Tide ya over

I won't be posting until August, as we will be mooning in the honey until then.

In the interim:

Wedding photos of people you don't know! Hoooooray.

(The wedding was awesome, I cried saying my vows, mom behaved herself, and everyone had an awesome time. The end.)

Rage-o-nomics

If only I could be paid for being angry. MILLIONS would be mine.

Dumb, small things make me enraged. JZ and I were talking at work about getting clonked right on the top of your head, where the point would be if you had cone-head ancestry, and how that makes you go from "Weeeeee, Happy Person!" to "HULK SMASH!" rage in no time. I get frustrated and then enraged. For instance, I wanted coffee this morning. But the coffee pot was totally filthy, and I wanted CLEAN coffee. So I took the filter basket off (in my defense, something I've done at least 20 times before) and rinsed it, the pot itself, etc. But then--I could not get the filter basket back on. Seriously. There was hitting involved--and true RAGE. Rage that I would have to leave my home at 8am on a Saturday morning to purchase something I already owned, rage that I would have to wear real pants to do this, rage that I needed to put my contacts in and have bandaids (now wet) on the two fingers I need for contact-ery, and on, and on, and on, just spiralling into pure temper-tantrum land.

So I went slamming into the bedroom, where poor T has been home and asleep for 2 hours, and start ranting and raving about the goddamn coffee pot, how I'm leaving, blah. He opened one eye, said, "Ok, honey. I'll try to fix it when I get up if you haven't already. I love you." and went back to sleep. A guilt tsunami then crashed over me.

I went and fixed the coffee pot. Now I'm even sipping the fruit of my labor. Poor T. Sometimes I worry about how I make him handle things. I am a fighter, a face-the-problem-head-on-as-soon-as-it-pops-up person, a high stress, angry task master. T is logical, methodical, and doesn't like to over-react. (Unless there's been a car accident. Then it's on.) T only fights the fight if he has to, he's really good at letting things go, at realizing that there's no need to wig out.

But there's this thing we're doing in three weeks. This thing that's making me explode a little every day. The thing that I'm actually really excited for, once I get over the fact that there are lots of assholes in my life. I'm wigging out in some respect daily, and T? He just hugs me, fixes what he can, and tries to go back to sleep. This is one of the reasons I love him so dearly.

I have a really hard time delegating, asking for help, potentially putting people out. But I have to remember--I'm not asking anything of anyone that I wouldn't do for them. JZ and AW are making my wedding cakes--Just for me, special. They're even going to cut them, while wasted, at the reception. My man of honor's mommy is going to forgo the ceremony to help set up the tables and decorations just the way I want. I didn't even ask them to do these things! The DJ is playing songs requested from our guests--and what a weird spread that has turned out to be. (My cousins, brothers that they are, returned their RSVP's on the same day. One cousin requested "I've Got the World on a String" by Frank Sinatra. His brother? "Symphony of Destruction" by Megadeth. Hilarious. We've got Gordon Lightfoot, MGMT, The Lonely Island, Bob Seger, Lyle Lovett....It's going to be awesome.)

Basically, I need to realize, and I am, slowly:

There are more people that love me, that are willing to help me in any way that they can, than don't. The people that don't are taking center stage because they are being REALLY over the top with some stuff, and that's distracting--But I need to make sure that I remember the good things and not wig out about the little piddly bad shit. Right?

Onward. I'm tired of whining about the wedding.

T and I have not, and will not be taking dance lessons. We're going to blunder through all 2.75 minutes of "You're Me Best Friend" by Queen and call it a day. He's got rhythm, I've got....him to lead me, and we'll be fine. And if not? Who cares? I'm not going to fall down and break anything. We're going to have fun and that's that.

BAH. More wedding crap.

Wow. It's amazing how when you don't allow yourself to talk about it, you run out of steam rather quickly.

Haven't talked to my mom in a week. I'm interested to see how this is going to play out. I'm sure she will be horrible on the phone when it finally comes time to chat again. Part of me wants to just call her and get it over with, as I know that the longer I wait the worse it will be, but another part of me really likes the quiet. But the rumblings of doom in the background are ominous. Maybe I should just call her, be firm, be ready to have another week (or more) of silence. I know that during my hysteria last week I begged her to stop being mean, to stop being angry and vindictive, and just pretend, for me, that things we're fine and that she was really my mom. She then launched into how she hates my house because there's a "shrine to my dad on the mantle" (Two pictures and his ashes) and only pictures of her on the fridge. (About 5 pictures.) What? Really? This is your main complaint? This is how you respond to your openly sobbing and half hysterical child, begging for your love? Really?

Sigh. I just don't see us having any resolution any time soon. If ever. It exhausts me, and I'm about to the point where I just don't see the worth or reason for even pretending that we like each other. She's mean and horrible to me, deludes herself into 'understanding' why I'm angry with her (I can be 'mean' to her because it's safe--she'll always love me, etc. Not the case.) and refuses to listen. T said, and rather aptly:

Our lives will be better when and if--that's a really big if, now--our parents started listening and stopped just hearing us.

As promised:

There's me wearing contacts as well as false eyelashes. AMAZING. I look young, I think.

So there's that.

Gaaaaah

The dust farting lap top has shuffled off this mortal coil. Which means that I am stranded using the dust farting desk top, which is located in J's room. This is fine, aside from not having any of my favorites saved, so I have to type everything in from memory, and really, that's just too much goddamn work.

Had engagement photos taken. It was fun. I wore false eyelashes. Rather than making me look like a drag queen or Tammy Faye, I looked...like I had eyelashes. (Amazing, that.)

Went to the 'Air Sex' championships. It's like air guitar, only with, well, sex. Hilarious. Good times were had by all, aside from the mild (for me) and moderate to severe (for others) food poisoning that roared through our gastrointestinal systems. That and the girl that barfed up about a gallon and a half of god knows what in the bar bathroom while I hover-peed as fast as I could in the stall next to her. She probably wasn't having a great time....anymore.

Then I had a small (comparatively speaking) nervous breakdown on Sunday, and have felt oddly disconnected and/or barfy since then. It's awesome.

New guy at work. Has lots of experience, is in his early 50's. He is very interesting and very talkative. Also, exhausting. From the moment he arrives until the moment he leaves he is talking, talking, talking, super animated and very loud. Singing, laughing, telling off color jokes and basically demanding the attention of all those within earshot. It makes the long, laborious afternoons of just JZ and I running our asses off and making fun of each other seem like cozy naps in recliners.

Coworker has been released from jail and has returned unscathed from his immediately following vacation to the other side of the nation. His summation of the trip? "It was hot. I don't like airplanes." I then made the mistake of using the word 'vertigo' in conversation, and things felt just like old times as he stared at me, open mouthed, prepared, I'm sure, to accuse me of making up words. Again. (Reciprocate, it seems, was also invented by yours truly.)

I am getting married in 23 days. In 27, I will be sitting on a sandy beach somewhere, drinking something syrupy and heavily laced with rum, wearing very small amounts of clothing and very large amounts of sun screen. This is the mental picture that keeps me from sobbing every waking hour of every moment of every day. Not the excitement of being T's wife, (finally) or the excitement of having a really big party just for me--the excitement of knowing it will all be over SOON. Tangibly soon.

Had a small panic attack last night thinking of our first dance. It's starting to become obvious that we will be the center of attention that day, that night, that people will be looking at us and taking our picture and forming memories based on our behavior and actions. I don't like to be the center of attention. I don't like to have my photo taken. I don't feel beautiful or elegant or bride-ey, or any of that crap. I don't feel that way in my dress, my shoes, my makeup. I feel fat and tired and scared and overwhelmed. I feel like the people that are acting like this isn't a big deal, like they resent me for having a wedding, like they don't believe that I deserve something nice and whatever are right. Because, well, majority rules, doesn't it? Basis of democracy and all. And it truly is the majority of those around me that are acting this way.

Whatever. I feel barfy. I'm going to sleep. I know I'm being irrational, that I'm whining, that I'm being irritating because I'm supposed to be the blushing happy bride, and instead I'm just trying to be me and I'm failing.

Sleep now. Work tomorrow. Will post pictures of the weirdness that has been my garden and the insanity that was my false eyelashes soon.

Good Lord Above

I'm not dead.

I promise.

Stressed, yes. Job is making me lose my damn mind, wedding crap is making me lose my damn mind. I fall into bed exhausted, unable to feel good about getting things on my checklist completed, I sleep far less than I should every night, I wake feeling heavy and daunted. I cry easily.

Good things are happening, bad things are happening, and I am refusing to let anything sully the memories that are being made.

Huge blowup fights with my mom, work INSANITY (don't even get me started) and weird drama coming from other fronts.

But I will soldier on. And not blog. I should have gone to bed hours ago.

Thanks for staying on hold, my loves.

Brian, post more wedding pictures. Circe, goat eyes freak me out. Moni, I demand more pictures of your handsome child.

I think that's it for now.

Days Off

So. It's my days off. I'm bored. I go back to work tomorrow.

Total insanity at work. Illegal actions being taken by my boss, we're trying to quietly come up with a retort to this that doesn't involve quitting.

But unless I'm going to get paid the overtime owed me, and be allowed to get overtime in the future, I can't see any of us staying.

(Because that's what happening, you see. No overtime. There's more, but whatever.)

My sciatica has flared up like nobody's business today. I fear that I will not be better in the morning. You're not supposed to stand long hours or lift heavy things when your sciatica is being cranky.....and that's what I do for a living.

Sigh.

Looking to buy a truck. We're under budget (in a big way) when it comes to the wedding, and we need one. So....to craigslist I go.

To steal something from Circe:

Send pain meds that work, send more hours in the day, send someone to finish my laundry for me. And make my bed. Send a crowbar to remove my bosses head from his ass.

In My Bones

First of all, Happy Mother's Day. There are a few moms that read this blog that deserve more than one day of recognition for all they do. So stand up and be counted, ladies!

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My mother is not on that list. She doesn't read the blog (doesn't have the internet, thankfully)nor does she deserve to stand up and be counted for busting her ass daily to make sure that her child is well rounded, healthy, happy, content and safe.

Not even a little bit.

Every year, I send the obligatory card, I make the phone call, I pretend.

This year it was much, much harder than usual.

I'm so upset by her recent foray into emotional terrorism, that I don't really want to go into it. Seriously. I'm so enraged, so tired, so....Tired.

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My house looks like a bomb, filled with (clean) laundry, knitting supplies and random bullshit went off. Actually, more like a fountain. I clean, and it's like nothing happened. No change at all. How does this happen?

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My wedding shoes arrived. I love them.

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I am so exhausted, so stressed out....I've reached a new level. Seriously. It's different than all the other times that life came crashing down around my ears. I'm...resigned. My will has been broken. I'm done fighting. I no longer care if the food is right at the wedding, if my bosses think I'm a piece of shit (which they do), if my dress fits, if I buy the plane tickets to Hawaii on time. I simply don't care. I feel....nothing. All the way to my bones, my insides. I am filled with this great void. I'm totally depressed is what it is. Fighting never got me anywhere. Seriously. I'm done facing every problem head on. Doesn't do anything anyway. Everyone is going to do what they want to in the end, regardless of what I have to say about it.