Schmaltz

You didn't think you'd get more than a post or two away from another story about the boy, did you?  Thank goodness, because I didn't want to raise your hopes much.

PS - Feel free to read this while listening to Rush - just so you can have the whole writer experience as well.  Thank goodness you won't know exactly when to pause and sing out loud.

Last night I was explaining to the boy about my (perchance monthly) desire to overload in chocolate.  "I crave something sweet," I explained.  He said, "If you need something sweet, call me."

Awwww...  I mean really....awwww....

He sensed that, and backtracked like any normal man would.  "Umm...you know what I mean...I'm not..."

Yes, dear.  Yes, I know. 

This lead into a conversation about change and expectations, and sheesh, kid, I've known you for more than twenty years.  Do you think I'd ever want to change you?  (I mean, except for the coaster thing.)

Today I checked my email and saw that he emailed me his Christmas list.  The last item on his list?  8.  You!

Awwww... I mean really....awwww....

It's That Time Again

Ever year I post my Christmas present list.  So here we go - it being after Thanksgiving and all:

1.  Digital camera.  It needs to have image stabilization, due to my damneded shaky hands.
2.  Socks.  I love love love these socks.  Remember when we were kids and hated getting these as gifts?  I guess this is glory of getting older.
3.  Sheets.  I only have two sets, and apparently a very strong EB - Bubbles II, Electric Bugaloo.  So a new set would be lovely.
4.  Amazon.com gift card.  If only because I can hear my IP professor in my head, telling that that "acquiring" music is very very wrong.
5.  Target gift card.  C'mon; a girl's gotta eat!
6.  Cosmedicine.  No-one can afford the Kinerase that my sister got me, and this brand has also been a godsend.
7.  Makeup brushes.  I forgot my blush brush while I was in Seattle and used a paint brush of the boy's while I was there.  80s makeup much?  We looked in Sephora for a new brush, and sweet-holy-anything-unholy were they pricey there.
8.  O Magazine renewal.  Last year Amazon offered a subscription for a year for five dollars.  I got addicted to the positivity of the magazine, but can't afford the renewal.
9.  House clothes.  By which I mean, yoga pants, fun T-shirts - things I'd never leave the house wearing, but wear around the house like crazy.

An addendum to this year's list - this is the boy's list, for those of you who might care:

1.  The Thai - I tell you, the boy can cook.
2.  Anthony Bourdain books - see #1 above.  (I think he'd prefer the newer ones.)
3.  Glen Goldberg recordings, preferably the more recent Bach.
4.  10" nonstick skillet - I was kinda surprised by this one, if only because he tends to be a purist who uses cast-iron cookware.  But you know what?  Sometimes making breakfast with more modern cookware just makes life easier.

Merry Christmas!  May all of our money trees bloom and bloom and bloom.

We've Had This Conversation Before

I miss writing.  I wonder how much I should say, like how annoyed I am at the boy's "illness", or even more, how annoyed at I am Momma.

OK - let's go.

About twenty years ago, I had a best friend named Christina.  I got a call one morning that Christina had been in a very serious car accident, and that the doctors weren't sure she would make it.  Would I come, her sister asked me.

Where the hell else would I be?  I got up and grabbed Momma's car keys (I didn't own one at the time) and got ready to go the hospital, full of fear.  Momma said to me, "You don't need to go.  This is something for her family, and they'll let you know."

Man, I got hot.  I felt betrayed by Momma - did she even have any friends?  Did she not know that my soulmate, the woman with whom I fought and loved more than many couples ever do, was maybe-no-ohsweetchrist - in surgery?

I just looked at her and got out the door.  I'm so glad I did, although the sight of my friend with a head swollen to double its normal size eventually brought me to my knees.

(I'm shortening this story - it's a tough one to tell - so please bear with me.)

I like to think I was an integral part of Christina's recovery.  While she was in the coma, the only voice she'd respond to was mine.  When she awoke, she would only do physical therapy exercises if I were in the room.

So when another close friend had a crisis a bit ago, and I had to shorten (I didn't really shorten it) a visit to my folk's place so I could take care of her, my Momma said, "Doesn't she have a mother?"

This friend is family.  I don't care the reason.  I don't care that she didn't need me after all.  But I am there, any time, every time.

Good news - both friends are fine, as far as I know (Christina and I no longer keep in touch).

Thanksgiving

It took a lot, but I managed to pull myself out of my place at about 10:30, after the Will & Grace marathon ended.  Yeah, I still watch that show.  I go through phases, however - sometimes I think it's incredibly funny and sometimes it gets old.

I made it to the folks' place, and we sat and read through the black Friday ads and debated the merits of my mood when I wake up (bad) and the deals at Wal-Mart tomorrow morning.  Pro:  TVs are incredibly cheap.  Pro:  My very very very bad mood would make me able to hip-check anyone who gets in my way.  Con:  Limited quantities.  Con:  Lack of joust.

Momma had already set the table:

We started cooking a while later:

Our menu was lasagna, Yukon Gold potatoes with fresh green beans, real cranberry sauce (go Momma!), stuffing (out of a box, and never ever the wet kind), spring salad, and cranberry bread.

Wanna see?

Dinner was delicious - just enough food to not get overtired or cranky, and Momma let me raid the pantry for cookies, dried apricots, and leftovers.

But four hours was enough time.  By the time I had loaded the car with remnants of my adolescence, an extra Christmas tree, lights, and decorations, we were all starting to snipe at each other.

So I'll put this holiday squarely in the win column.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

Keep This Up, And I'll Have A Tree Up Next Year By Halloween

So the boy and I have decided to host Christmas dinner for my folks and his at my parents' place.  My parents have a house that was born for entertaining - it was pretty much my Momma's dream house, and she waited years upon years to have such a place.  This is a good excuse for Momma to harass my dad into doing more housework as well.

(She got him a vacuum for his birthday, and apparently things are looking up over there.)

I'm looking forward for my folks to see what an amazing cook the boy is.  He did promise me that I'd be recruited into helping, and I'm totally down with that.  Even if he is, as he puts it, a complete Nazi in the kitchen.

So this will be the first gift we give as a couple (a poor, poor broke couple) - a delicious meal for both of our parents.  I'm so looking forward to this that I'm almost excited for Christmas this year.

My plans for the holidays are to have my own tree, to force us out of the bed at some gawdawful hour on Christmas morning so we can get to his niece and nephews' place to open presents, to have some family time, to celebrate the "us", and, most importantly, have the boy and me home by seven-ish so we can enjoy some quality time dreaming under the tree.

Bet you thought I was going to say some kind of different quality time.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Don't Tell Anyone

Yes, I am an attorney.  No, I don't often write about it.  Yes, I have very strong opinions.  Yes, there's a very good chance that I'll kick your ass in a debate.

I do get annoyed at people who ask me for legal advice as if they deserve it.  It's almost like they think, "Hey!  I knew her back in the day, so clearly she can answer all my questions!"

I cannot.  I have a couple of specialities, which aren't making me as much money as I'd like, but hope springs eternal. 

Still, the questions I get are 1) so far out of my range of practice and 2) so clearly not winners.

No-one will take your case without money.  MONEY, people.  The practice of law is certainly a business.  You think I was giddy to be a quarter of a million of dollars in debt?

So, I will introduce a new rule:  You get two questions.  That's two, with a capital 2.

So, anyone need some help?

Trust Me When I Tell You It'll Get Worse

So now my entire family knows that the boy and I are engaged.  My brother was (more than) a bit upset at being the last to know in the immediate family.  The thing is, he and I were so close, and then the war of 2007 happened, and it's been hard to get as close again.

Telling him made me so happy.  And I guarantee to keep my promise to him, that the very first invite I address will be to my brother and his family.

I saw the boy's parents today while I picked up pseudo-niece and they seemed so pleased.  Not excited, so much, but calm.  Like they already know my presence and know that the boy and I are well-matched.  I find this amazing and exciting and fun and ...honestly, I can't think of another adjective.

This year the boy and I are combining presents and cards and all that holiday stuff.  Do you know what this means to me?

It means that it's real, and he's in as 100% as I am.

Ready For More Cheese?

Things I will never tire of hearing:

1.  I love you.
2.  No, I really, really love you.
3.  I'm in love with you.
4.  Saying "wedding" is scary.
5.  I don't want to get used to this feeling.
6.  I miss you.
7.  I cannot wait to see you again.
8.  I thought of you when...
9.  I told my parents, and they're so excited.
10.  You're getting your own ring.
11.  Wife.

So it's true, I've got wedding-itis.  But I need help with all of this.  Help, please?

OK, OK, I'm In The Mood

Because I got a comment on my last post, and because the boy just called me, and oh, yeah, I promised, here's the photographic proof of my trip to Seattle...

I do love the overpriced cupcake place - even though they refused to ship me cupcakes:

Lavender, triple threat chocolate, salted caramel, and Kate.  Yes, Kate.  I'm guessing it was for breast cancer research.  And this is what I call breakfast.

We also went to Alki, which is right on the bay, and had fabulous foods and drinks.  Because it was such a lovely day, and because I love sticking an appendage of mine into the water:

It was COLD!  But the tide was coming in, and it danced around us, and I couldn't resist.  We walked down the shore, hand in hand, looking for sea lions and seals:

Of course we used our eyes, but we thought we might have a cheat.  And we might have, had this telescope not been broken.  That would've been nice to know before I dropped a quarter into it (laundry!).
After scoping out the real estate, and dreaming of a bay-side condo that only cost $1600/month (including parking!) we decided to take the water taxi home.

If I didn't tell you how much I love water, you know now.

The shipping yard.  Substantially more astounding in person - there are crates the size of fields, all labelled with Chinese characters. 

On the opposite side of the shipping yard, here's the view of Seattle - and the Needle - and quite possibly, the Real World house.  I might have annoyed the heck of out the boy as I tried to figure out which quay was the house of stupidity.

On the ceiling of the taxi, there was safety first!  Considering it was only a twenty-minute ride, I wasn't too nervous.  Also, the taxi conductors were having cocktails, so I kept getting more and more relaxed.

Ready for more personal shots?  Me too!

My supplies stay behind his, so we can sort them out by touch when we're up early.  Also, he's quite tidy.

Half-off glass-drawing pen?  Don't mind if he does!  I don't think he meant the outline to really be Conan, but it's how it seemed to me.  You?

Finally, a bit of cuteness:

Going back, hopefully, over our birthdays (in March).

So This Is How He Did It

Two Sundays past, I was sitting with the boy in his bathroom.  I know, romantic.  But convenient, as that is the only place where we smoke.  (Ewww!  Lungs!  Badness!!  Pictures on cigarette packs!!)  We were talking about everything and nothing.  The boy asked me again for my ring...

I wear my mother's engagement ring on my ring finger, and have for a few years now.

In trips past, the boy has occasionally asked for it and tried it on.  I figured he was 1) weirded out that I wore such a thing and 2) sizing my ring finger.

He asked for it, and I handed it over.  This time, he slipped down onto one knee, looked up at me, and said, "Christine, will you be my wife?"  I said, "Yes," and he put the ring on my finger.  Then we both looked at each other.  And then I said, "Do it again!"

So he took back the ring and asked, "Will you marry me?"  I replied, "I'd be honored," and he put the ring on my finger again.  We left the bathroom.

Sitting near his computer, I asked him to do it again.  This time, he merely put the ring on my finger.  We watched each other.

I know, right?

And in the time-honored tradition of couples everywhere, once we decided to marry each other, we watched porn.

By Now You Think I'm A Big Ol' Liar

I just got home last night, and while I was wired for sound, I couldn't make myself write.  Mostly because I knew I'd be up for hours writing you stories about just how fabulous a time the boy and I had together.

Preview:  There was kneeling.

I do have pictures, many, from this trip, and I cannot wait to show them to you.  So if I don't get my sweet self in gear and get them posted by Friday night, I give you pure permission to troll my site.

(Please don't be a troll.)

Water taxis.  Views of the bay that would make you cry (if you love water like I do).  Delicious food.  A first date for the boy and me (yes, we've known each other twenty-one years, but we had a first official date).  Irish pubs with football.  Bookstores.  Shopping. 

And if you're all nice to me, and I feel brave, I just might post a photo of me kissing the boy.

Caution: Euphemisms Ahead

The boy lives in a complex which has friendly neighbors, and is seemingly a place where everyone’s involved in the well-being of the whole place. This complex, you should know, also has exceedingly thin walls.

I think you can tell where this story is headed.

Since my arrival, the boy and I have been getting “reacquainted”. Often. With varying degrees of vocal self-modulation. This bit of information should come as no surprise to any of you, say, over the age of sixteen.

So the other morning we were relaxing on the futon and there was a knock on his door.

Background: The boy has a neighbor here who is from one of the former Soviet republics, and she certainly dresses and acts the part. She is impeccably groomed and has that look about her – do you know that look? The one that says, “Yes, I am friendly woman. Now hand me your cash.” I’ve met her in passing a couple of times, and while she will greet me with words, she will never look at me. She’s actually invited the boy out for coffee and a “chat” while I’m standing next to him. Needless to say, this invite did not extend to me.

I bet you can imagine how much I like this woman.

Background aside: Last night I told the boy that the reason I don’t like her is because she’s predatory. Her predatory nature brings out my possessive side. While I have no doubt she could maim me pretty badly, everything in me wants to shove her four-inch heels down the stairwell, while screaming at her, “BACK OFF! HE’S NOT FOR YOU!”

Back to the story: Said neighbor was knocking, and wanted to discuss with the boy something related to the care and upkeep of the complex. He politely pointed out that he was not “prepared to welcome guests”. “That’s OK,” she said, with a tone that I took to mean that she was planning to come in anyway. I wrapped myself up in a comforter and prepared for the onslaught, but the boy managed to send her away with half-hearted promises to call her later. (I swear to Christmas, she asked for a time for “later”.)

Walking back to the boy’s door earlier in the evening last night, I noticed another door next to his which I had not noticed before. “I didn’t know that someone lived next to you,” I remarked. “Oh, yeah,” he replied. “That’s where [Former Soviet Republic Woman] lives.”

Squee!! I could not be happier to inflict on this woman pure, absolute knowledge that the boy is with ME.