had forgotten! It's so quiet! It's so clean! I can watch television uninterrupted!
It has become my fortress of solitude. I did not realize how loud T's house is, with the constant video games, stomping, yelling, clanking of dishes and hurling of detritus.....Ahhhh. To be able to sit on my deck and listen to the ocean and birds--and that's it. No traffic, no top volume japanimation, no yelling....
After dropping A at the half way point, I went back to the condo to pick up the luggage and whatnot, and wound up lounging on my couch, watching an "American Justice" marathon on A&E. Such pleasure!
Then, my friend from my old place of employment stopped by (Also known as A....Sigh.) and nearly had a heart attack when I freaked out when a moth flew down my shirt. He assumed, from my reaction, that I had dropped my cigarette and was now aflame, and was somewhat....crabby, I guess, when it turned out to be 'just a moth'. (Dude, moths scare the holy be-jeebus out of me. I don't understand it either.)
I thought it was funny. Well, not at the time, but you understand.
When I returned to T's house, it was...CLEAN!!!! It would seem that yelling at our roomie, M, along with disappearing for a while will light a fire under the heinies of some. And, to ice the cake? No one was here. Alone. All evening. (Aside from the moth incident, but whatever.) So, so great.
Our fish are still (Have I mentioned this?) trying to kill themselves/each other during their mating ritual prize fight. I can only hope that they quit or succeed. It's getting old.
Did you know that Bobby Flay is married to the blonde ADA from Law & Order SVU?
How nice for him. (I hate him. He hasn't done anything to me, personally, but he's a pretentious ass. And he looks like a bratty kid. Does that make sense? Like the neighbor kid from "Leave It to Beaver". So there. NO! Howdy Doody. That's who he looks like....an evil, annoying puppet. Yes..... Anyway, there are very few celebrity chefs that don't come off as complete assclowns in my mind. So there.)
Anyway.
I'm quickly running out of topics. Someone give me a shout out with what they want to hear from me! Help! Help!
Oh, and go check out Moni's beautiful son. He has red hair (!!). Playing for the right team already, I tell you.
Moni, you and your husband are so blessed--I am thrilled for you both. The little man is gorgeous, and when you are less sleep deprived, I require more pictures. (I know you have four million of them! Your mom wouldn't have it any other way.)
Friday, August 1, 2008
Humor....Not Really.
So when T and I went to Vegas, and on to the Hoover Dam and Big Canyon, we stopped in two towns in Arizona, the names of which made us laugh our asses off. Mostly because we had been in the car for hours and hours and hours, were tired and hot, and we're jackasses.
Saligman and Kingman. (SaLIG-MAN! KING-MAN! Super Heroes!)
We decided that these two towns would fight each other, on and on....Yeah, we're weird.
Anyway, I just popped over to my site meter and saw that someone from Kingman AZ had taken a gander at the site.
Welcome, person from Kingman. Your presence made me smile. Thanks. :)
***********************************************
T's sister A is coming over today to help me sort out the screaming pile of stress that is my wedding. I am meeting with caterers and florists and so on this week, and need to be prepared. Also, I want to talk to her about the reception site and so on....The poor dear. She probably doesn't know what she's signed up for. (Actually, I think she knows exactly what she has signed up for, and the fact that she is still volunteering to do this stuff for me makes me wonder if she's a bit nuts. Actually, she's freakin' awesome (nuts or not), and I would be lost without her. I just have a hard time thinking that people who are not obligated to want to help me. But that's another post for another day, methinks.)
Then, two weeks from now, I am starting the process that makes me want to lie down on the floor and wail until it's over.....
Dress Shopping.
I hate to try on clothes. I hate to wear dresses. I hate anything uncomfortable. I hate people staring at me, I hate being the center of attention....and white? Really? The jig is up, people.
My mother is beside herself because I don't want a veil. I think my mother has fallen victim to the infamous disease that plagues mothers everywhere.... "I Always Thought You Would Do It This Way", perhaps with a smattering of "I Need To Live Vicariously Through You-itis".
No, but really? I have serious, deep seeded body issues. I have a really hard time wearing anything that could potentially show any flaw I feel I have. uuuughh.
*********************************************
Also, my sister(s) and weird, bitchy nieces that I haven't seen since they were toddlers (and are now in college/last few years of HS) are coming to visit later this month.
If anyone needs me, I will be weeping openly in the garage.
Saligman and Kingman. (SaLIG-MAN! KING-MAN! Super Heroes!)
We decided that these two towns would fight each other, on and on....Yeah, we're weird.
Anyway, I just popped over to my site meter and saw that someone from Kingman AZ had taken a gander at the site.
Welcome, person from Kingman. Your presence made me smile. Thanks. :)
***********************************************
T's sister A is coming over today to help me sort out the screaming pile of stress that is my wedding. I am meeting with caterers and florists and so on this week, and need to be prepared. Also, I want to talk to her about the reception site and so on....The poor dear. She probably doesn't know what she's signed up for. (Actually, I think she knows exactly what she has signed up for, and the fact that she is still volunteering to do this stuff for me makes me wonder if she's a bit nuts. Actually, she's freakin' awesome (nuts or not), and I would be lost without her. I just have a hard time thinking that people who are not obligated to want to help me. But that's another post for another day, methinks.)
Then, two weeks from now, I am starting the process that makes me want to lie down on the floor and wail until it's over.....
Dress Shopping.
I hate to try on clothes. I hate to wear dresses. I hate anything uncomfortable. I hate people staring at me, I hate being the center of attention....and white? Really? The jig is up, people.
My mother is beside herself because I don't want a veil. I think my mother has fallen victim to the infamous disease that plagues mothers everywhere.... "I Always Thought You Would Do It This Way", perhaps with a smattering of "I Need To Live Vicariously Through You-itis".
No, but really? I have serious, deep seeded body issues. I have a really hard time wearing anything that could potentially show any flaw I feel I have. uuuughh.
*********************************************
Also, my sister(s) and weird, bitchy nieces that I haven't seen since they were toddlers (and are now in college/last few years of HS) are coming to visit later this month.
If anyone needs me, I will be weeping openly in the garage.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Awwwwww.
So I was talking on IM with a friend of mine from another era in my life tonight. This friend and I, we have weathered some weird stuff together. We will go six months or more without speaking--for no real reason other than falling out of touch--and pick up right were we left off the next time we run across each other on the internet.
We had a long, good 'talk'.
I also asked him about another co-friend of ours, someone we used to work with. (Have I tapped the great resource that is my history of working in a gas station in college? Amazing, hilarious, weird time in my life. I will have to go there at some point. The two men of which we are speaking worked graveyard there with me. The co-friend and I worked graves together all the time, and he saved my life once. Another story for another time.)
Anyway, this co-friend, who I need to think of a nickname for.......AV. Not even close to his real name, but whatever. Anyway, AV is and was a startlingly talented musician. Great singing voice, amazing guitar and bass player. (Taught me to play at work during a blizzard one time. I promptly forgot, but illegal cigarettes will do that to you. {Judge not, please, it was college.}) He was in a very popular local band while we worked together, and I have spent hours and hours of my life sitting in dive bars listening to them play. (He had an entire bar buy me shots 5 days after my 21st birthday one time. Kill me. Also, sang a metal cover of a Gordon Lightfoot song in my honor. Again, another story for another time.)
Anyway, shortly after I moved, his band broke up. I have run into AV several times since then, and he is still high on my list of great people I have had the opportunity to know. We have fallen out of touch the last few years--I saw him a few years ago on a trip down to see some other friends--but haven't spoken to him since. It makes me sad, actually...
Anyway, friend on IM.....D (Again, not his name) gave me the name of AV's new band. It would seem that they have been doing amazingly well in the home state--radio play and everything! And tonight was their CD release party. I looked them up, and was sent to their myspace page.
It warmed my heart. The new band is made up of members of AV's old band and another, equally talented band that broke up around the same time. The sound is great (If you're into metal, really), and it takes me back to one of the only good selection of memories I have from that place and time in my life.
I hear the music, and I am barely 21, sitting at a small, sticky table in a really shitty bar, drinking PBR and smoking Parliament Lights, my dark nail polish chipped, my scuffed black boots scraping damp bar trash underneath the table. Sweating under my leather jacket, my damp t-shirt clinging to my breasts. Listening to loud, bracingly beautiful music and feeling the night inside me.
I haven't felt like that in a long time. It was nice. Hopeful.
Wanna check it out? Send me a comment and I will send you the link. I don't know that all 5 of you can handle knowing where I went to college. Oh, wait.....most of you already do. If you weren't there with me. :)
We had a long, good 'talk'.
I also asked him about another co-friend of ours, someone we used to work with. (Have I tapped the great resource that is my history of working in a gas station in college? Amazing, hilarious, weird time in my life. I will have to go there at some point. The two men of which we are speaking worked graveyard there with me. The co-friend and I worked graves together all the time, and he saved my life once. Another story for another time.)
Anyway, this co-friend, who I need to think of a nickname for.......AV. Not even close to his real name, but whatever. Anyway, AV is and was a startlingly talented musician. Great singing voice, amazing guitar and bass player. (Taught me to play at work during a blizzard one time. I promptly forgot, but illegal cigarettes will do that to you. {Judge not, please, it was college.}) He was in a very popular local band while we worked together, and I have spent hours and hours of my life sitting in dive bars listening to them play. (He had an entire bar buy me shots 5 days after my 21st birthday one time. Kill me. Also, sang a metal cover of a Gordon Lightfoot song in my honor. Again, another story for another time.)
Anyway, shortly after I moved, his band broke up. I have run into AV several times since then, and he is still high on my list of great people I have had the opportunity to know. We have fallen out of touch the last few years--I saw him a few years ago on a trip down to see some other friends--but haven't spoken to him since. It makes me sad, actually...
Anyway, friend on IM.....D (Again, not his name) gave me the name of AV's new band. It would seem that they have been doing amazingly well in the home state--radio play and everything! And tonight was their CD release party. I looked them up, and was sent to their myspace page.
It warmed my heart. The new band is made up of members of AV's old band and another, equally talented band that broke up around the same time. The sound is great (If you're into metal, really), and it takes me back to one of the only good selection of memories I have from that place and time in my life.
I hear the music, and I am barely 21, sitting at a small, sticky table in a really shitty bar, drinking PBR and smoking Parliament Lights, my dark nail polish chipped, my scuffed black boots scraping damp bar trash underneath the table. Sweating under my leather jacket, my damp t-shirt clinging to my breasts. Listening to loud, bracingly beautiful music and feeling the night inside me.
I haven't felt like that in a long time. It was nice. Hopeful.
Wanna check it out? Send me a comment and I will send you the link. I don't know that all 5 of you can handle knowing where I went to college. Oh, wait.....most of you already do. If you weren't there with me. :)
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