Sunday, October 31, 2010

Tee Hee

Last night's blog entry was fun, eh?  Reading it again today, it smells of tequila.

Last night was a ton of fun.  My only regrets are that we didn't stay longer and that we chose Denny's for our post-party meal.  White Castle would've been a better option, me thinks.  Probably not for poor Jimi, though, so maybe it was for the best.

I piggy-backed Karen most of the way to the car.  We were obnoxious with the police officers standing outside the club; but a good kind of obnoxious, the sort that had them laughing along with us.  There was no threat of handcuffs or pepper spray.

Everyone loved Jimi's costume.  Several people approached and asked to take pictures of/with him.  It was pretty damned impressive - as soon as Karen and Gary wake up today, they should be emailing pics so I will have evidence to back up all this smack I'm talking.

We saw part of the drag show, twice.  I gave a couple of dollars to a man named Hurricane dressed as Tina Turner who sang a song about not being able to eat a big hairy beaver.  A tall black woman came on stage in a barely-there pair of boy shorts and a couple of ammo belts and some big black X's made from electrical tape across her nipples; I don't care if she did have a penis, her body was smokin'.  A couple of guys dressed in elaborate get-ups consisting of black leather and mirrored light-up panels and a scepter and mirrored masks watched the show in front of us, and everyone in our group wondered what they were until Karen and I finally asked - Lady Gaga.  It was a total OH YEAH moment after they told us; once you heard that, it was obvious.  One of the performers in the show was not a drag queen - he was a ridiculously sexy muscular pretty boy with dance moves that made me remember something Tabitha once said to me when we were watching a man dancing at a bar:  "If he can move like on a dance floor, imagine how he moves in bed."  Indeed.  This man was fine, and while he started out his number in jeans and a t-shirt, those were done away with quickly and nothing but a little black g-string remained to protect his privacy.  Watching the huge lines that formed where men and women waited their turn to stuff money into his man panties, I'd say he did quite well for himself last night.  And I wonder how many of those dollar-bill-stuffing hands tried to wander and cop a feel?

We danced a little.  I'm a horrible dancer, but after a few shots of tequila the atmosphere of the place was getting into my blood.  I start watching all these people move to the beat and I can't stop myself from moving too, even if I know I look like a fool. No one else cares if I look like a fool, either; no one is paying attention to me.  I'm invisible.


Jimi's helping Steve put up a fence today.  I'm supposed to be working on work that I've brought home - a month's worth of trailer movements that are supposed to be entered every day but I've not had time so they've just been piling up and now I have to go to another one of those meetings in 2 weeks and getting this shit entered is just the beginning of what i've got to get done and oh my gosh if i think about it too much i might explode...

I'm going to get this one part done.  Then later this week, I'll get the next part done.  And so on and so forth.

And when i finish this part today, i'm probably going to spend the rest of my day getting high and playing Sims 3.  And then I'll eat all the Halloween candy before the trick or treating starts and we won't have anything to give out to the kids and I'll feel like a jerk and they'll egg our house and cars. 

Happy Halloween!
I'm going to try to describe this and it's going to sound ridiculous:

Okay.  Imagine a place where you just are.  You are who you are and no one cares and no one judges and no one looks at you funny for more than half a second and then they're off to the next best thing.  It doesn't matter who you hug and kiss and love on - it's expected and it's accepted.

Even if you're wearing a g-string and you have a penis.

The gay bar is the best place evar.


I need to go there more often, but I'd end up having an affair with a gay man and that can only end poorly.

If there was a costume contest tonight, Jimi would've won it.

I wish there was a way to make Denny's suck less.

I'm going to bed now.  Sweet dreams.

Friday, October 29, 2010

My Momma came over and carved pumpkins with me tonight.  My Momma is so amazing and wonderful and awesome.  We laughed and talked and toasted pumpkin seeds and smoked cigarettes and laughed and got near tears when we started talking about the brother, but we moved away from the topic quickly and continued to talk and laugh and smoke our smokes.

I made a LOVE pumpkin:

Momma made a Lady Liberty that turned out awesome and I'm mad I didn't get a picture of it.  

Then she put on Jimi's mask and danced in the dining room a bit, and I took pictures of that, but it was with her camera, which means those pics will never see the light of the internet.  

I love my Momma.  

OH!  Jimi's costume won the company costume contest.  He's currently putting on the finishing touches before our GAY BAR DEBUT tomorrow night.  There will be many pictures to follow, some how, some way.  

Yes, Grammar is important.

Anne Rice posted a link to this story on her facebook page a little bit ago:

It's about an Arkansas School Board member who is resigning in the wake of an uproar caused by the following comments he made on his personal facebook page:

Seriously they want me to wear purple because five queers killed themselves. The only way im wearin it for them is if they all commit suicide. I cant believe the people of this world have gotten this stupid. We are honoring the face that they sinned and killed thereselves because of their sin. REALLY PEOPLE.

What a cockbag. 

I can see why there was an uproar demanding his resignation.  Even if his words weren't hateful and mean and wrong - I'd sure be pissed if I'd elected a man to sit on the local schoolboard and later learned he communicates using nonwords such as "thereselves". 


Thursday, October 28, 2010

My man is a Wild Thing.

At least, he's gonna be.

The mask is coming along nicely.

There are a few things I need to record for posterity.

I went to the bank today to get some petty cash for work.  When I pulled up, I noticed an older black man in a wheelchair, sitting in the handicapped loading zone in the parking lot, near the sidewalk.  As I got out of my car and started toward the door, he spoke:

"Miss, I was wondering if you had anything you could spare?  I'm trying to get some food from the store over here, and you could even purchase the items yourself, but I'm hungry.  Do you have anything you could help me with?"

My first instinct was to brush him off.  I was in a hurry; it was late in the afternoon and there was a ton of work backing up on my desk back at the office.  But I can't brush past a person asking for money; I sure as hell can't walk past a person asking for a meal.  But I didn't have any money.  I told him as much, as I looked helplessly down at the wallet I carried that had only my debit card, my insurance card, my license - no cash.  No change in my pockets even.  The check I carried was for work.  I was debating how long it would take to run over to the little convenience store and buy him some food, when I suddenly remembered the cash I'd been stuffing into the hidey-hole in my car.  Cash that was there for when I needed money for a parking meter or a garage or a quick bite to eat at some lame fast-food joint.  I told the man to wait, and I dashed back to my car and opened the hidey-hole.  A wad of bills that came to $7, and another wad of four ones.  I grabbed the $7 and left the rest; I gave the bills to the man and told him to enjoy his lunch.

I wonder if that's the only meal he'll eat today?

I should've given him all the bills.

Sometimes all the pain in the world just seems like too much and it takes my breath away.  Jimi told me not to feel guilty for not giving him more; that I gave him what he asked for, that he could buy a loaf of bread and a package of bologna and eat for a few days on less than $7.

I don't feel guilty for not giving him more, necessarily; I feel guilty for having so much.  I've never had to stand in a parking lot or at the entrance to a store and ask strangers for money so I could eat.  I can't imagine what that life would be like; it's tragic and it's unfair and it's wrong.  There is no reason any man, woman, or child should go hungry in this country, in the 21st century.  We all have so much; how can we justify walking past a person hungry or cold on the side of the road without offering up something, some little token or gift or change or even just a smile and a have a nice day?  Those are human beings, real people with real feelings and emotions.  And no matter what circumstances landed them on that street corner or in front of that grocery store or gas station, they are still human beings.  We're all nothing more than a few ill-timed tragedies away from being in their shoes; I sure hope if I ever find myself there, walking that particularly hellish path, I hope I manage to cross some kind souls who would give me their stash of parking garage/fast food mad money.  I hope someone would offer to buy me a meal.  I hope someone would give me a ride, or at the very least that  I'd be able to get together enough bus fare to go somewhere where someone loves me and will take me in until I can get back on my feet.

i think about that shit.  All the time.  And sometimes the amount of pain in this world takes my breath away.


I don't know what political party I technically fall into; I hate a little bit about all of them, I think.  I just want people to do the right thing, for fuck's sake.  I hate the Republicans, not for all of their ideologies, but for their social policies that are nothing more than a hateful rhetoric built upon the fear that someone other than a white-bread Christian Good-Ole' Boy may actually gain a little bit of fucking power in this country.  OH, and heaven fucking forbid our Separation of Church and State-touting Land be marred by the blasphemous idea of giving GAYS the ability to partake in a state-sanctioned union on the basis of religious objections.  Because gay people aren't really people, right?  They're the same as inanimate objects:

I fucking hate the Republican stance on almost all social issues.  I'm ashamed that our country, which has for so long stood as a beacon of freedom in the world, is even having a debate about denying a group of people their fundamental human rights on the basis of ANYTHING.  Haven't we moved past this?  Are you motherfuckers going to keep finding people to hate forever?  Your time is up; hate is out, love is in. And really, you assholes know most of you would be a fuck of a lot happier if homosexuality was openly accepted and you could quit picking up strange men in airport bathrooms and then having to lie to the world and your poor wife about it.  


That's where I'm at right now.  Those are my rants.  Jimi's been working on his mask for hours and it is beginning to take shape.  According to UPS, my costume should be here tomorrow.  This may turn out yet.  But it's 12:30 a.m., and we're supposed to be up at 6.  G'night, Interwebz.  

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

The one about the fight.

We're supposed to go to a few Halloween parties this weekend.  Costume parties, to be more specific.  Which means we have to get some costumes together.  No big deal, right? 

Yeah, right.

I've been saying for two months that I want to be Max, from Where the Wild Things Are.  But I want to be a pink Max.  With pink crown, with sparkles and glitter and sequins.  And a green and pink and purple tail. Jimi said if I dressed up as Max, he'd be one of the Wild Things; the main Wild Thing from the movie, Carol. 

We had long since decided we weren't going to any costume parties and so we've done nothing to get these costumes together.  Then, over the weekend, while we were camping, Karen starts in about these costume parties.  And she wouldn't take no for an answer.  So we let her brow beat us until we agreed to dress up and go with her and Gary.

So Monday night, we went to Hancock Fabrics and spent an insane amount of money on fabric and thread and zippers and scissors and foam and hot glue sticks and patterns.  I bought 5 yards of this awesome pink fleece to make footie-esque pajamas (but they don't need the feet, because I was going to wear my red Chucks with my costume - Max wears black ones in the movie).  Jimi found some great fur-like fabric to make his top and a patterned fabric that will be perfect as his pants.  We still need feather boas to make his mane and my tail, but we were off to a good start.  We came home with our purchases, planning to start in on the cutting and pinning and sewing Tuesday night.  Karen was going to come to help. 

But then I got home from work last night.  (Tuesday)  I put some things away and cleared off the dining room table so we'd have a good workspace.  I pulled out the pattern for my costume...

...and realized I have no fucking clue how to sew.  The pattern?  May as well have been written in Aramaic.  Now, in a perfect world, I WAS capable of cutting out the pieces of the pattern and then sitting back and waiting for my help to arrive.  But there was a problem; when we bought the pattern, Jimi pointed out that it only goes to a size Large.  I really need an extra large, if I'm being honest with myself, and if I want to be able to move and willingly walk out of the house wearing the garment.  At the store, Jimi had explained this was no problem - we could simply cut the pattern a bit larger and everything would be fine.  When I looked at the pattern, and tried to figure out how to cut it larger, my head threatened to explode - I just didn't get it, I didn't understand it, I didn't see how it could possibly happen.

So I did what I always do; I decided to take the easy way out.  I marched my happy butt back to the TV room, hopped online, and within minutes, I'd found a Max costume that is not pink, but is more true to the costume in the movie and was only slightly more pricey than the fabric and such I'd purchased.  Minus the time and labor, the ready-made costume was going to save me a bundle over the do-it-yourself one.  WIN!

Not so much.

Jimi got home a few minutes later, earlier than he'd planned because he'd skipped the OT he had planned to work.  He'd skipped the OT so he could be home to help me and Karen getting the costumes started.  And when I told him we'd have more time to work on his now that I'd decided to order a premade one, he kinda lost his shit. 

Okay, before I go any further, I want to be clear on why I'm writing this, because I debated with myself about whether or not it's appropriate to blog about fights that Jimi and I have.  I'm writing this because this blog is where i write about what's on my mind.  I write because i want a record of where I've been and what I've done.  I write because it helps me process and organize my thoughts.  I don't write because I want anyone to think my boyfriend is an asshole (he's not), or because I want people to take my side (I don't need backup), or because I want to bitch about the man I've chosen to spend my life with (I don't).  This story?  It's just a story about a day in my life.  Nothing more, nothing less.

Continuing on...

So Jimi lost his shit when I told him I didn't want to make a costume anymore.  He explained that I'm always changing things at the last minute and that it makes him crazy.  I tried to say "No, this is BETTER!  The plan is still the same, we just have more time for your costume now!", but we weren't at a place where reasoning was possible.  We turned to the pattern, and my confusion when I looked at it, and my sense of being overwhelmed with the idea of all the work that was going to be required to make the outfit.  We were both tense and worked up, and he says I was shrill and yelling and he finally lost his temper and he yelled at me. 

If you don't know us, i don't know how I can convey how out of character this whole scenario is for us.  We don't fight.  We rarely argue.  We certainly don't yell.  And what comes next?  Yeah, we don't do that either.

Now it was my turn to lose my shit. 

"Fuck you, Jimi!  I'm trying to explain to you and you're going to yell at me?  You can fuck right off."

And I got up from the table, stomped my angry ass back to the TV room, and slammed the door.  (I had to make my point about how mad I was.  And sometimes, making loud noise makes me feel better.) 

I heard a bang from the kitchen, but ignored it while I tried to cool off.  After a few minutes, I came out of the TV room and walked back down the hall, ready to talk calmly.  I got to the kitchen in time to see him pulling out of the driveway and driving off.



Of course, he came home later that night and we kissed and made up and everything is fine now.  We had a long talk about what we were REALLY mad about (because it's never about what starts the fight - there's always something underlying).  I've got to make some changes and start being more considerate. 

Even though we made up, I went to bed sad last night.  More than just about anything else in the world, I hate fighting with my best friend.  I woke up still feeling a little blue this morning.  And I don't think I'll feel completely right again until we get home tonight and I get a big hug and a big kiss and we spend some time laughing together. 

Knowing this one was my fault doesn't help.  Knowing that I've been feeling for the last few weeks like maybe I wasn't the most considerate girlfriend in the world, and that there was more I could be doing to help keep my man happy - that doesn't help either.  Knowing that he's been fighting an internal battle to keep quiet about his frustrations in order to keep the peace, that just makes me feel like an asshole. 

I need to try harder. 

Meanwhile, I still don't have a costume and I'm not sure how I'm going to rectify that just yet.  I guess I'll be hitting the stores after work tonight.  Or I can order the one I found online and keep my fingers crossed that it makes it here by Saturday. 

Oh well.  It'll all work out. 

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Finn fell in the river twice while exploring.  It scared me at first, but once I realized he wasn't going to drown, I was glad for it - it helped wash off the cow shit he'd rolled in immediately upon arriving at camp.

I'm filthy, but Jimi beat me to the shower so I'm patiently waiting my turn.  Might as well have a beer and post a blog while I wait, right?

We're going to Karen's tonight to carve pumpkins.  My first choice would be to sit here on my ass, doing laundry, catching up on the internet, and doing nothing in general.  But I should be social, and carving pumpkins sounds like a lot of fun, and I sure love toasted pumpkin seeds.

Shower's free...time to go wash my ass.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

We're camping this weekend, so we've spent the evening packing up and washing clothes and linens and getting our shit together.  I hate this part of camping.

I enjoy the drive up, for the most part, except I'm always anxious to get there.  And then I hate the setting up.  It's so much work.

But then I love what comes next.  I love the sitting around the fire, the kinship between friends, the cooking, the eating, the drinking, the talking, the quiet - OH, I love the quiet.  I love being where I don't get a signal on my Blackberry.  I love listening to the birds and the trees and the water and the fire and my friends.

It makes the hard work worthwhile, I guess.  But then we have to pack up to come home.  And then the drive home.  And then unpacking and laundry.  And it's SO hard.

Can't get something for nothing, right?

Just a few random notes...

~ Daddy's procedure went well.  YAY!  No surgeries on the horizon. 

~  Jimi and I put up a fence Tuesday afternoon.  It's not fancy, but it keeps the dog in the yard, and that was the only goal so it is considered a success. 

~  Putting up a fence is hard. 

~  Finn has fleas.  And needs his doggy shots.  Fuck.

~  I'm slammed at work, so here I am blogging instead of working.  Brilliant.

~  We're camping this weekend, probably for the last time this year.  I love camp.

~  My hips and belly are slathered with Bourdeaux's Butt Paste because my skin is so dry it feels scaley.  Vasoline Lotion and baby oil aren't doing the job, so it was time to bring out the big guns. 

~  Finn gets to come to work with me this week and most of next.  Look for pictures of him pretending to work.  I think all offices should have office dogs. 

~  I really have to go do my work now. 

~  Work is dumb.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Like this and like that and like this and uh...

Daddy's having a heart procedure in the morning, so I'm meeting him and Momma at the hospital at 8ish.  Which means I really should be in bed now, but we went to visit Jimi's brother tonight and we only just got home.  And, we stopped at White Castle on the way home and split a large chocolate shake, so I've got a bit of a sugar buzz and sleep isn't really going to be the easiest thing for me right now.  

And Jimi's watching a scary vampire movie that's probably going to invade my dreams.  

Finn's chewing on the new dog toy that arrived today.  I ordered it a few months back from the neighbor kid across the street, for some school fundraiser, and Finn really seems to enjoy it.  Score! 

6:30 is going to come so early.  

Four years ago tomorrow (today? - the 19th, at any rate), Jimi's path crossed mine in a way that has led us here, to this place, where we walk together.  One of these days I'll find the words to say how much he means to me, how much light he brings to my world, how much joy I feel knowing he loves me as completely as I love him - hell, maybe more; I'm a pain in the ass to live with and he doesn't even bitch most of the time.  These have been the best four years of my life so far;  I can't wait to see how much fun the next forty will be.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

The fight.

There are things I want to talk about, to write about, to record for posterity.

I want to tell about how I went through the discussions with the missionaries.  About how I had a baptism date set.

I didn't get baptized.

I want to talk about the way I felt the Spirit move me, and how I still feel it, without the baptism.

I want to tell about how a good friend was baptized, but later left the church after a bishop told her she would have more luck finding a husband if she lost weight.

I want to talk about how for years I thought that I knew the church was true, and how I was convinced that eventually, one day, I'd get baptized, and I'd be a member of the fold.

I want to tell how I came to realize that would never happen.

I want to share how I still adore reading about those who do live that life, who believe.  I still imagine my life and how it would be had I been born into that world.

Does it all really need to be said, though?  Or is it too many words?

This is my battle.

The beginnings of my Mormon roots...

I got up around 9:30 this morning, and Jimi had already been up for a few hours.  I made coffee, which is rare for us (if we drink a hot beverage, it's usually tea, though we always have coffee on hand), and he made breakfast, which isn't so unusual.  Ham and eggs and toast.  A good start to the day, even if it was 11 a.m. by the time we were eating.  :)  No sense in rushing on a lazy Sunday morning, right?

David's been on my mind lately.  A lot.  You don't know David, probably.  I've been planning on writing about him for a long time, but I've not been sure when or how I'd get to it.  I'm still not sure if this will end up posted.  Depends on where I end up when I'm done rambling, i suppose.

David was my best friend in high school.  I generally refer to Kat as my BFF in high school, and if we're talking about same-sex friends, then yeah, she was.  But David was my best friend.  When I look back over those years, it was David who was my cohort in all of my tales.  It was David's support and friendship that kept me moving forward, it was David who comforted me when I was down.  David was my BFF.

David was Mormon.  David is the spring from which my fascination/obsession with the LDS faith originates.  David's dad was the Bishop of the local Ward.  He had 7 brothers and sisters, I think; 5 sisters, 2 brothers.  His brothers were older, and I think there were 3 girls behind him.  All of them were good Mormon boys and girls - honors students, following the faith, returned missionaries, married in the temple - except one.  One had experienced drugs and premarital sex and had even had a child out of wedlock.  David told me once he was scared of that sister, or had been, in the midst of rebellion.

I met David in science class.  He was tall and blonde and lanky and blue-eyed and nice and smart and a complete geek.  He had an awesome sense of humor.  And was so incredibly kind and good-natured.  That first year, I think I mostly snapped rubberbands on the back of his neck and teased him.  I didn't notice him much.

We were in JROTC together, on the drill team.  And he adored me.  I've always been all about surrounding myself with people who think I'm awesome, and as I mentioned, David had an awesome sense of humor and was sweet and good and kind.  Why wouldn't I want to hang out with him?  We spend every available evening together - driving his parents' car all over Louisville, sometimes putting 200 miles on the vehicle in a single night.  We talked on the phone until 3 in the morning, despite him having to get up at 5 a.m. to attend seminary.  He never complained; he was always happy to talk to me, to hang out with me, to be my friend.

We talked about his church as much as I'd allow him to.  Sometimes we argued, because some things about his beliefs offended me.  Later, I looked back at this and was ashamed; he was so willing to accept me, for all my shortcomings, yet I criticized what he believed, often.  The idea of 3 levels of Heaven offended me, I told him; realistically, it scared me.  Because I felt like I was being left out.

He was my first introduction to the LDS faith; he got me fresh, before I'd heard any rumors or jokes about their beliefs, and so he managed to cut off at the pass any bigotry or lies or exaggerations about what they believe.  When it came to polygamy, he told me that the men had taken multiple wives when they'd been moving out west, because so many men died and left women behind with families and no income.  The men did it to help the general population, not because they WANTED to.  And he believed that.  Completely.  I did too, after he told me so.  I used it for years to defend the LDS church.

About the middle of our sophomore year, I realized he wanted to be more than friends, and was pretty serious about it.  I had a boyfriend who lived out of town.  He told me he'd talked to his mom about his feelings for me, and in so confessing, he'd told her that I'd already had sex.  I was furious with him.  How dare he tell my intimate personal details to his mother...what business was it of hers?!  And when he told me she'd urged him away from me, told him not to pursue me, because "while hand-holding may be enough for you, David, eventually, she's going to want more".  I was shamed, and the way for me to deal with that shame, embarrassment, was to lash out at him.

But I get it now, and I hope that when I eventually have children, I'll have done a good enough job raising them that they'll feel comfortable coming to me about the potential loves they're falling for, and be willing to talk with me about the pros and cons of pursuing relationships.

Eventually, David and I were able to find a happy middle ground;  basically, we acted as if we were boyfriend and girlfriend, by going out and being together and talking on the phone all night every night, but without the physical aspects of a relationship.  We held hands sometimes, and we hugged, but there was no kissing.  We loved each other, but we told ourselves it was the love of siblings, even though we both knew he felt more, and looking back, I know for sure I was in love with him, even if I didn't admit it for years.

Our senior year, he started dating Kat.  I was lost without him by my side constantly, and I did everything in my power to try to steal him away from her, including one afternoon where I tried to seduce him.  I managed to get him to kiss me, but when I tried to rub his special place, he pushed me away and shook his head no and the moment was gone.  After that, things were cool between us, needless to say.  I was embarrassed, he was in love with Kat.

David was accepted into all of the military academies after high school, as we knew he would be, and chose to attend the Naval Academy.  Two years after graduation, he took a hiatus from school and went to Russia for two years to serve his mission.  He and Kat had been on again when he left; I was convinced they'd end up married after he returned and graduated.

While he was in Russia, he sent me a hardbound Book of Mormon.  He included in the front cover a personal message to me, which I still hold close to my heart, and when I read it I feel I've let him down, as he encouraged me to find the Spirit and join his faith.


There's a story there in the middle, but I've run out of words.  Later, I promise.  

Saturday, October 16, 2010

#2 - this is why I pay for health insurance.

The bill for my Rhogam shot came in yesterday.

Without insurance, this little medical miracle that will allow me to successfully carry our future child to term without my body attacking its blood would've cost me at least a grand.

With insurance, I get a benefit statement telling me what my insurance company paid, and reminding me why I'm happy to let them deduct forty-five bucks from my check each week.

This is why we need universal healthcare.
I follow a handful of blogs written by infertile women who are trying to conceive, and one or two by women who were infertile but eventually managed to have a successful pregnancy and birth.  I read these women because I'm captivated by their writing and their stories, but their reality scares the shit out of me.

We went to Stacy & Jessie's last night.  Jessie's accepted a new job, and so he quit his old shitty one, so he wanted to get drunk and eat grilled meat and have a bonfire to celebrate.  We celebrated beautifully; Stacy & Jessie both got drunk, we had great food, and 2 of his old uniform shirts were burned in effigy.

Their pup Cujo is pregnant.  I've never been around a pregnant dog before, and I'm fascinated that they make all those new puppies in only 9 weeks.  Looks like there's only 2 or 3 weeks left before this new litter arrives, and I've promised Stacy I'll be there to help in any way I'm able.  I can't wait to see those little baby doggies, and to play with them, and then, after they're weaned, to bring one of the puppies home to our house to live happily ever after as the newest member of our little family.  Because we need more things that eat and shit and chew and make messes in this house.

I saw a shooting star last night while we were standing out around the fire pit.  I wished on it.  I can't tell you what I wished for or it won't come true, but I'm sure it'll come true, so I can probably tell you later.

We went to Sam's Club today, after a lazy morning of sleeping in, morning sex, and Mexican food for breakfast.  Buying a 10-pack of Kiwi fruit makes me happy.  So does a 3-pack of bathroom cleaner and enough paper towels to last 6 months.  I refused to even walk down the cheese aisle; I can't resist 5 lbs. of Gouda, but I can't eat it all, either.  I'm going to start a members-only store where we only sell sample sizes of things - little bitty cheeses and meats and samples of soups - so you can buy lots of things and come home with a variety, rather than buying only 10 items and having a $200 bill at the end.

Tonight's events include dinner with friends at the local Vietnamese restaurant (YAY!) and then possibly a costume party (for which I am completely unprepared).

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Thank God I can see all the beauty.

I was sitting on my front porch, in the corner, with my book in my lap, a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other.  I wasn't reading; I was staring out across our front yard, at the big beautiful trees that are finally showing their fall wardrobes.  The water maple on the left has a fungus of some sort that Steve says is completely harmless, though unattractive, as it manifests in black spots on the leaves of the tree.  So now that the green leaves have turned to a beautiful gold and orange, they look like they're polka-dotted.  I was lamenting this fact, picturing their magnificence that could have been if only the former owners of this home had raked the leaves before they vacated the premises last fall.  

Not that I'm planning to rake the leaves this year.  This yard is huge.  I can already feel the blisters that would result. I'll live with a polka dotted tree.  

Anyhow, I was enjoying the beauty, though mottled, of the water maple on the left.  Then I moved to the rich yellows that were coming through on the birch in the middle of the yard, ending with the water maple on the right, wondering when those reds were going to appear on more branches.  

And I went back to the spotted tree that is closest to the busy road.  And those damned spots.  And I thought "Oh well, thank God I can see all the beauty."

Maybe it's not such a profound thought, but it seemed profound to me.  One, because I struggle with what my beliefs toward "God" are exactly.  (We'll talk about that one of these days, but not today.)  I was thankful that I could literally SEE the beauty - that my vision is good enough that from my corner of the front porch, I could look out across our big yard and see the individual leaves that make up that beautiful tree; that i could see the spots on the individual leaves.  I was thankful that I have a life that's not so crazy and busy that I have time to sit on my front porch and take in all the pretty around me - that I could SEE the beauty, and not pass it by and treat it like background scenery that's just there, rather than something to be enjoyed and appreciated.

And then Jimi got home, and I was able to see all the beauty in him - his love, his laugh, his smile, his bright eyes, his kindness, his goodness.

And then he brought me chicken, and if you can't see the beauty in fried chicken, well, there's no help for you.  

And then it rained, finally, for the first time in weeks and weeks, and there's something uniquely beautiful about a big gray storm cloud rolling across the fiery-colored trees, with the wind blowing and the streaks of lightening...

There's so much beauty in the world.  Thank God I can see it. 

Tuesday, October 12, 2010


A co-worker of Jimi's suffered a family loss this weekend, and when the team took up a collection, Jimi volunteered to make some sweets for the kids, so we've spent our evening making cookies and marshmallow cereal treats.

Jimi chose to make a peanut butter-esque cookie - basically, he used the peanut butter cookie recipe, but substituted nutella for the peanut butter.  They're thinner and have a slightly less biscuit-y texture, and they could use some nuts or something on top to add texture and flavor, but they're yummy.  I have to keep reminding myself they're not for me.

The perfect finishing touch on a batch of fresh-from-the-oven cookies?  The Cookie Drop!  Gives them that broken look on top.

I need these out of my house, STAT.

The awesomeness of strangers

I don't know about you, but I've always been a "LOOK AT ME!!!" sort of gal.  I want to be the center of attention.  I want everyone to know everything about me.  I want everyone to like me.  I want everyone to want to be my friend.

So I started a blog. 

And dude.  I can't express how happy it makes me to get comments on the ridiculousness that I write here.  That a stranger took the time to read the nonsense/babble/craziness/tirade/manifesto that I cobbled together from my scattered and not always coherant thoughts...then took the time to leave me a little "so-and-so was here" message...that's just awesome.  It makes me feel special.

I know this little blog will never be more than a diary with no lock, but the idea of other people reading about what's going on in my life and maybe giving me a little advice or encouragement or a new perspective - that's what I like about blogging.  That's what I'm after.

You people leaving comments?  Thanks for reading my blah blah blahs.  Thanks for leaving your mark on my tales and letting me know I'm not just blowing a bunch of hot air out there in the world wide web.  Thank you for being awesome.  :)

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Whose list is this?

A friend left this list on my kitchen table tonight.  (I want to be more like them; I forget shit all the time, but I'm usually far too lazy to make a list.  Of course, I'd probably leave it behind, too - because I forget shit all the time.)  The list:

have corn
2 tom cans
1 pk ranch

(X)  Find Camera
Go to kroger
Look in Pantry for ingredients

(X) Get Darvocet for nat
Get bowl to Share
Get outfit to Burlington
Ring back to Dots
Go See Mimi
Batteries for Flashlight

(The (X)s represent check marks, because I don't know how to make check marks outside of Microsoft Word. And I figure the (X)s get the point across sufficiently enough that I don't need to go look up instructions on how to make check marks outside of Microsoft Word.  Only two items were check marked on the list, but I'm pretty sure more than two items got accomplished tonight.)

I'm curious about why "Look in Pantry for ingredients" wasn't checked off.  I mean, the top of the page is a list of ingredients, so one would assume those were located in the pantry, right?


On a slightly related note, the "Get Darvocet for nat" is because of this:

I was out in the yard checking a trailer to see if it was loaded with clean drums, and when I turned to head back to the office, my foot went into a crack between the gravel and the pavement and my foot went one way and the rest of me went the other.  My first thought was "Oh shit, this REALLY hurts...I think it may be broken."  And then I laid there and I cried for about 5 minutes.  It really hurt.  Then I realized I was way in the front of the property, and in between two trailers, in the back...and that i didn't have my phone or my radio with me, and that I could lay there for an hour or more before anyone realized I was missing.  So I resigned myself to crawling back to the office, but made myself try to walk.  I hobbled all the way back, tears streaming down my face, and I got back to the office.  I went in, looked at my co-workers, and started crying again, saying, "I hurt myself."  Kimmie got me ice and tied it to my ankle, and Corinne wanted to know if I needed to go to Occupational Health.  I declined - no need to run up our workers' comp costs when there was nothing they could really do for me.  I'd already decided it probably wasn't actually broken.  

But man, it hurts.  

Actually, I took half a Darvocet a little while ago, and I think I could probably walk without too much of a limp right now.  Or maybe it's the bowl my friend shared.  Either way, Life Is Good.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Get out of my dreams.

Dear Katherine & Tabitha:

Please stay out of my nocturnal wanderings.  That flight I was on last night?  Not sure where I was headed (Germany, maybe?), but man, it sure sucked to see that you two were on the same plane.  And did you really have to make such nasty comments?  (That was mostly you, Tabitha, and that gem of a husband of yours.  Kat mostly stuck to dirty looks.)  I know it's what you did for the better part of the 15 years we were "friends", but Christ, I'd hoped you'd grown.  I hope you have and this dream was just the leftovers from what I remember of you back in the day. 

We've not been friends, for all intents and purposes, for the better part of 4 years.  (I did remember when I woke up that it's been right at 4 years since you got married, Tab.  Maybe that's why you're showing up in unexpected slumbering places.)  My life is happier and less stressful without you in it.  The one thing my dream reminded me of was what it feels like to be surrounded by people who are unaccepting and judgmental and, to be frank, people who are just plain mean when they feel that you're not worthy of their time or attention.  I don't have friends like that anymore.  The people I surround myself with these days are loving and accepting and kind and generous and welcoming and warm.  And they like me.  Not the me they want me to be or the me they thought I used to be - they like me.  Now, today, just the way I am.  It's a simple concept that I absolutely did not understand until you two were no longer in my life. 

Maybe I'm dreaming of you two because of Patricia's circumstances.  My heartache for her has put the decade and half long friendship the four of us shared in the forefront of my mind lately.  Oh, and my disgust with the ones who would celebrate her tragedy - and yes, even if she "brought this on herself", her situation is still tragic - I can't believe the nastiness that spews from those who claim to be a shining example of Christianity and Christ's love.  Of course, we've always expected the judgment from you, Tabitha, so when your husband went on his hateful internet rampage, I just shook my head and said, "Huh.  Maybe they were meant for each other...they have SO much in common."  You both turned your backs on her when she needed her friends.  You judged her and shunned her, and you weren't there when she needed you.  You were bad friends to her.  And now, you're laughing at her and saying "I knew she was bad!"  You knew no such thing.  This has shocked us all, because Patricia is so good, so sweet, so NOT this person we've read about on the news. 

We've all moved on.  Please, just stay out of my dreams.  Don't show up unannounced in my subconcious thoughts.  I'm better off without a refresher on what used to be or what might have been. 



Tuesday, October 5, 2010

I can't stand when bloggers...

...misuse "there" "their" "they're", "your" "you're".  You're using the written word as a form of communication - try to use the words that mean what you think they mean, could you?

Can we just be fair with each other?

I went looking for a link to Elder Packer's Conference speech from this past weekend.  I'll find one in a minute.  I got distracted by this:  An excerpt:  (their links, not mine)

Your doctrine of "choice" and "curability" is also at the core of why the Church and its members in reality view my son and those like him as latter-day lepers. If homosexuality (1) is not inborn, (2) has an element of choice, and (3) can be cured - then it must be able to be taught or suggested.  Others must also be susceptible to being enticed or recruited. Our children are capable of being infected by these people and not becoming mothers and fathers.  It is, therefore, a frontal assault on the family. The "hate the sin but love the sinner" platitude cannot disguise the fact that in reality the members of the Church are taught to loathe and fear our son and those like him.  This qualified and synthetic "love" is nothing more than the few alms hurriedly and begrudgingly parted with to salve the Christian conscience, while never once entertaining the idea of actually descending into the leper pit.  We would never expose our children to this for it might infect them.  If sexual orientation is a matter of choice, when exactly did you choose to be heterosexual?  When and how often did you reaffirm your choice to stay that way?  Why aren't my other children, who idolize their brother, even the slightest bit interested in adopting a homosexual "lifestyle" or in homosexual experimentation?  Why would anyone choose to be an abomination and an outcast?  It defies reason.


Here's the article I was looking for:

It includes the transcript of Packer's speech.  Nasty hateful old fool.

What happened to "treat others as you wish to be treated"?  "Love thy neighbor"?  "Do unto others..."?  When did we stop loving each other in the name of a loving God?

It just makes me sad.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Just say no.

I'm supposed to pick up my 21 year old brother in an hour or so.  I'm supposed to babysit him for the weekend, because he can't be trusted to stay in my parents' home while they're out of town for the weekend without stealing something, breaking something, destroying/damaging something, or doing something illegal that could cause my parents to lose said house.

I wonder what it'd be like to be a 21 year old "man" who can be trusted to stay home alone for the weekend?  Or to need a babysitter.  Or to know that no one wants to babysit you because they don't really want you in their house either, because you may break something, steal something, destroy/damage something, or do something illegal.  And to not be able to have a conversation with people because the dope you're on has effed up your brain so much you can no longer form coherent sentences.  

Man, it would suck to be that person.  It sure does suck to have him as a brother.  It's sad and heartbreaking and depressing and scary.

I keep telling myself its the drugs.  That he isn't really such a shitty person.  But man, I don't know how much I believe my own words.  When he says that he doesn't mess with pills or meth or coke or the other "hard" stuff, I want to believe him, but if it's true, and he's really just a bad person, that sucks.  But if he's lying, and it is an addiction to which he won't admit that makes him steal and lie and cheat and generally treat everyone around him like shit, well, that sucks, because he's not doing anything to get any help.  

I don't know what the answer is.  I know it sucks to be on this end, and it sucks even worse to be where my parents are.  And his life?  His life is going to be full of disappointment and struggle.  

Don't do drugs, kids.  Don't do drugs.  


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