tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16746279687580065892024-03-14T00:58:03.825-07:00My seething cauldron!Just miscellaneous ramblings about whatever pops into my head at any given moment....Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.comBlogger54125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-75838522486838853642009-12-31T11:04:00.000-08:002009-12-31T12:04:13.209-08:00Catching Up...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/Szz__MqA8XI/AAAAAAAAAFw/pAuvKgzC7Ko/s1600-h/absolute+love.12-26-09.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 306px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/Szz__MqA8XI/AAAAAAAAAFw/pAuvKgzC7Ko/s320/absolute+love.12-26-09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421489512641524082" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The holidays are soooo crazy - I just realized that I haven't posted anything since the middle of November! And because it has been so long since I've updated anything, you just know this is going to be a l-o-n-g post...plus, I know there are a bunch of people who check in every once in awhile, and want to know how things are going. So this is the catch-up post. Not like <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">ketchup</span> - catch up. As in getting caught up. So here goes:<br /><br />First, I have to share the coolest message KirKo sent me for Thanksgiving (I was sick, and it was pretty uneventful, other than his text). I woke up, and the light on my phone was blinking to tell me I had a message. I turned it on, and like always, got that little smile in my heart when I saw it was from <span style="font-style: italic;">my guy</span>. Then I read it. It about brought tears to my eyes. This is what it said:<br /><br />"I am thankful for timing and ditto and me dos. I am thankful for hand holding and kissing and countdowns. I am thankful for the feeling in my stomach when I first see you. I am thankful that I have found someone that I used to only dream about. I am thankful that we are the people in the story that we love to tell so much. I AM THANKFUL FOR YOU! I LOVE YOU SWEETHEART! Happy Thanksgiving. KirKo."<br /><br />How awesome is he? Answer: <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Way</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">.</span><br /><br />We were supposed to wait until Christmas for him to come back out, but 37 days was just too long to wait, so he ended up coming out the weekend of December 7. It was, like always, wonderful. We went to Christmas Village, among other things, and that's where this picture was taken:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/Szz4c06dTnI/AAAAAAAAAFo/kgXhLrplCrY/s1600-h/KirkO-n-me.1.12-5-09.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/Szz4c06dTnI/AAAAAAAAAFo/kgXhLrplCrY/s320/KirkO-n-me.1.12-5-09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421481225571094130" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I love this photo because we both look so dang <span style="font-style: italic;">happy</span> - probably because we were! Well, Kirk looks a little cold - probably because it <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> - but he was such a trooper! He hung out with the kids and the family and on Sunday, before he left, we spent the Best. Hour. Ever. together, just talking and stuff. I just can't say enough good things about him.<br /><br />Anyway, that brings me to Christmas. It was <span style="font-style: italic;">great</span> - best ever, in fact - just very busy. Kirko got in around 4:30 PM on Christmas Eve, and from there we went straight to a family party in North Ogden. Well, we swung by home first and picked up my girls, and THEN headed for North Ogden! Kirk just hung out and made himself at home there - he seemed really comfortable, which was cool, because don'tcha just hate it when you have to worry about somebody and whether or not they're OK and stuff? I mean, you do it, anyway, when it's someone you care about, but it's nice to know that you don't <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> to do it, if something else should come up....<br /><br />We came home around 8:00-ish, and played a couple of board games (even Bretten, who was only *mildly* sullen, played!) while we waited for my mom and dad to swing by - they always give us Christmas jammies the night before, so even Kirk got a pair this year. I think he was a little surprised to be included with that! After that, we sent the girls to bed, and Kirk helped me play Santa Claus - a first for him. He was so cute! We set out all the kids' gifts and stuffed stockings, etc., and then we went to bed, too.<br /><br />Morning came all too quickly...I won't go into any of the gifts except to say that Santa was very good to all of us and that Kirk has exceptional taste. :) <p>After doing gifts at my house, we went to my Grandpa Bob's (Kirk keeps pretending to forget he's my grandpa, and calls him Uncle Bob, Field Marshall Bob, and even Sideshow Bob...) and had breakfast and more gifts. Then the girls went with the Ex's parents, and Kirk and I went back to my place.<br /></p>While we were at my Grandpa's, though, and I was helping make OJ and stuff, Kirk held my 10-month-old niece on his lap and BS'd with my cousins, etc., like he's been a part of us <span style="font-style: italic;">forever</span>. When I had a bit of a break, I tried to go get my niece to come see me for a minute, but she didn't want any part of me. She was just happy being Kirko's girl!! Hmmm....maybe it runs in the family?? HA!<br /><p>Well, I said I wasn't going to go into detail about the gifts, but I have to tell this story so I have to give you at least this much background: Kirk <span style="font-style: italic;">did</span> give me an absolutely gorgeous bracelet, presented very creatively around the neck of a stuffed bear, wrapped in a Crown whiskey bag (he <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">is</span> still a guy, after all!!).<br /></p><p>I'd had a hard time getting the bracelet's clasp undone to get it off the bear, and then I couldn't get it done up right when I put it on when I was getting ready to go that morning...and we traditionally have champagne with breakfast on Christmas morning, anyway (I am saying that in my defense NOW...). So when we got home from Grandpa's around noon, I was tired from going to bed late, getting up early, helping in the kitchen, chasing kids, etc., so I took a nap. Of course I took off all my jewelry first, to get comfy, and stretched out....<br /></p><p>Later that afternoon, Kirk said, "It's OK if you don't like your bracelet enough to wear it..." and I was like "OMG - what the @#$%! did I do with it?!?!" because I honestly couldn't remember what I had done with it! </p> <p>So my first thought was, "Well, it's got to be with my watch and ring and stuff!" I went up to my room to look, but it wasn't there. I seriously thought I was going to <span style="font-style: italic;">puke</span> as the panic set in! (Vomit is too polite of a word for the feeling I had in the pit of my stomach!!) I called my mom to see if anybody had seen it at Grandpa's house, and I looked everywhere in the house and car, and in all the gifts that we'd brought home from Grandpa's, etc. - and couldn't find it. I was about in tears - just absolutely *sick.*<br /></p><p> And then Kirk said, "Did you look in your purse?" And I had already, but I figured I'd look one more time....so I pretty much dumped my purse out on the floor, and there was the bracelet, in the bottom of my purse, thankfully. I about bawled in relief. Actually, a tear or two actually did escape....not so much for the dollar value or anything, but just because of the sentimental value, you know? </p>That evening, after my girls got home, we went down to my brother's house in Clinton and did more gifts and ate *again.* My mom and dad and little brothers found some gifts that Kirk really liked and I think it surprised him that they kind of spoiled him the way they did. My youngest brother gave him one of those vinyl stickers of the Peeing Calvin, with Calvin peeing on a Broncos logo (Kirk is a major Broncos fan), and my mom gave him a little Broncos snowman Christmas ornament and a Broncos nutcracker, along with some other things. My other brother gave him a Christmas beer glass filled with pistachios, I think - to tell you the truth, it was so chaotic with all the kids simultaneously ripping into their gifts, I'm really not positive!<br /><br /><img src="file:///C:/Users/JOILIN%7E1/AppData/Local/Temp/moz-screenshot-5.jpg" alt="" />The next day (Saturday) we took the twins to see "The Fantastic Mr. Fox" - *excellent* movie with surprisingly adult humor, even though it is a kids' show - and then went to see some old friends who were in town for the holidays that night. We went to another friend's party for a bit, and then just hung out at a dive bar in Layton for a couple of hours, just BS'ing and playing everything from Patsy Cline to Megadeth on the jukebox, so that was fun, too. Then the next day, he watched football and I pretty much napped all day, until it was time to take him to the airport.<br /><br />When it came time to leave, Kirk left the nutcracker at my place, because he said he didn't want it to break in his bag on the way home, and it would just "be coming back to stay soon enough, anyway." I have quite a collection of nutcrackers that I call my Nutcracker Army, so I told him <em>it</em> couldn't join the army at my place until <em>he</em> joined the family, and he said, "That's fine. It'll happen soon enough!" BIG smiles from me at that one!!<br /><br />So that's all the <span style="font-style: italic;">factual</span> stuff. Here's the sappy stuff:<br /><br />It is absolutely *great* when he is here. He fits in my house and my life so smoothly...I can't even describe just how...<em>meant</em>, I guess, it feels. Just so absolutely comfortable and right and...I don't know. I don't know how to describe it; it seems I lack sufficient or appropriate vocabulary to do it justice. And every time I have to send him back, it hurts worse. Seriously, like my heart has been ripped from my body and is no longer my own to do with as I will - it goes, instead, where he goes. <p>I have honestly never felt like this with anyone ever before. I have heard a few people describe it with their significant other, but I kind of think a lot - maybe even most? - people "settle" for something less. Something pretty good, maybe, but certainly less than <em>this</em>. I know <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> did before. I never felt about the Ex the way, over time, I came to realize I wanted to feel about somebody, and the Ex never felt the way I wanted someone to feel about me - at least that he was capable of demonstrating. Which isn't to say we had a bad marriage or whatever - in many ways, it was better than a lot of them. It was just never <em><span style="font-weight: bold;">this</span>, </em>is all.</p> <p>And he is such an absolutely <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">good</span> man - I just feel like I couldn't have chosen a better person to give my heart - or my love - to. He is respectful to me and my parents, down-to-earth with my extended family, and most importantly, good with my girls: patient and understanding with each of them in the ways they need. He listens to Cyd and lets her talk Pokemon with him, comments on her drawings, asks her questions, etc. He tries to draw Bretten out of her shell, tries to find things to compliment her on, and puts up with her cold shoulder. It's so funny - Bretten actually has to TRY to be ornery to him. It's like she catches herself warming up and being semi-nice and likable, and then is like, "Wait a minute!! What's this?!? Must....Remain....Crabby...." </p> <p>And Mychael seems to quite like him and feel really comfortable with him. She layed in bed with us Sunday morning/afternoon and looked at a book with me, while Kirk lay next to me watching football on TV. Mychael and I laughed and took turns showing Kirk pictures we thought were funny, and it didn't feel awkward or weird at all. In fact, it felt so natural to me that I didn't even think twice about it until Kirk said something about it later!</p> <p>In fact, she is <span style="font-style: italic;">so</span> comfortable with him, that on the way into the movie Saturday afternoon, when Kirk just remarked casually, to no one in particular, "Geez, it's so much warmer here during the day than at night...." Mychael said to him, kind of sarcastically, "Uh, yeah. That might have a little something to do with the sun being out."<br /></p> <p>Kirk was such a good sport about it, Mychael and I just laughed! So on the way out of the theater, Kirk says the same thing back to her, sarcastically, "Gee, it's so much warmer during the day!" Mychael just went along with it and teased him back, saying, "I thought we cleared this up earlier - you know, the sun and all?" It was really cute.</p><p><br /></p><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/Sz0AQKnuOKI/AAAAAAAAAF4/dqPLrtgCaLQ/s1600-h/Santa+Sarah-dog.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 178px; height: 206px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/Sz0AQKnuOKI/AAAAAAAAAF4/dqPLrtgCaLQ/s320/Santa+Sarah-dog.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421489804152813730" border="0" /></a></p><p><br /></p> <p>Even the dog likes him. The morning after he left, Sarah came running into the bedroom, jumped up on the bed, sniffed his spot, then jumped down and ran around both sides of the bed, looking back at the bed all the while. Then she jumped back up and sniffed the bed again, then hopped off the bed, ran downstairs, and then came back up, again. Then, she sat in the doorway between the bathroom and bedroom and just stared at me like, "What'd you do with him?!"</p><p>What <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">did</span> I do with him? Sent him back to Phoenix, for now. What am I <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">gonna</span> do with him, though? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Keep him</span>.<br /></p>Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-65249754198649987962009-11-17T16:24:00.000-08:002009-11-17T17:12:56.149-08:00Was It ALWAYS Supposed To Be Like This?First, a little business to get out of the way: the answer to last post's quiz was (trumpet blast) The Greater Evil!! A.K.A. Bretten. I know, I know, y'all are quite surprised. Not! Now for the <em>real</em> post:<br /><br />I have been rolling this blog topic around in my head for several weeks now, and I hope I can do it justice. It’s about expectations, and not missing what you never knew you didn’t have, and stuff like that.<br /><br />Let me just start by saying that I hate to always rag about my marriage. It seems like a lifetime ago, and I am in <em>such</em> a better place now, emotionally, mentally, physically – just about every "ly" you can think of! – that it seems a shame to keep bitching about it. However, it <em>does</em> make for an easy target...LOL!! In all reality, though, I have learned so much in the last year and a half or so, that I almost, <em>almost</em> feel like I owe the Ex a debt of gratitude. I look back now and I can't believe I stayed married for as long as I did. Not that it was all bad, all the time, because it wasn't...well, horrible, I guess...and if I hadn't, I wouldn't have my kids (although there are days when that’s not exactly working in its favor!). But the point I am trying to make is that the more I get to know Kirk, the more I begin to realize that the way my marriage <em>was</em>, wasn't necessarily the way a marriage <em>should've</em> - or <em>could've</em> - been, anyway.<br /><br />Some examples:<br /><br />Number 1: I had to go to an Army “family conference” meeting in LA over the weekend a few weeks ago. The only time I ever liked the Army was when I worked there, 23 years ago. I <em>do</em> like many individual soldiers, and support and appreciate them, 100%. After all, there is a definite need they fulfill, and I am glad somebody is willing to step up and do it. But the Army as an institution leaves something – a great, big, steaming <em>pile</em> of something! – to be desired, at least by me, personally. I just don't have the type of personality that can do the military scene without seriously chafing at not only the restrictions, but also the “jump first and ask questions later” mentality.<br /><br />So here I am at this meeting, not only seething at the whole military structure of the thing, but also just gagging on all the flag-waving and self-congratulating that was going on. I honestly thought some arms were going to break from the contortions people were going through, just to pat themselves on the back for being such “heroes.” I’m sorry – I thought you actually had to <em><strong>do</strong></em> something to <em>earn</em> the title of hero, not marry it or claim it because it came with your beret or something. <br /> <br />I listened to Army spouse after Army spouse talk about the <em>honesty</em> and <em>commitment</em> and <em>integrity</em> of “their” soldiers, and contrasted it in my mind with the experiences <em>I</em> had with “my” soldier over the years. It was tough – and more than once I just wanted to stand up and scream that they were <em>wrong</em> – they had <em>no idea </em>how many of these so-called heroes just played the game to get out of it whatever they could for their own personal gain, how many of them spouted integrity in one direction and turned around and cheated every other way, and so on. And more than once I was brought to tears with the frustration of not being able to correct what felt like a horribly biased and one-sided portrayal.<br /><br />I had done plenty of bitching and moaning about having to attend the conference before I went, and had even vented to Kirk periodically throughout the day. The conference was supposed to be finished about 5:00 PM, and I was doing some serious clock-watching and fidgeting, watching that last hour just d-r-a-g. At about 4:10 or so, I received a text from Kirk, unbidden and totally unexpected. “Almost done, baby,” it said. “Hang in there. I love you.” <br /><br />How thoughtful is that? How sweet, how utterly charming? I was blown away by the consideration. Is that what it’s <em>supposed</em> to be like? Forgive me for not knowing the answer – stuff like that never happened to me before.<br /><br />Number 2: I’ve blogged before about my inability to sleep with any type of predictability or regularity, and my need to attend remedial sleep training or something. I’ve been this way, off and on, for about the last ten to twelve years or so. I’ve followed all the things conventional wisdom recommends, as best as I am able: no TV or computers or other light sources right before bed, develop a routine and stick to it, no caffeine, etc. I have also tried the not so conventional remedies: valerian, lavender, melatonin. And the medical remedies: Ambien, Lunesta, Trazadone. Basically, everything but the prescriptions are good for about two to four hours of sleep – but at least they don’t give me a hangover! The prescriptions are good for more like eight hours of sleep, but then I have the wicked drags the next morning...it seems you cannot have your cake, and eat it, too, as they say.<br /><br />Anyway, right now I am in a period of not sleeping very well. My mom has suggested that I go down to the sleep clinic at the U, but I have been dragging my feet. I don’t want to take the leave from work, I don’t want to do the driving back and forth, I don’t want to add yet another doctor to my arsenal of health care providers I’ve been racking up over the years, etc. I may eventually do it, I don’t know.<br /><br />But almost every night, as we finish our nightly telephone conversation, Kirk says to me, “And please, get some sleep, baby.” Which makes me feel very...cared for. And the other night, he said, “I’m gonna have to get with your mom and get you into one of those programs at the U....” <br /> <br />I joked and, kind of smart-assedly, said, “OK...Dad,” because whenever <em>I</em> tell <em>him</em> something like that, that is good for him, he teasingly tells me, “Whatever, Mother!” So I was being flippant, too.<br /><br />But then he said, with all seriousness, “I’m just looking out for you. You know I just have your welfare at heart.” <br /><br />Again, how sweet is that? How caring and thoughtful? Once again, I was...amazed, for lack of a better word, by Kirk’s consideration and...I don’t know...protectiveness? So again I ask, is that what it’s <em>supposed </em>to be like, what it’s supposed to have been like, all along? Because obviously it wasn’t, and the fact that it is now – with Kirk – often just leaves me shaking my head in wonder. <em>Who knew?</em> Not me!!<br /><br />Number 3: Kirk came to visit last weekend. It was the first time he met my parents, and the first time he met my kids. I really could not have asked for anything to go better – it was all very low-key - and Kirk seemed to fit right in. It was all just <em>perfect</em>. My kids like him (even the Greater Evil confessed that the only reason she was trying not to like him was because she is mad at me!) and my parents like him, too. I even remembered to take some pictures this time!!<br /><br />I have said before that I am a “word girl.” I love words, and I absolutely thrive on them. Actions are nice, too, of course, but I think I could go longer without the actions if I have the words, than I could go with the actions if I didn't have the words, if that makes sense. I just need the words. And Kirk can give them to me like no one ever has before. The sweet ones, the serious ones, and the funny ones, too. And when I comment on his ability to do that, he just says, "That's my job!" like it's no big deal, when it's <em>everything</em> to me. <br /><br />Sunday, we were going to go watch football with some friends, and then he decided he’d just rather hang at the house and do nothing – which was fine by me. And he said, “When you enjoy doing absolutely nothing with someone 24/7, you’ve found your ‘one’ – and I have!” Stuff like that just makes me <em>melt</em>...<br /><br />And later, when I had to take him to the airport, I bawled all the way home. I know I’m going to see him again at Christmas, and it’s really not that far away – only 37 days (that’s no longer apart than between when I went there in October and he came up here in November...), so I don’t know why it hurt so bad. But it did – I felt like my heart was literally breaking in two, even though at the same time I was feeling so good about the weekend and him and us and that everything was so truly <em>worth it </em>– and <em>will be </em>so truly worth it – in the long run.<br /><br />But this is what <em>The Sweetheart </em>(yes, it absolutely deserves capitalization)sent me before he boarded his plane: “I have never felt so right about anything as I do about US. I cannot wait to see you again and am reliving every second I just spent with you. I feel like you complete me in so many ways. I love you with every fiber of my being. YOU are the absolute love of my life.”<br /><br />I have asked this over and over again, I know, but <em>how sweet is that</em>? How <em>thoughtful</em>, how <em>caring</em>, how <em>romantic</em>? When he knows what I need, he gives it to me, unselfishly and with such amazing generosity. And one of the truly awe-inspiring aspects of this whole thing is that I feel like his openness and honesty and willingness to give so generously and genuinely, from his heart, have inspired some of the same things in me. Stated simply, <em>being with him makes me a better version of me.</em> <br /> <br />Was it supposed to be like this, all along? I don’t know. To tell you the truth, at this point, I really don’t care. I guess you cannot expect to have what you never really knew existed, after all. But I am so beyond happy that I know it exists <em>now</em>. Whether it’s <em>always </em>like this for everyone or not, I still don't know. But it is <em>finally</em> like this, for <em>me</em>.<br /><em></em>Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-41781204793877541052009-11-09T12:27:00.000-08:002009-11-09T13:09:57.763-08:00Easiest Quiz EverHere's a little quiz for you. It is very easy, as it only consists of one problem. I will present you with a scenario, and then, based on that scenario, you get to answer a single question. Anybody who misses this needs to go back to remedial "Beneath My Placid Exterior" and re-read old "My Seething Cauldron" posts!!<br /><br />So, I've got the twins, a.k.a. the Greater Evil and the Lesser Evil. Based on my summary of a recent conversation, see if you can guess which one (i.e., GE or LE) I was, um, "speaking" with:<br /><br />The other day, we were arguing over something stupid. I remembered something happening one way, and she remembered it happening another way. We went back and forth and back and forth.<br /><br />Me: "It was when we were standing right there, and you said blah, blah, blah..."<br /><br />Her: "I would never <em>say </em>that! I <em>never </em>said that!"<br /><br />Me: "Why would I remember you <em>saying</em> that, if you didn't say it?"<br /><br />Her: "I<em> don't know!</em> I just know I never said what you said I said!"<br /><br />Etc., etc., etc.<br /><br />After about 20 minutes of this, I finally conceded that neither of us was willing to give in and admit that the other person was right. In an effort to model problem-solving skills and conciliatory behavior, I therefore decided to offer a truce, of sorts. I wanted to put an end to the yelling (on both our parts, but mainly because I was getting hoarse!) and the eye-rolling (on her part, as I was half-way afraid if she rolled her eyes any harder, they would pop out of her head and roll down the stairs, collecting carpet fuzzies as they bounced down each step....). <br /><br />"Well," I said, "People often remember the same situation a little bit differently from one another, according to their own perspectives. So, I can see how your memory of blah-blah-blah would be different than my memory, and I am willing to admit that your version of events is at least as valid is mine is. Can you, then, also be willing to admit that my version of events also has some validity, too?"<br /><br /><em>"NOOOOooooOOOOOooooo!" </em>she wailed.<br /><br />Totally surprised and taken aback (for I thought I had made a pretty fair offer!), I barked, <em>"Why not?!?!"</em><br /><br />She fairly spat her response: "Because! <em><strong>Your</strong></em> version is just based on your opinion!! <em><strong>My </strong></em>version is based on <em><strong>fact</strong></em>!!" <br /><br />So yeah - guess which one said that? <br /><br />Answer tomorrow, as if you were really in any doubt....Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-28724059071933228722009-10-26T15:44:00.000-07:002009-10-26T15:53:32.716-07:00It Never Gets Old...Last Thursday we went to my daughter’s orchestra concert. It was their annual fund-raising dinner first, followed by the fall concert. The dinner was only “meh” (cold spaghetti with Ragu sauce from a jar...), but the concert was very good and Grandma and Grandpa came to watch, too. It was a fairly low-key evening, but a fun one, nevertheless.<br /><br />It has become somewhat of a tradition that, whenever we have an “event” such as a dance review or an orchestra concert, we end the evening with some sort of a treat, like an ice cream cone or something. This evening's event was no different, and as soon as the concert was over, we went to a little burger shop nearby to get some milkshakes. <br /><br />For some reason known only to the owners of the burger shop and, perhaps, God, it has never occurred to said owners of this little drive-in to go to the school administration and request a calendar of events scheduled to be held at the school. With said calendar, said owners might actually be able to correlate the likelihood of their having extra staffing needs with the dates of the school’s extracurricular activities. Perhaps all this will click with them, someday...I wouldn't count on it, but it might.<br /> <br />Anyhow, that is how the little burger shop came to find itself crowded full of people on a Thursday evening, with only three employees to run the entire restaurant – including taking orders, preparing food, running the drive-thru, and cleaning up the lobby, plus who-knows-what-all other miscellaneous tasks are involved with the day-to-day running of a burger shop. We – meaning me, the Evils (Cyd stayed home), and the Grands – placed our orders and then settled in to wait, knowing it might be awhile.<br /><br />As soon as we had settled into the booth, with my parents on one side and me and my girls on the other, my mother immediately narrowed her eyes and pointed at me across the table. “You’re going to vote, aren’t you?”<br /><br />You know there’s only one right way to answer a question like that, right?<br /><br />“Of course!” I replied.<br /><br />“Because KSL says our mayoral election is the tightest race in the entire state!!” Mom exclaimed. “Do you know you’re going to vote for?”<br /><br />“Yes,” I said. “Curtis.”<br /><br />I usually vote anti-whoever is in power, which means I usually vote “throw the rascals out,” or anti-incumbent. In this case, though, I am deviating somewhat from my usual rule. Curtis <strong><em>is</em></strong> the incumbent – but the challenger is a member of a family with a long history of insider politics and "string-pulling" in our little town. So, in the grand scheme of things, even though he isn’t technically the incumbent, the challenger in this race is definitely the one with the power. So I’m anti-challenger this time around, and instead of voting to <em>throw</em> the rascal out, I’m voting to <strong><em>keep</em></strong> him out.<br /><br />So, again, I agreed I was voting for Curtis.<br /><br />“Well, good!” said my mother. “That race is tight, and I’m trying to get as many people to get out and vote for Curtis as I can. We can’t have that Stevenson in there. He’s just a whiney, old....”<br /><br />She paused while she searched for an appropriate word to express her displeasure with Stevenson. Meanwhile, my father, who was sitting next to her on the molded plastic bench seat, filled the gap in conversation by shifting his weight and lifting one gluteus maximus cheek to let out a gigantic fart.<br /><br />Of course my girls thought this was hilarious! And I have to admit – as much as I can - and do! - sometimes put on the air of sophistication, and pretend that such things just totally gross me out, I totally thought it was funny, too.<br /> <br />So my girls and I are all laughing so hard tears are rolling down our faces, and my mom and dad start to get the giggles, too. My mom tries to pretend she is thoroughly disgusted with our lack of manners and refinement and manages to choke out, “Geez, Lynn! Just because <em><strong>you</strong></em> can’t hear it, doesn’t mean nobody else can, either! I swear, I am the only cultured one in this entire family!!”<br /><br />We are still laughing so hard, we can barely talk. But then Mychael caps it by summarizing what we have all just witnessed:<br /><br />“Gosh, Grandma!! You guys have been married for so long, Grandpa finishes your sentences for you!”<br /><br />And we all giggled some more.<br /><br />I just don’t know. Maybe I <em><strong>am</strong></em> uncouth, or uncultured, or whatever. But a good fart story will make me laugh every time. It just never gets old!Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-45464644562624376512009-10-13T14:53:00.000-07:002009-10-14T16:38:32.327-07:00Best. Trip. Ever. Part Four. Or, The Last Day....I don’t know how many of you know this, but I am sleep-challenged, and have been, off and on, for years. Since I have a special-needs daughter, I try to stay away from the word “retarded,” but saying I am sleep-special-needs sounds stupid, so let’s just say, I don’t sleep well. I have trouble falling asleep, and I have trouble staying asleep once I get there. I really need remedial sleep training. If I can sleep more than four hours at a stretch, I am happy. Every once in awhile, I will actually sleep seven hours or so, and I’m downright ecstatic. Don’t get me wrong – I am not one of those people who are all perky on only four or five hours of sleep a night. I really need a full eight. Every night. I just can’t figure out how to get it.<br /><br />But for some unknown reason, when I was sleeping next to Kirk...I slept <em>juuuuuuust fine</em>. There is probably some scientific explanation involving endorphins and oxytocin and neurotransmitters and stuff, but I think it has something to do with the peace that comes when you can be yourself with the one you love, and you know you are loved in return. That, and physical exercise. ;)<br /><br />Anyway, I’d been sleeping uncharacteristically well, until the last night, in Kirk’s sister’s guest house. The bed was great, and couldn’t have been more comfortable. The temperature was fine, and I was definitely plenty tired. Everything was absolutely conducive to a very good night’s sleep. But at 3:00 AM, I was wide awake, and immediately stricken with an almost unbearable sadness with the knowledge that I’d be leaving today. Kirk had been able to get the day before off, but would have to work for a little bit this morning, so I knew I couldn’t wake him up. Well, I <em>could</em>, but it wouldn’t be very nice if I <em>did</em>. So I just laid there, feeling the tears begin to well, and my nose start to burn the way it does when you know the crying is about to commence. I kept trying to talk myself out of it. “Don’t cry ‘cause you’re leaving,” I told myself. “Be happy because you were able to come in the first place!” <br /><br />I just wanted so badly to drink him in, to stash away memories that I would be able to pull out and savor later, when Kirk would be far away. I was getting mad at myself for being so pathetically sappy, so I went into the bathroom, turned on the light, and sat on the floor and tried to read for a bit to distract myself, not entirely successfully. After a bit, I gave up and went back to bed, but kept looking at the clock, still just so restless. Finally, I leaned up on one elbow, and just...watched. Watched him sleep. Because I <em>could</em>. <br /><br />It's <em>the best </em>way to wake up - just to be in the arms of the one you love, and feel that absolute safety and warmth and security and contentedness and acceptance and...love. It still makes me bawl just thinking about it. I can't tell if they're tears of happiness for even ever having been able to experience it at all, even if only for a little bit, or tears of sadness for not having it now and missing him, or a little bit of both..... Even now, more than a week later, that pain feels so fresh that I have to swallow the lump in my throat that comes with the memory of it. <br /><br />It almost feels like I love him too much for my heart and soul to be able to contain, and whenever I try to quantify or explain or whatever, it wells up and starts leaking out my eyes in the form of tears. How weird is that?!?! I hope I will kind of get accustomed to feeling so much someday, so that I don't cry every time I think about how much I love him.... Just believe it when I say I have never loved like this before, and never knew it was even possible. So I think I was just feeling a little overwhelmed that morning, too.<br /><br />I woke him up by tickling his back, and with his voice still groggy with sleep, he said, "What are you doing?"<br /><br />"Watching you," I said.<br /><br />"Why?"<br /><br />"Because I can..." was all I choked out, before the torrent of tears just came. He held me while I sobbed, but eventually I got it back together. We talked and, I think, both cried a little bit - I told him I knew that I needed to be happy we’d been able to have the time together in the first place instead of sad it was coming to an end, and he said that we needed to remember that if it wasn't as good as it is between us, it wouldn't hurt so much to part, so it was just proof of how good it is, how right we are together, etc. And I really appreciated his spin on things. He is so good about giving me the words I need to hear! <br /><br />Anyway, he went to work, and I finally went back to sleep. I got up about four hours later and took my time in the shower and getting ready, etc. And then when he got back, we ate some chips and salsa and yogurt (a surprisingly tasty combination!) at his sister's before leaving, and then just bummed around for a little bit. We went to a local brew pub so I could get a "Kiltlifter Ale" T-shirt – absolutely <em>perrrrfect</em> for me!! <br /> <br />Then we just drove and talked and kind of took our time on our way to the airport. I was doing a pretty good job holding it all together, I thought. I didn't want his last memory of me to be of red-rimmed, mascara-ringed eyes and a red, runny nose, so I was chewing on the insides of my lip something fierce to keep it all under control. We were joking that throughout the whole entire trip, I did not take one single picture!! I was too busy <em>making</em> memories to think to take any <em>pictures</em> of them – I guess that girl gene must have skipped me somehow, because I am <em>lousy</em> at taking pictures and always have been. So we were talking about trying to stop and ask a Skycap or even some stranger to take one of us for us, just so we'd have one, but the closer we got to the airport, the more tenuous the control on our emotions was getting. <br /><br />By the time we got to the curb at the airport (turns out there’s a reason those are called the “kiss and cry” lanes!!), and he stopped and got my bags out, I was really having a hard time. I felt like if anyone so much as said “Boo!” to me, I would lose it. So we didn’t even try for a picture. We stood there and kissed good-bye and exchanged our "I love you's," and I just kept telling myself "Don't cry. Don't cry. <em>Don't CRY</em>!! DON'TCRYDON'TCRYDON'TCRY!!!!" And I could tell Kirk had a little tic in his jaw and his voice was a little wavery, too. So I went into the airport and he left, and I didn't look back (bad luck to look back....).<br /> <br />As I was walking through the airport up to security, my eyes were leaking and every time I'd wipe a tear, a new one would magically spring up to take it's place. I kept dabbing at the corners of my eyes with a tissue that, by this time, was pretty much a soggy, wadded-up, mascara’ed mess – definitely the worse for wear. I got to the security gate, and the TSA guy looked at my ID, looked at my boarding pass, scribbled something, and waived me on, but I could tell he was thinking, "What's the deal with <em>her</em>?" <br /><br />I was still dabbing at my eyes as I put my bags on the conveyor belt and my shoes, sweater, and belt in the tub to go through the x-ray machine, and I was still chewing, chewing, chewing on my lip trying to keep from disintegrating into a full-on <em>bawl</em>. Just then, the X-ray guy stops the conveyor belt, backs it up, and calls, "Bag check on Lane 1!" and a TSA guy comes over and gets my bag and says to me, "Ma'am, is this your bag?" And I. Just. <em>Lost it.</em><br /><br />"Yeeeeesssssss!" I wail.<br /><br />He looks at me, panick-stricken. "It's OK, Ma'am. There's no problem - your number just came up, that's all. We're just going to have a quick look and we'll get you on your way!"<br /><br />I'm all, "I - I - I kn-n-noooow. I'm s-s-s-orry!!"<br /><br />He unpacked my bag and put everything in a tub, so he could run it and the bag back through the x-ray machine separately. Meanwhile, I'm standing there, bawling my head off in great big, heaving sobs. There is another lady, about 10 to 15 years older than me, on the other end of the table where the TSA guy had unpacked everything, and she is going through the same ordeal. "It's OK," she says to me. "This happens to me all the time. It's no big deal!"<br /><br />She is being so nice - I don't know what to say. I know it's not the TSA people's fault, I know it's not <em>my</em> fault, but I hardly want to tell them all the <em>real</em> reason I am bawling in the middle of the Phoenix airport!! <br /><br />My poor little tissue is as good as useless now, and I try to reach into my bag for another one, but the TSA guy holds up his rubber-gloved hand to stop me and says, "Uh, Ma'am, please don't try to reach into your bags until I'm finished with my search." <br /> <br />I'm still blubbering, and I apologize again. "I - I - I'm s-s-s-sorry-y-y-y!!!!" I wail. <br /><br />By this time, there is the one TSA guy helping the nice lady on the other end of the table, the one TSA guy on the x-ray machine, the one TSA guy helping me on my end of the table, and then about <em>six</em> TSA people standing around my guy with their arms folded, watching me. I can tell they think I am a certifiable lunatic. <br /><br />My TSA guy gets everything done, and brings it all back over from the x-ray machine, of course giving me the all-clear. "Would you like to put your bag back together, Ma'am, or would you like me to do it?" he asks, oh-so-politely. And I'm hiccupping now, I've been crying so hard this whole time, but I said I'd do it...so I put my bag back together, face red and blotchy, nose running, mascara completely gone....stomach aching....it was awful. <br /> <br />Crying in the airport = embarrassing. Crying so hard when the TSA guy pulls your bag that they apparently think you're going to go off the deep end on them so they call in reinforcements = embarrassing x2!!<br /><br />But then, just as I was boarding the airplane, I got a text from Kirk. "You are my world. I absolutely love you. Let the next countdown begin!" And he sent me a picture of his hand that just said, "Mine misses yours already." So how stinkin' <em>sweet</em> is that? How stinkin' sweet is <em>he</em>?<br /><br />And by the time I landed in SLC, I had a message waiting for me from him that said, “This says it all...I love you!!! ‘Missing someone gets easier every day because even though it’s one day further from the last time you saw each other, it’s one day closer to the next time you will.’” Honestly, could he <em>be</em> any better?<br /><br />Suffice it to say that it was a <em>grrrrrrrreat</em> trip. He is <em>every</em> bit as wonderful as I remembered. We are as absolutely <em>right</em> together as I thought. <br /><br />So, I guess I probably either need to figure out how to move my ass to Phoenix, or get his moved up here. And I need to figure out how to get my girls to be OK with having him in their lives. He's gonna be in their lives one way or another, but I'd rather them like him and be OK with it, than not. But it's the weirdest thing - I just feel so strongly somehow that Kirk and I were meant to be together, and that things will ultimately work out, that I just have a certain sense of...oh, I don't know, peace and "rightness," almost...that everything will fall into place when and where it is meant to do so. I just have to try to make myself be patient and wait for it to unfold, instead of push to make it happen on my own timeframe, as I am wont to do. <em>Damn</em> this Type A personality tendency of mine - it can be very difficult to manage, at times!!<br /><br />But that's all down the road a piece. For now, it really was the Best. Trip. <em>Ever.</em><br /><br /><br />As always, comments, advice, etc., welcome and appreciated... :)Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-57756097798267467112009-10-11T16:31:00.000-07:002009-10-11T16:48:37.502-07:00Best. Trip. Ever. Part Three. Or, My Favorite Day.Monday was my favorite day.<br /><br />Once again we took our time waking up that morning, and then when we finally decided to get up and get going, I had what was perhaps the <span style="font-style:italic;">best</span> shower of my entire life. Man, Kirk can kiss like none other!! ‘Nuff said. Other than I am one <span style="font-style:italic;">verrrrry</span> lucky girl. :)<br /><br />Anyway, he was giving me a hard time about taking so long to get ready, and the more he teased me, the more time I took. I’m contrary like that, sometimes (!). Besides, girls <span style="font-style:italic;">always </span>take longer. If my hair was a fraction of an inch long and I didn’t have to put make-up or anything on, it wouldn’t take me so long to get ready, either! <br /><br />We couldn't decide if we wanted to go for a late breakfast or an early lunch. Kirk kept saying I had to decide, and I kept saying it was his town and he should choose, and I would choose when something was really important to me one way or another. He eventually settled it by writing a “B” (for breakfast) on one hand, and “L” (for lunch) on the other, and telling me to choose right or left. I chose left, which ended up being breakfast.<br /><br />We left the house and started out for the breakfast place. I couldn’t tell where we were going – in Utah, you always have the mountains to kind of orient yourself with, but in Phoenix, it all seems very flat and relatively the same, no matter which direction you look. Long story short, it ended up not mattering because we couldn't find the breakfast place and when Kirk finally broke down and called first his brother, then his sister, and finally his mom for directions (apparently this happens a lot, which I think is hilarious – I couldn’t help but giggle, and his mom thought it was pretty amusing, too! Good thing Kirk is a good sport about it...), it ended up being closed that day, anyway. So we went for the early lunch, instead. It was this really cool salad place where you get to watch them make it pretty much to your specifications. Kirk had the standard Caesar and I had a Cobb with some yummy pork tenderloin. They were both huge, and absolutely dee-lish!<br /><br />Then we went to a really upscale mall, which was really interesting to see and experience but was almost overwhelming for what I am used to. I definitely felt like the proverbial country mouse. It was about four times the size of the Layton Hills Mall, easy, and had Nieman Marcus, and Nordstrom, and Dillard’s, and Macy's in it, plus a Barney’s “coming soon,” a Cartier's, <span style="font-style:italic;">and</span> a Tiffany's and maybe even another jewelry store where entry is by invitation only (i.e., you have to buzz to be let in - you can't just wander in and out at will....). And that doesn't even begin to cover all the little boutique shops and your mall standards like Aeropostale and Abercrombie & Fitch and Victoria's Secret, Sephora, etc. We window-shopped and played with the puppies in the pet store and sampled hand lotions and basically acted pretty much the way my younger brother has repeatedly accused me of: like a 40-year-old going on 16. Sigh….<br /><br />After that, we went to Old Town Scottsdale, which was a lot of fun, as well. We went to this ice cream parlor called "The Sugar Bowl" (here’s a link: http://sugarbowlscottsdale.com/). It has been there since 1958, and is still owned and operated by the same people who opened it up way back then. And, it looks like it hasn't changed a bit in the 51 years since. It looks like a 50’s poodle skirt - all pink and white. Pink vinyl upholstery on the booths, pink Formica with gold flecks in it on all the table tops, black and white checkered floor, pink and white stained glass light fixtures, etc. Bil Keane, the guy who draws The Family Circus comic, apparently lives near the area and is a frequent patron. His comic panels are featured decor, and are included as part of the menu, etc. <br /> <br />The menu itself is kind of hard to figure out, like what columns are flavors of sauces, and which ones are ice creams, and how many of these make one of those and what of this goes with that, and so on. And some of their standard menu items are weird...like, there would be vanilla and orange ice creams with strawberry sauce and you'd think, "Oh, that sounds good..." and then you'd read, "...with Turkish coffee sauce," so you'd be going, "Oh, wait...no, not the Turkish coffee...." So we had a really hard time deciding what we wanted. The waitress must have come by to take our order four or five times. <br /><br />Finally, we decided to get the Spectacular Banana Bowl, which is basically an "everything on it” banana split, and a small caramel sundae, because that was the one thing the banana split thing was missing, and we'd just share 'em both. So when the waitress finally came back, and took our order, she says, "It took you all that time, just to decide on <span style="font-style:italic;">that</span>?" Then, as she was walking off, Kirk goes under his breath, "Well, there goes <span style="font-style:italic;">your</span> 15%!!!" That made me laugh!<br /><br />We sat across the aisle from this old couple who were probably in their 80's. The old guy was just bitchin' up a storm. I couldn't understand a word he was saying because it seemed like his dentures were loose or maybe he had hearing loss or some other speech impediment or something, but I could tell he was just bitch, bitch, bitch. The little old lady sitting across from him didn't even bat an eye or even, from what I could tell, acknowledge or respond. Kirk commented a couple of times that he loved people watching, and that old people were great - he could watch/listen to them all day, and he wondered what Grandpa was bitching about, etc. When the waitress finally brought the old guy his sundae, he just tucked into it and didn't even make a peep after that. It was funny! Kirk was all, "Well, there's the secret to keeping him quiet, right there! Bring the man his ice cream!!" I can relate. Ice cream keeps me quiet, too.<br /><br />Some other couples came in after that and sat near us, and had difficulty ordering, too, so it wasn't just us. We talked about redesigning The Sugar Bowl’s menu for them, and we watched the same waitress - whose nametag said she had worked there since 1964 or something like that - be bitchy to them, too. So Kirk says to me, "I want to order something that's not on the menu and totally mess her up - just blow her out of the water. I'll say, ‘Yeah, I'd like a <span style="font-style:italic;">mayonnaise malt</span>, please!’" And I just lost it - <span style="font-style:italic;">totally</span> got the giggles!! <br /><br />So then both he and I were just laughing to the point where all we had to do was look at each other and we’d start laughing again!! These two teenage skater chicks had been seated in the booth directly across from ours – and who you'd think we, being the adults, would normally be looking down upon - instead looked down upon us and said, "Hmph!! Apparently, something over there is *awfully* funny!!" And that, of course, made us laugh even harder!<br /><br />Afterwards, I made Kirk go into a Christmas ornament shop with me, and he said, "See? This is how you know its true love, right here: I am voluntarily going into this store with you!" When we went in, there was some awful glockenspiel muzak playing, and there were these two little old ladies in there with more money than sense. Everywhere you look, there are signs that say, "Please do not touch," and "Please ask for assistance," and these two women (they had a slight accent - I couldn't tell if it was slightly German or what....) were running the sole salesclerk ragged. One would lean over and grab something and the clerk would run over and try to help her, and the other one would start talking from the other side of the store about something else, so the clerk would leave the first one and run over that way. Then the first one would start messing with something, and knock something over...more than once, we'd hear a “crash!” or “thud!” and then one of the old lady's voices would say something like, "<span style="font-style:italic;">Sweet Jesus!!</span>" Then we'd see the sales clerk roll her eyes....and Kirk and I would giggle over that, too!<br /><br />We went and did a little more souvenir hunting in Old Town, and then we went and met his family (mom, brother and sister-in-law and kids and sister and kids) for pizza. It was some of the best pizza I've ever had. We had wings and some chips and salsa for appetizers - the salsa had shrimp in it, and I know it has a special name, but I can't think of it - and it was scrumptious, too. The pizzas are small - maybe 13"-14" is all, about enough for two people to share, so his sister-in-law and I shared one that had sun-dried tomatoes, fresh basil, fresh sweet corn, and goat cheese on it. OMG, it was good!!! <br /><br />And Kirk’s family – I know I already said this, but they really are, to a person, the most down-to-earth, sincere, warm, genuine, and gracious people I have ever met. I didn’t once feel awkward or out of place or uncomfortable, one bit. From my perspective, at least, it felt totally effortless to be around them. And there aren't very many people I can say that about - hell, some of my <span style="font-style:italic;">friends</span> take effort, y'know? <br /><br />His brother is as funny as he is, his sister-in-law is pretty and warm and friendly and out-going, and their kids are cute and well-mannered and charming. His sister is attractive and polished and generous, and her kids are well-behaved, precious and affectionate and cute as can be, too. I was especially struck by how well-mannered and yet, out-going, *all* of the kids were – the oldest nephew is only 8 or 9, I think, and then there is another nephew who is around 5 or so, and two little nieces who will be turning 4 in a couple of months, a boy and a girl each for his sister and his brother. Compared to all the little monkeys I am accustomed to associating with, no one was swinging from the chandeliers, no one flung themselves on the floor to bawl, no one attempted to run away, there were no fights….it was actually really nice.<br /><br />And his sister’s little girl was just precious. She must have asked her mom a dozen times through the course of the evening, what my name was. When it was finally time to go, she whispered to her mom that she wanted to give me both a goodbye hug AND a kiss, but she was too embarrassed! So I leaned down and gave her a hug, and told her that that was very nice and I would be happy to give her a hug anytime. So stinkin’ <span style="font-style:italic;">cute</span>!!<br /><br />After that, we went to see his sister's house. Her hubby is Phil Mickelsen's caddy, so they are comfortably well-off, and live in a gated community where all visitors have to sign in, etc. Their home has a pool and a hot tub and a guest house, etc., and everything in their home is, of course, very nice, with the 15' ceilings and 10' doors, the Viking refrigerator and range and the granite-topped island in the kitchen, and the hand-scraped hardwood plank floors, etc. Absolutely gorgeous! And oddly enough, decorated very much the way I might do it, if I lived there....<br /><br />She very graciously invited us to stay in the guest house that night. I was a little torn – part of me wanted to go back to Kirk’s and just hang out in his space for some purely emotional need, but the desire for creature comforts ultimately prevailed and we decided to take her up on her offer. We had to run back to Kirk’s, anyway, to get his stuff for work the next day, and while we were there, he opened the birthday present I brought him. It was just a picture of us together, taken the night we met at the barbecue, but I think he liked it OK. I have one just like it. Once my kids actually get to meet him (which I hope will be <span style="font-style:italic;">soon</span>), I will put mine up in my room, too....<br /><br />Anyway, long story short, I did not sleep in the same bed twice the entire time I was in Phoenix.<br /><br />Tales of my last day in Phoenix, coming soon.... I promise – you will laugh and cry. But maybe not in that order. Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-61986554414637820102009-10-09T12:25:00.000-07:002009-10-09T14:21:45.583-07:00Best. Weekend. Ever. Part Two. Or, It's Not The What, It's The Who.Continuing from where I left off on my last post....<br /><br />Sunday morning, we woke up early but just laid around in bed for a couple of hours. Now, before you start giggling, Beavis, remember, it’s not so much the <strong><em>what</em></strong>, it’s the <strong><em>who</em></strong>. And I am NOT talking about the band!! It was just so <em>nice</em> to just lay there and talk, or laugh, or snuggle and cuddle, or some combination thereof. As much as I like “the deed,” I like <em>that</em>, more. Because really, when you look back at your life, there are a few big milestone moments, but when you put those together, they comprise only a fraction of the time you’ve spent here on earth. The vast majority of your lifetime is made up of the little things, those small, everyday moments that, strung together, are the hours and days and years and decades of life. If you don’t enjoy those little moments when they happen, you’re not enjoying your life when it happens, either. <br /> <br />Enough preaching! <br /><br />So, even though we were up early, we got going kind of late and were supposed to be at this sports bar that Kirk hangs out at to watch the Denver/Dallas football game before too long. Kirk’s best friend, Shawn, came over first, so I met him – he is a super nice guy. We had just time enough to enjoy a red beer (I’d never had one made with <em>spicy</em> V-8 before – yummy!) and watch a little TV, then we headed for the bar. <br /><br />I’ve traveled before so of course I <em>know</em> this, but it never ceases to amaze me when I go into a bar in a state where they treat you like grown-ups. Not all bars are dives! This one, in fact, was really <em>nice</em>. It actually looked more like a restaurant than the average bar in the Beehive State does. It was decorated in very muted, neutral tones of caramel, pumpkin, and gray, and was very clean, as well. There were a multitude of flat-panel TV’s hung everywhere, with a large bow-front pass-through into a stainless steel kitchen in the rear left corner. Other than the giant horseshoe-shaped bar in the middle of the place, it could’ve been any mid-to-upper range restaurant. The whole place felt very...classy. <br /><br />We arranged to watch the game in one of the bar’s private rooms. There was a leather love seat that Kirk and I claimed (natch!), and four or so matching leather club chairs, plus a 6-top table and chairs and some other smaller cocktail tables. His brother and sister-in-law soon arrived, and though I had already met Eric (Kirk's brother) when they were here in Utah, I’d never met his brother’s wife, Cari, before. I was a little bit nervous, but they are both as down-to-earth and genuine as Kirk – truly fun people. <br /><br />Kirk likes Denver and his brother likes Dallas, so they were giving each other a hard time the whole afternoon. And whenever either team would do anything good, they would clap so long and loud and hard, their hands would be bright red and my ears would ring!! We ate there - it was really good food; not your typical "bar" food at all. On Kirk’s advice, I ordered the chipolte chicken pasta. It was a <em>little </em>spicy, but really good - like pasta alfredo except with mostacolli, and the addition of tomatoes (which – hang on to something – I am beginning to develop a slight taste for!), and the creamy alfredo-like sauce had that smoky/spicy chipolte flavor. It was <em>dee-lish</em>.<br /> <br />A little while later, Kirk and Eric’s mom showed up. She was the one I was most nervous about meeting. I <em>really</em> wanted her to like me – you know how boys are about their mothers, and how moms can be about their sons’ choices for female companionship. Plus, my former monster-in-law...er, mother-in-law was never very warm or companionable or affectionate at all. So I was more than a little scared.<br /><br />I shouldn’t have been. Mom is <em>awesome</em> – a nicer lady, you could not ask for. She is gorgeous; an accomplished realtor, but warm and sincere and easy to talk to and just <em>fun</em>. As totally opposite from my former mother-in-law as night is from day. I guess that must be where Kirk gets some (if not most, or maybe even all) of his charm!<br /><br />So, for most of the rest of the game, Kirk’s sister-in-law and his mom and I just sat and only half-paid attention to the game, and talked the rest of the time. Eric and Cari and Mom all left right after the game got over – Denver won, by the way, which made Kirk really happy. And that, of course, made <em>me</em> really happy. That's love - when you are just as happy when something happens to make the person you love happy, as you would be if that happy event had actually happened to <em>you</em>, instead.<br /><br />After the game, we hung out in the main part of the bar for a little while longer and I met a bunch of his friends, and they kept buying him/us drinks - partly because "his" team won, and partly 'cause "his girl" was finally there, and so they were all just happy for him. Kinda hard to tell which event made them happier, but I’m just going with a 50/50 split 'cause I probably don't really want to know – HA! <br /><br />A couple of Kirk’s friends had invited us to stay at their place for the night because they were going to be out of town for the weekend, taking their little boy to Disneyland for his birthday. It would give us a chance to be away from everybody/everything – including the elusive roommate that allegedly exists but whom I never actually met (however, I <em>did</em> see some evidence of his passage so I’m assuming he’s just shy...). It was really nice of them to offer, not only because their house was really nice (they had a gorgeous master bath – all chocolate browns and baby blues and antiqued silver and coppers and creams), but also because it is <em>definitely</em> more comfortable to not have to worry about disturbing anyone or who might be lurking in the halls if you have to make a midnight potty run or something. So we took them up on their offer and ended up going to their place for the night afterwards, instead of back to Kirk's.<br /><br />And all I’m saying about <strong><em>that</em></strong>, was that it was another <em>w-a-y</em> fun evening. And, you are <em>never</em> too old to learn new things, as I learned a few new things, myself. I believe I may have taught Kirk a few, too. Tee hee! <br /> <br />But the important part, the <em>best</em> part, is just being together. ‘Cause it’s not the <strong><em>what</em></strong>, it’s the <strong><em>who</em></strong>.<br /><br />More to come...Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-3284193372008541892009-10-08T14:46:00.000-07:002009-10-08T15:21:16.038-07:00Best. Weekend. Ever. Part One.I just got back from Phoenix the day before yesterday after a perfectly <em>lovely</em> three-day weekend. I have ZERO complaints, but way too much went on to consolidate it all into a single post. So, I’ll put as much as I can into this one, and pick up wherever I leave off in the next post, and so on….<br /><br />First, how I ended up in Phoenix in the first place: After a couple of weeks of talking on the phone for two or three hours every night, and missing and loving Kirk so much I thought my heart would burst with it, he and I were trying to figure out when would be a good time for either him to come see me, or me to go see him. I really wanted him to come here. I don’t know why, exactly – it just seemed... easier, or safer, or something, to have him come to me, and, I don’t know...<em>unseemly</em>, somehow, for me to go to him. Like I was (gasp!) <em>chasing </em>him or something. I am a thoroughly modern woman in many, if not most, respects, but I guess there are some parts of me where I am still just an old-fashioned girl!<br /><br />Anyway, his birthday was coming up (it’s today, as a matter of fact – Happy 41, KirkO!) so early last week, I asked him what he wanted for his birthday. His answer? “To spend some time with you.” What girl doesn’t <em>melt</em> over an answer like that? <br /><br />But I was being practical, so I said, “Well, I don’t know if I can swing that. What’s your second choice?”<br /><br />He gave me some smartass answer about joining the priesthood, then, and I said I couldn’t do anything about that one, either, so he’d better give me some other suggestions. His answer again: “I only have one thing on my list, and that is to somehow, someway, hang out with you.”<br /><br />So, just out of curiosity, I looked at some airfares. I had been looking, off and on, for several days, but hadn’t spotted any real deals until suddenly, one jumped out at me that was almost half the price of what regular airfare seemed to be running. It seemed like a sign, like it was pre-destined, like so much of this thing with Kirk has been. So I made a quick phone call to my mom to make sure she’d be OK watching my kids for a few days, then hurried to book the flight before the rate changed. Then I texted Kirk.<br /><br />“Can you pick me up at the Phoenix airport on Saturday, 10/3, from Delta Flight 1235, at 9:07 PM?”<br /><br />His response? “ABSOF*CKINGLUTELY!!!!”<br /><br />And he was so cute about it! Genuinely like a kid waiting for Christmas! I would get countdown texts: “76 hours and 23 minutes!” “59 hours and 12 minutes!” “12 hours 10 minutes!” And lists of things he was doing to get ready: “Dinner. Check. Laundry. Check. Dogs fed. Check. Head over heels, crazy, out of my mind in love. CHECK.” And on the Friday before I left, "So, what are you doing tomorrow night? Wanna make out?" And on Saturday morning, "Can't wait to see you tonight!" And truthfully, I couldn’t wait, either.<br /><br />But, I was getting more and more nervous, too. A little bitty part of me - I'd say about 2% - was <em>kind of </em>afraid that there was a chance it had all been a fluke - that as cool as it was just hanging out with Kirk while he was here, and as comfortable as I felt with him, and as much I was digging him on the phone, etc., the possibility existed that in reality, it would turn out that it was all just a honeymoon phase or a fantasy or something. I mean, you can't <em>really</em> just "click" like that in reality and have it all be <strong><em>so</em></strong> perfect, <strong><em>so</em></strong> 100% right, <strong><em>so</em></strong> quickly, can you? Certainly not 24/7, day after day.... <br /><br />Finally Saturday rolled around – but I couldn’t leave early because The Family (the huge extended one) had already scheduled a major family portrait event with all 50-some-odd members participating. I would be leaving straight from the pictures to go to the airport, and my nerves were not helped by my brothers saying things like, "Geez, can't you get a booty call a little closer to home?" (Silly boys, they don’t understand! <em>This</em> was no ordinary booty call!!) and my little beasties, or rather one in particular, being her usual-of-late beastie little self. As I was leaving, I kissed each girl and told them the same thing: "Good-bye. I love you. And remember, no matter what - I'll *always* come back to you." The eldest said, "Bye, Mom. Love you. K." The Lesser Evil said, "OK, Mom. Love you, too. I know - thanks for telling me, though." And my beautiful, black-hearted Greater Evil, bless her rotten little soul, just looked at me and said, "Why would you <strong><em>say</em></strong> that?" Grrrrrrrr.......<br /><br />Anyway, Kirk had asked me to look for a certain type of sunflower seed that I was unable to find on the way to the airport, so I put out a request to all the shoppers in the family to keep their eyes out for both the cracked pepper and bacon flavored varieties; and then I was off – but still as nervous as ever! Because now, not only was I worrying about the “what if it’s a fluke” thing, but I was also worrying about all the practical matters of morning breath and bed head, stretch marks and C-section scars, and all that other stuff, too. Those of you who know me well, know that I am actually fairly well accomplished at working myself up into a regular lather – I am just generally equally accomplished at hiding it well, is all!<br /><br />So I was stressing in the airport and on the plane, too, even though there were no lines, my flight was on time, and everything was just as smooth as butter. And so of course I stressed upon landing and in the airport in Phoenix, too – even though it seems to be a pretty easy place in which to find your way around. I texted Kirk when I got there, and he told me what exit to use so he could pick me up. My flight got in a little early, and I didn't check any bags, so he ended up being about 5 minutes late picking me up. He said he would be in a silver Corolla - well, I have no idea what a Corolla looks like!! So he says, "Do you know what a Maxima looks like?" and I'm like, "No...." and he goes through a whole list of cars, and I just keep saying, "Nope." "No, sorry..." "Nope!" And so then he finally just says, "Just walk outside. I'll find you!" <br /><br />So I walk outside, and Kirk finds me outside the airport with no problem (but not before I was semi-accosted by a panhandling drunk looking for money to visit his grandmother in the hospital in Florida, or something like that...welcome to Phoenix!! Ha!). Anyway, my nerves at this point feel like they are frayed to the breaking point under the tension I have built up for myself. I know I have no one to blame for this self-induced tension but me, but it doesn’t seem to keep me from doing it, ever! <br /><br />I watch as he pulls over, parks, and gets out. He just walks over, gives me a great big hug and kiss and says, "Hi, baby!" <em>Just like that, something magical happens.</em> All my nervousness melts away. It was just like before – an immediate click, like a puzzle piece snapping into place, with no awkwardness, no uncomfortable silence - just like all of a sudden, my world righted itself and was back spinning on its axis, smooth and steady once again. Funny how just his touch and two little words made everything OK….<br /><br />Anyway, he grabs my bags and throws them in the back of his car and opens the door for me. Sitting on the passenger seat is a little package with a card with my name on it. "What's this?" I ask. He says, "Oh, I don't know - someone must've left something in my car for you. You’d better open it!"<br /><br />I open the card, and on the front is the <em>cutest</em> black and white picture of a little boy of about three or four, holding the face of a little girl of about the same age, while he kisses her. Inside, it says, <em>"I needed ya. I got ya. I'm keeping ya. Love ya."</em> Then Kirk wrote the following: "I got chills when I saw this card. It totally reminded me of the 1st time I kissed you. I can't express in words how in LOVE I am with you but I absolutely love every second of it. You are the best thing to ever happen to me and I'm thankful every day. I love you!!!" and then he signed it. And the little gift was a bottle of DKNY Be Delicious - I had told him, when he was up here before, that I thought he smelled good, so he bought me the women's version of the same kind of cologne he was wearing at the time. How thoughtful is that? But I think I almost like the card better than the gift itself...it's the little things, y'know.<br /><br />And, to make it even <em>better</em> (as if it could be any better!), as soon as I got in the car, Dean Martin's "Ain't That A Kick In The Head" began to play. In one of those weird coincidences, we both love Dean Martin, and that song is one of our favorites! Of course, Kirk had it on a CD and set it up that way, but still - very thoughtful and very romantic. I swear I thought guys like him only existed in trashy romance novels and Sandra Bullock or Renee Zellweger movies. As one of my best guy pals put it, Kirk is a genuine, certified, Knight - fer sure.<br /><br />Anyway, Kirk said something about only living 15 minutes away from the airport, is all, and that he could always drive straight <em>to </em>the airport, but that it was really confusing to get back <em>out</em> of it - so if it took him longer than 15-20 minutes to get home, I'd know he was lost. Long story short, it took us about 40-45 minutes to get back to his place - LOL! We just giggled...which is one of the reasons I love him so. I <em>always</em> laugh when I am with him, or when I talk to him. It's <strong>great</strong>!<br /><br />So, back at his place, we took a tour of the house he rents and shares with a friend (never did see the friend - he works nights, I guess ), then had a beer and watched TV, then went to bed. All I will say about <em>*that*</em> part of the evening is this: it is definitely, definitely true that <strong>who</strong> you are with is <em>w-a-y</em> more important than <strong>what</strong> you are doing. <br /><br />Because for the most part, I didn't do anything I haven't done many times before in my life, but it was all so indescribably....<em>better</em>. <br /><br />Plus, it's an awful lot of fun to wake up in the middle of the night and actually <em>want</em> to snuggle and/or fool around, instead of think, "Geez! I hope I didn't wake <strong>him</strong> up, too, because dammit, if he wakes up and wants to ****, I'm gonna be really <em>pissed</em>!!" I think you can probably guess which of these I spent the better part of the last 20 years doing – and this way is w-a-y better, fer sure!!<br /> <br />But you know what? Even if we hadn't done anything sexual at all, just to be able to lay there next to Kirk, with his arm around me, was pure <em>heaven....</em><br /><br />That’s a good place to stop, for now. More on my fab weekend in my next post....Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-46493625928620584662009-09-24T12:55:00.000-07:002009-09-24T13:05:32.673-07:00Another Nausea-Inducing Post...It don’t get any better than this.<br /><br />Sorry – I am still being the annoying friend who makes you want to throw up in your mouth a little. Perhaps when I tell you why, you will understand and forgive me a little bit – and in the meantime, grab your saltines and gingerale, because I think this makes a pretty cute story:<br /><br />First, the back story: I’ve been dating. I haven’t really blogged about it much, if at all, because really – not many of the dates were worth my time to write about or your time to read about. There was the guy who still lived with his mother, did multi-level marketing, and said “Me likey [this]” or “Me no likey [that]” about everything. There was the guy with gray teeth who called his shiny, jacked-up 2010 Ford truck his “piece” and actually thinks Iggy's has good food. And the guy who apparently did not realize that napkins are generally placed on a table with the intent that they be *used,* and are not merely placed there strictly for decor. <br /><br />But there were a few I liked: The guy who owned his own business, supplying bathroom fixtures to hotels and condominiums. The systems engineer for a defense contractor. The EMT. The artist. <br /> <br />For a time, I was actually pretty smitten with the business owner. Remember the butterflies post? I had butterflies with him. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was clue that things were unbalanced - and thus, not right - with him...and it turned out to be the case as he promised (via text and e-mail) to call for four days straight, then went out of town on a business trip *without* keeping said promises, then promptly dropped off the face of the earth after that. Haven’t heard from him since. Don’t miss him.<br /><br />And it was somewhere around this time that I first read the butterflies article (see previous post), and I realized that what I was feeling for the business owner, wasn’t what I was supposed to be feeling when I found “The One,” anyway. I didn’t want to acknowledge that at the time, necessarily, but it was such a revolutionary thought – that idea that butterflies aren’t all they’re cracked up to be – that it hung with me, still, and I continue to keep coming back to that idea. <br /><br />I was also supposed to go out with the artist a week or so before Kirk came to town. The artist texted me a couple of hours before we were to actually meet for the first time, and he told me he was sick and throwing up, and he’d explain later. Turns out he'd had a massive hernia rupture, and had to have emergency surgery, and he ended up being in the hospital for the next week! It seems things happen for a reason, though – I never did actually meet up with him.<br /><br />Because I met Kirk.<br /><br />And let me tell you: he absolutely *is* worth writing about.<br /><br />He's <em>awesome</em>. <br /><br />We have talked on the phone almost every night this week for at least two hours, each time, and we text back and forth several times each day. One of the things I love the most is that, every time we talk, I laugh. And not just polite little chuckles or whatever - but great, big, belly laughs. And, he just...gets me. We have soooo much in common, it's spooky. And being such a “word girl” at heart, I love that he is not shy at all about giving me words - telling me things to make me laugh, things he thinks I’ll think are interesting, the things he likes about me: he thinks it's cool that I'm smart, he's amazed at how I can write, he likes my values, etc. And he does it in ways that seem honest and real and sincere, and not smarmy and calculated or whatever. And I know that he is smart enough that if he were just out for a piece, he would have picked one geographically closer to him - HA! <br /><br />I may have been <em>smitten</em> with the business owner. But the difference between that, and what I feel now, truly is what the piece about the butterflies described. I had butterflies before. I don't have butterflies with Kirk. Don't get me wrong - I get all tingly in various places when Kirk kisses me and stuff, for sure! - but when I think of being with him, of talking to him, of depending on him, of having a future with him, etc. - it all feels very....solid. Calm. Certain. Right. And I have *never* felt that with anyone - anyone! - before. Not even the ex.<br /><br />Speaking of which – I was talking to a friend today and told her, essentially, what I just wrote, above. And she asked me, “Don’t you just want to call [the ex] and rub his nose in it that you found someone that makes you feel that way when he never could or would?” And I thought about it for only a half a minute, before I said, “There’s a part of me that would like to tell [the ex] that I finally met someone who actually makes me feel like he never did, except that (and this sounds *cray-zee*) I care for Kirk too much to use him just to take a dig at [the ex]. I could honestly not care less what [the ex] thinks or knows. It's enough for me that Kirk is in my life, period.”<br /><br />Now, I know some of you are going to say, “Wait!! It has only been 13 days!” or whatever, but I honestly feel like it could be 13 months or 13 years, and it wouldn't matter. I have tried to put on the brakes and be "logical" and talk myself out of it, etc., etc., and tell myself it's just the honeymoon phase or I'm just infatuated or whatever, but there is a little voice in my head that is saying, "Girl, you know yourself better than that. That's not what this is, and you know it." And it is a very calm voice, too. Like, "Tell yourself that if you want to, if it makes you feel better, but at the end of the day, you know that this is it. That this was meant to be." Which is also strange - because the little voice inside my head is usually going all, "No! No! He wears a <em>pinky ring</em>!!" or, "Are you <em>kidding</em> me? He spends more time on his hair in the morning than you do!" or, "You only think you like him - eventually that thing on his nose is going to start bugging you," and I have to tell myself, "Oh, just give it a chance! You can learn to live with a pinky ring!" or whatever.<br /><br />And that brings me to the latest: yesterday, the defense contractor systems engineer asked me out for this Saturday. I have just totally lost interest in all other guys – even the ones I used to kinda like and think "Mmmm, maybe there's a possibility here...it's worth another date to see....," so I didn't really want to go. But on the other hand, it would be stupid of me to just sit around and pine for Kirk all the time if Kirk intended to go out with other women (I can see how you can be emotionally involved with someone long-distance, but could still want someone close at hand to be an occasional date or a buddy or companionship, whatever....). <br /><br />So anyway, I said to Kirk, "I have kind of an awkward question to ask, and I'm not sure how to word it. I like things to be spelled out, defined, put in their boxes, so to speak. I've been asked out by someone I've dated a few times before, and I don't know what to say. I don't really want to go out with him – because of you. But if you're going to date other people, it would be foolish of me to say no and just sit home while you're dating - so what are your thoughts on us, on what we are to each other and the status of whatever we have between us?" <br /><br />He basically said it was up to me - I could/should do what I wanted to do. And I said I <em>knew</em> that, but I really wanted his input, too, since I cared about how he felt about it. He said, "Well, you know, if you want to go on buddy dates or whatever, by all means, go ahead! I'd be OK with that." <br /><br />"No, he <em>likes me </em>likes me - this wouldn't be a buddy date, at all!" I said. There was kind of a pause. “What would you do, if it were you?” <br /><br />Finally, Kirk said, "Well, would *I* date? Am I going to date? No. I wouldn't. I couldn't feel about someone the way I feel about you, and go out with someone else. I've never cheated on anyone in my life and I'm not about to start now. So no, I'd have a hard time with that. But if you want to date or go out with other guys or whatever, I can respect your decision - but it doesn't mean *I'm* going to date." <br /><br />So I said, "That's all I needed to know. I'll tell him 'no,' then." <br /><br />He was so cute. "<em>Whew</em>!!” Kirk said. “That's a relief! When you first started this line of questioning, I thought you were just going to tell me, 'Hey, I'm going out with this guy and I hope you're OK with it,' and I just got this big <em>knot</em> in my stomach!" <br /><br />But wait – he gets cuter, as if that were possible:<br /><br />After he said that, I told him I cared about him too much to just go out and do that to him without talking to him about it first, which is why I wanted to have this conversation, awkward as it was, in the first place. And he said, "I've been thinking this for days, and I wasn't going to say it yet, but to hell with it - I'm just going to come out and say it: I love you. I love everything about you. Talking to you is the best part of my day, and every little thing I learn about you is just something more to love." A girl just couldn’t ask for a better first declaration, I swear.<br /><br />I keep saying this, and I can't think of any better way to describe it: it just feels so "right." Very centered. Very secure, stable, solid, and real, in a very calm, knowing, sure kind of way. And I *truly* have never felt this way ever before. <br /><br />So <em>of course </em>I told him I loved him back - because IT'S TRUE! - and then he told me this: when he got off the plane in Phoenix after getting back from Utah, his mom picked him and his brother up from the airport. They were getting in the car, and his mom asked, "How was your trip?" His brother said, "Really good!" and Kirk said, "I think I found the girl I'm supposed to marry." His mom said, "<em>What</em>?!?!" And he said, "In 40 plus years have I said that before?" and she just said, "Nope!" and smiled....and then Kirk says to me, "Oh, God!! I can't believe I just told you that!! How sappy am I?" And we laughed - I said, "Pretty sappy - but I love it!" <br /><br />And I do. And I love him, too. And I know, I know, you want to go throw up now. Sorry.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-4488590515828260642009-09-19T12:28:00.000-07:002009-09-19T12:50:08.826-07:00Sorry, I Can't Help It!! and The Butterfly EffectEveryone has had those friends who, on occasion, are so disgustingly, sweetly, swoony and smitten that they just make you want to vomit, right? Well, I am apologizing in advance because, right now, I am that friend. I even make myself want to throw up a little. <br /><br />See, I was crushing on Kirk pretty bad (see last post), I admit. But then, something happened that made it kinda go from a crush to...I don't know. A seriously major crush? A super-bad case of extreme like? I don't want to throw that other L-word around too lightly so I'm not going there yet, but...I'll just quit trying to explain it and tell you how I got there, instead:<br /><br />Last week, the neighbors that live in my old house while The Ex and Mrs. Ex ("Cupcake") are in Iraq invited me to a "pants party" (it's like a Tupperware or jewelry or anything else party, only for clothes...) being held in, of course, my old house. I have been over there a couple of times before, and it hasn't really bothered me too much. But last night was the first time I've been in there in three months or so. Technically, I still own half of it - on paper, at least, and will until The Ex pays my equity out, which he is supposed to do by 12/31/09. And of course, all the furniture, etc., I had to give him as part of the divorce was in there, same but - different, and they'd painted and stuff before they left, etc. And not only had they just re-painted, which was to be expected, really, but some projects that I had wanted to do and was always told it was too much money or whatever, were, *of course,* now done. Which, I have to admit, kind of torqued me. <br /><br />So, it was just one of those times where the whole craptasticness of divorce just snuck up on me - not so much missing him or my life then, because truly, I feel so much better/happier now I can't believe I lived for so long being only half as alive as I feel now. But more because I'd poured so much of myself into what had been my “dream house,” and now it wasn't mine anymore, and being confronted with the dishonesty and disrespect from someone you spent 20 years of your life with, all over again, etc.. So anyway, I came home feeling really wimpy and booby.<br /><br />So I sent Kirk a text, and I just said, "Are you busy?" And he texts me back a few minutes later and says, "No, waht's up?" and I reply, "Can I vent/boob to you for a few minutes?" And he says back, "Sure." I am thinking as I am texting him this big, long, three-part text of the story I basically just wrote, above, about the house, that this will be a real test, of sorts - I am either going to totally scare him away, or overwhelm him, or he is going to think I am loony, *OR* he is going to be so sweet about it, I am going to fall head over heels....in any event, no matter how he reacts, it is going to tell me *alot* about him. So I am sitting there, texting the last of my big story, and the tears are just leaking out of my eyes because it just really shook me up (I absolutely HATE how those things sneak up on you – you go months and months and months thinking you are doing soooo good and then BAM!!). <br /><br />Anyway, not 3 seconds later, my phone rings, and it's Kirk. I immediately start seriously crying because I was surprised and happy he called, and sad still because of the stupid house thing, and he just says, "I knew from the end of the second part of your text that this story wasn't going to be one of those with a happy ending, and that it deserved a phone call and not just a text back. I'm so sorry you have had to go through all this....what an asshole-ish thing for him to do. Granted, that’s not a real word and I just made that one up, but I can't think of a better one to describe him or what he’s done, and I just had to call you and try to get a laugh or a giggle out of you..." etc., etc. Anyway, he managed to not only say *all* the right things, but we ended up talking on the phone for three hours!! And then, when we *finally* hung up, he sent me a text that said, "I could talk to you for days. I hope this helped a little bit. You've sure made my last few days a lot brighter. Goodnight!" How stinkin' sweet is that? <br /><br />Then, the next day, he sent me a picture of a piece of paper on which he wrote, “KO likes JL (a lot!) :)” How cute is that?<br /><br />I recently read an article that talked about how many people think that the way they'll "know" when they've met their soul mate or whatever is that they'll get those butterflies in the stomach, and that you even have to have butterflies in the stomach when you meet "the one" or it's not "real," or whatever. This particular article talked about one woman, in particular, and how she always thought she should have "butterflies" when she met "the one." However, she just ended up having a string of one disappointing relationship after another. <br /><br />She eventually decided to stop dating for awhile and was seeing a counselor for a variety of other reasons and in the course of her counseling, she mentioned this "butterfly" effect and how she thought she'd just "know" when she met "the one." Her counselor told her that what she was calling "butterflies" was really that these guys she had been seeing were making her feel uncomfortable/unbalanced, and she was mistaking that sort of "uncertainty" she was feeling in their presence for "butterflies." <br /><br />So she took a while to digest this idea, and in the meantime struck up a friendship with a guy she met at her local coffee shop. She mentioned a book she needed for a project she was working on at work, and he brought her that book the next day. She mentioned feeling bad about something, and he surprised her with flowers. They never went out on a "date," per se, but one day, after about three months of being together and counting on him and him being there for her, etc., found that she *was* attracted to him and that she felt something even BETTER than butterflies: she felt security. <br /><br />So I don’t know, exactly, what to call what I feel with Kirk: extreme like, swoony, smitten, or yeah, even security. There is, of course, the obstacle of living in two different states, but I honestly feel when something is right, its right, and you can find a way to make it work, if you’re committed enough. And I think I am. Now you'll have to excuse me - I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. ;)Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-3259832820556718782009-09-16T10:45:00.000-07:002009-09-16T11:12:28.869-07:00The *BEST* Weekend...And Keep Your Fingers CrossedI had soooo much fun last weekend! Primarily because I went to a BBQ/party thrown by an old school friend for another old school friend who moved to Arizona right after we graduated from high school, and who had only been back once since. <br /><br />It didn't start out that great. I had stayed out too late on Friday, so I slept in on Saturday and didn't get nearly as much done as I wanted to, and was kind of behind the power curve all day. So, by the time I got to the grocery store, the liquor store, made the salad to take to the BBQ, got cleaned up, and got over there, I was running late and was more than just a <em>little</em> rattled, y'know? I really wished I would've had someone to go with, but I just had to show up by myself and walk in alone.... <br /><br />But anyway, when I got there, it was like when Norm walked into Cheers and everyone turned and said, "Norm!" I walked in and was immediately swamped. Everyone was like, "Joi Lin!" "I'm so glad you came!" "Hey, buddy!" "Can I have a hug?" "What are you drinkin'?" "Come sit over here in the shade!" <br /><br />And it was awesome. <br /><br />I haven't laughed that hard in soooo long - I mean, everyone was just BS'ing and telling stories and teasing each other and stuff, but it was just really cool. <br /><br />And the best part was, I reconnected with someone from high school who, back in the day, I wouldn't have even thought twice about. I've known him since sixth grade, and never thought of him romantically before, ever - we just ran in different circles. He was always kind of a smart aleck, and I think I was a little bit intimidated by him. But guess what? After 23 years, you grow up some. <br /><br />Anyway, he is *wicked* funny and really smart (he was actually in all the honors classes, etc., with me up through junior high, then he started partying and went that way, and I continued on the honors track....) and yet, way laid back and chill about politics, religion, etc. He's into music, which I like, and he can SPELL, which - I don't know why, but - I just think is hot, and he just had me in stitches all night. And then later, when I went inside to use the restroom, I came out and he was there, he said, "Can I kiss you?" I thought, "What the hell? Why not?" 'Cause there were some sparks there, and I was wondering.... So I said, "Sure!" <br /><br />So he did, and it was awesome. Like, perfect from the very first moment. And he's like, the best kisser I can remember having kissed in a really long time. And I kind of think he must look at me and still see the drill team queen or something because he has that kind of adoration...I don't know. I just think it's pretty darn groovy. I am all about smart men who can make me laugh and are willing to adore me, at least on occasion, y'know?<br /><br />The one down side to all this is that - yup, you guessed it - he was the guest of honor, who now lives in Phoenix. Leave it to me to fall for the one guy it would be most difficult to have any sort of lasting relationship with! But, he asked me if we could hang out together some on Sunday since he had to fly back home to Phoenix on Monday, and I said sure. I ended up going to Boston's to watch some football and have a few beers with him and his brother and a friend of ours from HS.<br /><br />Now bear with me while I explain this: Phoenix guy is named Kirk, and his brother (who also lives in Phoenix) is Eric, and they grew up living next door to Sean, who is the same age as Kirk and me, and Sean's younger brother, Chad. Chad lives in Layton now, and is married to Lisa, but Sean just got a job here and had to relocate so for the moment, is living with Chad and Lisa. And then, when Kirk and Eric came to town, they stayed with Sean at Chad and Lisa's place.<br /><br />Eric and our HS friend left Boston's before Kirk and I did. We stayed a little longer and just talked, and then I took Kirk back to Chad and Lisa's. Kirk walked in first and I followed about three steps behind him (I was just making sure the screen door didn't slam shut behind me...). <br /><br />Chad and Lisa's house is kind of an open-plan layout so that there is a short entry hall, then a dining room straight ahead, with a kitchen on the right and a great room on the left. Kirk walks down the entry hall and emerges into the kitchen, where Lisa is making dinner. Chad, Eric, and Sean are watching TV in the great room - they can see me, still in the entry hall, but Lisa (and the kitchen) are out of sight. So, Lisa sees Kirk, but not me, and says to him (teasing, of course) first thing, "So, did you get laid?" <br /><br />Of course, Eric, Chad, and Sean bust up laughing 'cause they can see me and know I heard her and know that she doesn't know I heard, and I couldn't help it - I cracked up, too. And Kirk - who is really quick on his feet - says, "Geez, Lisa, I might have had a chance, but I think you just ruined it for me - why don't you ask her?" And then he pulls me forward so Lisa can see me. Ohmigod - I thought she was going to pass out. She was just mortified!! It was heee-larious, though. I couldn't stop laughing. <br /><br />Anyway, I had a really good time. Kirk and I just really clicked, right from the first. He kind of reminds me of that bad boy on the outside, good man on the inside, kind of thing, if that makes sense. It's just too bad he lives in Phoenix - but when he left he said he was already planning his return trip, because he definitely had a reason to come back. So I am kind of cautiously optimistic about this one...but the living in two different states is a pretty big hurdle. I guess we'll just have to see what, if anything, comes of it.... Keep your fingers crossed. Or say a prayer. Or sacrifice a chicken - whatever you think works best, in these sorts of situations.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-78879300975158393482009-08-24T15:19:00.000-07:002009-08-24T15:25:15.525-07:00I Should've Gotten A PuppyNo one ever thinks you’re serious when you offer to trade your children to them in exchange for a puppy, at least not when the children in question are teenagers. <br /><br />And, since the twins turned 13 earlier this month, I am now officially the mother of three of those beastly little soul-sucking demons otherwise known as teens. That’s right – I no longer have any babies. No kids, no children left. All three of mine are now teenagers. And I really do think having a puppy would be easier. Case in point:<br /><br />I had to stop at the grocery store yesterday to pick up a few things. I remembered a couple of weeks ago that one of the twins had mentioned she was out of "feminine hygiene products," but, being new to the whole regime, she is still a little embarrassed to talk about it. So, when she told me she was out, she told – no, that’s not exactly correct. She ordered me not to tell anyone. However, I couldn’t remember when, exactly, we’d had that conversation. Had I been to the store since then? Was she still out? Did I need to pick some up? <br /><br />So as we passed by the "feminine products" aisle in the grocery store, and I was reminded me of the earlier conversation, I said to her, "Do you still need...um..." (caught myself just in time!) "...girl stuff?"<br /> <br />"Yes!" she hissed, rolling her eyes wildly from side to side, searching for evesdroppers.<br /> <br />"What kind?" I asked.<br /> <br />"The same kind as last time!" she said with great exasperation. Apparently she was also practicing her ventriloquism technique because her lips barely moved, despite the vehemence of her statement. <br /> <br />The other twin is looking back and forth between us as if she were following a tennis match, totally bewildered. Finally she asked what was going on. <br /><br />"Oh," I said, "apparently, your sister is too embarrassed by normal human bodily functions to actually use appropriate biological terms, so instead we have to use <em>code words</em>."<br /> <br />"Oooohhhh," that twin said, understanding dawning.<br /> <br />"MOM!!!" the other twin wailed. I am still mystified how she managed to drag that word out into six syllables. "You promised not to tell anyone! You are SO rude!!" And off she stomped through the grocery store.<br /> <br />Well, I threw a package of said "girl stuff" into the cart and chased down Her Royal Highness, my Drama Queen, and proceeded to have a little chat with her about it being a perfectly normal, natural thing that no one even thought twice about, and that everyone there either had one, would have one, or knew someone who had or would have one, and that she was drawing more attention to herself by running away and flouncing off through the aisles of the grocery store while in high dudgeon than if she’d just treat it like it was no big deal.<br /><br />“Well, you’re just rude,” she said.<br /><br />Silly me. I then tried to explain how, in 40 years of life experience, I thought I might probably have a better idea about what constituted “rude” than she did in 13 years. Apparently, however, 40 years is just enough time to get really, really, stupid. Just ask her.<br /><br />So, though I am not proud of it, I was getting so frustrated by her attitude and sass that I finally just said, "Oh, grow up!"<br /> <br />And she said, "Why don't YOU grow up!"<br /> <br />And I said, "I AM grown up!!"<br /> <br />I just wasn't acting *that* grown up, is all....<br /><br />I think next time I will just go get on the PA system at one of the checkstands, and make the following announcement for everyone to hear:<br /><br />“Attention, Shoppers!! [insert name here] Allen has officially joined the ranks of womanhood, and can now be found perusing the feminine hygiene products on aisle 23! Please congratulate her as you go by!”<br /><br />Or, I will leave her at the store, and buy a puppy on the way home, instead.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-42597345362664064152009-07-28T10:11:00.001-07:002009-07-28T10:55:02.894-07:00When Your Stomach Hurts So Bad From Laughing......that you can feel sore muscles the next day, you know it was a Good Time.<br /><br />The week before last, I had a huge BBQ at my house for all my relatives, to tell them thank you so much for helping with the move last January (it was too cold to BBQ then!). I served hot dogs and hamburgers and macaroni salad and chips and drinks to 40-some-odd people of all shapes and ages - I had wanted to do steaks, but the budget just wouldn't allow it.<br /><br />Anyway, I had been cracking the whip over the kids for a few days beforehand, trying to get things clean and ready. I even took the Friday before off from work, so that I could be home to supervise (I think lots of TV gets watched and lots of internet gets surfed, but not much actual chores get done, when I am not there....). <br /><br />A month or so ago, I bought a storage rack that I intend to put down in my storage room, when I finally get it all cleaned out and organized. However, up until the day before the big BBQ, the unassembled storage rack was just hanging out in my laundry room, impeding the doorway. I figured I needed to take it downstairs to it's new home in the basement, and I was mentally groaning at the thought of carrying that awkward, heavy box down the stairs.<br /><br />Then, inspiration struck. <br /><br />"Oh, Mychael!" I called in my best, cheery voice.<br /><br />"What?" She was immediately suspicious - I don't understand why.<br /><br />"Do you want to ride the box down the basement stairs, like a sled?" I asked her.<br /><br />With a look of uncertainty on her face, she declined.<br /><br />"Oh, c'mon!" I pleaded. "It will be fun!"<br /><br />More sure of herself now, she firmly said no.<br /><br />"Why?" I asked. I may have even whined it - I don't remember.<br /><br />"Because!! I'm scared I'll get hurt!" she said.<br /><br />Bretten, of course, overheard this (there is not a thing that goes on in that house that that kid is not aware of!) and immediately volunteered. "I'll do it! I'll do it!"<br /><br />Then the doubts (or perhaps sanity?) crept in: "What if I crash?" she asked.<br /><br />"Well," I said, thinking quickly. "We'll put a bunch of pillows down at the foot of the stairs so you can land in them!"<br /><br />The twins and I quickly gathered piillows from all the bedrooms, plus the couches and chairs in the family room, and piled them deep at the bottom of the stairs to the basement. Then, we maneuvered the sled/box into position at the top of the stairs. I ran to get my camera, and Mychael and I sat down in the basement hallway just beyond the crash pad. We shouted encouragement.<br /><br />"Go! Go! C'mon!! Do it!" we yelled.<br /><br />Bretten would scoot up to the edge, almost to the point of no return. Then she'd chicken out. "Wait, wait, wait. I can't do this. I'm scared!"<br /><br />And Mychael, no doubt educated by years of serious cartoon-watching, intoned: "Mission status: Abort! Abort!"<br /><br />And the giggles, which had merely been the occasional snort up until now, erupted full blast.<br /><br />After going back and forth for a bit, with Mychael and I encouraging Bretten to just go, and Bretten teasing us by coming soooo close but ultimately declining to launch, Bretten finally talked Mychael into going down with her. <br /><br />"Wait a minute!" Mychael said. "What if we bump heads?"<br /><br />Having too much fun to give up now, I said, "Well, wear a helmet!"<br /><br />So the adventure was put on pause while Mychael ran out to the garage to get her bike helmet.<br /><br />With suitable (that's questionable!) safety gear now, the girls sat on the box at the top of the stairs, while I sat at the bottom, camera at the ready. While Bretten was saying, "OK, on the count of three: ready? One..." Mychael gave a mission status update:<br /><br />"Mission status: countdown sequence initiated!"<br /><br />And finally, the event that started out as a joke and which, quite frankly, I thought might never actually happen, happened.<br /><br />Bretten said three, they pushed off, and down the stairs they came, box and all.<br /><br />Mychael bailed half-way and hung on the railing before sprawling out on the stairs. The box made it another quarter of the way before running into the wall and coming to rest, while Bretten made a dive for the pillow-filled landing pit. <br /><br />Mission status? Epic fail!<br /><br />Of course we were all laughing so hard, we could barely breathe. If I had had a drink, it for sure would've been coming out my nose. <br /><br />As we were all holding our sides from laughing so hard, Cydanie came to the top of the stairs to see what was going on. "What's all that racket about?" she demanded. We were laughing too hard to tell her, but I think the photos explain it all:<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/Sm86T7eSk9I/AAAAAAAAAEw/zgYy5MiOj5Y/s1600-h/Olympic+Bobsledding+Team+005.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/Sm86T7eSk9I/AAAAAAAAAEw/zgYy5MiOj5Y/s320/Olympic+Bobsledding+Team+005.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363569795278214098" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/Sm86UoNjHpI/AAAAAAAAAE4/-4c6CA1lbbg/s1600-h/Olympic+Bobsledding+Team+015.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/Sm86UoNjHpI/AAAAAAAAAE4/-4c6CA1lbbg/s320/Olympic+Bobsledding+Team+015.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363569807287590546" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/Sm86VNAskvI/AAAAAAAAAFA/LZZESuM8pi8/s1600-h/Olympic+Bobsledding+Team+009.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/Sm86VNAskvI/AAAAAAAAAFA/LZZESuM8pi8/s320/Olympic+Bobsledding+Team+009.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363569817165796082" /></a><br /><br />Sorry if they're a little blurry. I was laughing so hard when I took them, that my stomach hurt the next day....Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-40070899673493419272009-07-16T12:47:00.000-07:002009-07-16T13:09:58.408-07:00Fourth and Last...For Now!Since the ex and Cupcake left a couple of weeks ago for Iraq by way of Texas (I wanted to give him a shirt with a bull’s-eye printed on it as a going away present…AND I hope it's absolutely *blistering* hot and humid there in the Lone Star state for him!), he celebrated the twins’ birthday early, on the last Saturday in June. They had a little family party at his parents’ place, and his mom and dad heated up the pool for the occasion so whoever wanted to could go swimming. <br /><br />Well, Mychael has grown a lot – and I mean *a lot* - since last summer. About six inches and 20 lbs bigger, to be precise. So, none of her swimming suits from last year fit her. I get home Saturday morning from taking the car to get the tires balanced (woot!) and she meets me at the door.<br /><br />“Mom,” Mychael says, “I don’t have any swimsuits that fit and Dad is mad at me because now I can’t go swimming at Grandma’s!”<br /><br />I am immediately torque’d. He has plenty of time to drag them off to Disney World and Park City and Yellowstone and all sorts of other “fun” things the Disneyland Dad and his Cupcake can think up, but he doesn’t have time to get his daughter a freaking swimsuit? So I say to Mychael, “Well, HE is taking you swimming to HIS mom’s house, so why didn’t you tell HIM to buy you one?”<br /><br />Her response?<br /><br />“I did, and he got mad at me, and told me to tell you to do it.” <br /><br />I am not about to put Mykie in the middle of it. I ask a few more questions, and contemplated calling him back and letting the totallity of my wrath rain hellfire down upon him, but Mychael said he was at work and so he couldn’t do it, anyway – he wasn’t even coming to get them until after 5:30 that night because he didn’t think he could get out of the building until then.<br /><br />So, once again, he weasels out of something and leaves me to clean up the mess (I gotta work on this bitterness thing - it is soooo not becoming!). I can’t let Mykie miss her own birthday swimming party due to lack of a suit, so I pack her and Bretten up and we head out. All the while, I am muttering under my breath about what a tool their father is, and Bretten immediately says to me, “He couldn’t go get it, Mom – he has to work today!” That was a match to the gas leak, right there.<br /><br />“No,” I say, “he <em>chose </em>to work today!”<br /><br />Ever the stout little defender, Bretten pipes up and says, “He has 250 guys there and they’re getting ready to go to Iraq so he HAS to be there!”<br /><br />There was lots more going back-and-forth, but I will spare you the bloody details and skip to where I said, “Bretten, he did, too, choose it. He doesn’t *have* to put the Army before his family. He doesn’t even *have* to be IN the Army. He chooses to. Besides, that only accounts for today. What about the trip to Yellowstone? He knew she didn’t have a bathing suit then – surely he could’ve stopped somewhere on the way there or back, right?”<br /><br />Stumped, Bretten reverts to yelling. “NEVERMIND!!” she shouts, and stomps off, arms folded across her chest and flaming daggers shooting at me from where her eyes used to be.<br /><br />Well, it's a few minutes further on into the bathing suit shopping, and I am still kind of steaming. I finally just said, “I am just going to say one more thing on this, and then I’ll let it go: I want you to pay attention to who changed her plans, who came to the rescue here, and who just drops in every once in awhile to play ‘Good Time Charlie.’ And I’d like to know why, when I am not the one who left my family, and I am not the one who chose to put my career ahead of them, why I always end up being treated like the bad guy, like I am the enemy.”<br /><br />Bretten, who had been muttering under her breath (nothing flattering, I’m sure) said out loud, “I <em>don’t</em> treat you like the enemy.” <br /><br />Well, if how she treats me means she considers me a friend, I’d hate to see how she really DOES treat an enemy, then!!<br /><br />I have to say that this was all a couple of weeks ago, and she has been much better since then, for the most part. It is Mychael who is giving me fits lately. I think I will finally have to break down and cart us all off to a divorce support group. I thought we were doing OK on our own, with periodic visits to the headshrinker, but there is just too much "snippiness" going back and forth between them and whoever else they think they can get away with being rude to, including me, on occasion. So I'm guessing there's an awful lot of suppressed anger there, that has to find a more productive, healthy way out. <br /><br />OK, I'm done bitching. For now. :)Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-62422711953197513702009-07-13T13:00:00.000-07:002009-07-13T13:04:35.176-07:00Here It Is, At Last.......Bitch #3:<br /><br />So the ex is keeping the old marital home – at least for now, and according to Bretten, for the next three years or so (ugh!). It is exactly one block north from my current residence, is all. This is really nice for the kids, as 1) their dad is close – when he chooses to actually be a dad, that is, and 2) they didn’t have to give up all their old familiar things immediately upon us moving into the new place. Whenever he eventually sells (and I hope to God he is actually going to, and not live there for the rest of his natural life!), for the kids it will have been a more gradual distancing from it and the "old" family unit, to the new one. <br /><br />The part I am bitching about now, though, is that - before they left for Iraq by way of Texas - ex and Cupcake like to go on walks. Holding hands. Looking like the bent-over, grizzled and gray old man he is, and the perky, annoyingly obnoxious redhead she is. That’s all fine and dandy. But MUST they take these walks on *my* street, past not only my house, but the houses of my parents and brother, as well? Apparently, the irony in this is lost on them. Despite the fact that there is plenty of neighborhood further west, north, and east of their place, they choose to come on the one road that is directly south of them, and that I (and some of my other family members) happen to live on. Very smooth. And thoughtful!! Did I say thoughtful?<br /><br />I saw them walking up the street a week or two before they left, as I was coming down it after running a few errands. It was probably a good thing I wasn’t driving, or I may have ended up being under investigation for vehicular homicide right now. Grrr.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-63894748237706096662009-07-10T12:44:00.000-07:002009-07-10T13:02:57.470-07:00And...And....AND.....Bitch #2:Here it is, my second bitch of the many that I have been saving up:<br /><br />So, not even two months after the divorce was final, the ex goes and gets married to the person he swears he was not having an affair with. Yeah, right, whatever – that’s not what I’m bitching about here (she is welcome to him!), because to paraphrase the All-American Rejects, he’s a fool and she is just as well. What I am bitching about is that about a month later, he sends me an e-mail that says the following:<br /><br />“[Cupcake] found out some information about Tricare for you, so you might want to call Andrea about it. I thought it was nice of her to send it. Her number is (801) XXX-XXXX.”<br /><br />This is his message to me, attached to a forwarded message from her to him, in which she doesn’t even spell my name right! Granted, I have an unusual name, but still: does this mean Cupcake and I are supposed to be friends now? ‘Cause ya know, she’s so considerate and all...a real peach, for sure.<br /><br />On a completely unrelated note, my dad is making over my front door for me, so that hoepfully, by the end of this weekend, I will have a way cool new red front door with antique stained glass sidelights! The nasty 1970's panels (complete with lion's head door knocker) highlighted with the gold wavy glass sidelights will soon be a distant memory. Yay!!<br /><br />Also, the week before I did my hair purple, the twins did their hair, too - one pink, and one red (picture posted below). So now we are a multi-colored family, except for Cyd, who is still au naturale. <br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SleeTCqg7hI/AAAAAAAAAEo/3IzTpmryeJA/s1600-h/Twins.Hair.6-30-09.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 192px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SleeTCqg7hI/AAAAAAAAAEo/3IzTpmryeJA/s320/Twins.Hair.6-30-09.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356924331750387218" /></a><br /><br />Speaking of Cyd: the other two were horsing around, wrestling and giggling and stuff, and it was really winding Cyd up. She told them mutliple times to calm down, stop laughing, etc., and of course the twins weren't listening. So Cyd says, "PLEASE stop it!" and you know how little sisters are: "No, Cyd, we don't have to!" <br /><br />So Cyd says, "Well, I just said please!"<br /><br />And the twins reply, "So!!! We don't have to do what you say just because you said please!!"<br /><br />And Cyd growls and says to them, "Oooooh!! You are making me so piss!!!"<br /><br />It was just another time when Cyd said something funny, but where a wise woman knows better than to even crack a smile.... :)Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-49290935669981332832009-07-09T11:22:00.000-07:002009-07-09T11:29:01.447-07:00As Promised........Bitch Number One:<br /><br />My divorce was final about 10 days after the ex and I passed what would’ve been our 20th wedding anniversary. In retrospect, I am very glad that it took that long to get everything squared away, because as it turns out, I am now entitled to *full* military benefits at his retirement. <br /><br />I wouldn’t have been eligible for these had we been married even 19 years and 364 days. But, that puts it into perspective why he was in such a damn hurry to get everything done, doesn’t it? Him being such a stand-up guy and all…thank goodness the attorney dragged his heels, ‘cause it turns out that the ex wasn’t able to cheat me out of something I didn’t even know I was entitled to, after all. But shame on him for trying.<br /><br />On a completely unrelated note: I did it. I cut off all my hair and dyed it purple. And, I think I like it!! It is such a different look for me; I haven't had hair this short in 10 years or better. And I've <em>never</em> had it purple!<br /><br />Here are some pics - but be warned that I took them myself, with a camera phone, and everyone knows (or should) how technologically retarded I am when it comes to A) cell phones, and B) cameras. But at least you get an idea:<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SlY2bTPOYFI/AAAAAAAAAEg/ciDm_Kgvr4Y/s1600-h/hair+4.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SlY2bTPOYFI/AAAAAAAAAEg/ciDm_Kgvr4Y/s320/hair+4.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356528649452281938" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SlY2bRx44rI/AAAAAAAAAEY/DvuV1yDrV0c/s1600-h/hair+3.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SlY2bRx44rI/AAAAAAAAAEY/DvuV1yDrV0c/s320/hair+3.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356528649060803250" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SlY2bCxGseI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/m74r3lzwOaY/s1600-h/hair+2.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SlY2bCxGseI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/m74r3lzwOaY/s320/hair+2.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356528645030982114" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SlY2awlS0SI/AAAAAAAAAEI/JEMBH6Hmttc/s1600-h/hair+1.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SlY2awlS0SI/AAAAAAAAAEI/JEMBH6Hmttc/s320/hair+1.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356528640149606690" /></a>Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-11577857753621100812009-07-07T10:00:00.000-07:002009-07-07T10:20:55.746-07:00Yay!!!! He's Gone!! Woot woot!!!The Tool left for Iraq by way of Texas yesterday, and I couldn't be more delighted. A blissful 10 months with no Tool or Cupcake drama loom ahead of me, and I am positiviely giddy with it! I hope Texas is sweltering and that he is cranky and miserable (he has about zero tolerance for heat), and I hope Iraq is worse. Muwah ha ha ha ha! (<-- evil laughter)<br /><br />Of course, she-who-shall-not-be-named bawled like a baby, but my other two were just copacetic with the whole thing. The oldest was only concerned that he would be missing her 17th birthday, but when I assured her that he would either send her a present or some money, she was cool with that. After all the tears and drama from the one twin, I figured I'd better check on the other one, just to make sure she wasn't upset, too, but doing a better job of hiding it. It was bed time, and she was already laying down, reading, when I went into her room and sat on the edge of her bed.<br /><br />"Are you OK?" I asked.<br /><br />"Yup."<br /><br />"Does it upset you that you're not going to see your dad for another 10 to 12 months?"<br /><br />"No, not really."<br /><br />So I asked, "Are you just saying that because you think it's what I want to hear?"<br /><br />Her eyes dancing, she shook her head as she said, "Nope!"<br /><br />So I said, "Are you kind of relieved that there will be a little less drama and stress in your life for awhile?"<br /><br />"Yes!!"<br /><br />I said, "OK - but you'll let me know if that changes, right?"<br /><br />"Yes, Mommy," she agreed. "I will."<br /><br />So I left it at that. <br /><br />Earlier, when I had been talking to The Drama Queen (believe me, it is 100% worthy of capitalization!), I basically told her to remember that it was his choice, that he was doing something he'd been wanting to do for a long time, and that when you love someone, you have to be happy for them even when they are doing things that make you UNhappy, if those things are the "right" things for them to do. And, I told her to remember that so that she would know the impact her choices had on the people who loved her, too - the choices we make affect everyone around us, so it's even more important to make good ones.<br /><br />I have a big, long post of saved up "bitches" about The Tool so you can appreciate how thrilled I am that he is finally out of my hair - even if it's just for a year. I am hoping that I'll be in a better place when he gets back and he won't be able to "get" to me so much. Rather than deluge you with all my gripes at once, though, I think I'll do them one at a time, for the next few days.<br /><br />Here is bitch number one:<br /><br />(coming soon....)Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-34202180005182441162009-06-29T11:44:00.000-07:002009-06-29T13:43:59.912-07:00To Cheat or Not To Cheat?<div>I am thinking about cutting my hair - really short. I have not been at all happy with it lately. It is floppy and flat and annoying.<br /><br />I had been having thoughts along those lines, anyway, but last week I saw this girl walking down the street, and she had dark brown - almost black - hair, in a pixie cut with long bangs. Cute enough, but....but!! <em>But</em> the crown of her head was highlighted in a lilac/lavender/periwinkle blue color - very subtle, yet very distinct. And it was <em>beautiful. </em><br /><em></em><br />As I was walking toward her, going into my building, she stopped and looked like she was waiting for me. Turns out, she was! She told me she was a hairstylist, just starting her practice at a shop on the same street as my office, and she handed me a card for a free haircut. "I'd like a chance to earn your business," she said.<br /><br />I want her hair.<br /><br />Actually, I more than want it. I <em>covet</em> it.<br /><br />So you are probably thinking, then do it! What's the big deal? Just make an appointment with her, and do it.<br /><br />I am really, uncharacteristically nervous about doing that, though. Those of you who know me well, know that I have had short hair, long hair, and hair about every color between blond and black, including various forays into the reds and auburns, and often some combination of all of the above. But this time, I am kind of freaking out about it. What if I don't like it? What if people think I am "too old" to be wearing such a cute, young, hip hairstyle? I mean, I know I am kind of too old for purple hair, but I was thinking: what, am I going to be *not* too old for it next year or something? If I want to try it, it might as well be now.... </div><br /><br /><div>This is kind of what I am thinking of:</div><br /><div></div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SkkkJ2SUvuI/AAAAAAAAAD4/lIV6iTl52qs/s1600-h/pixie+hair+3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352849383716339426" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 259px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SkkkJ2SUvuI/AAAAAAAAAD4/lIV6iTl52qs/s320/pixie+hair+3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SkkkJ5f5BwI/AAAAAAAAADw/mYNSlpEHJEk/s1600-h/pixie+hair+2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352849384578549506" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 229px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SkkkJ5f5BwI/AAAAAAAAADw/mYNSlpEHJEk/s320/pixie+hair+2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SkkkJoPuJeI/AAAAAAAAADo/xqCblZAy4ek/s1600-h/pixie+hair+1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352849379947324898" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 230px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SkkkJoPuJeI/AAAAAAAAADo/xqCblZAy4ek/s320/pixie+hair+1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Only with color more like this:</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SkkkVih-lRI/AAAAAAAAAEA/B1wpxg5CvjE/s1600-h/purple+highlights.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352849584571716882" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_c_V8jbnG6qw/SkkkVih-lRI/AAAAAAAAAEA/B1wpxg5CvjE/s320/purple+highlights.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br />But worse than the scary, what-if-I-don't-like-it jitters (after all, it's only hair, and it grows, right?) I am thinking about being unfaithful to my hairstylist. Tisha has been "my girl" since I was pregnant with the twins - so about the last 13-14 years!! In all that time, only two other people have done my hair - once when Tisha was on maternity leave, and once when the previous salon she worked at closed and she didn't have a booth at another one yet. Both of those were understandable and undertaken with Tisha's complete knowledge and approval.<br /><br />But this - this idea of going to someone new, for something major, behind Tisha's back? I don't know if I can do it.<br /><br />And yet, I don't know if Tisha can do the hair I want. It seems like even when I take her pictures of cute new hairstyles, I always come out looking somehow, the same. And I really want *different*.<br /><br />And, it's not like I can just not call for an appointment anymore, because Tisha always calls <em>ME</em>. She only works one day a week, but the day varies, so as I am paying for my last style on the way out, she usually writes down the week I will most likely want to come in for my next trim. Then, she calls me at the beginning of that week and says, "This week I'm working on Tuesday (or Wednesday, or Thursday, or whatever....). Are you ready for a haircut yet?" Then I tell her yes, and she says, how is whatever time, and so on. So when she calls me, and I have strayed, what will I say?<br /><br />Since she has been doing my hair for so long, I knew her when she was single, I was invited to her wedding, I brought her baby gifts for each of her two children, we exchange Christmas gifts every year, and so on. Lately she and I have been comiserating over divorces, too, since she is also going through one, and her ex was also unfaithful. And, I know money is really tight for her, since she had been a stay-at-home mom and reduced her client load to the one day a week prior to kicking her scumbag ex out. She is trying to build her client base back up, but still! How could I do that to her?<br /><br />I imagine that what I will probably end up doing, is taking pictures to Tisha, describing what I want, and then having her cut it but not quite "get" it. Then, I will end up going to the new girl to have her fix it, and - finally! - give me hair like hers. Then, since Tisha will have been the one to cut all the length off, maybe she won't notice that I had gone to the chair of another....<br /><br />What do YOU think?</div></div></div></div>Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-71822405202655083872009-06-18T10:48:00.000-07:002009-06-18T11:15:20.376-07:00Father's Day Article, plus: I Have Been Tagged!!Hey, I am now a published author!! Well, sort of. You know the blog post I posted on what makes my dad a good man? Here, I'll help: <a href="http://beneathmyplacidexterior.blogspot.com/2009_02_01_archive.html">http://beneathmyplacidexterior.blogspot.com/2009_02_01_archive.html</a> Anyway, our local newspaper put out an ad looking for stories of 500 words or less, about why you admired your dad, that they could print in honor of Father's Day. I decided to edit that post and send it in.<br /><br />I struggled with writing and re-writing that blog post to get it down from around 1,300 words, to 500. I spent days and had at least three people read it and make suggestions, etc. I made it to about 800, and then just said, "Screw it!! This is as good as it's going to get. They can either not print it, or print it and cut whatever they need to to make it fit." They're the professionals at that kind of stuff, anyway - right?<br /><br />To my surprise, they not only printed it, but they printed it in it's entirety! I almost missed it - I was expecting it would be in the Father's Day paper, but instead it was in last Sunday's (June 14th), and by looking on the outside of the section it was in, I half-way thought it was just an ad. I was going to toss it without even looking at it!! But I did, and there it was! And in an excellent spot, as far as newspaper placement goes: the upper right hand corner, just as soon as you open the little suplement.<br /><br />So, I am now officially published. I hope you saw it!!<br /><br />And also, I've been tagged! So here it is, both for fun, and for the fact that it has been almost two months - two months!! - since I've posted. And, as a bonus, this is a nice, easy subject!<br /><br />8 Things I am looking forward to...<br /><br />1. Being thin again (if it ever happens....)<br />2. Getting a new front door<br />3. Retirement<br />4. The weekend<br />5. Having my life in order (if it ever happens...)<br />6. Finding the man of my dreams<br />7. Coming home to a clean house (again, if it ever happens. Hmmm...this appears to be a recurring theme in my life.)<br />8. The day when I DON'T fight with at least one of my kids, 5 out of 7 days of the week<br /><br />8 Things I did yesterday...<br /><br />1. Rode 2.5 miles on the Aerodyne<br />2. Took the stairs at work - 5 floors!<br />3. Fought with Bretten over Sonic v. Pace's v. Burger Stop<br />4. Started reading a trashy romance novel<br />5. Went on FB<br />6. Ate leftover pasta salad for lunch<br />7. Bought a teeth-whitening kit<br />8. Stayed up too late<br /><br />8 things I wish I could do...<br /><br />1. Play the piano<br />2. Roller skate<br />3. Have more time at home<br />4. Keep my house clean, or get a maid<br />5. Budget/save my money better<br />6. Get up early and *immediately* feel like exercising!<br />7. Fit into a size 8<br />8. Find the man of my dreams<br /><br />8 shows I watch....<br /><br />1. Burn Notice<br />2. NCIS (what can I say - I'm old! And I have secret soft spots for both Gibbs and McGee...)<br />3. Big Bang Theory<br />4. Curb Appeal<br />5. Color Splash w/ David Bromstead<br />6. CSI: Las Vegas<br />7. Criminal Minds<br />8. Reaper - or I did, until they canceled it!!<br /><br /><br />8 People Tagged.......<br /><br />1-Kim <a href="http://spaghettiheads.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Whitesides</a><br />2-Mindi <a href="http://jmfletcherfamily.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">How Time Flies...</a><br />3- Krystal <a href="http://derekrystalincoln.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Four Little Chihuahuas</a><br />4- Dana - <a href="http://boboandbugbug.blogspot.com/2009/06/finally-some-kitchen-pictures.html">http://boboandbugbug.blogspot.com/2009/06/finally-some-kitchen-pictures.html</a><br />6- Blake<br />7 - Suzanne - if she reads this<br />8- Hmmm....I think maybe that's all I can come up with!<br /><br />Here's hoping it's not another 6-8 weeks before I post again!Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-84592430962186673242009-04-29T11:08:00.000-07:002009-04-29T11:16:45.780-07:00Why I Rarely Throw Anything AwayI am still finding places for stuff in my new house. You’d think, now that 80%+ of it is done, that it would be easy to finish up these last few little odds and ends. But instead, I think it gets harder. I have done all the obvious stuff, like put food in the pantry and toothbrushes in the bathroom and books on the bookshelves, etc. Now, I’m left with questions like where do I put a wreath that I don’t necessarily want to hang 24/7, but that I don’t want to give up yet? Where should my huge electric roaster go? It’s not like I use it everyday, but it’s too big to take up valuable kitchen storage space. So anyway, I am struggling with things like that. Those of you who helped me move, know how much *crap* I have accumulated over the years, and how difficult it is for me to part with my "stuff." I won't say I <em>never</em> throw anything away, but it is a pretty rare occurrence, indeed.<br /><br />In my old house, I had a CD-player that held 200-some-odd CD’s. When my ex and I purchased it roughly 10 years or so ago, we loaded it up then and there with all the CD’s we had. The slots on the CD-player were numbered, and it came with this handy book filled with plastic sleeves, each of which was numbered, as well. The idea was that you would put the liner notes insert from the CD’s jewel case, into the sleeve with the corresponding number matching the slot number on the CD-player, into which you had just inserted the CD that accompanied said materials from the jewel case. When we were done, we had roughly 190 or so empty jewel cases, which we promptly tossed in the garbage. “Ha ha!” we laughed. “We’ll never need <em>these</em> again!”<br /><br />Oh, reckless youth. Turns out that since I left the outdated PITA CD-player with the PITA ex but took my CD’s with me, that now, ten years later, I <strong>DO</strong> need jewel cases again. (Note to Kim and Mindi: This is why I never throw anything away.) So, roughly $50 in jewel cases later, I thought it would make a great task to delegate to my children, to have them match the CD inserts up with the CD’s again, and insert them into the new cases I bought. I had visions of shelves full of neat stacks and rows of CD’s, alphabetized by artist, organized by genre: a mess made soothing to the soul by its newly-found orderliness. <em>Aaaahhhh! </em> I could hardly wait!<br /><br />I usually make a list of chores to be done, and let the kids take turns choosing which ones they want to do. So, because she picked it, the CD project started out being Bretten’s job. Somehow, though, she never quite got around to finishing it. I was getting annoyed and wanted the pile of CD’s and cases and inserts gone from my family room floor, so I finally assigned it to Mychael and made Bretten pay her to do it. <br /><br />Several more days passed. I knew Mychael was working on it, but I still had a pile of CD booklets in my family room. WTH?!? Finally, I asked Mychael: “What’s the deal with all the CD booklets and stuff – weren’t you supposed to put them in the cases, and match them up to the CD’s?”<br /><br />“I can’t, Mom!” she replied. “They don’t fit!”<br /><br />“What do you mean, they don’t fit? All CD’s are the same size! They have to fit!” I said.<br /><br />“No, Mom,” responded Mychael, patiently. “You got the slimline cases. They only hold a CD. They don’t have the little tabs that hold the booklets in the covers, and even if they did, the booklets are too fat to put in there, too. The cases won’t close with them in there – I already tried.”<br /><br />“So you’re telling me I got the wrong kind?”<br /><br />“Well,” she said, “Yeah, if you want to put the booklets in the cases, too.”<br /><br />“Grrr!!” I thought to myself. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another!!” Out loud, I said, “Well, never mind, then. I’ll figure something out.”<br /><br />I thought I might have to resurrect the book or something, but instead I just stacked the inserts and liner notes up and gave them their own space on one of the shelves in my new CD cabinet. It’s not as neat and orderly as I would’ve liked the finished project to be, but it’ll do. At least there is no longer a pile of cases, booklets, boxes, and discs on my family room floor.<br /><br />This would normally be the end of another “Meh!” post about how children are sometimes (and often, with increasing frequency) more on-the-ball than their parents. However, Mychael put the icing on the cake. My mom, who was at my house at the time and witnessed the exchange about the CD cases between Mychael and me, later reported to me the following: As Mychael was leaving the room after I told her that I would take care of the liner-note-insert problem, Mychael brushed past her and muttered under her breath, “Phew!! Squeaked my way out of that one!”Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-8338359779341672762009-04-28T11:56:00.000-07:002009-04-28T12:20:09.300-07:00Lesbian Day At The SupermarketThis is the long-awaited (and much-promised) “Lesbian Day at the Supermarket” post. Sorry it took me so long to deliver, and I hope I can do it justice.<br /><br />A couple of weeks ago, I was in a different part of town than I normally frequent as I had some kind of medical appointment (at least, I think – there have been so many between me and the kids with Mychael’s ears, Bretten’s strep, dentist, eye doctor, orthodontist, counselor, etc., etc., etc. But I digress.). I found myself in the southern part of Ogden – it could have even been South Ogden, but I’m not sure of the boundaries in that area. I needed to go to the grocery store and pick up a few staples, and rather than go all the way back <em>past</em> my house to the neighborhood store I usually frequent, I decided I would save a little time and get my groceries from the store closest to my current location. It happened to be Smith’s – the one on Harrison across from WSU.<br /><br />I am actually kind of excited as I am walking into the store. "Woot!" I think, "New layouts to wander, new products to discover!" This is an indication of how dull/lame my life is lately - it takes very little to excite me. Anyway, I grab a cart and head to the left. I notice out of the corner of my eye that two women had entered just behind me, and were also heading left. I thought to myself, “Hmmm…those two look kind of butch-y. I wonder which one is the fem?” but immediately, I chastised myself for being so judgmental. “You can’t judge a book by its cover!” I lectured silently. “Appearances can be deceiving! They’re probably just good friends who play together on the women’s softball team or something!” <br /><br />I stopped to look at something on a particularly well-arranged endcap display and then continued on, pretty much forgetting the two women until I happened to look over and realized they had gone past me while I was browsing. They were now in front of me….holding hands! And not like, “Oh, Good Friend, come over here and look at this!” but more like, “I’m so comfortable with the one I love, I just want to maintain that connectedness by linking hands with her.” <br /><br />I am pretty liberal, so I don’t much care whether they were holding hands or not. It’s just that, we live in <em>Utah</em>, of all places. I would guess that we have fewer than average practicing homosexuals here. Note that I said <em>practicing</em> – I’m sure we have as many gays here as anywhere else. It’s just that the heavy influence of the predominant religion and the overall conservative nature of local politics here probably tends to keep more of them in the closet than in other areas. So to see not only a <em>gay</em> couple in Utah, but an <em>openly gay</em> couple, and an <em>openly gay couple in public</em>, in <em>Utah</em> – well, let’s just say that was a little unusual. <br /><br />A little later in my shopping trip, I saw two other people. At first glance, they appeared pretty normal, if a little WT. The girl was a little on the heavy side, not very attractive, but OK, I guess. She was wearing a black T-shirt and red sweatpants, both faded, and had what appeared to be a leather necklace with silver studs on it around her neck. Think narrow dog collar. The guy was rather wirey and skinny dressed in a white T-shirt and white pants, with big chains around his neck and wearing one of those ginormous leather watch bands with the metal studs on them around his boney wrist. Picture hip-hop, but with a mullet. Kind of reminded me of Kevin Federline, actually....<br /><br />When I first saw them, I thought “Eew. They’re probably going to breed. Surely there should be laws against that.” And again, I immediately followed that with a stern talking-to to myself to be more charitable in my thought processes (it’s a daily struggle…). I also noted the studded-leather accessories, and wondered if it was one of those unity/solidarity things, or something creepier, like a “control” thing (again, think dog collar...).<br /><br />As I got closer to this second couple, though, I noted that the hip-hop Mullet Man in white had rather large man-boobs (moobs?), even for man-boobs. Don't think Holstein or anything, as they were still small and perky - just sort of....noticeable, is all. As I got closer still, I realized <em>why</em> they were noticeable. They were not, in fact, man-boobs, but rather real-live, <em>female </em>boobs - and apparently she was cold and did not believe in wearing foundation garments. As I'm registering all this and taking it in, I'm also thinking, "Holy crap! Yet another lesbian couple!" <br /><br /><em>Two</em> openly gay couples in the same place, at the same time, and in <em>Utah</em> as opposed to say, San Francisco – that’s rather extraordinary, don’t you think? Enough for me to declare it “Lesbian Day at the Supermarket,” anyway. <br /><br />After that I kind of got lost in what passes for fun for me, browsing the aisles of a foreign grocery store for treasures not carried by my neighborhood market. I didn’t really think much about either couple again until I was checking out. Then I looked over to see the second couple standing in the frozen food aisle, about 20 feet to my immediate right. The plumpish, more “fem” one with the dog collar was standing, gazing (longingly?) into one of the freezer cases. The butchier one in white, with the mullet, had her arms around her, with her (his?) chin on her shoulder and his (her?) hands tucked into the waistband of her sweats. Kind of icky enough, but then Hip-Hop Mullet Butch began grinding her pelvis into Plump Little Dumpling’s ample rear. They were swaying to music apparently only the two of them could hear....<br /><br />I was pretty grossed out – but lest you think I was being my naturally highly-critical, judgmental self, I just want to say that I think PDA’s that are that blatant are gross in both hetero and homo couples, not just the lesbians. Get a room, fer hell sakes.<br /><br />And this brings me to the point of this whole post: Obviously, the first couple was just a regular lesbian couple. Maybe a little on the masculine side, but no obvious gender-bending going on; just a couple who cared for one another, running a routine errand to the store. The second couple, however: I think they had some issues going on, what with their appearance and actions, etc. They were obviously (in my opinion) going for the shock value. Butch, especially, had some gender issues. I mean, a mullet <strong>and</strong> a leather wrist band? C’mon, really? <br /><br />But it got me to thinking: Assuming that a transsexual would be a soul born into a physical body of the opposite gender - if I am a male soul born into a female body, and I happen to find a female soul in a female body that I love, am I homosexual or heterosexual? In other words, is it the body’s <em>physical</em> characteristics, or the soul/personality/<em>essence</em> (or whatever you want to call it) of a person that is the deciding factor?<br /><br />Personally, I believe that the physical body is just a shell, and I would basically still be “me” whether I was born into the body I happen to have now, the body of a man (wouldn’t that be great? It would greatly cut down on my toilet paper consumption and I would never again pee on my socks! But again I digress…), or the body of a turtle, for that matter. Therefore, I am leaning towards a transgendered person being in love with a same-physical-gendered-but-opposite-“essence” person actually being a heterosexual. But what do you think?Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-45323039650871841072009-04-27T15:47:00.000-07:002009-04-27T15:55:54.668-07:00Bad Blogger! Bad!!!I can't believe it has been more than a month since I last posted!! I guess I am not a very good blogger - sporadic at best, is all. It's not that I don't have things to blog about - I do. I just haven't had the time to do it, or when I do have the time, I either forget or don't have the energy.<br /><br />Unfortunately, I'm not sure I'm going to be any better at keeping up with things, any time soon, as I have another case heating up at work. Bleah. It makes me ornery when they won't just play by the rules and resolve themselves the way they're supposed to. Grrr.<br /><br />But, just in case I AM able to get back to this soon, I have to tell you about Lesbian Day at the Supermarket! Also, my house is *almost* put together. There isn't any one room that is 100% done, but most rooms are at the 80-90% level, at least. So I'd like to post some pics of all that soon, too - <em>because</em> I also got a new camera, to replace the one that was in my purse when it was stolen in January. Woo HOO! And, my bestest friend (from Massachusetts) and her mom are coming to stay with me for a week, one week from tomorrow. So that will be fun. Cydanie is still Cydanie (I have a story about her not wanting to hang out at her dad's place and being really mad at him), Mychael is still Mychael (funny story about chores), and Bretten is still Bretten (not so funny stories - yes, as in multiple! - about her surliness. Only she doesn't like me to say she's a surly "pre-teenager." I tell her to stop acting like one, and then I won't be able to use that word anymore, but the logic is lost on her...).<br /><br />So anyway - lots to report!! Hope I am able to find the time soon to do so....Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-4798382176129706942009-03-03T12:13:00.000-08:002009-03-03T12:40:32.781-08:00Why? Or Rather, Why Not?One of my surly pre-teen daughters and I had a bit of a “come to Jesus” meeting this weekend. Or as my father would put it, “an eyeball gathering.” I had made a list of chores that needed to be done, and then my daughters and I took turns choosing items to do from the list. We each ended up with three items ranging from taking the trash out to folding the laundry to doing the dishes.<br /><br />To try to keep the kids from getting overwhelmed, I broke garbage detail into two steps – taking all the trash from the house out to the big green can was one step, and then taking the can out to the curb was the other. I did the same on laundry, only I broke it into even more steps (take the dirty laundry to the laundry room was one, sorting it was two, move things from the washer to the dryer, etc., was three, and four was haul it back upstairs, and finally, five was fold it/put it away). I thought I would be more likely to get voluntary compliance if each chore was divided into manageable pieces – rather like eating the elephant one bite at a time.<br /><br />One child – who shall remain nameless in order to protect the guilty, in case she ever reads this – selected “moving things between the washer and dryer” as one of her chores. However, silly me! I forgot to add “load the washer” on the chore list, and this delightful (is the sarcasm coming through?) youngster was quick to point out my error. I tried to explain that you can hardly move clothes out of the washer, over to the dryer, if you don’t put anything in the washer first, can you? I apologized for not putting it on the list, but honestly – did I really <em>have</em> to? If I have to do that, then why don’t I just go ahead and put “put detergent in washer” and “push start button” on the list, too?!?<br /><br />We were going back and forth like that and I was getting more and more frustrated (funny how kids can do that to you!). I finally just explained that there are certain universal rules that apply to every group, whether you are talking about a pack of wolves, a colony of bees, a company, or a family unit. <br /><br />Rule 1 is that <em>all</em> members of the group have to pull their share of the load for the betterment of the group as a whole. Not all wolves hunt, but the ones who don’t, help care for the young, or keep watch over the pack. All bees collect pollen for the use of the whole hive, and any who don’t, are caring for the colony’s larvae and the hive itself. Employees work to make a profit for their company, so that it can stay in business and will be able to keep paying them, so that they can pay for their homes, groceries, etc., and so on. <br /><br />Rule 2 is that there is always a leader, whether it’s the alpha wolf, the queen bee, the boss, or the parent. And Rule 3, if you don’t pull your fair share of the weight, the entire group suffers and you are punished as a result. The wolves don’t eat, the drones are driven from the hive, poor-performing employees are fired, kids get grounded or put on restriction or parents get reported to DCFS, etc., etc. It’s just the way the world works, and there is no escaping it.<br /><br />I was feeling kind of proud of myself for explaining things so logically, and tying household chores into life lessons that would, hopefully, serve my girl for the rest of her life. I was quickly deflated, however, when she said, “Yes, but why do <em><strong>I</strong></em> have to do it? Why <em>me</em>?”<br /><br />Which brings me to my real point: why me? Why any of us? There are a lot of mysteries in life that I have not resolved, and a lot of questions for which I have no answers. But this question of “why me” is one I actually think I might have figured out. The answer is: why <em>not </em>me? Everybody has something. If you ever meet anyone who looks like they don’t, it’s just because you haven’t figured out what their “something” is yet. Because trust me – <em>every</em>body has <em>some</em>thing. <br /><br />So when I feel myself succumbing to a bit of a Pity Party and I start thinking, “Why do <em><strong>I </strong></em>have to have a kid with autism?” or “Why do <em><strong>I</strong></em> have to get a divorce?” or “Why did <em>my</em> sewer have to back up and flood the basement?” or even “Why do <em><strong>I</strong></em> have to weigh 35 lbs. more than I want to?” I just remind myself, “Why <em>not</em> me?” What makes me so special that I should be exempt from any problem in particular, or from problems in general? There is always someone else who has it worse, so shouldn’t I be willing to shoulder my share of the load -- out of gratitude that I am not that someone having it worse, if nothing else? Shouldn’t we all be willing to step up when it’s our turn?<br /><br />My explanation for “why her” didn’t convince my Little Miss that she should just put the laundry in the washing machine and start it, unfortunately. There was <em>w – a – y</em> more drama after that (heavy sigh!). It was just another day in my house, that's all. Why not? ;)Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674627968758006589.post-31942487505653729702009-03-02T12:05:00.000-08:002009-03-02T12:19:25.098-08:00Life Lessons: Making the Best of a Bad SituationI may have told this story before, so if this is familiar to you already, I apologize. I guess that’s how you know you’re getting old – you start re-telling the same old stories, thinking they are new!<br /><br />Anyway, when I was in the 8th grade, I took algebra from a very funny man. I loved Mr. Larsen – he was hilarious! He’d write equations on the blackboard (we still had blackboards in those days – ha!), demonstrating various problems and their solutions, and then turn around and wink at the class and say, “See that? Smooth as a baby’s bottom!” Or another personal favorite, “Boy, that’s slicker than Vaseline on a doorknob!” Or sometimes, it was "slicker than snot!" He really made algebra fun and (relatively) easy.<br /><br />For both my 7th and 8th grade years, Mr. Larsen was the only math teacher who taught the more advanced math classes, so I naturally assumed I would have him for geometry in the 9th grade, too. That’s just the way things went. So, I was quite surprised to receive my class schedule just before 9th grade started, and see that I was assigned to take geometry from a Mr. Daly instead of Mr. Larsen. I was devastated.<br /><br />I complained to my parents, who said, “Give him a chance! You never know, he may be even better than Mr. Larsen!” I was skeptical, but saw their point. The first day of 9th grade dawned, and I (rather sullenly) went to my geometry class, fearing the worst but hoping for the best.<br /><br />It turned out to be even worse than I had feared. Mr. Daly was a huge man, shaped like a mountain. Or, maybe that was just my perception. He only <em>seemed</em> like a mountain due to his partiality for wearing brown corduroy pants and green plaid, flannel shirts that made his lumpy, close-shaven skull look like the snowy peak of Mount Baldy as it sat on his wide, sloping shoulders. I craned my neck up to watch his face as he paced the front of the classroom. Like Mount Baldy, Mr. Daly seemed just as cold. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that slid down on his nose as he tipped his head back to survey the class, and his face was set in a permanent scowl.<br /><br />Knowing that looks can be deceiving, I tried my best to be optimistic. Maybe it wouldn’t be <em>that</em> bad…. That thought lasted just as long as it did for him to call the class to order, and hear him say, “That was once…” when no one complied. He called us to order a second time, and was met with only partial success. “That was twice,” he said. He tried one more time to gain the classes’ attention, and then <strong>BAM!!!</strong> Out of nowhere, a yardstick slammed down on Mr. Daly’s desk.<br /><br />Everyone jumped! As we all turned in our seats to face him, we were shocked into silence. “That’s three,” Mr. Daly said, his grim smile showing small, neatly-spaced teeth. I already hated him.<br /><br />Over the next few days, I would hear stories from my friends who were lucky enough to be in Mr. Larsen’s class, about how much fun they were having. They would tell me how funny Mr. Larsen was, and how he picked on this person or that person, and made this joke or that joke. Meanwhile, I dreaded going to Mount Baldy’s class.<br /><br />After the first week, I begged – literally begged – my parents to transfer me out of Mr. Daly’s room. I couldn’t stand it! Please, please, please, please, please?!?!?!<br /><br />Finally (probably out of sheer self-preservation) my parents agreed to go talk to the school counselor about getting me out of that awful class. I had high hopes that I would soon be back with my beloved Mr. Larsen.<br /><br />We went into the counselor’s office and sat down. My parents explained that I was having difficulty with Mr. Daly and wanted to be in Mr. Larsen’s class, instead. The counselor asked me why. Well, because!! Mr. Daly was big and scary and stern and not nearly as nice or as funny as Mr. Larsen, and all of those other things that seem terribly important to a 9th grader.<br /><br />I will never forget what that counselor said: “Well, a lot of times in life, we don’t get to choose our situation. We’re just handed what we’re handed, and we have to figure out how we’re going to deal with it. But even though we don’t get to choose our situation, we <em>do</em> get to choose how we’re going to handle it. You have to figure out how to make the best of what life hands you. When you grow up and get a job, you can’t just quit your job if you don’t like your boss. If you do, how will you pay your rent, or buy food to eat, or gas for your car? Nope – you have to figure out how to make the best of the situation. So, this is as good of a time as any to learn that the one thing that determines what kind of experience you’re going to have, is what kind of attitude you choose to have going in to it.”<br /><br />At the time I was upset. I could see the counselor’s point, but that didn’t mean I had to <em>like</em> it. But my options had been exhausted. So I ended up staying in Mr. Daly’s class. I even managed to have an OK time, eventually – occasionally catching a glimpse of a rare smile from Mount Baldy when we did particularly well on any given geometery lesson.<br /><br />I must admit, however, that the counselor’s lesson has stayed with me far longer than any of Mr. Daly's - and been infinitely more valuable.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608236750985817391noreply@blogger.com0