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.

Great.

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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.