The Wedding

Well, Mike and Rachel finally got married. F and I went up on Friday afternoonish, just in time to make it to the rehearsal dinner and then a night of boozing at the local Superior watering holes. This was my first trip to the Duluth/Superior metropolitan area. It was freaking cold. It snowed and snowed, but it was beautiful. We also got he hummer limo. I'm not one for hummers in general, but this limo was fantabulous - plus, it was stocked with champagne and Pabst Blue Ribbon - a local (and personal) favorite. We drove around for an hour stopping off at random locales to take pictures (oh yeah, we had our own photographer). Cool!

The church was beautiful, but the reception was like heaven. It looked like there were about 500 people there - it was huge. F and I got a room at the Sheraton across the street for the reception - so nice. The next morning we stopped over at the Burkholder's suite to pick up the wedding dress for transport back to the Score house before we left town. I know Rachel's sad that it's over. I'm sad that it's over. I don't get to see good friends very often anymore these days and with the economy the way it is, I don't see a lot of travel in my future, so it was so, so nice just to hang out with the people that I love and miss all the time.

Maybe that will be my New Year's resolution. :)

Kooza

F took me to see Kooza for Halloween - as always, Cirque Du Soleil was excellent. I really can't emphasise enough how great the show always is. Here's a little background, if your interested: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cirque_du_Soleil

We saw the performers in this picture. See the woman literally bent in half backward? Seriously.

In other news, I've been agonizing over Thanksgiving and what to do. I think F and I have decided to forgo the whole thing. I know I'll come away even more profoundly hurt, upset, angry, disgusted than I am now. If two plane tickets are the price for a small piece of sanity, I'm happy to pay. So many wasted plans, broken promises, lies and all the rest of it. I'm so weary. Of course, it also means I'll not see my nephew. And that hurts - a lot. I'll send him a book, write him a letter, but it is not the same. I try to think of my favorite aunt growing up - we often went long periods without seeing her, but I loved her just the same and the excitement when I did get to see her was almost unbearable. I'm hoping I can fly my sister and nephew out here sooner rather that later.

I think I'm starting to get around the initial hurt, disappointment and confusion that my mother's latest falling off of the wagon and subsequent threats, retractions and all around bad behavior has caused. I'm also getting around the fact that some people just aren't going to care how deeply I am hurt or why. They will judge, dictate how I should live my life, determine what I should think, how I should feel and withhold their love and approval until I do so. But I think I'm finally realizing - that isn't love at all and never was. I couldn't bear to do it to the ones I really love, myself. My love is the all or nothing kind. I love you - all the way, even when you make poor choices, even when you fail, even when your convictions clash with my conscience. And anyone not offering up the same in return, well, it wasn't love after all, now was it?

Thanksgiving

I was inspired by another blog to put down some things that I am thankful for. I know I spend a lot of my time critically examining my life and my circumstances. I generally call a spade a spade and have a dry, sarcastic sense of humor. I *do* believe that the unexamined life is not worth living - otherwise, why bother? Why bother with the joy and the sorrow and the tears and laughter and all the wonderfulness and sorrow if not to attempt to put it into some relevant context and figure out - why? Sorrows and happiness mean so much more when I understand their deeper meaning instead of just blowing through them thoughtlessly, waiting for the next season. Further, I believe that better understanding and meaningful contemplation results in a better lived life. Maybe not *happier*, but more thoroughly, meaningfully lived. That's also why I don't read self-help "12 steps to a better, happier you" bullshit paperbacks. The discovery is the evolution.
I am thankful (and let me just say, thankful in 'spirit' to the 'universe' in general instead of thankful to a godhead or other such business) for a good, loving, genuinely selfless and devoted husband. I don't think we have it all figured out. I think we DO have all the ingredients though, and that IS rare.
I'm thankful that I have had the courage to live my convictions, even when they have made my life uncomfortable.
I'm thankful that I didn't misspend my youth. I took some detours, but can generally account for most of it and think I spent it wisely.
I am thankful that I am still young.
I am thankful I have choices and can see things in shades of grey rather than black and white. I'm thankful that I don't paint myself in a corner like some do. I am thankful that kindness and compassion seem logical to me in the political sphere. I would dislike very much to be a political hate monger and to think of that position as the only thing that makes sense.
I am thankful to have and to have had friends who are genuine, caring and accepting and to have known the difference.

Take This Job

Tomorrow is my official last day. I start at the new place on the 17th. Mark my words; I am putting it down now so I can confirm later - there is a set up going on. I won't bore you with details, but there is something not right, something someone isn't saying.
Or do I always think that? Do I always think that people are plotting against me? I mention this because my therapist threw that out at me one time. She pointed something out to me and the FIRST thing I said was - "Oh, and she knew she was doing it; she meant to do it."
And the therapist said, "Well, or not." "It might just be a coincidence." And I was like, Oh, right. OK.
But what it people DO plot against me an more often than other people. What I mean is, What is I am plotted against more than the average person? or What if I am plotted against the SAME as the average person, but I am more *aware* and hence, better prepared to deal with said *plotting*.
Also -aren't delusions of persecution a hallmark of schizophrenia? Maybe I'm just nuts. It seems like I'm pretty good at calling this shit, but maybe I call it every single time, even when it isn't, thereby giving me a de-facto "calling it" rate of 100%. Maybe I'm not as much persecuted as untrusting or afraid that the rug is going to get pulled out from me all the time, as a way of life. I try not to live my life that way, but it almost seems like it's better to always be prepared even though nothing may happen than to not be prepared the one time you really needed it. Emotionally, I mean.
Other news - my mom fell of the wagon. Bad habits, old (not good) friends, etc. She is choosing to live her life the way that she wants to (as a drunk, I guess). I am choosing to live my life not being exposed to her toxic alcoholism and the hurtfulness that that implies. But - I totally saw it coming. ;)
My little sister doesn't want to take baby around her while she's "being an alcoholic". My other sister and my mom think that she is trying to "blackmail" my mom into NOT drinking, which she, of course, has no right to do. But, what if you don't want your kid around a drunk, even if she is your own mother, because you have seen that person make some really bad choices, and it has nothing to do with blackmail? What if that is just the choice that you are making for your child? The outcome, the effect is the same - the child does not see the alcoholic grandmother, and so she can say it is blackmail, call it blackmail all day, every day, and there is nothing you can do to prove it otherwise.
Which makes Thanksgiving tricky. I refuse to go home to the nauseating reality that IS my home on a "off the wagon" Thanksgiving. Been there, done that. Last year (or the year before) my sister didn't even get to eat before she had to drive my mom home because she nearly went face first into her plate of mashed potatoes. So F and I will be couch-surfing in LA instead of enjoying a family holiday with my FAMILY.
I am so pissed at my mom for letting me down again.
I am so pissed at her for lying again.
No matter how far away I get, her drinking always effects me; I cannot escape it. It's like she wants to, is determined to damage me with her drinking. Did it have to be now? 3 weeks before Thanksgiving. Not to mention, money is tight right now and I bought F and I tickets to go home for Thanksgiving INSTEAD of somewhere we could be alone and relax. THAT is how much I wanted to see my family and she has ruined it all again, just like she always does, every single time.
Like France. And my sister's wedding when she hit on one of my sister's friends MARRIED Dad - seriously. And the time she peed herself in public. And don't even get me started about when I was a kid.
And here we are, right back where we started. Just like every time.

A Long Month

But a productive one.
I couldn't do *IT* anymore, and I needed time (3 weeks apparently) to figure out what this "it" was that was making my life seem unbearable to me. Even with the economy being in it's current state, even with the possiblity that things may not get better for a while, I quit my job. I simply said, "I cannot do this thing that I hate for one more day". I gave them an end date, and there it was. I was worried, too scared to write anything about it, becuase I have never been one for writing or talking when I am in limbo - I am pensive. I consider and reconsider the same angle, tactic, outcome and option over and over. I never actually get to a resolution, but I have to maintain that internal dialog, over and over, or I panic. Panic includes the general kind of panic as well as full-blown panic attacks that make me miserable all day and keep me awake all night. So, for safety's sake, I have to ruminate, regurgitate and gestate the same thought over and over.
My eCompany was taken aback - not that I quit or was unhappy, but that this time I meant it. I meant it so much that I told them I would rather wait tables or be a greeter at Wal*mart than do my job for one more hour after my tenure was expired. I'm going to work for one of our clients now, and I'll be contracted to teach one day a week for eCompany. But they have hired a new person to do my job, meaning that my position is occupied and there is no going back.
Now I'm in the last week of my position here and everything about my job angers and frustrates me. I have to remmeber that it was not always this bad, but in some important ways - it was ALWAYS this bad. And sometimes worse. Ah - what is that little guilt that I will not be there to put out that fire, that I will not be there to be taken advantage of? Why?
I will say that I would never have made the decision to quit if F had not supported it, pushed it and finally demanded that things change. My unhappiness is intolerable to him, and not just because it makes his life a living hell, but because my happiness is his happiness.
But quitting my job and now going into a new job has also made me consider other, larger issues. Is this the life that we want? Both in DC, both working for the government. Sure, the benefits are nice, the vacation is good, but isn't this the exact sort of rinse and repeat life we were trying to avoid at all costs? It was so much different when I worked from home on alternating shifts and he was a post doc. We often had all day Tuesday to lie in bed or go on a picnic, and I think that colors your world a different shade. Now we have Saturday and Sunday to cut the lawn and do chores with the rest of the world. What choices led us here?
We've been house shopping - not seriously, just spent a few Saturdays driving around seeing what we could afford. Apparently the answer, with both of our salaries, is very little. F would ideally like something that he can support on his own salary so we can someday have a family and I can have the choice to stay home and raise them. On F's salary, we can afford a smallish apartment in a bad part of town. F doesn't make bad money, he makes good money; the cost of living in DC ain't cheap. Just groceries and gas are a small salary; I don't know how teachers make it.
So, right now we are in limbo. I can't possibly make any plans for the new salary I'll be bringing in because I don't know if I'll like the new job yet and I won't handcuff myself to a position that I could hate. But that money would come in handy. Yes it would.

The First Year

I thought, not sure why, that F and I would sail through the first year marriage unscathed. Not so. Turns out it's harder than I thought and F had a lot of preconceived notions about marriage just "working itself out" and "love being enough" and all that. It's hard sometimes to think that this marriage didn't ruin a really great relationship and that is terrifying. I don't want to fail again -I told you so. And sometimes, I get so angry, so frustrated that I want to leave and I realize that, for the first time in my life, I have no where else to go. This is the end of the line. So there is everything to lose.
And apparently, the job market isn't quite hailing my return as the comeback of the decade either. It's tougher than I thought out there and with all the dot commers and loan officers now flooding the market and willing to take much less compensation than their previous lives afforded them. The Feds aren't hiring either as they're currently being sucked dry by the now-retiring baby-boomers. Don't get me wrong, I know these people deserve their pensions and I'm glad they have them. It just makes no sense. Feds are now contracting out more of their work in some sectors than they're hiring internal folks to do, because, even if they pay employees significantly less, the retirement and benefits factor makes contractors, at significantly higher per hour rates, the more affordable option.
And in some 40 odd days we'll have a new CAC/POTUS.
If it's John McCain, F has seriously raised the possibility of becoming ex patriots because, to us, it would be such a phenomenal slap in the face and pending catastrophe. Don't be confused. John McCain is a war hero. He is a hero, but I think there is some very large constituent of people who, for purely altruistic reasons, want to reward him for spending 5.5 years in a Vietnamese prison camp with the presidency of the United States. So wrong, so dangerous. I don't blame him, given his history, for having anger management issues and perhaps impulse control issues, but I don't want him anywhere near the red button. And Palin. Such a cheap shot for the Hilary demographic, it's nauseating. What I can't understand is that, if he wanted to grab those 'up for grab' voters, why not choose a female running mate that is even remotely prepared for VP. There are PLENTY. This is a woman who was gunning for a news anchor spot only 2 years ago. And you all know all the rest, no foreign policy experience or even knowledge thereof, let alone an understanding of her current president's foreign policy. Maybe it's big words that confuse her? Charlie Gibson maybe should have asked - "Do we like those bad middle eastern guys?" I would have appreciated it. At least I could have come away with some understanding of her feelings and anticipated her positions. As for as the debates that McCain in now trying to shield her from. It will happen. She will look like an idiot. Republicans will hail her as a maverick and an agent for real change and excuse her ignorance and lack of basic understanding of national issues. It SO doesn't matter. Dumb the questions down.
I wonder what Man Coulter has to say? I'm sure she's had plenty to say but I avoid her hate filled verbal diarrhea and avoid it all costs. I just want to shake her and say, "It is OK to be a woman trapped in a man's body!" No need to take it out on the innocent public, and no need to plaster awkward picture of yourself posed in strange positions in clothes that reveal just a little too much post op tranny-ness on the cover of your idiot books. Yeah, if democrats had any brains, they'd be republicans - but if Coulter had a vagina, she's be a woman.
Can't escape the economy; can't escape the idiots and can't escape the effect of these factors on a new marriage. Broke much? Bitter much? CHECK.

Frinnefreid's Lump

F found an angry, swollen lump on the inside of his thigh. He's generally hyper-vigilant about his health, so I didn't worry about it. I knew that he would have it looked at.
F has been to the doctor for things in the past that were completely ridiculous and frankly, bordering on hypochondriac-ish for as long as I've know him. No need to worry about him seeing a doctor.
Last night I asked F for the 3rd or 4th time if he had made an appointment yet. No, he said - and he wasn't going. I guess I could think about that differently if F hadn't had cancer 4 years ago.
One of our first dates was when I accompanied F to the oncologist for his 6 month screening. He drank a jug of barium and had several x rays.
I asked him to please see a doctor. I begged him to see a doctor. He refused. Then I cried. Then I got angry. Why should it be so hard for him to do something so simple - if not for himself, for me?
I threatened.
After all - why shouldn't I smoke? I love smoking. I don't do it, except on rare occasion, because F worries. Before we started dating, I smoked a pack a day and loved every single one. I don't do that anymore.
But I am pretty sure that if I had to bury F, I'd start back up because the truth is, the true thing that I loved about smoking was the fact that it was killing me. That is why I really savored every minute and jumped out of bed to do it at the beginning of every day.
I am so, so lucky - but so, so tired. I feel like I have had my share - more than my share.
Surviving my childhood and surviving my first marriage, well I have just had enough for now. So, I don't think I'd take up smoking again, if I had to bury F. I think I'd take the shorter route.
And so, F made an appointment to see his doctor.

e-fuckz

Today I have officially crossed the threshold. I hate my job. It wasn't any one major thing - oh no, it never is. Just like there is no sudden, nervous breakdown - it's this daily living that wears u thin. BTW - "Nervous Breakdown" was a medical term that was removed from the lexicon in the 70s. They no longer exist and every time you tell me that your doctor told you that you had a "nervous breakdown" I know you are full of shit.
Anyway - I've been toying with the idea of quitting all day. Just quit. It is sucking the fucking life out of me. F has been home from for Korea for about 30 hours and I've already been phenomenally pissed off at and bitchy to him 2 times! I can't control myself, even though I want to. And I am on every bipolar, anti-anxiety, depression medication available to man plus therapy once a week - so I've eliminated a chemical imbalance as being the source of my work-related angst. It's them - not me.
If I hear one more fucking client whine "What should I do now" right AFTER I JUST TOLD THEM, I am going to lose it.
Lord. And - I hate how this blog is all about negativity ALL the time. I don't have any regular readers, but if I did, or if I read it, I would be sick and tired or listening to me whine already.
My life IS pretty great - it's just that for 9 hours of every day it is monopolized by utter fucktards that ruin the remaining 15 hours of the day - and my time with F.
I'm so bitchy, I'm such a bitch to him; it's unreal. I know it's the stress; I also know that that is NO excuse. I know what it is like to be married to someone who is completely overwhelmed by their work - and I do it anyway!
The younger me, the better me would have walked out - quit, told them to fuck off. I've done it a dozen times before, and for less valid reasons. I've left jobs because our philosophies don't mesh. I've left jobs over principle. I left a job to protect a co-worker who I wasn't particularly close to!! (She needed the job more than I did, I reasoned. She was older and would have had a harder time securing a similar position at another company, but I was in college.)
I've posted my resume to some gov't jobs. I will sit tight, but I don't know how much more I can take.

August is the Cruelest Month

Instead of being 33,000 miles in the air right now, drunk from an airport lounge Bloody Mary and reading my new book - Hillbilly Gothic - on my way to Boise, I am 30 feet in the air, looking out my bedroom window.
All day it threatened rain, but remained only overcast. But of course, the moment I got on the freeway - 2 HOURS EARLY - to make my flight in Baltimore, it started pouring. Never mind that I took 2 hours off work. Never mind that I could have made it if the bitch at the counter had just let me use the automated kiosk, check myself in and run for it. Never mind that there was NO more flights out tonight to Boise.
I stormed out to the parking garage to catch the bus to short-term parking, and was told by the bus driver that he couldn't let me get on the bus there - that I had to go ALL the fucking way though the airport, to the other side, and get on the EXACT same bus, at the 'pick up'. I went back through the sliding doors, looked around, could not locate a 'down' escalated anywhere, and just flat yelled, "Could this month SUCK any harder?" Sensing that not everysinglyperson in the terminal had heard me, I screamed it. FUCK YOU.
Then it all hit me - what the hell is UP with this August? F's been gone for nearly a month. And my house is haunted. Big time. Bad, bad spirits and energy. I hate being here alone.
Other dumb shit that has happened this month:
My new insurance plan doesn't cover my OLD prescriptions, so I am now out 85 bucks every month.
The wedding dress I want/must have/can't live without/only thing I like/ is more money than I have to spend on a wedding dress at this time.
Because I never did get the raise that I was promised because my boss is a bullshit LIAR.
Smoking is bad for you. (This sucks every month - but why must everything that is the slightest bit enjoyable also kill you? Why?)
It costs 60 bucks to fill up my tank.
I've got NO money to buy tickets home for the holidays or for the honeymoon F and I said we were going to take in November.
My car is currently uninsured b/c the stupid state of MD apparently doesn't want my money.

EDITED to protect the innocent******
I am so bummed that I missed my damn plane.

D.O.N.E.

I love my nephew and my sister, but I am so, so ready to go home. I think if I'd stayed one day less, I might be quite sad about leaving - but I'm really ready to go. I'm a little sad that Baby won't remember our time together - because I always will. But I miss my little life and I miss F! I've got a direct flight out of Long Beach tomorrow and I am going to veg out, watch direct TV, read and NOT worry about anyone needing a nap or a diaper change.

I can't believe F won't be home for another week still. He doesn't have Internet on the ship and, of course, no cell phone. Even when he was in Antarctica, we never went this long without talking. In fact, when he was in Antarctica, we knew we only had a specific window, so we probably talked more then than we have since - on the phone at least.

I'm so looking forward to Boise! I haven't had enough adult interaction these past two weeks (two weeks!) and I mean *adult* interaction. Of course, I still have to figure out what type/kind of cake I'm going to make Rachel. She's getting a wedding cake this year - so, it'll have to be good. I'm thinking cupcakes, but they are SO overdone. Then again, it is Idaho.

Also, F's parents have been kind enough to plan a reception for us - since we didn't really have one and his family wasn't there. This will be over Columbus Day weekend, so winter. Of course, our wedding was summer, so that dress won't do. (Oh well!) I am so getting a winter wedding dress - maybe Victorian-style lace-up boots. I *wish* I could have this:

It's Vera Wang - so probably not in this lifetime, but I have loved this ensemble forever. Sigh.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Not quite yet, but soon enough. My sister is home from the hospital, BIL is back to work, and I've had a week and a half of caring for my nephew nearly all day, every day (thankfully, his father takes sleep-time). I've learned2 things.
1. Working from home is ridiculously difficult with a toddler (they get into everything and need constant attention - possibly do-able with an infant or an older child who was better able to self entertain, but not a child that you have to keep out of the electrical sockets and such.
and
2. I *require* a LOT of personal time, alone time, adult time.

I don't know why this would be different in relation to a baby as opposed to adults - I don't dig being around other adults ll the time either. In fact, unless I get ample alone time, I get pretty fussy. This alone time has to be outside of work. Free, alone time. I've noticed that, even though I don't spend that much time with F during the week, I still need some time to myself when I am not working. Even if we are only together for a few hours. If I am working the rest of the time - I need non-F time.
While F can find other ways to entertain himself for a few hours on an evening or a Sunday afternoon, babies cannot. No, babies want to (have to) go everywhere with you - even to the shower and the bathroom. Out of the last 14 showers I have taken, 11 have been with my nephew. He has to get clean; I have to get clean and I can't leave him alone for long.
Thankfully - my nephew is a fantastic baby. He entertains himself exceedingly well for a 15 month old and can play for hours, checking back with me every 30 minutes or so for a quick cuddle or a kiss of reassurance. I can run to the bathroom by myself; run upstairs quickly, etc. No problem (living room is baby-gated and baby-proof).
But - what if I got a 'high needs' baby? My father in law indicates that F didn't sleep through the night until he was a year old. When I say "not sleep through the night", I mean they had to walk the house with him all night, every night to get the kid to sleep. The minute they put him in his crib - he would immediately scream and continue until they picked him up and resumed walking the house with him. F has posited some theories as to why he is an only child - but I'm pretty certain this it the reason, and I don't blame them one bit. In fact, I don't know that it would have been wrong to give him up for adoption.
My mom has told me many a tale about how colicky I was and how I screamed, etc. BUT she went on the have 2 more kids, so I don't really put a lot of stock in that.
What if I got a baby like F?
That question gives me significant pause...

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fond?

F has been gone for 10 days now and I am officially missing him. My sister went in for her surgery this morning and I am on baby duty. Currently, the only occupation baby is interested in relate to 1. plugging random things into my computer and ripping out the powercord while I try to work and 2. opening and closing any doors he can locate (sliding, screen, cabinet, bathroom, etc.) He also has an affinity for the barbecue on the porch that has precluded us from spending much time out there. He also enjoys rubbing his hands, feet and face all over any dirty surface available. This morning he threw his breakfast of tomatoes, scrambled eggs, cheese and cheerios on the floor by way of dislodging his high chair tray and flinging it across the kitchen. Somehow he was then upset. (He did it!) At the moment he is creaming very near to my face and smells like poo. I now see why his mother keeps him in pajamas unless they are going somewhere. I think he needs a nap, but am working and can't lie down with him at the moment.
F, please save me.
The bad news is that, due to some ridiculous clusterfucketry, F will be gone for an additional week. The good news is that F won't have to go back to Korea again the following week, as previously planned.
I wish all sexually-active teenagers could come over to my sister's house and babysit for, say, an hour. This is the best birth control I have ever experienced - and no hormonal side affects, unless you count the sheer exhaustion. This is day 1. Little man and I are going to have to come to some sort of agreement about napping and eating. I am now covered with milk, scrambled eggs and poo.He is exhausted, but I can't get him to sleep for the life of me and he is now screaming upstairs. I love him to death, and I hope to God he never has to go to daycare because I just can't see anyone doing this unless they had an emotional investment. I'd call my mother, but she'd likely drive down here post-haste and there would be 5 people in a 2 bedroom apartment rendering us all insane.
Please remind me to get my tubes tied when I get home.

Gypsies, Tramps and Theives

Upon the advice of my PCP, I visited a local psychiatrist a few weeks ago. Psychiatry is not new to me; I have been in therapy/medicated for the last, oh, 15 years.
However, as you may have noticed, I've been a little off recently.
After roughly 15 minutes, the psychiatrist prescribed several anti-depressants/mood stabilizers and sent me to a therapist.
Feeling better now.
F has gone to Korea on experiment for 3 weeks. He'll be home for a week at the beginning of September and off again for another 2 weeks - which leaves me here. When I lived alone - I often spent entire weeks together alone, not seeing another person. I don't go out unless I have to and, because I work form my house, I don't often HAVE to. Further gas prices are so high, I often bundle the trips and errands I DO have to make, so I'm out far less. I go long periods of time without hearing my own voice. It's been awhile though. So, I'm waiting to see if I'll have any feeling about that.
I'm thinking I may be totally boring and "UN-witty" when I'm medicated and have nothing to say. Is that the price, though?
In some ways, I feel relieved. I feel the exact same today as I did yesterday, and I'm pretty certain I'll feel the same tomorrow, too. Just an even, steady...sameness. I guess.
I took this same medication in my early 20s as well for a few days, but promptly discontinued because it made everything in my head too "quiet". Not silence as in the absence of voices, though I do talk to myself quite a bit, but more like a rhythm. Like background noise at a party. Now I can hear the outside noises and there it's quiet in here. And I don't have any really strong feelings/opinions about anything.
I've also quit stressing out about the level cleanliness in my house, which has decreased the number of random rages that I fly into when the pile of laundry/stack of unshelved books/cat hair on the couch becomes overbearing and I can't sleep - I just get MAD.
The other issue I have is that I can't stop eating. Everything.

What my mother said

She said:

My baby sister has surgery to remove Harrington rods and fuse additional vertebrae which will leave her immobile for a while. First time was a month. Surgery on the 14th - I get there the 13th.

She can't come immediately because she has to have a barium swallow. She has a suspicious lesion in her throat. Baby and baby sister will be my responsibility until she feels well enough to come to LA.

What she didn't say:

Why she went to the doctor in the first place - initial complaint (heartburn/indigestion) or difficulty swallowing.

Instead, she emphasized a few times that I would be in SOLE charge of my nephew, that my sister would be unconscious or totally immobile. Check, Ma.

Babies are a 24/7 deal. Yeah, Ma.

Babies need constant attendance and supervision as he is WALKING now and into everything and I REALLY cannot take my eye off of him for one moment. Unless he is unconscious AND in his crib and he DOES NOT like his crib - so pleaseforthelovegod do NOT put him in his crib unless you absolutelyhave to because he will wake up startled and afraid. He hates his crib!!.

Got it mom.

Yes, I had my nephew for 24 hours one other time. He developed a fever. I spent the entire night with his fevered head buried into my chest while I swabbed him with cold washcloths. I believe this was the illness that resulted in his preference for chest-sleeping rather than crib/bed/car seat/swing sleeping. His father said this event immediately proceeded baby's complete refusal to enter crib under any circumstances. He also said that I fried baby's brain by under medicating him. (I was afraid to overdose him!!) Completely overlooked the brain-frying aspect.

Anyway, my sister has major surgery and my mom has an unidentified throat lesion and she is worried sick about my nephew.

She doesn't have the typical esophageal carcinoma markers. She isn't a man, she's not yet 65, she doesn't have a history of GERD or acid reflux. She does have a history of drinking and smoking though, which would more closely align themselves with EC as opposed to, say, Barrett's esophagus.

My trip home may be significantly longer than I had anticipated. If my mother is unwell, I don't think I could bring myself to get on a plane and come back to MD.

Somehow, if you reach a certain age and are (!still!) childless, people start treating you like you are actually brainless. Or rather, they start treating you like you are a child. Like there isn't a childless adulthood, there is only parenthood and childhood. And adolescence, which is just an extension of childhood. Parenting is a necessary part of adult life, making those who aren't parenting some sort of weird anomaly, difficult to relate to. I guess, even if it's your own kid.

Rambling.

Not Biting Today

As I mentioned, I work at a start-up. If you have ever worked at a start up, this will all probably make sense to you.

If you have never worked for a start up, this will all seem ridiculous - as it should.

Our founder (my boss and co-worker) basically the guy who hit his rich folks' friends up for a couple million in investor cash is the star of this story.

Working 70+ hours per week for the past two years, I haven't had the opportunity to attend to personal business. So, I whipped up a letter and sent it to *boss*, requesting 25% raise - pronto. (Believe me, he owes me AND it is long over due.) Shouldn't have been a surprise. I kind of let it slide for awhile because I knew that we didn't have the cash.

What was surprising (and alarming) was that he SHINED ME ON. Seriously.

OK, so what to do? Well, considering this is the first time in 28 months that I actually took the time to consider being unhappy, I decided that the pertinent and smart thing to do would be to put my resume together, send it out and assess what my current market value is - considering that I've gained a few skills (like how to run a company) in the past two years. What I really wanted to know was, "How much am I worth?" Not "How much can WE afford?", which is typically how I think of this question, but what is my education and skill set worth in this market.

So, I figure since i was still sore at having been dismissed by "boss", I'd work on it this weekend.

While I was doing that, I checked a couple of our online sites that list my name, contact and position. I then sent a note to "designer" to update my title to more closely reflect what I actually do and to match my business cards. NBFD.

Then I noticed that "designer" (yeah - the guy of the afore posted email fame, who shows up late for work EVERY friggin day because he didn't hear his alarm, who frequently embarrasses me and our company in front of clients and who, for all intents and purposes, is functionally illiterate, had also listed HIMSELF on the management page - right under me.)

I really don't have anything against this dude. Honestly. It's just that his work ethic sucks BIG time and it has caused me to look foolish in front of clients a few times for which I have not forgiven him. He basically does nothing unless threatened or unless he can see some immediate and direct reward for himself. I have made mention of his less-than-stellar performance many times.

*Operations* sent me a quick note saying that she didn't know if she could accommodate my request, so I just told her to take my fucking name off the page. I don't want to be listed as co-management with "designer" anyway, as I work in a small industry and don't want my name associated with his.

This, apparently, created some panic within the ranks. "Boss" immediately sent me the following email:

Lets set up a time to meet this week if possible. I know you have concerns and hopefully we can address them. There's a lot going on and I want you to be part of it. Regarding "designer", he definitely doesn't have your attention to detail. etc, etc, blah...
Can you meet Thursday afternoon for a drink and talk?
Thoughts?
Thanks,
"Boss"

So, I find myself in a quandary. My precise "thoughts" are - "blow it out your ass".

Where was the love a month ago? There were no drinks proffered, no meeting requested. But now that he thinks I'm looking for another job, suddenly he wants to know my "thoughts" - over drinks, no less. Last month he didn't want to hear jack sh1t - no drinks of any sort.

I need to respond to this, but I need to do it in an appropriate and adult way. (I am really bad at both).

"Boss" is also in sales. I am just not in the mood to take the train into the city and listen to him feed me a line. Maybe, if it weren't 400 degrees out and 89% humidity, I'd go for the drinks - but this is July, mofo.

None of it really matters anyway, because now I know the kind of man he really is, which means that I can't stay anyway.

Why can't people ever do the right thing just because it's the right thing and not because they fear some other, less desirable outcome?

2 years - he really had me going.

Our House is a Very, Very, Very

I may have mentioned that F and I live in an charming cape cod on the Potomac River in MD. I may not have mentioned that it was built by a weekend carpenter.

No big deal, really -except that we have quirks here and there - oh, we have quirks. (And apparently mice at one time as ANY time we move/life a major appliance, there are mice droppings galore). Yuck. And none of the appliances work or have worked at some point - washing machine, refrigerator, toilet, etc.

But one oddity of this place is the lack of space in the stairwell - not sure if that shit is to code -that make it impossible to move any furniture upstairs.

Granted, with the price of gas and, by extension, the cost of air travel being what it is - probably no one is coming to visit our asses anyway.

But, just in case, F and I wanted a bed upstairs - there's a loft outside the Master.

Problem is, you cannot fit a queen sized box mattress up the stairs, and all we had was 2 queen mattresses and 2 queen box springs.

F was able, with the help of movers, to get 1 mattress upstairs. The remaining mattress (ala 1978 gift from sister and BIL after my divorce when I got my first place and had nothing) finally had to go to the Salvation Army as well as the two box springs. We looked into a storage facility, but found that, for some reason, your typical self-store outfit around here (sticks, boonies) charges roughly the same rent for a 8x8 as a 2 bedroom walk up in dc within spitting distance of the metro and a fabulous view of the Rock Creek Park. At first we were outraged, livid, frustrated, furious, considered writing letters to our representatives - but then we decided to just skip it and get rid of 'em.

So I've got this mattress and this frame - but no box spring. And living by the maxim that has been my life whilst posted far from my family - "If you don't build it, they will come. If you do, they won't". I conceived of the idea of building a box spring ourselves. (Or F's self - I've been on antibiotic that makes me want to hurl for the past 2 days, so I've done a lot of nothing).

F gathered the lumber, a drill (we are now the proud owners of a jig saw) and began construction yesterday at noon-ish. He slept for about 6 hours and has been back on the project for roughly 12 hours now.

Just now he came in, sweaty, stared at me fiercely and said, "OK, so there is NOTHING in the house with protein in it, right?" An utterly base and offensive come back popped into my head, but I looked at sweat-drenched F holding a power tool and just left it at "no". WTF? Why am I the purveyor of all protein for the house. I don't even *like* protein -not to mention I don't ever want to ingest another piece of food with protein in it again.

Anyway, I have a 300 lb box spring and a hungry, angry man on my hands.

Ahhhh Sigh. The sick hilarity

I had to blog this because work is SO much of my life that not including it here is just sort of disingenuous.

I *had* to send the following email to my co-workers, critiqing their management skills.

I have deleted all names, assocaotions, email addresses and URLs to protect the innocent - including myself.

You have to understand that:

a. We run an support company over here.
b. One of the things we do for our gov't clients is email lgoin information to their users.
c. Gov't passwords have to meet federal complexity requirements - ie, if you are NOT a gov't employee, think of your online banking password on CRACK.
and d. we are actually a SERVICE company, meaining that we have to not only provide a servide, but do it in a servce-like manner (whatever that means, I have 3 braincells left after last week, but you get what I'm saying).

I intercepted this email from one of our staff to a user. His frustration with her inability to remember her password or to stop registering for new accounts because she had forgotten her old passwords is apparent. (We have all done this).

Here is my follow up email to my co-workers:

(We had agreed that they would have a talk with him about his tone with users about 2 weeks ago after a client complained that we were "rude".)

To: DC and MG

Great talk with *Bob*. I see the whole politeness with clients thing really hit home.

I'm really looking forward to reviewing the notes you take out of *Bob's* upcoming critique of *mycompany* company structure and user support, DC (CEO).

I think better would have been:

Subject: Hey Jen - Fuck You!

Body:

Fucking Idiot!

My Company
mycompany.com

***************************************************************************

Support wrote:
>
> *Jennifer*,
>
> EITHER WRITE DOWN THIS LOGIN INFO OR SAVE THIS EMAIL. DO NOT CREATE
> ANY MORE ACCOUNTS IN THE *online site*. You currently have 5 accounts.
>
>
> Below is your *online site* login information. Please read carefully.
>
etc....
>
I LOOOVE how the email specifically states "from support".
Kinda like the support you get from an abusive spouse or parent.

Don't get me wrong. This woman is a total idiot for various and sundry reasons- but kind of not the point. We are a start up; we have to be nice. We would like to turn a profit some time this decade. Every little bit helps - including being "nice" as sophomoric as that may seem.

What a Year Can Do

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Blush (not Bush) and the Economy

This is a major investment!

I finally picked out the remaining corners of my last blush (MAC – orgasm) and had to admit that, after a strong 4 years together, it was time to move on. In fact, I had persisted in vigorously rubbing the blush cartridge and brushing it on my cheeks AFTER it was empty in desperate denial for at least 2 months. I’ve been “applying” blush, but don’t really think I’ve had any actually ON since – oh, the wedding? Yesterday I said – screw 30$ blush; I’ll go to Rite Aide; that’s where Laura Bush gets her makeup! (She also married a man who apparently has to be supervised while eating snack food – the “tortilla chip” incident, so probably not good judgment on my part there.) Plus, I watched a Dateline NBC special several years ago that claimed all the ingredients were the same, so “designer” makeup was a waste of money.

But when I peeled the 4 dollars of plastic packaging (what F would call an environmental nightmare) off of the 6$ blush I got there, it looked exactly like strawberry frosting.

F&^* YOU WET AND WILD!

I’ve got no Sephora, the mall is 30 minutes away and its idea of haute couture is Dillards (east coast JC Penny – but jazzy!). So, my options are limited. I’ve got to get it online, which means 6$ shipping for 30$ total. If you compare the monetary and time investment there to my last and current marriages, it’s a pretty significant commitment. Possibly second after F. So, sigh, lots of research. It is on its way now.

BTW – I do make my own shimmery lip gloss though, and I am using vinegar and baking soda to “no poo” my hair now, so I’m saving there.

The Presto Way

This is the instruction manual/cookbook that came with the Presto Pressure Cooker (one of two) that my MIL bequeathed to me on my marriage to her son. Notice the caption - "It's Fun to Keep House the Presto Way!" along with illustration of perky housewife. Stuff like this cracks me up. Then I consider that, when my MIL originally received this, it wasn't a joke. I wonder if she laughed it off anyway, or was she supposed to take this shit seriously. The only way I am every going to attain this level of perky-home-maker exhilaration will not be through use of the Presto Cooker. Unless I use it to make crack. I haven't tried it yet, but I'll keep you posted and include pictures of myself, while using, to see if we can detect any noticeable orgasm-like quality to my appearance. We shall see.

One of the other things that was gifted to me by MIL and FIL is a slow cooker. Not the cheap kind you get at Target for 20 bucks, but an old fashioned, ceramic insert, harvest brown crock pot. I've used it every day this week to make dinner, as I'm trying to figure out what it's best used for. Here's what I made last night:

After years and years of trial and error, I have finally achieved all of my hopes and dreams. Somewhere, Mike Burkholder (that's right - I shamelessly reveal is name on the Internets and interwebs for all to read far and wide) YOU HAVE BEEN BEATEN. Of course, this blog isn't searchable, so no chance that someone is going to learn of Mike's great and mighty take-down.

But the interwebs god know.

This mac and cheese, and the recipe that I developed to create it, beats your mac and cheese's ass. You mac and cheese is officially OWNED.

Further, it is possessed of supernatural powers which it conveys through image alone. I sent this picture to F yesterday at work and he magically appeared in the kitchen 20 minutes later, where he consumed 4 pounds of it. The fifth pound, he took with him to work today. He may actually be trading it for heroin or gasoline. I don't know.

Cambridge, you broke my heart

F and I went to Cambridge for the weekend to visit his 89 year old godmother and take her to the doctor. Cambridge is 8 hours away by car.

Between here and there, there are approxamately 4,763 toll booths, and some woopty-doo New Jersey bridge was under construction at 1 am, so it wasn't a quick trip up. Around the time we hit the bridge in New Jersey (sorry New Jersey-ans [or whatever you are]) besides bat-shit insane for living in NEW JERSEY (and please don't start with the hate mail, I actaully have FAMILY in New Jersey) I looked up at F - I was lying down staring out the sunroof TRYING to pretend that we were not in NJ and said that I was going to need a 5th of tequila, a lime and a pack of smokes ASA fucking P. I haven't smoked in oh-so-long, and now the smell bothers me quite a bit, but anything woud have been an improvement to the "ode du New Jersey" that the Benz' carbon air purifier could NOT eliminate, no matter how it tried. F obliged me by pulling that bitch off at the next available gas station, which we did not know was actaully Cannecticuit. While Conn. does smell significantly better, it does not sell liqour of any type after 9pm. I almost bought cough syrup.

BTW - I am currently on a canference call with a client and I am shining them on so I can provide you, dear reader, with this fascinating update on my life and times. And also, of course, to record it for posterity.

Anyway, I went along with F while he took his godmother to the Dr and pharmacy, then to lunch at her favorite place and gave her chocolates and flowers.

This, btw, is why of course, I love F.

Anyway, the only thing that I wanted to do was find a bookstore, peruse the selection and buy a set of nameplates for my nephew. I am trying to cultivate his taste in literature by giving him books. And no - not for presents (I know kids don't want books as Christmas presents) but for "I love you" reminders. I saw this book I fell in love with about a month ago in B&N and got it for him with the intention of mailing it with a nameplate in it so that he would always remember that it came from me. It is called, "I Love You Through and Through" which made me so utterly think of him, that I could not bare not to give it to him with an inscription that reads "To C - I love YOU through and through" (I do)

Anyway, I finally found some at this bookstore in Cambridge, got them, opened them and discovered that they are not the nameplates that I rememner Grandma N lovingly pasting into MY childhood books. Cheap, cheap, cheap. And for 8 dollars!! I returned them post haste. F you Cambridge bookstore. I have decided to MAKE all of C's nameplates. I'll need to get on that as, at 15 months, I think he'll soon be at the age when he'l like to be read to. (Hopefully, if his father doesn't introduce him to the X Box first).

Poor C. I've had this stinking book for a month and haven't had one spare moment to mail it to him. He'll forget all about me. Not to mention that I love him from top to bottom.

On Sunday we went to a hand-made shoe store that I was looking forward to visiting, but it was closed. Cambridge was muggy and uncomfortable. I can't afford any shoes anyway - so I told F we'd better head home.

And I am in a bad mood. I am in a bad mood because I miss my friends and family. And I'm going to continue on indefinately, because I just can't see any reason not to be in a bad mood. Or to enjoy anything or to even want to try. I want to go home. I know grown-ups don't get to go home. I don't care.

I miss my nephew and his little mother.

I miss the Z's (all of them).

I miss my own little mother and her dog.

I miss Bob and the Kurtzes

I miss Mexico.

I miss white trash pool parties, a hooker and her little dog, too.

I miss the pelts.

Friends and family ask me, "How is married life?" "How is DC?" "How's the job?" etc.

DC - Food, culture - great, house - beautiful.

F - Love of my life.

Work - Very successful. Got another raise.

So anyway, I hate pop music.

But when all else fails:

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Raspberry Charlotte

This is a picture of my first raspberry charlotte, cooling to perfection. I deviated slightly from the traditional recipes. This is 3 layers or moist pound cake soaked in home made raspberry syrup, layered with fresh raspberries and rich, creamy whipped cream. It's not much to look at though. Kind of like an upside-down trifle. I once had a wonderful world of wacky 50s recipes cook book that actually had a step-by-step guide for making a "tropical trifle". There were 3 ingredients: angel food cake - cubed, canned fruit cocktail and cool whip. This is why I love cookbooks from the 50s. The decade when the modern housewife discovered convenience food. The era of the Rolling Stones' with "what a drag it is gettin' old", etc. etc. I'll skip the food, but I'd take the drugs. Also included was a chicken recipe that was "perfect" for cocktail parties and get-togethers. Chicken bullion, hard-boiled eggs, Knox gelatin and a jello mold. They then loaded the middle of this ring of jello hell with a huge dollop of some sort of "chicken dip" (macerated chicken blended with cream cheese and pimentos) and served it with crackers. I guess you'd sort of have to be on drugs to eat or serve that. This was called chicken jello salad - perfect for summer!

Anyway, I digress, as usual - but someday I will have to do a post all about the culinary delights of the 50s, 60s and 70s.

Have you ever unloaded the dishwasher and realized that those were DIRTY DISHES? That brings me to the second point of this post. Pet peeves. Here are mine in no particular order:

1. Unloading the dishwasher - hate the feel of wet dishes.
2. Dirty dishes AFTER they have touched dishwater. If they're just dirty - fine, but once they hit hot water, they automatically trigger images of vomit for me. Can not do it. I put crusty, food-laden plates directly into the dishwasher. I have watched F look on in horror as I do this. He probably thinks I am a lazy slob. Should probably explain this to him.
3. Chickeny chicken. Hate it. I have a weird relationship with meat of all kinds, but on a meat day, I can consume my own body weight in cold cuts; however, I loathe "real" chicken - if I can see the grain of the meat - I may be instantaneously disgusted and unable to abide its presence. Last night I decided to grill up some chicken tenders for dinner when all of a sudden the house was overwhelmed by the smell of chicken-ness. I had to throw it in the trash, and the rice too because it had absorbed the smell of the chicken. When F came home he smelled deeply and asked, "Yum - what's for dinner?" to which I replied "nothing". I think he thought I was crazy - I should clear that up with him.
4. Blogs without pictures. No reasonable explanation there. Every post should have a picture of something.
5. Pet food - this is a problem because I have two cats. I refuse to touch or smell their food. I pour it out of the bag at a distance and if any spills on the floor I am sure as hell NOT picking it up. It smells and it's greasy. Shudder. Anything greasy should be HOT, not room temperature. Because I hate it so much, I generally wait until the last minute to feed the cats, thus F usually beats me to it. He probably thinks I'm a lazy, irresponsible pet owner. I'll have to clear that up with him.
6. You already know about the car window/locking - I won't go into that again.


Feel free to post your own list of pet peeves - bizarre or whatever.

Tornadoes and Lawn Furniture and Beavers, Oh My

The tiny brown spot in the middle of this grainy image is, I now know, a beaver. Whist I was home on Wednesday, working and gazing out the window, I looked up and noticed an ROUS at my back door, staring me in the eye. Having never before encountered a beaver in real life, the only thing that came to mind was - ROUS.

This picture was taken just after Bucky realized that I was not going to let him in the house and he high-tailed it back to the river.

Then I sent it to all of my friends with the subject line - look at my beaver. Hilarity ensued.

I thought it was funny.

Anyway, suddenly the sky went dark - sort of purple and the wind began to buffett the river toward the shores in 2 foot waves. Then, the rain, thunder, lightening hit. My neighbors tree fell down, lawn funriture from several houses down went flying across the yard, the cracks from the lightening were deafening. And it was dark.

I don't have a television or a radio, (of course I had no internet) but I later learned that a tornado had passed just across the river from our house.

That was Wednesday - today, Saturdy, it is sunny and 98 degrees. And the air conditioner is broken. You might be tempted to feel sorry for us, especially since the movers just delivered all of our crap yesterday and we are up to our waists, that we are stuck without AC. You are probably thinking that we strolled downstairs to turn on the air when we noticed that we were a little uncomfortable, only to discover, to our great dismay, that the air wasn't getting any cooler.

You'd be wrong. We tried the AC a week ago when it was still quite cool. We've just been sitting around on our lazy buts, not doing anything about it. I spent the day lying in a cool bath while F mowed the lawn. Why he decided that the hotttest day in 2 weeks was a good day to mow the lawn is something that probably only F can uderstand. I didn't ask.

So anyway, now that we are dying of heat stroke, F is finally calling air conditioning repair shops to try to getan appointment Of course, no one works on Sunday in Maryland so we are pretty SOL there.

Tonight we're going to the DC Improv for dinner and a show. This wil be our first actual night on the town. Last week we went to Georgetown for rediculusly good Ethiopian food, but tonight is dinner, drinks a show the whole 9 yards.

I wish air travel wasn't so frigging expensive right now. Last summer F and I had a fabulous time visiting my girlfriend, Rachel and her boyfriend Mike. They took us to a fin dining establishment and introduced F to clams, which is a central prt of his diet now. He speaks of the clams from that trip on a regular basis now. I hear a lot about clams, and especially about the Idaho clams. Every clam F has eaten since then has been "good or great" but just not quite the clams from that day last summer. I'd like to go back, but flights from DC or Baltimore to Boise are heinously expensive. Can somene please explain to me why I can fly to Greenville, SC for, like, 35 dllars roundtrip, but a roundtrip ticke to Boise is 500$? Who the hell s going to Greenville?

Take Me Home

I'm still mad.

While we were at the car dealership today, before I went to the mall, realized that payphones don't exist, had a panic attack and was swarmed and eaten alive by a cloud of mosquitoes while F stayed in the car with the windows rolled up, slapping furiously at the interior of the car unawares that I was locked out of the house and losing blood fast, we were at the car dealership (again sigh). This time it was Honda in Alexandria. F drove a Civic and, as we proceeded to exit said car (which smelled like dirty feet), I grabbed the door frame between the window and the weather stripping. Meanwhile, F rolled the window up and turned the car off.

I screamed like a banshee and writhed, attached to that god-awful armpit car for 3 full minutes 5 seconds tops (F informs me) before F could restart the car and roll the window back down. How does someone DO THAT?? Roll a window up and turn off a car and pull the keys out of the ignition SO quickly. Especially when "someone" does everything else so... carefully slowly the rest of the time?

When I was finally released from my hellish armpit-car of torture chamber; I was overcome. OVER. COME. with a blind, seething rage. (That is my gut reaction when someone hurts me - physically or otherwise; I can't help it; I know, I need therapy). I'm sure I made quite a spectacle for all Honda-perusers to enjoy as I walked/ran away from the dealership, with F in tow, and yelled "Get the F*&^ away from me" twice. Lovely.

Then I ran to the Subaru lot (which was somehow mcuh more homey and comforting than Honda) and knelt behind an Outback to cry my eyes out. Thoughts like: What the Hell am I doing at a car dealership in Virginia?; What the Hell have I done with my Life?; WHY is it SO f^&%ing humid?; and I WANT MY MOTHER! overwhelmed me. I really let loose - spit flying, snorting, wailing (I think it's been building for a few weeks now). The parts guy even drove by and peered under the car to see if I was either

A. an otherwise healthy person having a wholly inappropriate reaction to a minor injury or
B. An otherwordly, satanic apparition come to the Subaru dealership for his soul.

Apparently, he decided on the latter and sped off, post-haste, in his parts-mobile.

I finally calmed down and returned to the Honda lot (composed, controlled, poised). Just like I had NEVER been there 15 minutes before having a meltdown like a 3 year old.

But what I really wanted to SAY is, F never let me tell him what it was like to be in that moment. I was confused. I knew that there was horrific pain, I knew that I was trapped, I could see that F was in control. I didn't understand for *whatever* (3 seconds?) and it broke my heart for that instant. I can't explain it any better than that, and when I tried, F told me to get over it, that he has had his finger slammed in the door, too and that it isn't that bad. Ahem.

That's SO not it. Not at all. It was the duration; it was the fact that he was in control; it was the fact that I was helpless; it was the fact that I have asked him SO. many. times. NOT to roll the car windows up all the way - that for that instant, it felt like he was torturing me to spite me. Yes, because we have had this exchange SO many times - "F, please leave the windows cracked" and he persists in hermetically sealing the car before we depart every time, everywhere, in ANY weather. Even MY car, when I'm driving!!

And I guess all of those thoughts just converged at once to produce an ugly grief/anguish/rage/pain display for the viewing horror/pleasure of the Honda populace. I feel guilty for acting like a little kid. I kept thinking the ENTIRE time: "If this was Kendall, and Kyle rolled her finger into a car window, for a long time, and it really hurt; she would endure it with a modicum of grace and composure, inform Kyle that she had been injured, but, no she was fine; excuse herself to the restroom; dab her eyes; refresh her mascara; administer first-aide to her right index and middle fingers; and return to the car lot. Basically, act like a lady - which I always fail at. Badly. Ugh. So, I felt even worse because I will never grow up to be like my little sister.

I will always snort when I laugh and guffaw instead of laugh.

Anyway.

So, it's about quarter to one now and F is fast asleep. I, as usual, am wide awake. I rolled over to F, assumed a seductive pose and whispered his name. When he awoke I whispered,

Me: It's hot and throbbing

F: it is?

Me: MMMmmmmm, YES!

F: What is?

Me: MY FINGER!!! Snort, guffaw, snort.

Farewells and Churchbells

We got hitched. Sorry to be gone so long, but F and I have been all sorts of busy. We got married, said goodbye to my friends and family, drove cross-country, lived at a motel 6 and (finally) moved into a little cottage on the Potomac. That's us (F's dad in the background) having our first post-nuptial smooch. It was SO perfect. Easy, small, gaudy, pink, vintage-y, family and California. Oh, and the REAL dress wasn't any of the dresses that I mentioned in other posts. At the last minute (3 days before??) I finally realized that, sadly, I was not going to lose 20 pounds and fit into my actual vintage wedding dress, so I bought a brand-spankin' new one. That is not a great picture of it, because you can't see that it is actually tea-length and has a semi-full skirt. Alas, it had a vintage-cut, but was not the real deal and not the right fabric or my Juliet cap, so I broke down and wore a veil.

My sisters were gorgeous in their pink dresses; that was the only thing that I got right the first time. We made our own bouquets and they turned out 100 times better than typical florist bouquets. No chintzy fillers - all gorgeous, full, pink roses in a variety of shades. F had a pink rose boutonniere that looked so lovely next to his white dinner jacket. It was my dream wedding - must say.

F surprised me ad I surprised him - for my ring (if you recall) he gave me a 30s cushion cut engagement ring that belonged to his father's mother and on the day, he but a slender, platinum band next to it. (The inscription from his grandfather to his grandmother still on the inside. When it was time to get F's ring (I took him with me) he wished that I had something to hand down to hm as well, something with a little history. But alas - the "My Family Name" family coffers contained no such item, so I had to "make due". All I had was my mother's wedding right that was given to her by my father. But it was yellow gold and obviously a woman's, and obviously VERY 70s (they got hitched in Vegas in the mid 70s). So I took the tiny diamond out of my mother's ring and had it embedded into the INSIDE of F's platinum band from Tiffany. So, he knew he was getting the ring, but had no idea that it had a surprise inside. I also gave him a Swiss Army watch that I mentioned before. I was fairly nervous about that one because I've never seen him wear a watch, but this is a nice one, so I thought he'd like it and I was right. Plus, he is always asking me what time it is, which drives me insane.

Well - F had a little surprise for me! On our wedding night he handed me by OWN Tiffany-blue ring box and inside was a perfect, little diamond eternity band. Very elegant. So I got exactly what I wanted - and I think he did too.

The day after the wedding our families headed back to their respective homes and we checked into a mineral springs resort and spa in central California. We spend the next 24 hours nude in a mineral spring hot tub. It was fabulous.

Then we hit the road - CA - MD in 5 days. With two cats. Not so much. We arrived and checked into the Motel 6, optimistically thinking that it wouldn't be too hard to rent something. 2 weeks later, we finally got a place. And I will never be checking back into the motel 6 again - as long as we both shall live. Now we live in a little cottage by the river and I'll tell you all about it - next time.

Wake me up before you go-go

Hmmm. I woke up about an hour ago (8:30 pm) and F was gone. He's still gone. Where could my ever-reliable, always-makes -sure-to-check-in, never-makes-me-wonder sweetheart be at this hour on a school night? Ok, well we don't go to school and he's currently unemployed and I work at home, but we're too boring for this.

Besides, he's liable to fall asleep in 30 minutes.

Tomorrow is my birthday and f isn't one to be conventional. Last year he got me an elephant that *pretend* lays fruit when I'm not around. Every once in a while, when I'm not looking, F will say, "You better check Nickolai, and there will be a newly-in-season piece of fruit. F thinks that fruit is the new flowers. He gets me flowers, too, but fruit really is much more environmentally responsible and just as pretty when you think about it. But a gal's gotta have flowers, too. F has got this one down. I get flowers about once a week. I have gotten many lemons, many apples, large and small, and once he gave me a baby peach that he stole from the neighbor. I get a lot of kumquats. F also gives me lots of lilies of all types, roses of all colors, Gerber daisies (his favorite flower) He claims he can smell all kinds of flowers that don't smell: like carnations and daisies.

So, I have this bizarre image stuck in my head of F stuck on the 5, holding up traffic, dragging a 200 pound watermelon behind his car.

Today we went to the Quail Botanical Gardens. I can't believe I've lived in San Diego this long and never been there. We saw one of the largest bamboo collections in the United States. That's right. Anyway, apparently this lady was a naturalist and she had this house with a couple of acres, so she cultivated gardens on it full of plants and flowers that grow in San Diego county (lots of desert-type stuff, but very pretty).

Then she donated the grounds to San Diego in 1957 and you can go look at all her plants there, still. You can even see her old house hidden among the brush and flowers.

Ok, no F. I guess I'll call him.

We'll build the dreams we treasure...

I forgot how nice it is to live with someone When you're an older gal, like myself, and the rest of the world has mostly paired off, or due to other circumstances, you sometimes find yourself living solo. At first,this may be a difficult adjustment. Sure, it's nice to ave your OWN place and decorate it anyway you want and invite ONLY your friends over and all that - but you get used to it. You get used to being alone, silence, solitude, meditation, space, etc.
When F moved in here last week, I thought I'd go batty, but I would eventually get used to his being here, and in my space, all the time. After all, we're getting married, so I'd better get used to it. There was this sort of sadness whenever F left my place to go back to his on Sunday nights or I headed back down to my house after a sleep over.
And it's true that now that we live together, it's like a sleepover every night. We cuddle up in bed and watch classic movies together before we fall asleep, we read interesting things on the Internet from our perspective laptops and then email them back and forth to each other. I do talk to on the phone a lot less now, which is a relief because, as everyone knows, I detest speaking on the phone. What I really hate is chit-chat, the kind that folks assume you enjoy just because you have a uterus - hate it.
Since we lived 45 minutes apart and couldn't see each other every day, we were forced to speak on the phone rather often - now, not so much; so that's definitely a bonus.
Also - -F takes out the trash, cleans the kitchen after I mess it up and unloads the dishwasher. For those of you married gals who are rolling your eyes right about now - Yes, I know it won't last and I AM enjoying it while I can.

I need a break. I need alone time. I need MY OWN SPACE.

I love F and I'm so glad that he moved in and that we're getting hitched but I am just a person who, whether through habit or nature, has a deep-down NEED to be alone.

When I was dating F, he had a suitcase that appeared to be packed on the floor of his bedroom. I never asked what was in that suitcase or why it was packed and sitting on the floor of his bedroom for two years. I figured: a) I enjoy a man with an aura of mystery and b) if it concerned me, he would tell me. Besides, I might have mentioned that F has some other peculiar habits, like piling (see moving day) - anyway.

I now know what was in the suitcase.

10 years worth of credit card offers, bank statements, credit card statements, receipts and any other random piece of junk mail that F may have encountered. You see, F fears identity theft, so like a wise lad, he never throws any document away that some thief could use to purloin his identity. However, F never had a shredder, nor apparently, a fireplace. So, F carried this 74 pound bag of detritus around for years, waiting for the day when he happened upon a volcano - or a gal with a document shredder.

Suffice it to say that F has been shredding 8 hours a day since he got here and I am about to lose my ever-loving mind. Or run away. And I now know why F asked me to marry him.

*&&^%&$ Taxes

Dear Mr. ______ , CPA;
When someone sends you a check for $300, you might want to check with them before you assume that the only W2 that you are lazy enough to look at, encompassing all of 2 months work, is not the only W2 that said person would like to file taxes on. That's right, there are two (2) W2s in the envelope I sent you (not one).
You can imagine my surprise when I got your package back (nice stationary, btw) presenting me with an e-filing form to sign, a receipt showing 0$ owed and $300 received and a reconciliation sheet reflecting an estimated return of four hundred dollars.
I was a little shocked to discover that not only did you think that I thought that filling out a 1040EZ for 400$ was WORTH 300$, but that you weren't even embarrassed CASH my check.
Mr. _______, when folks pay 300$, they want you to: write off their mortgage, their home office, and generally try to find as many refund opportunities as possible. I don't know what idiot is paying you their entire return just to fill out a worksheet, but it isn't this dumb b&*^%.
I am REPRINTING both W2s and sending them back to your office with the tiny remnants of your lovely "presentation" by tomorrow's post.
Please find a thread of decency and do them correctly, or I will just buy the stinking Turbo Tax and do them myself. Then, Mr._______, I will be filling in the blanks left in this post and creating a whole new bog in your honor, including as many tags as humanly possible.
You are a true idiot.

Love, Feather

Dress/Shoes/Stamps

This is THE wedding dress.

The pic is small but you get the general idea. It is just devastating b/c I bought it from this gal: http://search.ebay.com/_W0QQfgtpZ1QQfrppZ25QQsassZtimelessvixenQQssPageNameZMERCQ5fVICQ5fReBayQ5fPr4Q5fPcNQ5fQ5fSI

And now I want to buy 50 wedding dresses. Everything she has is FAB-U-LOUS and it makes me so horribly unhappy to think that I don't have a fancy party to go to every single day where I can wear one of her varied, multi-colored, swing-skirted, 50s-style par-tay dresses. I don't know where she gets her stuff - but oh SO CUTE!

You will, undoubtedly, recall my previous post about shoes and the most fabulous shoes, the gold shoes, etc. etc. Well, it turns out that I just need more special shoes to go with this dress b/c it is too fantastic to wear earthly shoes. No, it needs, like, shoes designed by Elvis Presley or something. Some days I doubt that I can find shoes that could possibly be outstanding enough to be worn with this dress. Which, BTW, is too small in the chest area - I can zip it to just UNDER my rib cage, but it's not a pretty sight. Vintage size small, for all of you who do not know, is equivalent to a modern day 2T (toddler size 2). Seriously. The gal who is wearing it in the picture (timelessvixen) must be about 3 feet tall. But- no matter. I've sworn off beer and chocolate, and failing that I intend to get an industrial girdle.

It turns out that F and I won't actually have time to go camping before we move to DC. The wedding is the 26th, F's b-day is the 27th (same day as the wedding brunch) and the 28th, we leave for DC. So that'll be out Honeymoon, but better than none at all, I suppose.

I got F a beautiful watch for his wedding gift/birthday present. It's a Swiss Army Officer's Watch like this one: http://www.17jewel.com/pics/tn/S24639t.jpg I have the same one (women's).

I've already spent WAY too much money on the wedding, but oh well. I got a great deal on it and F asks me every 5 minutes what time it is, which can be very annoying over the course of an entire day, so I figured it's a lot more cost effective than marriage counseling, which is about what it's going to come to if he doesn't get his own watch soon.

Also, we ordered (together) the announcements and received them. They're not that bad. We got them at Vista Print (Check them out - they're online) and they are definitely not engraved-quality, but they're quite nice and affordable, too. I even got to choose the paper (linen).

I couldn't get it to post, so you can see them here: http://www.vistaprint.com/vp/ns/my_account/doc_view.aspx?gp=3%2F14%2F2008+1%3A30%3A01+AM&fsp=yes&r=my%5Fportfolio%2Easpx&alt%5Fdoc%5Fid=93337%2D49572%2D4L1

And I ordered a hundred Tiffany stamps: http://z.about.com/d/stamps/1/7/G/-/-/-/Tiffany39_sgl300dpi.jpg

I know they print a heart stamp for the sole purpose of wedding invitations, but this year's was so ugly I couldn't bring myself to it - even if people think I don't know any better.

Until next time.