The Haul

For the past few days, I've spent time with Momma and I've had a ball. Here is the photographic evidence:



This was an amazingly successful day at TJ Maxx and Target. Normally, I don't shop at TJ Maxx because I feel superior, but this day just might change my mind. From there, I got uber-preppy towels, Yankee Candles, and a basket set.

Next, we hit the Target, because we couldn't find curtains for my bedroom at the Maxx. Once there, we found the damn cutest thing:



I sent a copy to the boy, because he told me he could identify any monster. Bah! I've heard nothing back yet about what it is...

Momma and I looked over and over again for curtains. We started with a tribal print (yum!), then moved on to the energy-efficient section (who knew?), and finally reached the discount section. Despite my inner spoiledness, we decided on the cheaper curtains, and here's what they look like in my bedroom:



They're not black-and-white as the photo seems, but I caught the afternoon light.

The next day we went for Mexican (nom nom nom) and then to Barnes & Noble, where I got a present for my boy and more fun reading for me:



Can you guess which one is for him?

Oxytocin

Now that the trip's been postponed, I've been feeling a little down. My kilter's a bit off; I've been needy and clingy. I've needed the boy to reassure me more often than normal that he loves me.

(Aside: I get clingy and needy because I've had a lot of close friends drop out of my life. At this point, I'm kinda accustomed to it, as sad as that sounds. So I expect people to leave, and probably, folks, I create a self-fulfilling prophesy. But that's a story for another time.)

Being away from him is really hard. We're as close as two people can be who can't actually lay eyes on each other. I was getting so excited to be able to watch him and touch him and just feel his energy around me. Having that taken away shook me. So last night, after I told him that I had an interview today, I asked, "Honey, if I'm good, and get this job, and work hard and save my money, can I please come see you in September?" He said yes - in fact, he seemed a little taken aback. I think he forgets that it was his idea to postpone the trip.

My Facebook status last night was something to the effect of needing an oxytocin fix. Not Oxycontin, the drug, but oxytocin, the bonding hormone. Because I really do need it, folks, I need the feeling I get when I'm physically near him.

So we wait for September and keep our fingers crossed that I got this job!

Postponed

Hey folks, my vacation has been postponed and needless to say, I'm sad and upset. There's just no money right now. The boy and I are both strapped and trying to survive on crumbs. I could get the money together to go, but he really can't, and he's justifyibly proud. Also, one person paying for everything throws off the power dynamic, and it's even worse if it's the woman doing all the paying. For better or for worse, the boy and I can be pretty traditional about such things.

I can't help but worry what will happen to us now. To us as poor individuals, but also to the "us". It takes lesser things to break people apart, and from what I understand, money can just ruin everything. It's so hard to talk about and it's so close to the forefront of my mind...

Sorry for the ramble. I needed to get this off my chest but I need to get to my temp job so I don't have time to edit and polish this post.

More Random

Here's some more weirdness you may not have known about me:

1. I collect toiletries. I've got something like three kinds of antiperspirant, two kinds of hair gel, four bags of cotton balls....I've always been like this and I don't know why. To make up for it, I bought more shampoo, shower gels, and face washes today.

2. I listen to music almost obscenely loudly when I drive. There's a noise ordinance in this town, and I'm amazed that I've not yet been ticketed. I also seem to turn it louder after I've cleaned my ears, and have spent more than one day pretending I could understand what another person was saying.

3. I find it difficult to get rid of things. I've got every love letter I've ever received, I keep just about every CD, and it pains me every time my answering machine fills up and I have to delete voice messages.

4. Related to #4: One of my phones has just everyone on caller ID. The one in my bedroom has only calls from my boy. And wow, I can't believe I told you that.

5. I have a favorite parking space at my complex, and it really bothers me when someone else takes it. It especially bothers me when the lady with the pro-life car tag parks there.

6. I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out how to fill up my day. People, twenty-four hours is a lot of hours when you've really not got much to do. I wish I were more motivated; I'd clean this whole place from top to bottom or write a novel or something. But instead, I'm lazing about.

7. Even after over a year, it makes me heart skip a beat to see the boy's number on my caller ID.

Proof Of My Ineptitude

Considering that I'm been cramming my relationship down your collective throat, I thought I'd change the topic briefly. Tonight when I got home, I got online to look up some work I need to do, and well, let's be honest, play on Facebook.

There's this high-pitched chirp coming from the smoke detector in my office. I listened to it again and again, stared at it meanly, and then hollered at it for a while. Finally, I decided that I'm smarter than it, so I grabbed a chair from the kitchen set, climbed up, and tried to open the thing. I wasn't sure what I would do once it was open, but I figured that something would come to me.

I can't open the damn thing. I can't tell if the device twists, if the bendy part isn't working, or if I'm a moron. So I got back down and glared some more. Once again, dirty looks proved ineffective, so I got back on the chair and pushed the red button. Suddenly the chirp became a long tone, so I hit the button again and the detector squealed again. I hit it one last time, got off the chair, and ran away.

Now, the detector is chirping, and I'm getting ready to wait it out.

Smoke Detector: 1.
Me: 0.

It's The Way He Says It

It took me about three months to get the boy to tell me that he loves me, about another two months to get him to say it each time we got off the phone for our last conversation for the night, about three more months to say it in public, and only recently does he say it just about every time we end conversations. (For the record, we talk at least twice a day, and usually, four or five times.)

I don't think that's too strange; I tell Wade and she tells me me, "I love you" when we talk, and B. and I regularly exchange love. (Not like that, you perverts.)

Still, there's nothing better than when the boy and I are talking, and he, almost mindlessly, says to me, "I love you I love you I love you." It's almost like he's just breathing, it's such a part of him now, I'm such a part of him now, that it's unconscious, an essential fact. He'll say it when he's looking for a particular word or a good segue to our next topic. Used to be, he'd hum the Simpsons theme when mentally searching, now, it's, "I love you".

I am spoiled by this one.

Snippet

Here's a bit of my conversation this morning with the boy:

Him: I'm hungry.

Me: Me too. But I just got on the scale, so no food for me.

Him: (Sigh).

Me: No, it's good. I'm down two pounds.

Him: Do you want to know how I lost thirty pounds in ten minutes?

Me: Tapeworm?

Him: Chainsaw.

Sorry, ladies, this one's mine, all mine, and I'm keeping him.

It's How I Roll

The past few days have had some difficult moments. The boy and I have been arguing with each other. We're not arguing about problems we have within us, but with situations we cannot control and are more external. So I guess arguing isn't the correct term. Hell, I don't know. What I do know is that we both want control and we both to be right and we both need acclaim.

Tonight, he was telling me about arguments, true arguments, that he's had with other women. Apparently they could get quite heated, and in one particular situation, he was afraid that a neighbor would call the cops.

I told him that that's not what I do. I said, "I'm more likely to walk away, to shut down and just get away from the situation. But I wonder, do I not have enough drama for you?" Because honestly, folks, it takes a lot of work (and not an inconsiderable amount of alcohol) to get me to really confront someone. I don't fight fairly; I fight to win. And for the most part, I inevitably do.

He told me, "Just walk away. And can we not talk about fighting anymore?"

Let's all keep our fingers crossed while I'm there.

I Think I'm Healed Now

Saturday was a good day. I made plans to hang with A., who's all sorts of knocked up and never tires of me telling her, "You're knocked up!" (I'm sure that will never get old.) So I hopped into the shower, cursing myself for making plans at 11am, when I should still be in bed. While doing the final rinse, the power went out. This forced two thoughts into my head: 1) It's really dark in here; and 2) Wow, I hope my water isn't heated by electricity. Fortunately, my water is not heated by electricity, and I was able to make it to A.'s house with clean hair and cuerpo. I'm pretty sure that "conditioner in hair" is not my best look.

Anyhoo... we played video games! My inner 14-year-old boy came out and there was much smack talk and victory dances in her house. We played tennis and golf and bowling on the Wii, and then the real guns came out - Rock Band, baby. I'd never played before and although I really, really, monumentally SUCK at it (I mean it, I am the suck at it) I had a ball. Now I want one. I don't know what kind of system I'll need, or who I'll have to kill for the money, but I want one.

(I damn near invited myself to spend the night at her house just so I could continue playing. Luckily, my senses came to me and I remembered that I am not 14 anymore and cannot just invite myself places.)

The only downside to my day o'fun was the pain in my hands for the next two days as I recovered from what we shall now refer to as RockBandHand. My left hand looked like I was permanently holding an orange. And it hurt, people, it really did. But it was worth it to ruin songs that I used to like with my bad bass playing.

In Which I Knew Momma And I Were Related

Today, being Mother's Day and all, I took my Momma out for brunch. She was so cute when I called her last night to invite her. She acted cool, but I knew that she thought that I was only going to send a card and then call her today. Bah! Although living with her didn't, let's say, end so well, I love her.

So we got to the restaurant, got on the list, and did some shopping while we waited. Once we missed our pager, got back on the list, got seated, and then ate, this conversation ensued:

Woman and daughter walked into restaurant and were seated next to us. I could see said woman before Momma, and saw that she had had some "work" done:

Me: Mom, I wish that woman were sitting in the other chair so you could see what her surgeon did to her face.

Momma: Oh, I can see it now. Oh.

Me: I know, right?

Momma: You should give her your card.

Me: Mom! That would be so rude! Kinda like, "I see that you've had some work done. Let me know if you want to sue your surgeon."

Momma: Well, you see her!

Me: And imagine what her daughter thinks. She thinks that looks good! How many years of therapy will that take?

Both: (snicker)

Dear CNN,

Well, not all of CNN, but in particular, the morning segments of CNN. I've got something you need to know. While you get to decide what is the MOST IMPORTANT news of the day and repeat the stories ad nauseam, I get to read the news feed at the bottom to see what else is going on. However, as of late, there's one small problem in our mutually beneficial relationship - you've stopped scrolling stories across my screen. Instead, you inundate me with invitations to join you on Facebook or follow you on Twitter.

Look - Facebook is a time- and CPU-intensive waste of my morning. Therefore, I will not join your group or friend you or whatever else you want me to do. As for Twitter? If I wanted to follow someone/something whose sole purpose was to link to pages on its website, I'd follow all those bots as well. Because that's all you are - a bot.

So cut the crap, CNN, and let me use my twenty minutes or so watching you to tell me what else is going on in the world, and stop being so damn self-congratulatory.

Love and kisses,
Christine

P.S. - I love Robin Meade. She's the perfect combination of cheer and friendliness and good anchor. She's the anti-Katie. Give her a big raise.

Asides

Here's the world in my eyes for today:

- I got a temp job, was pretty stoked at the idea of getting up at 6am and joining the working world. By the time I'd showered and was putting on makeup, the agency called to tell me that the client cancelled the job. Yes, only I can get a job and lose it within one hour.

- I'm so freaking hungry I could eat paint.

- Mother's Day is Sunday, right?

- Tomorrow I'm to attend a meeting to potentially establish a law academy in one of the local high schools, the one where Momma teaches. OK. I thought it'd be interesting and a good opportunity for the kids. And hell, if I can teach just one to not yell, "But I've got First Amendment rights!" when complaining about something not related to a State action, I think my work here on Earth is done. But a few minutes ago I got an email from Momma asking me to give "a little presentation" on what areas of Constitutional Law to teach. Ruh-roh. Ummm...I am not a teacher by trade, and I have no idea what to teach, or in what order to teach it. Momma's suggestion was to start with Hammurabi's Code and go to the present. Can I tell you what I know of Hammurabi's Code? Well, folks, I just did. Also, are we teaching law or teaching the history of law? Because these are very different animals. So now a meeting that I've been interested in attending has just become a roundtable on "How Much Christine Does Not Know About Law: Part One." I might wear stripper heels just to make me feel more powerful.

That's It, I'm Banning Sundays

We're now about five weeks away from my vacation to see my baby. I cannot tell you how excited I am about this. I cannot tell you how scared I am of this. I just want everything to go so well; I want us to enjoy each other's company and explore the city.

I'm scared of expectations - the ones I put on myself, on him, on us, really. I'm scared that the chemistry we have no won't look the same while I'm there. I'm scared of overstaying my welcome. Ten days is a long time to be around someone without a break. I've been trying to focus on consciously limiting my expectations. I keep learning, and re-learning, that expectations are generally what makes things go bad. "You should've known..." is about the worst thing to say to another person. I've got to remember to be upfront and clear about what I think and feel. I've got to remember to not take everything so personally.

I'm not an expert at it, but I can let many things people say to me slide. But for some reason, his words hold more import to me; his tones of voice tell me volumes. And this is the hard part of a long-distance relationship: I know, through intonations and word choices, what he thinks and feels. What I don't know as well are his facial expressions and body language. So I wonder if he really meant it when he told me that he was glad I went out last night because he needed a break from me.

Gawd, even typing that, I feel like an idiot. I know it's not a big deal, I know we talk more often than even most best friends or family members. But it still stings a little. I also know that we'll talk tonight and everything will feel normal again. But that's how I feel right now, weak and a little bit lost.

Aside: This was a very differently-intended post. How did I get here?

Poem

Via, this poem by Carol Ann Duffy, which perfectly describes my feelings for my boy.

Words Wide Night

Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.

This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.

La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine
the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you and this

is what it is like or what it is like in words.

Carol Ann Duffy

Premonition

My boy and I have been talking about his future plans. He's going to finish up his formal schooling, and is considering a run for office one day. I think this is a great idea as he's brilliant and opinionated and idealistic, and we all know how tell that'll pan out as a member of Congress.

Still, I tell him that if he really decides that this is the path he wants, then I will ensure that he gets there. It goes like this, "He's the king and I'm the kingmaker." I don't have any strong pull towards politics myself, but I do fancy the idea of running a campaign, branding his message, and seeing what he could do while holding the office. I wonder if it'll change his mind when we debate the appropriateness of respecting the office, even if you don't respect the officeholder.

So in my interwebs travels today, I came across Mike Monteiro's blog. And on this page, I found the below image:



The likeness is striking, as is the attitude. I can't stop looking at that picture. It really is like a premonition of what is to come. Now I know we can win.