I Hear They're Small

The boy and I are discussing kids, the state of our upcoming marriage, laughing, making out, being happy.

Well, we were, but now I'm here, writing to you, and he's in the living room talking to his upstairs neighbor.

All I know is this - it's raining softly, I've got my music, and my boy is apparently convincing his neighbor that he matters.  Damn holiday depression.

Regardless of all, I want you to know that I appreciate you taking the seconds to read my foolishness, and occasionally telling me your thoughts, and I look forward to another year of telling you about my life.

Kisses.  I love you.  Be well.

Dinner At Tim's

If you've never had the privilege of eating at Tim's Cajun Kitchen, do yourself a favor and get the hell down here right now and eat delicious Cajun food.

(Yes, I've been spending a lot of time with the boy.  That should explain my channeling his speech pattern in the previous sentence.)

A while back, I was telling the boy about my buddy Ward and just what a cool friend Ward is.  The boy, never prone to jealousy in words, told me that this was one of my friends that he never wanted to meet.  I never really understood why - I could only assume that he doesn't like me talking too much about my guy friends.

Last night, Ward and I decided to meet for dinner with a few of his friends.  "Are you gonna bring your fella?" he asked me, in his inimitable Southern accent.  "I don't know; I'll ask him," I said.

Telling the boy that I was meeting old college friends for dinner, I asked if he'd like to join us.  "Hell YA!" was his response, since he's fallen in love with Tim's after I took him there last summer.

So the boy and Ward finally met.  And, (unsurprisingly to anyone who's not me) they got along pretty well.  They got each other's esoteric literary and vocabularic (is that a word?) references.  There were no hugs, but the boy's, "Good to meet you, man!" was true.

Ring The Alarm

A few days ago, the boy told me that the ring he intended to get for me that was a family heirloom was just not...good.  The conversation went something like this:

Him:  I saw the rings today.
Me:  Yeah?
Him: Mmmmm.....
Me:  Yeah?
Him:  Not what I thought...
Me:  Yeah?
Him:  It's dented and well...
Me:  Yeah?
Him:  I don't think it's a real diamond.
Me:  Oh.

So there's some truth for you - diamonds matter.  They do.  To me.

I know we don't have a lot of money, so when Cita texted to ask me about my bling, I told her that I didn't think I was getting any.  It's OK, I told her.

Uh-huh.  We both know me, right?  But of course I love the boy more than I love jewelry.

Mostly.

Last night, I told the boy that the ring I currently wear, Momma's engagement ring, was not given to her when she got engaged, but was given a few years after my folks got married.  It's true, and I didn't want the boy to feel badly for not giving me the ring.

He told me to look for a present that he had hidden for me - it was under the couch.  It was a bottle of wine we had on our date, called Dulce Cristina.  I was amazed and so happy.

I turned with it in my hand, to thank him, and then I saw something sparkly.  And then I noticed that he was on one knee.  And then he asked me again to marry him, and he put the ring on my finger.



And I love it.  And I love him.

Later I told him that he must like it, 'cos he put a ring on it.

Want Witty? Look To Your Left

The other night I spent forever on the phone with my sister and my sister-in-law.  Who apparently loathe each other.  That was fun.

I spent tonight on the phone with my soon-to-be-inlaws and family.  So, does this mean I'm in?

The boy tells me that the ring he's planned for me is sub-par.  I hope this means that he's saving for one for US, because as I love my Momma's ring, I want one that's ours.

I spoke with the boy's Momma, his niece, his brother-in-law, and him tonight.  Good, but to be honest, sometimes a lot.

Plans for tomorrow include removing the chapstick on the mirror, vacuuming, dusting, shopping for pseudo-niece, then picking up said to finish my shopping.  Then getting the boy after all and perhaps collapsing.

Next day is Christmas Eve.

Blah Blah Patience Blah Blah

I'm sitting here, waiting for enough time to go by so I can get into the shower and get ready to get the boy from the airport.  Waiting for American Airlines to get off its tucus and get the plane in the air.  The plane that, the boy told me, drove in circles a few times on the runway before finally deigning to come to the gate.  The warm, welcoming gate where passengers can disembark and the boy can finally get on his and come home.

American Airlines - you and I need to have a conversation.  It was bad enough that you messed up my trip to Seattle last summer and made me lose a day with the boy.  Because of you, I may never go to Houston again (sorry Wade!).  But to make the boy miss a flight that was delayed by thirty minutes because his train broke down and he was fifteen minutes late to the gate and you told him that he had to check in thirty minutes early is just cruel.  Let's do some quick math, k?  Fifteen minutes plus thirty minutes equals forty-five minutes, which falls well into your thirty-minute-before-flight-check-in policy.

Even worse, you made him claim his luggage at O'Hare and spend the night in the airport with his luggage, outside the security gate, because you refused to let him re-check him bag until 4:30am.  So he was stuck with all his valuables in an unguarded area overnight.

Aside:  One of few useful things about the TSA is that at least the boy would have been safe.

Now, he's finally sitting on a tarmac in a puddle-jumper at O'Hare and I JUST WANT HIM HOME ALREADY.

And for what it's worth, I like United better anyway.

Intro To Parenting

On Friday I took Biggs over to my folks' place, in readiness for PaintFest 2010.  He can't help but be curious, and he'd follow around people and brushes and he'd try to mark the paint.  Biggs has a strong, strong habit of rubbing his little cat-lips against corners.  Can you imagine how much paint he would've ingested?  I believe I'm mentioned before that Biggs is gorgeous, but not that smart.  Not smart enough to stay away from delicious wet paint.

Momma told me Saturday that Biggs was having a glorious time, and that he and Bridget (Momma's cat) were getting on just fine.  I was only just beginning to feel the pangs of loneliness.

Yesterday Momma told me that he's not pulling out and eating his fur, that he's taken over Bridget's bed, and that he's generally enjoying the rock-star life of a fifteen-year-old cat.

You know, each time I go away, my folks keep him, and he always has fun.  So much fun that he runs from me when I come to pick him up.  So I've wondered if it would be in his best interest to just live over there.

I want what's best for the Gato Mas Fino, and I know that my bad habits and occasional bad mood are not creating the best environment for him.  I know he deserves more than me, and I agreed to let him stay with my folks until Saturday.

But I miss my little face like crazy.  I miss him so much it hurts.  I keep looking down for him.  I don't like coming home from work because there's no-one here to greet me.  I cried to the boy yesterday about this.  I don't know what to do.  I want him with me.  I want to be a better cat-friend to him.  But I know me and I am weak and I am not ready to change all my bad habits.

So what do I do?

Reminder

For the past few days weeks months, I've been lost in finding my direction.  I've been reactive, for sure, you've all seen that.  But today I had a luncheon about tax repercussions for the various ways lawyers incorporate themselves, and that really helped.

What helped much more, though, was time I spent with Jamie.  (She said I could use her name!)  Despite the ways we got to this place, we're in the same one, finding out how to actually practice law.

Talking with her, feeling comfortable about all the things we discussed, reminded me of why I do what I do and kinda gave me the ass-kicking I needed to refocus.

Also, spending a few hours around colleagues helps as well.  That time spent makes me put on my best game face.

Time around Jamie lets me feel free to explore it.