Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Random Things and Stuff

Driving home for lunch today I passed the scene of a fatal accident - motorcycle v. bus.  The man that was killed, his body was still in the intersection, covered by the tell-tale white sheet.  His family's world just changed; I hope they find peace.


My co-worker hit me up on Facebook at 10:45 the other night, asking if the next day I'd be interested in having dinner with her children and then dropping them off at the baseball field for practice.  Her kids are awesome, so I accepted.  The middle child, the boy, wanted a burger.  A cheeseburger, specifically, with bacon.  From Rally's.  The girls wanted Panera.  I made everyone happy and ran through the drive-thru on our way to Panera. The boy inhaled his burger, proclaiming it delicious and the best thing ever.  The kids wanted to know if I could stay with them through practice, but I had to get home.  I promised we'd do it again, and left feeling like I was awesome and they loved me.

The boy got a bellyache last night.  Apparently his little digestive system isn't used to bacon cheeseburgers and fries for dinner and was protesting.  His parents used it as a lesson, telling him he should've known better and that's what he gets for taking advantage of dumb ol' Natalie, for pulling one over on me, etc. and so on.  Poor kid.  I made sure to clarify that I in no way was snowed over or fooled - I was perfectly happy to get the child a burger if that's what he wanted for dinner; I looked at it as a special treat for him. (I let them have double-chocolate chip cookies for dessert, too, because I believe kids need things like that every now and then.)


We went to the State Fair this past Saturday.  I didn't get many pictures because my camera battery died, but I managed to snap a few:

Freddy is as much a part of the Fair tradition as corn dogs and mullets.
He talks to you.
He'll tell you what you're wearing and what color your hair is and that you're holding your Momma's hand.  
And you'll be all "Holy shit, he SEES me!"  
And then you grow up and realize there's some dude in a glass booth upstairs and behind you,
 watching your every move.  
And you're a little skeezed out, I'll be honest.  

This was the coolest balloon display I've ever seen.  

The beers Jimi and Steve made are in this cabinet somewhere.  Sadly, they do not have a ribbon on them, but there's always next year.

Baby pigs, baby cows.

And, of course, the corn dog.  
(I only ate half of it.)
(it wasn't all beef and it was kinda yucky.)
(And I kept thinking 460 calories for this?!)

The corn was guilt-free, though.

And then we went home.  The end.


This dieting thing sucks when the scale's not moving.

And when you really want something you love but you know you shouldn't because it has too many calories but you do it anyhow.

Wait.  Maybe there's a connection...

Monday, August 29, 2011

The start of a whole new life...

I've just made my final payment to my last creditor -

I'm officially debt free!  

What a great fucking feeling.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Mowing is serious bidness.

I came in from mowing (90 minutes, 653 calories burned) (Really?!  That seems like an awful lot), and stripped down to get in the shower.  There was a spot of grass on my upper thigh; I went to brush it away...and it crawled closer to my girl bits.

"Holy crap, I think there's a tick on me!" I yelled to Jimi, who was in the next room, dressing to take over/finish up the mowing.  He came in and closely examined the squirming spec I was trying to squish between my fingers.

"Yep.  That's a tick."

"It was headed for my no-no place!"  I was leaning over as far as I could, desperately trying to see into my vag to make sure there weren't any ticks in there.  I stood up and looked my beloved straight in the eye, "Is there a polite way to say 'Baby, will you check my butt crack for ticks?'"

He smiled at me sweetly, "Take a shower first."

True love.

I think my scale is a broken liar.

Today it says I'm back to where I was Friday, down 4.4 pounds for the week.  Of course, 20 minutes later, it added on another pound, but I'll be damned if I'm claiming that extra pound.  I'm trying now to decide if the scale was lying yesterday or if it's lying today.  I'm guessing my bad choices and over indulgence last night are coming back to haunt me, which is why the numbers moved up instead of down this morning.

Oh well.  Today's a new day.  And my inches shrunk - not by much, but enough to make me not drown my scale-related sorrows in a tub of ice cream.

And for the record, I didn't do THAT badly yesterday - I was very good at the fair and only had half a corn dog and an ear of roasted corn (no butter, no salt - not because I was depriving myself, but because that's the way I always eat corn on the cob).  But...I thought all the walking I did and my good behavior for the week justified a splurge of fast food calories for dinner.  And then I made chocolate-covered frozen banana bites and ate a few more than I probably should've.  Bad Natalie!  Bad!

Oh well.  Now I know what a bad idea that was and I won't make the same mistake again.  And today's yard-mowing you know how many calories are waiting to be burned in my 3/4 acre lot?  A whole freakin' bunch, that's how many.

I'm going to have to mow around this, though:

I'm not sure what happened - it was fine Friday night, but this is what it looked like Saturday morning.  No storms or hurricanes or tornadoes rolled through - I guess it was just this branch's time to go.  Our good friend Steve happens to be an Arborist, and he's kindly offered to come over today and help make the problem go away, which is awesome because I hear tree people are very expensive.  

In other non-fat-related news, Jimi bought me a new pair of shoes yesterday.  He does that about twice a year, because he's a shoe whore and I am the opposite - I will wear a pair of shoes every single day until they are falling apart around my feet.  So he bought me new shoes, with the logic that if I have several pairs of athletic shoes to choose from, I won't wear the same pair every single day and completely ruin them.  (Secretly, I think he was just itching to spend some money - the tax-credit check for the house (the one we closed on almost 2 years ago) finally arrived this past week.  Also, all shoes were buy one, get one half off, and he was already buying a pair for him, so you know, he had to buy a second pair.  HAD to.)  

Today's Comment Love Day over at FTLOB.  

I'm going to go say hi to some new blogs, and then I'm gonna walk the dog and earn some extra calories for the day.  Happy Sunday!

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Still not typical...

5.8 pounds in 6 days.

This countin' calories thing ain't so bad.

The only real change I've made is not drinking three or four beers each night and not snacking from 7 p.m. till bedtime.  Which, I realize now, is a huge change in calorie intake, but cutting that stuff out hasn't been difficult.  I'm holding myself accountable for my choices; I know that I could have that treat, but I'll have to accept the consequences.

Not measuring my inches till tomorrow.  I hope they've shrunk.

Meanwhile, we're going to the Kentucky State Fair today - which means I'm probably going to blow my wad calorie-wise, but I'll walk my ass off, so maybe it'll sorta almost be okay.

Happy Weekend!

Friday, August 26, 2011

Results not typical.

I've dropped 4.4 pounds since Sunday.

I was excited yesterday, when I hit the 3.8 pound mark.  And then I didn't exercise because I'm still sickly, but I was really close to my calories (only 115 over, even after 2 slices of pizza!), so I wasn't going to stress too much if the scale didn't move this morning.

It moved.  Down another 0.6 pounds.

It's not much, but it's the motivation I need to keep doing this.  I know the rapid weight loss will slow way down or even stop before all is said and done, but for now, this feels awesome.

Kimmie hasn't seen me since Monday afternoon - yesterday afternoon she was all "I can tell you've lost three pounds, your waist looks smaller."  I'm friends with her because she says nice shit like this to me all the time.

I'm doing it, people!  I'm going to fit into that dress, and it's going to be awesome.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Off to a great start - and then the crash came.

I feel great.  I feel strong.  I feel like I'm going to be buying a new wardrobe at the after-Christmas sales. 

When I wrote that last night, I hesitated over the word "strong".  "Watch," I thought to myself, chuckling a bit, as I typed away, "I'll write strong and then something crazy will happen like I'll get hit by a bus or be diagnosed with leukemia or something."  (For the record, I hesitated typing that just now too.  I don't know how much of my inner thoughts you people really want to witness.  They get a little fucked up in here.)

Fortunately, I've not been hit by any fast-moving blunt objects, nor have I been diagnosed with some awful ailment.  I did wake up at three this morning, though, hacking my head off and with that sick feeling in the center of my chest.  That feeling that says, "Get ready.  I'm coming.  Are you ready?  Just give me 12 more hours."  Come 3 o'clock this afternoon, I was begging the clock to hurry up and hit five so I could come home and rest.  Now it's 9 and the chills are rolling in on the waves of body aches.  My nose is clogged, my throat is raw, and I think maybe something might be swimming in my lungs.

I walked a half-mile around the property at work.  That's all the exercise I've done today.  Fuck it.  I hurt, and I'm under on my daily calories as of this moment, so fuck it.  I don't feel like it, so I'm not gonna.  (This sucks, of course, because I was supposed to exercise tonight with the bride-to-be.  So much for a plan.)

(And I was under on my carbs still, too, except that after I wrote that part Jimi made me some tea and, again, i said "fuck it" and added a tablespoon of honey, with the justification that it'll soothe my poor sore throat.  So now I'm like 5 carbs over for the day.  Whatever.)

Today's real dilemma involves water.  I'm drinking too much of it.  I've been drinking 8-12 glasses a day - but my glasses are 18 oz.  I was worried maybe I'm drinking too much water, but according to the internet, unless I become some badass athlete or drink three gallons in three hours and try to "Hold Your Wee for a Wii", I'm probably going to be okay.  So never mind about that.

I just tried to netti-pot my nose.  My left sinus passage is so swollen I couldn't get anything but drips from the other side.  :(  I fucking hate being sick - I should be grateful it only happens once in a blue moon.

Hope you feel better than I do.  Sweet dreams!

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

I'm gonna be one of those exercise/weight-loss bloggers for a while, okay?

I'm new to this counting calories thing.  Um, it's possible I've been known to say I'd never live my life counting the calories I put into my mouth because, well, fuck that.  I like food.  A lot.  It's one of my favorite things ever.  

But I've gotten fat by being lazy, and lo and behold, here I am, running to the computer or my stupid, hated-but-now-sorta-tolerated Blackberry so I can record every morsel that so much as looks at my lips a second too long.  And I'm rounding up!  For example:  Tonight, my pan-seared cod filet had, according to the package, only 90 calories per 4 oz serving, but I totally selected the first pan-seared cod that popped up, even though it was for 119 calories.  I figure this gives me a little wiggle room - I mean, this weight-loss shit isn't exact science or anything, you know?  And I recorded the teaspoon of safflower oil Jimi used to lube the pan, and the lime wedge I squeezed over my fish.  I recorded the carrot slices and the radish slices and the 4T of salad dressing.  Yes.  4T.  (I probably left half a tablespoon on the plate, but I wasn't going to measure and deduct.)  My dressing won for calorie content tonight.  

I'm determined I'm not going to fail at this - I'm going to look phenomenal in that dress and I will rock the world with my awesome that will only be outshadowed by the bride's, which of course is how it should be, seeing as how it's her big day and all. 

Speaking of the bride, she called me tonight and we're going to go work our asses at the gym tomorrow night.  I'm excited to have an exercise buddy in real life, in addition to all of this amazing support you guys keep heaping upon me so generously.  (Have I said thank you yet?  Thank you!  I feel encouraged and inspired and like I've got people rooting for me, which always makes everything easier.)  

I'm trying to be really careful when I'm entering my exercises.  I don't want to bump up the numbers to make things look better on paper - the only cheating is cheating myself, and that ain't gonna zip that dress.  That being said, I walked/jogged/ran 4.04 miles tonight in 1:08:00.  I know you just read that as "I walked/jogged ran blahblahblahblah".  If you didn't, and you understand what it means, please stop rolling your eyes and thinking "OMG, did she really just post that embarrassing lame-ass time?  HAHAHAHA!!!"  I'm sorta recording it here for posterity.  

That evening stroll with Finn made my day look awesome - I burned 458 calories, meaning I've got another 440 calories left today before I hit 1200.  I'm having a beer.  Shut up.  I know it's counterproductive, but it's only 99 calories and 3 carbs and I've got 128(!!!) carbs left for the day so I feel like I've fucking earned this beer.  

I'm sorry if this post sucks big fat hairy gorilla balls.  (Do gorillas have hairy balls?  Or are their private parts naked like those other monkey-things?)  I won't talk about my fat or my food or my calories or my lame-ass walk/jog/run times forever.  

I feel great.  I feel strong.  I feel like I'm going to be buying a new wardrobe at the after-Christmas sales.  

Owning my fat.

I signed up with MyFitnessPal and MapMyWalk, mainly because two of you told me to.  Also, their blackberry apps are free.  I'm excited to have a way to keep track of the things I eat, the exercises I do, the water I drink, the calories I burn.

I'm excited to be holding myself accountable, to be aiming for a goal.  And you know what?  This goal is something I have absolute control over, which feels very empowering after a year of feeling sorta powerless when it comes to my body.

Now, I'm not hard core (yet), but I walked 3/4 of a mile with dogface this morning, and I've done 20 jumping jacks and 40 crunches.  I'm consciously thinking about the repercussions of my food choices (even if you couldn't tell by the way I picked bacon over ham for my breakfast this morning - gotta live a little, you know?).

I've got a question - if my goal calories are 1200, and I burn 300, do I have to eat 1500 for the day?  Is that how that's supposed to work?

I'm gonna do this.  I'm going to lose ____ inches/pounds, and I'm going to look fan-fucking-tastic in that bridesmaid's dress come October.  It's going to happen.

(I'm >-< this close to doing the Zumba.  Will narrow down facility search/details today - unless Jimi springs for that YMCA membership, in which case, fuck some Zumba, I'm going swimming and to WATER Zumba!  Why is the YMCA a million dollars?  Okay, it's not a million dollars, but I'm broke and that joining fee makes my face sad.)

Happy Tuesday!

Monday, August 22, 2011

The Dress Doesn't Fit (Or, I am the dumbest person you know.)

The zipper needs to somehow move up another three inches.  No no no, not ON the dress- when it zips, it needs to go another three inches before it closes.

Fuck me sideways.  

I mean, I shouldn't be surprised.  Did I really think I'd somehow magically dropped a dress size in the last month and a half by drinking beer, sitting on my ass, and getting high and eating every carb in sight?  

Maybe a little, yes.  

Didn't work.  Turns out, that game plan will leave you desperately wishing for three more inches - like that one time, with that one guy with that really small penis.  


I'm sorta working out.  Jumping jacks, crunches, running, walking, mowing the grass, sex.  Sorta.  Jimi wants to sign me up for Zumba - will Zumba help me lose a dress size in 5.5 weeks?  If you say yes, I'll totally do it.  

I'm watching my calorie intake.  I'm making good choices.  

Surely this shit will work, right?  

I've never dieted.  I've never actually set a weight-loss goal and set out to obtain it.  Ever.  In my life.  I don't know wtf I'm doing.  

I just know that dress has to zip and I've gotta somehow make it happen.  Tell me how, please?  Something that doesn't involve throwing up or laxatives or Spanx - the problem is at the top of the dress, not in my big fat belly, surprisingly enough, and the Spanx didn't make a smidge of difference.  I've actually gotta lose the weight to make this happen - even Duct tap won't fix this. 

Wait.  I didn't actually TRY Duct tape yet...maybe...

No.  I'm going to get less fat.  It's just one dress size.  

Help me!!!

Friday, August 19, 2011

Holy crap the sun's not even up yet!

It's twenty till six on Friday morning.  WTF?  In case you were wondering, if you need to start your period, GUARANTEED, tell the internet you're feeling yourself up because you can't tell if your boobs are sore or not.  Or take a pregnancy test.  Works.  Every fucking time.

So I'm going to go to work early.  Or I'm going to sit here and write some bullshit till it's time to go to work, and then I'll kick my own ass for not taking advantage of the fact that I was up at five till five this morning.  Well, if we're being honest, I was up at 4 - I just didn't get out of bed till almost five, when I'd finally gave up on getting back to that dream about ...  I can't remember anymore what that dream was about.  It was weird, though, and I wanted to see what happened.

I remember what I dreamed about before I woke yesterday morning, though.  Heather Donovan.  She was this geeky (before geeky was cool) chick who went to middle school with me - The Girls and I were tortuously mean to her.  We were in the sixth grade - as I remember it, sixth grade was pretty fucking awful.  (Except that I learned the word "fuck" in the sixth grade, so that's kinda cool.)  Sixth grade was full of awkwardness and not fitting it - a bunch of hormone-laden kids bouncing off one another and trying to figure out where they fit.  We all fell into our individual roles quickly enough - my role was outcast-wannabecoolkid.  Heather was like three rungs below me on the social hierarchy scale.  She wore blue eye shadow smeared up to her eyebrows.  Her hair was thin and she pouffed her bangs into this see-through bird's-nest thing and lacquered it with hairspray so it moved in one giant piece in the wind.  (Okay, we all did that, but hers was really bad.)  She wore button-up flower-printed blouses, buttoned all the way to the top, that wreaked of her mother's particular sense of  (old-lady) style.  (Let's not discuss the fact that I discovered jeans for the first time in this same year.  For the first half of the school year,  my favorite pants were a pair of stirrup pants in some pattern that involved big yellow flowers and purple something- I don't remember what was purple in the pants, but something was, because I always wore them with a long purple shirt that I thought made me look awesome, and I never would've worn a purple shirt with those pants unless there was purple in them somewhere.)

Anyhow, back to Heather.  She showed up in my dream yesterday morning.  We were maybe at a party or something?  There was a big open room, people mingling, and then she walked through the door.  I was startled by her presence - she looked, in her face, exactly the same as the last time I saw her, but without the crunchy bangs and coke-bottle glasses.  Her hair was sleek and smooth, and her skin was clear.  Her eyes were free of the magnification of the glasses that always made her look a little googly-eyed...and they weren't held down by a gram of blue powder, either.  She was pretty.

We didn't talk beyond a "hey, good to see you" because my alarm sounded.  But in the shower, I thought of things I'd say to her if I saw her now:

"I'm sorry we were so mean to you."

"I'm sorry we put Ex-lax in that caramel cookie bar and then let you eat it."

"I'm sorry we made fun of you."

"I'm sorry we thought we were better than you."  I mean, there was a reason she was sitting at our lunch table, people; it's not like there were assigned seats.

"I hope we didn't cause any lasting damage."

Kids are mean.  We were mean.  Brutal.  I hope she's doing alright.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever forgive myself for the sins I committed as a child."  I said that to Stacy not too long ago; I told her if I ever write a book, it'll be the first line.  Today, right now, I feel like I'm a pretty good person.  I try to leave a good impact wherever I go, even if it's just a smile or a few coins.  I've been a bitch, though; I've been a mean asshole, I've been cruel and vindictive.  For fuck's sake, I once convinced my 2-year old brother that he was adopted and mom and dad were going to take him back because they decided they didn't like him anymore.  When I say convinced, I mean, I only retracted my story when he started crying.

God, that brought tears to my eyes.  See what I mean?  I hate myself for that memory.  I hope Brother doesn't remember it.  Of course, is that better or worse?  That it could be seared into his psyche that he's unloved because his sister was an evil 11 year old?  Maybe it's all my fault he was all fucked up.

Stacy, too.  She and I are only 18 months apart; I treated her as if she were my minion, there for my personal enjoyment and entertainment.  About 10 years ago, she told me she'd always admired me and looked up to me; I've never been so ashamed or felt so low in my life.  I don't deserve her kindness, and sometimes, even now, I'm surprised that she wants to hang out with me or listens to my advice.

But people change.  We grow up and we figure out that our actions have consequences and we learn what empathy is and we start to not be assholes all the time.  I think Stacy and Brother have forgiven me; I imagine Heather Donovan thinks nothing of me at all.

I am my own worst critic, because I remember.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Rock on.

Okay, so I guess there were a few things I could've talked about in the last week:

Like how Momma and I drove to Cincinnati on Saturday and spent a few hours with dear, sweet Maggie, lounging in her pool and eating a yummy meal she managed to sneak and pay for before we knew what was going on.  THAT won't happen again - the her paying for it part.

And then I almost got murdered by the super freak storm that popped up suddenly when I was on my way home Saturday.  I literally had to stop my car in the middle of the road and just hope beyond hope that no one plowed into me - the water was coming down in a sheet and I couldn't see anything beyond my wipers.  Nothing.  When the worst was over and I could move again - at 5 mph, with my flashers on - there were three trees  lying across both lanes on my side of the street.  Thank goodness none of them landed on my car - that would've sucked.

Or I could've told you about how I sorta started a fight with Jimi because I got all worked up over the fact that we're not married and there are no wedding bells on the horizon.  Here's what it came down to, though:  I could put my foot down and insist on matrimony, and he'd do it.  But I don't want him to marry me because I made him; I want him to marry me because he wants me to be his wife.  I already know he wants to spend forever with me - I just can't make him see why the married part matters.  I could threaten to leave, but if I did that, I'd be playing a game - I'm not willing to leave.  When it comes right down to it, we're together and we're happy, and for now, that's just going to have to be enough.  (But I've got a "If we ever got married..." category on Pinterest.  Just in case.)

Finn escaped from the back yard yesterday - that was something exciting I could've written about.  One of the boards in our fence came down, apparently, allowing Finn to squeeze through into the neighbor's yard, which has lots of escape hatches to the outside world.  I'm sure he greatly enjoyed terrorizing the neighborhood squirrels for a bit - but then he spotted some neighbors and darted over to them.  When I came tearing ass around the corner, leash in one hand, other hand holding up my jeans that were threatening to fall to my knees, my pup was sitting there between his two new friends, tail wagging, tongue hanging out, as if to say, "Hi Mom!  I met some new people!"  The neighbor has his finger hooked through Finn's collar - "He just ran right up to us," he said.  I was so glad he wasn't squished in the middle of the road.

Jimi shaved off all of his face hairs; in five years, I've never seen his face naked.  It's sorta like making out with and waking up next to a stranger.

Oh, and I'm at that point where I'm feeling myself up constantly - are my boobs sore, or am I squeezing them too hard?  I almost write a "I think I might be pregnant" post every month, but I stop myself because I don't want to be that girl.  I guess I just am, though.  I am that girl.  The crazy - I has it, and it is strong.

The dress I ordered too small?  It came in, and my Momma picked it up for me yesterday.  I don't even want to go get it or try it on for fear (knowing) that it won't fit.  Fuck.  Why do I do dumb things?  Why does food have to taste so good?

Is it Friday yet?

Oh, and can I just say how good it makes me feel that you guys even noticed I wasn't around for a few days? I mean, if you didn't that's okay, but if you did, you rock my socks.  This blogging community thing is really something special.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

I didn't die.

I haven't written in days - Kimmie said, "Why haven't you written anything since Saturday?"

"I don't have any words."   It's true; I don't have anything to talk about.  Nothing good or interesting, anyway.  I've got a guest post I'm supposed to have turned in by's hoping inspiration strikes soon.

Ever notice it's easier to write when life sucks?  When things are emotional or trying or challenging or hard - that's when the words flow like lava.  When life is full of kittens and rainbows, I've only got "I made this awesome thing for dinner" and "I had sex again last night.  It was awesome."  I know you don't want to read that.  Do you?  I'm not complaining - when the alternative is brilliance and misery, I'd rather spend every day for the rest of my life jumping for joy and not able to write a paragraph.

Life is beautiful, and that makes my blog very, very boring.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

In other news...

Why do my fucking underwires keep breaking?  And why is it happening in the month when I must put every penny toward paying off that last, final debt by 8/31?!  I don't have extra money for bras right now, Universe, and I'm not able to swing either the braless or sports-bra look with any success at work, okay?  I need a fucking break.  NO!  That's the problem - I need NO breaks for at least the next 4 weeks, okay?  Please, don't let me and the girls down.

Friday, August 12, 2011

Love, if today is opposite day.

She talked shit about my man; that's what opened my eyes.  That's how I came to see the things that were in front of me, but camouflaged so well.  "If you want to have a baby, I think you should hurry up and do it while you can," she whispered to me conspiratorially, two summers ago, as we lounged on the deck of her second home, "but don't expect him to help you at all.  He's useless."  This slander she said because he'd waited for she and I to come in from the water before starting dinner - her complaint was that the children hadn't yet eaten and our meal was not waiting.  We'd been in the water for hours, and had given him no timetable regarding when we'd be ready to eat.  The children had been fed fruit salad.  This was no excuse for the lack of a hot meal ready when she pulled her ass into the kitchen at 10 p.m., ready to be fed.

I've not been very Christian about this incident.  I've held onto it, and I've let it linger inside me, reminding me of the depth of her distorted reality.

Have I ever mentioned that when Jimi and I started dating, I methodically interviewed our mutual acquaintances, searching for someone who had some negative something to say about this man who made my heartstrings sing?  I found not a one; not a single person had bad words to share in relation to this newly anointed man o' mine.  Not one.

And now this?  This "he's useless" and "you will never be able to rely on him to help you" from a woman he'd rescued when she blacked out at the bar one night?  The woman he drove home, put to bed, and made breakfast for the next morning?  (No, they weren't dating - she was shit-faced at the bar, and he was looking out for her, making sure she didn't drive herself home or end up being raped by some drunken asshole who thought she was easy prey.)  Yeah, I'm holding a grudge.

Sometimes it takes very small selfish things to make your views change, though; to help you see the entire picture.  Her comments that night made me view her, and her world, in an entirely new way, with new lenses - and I was shocked and horrified by what I saw.


She couldn't say "I heard you had a miscarriage last fall, are you okay?"

She said, "I heard something, and I don't mean to bring up bad memories or anything, but I heard, oh, how did it go?  Someone was down at the lakehouse a while, wait. How did it go?"

"Are you asking about my miscarriage?"  Here.  I'll say the hard words for you.

"Yes.  Well, I heard last fall that you were going to have a baby, and recently someone was down at the lakehouse and I asked if you'd had a boy or girl, and they told me you'd lost the baby.  You know, I've lost two babies, so if you ever needed someone to talk to..."

I started telling my story, God love me.  I did.  I started to pour my heart out, the way some stories must be told, with your full truth, emotionally raw as it may be.

She interrupted me to explain to her 5 year old, the one I used to rock to sleep, that he couldn't eat his kindergarten snacks now.  "Do you want to go to school on Monday and not have any good snacks like the poor kids?"

My heart hardened.

Because we've not spoken in two years and the last time we did, that child fell asleep in my arms.  He doesn't know me now.  Because I'm telling her how I lost my child, and she interrupts me to talk down to her hers, the one I loved like my own.  Because suddenly I know why she sent me that message and friend request; suddenly, the recent break-up, the "my kids are all going to be in school, what will I do?", the "my 40th birthday is coming" - these things explain it all, especially when paired up with this piece of gossip that was obviously too much to resist.

She needed the companionship, and the gory details.

I should've told her, I'm not mad at you.  I won't give you that visual.

VV, here's how I've handled this:

I accepted the friend request.
I friended up with the two kids who're old enough to have Facebook accounts - because I love them and I miss them, and if I can watch, even from the periphery, that's enough.
I exchanged brief, cordial facebook messages with her.

And then I called her.  And I remembered why we're not friends.

"The agreement was you'd go upstairs with your kindergarten snack so I could talk on the phone and drink my beer.  No.  You're not supposed to be down here bothering me," she says to her almost-kindergartner.  "Sorry about that; I'm going outside to smoke a bowl in peace," she laughs to me.

Two years.  "I've been through hell and back, and I've changed a lot."

Not really.  Not at all.

We're not friends because she's a bad mom.  I've never told her that, and I probably never will.  My choices were to remove myself from the situation completely, or call child protective services.  I chose the pussy way out.  The situation is complicated, and even if I did the right thing, nothing would change and no one would come out better on the other side.

But I don't have to watch up close, do I?  I can't.  Her children have enough of everything - except loving kindness and good examples.  For a time, I thought I could be both, but it hurt too much.

The oldest remembers me; he doesn't live with her anymore, and we'll get together eventually and play a round of disc golf and talk about everything except her.  The middle child had conversations with me back then, but doesn't remember me now.  I was sad about that, until I realized that I couldn't come up with any particular story to jog his memory about who I was...who I am.  The baby, the one for whom I was the only babysitter until he was 3 years old...he starts school on Monday and, obviously, doesn't know I exist.  When I saw pictures on Facebook from his 5th birthday party my heart skipped a beat.

I love those boys so much.

So now I'm going to go click the Unfriend button.

I just can't be whatever it is she needs from me.

Madness and Chocolate

Jimi has introduced me to many, many things I may have never found on my own.  Tom Waits is on that list.

Something about Tom Waits - does anyone like him the first time they hear him?  His voice is so gruff and rough and scabby and dry and scratchy, and his words...his words are fucked up, yo.

And you'll die with the rose still on your lips
And in time the heart-shaped bone that was your hips
And the worms, they will climb the rugged ladder of your spine
We're all mad here

Fucked up, but I love it.

Well I don't want no Abba Zabba
Don't want no Almond Joy
There ain't nothing better
Suitable for this boy
Well it's the only thing
That can pick me up
Better than a cup of gold
See only a chocolate Jesus
Can satisfy my soul

Once again, I am in awe and appreciation of the power of the internet.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

It's Tuesday!

No.  Wait.  It's Wednesday, isn't it?  Even better!

Our company was sold to a new group of investors a few weeks back, and one of those guys is visiting the office today to check out the stuff and things.  Our last group of investors was very hands-off; they were all "you know what you're doing, so you do what you do best, and we'll hang out here and cash those checks, cool?"  There are rumors that this new group may be a bit more hands-on, which, well, no one wants some super rich smart dude coming in and telling you how to change things up so you can make him more money, right?  Except I kinda do.  I kinda hope this guy shakes things up just a little, just enough to make some people walk a little faster, work a little more efficiently, pay a little more attention.

In other news, I was contacted last night by a woman I've not spoken with in nearly 2 years.  The message was out of the blue and took me by surprise...and I'm still pondering.

I have to go to work; it wouldn't do to be late today.  Happy Hump Day!

Monday, August 8, 2011

Margo the Super Neighbor

Margo Tatum lives over one street and down, on the part of the parkway that the regular traffic doesn't travel - the part that's used by pedestrians walking their dogs or their children, the runners running, the walkers walking, the not-serious-enough-to-dare-to-ride-in-the-real-road-bikers biking.  Tonight, Margo was standing on the edge of this not-for-travelling-traffic road with her shiny red chair-walker and her wire-haired dachshund, wearing a black and red patterned tunic over silver capri pants with black old-lady shoes - you know what shoes I mean; the ones all little old ladies wear because their feet aren't what they used to be and at some point you have to choose comfort over style, even if that point is after 70.

I've not met Margo before tonight; our conversation was brief:

"Is your pup a boy or girl?" I inquired - I didn't know to say he or she.

"Yes, wire-haired," Margo replied.

"Ah." I nodded approvingly and smiled.

"I really wish I could get that cone off the roof of my porch."  She pointed across the street, where, sure enough, an orange MSD traffic cone lay on its side on the roof of her covered porch.  It looked to be right on the edge, easily reachable if one had a ladder tall enough to boost you up to the roofline.

"Do you have a ladder?  I'll get it down for you."  Sure.  Why not?  It's nearly dark, I don't know you, and I'm wearing a white skirt and no panties.  And walking my dog.  Sure, I'll climb up on a ladder positioned precariously in your flower beds.  Sure.

"Yes, I have a ladder.  It's about five foot tall.  I'd do it myself, but I'm so old, you see..."

"No sweat, I'll take care of it for you.  Where's that ladder?"

I did, too.  Her five foot ladder was more like 3.5 foot, but whatever - with that and the rake, it took next to no time to fish the cone off the roof.  I didn't even expose myself to anyone.  When I returned the tools and was able to wedge shut her swollen wooden gate, she declared me an angel sent from Heaven.

See?  This is why I do nice things for people.  It's not to do the right thing or to help out my fellow man; it's because they say really nice things about me that make me feel awesome about myself.

I wish I could get paid to bake.

I made this last night:

Except I changed it up a little to add:

Brown Sugar
A few Oats
Twice as many Peaches

And when it was done baking, it looked like this:

And it tasted like this:

plus this:

And for the first time in my life, I put down my unfinished dessert and declared it too sweet to finish.

Of course, I went back to it 20 minutes later to finish it off, but whatever. 
It was rich.
That's all I'm sayin'.  

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Sunday Stealing

I saw this posted on Ixy's blog and wanted to be cool like her, so I copied it.  (Link up here!)

1. What has been your longest love relationship?
My ex-husband and I may have technically been together longer than Jimi and I, but we also broke up a few times in the middle and I totally was hookin' up with other guys (before we were married), and I'm pretty sure he was hookin' up with other guys (after we were married), so I'm going to assume this question means "what's been your longest consecutive I-love-you-all-the-time-not-just-when-I'm-lonely relationship?" and that, of course, would be Jimi.  

(Though I was way in love with this guy in high school- even though we only dated for like 4 months, I thought of him every day for the next, oh, 6 or 7 years.  I'm also assuming the question is only asking about the sort of relationships that are mutual, not the creepy-stalker-crazy-ex-girlfriend-can't-move-on sort.)

2. What was the last gift that you received?
My friend Karen and her boyfriend Gary worked at his mom's farmer's market stand yesterday and brought home 3 bushel baskets of homegrown, organic produce.  (tomatoes, eggplant, squash, cucumbers...)  She called last night to say we have one waiting for us and need to come get it.  Happy Random Presents Day to me!

3. What do you spend your extra cash on?
Things I shouldn't talk about on the internet in case they're watching.  Eating out.  Beer.  Buying things for people I love.  Buying more stuffed toys for my dog so he can rip out the stuffing.  Giving money to guys on the street who create vivid stories, not knowing I'd give it to them without the spiel.  Dirt and plants that claim to clean the air inside your house.  Orchids.  The Sims 3 upgrades.  (Not really - I don't spend real money to get my characters new outfits or anything; but I do have the Ambitions and Adventures and I'll probably spring for the Pets when it's released in October.  I'm so embarrassed.) 

Oh, and getting out of debt.  Maybe I should've listed that one first? 

4. If you could live anywhere would you live?
If I could live anywhere, I hope I would live.  Okay, I know what the question is supposed to be asking (even if it is missing a word) - but I don't know how to answer it with a location.  I'd love to live on an island somewhere, or in a Utopia, but really, I'm pretty happy right where I'm at.  As long as I have my Jimi, my family, my friends, my zip code doesn't matter.  (I say that because where I am, in Louisville, KY, is pretty freakin' awesome - we've got a little bit of everything.  Except oceanfront property.)

5. Who's your cell provider?
Cincinnati Bell.  I know, I'd never heard of them before, either.  My cell is provided through work, free of charge to lil' ol' me, so whatever.

6. What's your favorite mall store?
I remember when I thought Spencer's was awesome, and now I think it's dirty.  I'm officially fucking old.  These days, I really like the stores with the sparkles - mostly because I really hate the mall, but it's impossible to be a bitch when you're trying on thousands of dollars worth of bling.

7. What's the longest job that you've had? (No parenting does not count!)
I spent most of my twenties moving from Kentucky, to Michigan, to Nebraska, to Texas, to Kentucky - and moving jobs with each new address.  My current employer took me on in June 2007, and as of Friday, my status is, as my boss put it, "I couldn't fire you."  Four years isn't much of a record for a 31 year old, but it is what it is.

8. If you won the lottery, who'd you call first?
My parents, to let them know they can spend the rest of their lives doing whatever it is that makes them happy.

9. If you won, how would you spend your money after investments?
I'd hire a personal trainer and a nutritionist to get my ass in shape.  Then I'd travel the world to see all the things I've dreamed of seeing.  Then I'd come home to our new custom-built commune where all of our friends and family had moved and we'd start building our Utopian society.

10. When was the last time you went to church (or a religious house)?
We attended a wedding at a Catholic church in mid-June.  I suggest every now and then that maybe we should get up early and go check out a random service at any random church, but sleeping in and morning sex always seem like better investments of our time.

11. What's the biggest lie that you've heard?
I think our government would be the teller, but I couldn't pinpoint any one specific falsehood - just pick anything, chances are good a large part of it will be bullshit.

12. When you go out with your friends, where do you go?
 What's this "go out" of which you speak?  I don't leave my house.

13. When was the last time that you cried?
Last night.  I watched a documentary called The Suicide Tourist, about a man with ALS who travel across the world to kill himself with medical assistance.  My heart broke for his wife as he drank the final cocktail of drugs.

14. What food do you hate?
Hamburgers, mustard, mayo, onions that aren't pureed or powdered, almost all sausage, shrimp, chicken that isn't breast meat...the list goes on and on and on.

15. What do you like best about yourself?

My luck.  It's fucking awesome.  

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Love and unicorns and rainbows

"Your skin looks nice - I was looking at you, noticing how pretty you are."

My heart, it melted.

He says things like this all the time - he's so generous with compliments and kindness.  He lifts me up on a cloud of love and hope and I feel the butterflies in my belly.

I know how easily relationships can break down - the indifference, the sullenness, the selfishness.  Jimi has taught me how easy it can be to mend the cracks, though - the tenderness, the forgiveness, the giving...and the thank-yous, the I-love-yous, the pleases, the whatever-you-want-honeys.

And regular, fantastic sex - that's important, too.

Friday, August 5, 2011

I want to get drunk and go sing Karaoke

Specifically, this song:

Poor Amy.  Rest in peace, girl.  

Wednesday, August 3, 2011


Jimi's brother went to Vegas last week for his buddy's bachelor party.  We went to his place Friday night to feed his cat and clean the shitbox, and I found this on the coffee table.

Yes, I am the sort that will pick up handwritten papers from your coffee table and read them when you're not around.  (For the record, I originally thought maybe it was a note to us - you know, a "food's in the closet, litter is under the sink" sort of thing.  But it wasn't that.)

It was a list of his flight info and such, and then at the bottom, this gem:

7:45p 7/27 to 12:55p 7/30 = 65 hrs in Vegas

65 hrs - 16 hrs sleep - 3-4 hrs airport/check-in = 45 - 46 hrs party time

$453.00 for 45.5 hrs of party time = $9.96/hrpt

How logical!  

Of course, I wonder if he got stuck in traffic at all, or had times where he was bored as hell - I imagine him thinking "It's costing me $10 an hour for this shit?!"

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Just another Tuesday night...

"Drink my likker from an ol' fruit jar."  (Apparently that's a line from an Elvis song.  I thought he made it up.  Good thing he corrected me when he saw me reach for the computer.  Whatever.  Now he's drinking his 15 year scotch from the ol' fruit jar.  He's classy, that man of mine.)

‎"There ain't no flowers. They got burnt up in the flood." "OF SUNSHINE!!!"
"There aren't any flowers - they all burned up in the flood of sunshine."
"The flowers were all wilted and gone, burned up in the flood of sunshine."
Creativity pours from this house.

Okay, some are wilted and gone, or never to be at all.

But some still hold promise.

Some are still there.

O Hai Dog n' Cat.

I'm trying to convince Jimi that my collection will be worth something one day.

What's the current scrap value of beer bottles?

O HAI, more flowers that haven't burned up in the flood.

Maybe I am watering them enough, Steven.


Ukulele at rest.

Ukulele at play.

He can't stop raging about my split pea soup, which is awesome, because it's the first time I've ever made it, and it's the first time he's ever had it.  What a win!  I don't know if I did it right, and he doesn't know if I did it wrong!  YAY!

I'd like to take another day off, please.

Back to reality, the grindstone, whatever.  Back to work.  Time to make the doughnuts, all that jazz.

I greatly enjoyed my mini-vacation.  And I just remembered Jimi told me he's not working today.  So freakin' jealous.  He couldn't get days off when I took off, but he was able to get today approved, so he went ahead and took it.

Sweet. Maybe he'll clean the kitchen and the litter box.  And spend 5 hours making me a delicious dinner (which, I might add, I've done twice in the last 8 days.  I don't care if you make dinner every night - 5-hour dinner is the same as 5 1-hour dinners or ten 30-minute meals, so those two dinners are the same as if I cooked all the time, even though they represent the two times I've cooked in the last forever I don't know how long.).

What were we talking about?  The split pea soup I made last night is the bomb diggity.  And the cheddar garlic biscuits weren't bad, but needed more salt.  We had banana splits for dessert - I'm not sure if Jimi tried to collect his blowjob prize or not,  I was in bed asleep well before he was done watching cartoons.

Man, I wish we could just win the lottery so I didn't ever have to worry about money ever again and I could stay home in bed cuddled up next to him till 10 every morning and then we could fix bacon and eggs and go dig in the dirt in the front yard or bake bread or go shopping at the thrift stores or go ride bikes...sometimes it feels like I give the best parts of myself to my job and Jimi gets what's left over.

And my leg hurts.  From where I burned it on the mower the other day.  Didn't hurt at all the day of, but the next day and each day since it's been sore and mean.  I'm such a whiny baby - I could never be a man.

Monday, August 1, 2011

What I Said vs. What He Heard

"For dinner, we're having split pea soup, garlic cheddar biscuits, and blow jobs for dessert."

"We're having garlic cheddar biscuits?  Really?"

What the fuck?  What dimension am I living in?  I cover my face with my hands to hide the horror and hilarity...

"Natalie, look at me."  He's using his serious voice.  I look.  "We're really having garlic cheddar biscuits?"

I'm obviously doing something wrong.

I just wanted to sleep a little.

"We slept great at the other end of the bed earlier - let's try that tonight!"

Note to self:  Post-coital after-glow naptime sleepy place is not equal to bedtime sleepy place.  The same chemicals that are present and allow you to sleep comfortably while lying sideways across the bed, diagonally across the bed, or with your head where your feet go in the bed - those same chemicals are not there hours later when it's night night time.

You'll realize this when you've been tossing and turning for what you're certain is no more than 30 minutes, but when you steal a glance at the clock, you come to understand you've not yet slept and you've been in bed for over 2 hours.  And of course, this will always happen on the nights you've set your alarm clock to go off 2 hours early because you're only working a half day and you really want to get off to a good start.

Whatever.  I'm going to work.  Hope your Monday is off to a more rested start than mine.  :)


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...