Wednesday, November 30, 2011

"I got nipples on my titties big as the end of my thumb."

That's now officially my new favorite lyric.  Ever.


Have you ever heard of Lucille Bogan?  Me neither, until this morning.  Ah, the power of Facebook.  She was one of the first Blues singers to be recorded - that song above was recorded in 1935.  I've always pictured the past, eras well before my time, to be genteel and soft around the edges and full of polite words and only vague flowery references to sex.  I was way wrong:


What a dirty girl!  And isn't the clap easily cured by antibiotics?  Is that a new development since the 30s?  (Probably, and I could totally google it, but I don't care that much.)  

In surfing YouTube for more dirty old songs to share, I found one by the Toppers recorded in 1954 called Baby Let Me Bang Your Box, but there's a reference to a piano, so it's cheating.  Lucille was raw and hard - she called a cock a cock.  Twenty years later, I guess radio-play was more the goal than telling it how it was.  

One of the comments left on Lucille's videos said "I've just found the answer to 'If you could meet anyone, dead or alive...'."  It'd be a hell of a conversation, for sure.  


Sunday, November 27, 2011

Sunday Presents: Weekly Wall of Words

What was that crap I was blathering on about the other night?  I'm afraid to even look.  I shouldn't be allowed to drunk blog, drunk Facebook, drunk call, drunk text - none of it!  (The texting's not such a big deal; I hardly ever text.)

Thanksgiving was awesome; I hope yours was too.  My whole family was together for the first time in years and years (even when Brother was around to attend, he often didn't; I think he felt judged and unloved by some extended family, but hopefully we've turned that corner). I was worried that everyone wouldn't be nice, but it was perfect and wonderful.

For the first time in ever, I went out to a store on Black Friday.  Of course, it was Lowe's, and it was 11 o'clock before we got there, but there were people and sales and stuff so it totally counts.  And then we went to the Meijer because I wanted to buy the newest Harry Potter movie but I couldn't fathom going near a Best Buy to get their $9.99 BluRay special, so I paid $34 at Meijer.  I almost didn't buy it because of that price, but then I figured if we'd actually gone to see it in the theater like we were s'posed to, it would've cost us at least that much dollars, and hey, this comes with an extra disk full of bonus features and a DVD.  Anyone want a Harry Potter 8 DVD?  It was free.  What in the hell am I supposed to do with an extra copy of the movie?

Poor Jimi, all he wanted to do on Friday was play in his garage and get his new workbench set up.  On our way home from the Meijer, though, I got a phone call from Rick and so we detoured over there - and got stuck for hours and hours.  Rick's friend Billy was in town from Denver.  Billy is from Hawaii and California, and just not at all the type of guy you're used to chillin' with here in Kentucky.  He and Jimi talked for hours, about everything from surfing to religion.  Billy was completely amused by our "country" accents - I almost protested that we're not country, we're from Louisville, but then I listened for another second to his "You know what I mean? Right..." surfer dude lingo and realized that he's probably feeling like he's in Hillbilly Central.  I wish he'd been in town longer - I would've loved for him to meet my extended family, show him what Country REALLY looks like.  He wanted to eat some good Kentucky food, but as Jimi told him, good Southern cooking isn't something you can get at a restaurant; good Southern cooking has to be gotten from someone's home.  For a moment, I was afraid the party was going to move back to our place for Jimi to whip up some yums, which would've sucked because our house has lived in a permanent state of disarray and mess for the last 2 months.  We ended up at Flabby's instead, a Germantown staple that is known for its awesome fried chicken and rolled oysters.  I think Flabby's has changed ownership recently or something - the place was completely empty save for the guy working the counter, and the food wasn't quite up to par.  Billy's thigh had blood dripping from it.  I was embarrassed, as if I'd spent the time preparing and serving bloody chicken, but dammit, we all talked this place up, and they back that up by serving raw chicken?  WTF?

We all parted ways after dinner, and Jimi and I both paid a hefty price for eating fried pickles and pan-fried oysters and french fries and fried fish.  God, I feel unctuous just rehashing that greasy meal.

Yesterday, Jimi still didn't get the workshop sassisfaction for which he was hoping; he helped his brother clean out their Uncle Joe's gutters, then he helped Steve finish his bathroom. (Steve has a toilet again!  I really want to tell you that story, about how Steve hasn't had a toilet for like 6 months and has been pooping in a bucket, using a pizza box as a seat, but it almost feels like making fun of him, and while I want to make fun of him, I don't want to hurt his feelings.  Of course, I'm not sure how many feelings one can have if they're willing to shit in a bucket for six months...and really, now that I've told you this much, there's not much to add, except that his girlfriend will probably spend the night at his house again now.  Because there ain't no woman I know who's willing to take their morning constitutional with a pizza box, a Kroger bag, and a bucket.)(Unless you're camping in the woods, but that doesn't count.)  By the time he made it home last night, Jimi was beat and had no energy for workshop work.

I spent my day yesterday doing a whole lot of nothing, which is always my favorite way to spend a Saturday.  I did have to go in to work for about an hour, to do month-end billing (because Boss-man couldn't wait till Monday to find out if we'd had a million-dollar month - we did!), but once I was back home, I retired to the porch with a book (The Fellowship of the Ring, now that I've finished The Hobbit).  For the rest of the afternoon and evening, I alternated between book, internet, and Sims Pets - and was wholly unproductive.  It was fabulous.

I did hear back from Kat.  She asked me if I'm okay, said she worries about me.  I hate that.  I hate it because if she was here, if she knew me, she would know that her worry is needless and unfounded.  I told her life is awesome, almost wrote, "the only thing missing is you," but didn't.  I can't decide if it's true or not.  I miss Kat; this person she is now, though, I don't know her, and I don't think I'd have the ability to put aside my heartbreak enough to get to know her now.  The betrayal I feel is still so strong; like a wife who's been cheated on, I don't think I could ever forget enough to go back.  Not that that's even an option or anything...I'm just rambling.  My feelings got hurt really bad, okay?

From Facebook, just now:  "Never chase love, affection, or attention.  If it isn't given freely by another person, it isn't worth having."  True 'nough, Facebook.  True 'nough.

I just spent 15 minutes looking up a video called "WTF!?" by Dead Monkey Comics, because I love it with mouth and it is the source of that word I used up there - sassisfaction.  But the video doesn't work.  I can't get it to play.  If you go to that link and get it to work for you, let me know, will you?  Cause I embedded it and everything, but it ain't workin'.  "Email!!" is going to have to do.  It's good, too - it added silly shit to my vocabulary, like K THX BYE and SHUN!.  I have a better story about "WTF!?", but I'll save it for when they get the freakin' video working.  For now, here's Email!!:

video

Happy Sunday!

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Thanksgiving 2011

My whole family was together today.

I hugged my Momma, my Daddy, my Brother, and my Jimi.  I told them each how much I love them.

I played games with my cousins, the ones who were all born after I started growing up.

I rubbed Stacy's belly, and hoped to feel the kick of the next generation, but she, apparently, was sleeping.

Stacy and Pam took Granny's old recipes and turned them into a book, with family pictures included.

They handed me a wrapped box, inside of which I found three dresses - dresses I wore when I was a little girl.  A picture of me wearing one, sitting on Granny's couch, hangs in my parents' hallway.

I cried a lot this evening.

I came home and wrote to Kat.  Fuck.

I kinda hate that.  I won't hear back, or if I do, it won't be what I'd want to hear, but fuck it.  You only live once, right?  May as well lay it all out there.

By the way, my name is Princess Awesomesauce, and if you don't like that, you can fuck right the hell off.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Tuesday/Fridays are my favorite.

Yesterday was Monday and today was Monday again, even though it was Friday.  (Of course, it's REALLY Tuesday, but not for me, not this week!)

Are you following me?

(If not, you should.  I'm pretty awesome.)

Oh!  About that - today my name is Princess Awesomesauce.  Just so you know.

No one called me by my proper name today.  They just don't get it.

The new name thing, that is - they totally get that I'm awesome.

Do you hate it when bloggers blog a series of tweets that aren't meaty enough to be statuses?

I bought a new plant light to help my sad outdoor plants this winter - and Jimi, brilliant man that he is, suggested perhaps I could make my orchids very very happy, too.  (They usually just live in the window-sills.)  I'm enjoying watching my plants so much, I'm seriously considering buying another couple of lights and turning a large section of my basement into an indoor greenhouse.  I could grow lettuces and herbs and tomatoes and all sorts of awesomesauce things - and I really, really enjoy watching my plants grow.  It takes so little effort, but it's so rewarding to see a little sprout become a big, hearty, happy plant.  Sometimes I fantasize about going back to school and getting some sort of plant degree - how badass would it be to get paid to grow plants?

Have I mentioned how excited I am about the facial and massage and haircut tomorrow?  OMG, I can hardly wait.  Am I a selfish bitch?  I'm sure Stacy is going to love this just as much as I will, and that's why I want to do it for her - but I totally needed an excuse to do it for myself, too.  Just like when we were kids, and someone always made sure I got at least one present on her birthday, so I wouldn't feel left out of the excitement...but it's not like I'm going to take her to the day spa and sit in the waiting area for her.  Gift certificate smishertificate - I want some good touch too!!!

This 5-day weekend couldn't have arrived sooner - I'm so ready for some time off.  I love the holidays for that reason, if no other (though there are many more).  5 days in November, 9 days in December - recharging time.  Much needed, just in time.

TGIF, and all that jazz.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Mandatory Sunday "Here's What's Up" Post

Getting up before 6 on a weekday is torturous and cruel - on a Sunday, it's called getting the most out of your weekend.  (And it totally justifies that 3-hour nap that's gonna come in the early afternoon.)

Finn got pepper-sprayed yesterday and it was completely due to stupid human mistakes.  I was sitting on the front porch with a book when Jimi and Finn joined me.  Jimi put Finn on his lead, but I saw the mailman coming up the opposite side of the street, and the mailman won't come into our yard when Finn's outside.  So I tried to get Finn to come into the house.  He wasn't done outside, though, and ran to Jimi (like a kid playing off his two parents, that dog is sometimes).  Jimi petted his head and looked at me as if I were being mean and said, "He doesn't want to go inside, Mommy."  Fine.  "But the mailman is coming, so hold onto his collar and I'll go get the mail."  I watched him hook a couple fingers under Finn's collar, sat down my book, and went down the porch steps and started across the yard to meet the mailman.  Halfway there, Finn darts past me, growling and barking and making haste for the poor mail carrier.  I yelled for my bad dog, and my eyes saw him stop running and crouch down as I heard Jimi yell "Man, don't spray him".  I hadn't noticed the mail carrier as he whipped the pepper-spray canister off his bag in a flash and gave Finn a face full, but I figured out what was happening and I at least had my wits about me enough to yell back, "He has to do what he can to protect himself, Jimi."  Oh, I was pissed.  "I thought you were holding onto him?!"  This I was saying as I grabbed the mail from the carrier, apologizing all over myself as he was trying to apologize for spraying my dog, assuring him I understood when he said, "I don't like to do it, but..."  "No no, I understand, and I'm SO sorry" (pleasedon'tcallanimalcontrolandtakemydogaway), with my hand hooked around Finn's collar as he shook his head from side to side and pawed at his face, which was covered in red speckles from where the spray had gotten him.  We made it up onto the porch, (Jimi saying, "he twisted and nearly broke my finger and I couldn't hold him anymore" and "He didn't have to spray him"), and I fumed as I held onto my twisting pup and hosed him down.  Jimi felt bad for hours, and normally I'm one to console and try to not lay blame, but I couldn't bring myself to say "It wasn't your fault" this time.   I would never say to him what I'll say to you, which is that it was completely his fault, but I did't make a lot of effort to make him feel better about the situation, either.  I sorta feel bad for placing blame at all, but dammit, this one wasn't on me, and could've been easily avoided.  And I keep thinking about how the mailman told all his friends last night over beers about the dog that he pepper-sprayed and the lady who was wearing footie pajamas at 2 o'clock in the afternoon on a Saturday.

Jimi told me yesterday he wants a recliner for his 40th birthday.  I had sorta just decided on either a treadmill or an elliptical or a new range or a new fridge, but he said if I'm going to spend money on him, he'd really like a nice recliner.  Typing that makes me think it sounds like an old man gift.  And then I remember, after all, he's turning 40.  Age ain't nothin' but a number, sure, but 40 seems like it should still be much farther off.  The last five years have FLOWN, yo.

I'm thinking of going downtown to the Occupy Louisville protests today.  A friend of mine is baking a turkey today to take to the group, as a show of support; her partner has apparently spent some part of every day with them.  I told her I'd call and maybe meet up with them -

This Occupy Movement may have gotten off to a slow and confused beginning, but there's something legitimate and lasting and real there.  I have always watched footage of the Civil Rights Movement with awe; the bravery of those few willing to stand up to so many in the name of What's Right.  I have always wondered if my generation would ever be passionate enough about anything to stand up and make a difference in a big way.  I've often wondered when American Citizens would realize that we are many controlled by a few who let us pretend we have a say.  I figured that once the word started getting out, big changes would come.  Fingers crossed.

I've got a two-day workweek to look forward to - I can't even be sad that it's Sunday, because Monday's not so bad when Tuesday is your Friday.  (I like that sentence a lot.)  Stacy and I have appointments starting at 10:45 on Wednesday for 75 minute facials and hour-long massages, then we'll have lunch and some sort of obscene dessert.  And then Thursday, of course, is the original Day of Many Dinners (at least two, and somehow men always manage to go back for seconds at each).  I won't shop on Friday - I can barely make myself go to the store on a normal weekday, you think I'd stay up all night to fight the crowds?  No effing way.  Besides, I'm more of a "finish shopping on Christmas Eve and give the gifts unwrapped and in the store bags" sort of girl, anyhow.

I'm reading The Hobbit; I read it at some point during my adolescence, but I was more into Stephen King back then, and so while I liked it, it wasn't really my sort of tale.  I really missed out back then because the writing is beautiful and vivid, and I can't help but picture myself reading this story to a child before bedtime - it's exactly the kind of story that should be read to a child.  I have the Lord of the Rings trilogy on deck, so my reading needs should be covered through the end of the year.

I can't believe the Holidays are here already.  Holy smokes, this year has flown.

If the world really was going to *poof* end on December 21, 2012, and we really only had 13 months left, how would you spend the next year?  What would you finally do that you've been putting off forever and ever?

I'm going to travel.  I'm going on a grand adventure some time in the next 13 months.  I'm going to see fabulous things and take beautiful pictures and have sex in crazy adventurous places.

Nothing like having goals.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Love always leads to heartbreak.

Last year, during the week I knew I was pregnant, there was a night when the smell of the litter box was really getting to me.  I asked Jimi to clean it; he said he would, then went back to doing what he'd been doing before I'd asked.  I'm sort of a bitch in that when I ask someone to do something, I sort of expect them to get up right that minute and go do it; Jimi makes me crazy, because he NEVER gets right up and gets on it.  He asks me for a glass of water, I'm up and getting it before he finishes the last word in his request; I ask him for a glass of water, and 2 minutes later he's still sitting there so I just get up and do it myself.  That was the way it went the night of the cat box, too.  I asked, he acknowledged and didn't move, so I did it myself.  Once he figured out that I wasn't waiting for him to get to it in his own time, he ran downstairs and took over for me, lecturing me on how I shouldn't be messing with cat shit blah blah blah.  "Yeah, but I can't stand smelling it, either, and if you weren't going to clean it, then someone had to."

Fast forward over a year, to last week.  That pregnancy is long gone, reduced to nothing more than a handful of shattered dreams and a line of demarcation in my life of "before" and "after".  I think about it all the time, of course.  Last week, I was explaining that to Jimi, how I can't make my brain turn off the baby switch, how I obsess with the idea of getting pregnant again but can't really picture life with a child, how I blame myself for the loss of a ball of cells that we already loved.  "I blame myself too," he told me, and I looked at him through the tears I cry every time we talk on this subject.  I was confused and surprised; he's never mentioned guilt before.  "That night, with the litter box?  I wonder if things would've been different if I'd just gotten up and done it when you asked me to.  Maybe that caused something, you know?"

People write about heartbreak as a literal pain in their chest at the moment something tragic happens.  I know that pain pretty good, I've felt it a few times - when I found out my first live-in boyfriend was cheating with a 17 year old mother, when my husband told me (over the phone, as I was driving to work, when he was 700 miles away) that he wanted a divorce, when my Momma told me (as I sat at the airport gate, waiting to catch my flight home to see her one last time) that my Granny had died.  When I realized I was losing my baby.  And then, when Jimi told me he thought it may have been his fault.

How could something so small, so brief, lead to all of this hurt, all these tears?  If things had gone differently, would the end result have lead to an equal amount of happiness and laughter?

Thursday, November 17, 2011

I'm gonna complain, but I'll try to keep it brief.

I spent 30 minutes driving around looking for a customer's office - an office I've been to before, but apparently I cannot retrace my steps. I finally said "fuck it, I'll find it later" and moved on to the next customer, and now I'm home, and after Googling, i think I've found the correct address and will be able to make my visit on my way back to work.  (I called and asked my Admin. Assistant to find the alternate address and/or directions for me, and she failed and gave up.  I'm a little grumpy about that, and will probably end up saying something bitchy once I get back to work.  I mean, seriously, i'd never call MY boss and be all, "Um, well, no one's answering the phone and the address you have is the only one I've found..."  Yeah.  Right.  Besides, I FOUND another address on the Google.  My Google at home is no better than her Google at work.)

Ugh.  Anyhow.

I booked our spa appointments this morning; Stacy and I will spend her 30th birthday being rubbed and scrubbed and cleansed and moisturized.  I can hardly wait.  It's her birthday, but I feel like taking the day off and going for a massage and facial is just as much a gift to myself - I need it!  And really, what better way to kick off the holidays?

You ever feel like you need to take a time out, pause the world, take a moment to regroup and start fresh?  I just need time to stand still for a day or two, so I can work non-stop to get my house spotless, my laundry folded, my pantry stocked, my dishes put away.  And at work, my files would be updated and organized, projects would be finished, memos sent out, meetings scheduled and planned...I just need everything to stop for a few days, just two or three, so I can get it all to the point where I can manage it day to day.

I feel very overwhelmed.  Overwhelmed by how much I need to do, and so I freeze and do nothing.  (Well, not at work.  That's not an option at work.  But I never make any headway - I get done what has to get done to keep things running, but the projects and the updating, that all gets pushed to the side, and having all of that sitting over there, staring at me...it's freaking me right the fuck out.)

Sometimes it's just all so much.

I don't remember the last time I felt like I had it all together, though.  I say that, but maybe it's not true.  We had the house looking awesome not too long ago.  And before my workload exploded in September, I was starting to see light at the end of the tunnel and room to wiggle and move on those projects.

It'll come again.  Deep breath.  One thing at a time.  Piece by piece, it'll come together.  It'll all work out.  It's all gonna be just fine.

I need a nap.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

O Brother...

Brother is home.  His first act as a newly free man was to make breakfast - sausage and eggs.  He says he was browning the sausage, and got impatient, so he just threw the eggs in with the sausage.  But the skillet was way too hot for the eggs, so they got scorched.  "It's okay, though, they'll still be good," he said.  Then he told me how, when he'd attempted to salt his meal, the lid to the salt shaker came off.  "It'll be fine, though, can't be any worse than what I'm used to."

Momma's got apple pie and chicken stew.  We're all full of tentative joy and desperate hope.  (For Brother, not the meal.  We know the meal will be good.)

If I were the praying type, I'd hit my knees right now and beg.  Oh please let this have been the lesson he needed.  Please let him understand that he has to do the right thing now.  Please let him want to make good choices.

Please let this be the first day of the rest of his life, a life full of good things and happiness and accomplishments like getting a job and a GED and a place of his own and a life he's happy to live.

Please let this be my Brother again.  My parents' son.  Our family, whole.  Please let the fear of brokenness be gone for good.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Coming soon...

I'm going to post something funny and amusing and entertaining.  Right here.  Any second now.

It's going to be brilliant.  It'll make you LOL and ROTFLYAO and OMGWTF?!2!

Right here.  Any minute now.  Hold on.  Brilliance takes time.

You're going to want to leave half a dozen comments about how it touched your soul and warmed your heart and made you think and helped you realize the world is full of beauty.  And then you'll want to share it with all of your friends and post links to it on your Facebook page.

Just give me a moment to get the words just right, okay?

It's still in the beginning stages, you see.  It's all in my head.  It's not in any specific order or formulation yet, but it's there, I can feel it.  I know I have it in me.  It's there, and it's good, and it'll be wonderful.

You know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you?  You feel it in yourself too, I know you do.  Somewhere inside, there's something you know you're going to do one day that will be awesome and fantastic.  You know it.

My problem is that I don't know where those words are, where the thoughts are hidden, what's covering them and keeping them from flowing freely through my fingers.  I don't know if my certainty, my belief, that I have something great inside me...I don't know if that's something I've made up inside my head, or if it's really a true thing that I'm not crazy to believe in.

You feel me?  Can you relate?  I can't be the only one.

Maybe it's because I don't do this more, I don't force myself.  I stare at a blank screen and listen to the emptiness inside my "things I want to write about" storage space in my brain, and I click back to Facebook and stare mindlessly at the screen, my scrolling making the words a blur, only stopping every tenth update or so to read the news being conveyed.  And then I come back to the blank screen.  Wash, rinse, repeat.

Words don't flow if you stop turning on the tap.

And Melinda was right - photo-only posts are a total cop-out.  They're pretty, but they don't replace words.

I think I've forgotten why I'm writing this blog.  I want to have a record of my life, of my thoughts, of my world.  I've stopped using my words.  I've felt like I've not had anything to say.  That's dumb.  I'm still living, right?

So yeah, one of these days, something brilliant, something hilarious, something awesome will be found here.  Probably not today.  But one of these days.

Any minute now.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Sunday musings

I'm wanting to beat up the TV again.  It's hard to sit here and think and try to remember what all I've done this week when Daffy Duck is screaming in my ear.  Except now Daffy has been replaced by Joan Rivers, and it's not an improvement.  Oh, and there's Larry the Cable Guy.  Okay, now there's a show about Border Collies.  Finn's part Border Collie, so this is okay, i guess.  Now i want to put him through agility training.  (We couldn't even make it through obedience classes, who am I kidding?)

The water problem was solved by a visit from our favorite plumber and a few turns of a pipe wrench.  It really was that simple, thank goodness.  (Of course, that was something we learned after Jimi spent 3 hours and an entire bottle of propane trying to torch the handle off, but whatevs.)  We've not yet addressed the water line on the fridge, but we'll get to that this week.  I'm still thrilled by the novelty of turning a knob and water coming out of the spigot.  The little things are huge, you know.

I was thrilled that Mississippi's proposed "personhood" amendment failed on Tuesday.  It would've made abortion completely illegal in Mississippi, and also would've banned contraceptive methods such as the IUD and certain forms of birth control pills.  Pregnancy threatening the life of the mother?  There's no choice or option - the pregnancy must be continued.  It surely would've been defeated in the Supreme Court had it somehow tragically passed, but I'm happy to see that the people of Mississippi, like those in Colorado before them, were able to recognize this attack on the reproductive rights of women and defeat it soundly.

My mouth/face has hurt all week, but (fingers crossed) I think it's over and all better now.  I guess I just really burned the fuck out of the roof of my mouth - I've never had something so long-lasting and painful result from a french bread pizza before.

It's so windy here today - I was finally able to turn off the TV, and I hear Granny's windchimes making beautiful music, accompanied by a hollow howling sound made when the wind whips across my front porch and through the cracks under my front door.  It's a creepy sound, that wind blowing.  It makes me think of dark and stormy nights, locked away in a cabin in the woods, where some madman is stalking and waiting...but it's 11:30 Sunday morning in the middle of the South End of Louisville Kentucky, and it's 60 degrees and overcast outside and the madmen don't hide and stalk, they're out there walking the streets with the rest of us.  Or we are them.

I applied for a credit card this week.  I don't know why I did it...if I had to guess, I'd say it was probably because of the whole "what if I need to go to the dentist and I don't have any money" thing.  I know the right thing to do is to have a savings account from which to draw those emergency funds.  I'm working on that.  Meanwhile, I will have this little dangerous piece of plastic.  This is a test, to see if 5 years of cash-only living and a few really painful lessons have taught me to live within my means and not spend money that isn't mine.  Wish me luck.

I think I blinked and all of a sudden it's the middle of November.  Thanksgiving is less than 2 weeks away; so's Stacy's birthday.  Her baby shower is the first weekend in December, then there's the company Christmas dinner, then Christmas and New Year, then the baby will be here - holy crap!  Time is flying!  I've gotta get on the ball - I'm taking Stacy to a day spa for her birthday for a massage and facial (it's her 30th, and I can't exactly treat her to a fifth of Patron, you know?), and I still have to find a place and make appointments.

Brother comes home on Tuesday.  He made it.  He will be home for the holidays, home for the first time in over a year.  Able to sleep in a dark quiet room that's not shared with 39 other men.  Able to eat real food, meals complete with fruits and vegetables that grew from the ground.  Able to come and go as he pleases, without requiring a pass or a "by your leave" from a guard or counselor.  I'm terrified for him.

I went to the local coffee shop yesterday for a fix and came away with three huge cupcakes, one for me, one for Jimi, and one for Steve.  They were all three different flavors, but all three had a squirt of whipped cream icing in the center.  This seems to be a recent trend in cupcakes, and it's sorta pissing me off.  Now, a year or so ago, my boss's wife brought in a six-pack of gourmet cupcakes from a bakery near them; one was a lemon, and inside was a wonderful squirt of lemon curd, all tangy and sweet.  The wedding cake cupcake had the whipped cream icing, with a surprise injection of strawberry glaze.  Those surprise fillings add a great flavor element and are welcome and completely acceptable.  The plain ol' whipped cream icing squirted into every single cake, though?  Come on.  If your cupcakes need that, you need to make better cupcakes.

Jimi's got a list a mile long of shit we're supposed to do today.  I don't want to do any of it.  Are you shocked?  I'm sure.  I want to sit here and do nothing.  Maybe take a nap.  Then do nothing some more.

I repotted the love tree and brought it into the house this week.  Well, I actually replanted it into the same pot, but it had a nasty lean to it, so I had to add some extra soil and make some adjustments for the odd angle.  As I dropped the root ball into the dirt-filled pot, the loose dirt blew up into my face - and my open eyes.  Wow, that sucked so bad.  I was blinded immediately; I stopped what i was doing, made my way to the front door, and once inside, I stripped off the clothes from my top half.  I walked straight across the living room and hall into the bathroom, where I flushed my eyes over and over for the next five minutes.  So. Much. Dirt.  Eventually they weren't so red anymore and the tears stopped, and I was able to go out and finish the job.  Fast forward to yesterday, when I'm talking to Jimi as he digs around in the shed where we keep the gardening stuff.  I was standing on a bag of dirt, just like the one I'd used to repot the love tree, and looked down and read "Important:  We strongly recommend the use of gloves when using this product." and "Not for container plants".  It's organic garden soil.  It's supposed to go in your flower beds.  It's a big ol' bag of shit, and I got it all in my face and mouth and nose and eyes.  While repotting my container plant.  Pretty good metaphor for the whole week, really.

Jimi and I are good, though.  We spent a couple hours a couple nights this week talking to each other - really talking, like looking at each other while we spoke and everything.  No distractions of television or computer, just us, the way we used to do all the time.  The sort of talk that reconnects you as a couple; the sort that's as therapeutic as good sex.  We're always here, but I'm always grateful when we're able to take the time and reaffirm that fact.  And then I feel guilty for doing my part in not making it happen more often.  But not too guilty, because that's just life, and I don't need one more thing to beat myself up about.

He picked me a rose from the bushes that line the White Castle drive-thru.  Then we made out like teenagers (the drive-thru line wasn't moving anyhow) and got our food and came home and I put the flower in a little tiny mason jar full of water next to the laptop.  A pretty good metaphor for our whole relationship, really.

I'm in a Sims phase.  I'm addicted to this Pets thing - I've adopted a unicorn and five cats and three dogs and some horses and birds and rats and snakes...it's awesome.  (When I say I want to do nothing, that's what I really mean - I want to play Sims Pets.)  I guess I'll go do that until he makes me do something else.

Happy Sunday!
 

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Ain't got no water.

There's been water building up in the bottom of our refrigerator for months - we've replaced the ice maker and the seal around the doors and a whole slew of other things that Jimi did but I don't know what they are.  (He wrote them on the whiteboard in the kitchen for the repairman, and I could totally go in there and tell you all about it, but I'm guessing you care about as much as I do, which is way less than the effort it's already taken to write this much about it.)  Whew.  Anyhow, this has been enough of a problem that we've been researching new fridges and tentatively calculating that purchase into our upcoming expenses.  (Walk through a puddle in your kitchen floor in your footie-pajama'd feet and tell me what lengths you'd go to to make sure that didn't happen anymore.)

So today, the repairman came out.  I pointed at the whiteboard and said "Have fun, I'll be on the porch" and I took my book and I went there.  A few pages into my book, he came out and asked if I knew where the main water shut-off was.

Um.

Yes!  Yes, I do!  State Farm sent me a tag that said "Main Water Shut Off" or something like that right after we moved in, and I proudly identified the appropriate pipe and affixed the tag.

Of course, the main water shut-off lives in the deepest, darkest, dankest corner of the basement - the one where the BIG spiders live.  It took every ounce of my self-control not to scream as I plunged my hand through the gauzy webs to reach the knob - that shit was straight out of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, yo.  But I did it, I turned off the water, and proudly yelled up the stairs to the repairman.  He said something about that not being the right one, something about "one quarter inch pipe" and in my head, i was looking at the pipe in front of me and trying to remember how measurements work...

The pipe he was looking for was the itty bitty copper one that comes out of the back of the fridge and down into the basement.  It's way smaller than the main water line, turns out.  But he told me to shut off the main water line, I swear on a stack of holy books.   I watched him turn the little knob on the little copper pipe and then walked back over to the main shut-off and turned the water back on...

And water went spraying everywhere...or, it would've, if the cheesecloth-like webs hadn't contained most of it like an umbrella.  As it was, it was going everywhere for a radius of like six inches, and then in a steady stream onto my basement floor.  I watched, dumbfounded, as a puddle formed and crept toward the water heater.  I shook myself, and tried to turn the knob back the other direction - the spray slowed, but didn't stop.  The part, I don't know what it's called, but I knew it was broken.  Fuck.  I grabbed a towel and threw it onto the puddle, and then I felt dumb, because what the fuck was a towel going to do against the Louisville Water Company's supply for the South End?  So I got a bucket, and then I felt like the fucking champion of the world, because when contained in a bucket, the spray and stream didn't seem quite so threatening.

I looked at the repairman and said, "This is bad, isn't it?"  "Yeah." was his only response.

Fuck.  I said that, too.

Back upstairs, I learned that while I'd been turning the knob hither and thither trying to make the water stop and finding towels and buckets and such, the repairman had located the MAIN main water shut-off - the one that apparently lives somewhere in my front yard between a tree and the curb, but I'm not sure which tree or which curb or where exactly...and neither is Jimi.  (Oh, happy Time Change, everyone!  It's dark at 6 now.  That should make finding this mysterious MAIN shut-off a little more fun.  As if this adventure wasn't fun enough.)

So Mr. Repairman had turned off the water to my home, and then he told me that he'd fixed my refrigerator - the drain line was clogged, so he blew it out, and now it's fine.  All better.  OH, and when he was pushing the fridge back into place, he broke the water line feeding the ice maker, so I'm going to need to get that replaced.  And the thing with the main shut-off, of course.  He apologized for the trouble, and presented me with a bill for $80.

"Um, so you broke my water line?  Shouldn't you, I don't know, fix it?"

"Nope.  That's YOUR plumbing.  They don't even keep those parts on the truck."

Fuck.

Jimi came home early from work and got started on the fix, but right now, at 7 o'clock, there's no water in my house.  He's at the hardware store, for the second time, getting something or another...and water.

Did I mention I started my period this morning?  I wouldn't normally, but somehow, that just seems like the cherry on this fucking sundae.

At least I have beer.  And processed, pre-packaged food.  And we filled the pet water this morning before work.  First World Problems, Natalie.  First World Problems.  I live in a place where even a lack of water is a temporary first world problem...but it sure feels good to bitch every now and then.  :)

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Vote! Maybe you can cancel mine out!

Is it voting day where you are?  It is here in Kentucky.

Are you a voter?  Be a voter.  Voting is cool.  All the cool kids are doing it.  C'mon, be like the rest of us.

Happy Voting Day!

Monday, November 7, 2011

Here, have some words.

I think I need to have another party so I'll be forced to get my house presentable.  Why is it so hard to get motivated to clean?  Ugh.

Stacy went to the hospital twice this weekend with contractions.  Doctors say she's showing no signs of labor, so by all appearances, these seem to be those notorious Braxton Hicks.  Thank goodness.

I've got a face pain problem.  I burned the roof of my mouth the other night on one of those bullshit french bread pizza things, and it's been tender ever since.  This morning, though, it hurt when I brushed my teeth in a way it didn't when I went to bed last night.  And I've had this bruised feeling in my face all day that I thought was sinus pain until I came home for lunch and realized it hurt to chew on the left side.  Fuck.  Of course, with all the awesome health insurance I've got, I have no dental coverage.  And I've got like $100 in the bank because Jimi was kind enough to give me a break on my part of the mortgage payment this month because I overextended myself last week and I was going to be completely broke till this coming Friday.  (In other words, I don't have the cash on hand to visit a dentist.)  And I don't have a credit card, so that's not a quick-pay option.

How long do you wait to figure out if weird shit like this is "see a dentist" serious or if it'll go away on its own?  My gut tells me I've got an infection of some sort in my gumline because of that burn Friday night.  I don't think this is a rotten tooth thing, and nothing feels loose.  Then again, gumline infections can cause some serious fucking damage - I've got an uncle that had a hip replacement at 50 because of an infection that traveled from his gums (during a teeth cleaning) and went to his hip, dissolving the entire structure within 6 months; he required ridiculous rounds of antibiotics, and at least 2 exploratory surgeries before they had to completely replace his hip.  Because he got his teeth cleaned!!!  So, I don't want to be all nonchalant and shit.

If I have to see a dentist, I will.  I'll borrow the money from Jimi or my boss or my Momma or someone till I get paid Friday, and I'll see someone tomorrow if I have to.  I'd just rather not.

I've really not been interested in blogging lately.  Well, I have, I just haven't had a thing to say.  No Words.  My constant complaint.  I never have the words.

I'm a little worried about my hermit-ness.  I joke about it all the time, but between you and me?  I'm a little concerned.  Even the idea of going to my Momma's makes me get jittery, forget a trip to Wal-Mart or Burlington or Kroger, even.  Contemplating stopping by the grocery on the way home from work makes my heart feel heavy and my stomach flutter.  It's all in my head, though - it's all the IDEA of doing things that is so hard - once I'm out in the world, doing things, it's not so bad.  That's what Jimi says all the time, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"  And it never was as bad as I'd feared it would be, I almost always end up having a good time, but still...I dread having to leave the sanctuary of my home.  I resent having things planned to do on weekends when I feel I should be able to sit in my chair and do nothing at all if that's what I want to do...and OH, that is SO what I want to do!  I don't look forward to anything.  Not if it takes me away ... and I don't even know what I fear being taken away from.  My house?  My dog and cat?  Not Jimi, certainly - he's almost always with me if it's not work or an errand before he's home from work.  There's nothing that I do here that is special or unique; there's nothing I'm missing out on by leaving here - I'm missing out on life by staying, though.  I realize that.  And it scares the fuck out of me.

I wasn't always like this.  And I won't always be.  I'm working on it.  One step, one drive, one visit, one party, one shopping trip, one day at a time.

Doing things when I'm here is hard too, though.  I said that once already, didn't I?  About the cleaning?  Yeah.  Cleaning, and re-potting that hibiscus, and that Wandering Jew, and folding all that laundry and finishing the ones that need to be washed...

Ugh.  I'd rather read my book, read the internet, play the Sims Pets, watch Judge Judy - I think I'm a perpetual 17 year old, hoping Momma's gonna clean up after me.  (And Jimi does, a lot. Bless his heart.)

I felt better when I was watching my calories closely and exercising every day.  Imagine that.  I wonder if my sudden stop has anything to do with the funk I've fallen into?  Wow.  I may have just worked that shit out myself, yo.

So, how's your Monday night?

I missed "The Walking Dead" last night.  I went to bed at 8:30.  I figure they'll show it again before the next episode.  I'll see it eventually.

About your Monday night...

Sunday, November 6, 2011

We took a walk through the park...










Can you spot the deer?
He was at least an 8-point buck.
He was beautiful.

sunday morning check-in

I want to live in a TV-free home.

Okay, not really.  Then I wouldn't be able to watch "The Walking Dead" tonight.  But I like Sundays where Jimi sleeps in till 10 or so, and I have two hours of quiet before the bombardment begins.  Shows full of loud noises, flashing lights, shouting and screaming - we pay money for this shit to invade our quiet sanctuary?  I moved the laptop into the dining room so I can write - I can still hear it from the other room.  It's kinda making me want to scream.  I may need to go get my earplugs.

It's just too much first thing in the morning.  It's too much stimulation, too much noise, too much brightness, too much trash.  I need soft jazz and at least a cup and a half before that crazy begins.  I need a moment to organize my brain, still jumbled from crazy dreams and fitful sleep.

And then he's yelling to me from the front room, a random comment about some random show I know nothing about, something I don't understand and don't care to - "Motherfucker's name is Sucklord!"  Today's shows are so enlightening and uplifting.

He followed my path to the dining room and apologized - "I'm sorry honey, were we bothering you?"  "It's just the loud.  I can't take the loud this early."  "I'll turn it off, sweetheart."  "Could you just turn it down?"

He turned it off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aside from that, today's great.  :)  Got some things to do, but nothing stressful or work-related or sucky.  Jimi promised a walk after we eat our frosted shredded wheat - it's a beautiful day here in the Ohio Valley, chilly and clear and full of the smell of dead leaves and wood-smoke.  

O Hell!  Just realized we missed the clock roll-back last night!  It's only 8 o'clock!  Hells yes!

Remember that time I posted about my laundry and how bad it was and I fixed it up and swore I'd stay on top of it?  I didn't.  (Surprise!)  So we're working on that today, too.  

But first, it looks like we really are going on that walk.  Color me surprised.  

Happy Sunday!

Thursday, November 3, 2011

A beautiful start to a rainy day

Our sunrise this morning was breathtakingly beautiful.


I looked out my window as Kimmie pulled into her parking space and saw this.


I grabbed my phone and ran for the front porch.



Twenty minutes later, Facebook was full of sunrise pictures and awe-struck comments - 


everyone had seen, and everyone was impressed. 


How could you not be?



It started raining a few hours later and never really let up - I think it's still drizzling out there.


But we had this to start the day.  


Fair trade.


Wednesday, November 2, 2011

I say dumb things. A lot.

A neighbor we hadn't met came over to introduce herself on Halloween night.  I was able to shake her hand, say it was nice to meet her, offer her a seat and a drink, all normal, the way normal people do.  I can handle that much interaction with strangers without putting my foot in my mouth.  Once she sat, though, and our getting-to-know-each-other officially began, that's when my social skills became a trainwreck.

Within moments of her ass hitting the chair, she asked if we had many trick-or-treaters last year.  My response was something like, "We didn't pass out candy last year - we were going to, since it was our first Halloween in the house and all, but I don't like to leave the house much, and I guess picking up candy was just too hard."  What.  The.  Fuck?!  Who says shit like that 45 seconds into a conversation with a stranger who lives across the street?  She sort of nodded like she understood the crazy coming out of my mouth and mercifully moved onto another topic, which I obviously didn't fuck up too horribly, because I don't remember what it was.

I was thrilled to learn she's a Librarian!  A real, live Librarian right across the street from my reading porch.  How awesome is that?  We chatted for probably half an hour, Jimi joining us mid-way to introduce himself and say hello.  I don't think I was too bad after that initial flub, but Jimi insists I shouldn't have referenced "smoking a bowl" when we were talking about things to do when you're floating downriver on a canoe.

A few weeks ago, the weekend of Melinda and Gary's wedding, I went to a housewarming party at the home of some friends.  I was brilliant that night!  I got like 5 high-fives for funny shit I said, and I replayed those snippets of conversation over and over in my head for the next 3 days, congratulating myself for being brilliant and hilarious.  I wanted to tell Jimi about the time we were all talking about the well-known fact that Gingers don't have souls, and someone said, "Well, then what about Ben?  Ben's not a Ginger, but he doesn't have a soul" and I was all, "Yeah, but he's Jewish" and the crowd went wild.  (Ben high-fived me for that one, for the record, so I totally wasn't being a nazi cunt or anything.)  The whole night went that way - someone setting up a punchline that came into my head with perfect timing - that happens to me so rarely!

But that party was full of people who know and love me.  They've known me for at least 5 years, and they invite me to things because they enjoy my company, despite my quirks (like how I rarely show up to things I'm invited to).  I was comfortable there, completely at ease.

(I'll be honest, though, if Steve hadn't been there, my night probably wouldn't have gone quite as swimmingly.  He's like my Jimi surrogate when Jimi's not around - he provides that security and safety that I rely on when I'm not in my home.  I feel like he wouldn't let anything bad happen to me - he'd save me from a rapist, or he'd punk out some asshole that was mean to me...not that either of those situations have ever presented themselves, but I feel confident he would defend me and my honor.  He's like a big brother I never had but always wanted.)

The Tuesday after the housewarming party, Jimi and I went to Lisa's for dinner.  The tentative plan was to order in, catch up (we'd not seen her in over a year!), and then meet up with her fiance' for drinks and fun later.

Before I go further with that, I should give you some background on Lisa and Jimi:  The first night I went to Jimi's apartment in Old Louisville, hanging on the wall in the center of his living room were two large pieces of framed art; cut-outs of a beautiful platinum blonde, staged in all different poses, wearing all sorts of costumes - it was Lisa, and the piece is called Paper Dolls.  It hangs in our living room today.  Then, though, I thought it was proof positive that he had a relationship with this gorgeous woman, and I immediately saw how inadequately I measured up to her in beauty and creativity and all-around awesome.  Of course, they weren't a couple - she is what he refers to as his "Sissy".  Likewise, he is her "Sissy".  They are 3 days apart in age and joke that they are twins.  Lisa is deeply involved in all things ART, and Jimi loves all things ART, and on this level they meld and mesh in a way I will never be able to with him.

Obviously, I'm a bit intimidated by her.  I didn't realize that's what it was or call it that until after Jimi pointed it out to me on Wednesday, when I sent him an email apologizing for being a drunken slore and drinking half a big bottle of wine and half a beer and eating 2 huge slices of pizza and nearly puking in Lisa's bathroom and then falling asleep at Lisa's kitchen table.  His words were, "I told her you're intimidated by her, and that you get a little over-excited and over-indulge, but once you're comfortable with her, you'll norm out."  I wanted to argue, but I couldn't.  He's so perceptive, that man of mine.  I'm terrified that I won't measure up, so I make a fool out of myself to prove it.

I feel like that in most social situations where I'm not well-known and already loved.  I feel awkward and not good enough and strange and uninteresting and uncool, and I throw out the very worst of me to try to disprove these thoughts that probably only live in my head until I say or do something to show it to everyone else.

Thank goodness there's something underlying my crazy that doesn't make all people turn and run in the opposite direction; thank goodness there's something there that says "Wait, maybe she's funny sometimes, and maybe she's the sort that would buy a round, and maybe she's pretty smart when we're not talking about a subject that's way over her head, and maybe she's the type who'd be willing to give me a ride to the airport, and maybe she's one of those people who won't notice that I haven't called for two years when I need a shoulder to cry on."  I have good qualities, I swear!  Maybe they're just not so obvious when you first meet me; maybe that veneer of awkward and strange is just something you just have to look through, like one of those 3-D pictures that you have to stare at for a few seconds before you can see the image.

Is it completely obnoxious to compare my personality to a 3-D picture from the 1990's?  "I am so deep and hard to understand."  Yeah.  Like a fishbowl.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Wild Things


Hope your Halloween was scary awesome!  

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