My Blog Is Boring

Friendship revisited

2012-02-12T01:34:00.000-05:00

Tonight I had dinner with a friend I've known for twenty years. Twenty. Years. I'm a little freaked out by the fact that I'm old enough to have people in my life whom I've known for so long. Anyone I've known longer, it's because of parental or familial connections - she's the last of the friends I picked on my own, way back in middle school. Being with her tonight, it was like crossing a bridge...I wasn't sure how well it would've held after all this time, but my worry was needless - we picked up where we left off. There are large gaps in our knowledge of each other - life has thrown us both curve-balls since we were last close - but there's still a love and connection there that keeps us joined together.

Twenty years. Our history spans all of middle and high school, two marriages, one divorce, five pregnancies, two miscarriages (one late-term), a dozen boyfriends, a million dreams, countless nights under the stars in some local park waxing poetic about where we've been and where we're going. Twenty years. The entire time it took for us to become who we are.

NashVegas!

2012-02-08T20:43:00.000-05:00

So, I went to Nashville last weekend.

Let me set the stage for you:

Jimi and I have spent (until this past weekend) exactly TWO nights apart since we moved into our former home on Camp Street in June of 2007.

Let that sink in for a moment.

Every night, except TWO, for the last 4.5 years, we've slept in bed next to each other,

woken up next to each other,

kissed good morning each day.

So I was a bit nervous setting out on this journey.

I was homesick before I left.
I had butterflies and everything.

But I'd committed, and so I was going. To Nashville. For two nights. With women who weren't Jimi.

IT WAS FUCKING AWESOME.

First, we met Dolly in the Welcome Center on the Tennessee/Kentucky state line.

(it's not really the state line - it's like 4 miles south)

OMG and then WE WERE IN NASHVILLE!!!

And then we were at our hotel.

Kimmie's dad put us up in the Hilton on Broadway between 4th and 5th Avenues.

We had Diamond status, bitches.

(we said that over and over all weekend.

as in, "Bring me whatever I want. I'm Diamond, Bitches."

[Diamond Status does not equal free valet parking, for the record.])

We parked Valet anyhow.

I've never done that before.

Now, to make you understand how funny THAT is, I have to show you this:

That dented car there on the left? that's mine.

What's even better?

At the fuel stop before this one, 5 minutes from my home, just at the start of our trip

the gas door wouldn't open. The cable broke. Apparently it's common on this year Civic.

A Good Samaritan tow truck driver happened by and popped the door open for us.

So my gas door hangs open now.

Like I forgot to shut it.

It's super classy,

especially when every valet driver at the Hilton tries to close it for you.

Anyhow, views from our suite:

So we got all dressed up (put on makeup and peed) and hit the town.

This was man made the first music I heard in Nashville. I tipped him $2.

The patio was open on a Friday night in February.

There was a cigarette machine! Holy crap, I haven't seen one of these in forever!

And then we met Elvis.

Sorta.


Mario & Luigi was their name.

When we got back to the room, there was cake:

It didn't last long.

And so then we went to the hotel bar...

But we got there at last call, and so we drank one and took one for the road...

...err...lobby.

The view the next morning.

These are the tables in the lobby of the Hilton.

WTF is that thing there in the middle?

No, really.

I can't figure it out, and no one else knows.

Please help.

We had a surreal brunch,

and then headed out to buy Kimmie new shoes,

and then stopped by the Antique Archeology store.

I made Kimmie take this pictures so you could see how cute I was.

And then our night got started...

Did you wear your Northface jacket when you went on that adventure?

2012-02-06T07:13:00.001-05:00

Source: tattoosandfitness.tumblr.com via Natalie on Pinterest

There are at least half a dozen men in Nashville this morning questioning their fashion choices because Drunk Natalie approached them over the weekend to ask for details about their wonderful adventures.

(Zip-lining in Costa Rica counts as a wonderful adventure. Drinking at Tootsie's World Famous Orchid Lounge does not.)

Alanis, would you define irony as...

2012-02-02T17:00:00.000-05:00

An anonymous 20 year old left a comment on my birth control post from 5 years ago, talking about how this particular brand of birth control failed her, as she is now the winner of an unplanned pregnancy.

My first thought was "she could give me her baby".

Birth control falls into that "wish I'd know I didn't need it" category, like the insurance you buy to cover a package that is delivered safely intact.

Slothly

2012-02-01T20:26:00.000-05:00

I'm too lazy to blog. Putting thoughts into words seems hard.

There's plumbing going on in our home. Progress is being made, an end is in sight. Jimi's good at everything. One of these days that will stop surprising me.

I've spent two afternoons with sweet Adriana Rose, and I'm madly in love. She's beautiful and perfect in every way. She's the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Stacy is a fantastic mother, and the love she feels for her child is a physical thing you can see in everything she does. She was meant to do this.

Kimmie's birthday is tomorrow, and she's invited me to join her and two other girlfriends for a weekend in NashVegas. We're crashing at the Hilton, and there will be much merriment made. I'm excited - I've never gone out of town on a girls' weekend before. I'm also nervous and a bit homesick already - two nights away is a long time for me. I'm sure I'll get over that as soon as we're on the road and giggly, but for now, I have butterflies.

The job I sought is not going to be mine. Bossman says there are bigger things in his plans for me. I don't know what those are, but I have to trust him. I'm working really hard to accept that this is the way things are supposed to be for me right now. The best things come from plans you don't make for yourself, right? Something like that.

January, like December, was hard. It's getting better, though.

I'll never own anything Burberry.

2012-01-28T14:11:00.001-05:00

I don't know, really, what Burberry is or why it's a big deal. I don't know enough about that world to even list a selection of others in the same category to tell you that I don't know why those brands are able to command multi-thousand dollar price tags on their bags and clutches and wristlets. That's not my world. It never will be.

I feel fancy when I spend $25 on a new purse at Target. I haven't spent $25 on a new purse from Target in years, though, because at Christmas each year, my Momma buys me a new purse. I did buy a white purse at Pay-Less to match my white shoes when we went to Caitlin's wedding last summer. I think it cost $12. I carried it with me for weeks after the wedding - all my stuff was in it already, why switch back?

I get my hair cut as necessary. I define necessary as approximately every eighteen months. Before my last cut, I sat aside an entire 45 seconds for styling each morning - that's how long it would take if there was a lump in my first ponytail and I had to re-do it. With the shorter cut, I have to save at least five minutes for applying volumizer and blow drying. I would skip the product, but if I do, I look like a drowned rat at the end of the day.

You can tell if I'm dressed up, because then I wear make-up. If there's no lipstick or eyeshadow or mascara, it's just another day. (When I'm REALLY dressed up, there's eye liner, too, but that's usually reserved for super special occasions, like the annual work Christmas dinner.)

I'm most comfortable in yoga pants and no bra, but that's not acceptable work attire, so most days you'll find me dressed in dark boot-cut jeans and tank tops paired with long sweaters. (my favorite sweater has a hood on it.) My favorite shoes right now are the brown Keen boots Jimi gave me at Christmas, so I wear them almost daily.

I have accepted these facts about myself, and have come to love the freedom they give me.

When I was in middle school, I remember begging my parents for a Dooney and Bourke purse - a seventy-five dollar purse for an eleven year old, can you even imagine!? - not because I loved the style and design of the bag, but because all the cool girls had them, and I wanted to be a part of their world more than just about anything else. Even as I opened the gift on Christmas morning and gave all the expect squeals of delight, I was, in my heart of hearts, sad that I'd made my parents spend all that money on such a stupid little thing that I only wanted so I could fit in. The bag, of course, didn't improve my popularity one iota. Neither did the teased bangs or the short shorts or the K-Swiss shoes. The "I'm not really the smartest kid in class, here I'll show you buy not doing any work at all" approach I took when my nick-name became know-it-all...all that got me was bad grades and no phone for 6 weeks; not the best way to grow your friends base.

I've tried a thousand ways to remake myself into some other version that's more acceptable or pleasing to others. Miserable business, the act of changing oneself. And then one day I woke up and said, "Fuck it." That's it. Fuck it. This is me and I am I and that is all there is. She lived happily ever after...

Except it's really hard to not compare yourself to other people.

Bossman and I took a trip to Chicago over the summer; just a day trip, up and back. I put on make-up. I wore dress pants (some stretchy blend, with an elastic waistband) and a nice top (5 years old, from Lane Bryant and slightly too big, in a loud print) and my knee-high boots (4-inch heels. Stupid). I thought I looked great...until I got to the gate and saw the other business travelers; men with their crisp suits and and polished shoes, women with skirts and hose and heels. They all carried professional cases or bags or folios of some sort - I adjusted the strap on the purse I carried, the purse Momma gave me last Christmas, and wished I'd included foundation in my dressing-up makeup routine; all of these women obviously did. In Chicago, my frumpy, out-of-date clothes made me feel as if I were waving a big red "look at me, I shouldn't be allowed to dress myself" flag - everyone was sharp and stylish and fancy. I wished for the millionth time I'd done something other than let my hair fall loose on my shoulders, and so dug a scrunchy out of my purse and pulled my tresses back into a loop, which I hoped looked fancier than a simply ponytail. I watched the ground as we ate breakfast and waited for our appointment time - how do they walk so fast in those heels? I'd break an ankle!

I worry bossman is looking for a Burberry girl. I worry that he sees me in my day-to-day and thinks "She could never do this." When I made my proposal, he said to me, as if to discourage, "You'd have to get a new car, a new wardrobe..." In my head, I keep hearing him say he's looking for an experienced hotshot or a good looking woman in a short skirt, and I feel my opportunity slipping away because I've spent the last five years taking full advantage of our slack office dress code.

stoopid

2012-01-26T11:27:00.000-05:00

I felt bad most of the day Monday, with no real specific complaints - a little achy, kinda chilled, a bit of nausea. I took a long nap at lunch, then at the end of the day came home an hour early, popped some Tylenol, and slept till 6 p.m. I felt fine when I was waiting at the hospital for Addy Rose's arrival, but once I got home and settled down, the chills came back. I checked my temperature for the 3rd time that day, and sure enough, I was sporting a low-grade fever. Awesome. Today's Thursday. I don't think I have that fever anymore, but I can't breathe through my nose and my head sorta feels like it's in a vice grip. And I still haven't met the newest member of my family. *insert sadface here*

I'm also walking on eggshells at work because I'm pretty sure I botched my sales pitch to bossman and that he's trying to find a way to turn me down without causing me to lose my shit and quit my job. Fuck

I feel like I've spent most of the week just trying to hold back a flood of tears that's sure to erupt any second. Can I get a do-over, please? Can we just go back to last Friday and start all over again?

She's here.

2012-01-23T22:43:00.000-05:00

Adriana Rose Medley joined us tonight at 7:57 p.m., weighing in at 6 pounds 11 ounces, measuring at 19 1/2 inches long. Grandma Pam at first said her head measured 33 inches, and then my Momma offered that 33 inches is the size of her waist, so perhaps Pam meant centimeters? Oh yes, of course! :)

I've not seen the little Princess yet, so I have no pictures to offer at this time. Immediately after birth, Stacy and Jessie were given an hour of mommy/daddy/baby time before they were going to move rooms or some such thing. Near 9:30, I looked around and realized that there were way more immediate relations present than my humble little "first cousin of the mom" title - Jessie's parents and sisters and nieces and nephews, Stacy's Mom and Dad - and that my turn getting in to see the baby was going to be a long time coming. Stacy was awake since before 5 a.m., spent her day laboring, and birthed a child, all without food since 11 o'clock last night. I imagine she's not much interested in entertaining till midnight. I'll meet my niece-cousin tomorrow, and I promise pictures will follow.

I did get a glimpse of her, briefly. Pam snapped a picture of the new family with her small point-and-shoot: Stacy laughing and crying holding her newborn, her face radiant but pale; Jessie standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at his daughter with love written all over his tear-stained face; little Addy Rose with her mouth open in a scream, her little red face scrunched up, her dark wisps of hair just visible under a little pink cap. Pam queued up the photo and passed the camera to my mom, who shared with me, then Pam passed the camera to Stacy's dad, who couldn't make out the details well. Momma says, "Rick, zoom in on it", and he pushes the trash can button. "Rick," I say, "you're about to delete that, careful." He moves the cursor up and down - and deletes the picture. "You just deleted that, Rick." He was crestfallen. "Why did you ever give the engineer the camera?!" he exclaimed. And thus the first piece of folklore involving our sweet Adriana Rose was created - I assured the new grandpa that we'll be re-telling this story for the next thirty years, about how Rick deleted the first photo of his daughter holding his granddaughter.

Congratulations, Stacy and Jessie. Welcome to the world, Miss Adriana. I love you all so very, very much.

It's been years since I've looked for a job, but...

2012-01-20T18:25:00.000-05:00

I'm going to spend part of my weekend updating my resume and writing a cover letter. And I'll probably go out and buy a professional suit of some sort. I may dye my hair blonde.

Monday morning, I'm going to walk into my boss's office in my new professional suit, complete with heels and hose and lipstick, and I'm going to hand him my resume and my cover letter and I'm going to give him all the reasons he should give me this new position that's suddenly become available - the position I've been aiming for for the last 3 years, the one that I never thought would be open so soon, the job that will put me one step closer to being able to realize the financial and career goals I've set for myself.

Unfortunately, two weeks ago, when I suggested myself for this job, his immediate response was "No". This resulted in a lot of anger and frustration on my part, which was partly relieved when I sat down with him the next day and explained how offended I was by his dismissal. He told me, in so many words, that I'm a bad manager, and until I learn to delegate, he can't move me up. Fuck.

So I, that very day, gave our assistant a big fat pile of bullshit work that ties me up for hours every morning. I've been terrified to turn this shit over, because like all bad managers who don't delegate, I assume no one else can do it right and so I keep doing it myself even though it eats up way too much of my time every single day. And you know what happened? She got it the very first day. Go figure. I've had to correct a few minor things, but she's got it. And I don't have it hanging over my head anymore. Hmm. Maybe there's something to this delegating shit. When it comes down to it, there's nothing remarkable about the work that I do. There's just a lot to it, and it's a lot for one person to juggle. I think I can find a way to make it all happen without me being in the office each day.

I want this job. I want it because I already have relationships with my customers. I know them, they know me. They trust and respect me, and they think I do a good job for them. Why shouldn't I be the one to go to them and propose new ways our company can service their needs?

I've never wanted to sell things. My dad started his career as a manager for a manufacturing company, and when that company forced him to resign (so they could hire two young guns with degrees for a fraction of his salary), he decided to pursue a career he'd always imagined he'd enjoy - selling cars. That was 1993. He's still selling cars, and he's damned good at it. He's a good listener, and he's honest, and he cares about his reputation and the people who are driving the vehicles he sells. Because of that, something like 95% of his business comes from repeat customers and referrals.

Daddy instilled in me that sense of customer service. I've used it to my great advantage so far, but never imagined it would lead to sales. I never wanted it to lead to sales. I've said very clearly I DON'T WANT TO SELL THINGS. Who wants to spend days on the road, cold-calling on potential customers, having doors slammed in their faces over and over again? Not me.

This isn't that, though. This is (mostly) calling on current customers, people I know and with whom I already have relationships. There's travel involved, sure, but a night or two a way from home every few weeks won't kill us. Jimi and I spend every waking non-working moment together, and have only been apart for two nights in the last 5 years - I think we can handle a little time away from each other every now and then. (Granted, we both slept like shit those two nights, and missed each other like crazy, but still...) And there will be cold-calling, and plenty of "NO"s, but that's just business, and well, business is just business - it's not personal.

I need to have more opportunity to grow and show how awesome I can be, and I'm never going to be able to do that in my current position. I would be fan-fucking-tastic in this job, and I deserve it. I want it.

I'm going to go get it.

Boot camp and me, we're friends.

2012-01-17T20:52:00.000-05:00

I'm diggin' this boot camp shiz, yo. It's hard as hell, and tonight, when we did box jumps for two minutes after rowing 500 meters in 2 minutes, I wanted to quit so bad, but I didn't, and I busted out 5 more and then the timer went off and we stopped and my brain felt like it was going to blow up. But it didn't. And so I went and did the next round of torture.

One of the trainers said, "The best feeling is when you're finished and you walk out that door and you know you've pushed yourself." Lots of murmurs of agreement and head nods between swigs from water bottles. "I don't know," I piped up, because I can't help but try to be the center of attention, "drinkin' that beer while soaking in that tub after I get home feels pretty damn good." And then he told my partner to give me extra resistance on the next round of exercises. He was just mad that I was right.

How many times has your man just not come home?

2012-01-17T11:25:00.000-05:00

A friend asked me that the other day, while telling me about her new break-up. Six, was her answer. Zero was mine. I'd kill him. To not come home, to just disappear for an entire night, with no phone call or "Hey, I'm staying at so-and-so's tonight" - cannot even imagine.

Another woman I know is in a long distance relationship - she says he's the best thing that's ever happened to her, that he's wonderful and is better to her than she ever imagined a man could be. But every couple of weeks, he stops answering her calls or returning her texts. For up to four days at a time. Most recently at Christmas and New Year. There's always some lame explanation - he was sick or busy at work. Too sick or busy to text "I love you, but I feel like shit and can't talk because my throat hurts"?

Our administrative assistant has not been in the honeymoon phase since her wedding last July - her husband has a drinking problem and regularly becomes belligerent and mean. Yesterday, she told me how the weekend was good, and how he's trying to turn over a new leaf and be a better husband to her. Last night, he didn't come home.

So. This is a normal thing? This is common? I wouldn't have thought so, but dang, there seems to be a lot of it going around. How often does your husband/wife/partner not come home at night? How many times have you stayed up till the wee hours of the morning, praying he'll pick up before the next ring, or that you'll hear his key in the door at any moment? How many times have you wondered, "Should I call the police? The hospitals?"

I had one boyfriend one time who did something similar. He came home, he just came home very very late. He'd been fucking another chick, of course, but I didn't learn that until many months later. I was so relieved he wasn't dead, my anger was quenched by his bullshit story about playing some video game with his brother and falling asleep on the couch.

My ex-husband never did that, though. Jimi's never done it either. That's childish inconsiderate cruel unacceptable behavior. Grown-ups don't do shit like that.

Leftovers

2012-01-15T12:56:00.001-05:00

I want Judge Judy to adopt me and let me live in her awesome 14-acre Connecticut chalet and cook in her gourmet kitchen and play piano in her white formal living room. (Kim texted me last Sunday morning and said CBS's Sunday Morning was featuring the Judge and I rushed to the television - I love Sunday Morning, but I also love silence on Sunday mornings, so the television was not already on and tuned in.) I've been a loyal Judge Judy watcher for years, and now I want to be her adopted granddaughter. I'll bet she give great birthday gifts.

My boss keeps giving me shit about the political stuff I'm sharing or reposting or stating on Facebook. I told him I'll try to make sure I block him from those posts going forward.

I'm trying to sync my phone to the laptop for the first time since we got it back from the computer doctor. I'm afraid. I hate it when things don't work the way they're supposed to - viruses, hiccups, lost data - and then I get scared that it'll do it again and I don't want to bother with it. But we live in a digital age, and I've gotta deal with it, right?

Pictures that I meant to post in 2011 but didn't get to because the computer got sick:

Do you remember the big green building up the way from work?

It's all gone now.

~~~~~~~~~~

One building, three filters.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hi pretty puppy!

~~~~~~~~~~

A week or so before Christmas, Jimi and Steve and I had lunch and then spent part of the afternoon wandering through the Highlands, browsing in the eclectic little shops.

I've always romanticized the idea of this aimless strolling,

up and down Bardstown Road,

without a care in the world.

I haven't carved much time out to participate in this ritual,

but I always enjoy it thoroughly when I do.

There's a store called Why Louisville.

It was my first time there, and I loved it.

I found myself wishing there were more out-of-towners on my shopping list -

this store is perfect if you want to give someone a small taste of this awesome town.

And then there was this:

Me too, buddy. Me too.

~~~~~~~~~~

When I was a child, the arrival of the Christmas season was heralded by the arrival onto Granny's dining room table of a wooden bowl full of in-the-shell mixed nuts. For the next six weeks or so, Papaw would crack and pick through that bowl non-stop - the cracking would be the periods and commas dividing up his verbal thoughts as we played Skip Bo or Riddle Me Riddle Me Ree. This year, I bought a set of crackers and pickers and a bag of in-the-shell mixed nuts - I felt like a grown-up, continuing on family traditions. (I'm pretty sure I bought a set of these when I was married, but what happened to those is anyone's guess.)

~~~~~~~~~~

We'd intended to go out of town for New Year's weekend, but of course, we were sick, so that didn't happen. We spent most of New Year's Eve watching the Twilight Zone marathon on SciFi, but Angie sent a text asking what we were doing, so we scooped her up and headed to Cafe Mimosa for sushi.

At one point, I looked past Angie and saw the two couples at the tables behind her. Of course I'd noticed them come in, but I hadn't gotten the full effect of them sitting right next to each other.

"Don't look now, but Mad Men just met Jersey Shore, right here in Louisville."

And then Angie went on a tirade about people who dress stupid to get attention and then get mad when people stare and how if they don't want people to look at them they shouldn't dress stupid. (I've gotta figure out how to post that shit.)

~~~~~~~~~~

During our sickness, we sought the much-loved comfort of Vietnam Kitchen.

Their magical healing spicy noodle soup is exactly what Jimi needed.

(And they have an asparagus crap soup that is out of this world!)

(Really, everything there is awesome. I just can't eat most of it because I'm picky.)

Anyhow, so we went in search of soup, and we also found this:

It's a pomegranate tree. Complete with pomegranates.

The owner says someone gave it to them years ago as a gift and they didn't know what it was

until it started growing fruit.

I want a pomegranate tree.

~~~~~~~~~~

And now, scenes from The Drum Plant:

I sorta want to have some of these printed.

And hang them on my office walls.

I may just do that.

The End.

How to bathe a cat.

2012-01-13T12:51:00.000-05:00

I washed the cat last night. No, that's not a euphemism. We gave the cat a bath because he has fleas and fucking Frontline is a lying bullshit meany-head that doesn't work. I don't think the bath has completely solved our problems, but it's a good start, and I didn't even get gouged or clawed. No blood! YAY! Not bad, considering it was the first time Q has ever been subjected to such horrors.

We took a "he has big claws and is going to cut the fuck out of us" approach at first, which is probably always a good idea when bathing a cat that hasn't had the first knuckle of each toe surgically removed. It went something like this: Fill the bathtub with water. Add one large beach towel and wet thoroughly. Remove towel from water, and quickly drape over unsuspecting cat. Rub well to soak all fur, on top and under the animal. Remove towel from cat, allow cat to dart to door and paw under it frantically in search of an escape route. Apply generous squirt of flea shampoo directly to cat's back. Lather. Ignore wails and yowls. Don't think about the fact that you're standing in a quarter inch of water in the middle of your bathroom floor. (*If you don't have tile floors, you might want to re-vamp these directions.) Once cat is fully lathered from head to tail, stand back and watch him try to get the hell out of the bathroom. Don't let him groom himself; licking flea shampoo can't be a good idea. After 5 minutes, pick up cat and, with your hand firmly around the base of his head and facing his claws away from your body, immerse cat into bathtub full of water. HOLD YOUR GRIP!!! It's a good idea to have the water deep enough to fully submerge the cat, but if you don't have that going on, you can sorta use your forearm to hold his back down while splashing water and rubbing out the shampoo. It helps to have a second person standing by with a cup or bowl or something to scoop and pour water - your hands are mostly busy making sure those claws don't get an opportunity to fuck you up. Remove cat from water and wrap immediately in large towel.

Q was traumatized. He hates being held upside down, on his back, like a baby, but I held him that way in that towel for a good five minutes, kissing his kitty neck and telling him he was a good boy. His eyes were wide and he was looking at me with an expression that said, "What. the fuck. was that?" And then I put him on the floor and unwrapped the towel, and beheld his little rat-like appearance - he was every meme picture of a wet cat that's ever been posted on the internet, right there in my living room. And then he darted down the stairs to groom and sulk in private. I found him an hour later on the club chair in the basement, licking his used-to-be-balls, one leg in the air over his head, back fur still wet and wild, tail still rat-like. He purred when I scratched behind his ears, though, so at least he doesn't hate me.

Altruistic gestures.

2012-01-10T20:54:00.000-05:00

Jimi sent me an email this afternoon: "Want me to have an epsom salt bath waiting for you at 8 o'clock?"

Tonight was my first full boot camp class. He's so sweet, right?

I went to class. I worked out really really hard. I walked through the door at ten till 8.

He was up and at 'em right away - "What can I get you? Want me to start a bath? Are you hungry?" I was a little overwhelmed with the attention. I walked around a little bit, trying to get used to this strange feeling in my muscles - I'm not used to that post-workout jelly feeling. It's pretty new to me. I kinda like it.

"Yeah, okay, I want a bath." I started the water, he went after the epsom salts. I got my book and a beer (ha!) and climbed in. He sat on the toilet and rubbed my back down with a homemade tonic of his - witch hazel, tea tree oil, eucalyptus oil. He told me to lay back, to relax.

And then he reached over my head, and from the shower caddy he withdrew my razor, and laid it on the side of the tub.

"You know, just in case you were feeling up to it, now's a good opportunity..."

Someone just lost all their banked blowjob points.

Here, let's try this...

2012-01-08T11:42:00.000-05:00

On a lark, I bought a $29 Groupon for a month of unlimited Boot Camp classes. Orientation was yesterday - we did less than a minute each of reverse lunges, pushups, ab twists, pull-ups, squats, planks...and there was something else, but I've blocked it out apparently. I was jelly at the end. How I'm going to make it through 45 minutes of this - or how I'll walk the next day - is beyond me. My shoulders, my ass, my knees - oh ouch! That means good things are happening, though, and that's the entire point.

pretend this is my first post of 2012

2012-01-04T19:52:00.002-05:00

GAH!

i just don't have any words, i guess. got nothing to say. not a thing.

i get locked up. i have all these thoughts inside my head, but when it comes to putting them here, in words, i get stuck. i can't say anything, and everything i try to say comes out all wrong and dumb and so i delete it or just flip back to facebook and pretend i didn't have anything i wanted to blog about anyhow.

which i don't, or i'd do it. i think.

i'm four days late and not pregnant. there's no way i can possibly convey how thoroughly this is fucking with my head. i thought i might have been, for a second. thought maybe our timing was right. maybe i'd be huge this summer. i had a dream, you see - there was a little fat baby boy in my living room under my love tree and in front of my fireplace at christmastime, and i was confused, because, of course, there's no baby. but then i turned (still dreaming), and i was facing myself in the mirror, and i had a realization: i'm pregnant, it's a boy, and his name is braden. it seemed crazy when i woke up (i'd never name my boy braden, unless i had turned out to be knocked up, in which case it would've seemed dangerous to name him something else), but it also gave me a niggling hope in the back of my mind. false hope, turns out, which is typical, but this four days late thing is mean and i hate it and i just want to get the fucking thing over with already.

and today my boss fired the dude who replaced the last guy who left - remember a few months ago when i was all "yay! opportunity!"? well, it's turned into a lot of extra work that's resulted in me feeling, again, like i suck at my job because i don't have enough time in a day to get it all done. i had these awesome plans to take us on an awesome vacation when i get my bonus this year, but i didn't accomplish any of my goals for the year, well maybe one, so the bonus i was counting on is right out the window and so's that awesome vacation. and what's the point anyhow, because when i'm on vacation, i still have to check emails and take phone calls and go into the office to do billing, so what's the fucking point? may as well just go to work. and now he's fired the guy who was taking up at least a little of the slack over there and joked "ready to do some more work?" ha ha. hi-fucking-larious. i'm terrified i'm going to end up laughing my way to the poor house when i quit or the nut hatch because i stay - actually, i've got insurance that covers mental breakdowns - and if it was work-induced, that'd be a worker's comp thing, right? hmm...

i shouldn't joke about mental illness, but i was feeling pretty good until i started writing all this shit that's been bothering me, and now i'm crying again. i think i've got the winter blues bad. i don't even have a real reason to be sad - boo hoo, poor me, i have this job with lots of responsibility and a steady income that i can spend however i wish because i don't have any kids that have to be diapered and put into daycare.

i am crazy, aren't i? fuck.

may as well throw it all out there - part of my dive into the sads was in part due to the fact that there was no proposal this past holiday season. i had that hope in the back of my head too, like the baby thing, whispering at me from the dark hidden corners of my mind where i force shit like that to go and live. i asked for a will for christmas, one that protects my interest in our home if he dies. i told him it was the only thing i wanted. when i learned it wasn't going to be under the tree, i allowed my dumbass to think, for a moment, that maybe he had something better planned? nope. he just didn't get around to getting a will made. fuck. he's not the type to disappoint me, but i was disappointed, and hurt, and very deeply sad.

this is getting borderline too personal, and for me to recognize that probably means i should stop writing about it.

so yeah. that's where my head has lived for the past week or so. while i was sick. at home. on "vacation", with no computer.

mostly. that's mostly where my head has lived. there's been good, too. like, i've taken finn for a walk every day this year, except monday because it was bitterly windy and cold and i just couldn't bring myself to do it. i haven't smoked since monday, either, which is awesome and GO ME! and i got on the scale the this morning and i'm down to 169 - that's the lowest number i've seen on a scale in, oh, i don't know, like 8 years? GO ME! i'm encouraged and feel like losing another 25 lbs maybe isn't impossible...i lost that much in 2011, i could do it again in 2012, right? and i know he loves me; he shows me every single day, in a hundred little and huge ways. and we spent new year's eve with angie at the chinese restaurant featuring a mix of mad men and jersey shore clientele and then shot off six bottle rockets in the front yard at midnight, and we spent new year's day with my momma at the flea market. and my house is pretty clean. and we did get the computer back. and i've got like 6 bottles of wine from trader joe's, and i can drink it all if i want because i ain't preggo. (but i won't, because i really do see a correlation between teh booze and teh fat. i lose more weight when i don't drink an extra 600 calories each night. duh.)

life is good. it is. it gets hard sometimes, and then i get sad, and then i come here to bitch and cry and whine and moan, and then i remember how good it is, even when it's hard.

happy new year, people who are awesome.

O Hi

2012-01-02T17:51:00.000-05:00

On day 2 of my vacation, the computer got a virus. It has been out of commission for days. No facebook, no blogs, no Sims 3. Most of the laundry is finished, I've vacuumed every floor in my house (twice), and my sink is empty of dishes. Unfortunately, that's about all that got accomplished, because I too also got the sickies. Then Jimi got sick. And I've been fighting the post-Christmas winter blahs.

Ugh.

We'll chat soon, okay?

Birthday breakdown

2011-12-27T12:41:00.000-05:00

How was your Christmas? I hope it was magical and full of love and happiness.

It feels like we've been celebrating for four days straight, and I'm a little over it. I loved every moment, don't get me wrong, but this girl likes to sit at home and do nothing, remember? Holidays are not conducive for sitting around and doing nothing.

Friday, of course, was Jimi's 40th birthday. Knowing Friday was going to be a little crazy, I gave him his gift Thursday night:

It's a banjo-ukulele. He's stoked.

He tuned and played and played and tuned for the rest of the night...

Oh Yeah. Friday was Finn's birthday, too. (Not really - his birthday is ACTUALLY some time in January, but Jimi decided that 12/23 and January-something are close enough for gov'ment work, so forever forward, Jimi and Finnegan will share a birthday.) Finn's three now! YAY! Of course, he got a present, too:

Stinky Pete, was the toy's name - he's a skunk. Highly appropriate for our boy. Pete's still around, but his tail has sprayed its stuffing all over my living room.

When Friday finally came, I spent the morning shopping for Mom & Dad & Brother, because I am on the ball and wait until Christmas Eve Eve for that sort of thing. I wanted to try to Shop Local this year if possible, and so I headed downtown to Market Street, to a district they're trying to re-brand as NULU, or New Louisville. (In answer, I imagine, to the artsy district known as Old Louisville, where the old Victorian houses live.) Despite their efforts at pretension, I love NULU and the artsy-fartsy feel of it.

There's garden nestled between a parking lot and an art gallery.

I guess they had way too many tomatoes this year? There are a few left on these vines.

We love our bourbons here in Kentucky. :)

I finished my shopping for Momma, but Daddy and Brother still needed gifts. Jimi was scheduled to work till 6 p.m., but was lucky enough to be one of four to get sent home early. Even though I'd already made my way back home, we headed out again toward NULU; Jimi was starving, so we went to The Bodega at Felice, home of Lobster Bisque Fridays. YAY! Bossman gave me a gift card for Christmas and I was ready to get my eat on.

There's a small vineyard in their side yard.

The button on his jacket was a gift from his work-wife, Barb.

It says "In case of Zombie Apocalypse, Follow Me!"

Lobster Bisque and Grilled Cheese

I was really sad about the spilled soup, and I sure did use my spoon to save every last drop possible.

I would've licked the plate, but I didn't want to embarrass Jimi.

Fish Tacos

After lunch, we shopped a bit, but the hats I'd had my eye on for Daddy weren't his size, and I wasn't seeing anything that would work for Brother. We left NULU and headed for the Highlands, where I knew I could at least score a skateboard. It was what Brother really wanted, and even though it was more than I wanted to spend, I had a feeling it'd be totally worth the extra money to see the excitement on his face. (I was completely right about that, by the way.) By the time that purchase was wrapped up, we were out of daylight, and I was starting to panic about Daddy's gift, but hey, that's what Christmas Eve is for, right?

Friday night, our buddy Scott Anthony was playing piano and singing in a 12-piece Steely Dan cover band. Before the doors, we went with Steve to La Que for over-peppered lettuce cups. (The over-peppered part wasn't part of the original plan.)

While we were waiting for our food, Jimi says "That's a very pretty flower there behind Steve." Steve turned around and was in awe - apparently, this plant is called Crown of Thorns, and Steve, who is super plant-smart, says, "Holy crap, that's a Crown of Thorns. I've never seen one in bloom." We spent the next few minutes trying to get a non-blurry, non-blinding picture of the beautiful plant.

I suggested we just take it, but they wouldn't let me. Boys never want to have fun like girls do.

I don't know why he was making this face.
I'm sure there was a funny story involved.

I nearly ruined our night before it had much chance to get started. When we arrived at Headliners, I got the idea that I didn't want to haul my purse around. I pulled out my valet key, my wallet, my phone and my smokes. I popped the trunk from the inside, then used the regular key to lock the trunk release. I got out of the car and went around to the trunk, where I deposited my purse and my daily keys before shutting the hatch. Then I walked back up to the driver's side and locked the car. I was swinging the door closed, when BOOM! Sense hit me like a sledge - WAIT! What if the valet key doesn't unlock the door?! I stopped the momentum of the closing door, fit the key into the lock and turned - nothing. It wouldn't turn. My belly sank. Fuck. Probably won't open the trunk either, huh? Nope. Steve asked if the valet key will start the car, and it will, and he asked if we've got a spare house key we can get to at home, and we do, so we shrugged our shoulders and went in to listen to the music.

I don't know Steely Dan music, but apparently this group was spot-on. I enjoyed it, even if I didn't recognize all but two songs. Lisa, Scott's fiance and Jimi's "sissy", was beautiful as always, and Scott was gettin' down up there on stage.

There was no way to tell Steve, "Yes,
I want a picture of me & Jimi. But I also
want you to get my skinny jeans and suede boots in the shot."

I woke up Saturday morning and went on a tear looking for my spare key, the one that's not the valet key. I remembered using it last winter, but I hadn't seen it in months. We emptied drawers and closets, old bags and purses, change jars and mail organizers. "Would it be upstairs for any reason?" Jimi asked. "No, I don't think so," I replied. Of course it was upstairs. On the coffee table, right where it belongs. All was well with the world, as my purse and regular keys were freed from the trunk of my car.

It was a freakin' Christmas Miracle.

Speaking of Christmas, guess I'll talk about that next time. This post is pretty epic. :)

Merry Birthday

2011-12-23T15:01:00.001-05:00

All the words get all clogged up when I try to say them.

Jimi's 40. I've got a lot of thoughts and feeling associated with that milestone; maybe one day I'll blog about them. I keep trying and failing miserably. Mostly, i'm just hoping those first forty years represent only the first third of his life. And that I'm around for the next 2/3.

It's like a magic trick, this still-madly-in-love-after-5-years thing. If I'm not able to convey anything else with my posts here, let it be that I love my man whole-heartedly and without reserve. Seeing him unexepectedly, from around a corner at home or down the aisle at a store, still makes my heart skip a beat - like reality paused for a second so the rest of the world could catch up and recognize "OH! There's my other part."

Sleeping rodents

2011-12-20T19:14:00.001-05:00

There's a dead squirrel in my driveway.

I'm going to ignore it and hope something carries it off by morning. Because I am classy and humane like that.

(Actually, I mentioned it to Jimi in hopes that he'd man up and take care of it, whatever that may entail, but he said, "It'll be gone by morning, with all the cats and stuff roaming around." Alrighty then. You're the boss. And there's no fucking way I'm touching a dead squirrel.)

Just remembered the cat's outside, nearly puked at the idea of him eating a dead squirrel, and ran to the door. Fat lazy bastard was chillin' on the stoop, like a good kitty does. No blood on his chops, either. Yay!

I'll keep you posted on the developing story.

UPDATE: 16 hours later, the squirrel is still there. Jimi's gonna have to get a shovel.

Sundays are my favorite.

2011-12-18T18:11:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I think about some of the things I've written about Mormon women and realize I've got it mostly wrong - they're much more than the box I put them into when I first started learning more than what the missionaries teach. If I've offended you, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be an asshole, but sometimes I am.

I made some amazing vegetable soup last night. Remember the brisket Jimi made for work and then wasn't going to share? He brought some home. It was delicious, and then it became soup, along with the last can of green beans and the last can of corn and some old potatoes that were starting to turn soft and a jar of tomato juice someone gave us back in the summer. There were other things too, of course, but you don't want all the details, do you? I was particularly proud of this batch, because I though I needed to make a trip to the grocery to make it happen, then just pulled together what we had and made it work instead. Very frugal and smart of me, if I do say so myself. Jimi made pretzel bread rolls and they are delicious, but they were finished too late to marry up with the soup - they'll meet tonight! I guess we're on a baking kick, because I also made a pumpkin german chocolate cake, but we've only shared one piece of that.

This morning I got up and started on laundry, only to find we were out of detergent. So I made some more, at 7:30 a.m.. Like a boss. I've said it before, but I'll say it again - that shit feels like making money. Putting together a batch of laundry detergent that is as good or better than something I'd pay nearly $20 for at the store - it feels awesome. I wish I could be more go-get-'em when it comes to other aspects of my life.

For example: Bossman's birthday was yesterday. I decided a week or so ago that part of my gift to him was going to be some awesome fudge. I made the fudge today, because I'm all on the ball and shit. So I start making the fudge, add the evaporated milk and butter and sugar to the pot, bring to a boil, then reduce heat and wait for it to get to soft boil. It nearly boiled over. It was in a 3-quart saucepan, as required per the recipe. Something didn't look right. I thought. I pondered. I calculated in my head. And I realized, FUCK, I have WAY too much evaporated milk in there. I checked the label on the can - sure as shit, my recipe called for (2) 5-oz cans and I'd added (2) 12-oz cans. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. I considered dumping it all out the back door, but then calculated some more and figured there was already too much invested to give up. I hollered for Jimi and set him to task buttering more foil in another 9X13 while I found another two and a half sticks of butter and 5+ cups of sugar. By chance, my habit of over-buying paid off this time - I had exactly enough chocolate on-hand to make this thing work.

I'm really glad I caught my mistake when I did - if not, and chocolate and such had been added, disaster would've ensued. As it stands, the fudge has firmed up beautifully, and the worst sin may be that I failed to add enough nuts. I'll take it.

Other noteworthy items: I purchased 2 lbs. of whole, in-the-shell nuts, along with a cracker and some picks. Do you know what I'm talking about? Part of Christmas memories from my childhood will always include my Papaw, sitting at the dining room table, shelling nuts and shoving them in his mouth as quickly as they could be freed from their hulls. He taught me how to do it. I think Bob and I tried to recreate this tradition once-upon-a-time, but what may have happened to that set of crackers and picks is anyone's guess - I'm glad to have a new set for my new life, to remind me of another time when I was as happy as I am now.

Granny and Papaw were part of the definition of Christmas when I was learning the meaning of the season. Every Christmas Eve was spent at their home, opening presents, feasting gluttonously, singing joyfully. It seemed that the heart of the entire world must have grown three sizes each year simply from the good tidings radiating from their home. I miss them so much. Christmas lost part of its magic when we lost them.

But it's still mostly happy and joyful. The circle of life, and all that. Stacy was over last night - she's got five weeks till her due date. Five weeks! We'll blink and that brand new little girl will be here. I can't wait to meet her. I was able to feel a knee or a foot or something last night as it pressed out the side of Stacy's belly; there's a whole another person inside of her - it's mind-blowing. Stacy was wearing a much-too-big for her ICP t-shirt left over from her college days and a pair of baggy gray sweats. She looked super comfortable, and not even a little pregnant, unless you know she's normally the size of a twig.

We've rearranged more furniture and I've finally repotted the aloe plant and the bromeliad - there's a good chance neither will survive the transfer, but we'll see. Fingers crossed.

I asked my cousins via Facebook if our grandmother, Mamaw (my Daddy's Momma), had a good singing voice - if anyone remembered. No one remembers her singing. I asked Daddy, too - he doesn't remember either. For some reason, that strikes me as tragically sad. Was she sad? Is that why she didn't sing? Or was she shy, or did she just not carry a tune? Her life was hard and fraught with loss, but beyond that, I don't know much. I know she made great fried chicken, according to Daddy, and amazing banana pudding. What did she love, though? What made her happy? My most vivid memory of her involves her tears of frustration as she tried to communicate with me; I was 9 or so, Brother was a new baby, and she had already suffered a stroke or two and her verbal skills were very much affected. I remember at her funeral, Daddy hugged me and told me that my Mamaw had loved me very much - I remember wishing she'd not been such a stranger to me, though it was obviously through no fault of her own.

Christmas cheer, eh?

Sorry.

The weekends go by so quickly - it's already 6 o'clock on Sunday night, which means I'll be awake and starting my workday in 12 hours or so. Fuck.

It's fine, though. Monday through Thursday this week, they can have me. After that, I'm gone - off for 11 days. 11 DAYS!!! OMG, I cannot wait! I don't know how I'll spend the time, but it'll not be answering phone calls in the middle of the night or putting out fires before my first cup of coffee. I fully intend to at least finish reading the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and these two new-to-me classic anti-Mormon autobiographies (Deborah Laake and Sonia Johnson) drunk-me bought me for Christmas last week.

Happy Week-Before-Christmas! May the Force be with you this week as you navigate the malls and shops. (And remember, Buy Local!)

Facebook

2011-12-17T01:26:00.000-05:00

Who wants to be Facebook friends?

I'm gonna be way sad if I don't have any new friend requests in the morning.

Christmas Songs by Natalie

2011-12-17T00:48:00.000-05:00

Oh, Christmas Party,
Oh Christmas Party,
How lovely is your open bar.

Oh Christmas Party,
Oh Christmas Party,
your menu offers shit like tuna tartar. (WTF?)

I drink and eat,
'til my eyeballs sweat,
then smoke a fag,
till dessert is served.

Oh Christmas Party
Oh Christmas Party,
I love that Bossman pays your tab.

There. I made you a Christmas song. You're welcome.

Do you eat foie gras? I don't. No thanks. Our restaurant tonight had grilled foie gras on the menu. I'm not an organ-meat sort of gal.

Well, unless you're talking about...

God, I just can't have class. me and class were just never meant to be friends.

I was lookin' cute tonight, though, if i do say so myself. I finally wore that crocheted vintage skirt Jimi bought me back in 2007 - turns out it's the hotness with a pair of tights and suede boots. Who knew? (Jimi, apparently, but we're not going to talk about how he's always right.)

So yeah, tonight was the company Christmas dinner, and it was fantastic, as always, and probably scarily expensive, as usual. It was fun and gay, and I wish there was a way we could do this every month, instead of once a year. The good tidings and joy are overflowing.

I should go to bed before I get some of it on the carpet.

'tis the Season for assholes to try to ruin my goodwill toward men.

2011-12-15T18:30:00.001-05:00

On Sunday afternoon, I was chillin' in my living room and looked up to see through my window that two police officers were leading a K9 through my front yard.

WTF, man?

"Um, Jimi, why are there cops with a dog in our front yard?"

I had a conversation with Angie a few weeks back about how nice it is to be one of those people who sees a cop and doesn't immediately think "Oh shit, RUN!" She told a story of how she'd been letting her dogs out one morning and a US Marshall came around the corner, and instead of "Oh fuck" she thought, "Hmm, wonder who he's looking for?"

I consider myself to be part of that group with her - I don't automatically assume the po-po is after me when I see them near. However, when I looked out my window and saw two officers in full uniform leading a dog, I was a little taken aback.

After they let their dog take a nice shit in our yard, they moved on down the street, then up the block on the other side and around again. I figured maybe they were looking for someone - they certainly weren't looking for me or mine.

Today, I came home to a letter from a neighbor, sandwiched between some Christmas gifts recently delivered via UPS:

I am one of your neighbors, and I live at (the house down the block from yours).

Sunday, about 3:00 in the afternoon, my wife and daughter came home from a Christmas shopping trip. They parked the car in our driveway and started getting bags out of the trunk of the car. They had their backs turned to the street, and were talking to each other. A young man approached them from behind, threatedned them with a gun and asked them for money, and then ran up (my street) toward (awesome park across the road). The police responded quickly and professionally, but are not likely to find the robber. Both my wife and my daughter are unhurt, but we are upset this could happen in our neighborhood.

He goes on to say that he's writing this letter to make sure we're all aware of what's going on in our neighborhood, and invites us all to his home for a neighborhood open house on Sunday to discuss the situation and what we can do to protect our 'hood.

Holy fucksticks, this is terrifying! I feel safe in this home - I come home from work and leave the back door wide open, I take Finn for walks and leave the doors unlocked, I don't lock my car doors.

When we lived on Camp Street, some ya-hoo, the week of Thanksgiving, threw a brick through our kitchen window and relieved us of two laptops, two cell phones, and a shotgun. Jimi has had nightmares about the horrible things that could've happened with that shotgun, which belonged to his late father. I was pissed that our shit had been stolen, and that someone could be so fucking brazen as to throw a motherfucking BRICK through OUR window and come into OUR home and take OUR things! And I felt violated because the perp had touched of our stuff, like the clothes in the closet and the sheets on the bed. From that day, until we moved out a few years later, I hid our things before we left for work - anything of value was hidden in a new place each morning. Some days that really sucked, because my memory sucks, and you haven't seen a pissed off Natalie until you've seen one who can't remember where she hid the fucking laptop.

Thank goodness for Finn. At least he serves as a good deterrent to any would-be invaders. That, and the samurai ninja warriors with laser guns who live in the basement - they'll cut a motherfucker down.

Be careful out there, peeps. Assholes are everywhere, and some of them want to steal your shit because they're too fucking lazy to get jobs and earn some nice things for themselves. And remember, if you are faced with one of those assholes, unless you're AT LEAST a black belt in something, it's probably a good idea to just let them have your credit cards and your gucci bag and your kid's tickle-me-elmo - they make more of those things, but there's only one of you.

Be safe!

In other news...2

2011-12-14T18:42:00.000-05:00

It hit over 60 degrees today.
In case you've forgotten, it's December 14th.
I'm not complaining, just stating facts...in a sarcastic tone and with a confused look on my face.
I'd really like a white Christmas, but that ain't lookin' likely.
Maybe I filled my white Christmas quota when I was living in Michigan.

Jimi slow-roasted a brisket last night. At 3:30 a.m., his phone started making gadowful noises, and you'll never believe this, but he made it do that on purpose! So at three thirty, his alarm goes off and I'm all "OMGWTFKITTENS?!" and he's all "Gotta check the meat" and so I went to go pee. Have you ever been awake at 3:30 in the morning when there's a brisket roasting in your oven? My house smells fucking delicious, yo. (Of course, it's not 3:30 now, but it does still smell delicious in here. I hope he brings some home - see, it was for work, and so I did not get to taste not one little morsel of the delicious-smelling meat. Sad face.) Anyhow, he checked his meat and came back to bed and gave me a big hug and kiss and for a second I thought he was gonna try to get some sexy time started and I was thinking "oh hell, it's 3:30 in the morning, but what the hell, okay. but man, I'm so sleepy" but it didn't matter, because he just wanted to kiss me and cuddle a little. His hair smelled like meat. I was really hungry when I woke up this morning.

I'm hungry now. I'm thinking something easy, like tomato soup and grilled cheese. Or leftover pizza from lunch. Like I said, easy is the name of the game.

I've done a little Christmas shopping, but I'm not nearly finished. It'll be a busy weekend, or a busy week next week, or a busy Christmas Eve...

We're reading The Lord of the Rings trilogy, and it's awesome. Have I ever mentioned how much I love that Jimi's a reader? I love it. I love that we read the same books, each of us choosing a different marker, and have a "i'll get to the end faster than you!" thing going on.

I love everything about him. He's dreamy.

Oh, and Finn chewed the face off of one of the reindeer under the Christmas tree. I'm pretty sure it's the Jimi-reindeer, not the Natalie-reindeer. Poor Jimi-reindeer.