For the past few weeks, I've been having vivid dreams about guys I either used to date, or ones I pointlessly obsessed over for a time. They've all been farewell dreams, where I get to have a final conversation with each one and determine why it wouldn't work, why it won't work, and then feel better for having had the dreams. I've met with my ex-fiance and a pointless crush in the past week.
There's been a certain level on comfort in these interactions. I've been able to wrestle out the last vestiges of emotion I've kept for these guys. I've wondered why I've been having these dreams as well. My best theory is that as I attach more and more to my boy, I'm getting rid of others who might allow me to mess up what is, and I hope will continue to be, a strong relationship.
Then, of course, comes last night. Last night I dreamed about Jim. Why, I don't know, but in this dreams things were different. I dreamed I was at a party with him and we got separated. As I walked over the hills and valleys that seem to show up in all my dreams, I kept walking past girls that I knew. I finally made it to a big room, where all the guys where. They were all guys I (ostensibly) knew, and I spent the whole time just calling Jim's name, and never found him.
Keep your fingers crossed that this isn't a portent of things to come.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
I Now Have The Keyring Of A Jailer
I finally (finally!) got around to getting myself a PO Box. This was a big deal because without a mailing address, what's the point of ordering business cards? So not only am I the newest, proudest renter of a small metal container, but I will soon be the owner of some brand-spanking-new business cards.
They look pretty good, if I do say so myself. And I say so myself because I designed them. I complained to my boy about my bad design skills, and he offered to work on them and then reneged the offer. So I got it done. By myself, you big meanie.
Those of you who I know, I'll gladly send some on when they get here. (Sheesh, there's a thousand of them. Just in case you need a border for your bedroom.) For the rest of you, I'm considering posting the image here. (Salient details fuzzed out to protect, say, ME.)
If nothing else, just be pleased for me that I got it done. And even better, I paid my cable bill, got my friend the book I promised her (I'll bring it Sunday), managed not to completely buy out the books in stock at Barnes & Noble, and made it to SuperTarget for my every-other-day fix of its wares.
Heck, I'm even considering vacuuming!
They look pretty good, if I do say so myself. And I say so myself because I designed them. I complained to my boy about my bad design skills, and he offered to work on them and then reneged the offer. So I got it done. By myself, you big meanie.
Those of you who I know, I'll gladly send some on when they get here. (Sheesh, there's a thousand of them. Just in case you need a border for your bedroom.) For the rest of you, I'm considering posting the image here. (Salient details fuzzed out to protect, say, ME.)
If nothing else, just be pleased for me that I got it done. And even better, I paid my cable bill, got my friend the book I promised her (I'll bring it Sunday), managed not to completely buy out the books in stock at Barnes & Noble, and made it to SuperTarget for my every-other-day fix of its wares.
Heck, I'm even considering vacuuming!
Saturday, February 21, 2009
I Am Blissfully Alone
For the first time since the beginning (and by that I mean the first) of November, I am alone in the apartment. It's nighttime - I checked outside a few times and the moon was still out. Folks, I cannot tell you how pleased I am about this.
I was a bit concerned that Momma would change her mind and come back tonight. And I'm not entirely evil; I told her that if her slumber party was more than she could bear, she should absolutely come back. I even used the word "home".
So what have I been doing on this evening of freedom? Not a whole lot. I've talked on the phone. I've chattered on the internet. I've snuck in a cookie. I'm having a cocktail. But mostly what I've done is be endlessly aware of the fact that I'm alone. It's like I have to constantly remind myself that there's no-one else here. It's a strange feeling. It's a precursor to what my life will be.
And I have to be honest: it's not like I'm lonely, really, but I've become so accustomed to having Momma here that it feels a bit strange to not have her around. It's like I'm not ready to be rid of the emotions I feel when she's around. I'm used to being mildly cranky all the time, to knowing that I'm on call, to being someone else's barometer for her own emotions. I wonder how long it'll take for those feelings to permanently fade when she's gone. I figure it'll take a while.
But I'll tell you this. I'm not wearing any pants.
I was a bit concerned that Momma would change her mind and come back tonight. And I'm not entirely evil; I told her that if her slumber party was more than she could bear, she should absolutely come back. I even used the word "home".
So what have I been doing on this evening of freedom? Not a whole lot. I've talked on the phone. I've chattered on the internet. I've snuck in a cookie. I'm having a cocktail. But mostly what I've done is be endlessly aware of the fact that I'm alone. It's like I have to constantly remind myself that there's no-one else here. It's a strange feeling. It's a precursor to what my life will be.
And I have to be honest: it's not like I'm lonely, really, but I've become so accustomed to having Momma here that it feels a bit strange to not have her around. It's like I'm not ready to be rid of the emotions I feel when she's around. I'm used to being mildly cranky all the time, to knowing that I'm on call, to being someone else's barometer for her own emotions. I wonder how long it'll take for those feelings to permanently fade when she's gone. I figure it'll take a while.
But I'll tell you this. I'm not wearing any pants.
Friday, February 20, 2009
So I've Got This Friend...
A friend named Donovan, and I use his name because he said I could. He's a really decent guy and someone I've known since high school. (I blame MySpace and Facebook for all this damn reminiscing.)
He's pretty supportive of how I live my life, but tonight, not so much. I told him about the networking and social events I'll be attending at the end of the month (Dog Ball! Dog Ball!) and he pretty much said, "I've got to go," and hung up.
I know he likes me better when I'm in the same proverbial boat as he is, unemployed and occasionally unhappy about it. Still, it can't hurt to lie to a friend even when you're jealous of what that person is doing, right?
He's pretty supportive of how I live my life, but tonight, not so much. I told him about the networking and social events I'll be attending at the end of the month (Dog Ball! Dog Ball!) and he pretty much said, "I've got to go," and hung up.
I know he likes me better when I'm in the same proverbial boat as he is, unemployed and occasionally unhappy about it. Still, it can't hurt to lie to a friend even when you're jealous of what that person is doing, right?
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Relationship Meme
What are your middle names?
We both use ours. Mine is Christine, his is [REDACTED]. Don't ask about first names.
How long have you been together?
Debatable. I've known him since I was 16. We dated for a bit back then, and then have been friends, but never in a relationship.
Most recently: I've created an anniversary date of June 30, which is about the first time that he told me that he loved me.
How long did you know each other before you started dating?
See above. We dated when I was in high school.
Who asked whom out?
In the beginning, I have no doubt that it was him.
More recently: He found me on MySpace, which is where we began reattaching. His message was essentially his phone number. I made the first phone call. Took me about 30 seconds to make that decision.
How old are each of you?
We're getting close to a number change, but I'm 35 and he's 37.
Whose siblings do you see the most?
We don't see either's, but he has to hear more about mine than I do about his.
Which situation is hardest on you as a couple?
I can only answer for me. I want to be the best person I can be for him, and I wonder if I don't always get his references - he's much more well-read than I am, and he actually watches movies, unlike me.
Did you go to the same school?
No. We went to different high schools, and he had already graduated from his by the time I met him. I have four degrees; he's working on getting his. Yet I know he's smarter than I am.
Are you from the same home town?
No. I'm from the Chicago area; he's from New Orleans.
Who is smarter?
He is smarter. He has a wider range of knowledge. Yet, on occasion, he'll tell me that I'm intimidating to him. Bah!
Who is the most sensitive?
Honestly, he is. I have more moments of insecurity, but he's vastly more sensitive.
Where do you eat out most as a couple?
I don't know yet, and I so look forward to finding out a place that balances our palates. And by "balance", I mean, hopefully we'll go to a vegetarian place, because on the rare occasions that I eat meat, I prefer it uber-processed or well done, which offends him as a chef.
Where is the furthest you've travelled as a couple?
Honestly? The outskirts of the town where we grew up. But there are changes to come.
Who has the craziest exes?
Christ on a cracker, he does!
Who has the worst temper?
I do. I wish I didn't, and I work hard to curtail it, but I absolutely do. Poor baby.
Who does the cooking?
He does, and will, and probably always will. Although we have a simplistic cooking competition planned - who can make the better grilled cheese (ME!) and mashed potatoes (ME!). Yeah, he'll probably kick my ass, which is why I've limited the number of ingredients allowed.
Who is the neat-freak?
HE IS.
Who is more stubborn?
I am, because I want to be heard, and heard, and endlessly heard, until he gives in.
Who hogs the bed?
I don't know yet, but we've already decided that he'll stay on the sofa and I get his bed. We agree that co-sleeping doesn't work out that well. I kick and talk in my sleep. He snores.
Who wakes up earlier?
I don't know yet. I wake up when my caffeine level gets low. He wakes up when his brain turns on. We'll see who wins.
Where was your first date?
I don't remember. Ask him; he has a substantially better memory than I do. Also, remember that I was 16.
Who is more jealous?
I think we're equally so. I hate that he hangs with his ex-girlfriend. I went by an ex's place on Sunday, and I told him, and he asked me if he should be jealous. (Which as far as I know, in boy lingo, means he's a bit jealous.)
How long did it take to get serious?
From my point of view? The first time I heard his voice in 2008. For him? I don't know. I do know that he sent me a good Christmas present, and sent me a perfect Valentine's card. If I had to guess, it would be the first time he told me that he loved me, and that was late June 2008.
Who eats more?
He does. Not only does he cook, but he eats. I eat once a day-ish. He eats like a normal person.
Who does the laundry?
He knows my weirdness with this, so I think we'll do our own laundry. At least, I hope so. Other peoples' skivvies weird me out.
Who's better with the computer?
I am, with internet. Hell, I am.
Who drives when you are together?
This has been a bone of contention. We always subscribed to "who drives, chooses the music" until I realized that we'd simultaneously murder each other. So now, we've decided that the passenger chooses the music, which means that we'll fight over who HAS to drive forever.
We both use ours. Mine is Christine, his is [REDACTED]. Don't ask about first names.
How long have you been together?
Debatable. I've known him since I was 16. We dated for a bit back then, and then have been friends, but never in a relationship.
Most recently: I've created an anniversary date of June 30, which is about the first time that he told me that he loved me.
How long did you know each other before you started dating?
See above. We dated when I was in high school.
Who asked whom out?
In the beginning, I have no doubt that it was him.
More recently: He found me on MySpace, which is where we began reattaching. His message was essentially his phone number. I made the first phone call. Took me about 30 seconds to make that decision.
How old are each of you?
We're getting close to a number change, but I'm 35 and he's 37.
Whose siblings do you see the most?
We don't see either's, but he has to hear more about mine than I do about his.
Which situation is hardest on you as a couple?
I can only answer for me. I want to be the best person I can be for him, and I wonder if I don't always get his references - he's much more well-read than I am, and he actually watches movies, unlike me.
Did you go to the same school?
No. We went to different high schools, and he had already graduated from his by the time I met him. I have four degrees; he's working on getting his. Yet I know he's smarter than I am.
Are you from the same home town?
No. I'm from the Chicago area; he's from New Orleans.
Who is smarter?
He is smarter. He has a wider range of knowledge. Yet, on occasion, he'll tell me that I'm intimidating to him. Bah!
Who is the most sensitive?
Honestly, he is. I have more moments of insecurity, but he's vastly more sensitive.
Where do you eat out most as a couple?
I don't know yet, and I so look forward to finding out a place that balances our palates. And by "balance", I mean, hopefully we'll go to a vegetarian place, because on the rare occasions that I eat meat, I prefer it uber-processed or well done, which offends him as a chef.
Where is the furthest you've travelled as a couple?
Honestly? The outskirts of the town where we grew up. But there are changes to come.
Who has the craziest exes?
Christ on a cracker, he does!
Who has the worst temper?
I do. I wish I didn't, and I work hard to curtail it, but I absolutely do. Poor baby.
Who does the cooking?
He does, and will, and probably always will. Although we have a simplistic cooking competition planned - who can make the better grilled cheese (ME!) and mashed potatoes (ME!). Yeah, he'll probably kick my ass, which is why I've limited the number of ingredients allowed.
Who is the neat-freak?
HE IS.
Who is more stubborn?
I am, because I want to be heard, and heard, and endlessly heard, until he gives in.
Who hogs the bed?
I don't know yet, but we've already decided that he'll stay on the sofa and I get his bed. We agree that co-sleeping doesn't work out that well. I kick and talk in my sleep. He snores.
Who wakes up earlier?
I don't know yet. I wake up when my caffeine level gets low. He wakes up when his brain turns on. We'll see who wins.
Where was your first date?
I don't remember. Ask him; he has a substantially better memory than I do. Also, remember that I was 16.
Who is more jealous?
I think we're equally so. I hate that he hangs with his ex-girlfriend. I went by an ex's place on Sunday, and I told him, and he asked me if he should be jealous. (Which as far as I know, in boy lingo, means he's a bit jealous.)
How long did it take to get serious?
From my point of view? The first time I heard his voice in 2008. For him? I don't know. I do know that he sent me a good Christmas present, and sent me a perfect Valentine's card. If I had to guess, it would be the first time he told me that he loved me, and that was late June 2008.
Who eats more?
He does. Not only does he cook, but he eats. I eat once a day-ish. He eats like a normal person.
Who does the laundry?
He knows my weirdness with this, so I think we'll do our own laundry. At least, I hope so. Other peoples' skivvies weird me out.
Who's better with the computer?
I am, with internet. Hell, I am.
Who drives when you are together?
This has been a bone of contention. We always subscribed to "who drives, chooses the music" until I realized that we'd simultaneously murder each other. So now, we've decided that the passenger chooses the music, which means that we'll fight over who HAS to drive forever.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Memories
I found this tonight as I try to organize my office. I do realize that I'm channeling Heather, but I think she'll forgive me. Or not care, which is more likely. I'll post the images, and then transcribe.
1-3: lived in Chicago (Winter Garden) IL. had dog (Karry) - black, w/golden underfur. older bro & sis. Looked up to bro, scared of sis. both would occasionally gang up on me. bro usually mt protector, though. pool in backyard. dog thought I was its puppy. one day, I played in tar - huge trouble! Don't remember much else.
4-5: lived in State College, PA. 2-story house, had cat, dog, bird. Kitchen very light v. living room, very dark. My room had a giant caterpillar on the wall, Mom painted over it. Very upset. Don't remember much of siblings. Bro never at home, involved in many activities. Had game room in basement, but afraid of basement. Neighbors had tire swing - seemed very far out in woods. Stream at bottom of hill behind house, loved to play on it in winter. Took swimming & gymnastics. Scared to put head under water. Was in afternoon kindergarten. Teachers: Mrs. Long & Mrs. Woodchuck (not her real name) Best friends: Kim & Cameron.
5-6: lived in Wichita, KS. 1616 Murray. Mom hated house. Had HUGE! living/great room. got cat named Boo. Played outside a lot. Few memories of bro & sis. Bro lived in basement room, sis & I switched rooms. Killed sis' hamster. School - walked. Public pool - played in summer. Took piano lessons.
Mindy - teacher. Friends: Andy, Ashley, Donya. Donya had Strawberry Shortcake record - I liked that, can still sing the song. Fell at school trying to get away from boy, scratched up knee, bad. 1st "boyfriend". Brian. could never spell his name right, always - Brian. Had swingset in backyard. I was a tomboy.
about 80% of any details here were told to me. I have VERY LITTLE recollection of being young.
(I wrote this in college, so probably around 1994 or 1995.)
1-3: lived in Chicago (Winter Garden) IL. had dog (Karry) - black, w/golden underfur. older bro & sis. Looked up to bro, scared of sis. both would occasionally gang up on me. bro usually mt protector, though. pool in backyard. dog thought I was its puppy. one day, I played in tar - huge trouble! Don't remember much else.
4-5: lived in State College, PA. 2-story house, had cat, dog, bird. Kitchen very light v. living room, very dark. My room had a giant caterpillar on the wall, Mom painted over it. Very upset. Don't remember much of siblings. Bro never at home, involved in many activities. Had game room in basement, but afraid of basement. Neighbors had tire swing - seemed very far out in woods. Stream at bottom of hill behind house, loved to play on it in winter. Took swimming & gymnastics. Scared to put head under water. Was in afternoon kindergarten. Teachers: Mrs. Long & Mrs. Woodchuck (not her real name) Best friends: Kim & Cameron.
5-6: lived in Wichita, KS. 1616 Murray. Mom hated house. Had HUGE! living/great room. got cat named Boo. Played outside a lot. Few memories of bro & sis. Bro lived in basement room, sis & I switched rooms. Killed sis' hamster. School - walked. Public pool - played in summer. Took piano lessons.
Mindy - teacher. Friends: Andy, Ashley, Donya. Donya had Strawberry Shortcake record - I liked that, can still sing the song. Fell at school trying to get away from boy, scratched up knee, bad. 1st "boyfriend". Brian. could never spell his name right, always - Brian. Had swingset in backyard. I was a tomboy.
about 80% of any details here were told to me. I have VERY LITTLE recollection of being young.
(I wrote this in college, so probably around 1994 or 1995.)
My Card
My boy did well with his card. It's funny and sweet and it made noise, too! That part startled me a little bit but I figured out how to jury-rig the card so it doesn't make noise every time I open it. Wanna know how? I ripped the card in half.
So here's the front:
I love love love that he got me a card that recognizes just how long we've known each other. If I ever get really, really brave, I'll post some of the emails we've exchanged over the years.
And here's the inside, with just his words in his own handwriting:
Isn't seeing someone's handwriting so much more personal than getting emails or texts? I certainly think so, and when I send cards to my boy, I work really hard to make sure my writing is pretty and I don't misspell words. It's the little things.
So here's the front:
I love love love that he got me a card that recognizes just how long we've known each other. If I ever get really, really brave, I'll post some of the emails we've exchanged over the years.
And here's the inside, with just his words in his own handwriting:
Isn't seeing someone's handwriting so much more personal than getting emails or texts? I certainly think so, and when I send cards to my boy, I work really hard to make sure my writing is pretty and I don't misspell words. It's the little things.
Oh, Hai, Guilt!
I'm trying to figure out how to assuage my guilt. (And fortunately, due to my boy, I can now pronounce the word correctly.)
Since last Sunday - not yesterday, but a week prior, I haven't had a single actual conversation with Momma. I know it's been bad, for us both, living together, but it occurs to me today exactly my role in it. Really, I hate that my life is being observed, calendared, and (at least mentally) commented upon. Despite all the writing I do here, I am a very private person and I prefer to control the amount of information another person gets about me.
Yet, I feel badly with today's realization that Momma probably dreads coming back to my apartment, knowing that she'll get little, if any, interaction. Because that's the way it's been. If I see her approaching, I immediately go to my office and get online and stay here until she goes to bed. Today, she snuck in and I was watching TV, so I turned off Tool Academy and turned on the Law & Order marathon and then went to sleep.
I wonder how much she hates living here now. It used to be better - I know, not really, but back then we actually had conversations. Now, I guess I got what I asked for - a roommate and not a family member. But I wonder what's going on in her head. I wonder what she has planned for her future.
And, honestly, folks, I think about how one day she'll be gone, and I'll rue the lost opportunities I have with her now.
Since last Sunday - not yesterday, but a week prior, I haven't had a single actual conversation with Momma. I know it's been bad, for us both, living together, but it occurs to me today exactly my role in it. Really, I hate that my life is being observed, calendared, and (at least mentally) commented upon. Despite all the writing I do here, I am a very private person and I prefer to control the amount of information another person gets about me.
Yet, I feel badly with today's realization that Momma probably dreads coming back to my apartment, knowing that she'll get little, if any, interaction. Because that's the way it's been. If I see her approaching, I immediately go to my office and get online and stay here until she goes to bed. Today, she snuck in and I was watching TV, so I turned off Tool Academy and turned on the Law & Order marathon and then went to sleep.
I wonder how much she hates living here now. It used to be better - I know, not really, but back then we actually had conversations. Now, I guess I got what I asked for - a roommate and not a family member. But I wonder what's going on in her head. I wonder what she has planned for her future.
And, honestly, folks, I think about how one day she'll be gone, and I'll rue the lost opportunities I have with her now.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Dog Ball
Today Cita invited me, through a mutual friend, to the Dog Ball. I am so excited! I'll represent for the cat lovers out there, but I know that seeing Cita's dogs in tutus is going to be a fantastic sight.
This means I get to buy a new dress, because it's a formal event. I haven't bought a formal since high school. Even for the law school prom, I had an outfit and didn't get to go shopping. Now I get to show off my slightly svelter figure and see cute dogs and meet lots of people and basically have a good time.
So if you need me on February 27, call me before 5 or after 10.
This means I get to buy a new dress, because it's a formal event. I haven't bought a formal since high school. Even for the law school prom, I had an outfit and didn't get to go shopping. Now I get to show off my slightly svelter figure and see cute dogs and meet lots of people and basically have a good time.
So if you need me on February 27, call me before 5 or after 10.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Happy Valentine's Day!
It's 4am, and I should be asleep, but for some reason, I can't turn my brain off tonight. I'm feeling pretty wired for sound. This means that tomorrow (well, today) will suck suck suck. Can't be helped, though.
I had to strong-arm my boy into getting me a Valentine's Day card. He must be pretty proud of it, though, since he's told me since Wednesday that he's a) bought it; b) mailed it; c) it's corny and cheesy; and d) since I directly asked, it's also sweet and romantic. Good boy. I hate that I had to push him into it, but some boys need more instruction than others. Remember, this is the boy who sent my Christmas present in early January, unwrapped, without a card, and in a box that I used to send one of his gifts to him.
But I'll make a romantic out of him yet! OK, in honor of this day, I'll post my list of favorite exchanges we've had. (Yes, of course I keep a list! Helps on bad days.)
1. Him: Don't get a ring; I want to be the one to put a ring on your fing...
2. Him: I would marry you.
3. Him: We should just go ahead and get marrie...
4. Me, ruminating on ugly people finding mates and me single. Him: I'm putting my money on you.
5. Me: Seriously, will you marry me? Him: I've been thinking about that lately...
6. Him: Have you ever considered being a stepmom?
7. Me: I really hope I don't have to live in California again.
Him: Well, you know I will.
Me: Yes, I know.
Him: So you better start looking for where we'll live.
Sensing a theme, folks? Me too. After almost twenty years with the boy in and out of my life, well, I'm so very happy that we might be getting this right. I hope you're having a similarly good time with the one you love. And if you don't have that person yet, please trust that you will. I never thought this would happen, and here I am. This means that there's an awesome person out there for you as well. And if need be, I'll be your Valentine.
Love,
Christine
I had to strong-arm my boy into getting me a Valentine's Day card. He must be pretty proud of it, though, since he's told me since Wednesday that he's a) bought it; b) mailed it; c) it's corny and cheesy; and d) since I directly asked, it's also sweet and romantic. Good boy. I hate that I had to push him into it, but some boys need more instruction than others. Remember, this is the boy who sent my Christmas present in early January, unwrapped, without a card, and in a box that I used to send one of his gifts to him.
But I'll make a romantic out of him yet! OK, in honor of this day, I'll post my list of favorite exchanges we've had. (Yes, of course I keep a list! Helps on bad days.)
1. Him: Don't get a ring; I want to be the one to put a ring on your fing...
2. Him: I would marry you.
3. Him: We should just go ahead and get marrie...
4. Me, ruminating on ugly people finding mates and me single. Him: I'm putting my money on you.
5. Me: Seriously, will you marry me? Him: I've been thinking about that lately...
6. Him: Have you ever considered being a stepmom?
7. Me: I really hope I don't have to live in California again.
Him: Well, you know I will.
Me: Yes, I know.
Him: So you better start looking for where we'll live.
Sensing a theme, folks? Me too. After almost twenty years with the boy in and out of my life, well, I'm so very happy that we might be getting this right. I hope you're having a similarly good time with the one you love. And if you don't have that person yet, please trust that you will. I never thought this would happen, and here I am. This means that there's an awesome person out there for you as well. And if need be, I'll be your Valentine.
Love,
Christine
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Crisis Averted
All afternoon, I've been wandering around the apartment trying to find something to do besides eat the delicious, creamy, perfectly cold Dove mini-bars in my freezer.
Thanks to Rex, I found This Is Why You're Fat. I may never eat again. Dieting crisis officially averted.
Thanks to Rex, I found This Is Why You're Fat. I may never eat again. Dieting crisis officially averted.
Teeth
In honor of Wade's oldest losing his first tooth, I'll tell you my story of when I had my wisdom teeth pulled.
But first - the tooth fairy, namely, Wade and her husband (marriage makes two become one, right?) gave the oldest five dollars for this tooth. Five dollars? Seriously, when I was a kid, I got a quarter and I was damned pleased to get it. Of course, I also walked barefoot uphill in the snow both ways blah blah blah... But I asked Wade about it, and she said it was the smallest bill either of them had. She then wisely explained to her oldest that the first lost tooth was special, and from now on, the tooth fairy wouldn't be leaving as much cash. Good move, Wade. Kid's got to have what, at least twenty teeth? You'd be out a hundred bucks, and really, isn't that what grandparents are for?
Back to the main attraction. I don't remember how old I was, probably twenty-five or so, when my dentist decided that I needed all four of my wisdom teeth pulled. I'd never had any surgery and was understandably nervous. Well, not so much about surgery; I knew it was routine. I was terrified of the needle the oral surgeon was going to put into my hand to knock me out. (I have an aversion to needles. Even now, to give blood, I have to have one of those little stress balls or my arm refuses to let lose of its red bounty.)
So I got into the chair and grimaced as the itsy-bitsy needle went into my hand. I was out in no time, and surgery was no big deal.
The ride home, however, must have looked like the biggest freak show ever. The doctor put packing in my mouth, and ice bags in pantyhose, which were then tied around my head. Yeah. The image is glorious, is it not? Poor passenger me, with pantyhose around my head and swelling and the little bits of blood dripping from my mouth. I had one short moment of lucidity where I realized just how bad I must have looked.
Got home, and Momma put me to bed, right after shoving a pill down my throat and commanding me to swallow it. About four hours later, my bathroom needs overrode the powerful, chemically-induced desire to sleep, and I could see me in the mirror. Ick, people, ick ick ick. But what I remember most is the feeling that I was gnawing on my tongue. I didn't care; the Novocaine and Percocet ensured that. But curiosity got the best of me, so I opened my mouth in front of the bathroom mirror to see the cotton padding in my mouth.
And so I hollered out, as I am wont to do, "Mom! Momma! The doctor put tampons in my mouth! These are OBs!" And you know what? I honestly believe that's true.
But first - the tooth fairy, namely, Wade and her husband (marriage makes two become one, right?) gave the oldest five dollars for this tooth. Five dollars? Seriously, when I was a kid, I got a quarter and I was damned pleased to get it. Of course, I also walked barefoot uphill in the snow both ways blah blah blah... But I asked Wade about it, and she said it was the smallest bill either of them had. She then wisely explained to her oldest that the first lost tooth was special, and from now on, the tooth fairy wouldn't be leaving as much cash. Good move, Wade. Kid's got to have what, at least twenty teeth? You'd be out a hundred bucks, and really, isn't that what grandparents are for?
Back to the main attraction. I don't remember how old I was, probably twenty-five or so, when my dentist decided that I needed all four of my wisdom teeth pulled. I'd never had any surgery and was understandably nervous. Well, not so much about surgery; I knew it was routine. I was terrified of the needle the oral surgeon was going to put into my hand to knock me out. (I have an aversion to needles. Even now, to give blood, I have to have one of those little stress balls or my arm refuses to let lose of its red bounty.)
So I got into the chair and grimaced as the itsy-bitsy needle went into my hand. I was out in no time, and surgery was no big deal.
The ride home, however, must have looked like the biggest freak show ever. The doctor put packing in my mouth, and ice bags in pantyhose, which were then tied around my head. Yeah. The image is glorious, is it not? Poor passenger me, with pantyhose around my head and swelling and the little bits of blood dripping from my mouth. I had one short moment of lucidity where I realized just how bad I must have looked.
Got home, and Momma put me to bed, right after shoving a pill down my throat and commanding me to swallow it. About four hours later, my bathroom needs overrode the powerful, chemically-induced desire to sleep, and I could see me in the mirror. Ick, people, ick ick ick. But what I remember most is the feeling that I was gnawing on my tongue. I didn't care; the Novocaine and Percocet ensured that. But curiosity got the best of me, so I opened my mouth in front of the bathroom mirror to see the cotton padding in my mouth.
And so I hollered out, as I am wont to do, "Mom! Momma! The doctor put tampons in my mouth! These are OBs!" And you know what? I honestly believe that's true.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Incurable Dork
I was considering making my boy a CD for Valentine's Day, but after talking to him, decided against it. He's not really a fan of my music anyway, and I'm afraid that my level of schmaltzing would be more than he could bear.
Instead, I'm making his CD for me! And I've named it Incurable Dork. Here's the track listing:
1. Kiss The Dirt - INXS
2. Ain't Nobody - Chaka Khan
3. London Rain - Heather Nova
4. Use Somebody - Kings of Leon
5. Come On Get Higher - Matt Nathanson
6. Starlight - Muse
7. Wonderwall - Oasis
8. 1, 2, 3, 4 - Plain White Ts
9. I Wanna Be Adored - Stone Roses
10. Love Story - Taylor Swift
See what I mean? This level of love song-ishness is most likely more than a straight man could bear. And I love him more than I want to torture him. But if you ever read this, baby, know that it was intended for you.
Instead, I'm making his CD for me! And I've named it Incurable Dork. Here's the track listing:
1. Kiss The Dirt - INXS
2. Ain't Nobody - Chaka Khan
3. London Rain - Heather Nova
4. Use Somebody - Kings of Leon
5. Come On Get Higher - Matt Nathanson
6. Starlight - Muse
7. Wonderwall - Oasis
8. 1, 2, 3, 4 - Plain White Ts
9. I Wanna Be Adored - Stone Roses
10. Love Story - Taylor Swift
See what I mean? This level of love song-ishness is most likely more than a straight man could bear. And I love him more than I want to torture him. But if you ever read this, baby, know that it was intended for you.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Creepy Message
Early this afternoon, I got online because I promised an email to my boy. The first thing I saw was a message from a Facebook 'friend'. I use the term loosely because that's how I define my Facebook additions. Pretty much, if you're interesting, found me before I actually decided how to use the account, or know enough people, I'll add you. So I saw that a 'friend' sent me a message.
Without reprinting the message (although it's tempting, it's awful enough for me to know it's on Facebook), a guy with whom I was acquainted when I was in high school essentially professed that he had always found me appealing. Please read into 'appealing' what you must without asking me for the exact terminology.
Really, folks, it skeeved me out. I was never interested in this guy, in fact, I knew there was something just off about him that kept me away.
Why would he write me such a message? There's a good chance that it came from, say, that one extra cocktail that we all rue, but there's also a chance that he just wanted me to know.
I really didn't need to know. Fortunately, the long shower, complete with exfoliation, helped, but it'll still take a day or two to get rid of that message entirely.
Guys: Don't do things like that. Promise?
Without reprinting the message (although it's tempting, it's awful enough for me to know it's on Facebook), a guy with whom I was acquainted when I was in high school essentially professed that he had always found me appealing. Please read into 'appealing' what you must without asking me for the exact terminology.
Really, folks, it skeeved me out. I was never interested in this guy, in fact, I knew there was something just off about him that kept me away.
Why would he write me such a message? There's a good chance that it came from, say, that one extra cocktail that we all rue, but there's also a chance that he just wanted me to know.
I really didn't need to know. Fortunately, the long shower, complete with exfoliation, helped, but it'll still take a day or two to get rid of that message entirely.
Guys: Don't do things like that. Promise?
Thursday, February 5, 2009
It Ain't Spring, But I'm Cleaning
After spending the last couple of days looking at my nasty carpet and the inchworm carcases on it, I finally decided today to get around to cleaning. As you know, I generally hate to clean, because it feels like a never-ending chore and because my splash of OCD means that EVERY SINGLE SURFACE MUST BE PERFECT. And I wish that applied only to horizontal surfaces.
So now, I may smell of Clorox Clean-Ups and Windex, but the place looks nice. I finally cleaned the patio windows; I'd not done that since I moved into this place. What came off said windows was alarming, and I'm fairly certain that an entire old, mature, massive tree made the ultimate sacrifice just so I can see outside the window. Even better, Biggs saw his reflection, got scared, and I have further proof that there'll be six more weeks of winter.
But really, folks, it wasn't just the inchworm-laden carpet that inspired me. As the date draws nearer for Momma to move out, I find that I want to re-take over my space. Part of this friendly takeover is a desire to be proud of my space. I wasn't cleaning because I didn't really want her to feel too welcome and settle in for the long haul. Now I know she's getting ready to go, and I think I found somewhere close enough and safe enough for her to live.
This means that my living room and kitchen are tidy. Even the icky old aluminum doors separating my kitchen from Bubbles and Fluffy are clean. The light switch and electric plugs covers are clean. (See above, OCD.) Tomorrow I will tackle the kitchen floor and the bathrooms. Then I will prance about my apartment listening to The Sparks and reveling in my work.
The office? That's a two-week project, but I'll get there.
So now, I may smell of Clorox Clean-Ups and Windex, but the place looks nice. I finally cleaned the patio windows; I'd not done that since I moved into this place. What came off said windows was alarming, and I'm fairly certain that an entire old, mature, massive tree made the ultimate sacrifice just so I can see outside the window. Even better, Biggs saw his reflection, got scared, and I have further proof that there'll be six more weeks of winter.
But really, folks, it wasn't just the inchworm-laden carpet that inspired me. As the date draws nearer for Momma to move out, I find that I want to re-take over my space. Part of this friendly takeover is a desire to be proud of my space. I wasn't cleaning because I didn't really want her to feel too welcome and settle in for the long haul. Now I know she's getting ready to go, and I think I found somewhere close enough and safe enough for her to live.
This means that my living room and kitchen are tidy. Even the icky old aluminum doors separating my kitchen from Bubbles and Fluffy are clean. The light switch and electric plugs covers are clean. (See above, OCD.) Tomorrow I will tackle the kitchen floor and the bathrooms. Then I will prance about my apartment listening to The Sparks and reveling in my work.
The office? That's a two-week project, but I'll get there.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Just Wait
As you may know, my boy is planning to attend law school. I've told him about my experiences, and given him advice, yet he still wants to do it.
To that end, he's been reading book after book about what law school is like, what to expect, what to do to get admitted.
He recently rented A Lawyer Walks Into A Bar, and apparently watched it recently. He told me about the stories presented. We moved our conversation about the movie to what it was like when people told me about others who failed, or failed and then passed. I told him that it never helped to hear about others' experiences, because taking the bar was all about me. He pointed out just how selfish I sounded. I laughed, if only because I know and he yet does not.
I finally said, "When you're there, you will pay for that comment."
Just wait...
To that end, he's been reading book after book about what law school is like, what to expect, what to do to get admitted.
He recently rented A Lawyer Walks Into A Bar, and apparently watched it recently. He told me about the stories presented. We moved our conversation about the movie to what it was like when people told me about others who failed, or failed and then passed. I told him that it never helped to hear about others' experiences, because taking the bar was all about me. He pointed out just how selfish I sounded. I laughed, if only because I know and he yet does not.
I finally said, "When you're there, you will pay for that comment."
Just wait...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
