Ever need a world-release? Ever think you're the most important in the world?
Today I handled some not-correctly-applied passive aggression, wondering about Momma's health, thinking about supporting two households for the time being, news that a friend lost a baby, balancing that against a seventeen-year-old's need, and then finally, talking with my Great Aunt Ruth.
I can carry a whole lot - in fact, sometimes I think I excel at it until I don't, and then I fail miserably - but some days are just a reason to watch bad TV and dream of freedom.
Speaking of freedom, the other night I called GPOM and told him that sometimes I have the desire to run. Just run. Run to anywhere. Just be gone. I told him that maybe we could get a thirty-mile island, so that I'd know he was around, but far enough away that I wouldn't go the fifteen miles to meet him.
He said, "I'd walk it to get to you."
Finally, I exhaled, ready for another round.
PS - Cita's baby is well, alive, and apparently a prude. Won't show off the goods!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Yay!
This is post #667. Wow.
Anyway, GPOM and I are incredibly huge silly fans of the movie Bruno, to the point where any part of it becomes a weird inside joke. So isn't it fitting that Sacha Baron Cohen's movie will be released just about one month after the wedding? Thanks, Sacha. You will make our marriage yet.
Anyway, GPOM and I are incredibly huge silly fans of the movie Bruno, to the point where any part of it becomes a weird inside joke. So isn't it fitting that Sacha Baron Cohen's movie will be released just about one month after the wedding? Thanks, Sacha. You will make our marriage yet.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Pressure
May I rant? I'm feeling quite overwhelmed. I'm working. I'm inviting new clients to decide if they want me to represent them. I'm planning a wedding, for the love of Pete. I'm dealing with other peoples' interests more than I am with mine.
It's generally what I do, until I break down and freak out and scare/alienate the piss out of people. I'm tired, as well. Have I mentioned that I'm tired? Have I mentioned how much I hate sleeping alone and not being protected from the world? Have I mentioned that if I'm lucky, I get four straight-through hours of sleep each night?
But I get up every day, like we all do, and carry on, wearing the mask (slippery) and engaging.
I know this is going to sound ultra-super-astoundingly self-centered, but the question remains:
When is it my turn?
It's generally what I do, until I break down and freak out and scare/alienate the piss out of people. I'm tired, as well. Have I mentioned that I'm tired? Have I mentioned how much I hate sleeping alone and not being protected from the world? Have I mentioned that if I'm lucky, I get four straight-through hours of sleep each night?
But I get up every day, like we all do, and carry on, wearing the mask (slippery) and engaging.
I know this is going to sound ultra-super-astoundingly self-centered, but the question remains:
When is it my turn?
Saturday, January 15, 2011
$900
Momma and I have been talking about makeovers for a while now. I'll be frank - I've not learned new tricks since 2009, just before the first time I went to visit GPOM. From that consultation, I became a devotee of both facial and eyeshadow primer - however ineffective both are in the treacherous humidity of Alabama summers. Up in the Northwest, both work great!
Aside: GPOM and I will have separate bathrooms always, because I alarm him with the vittles I bring to put on my face. I only brought a fraction!
I sat in the chair at the Chanel counter first, and Momma watched as the saleslady began to make me up/over. It wasn't long until Momma got her own sales consultant who, despite the need to cater to every wandering customer as she worked on Momma, made Momma's eyes some of the deepest blue I've ever seem.
Aside: Momma has grey eyes, and I've always been jealous.
Once I got past the weirdness of someone else drawing on my eyeliner, and my eyes recovered (an even worse propostion - it looked like I was about to cry for a few minutes), I saw something new in me. Cheekbones! Light off the bones under my eyes! A lipstick that my mouth has been crying for for about three years! Even more cat-shaped eyes!
Even more cat-shaped eyes. I never thought that possible.
I fell in love, as did Momma, and we checked off items we wanted from our consultants.
Aside: Note that they're now consultants.
Our goods were packed, and the woman who rung up our purchases asked if we minded if there were two different transactions, as we worked with different consultants. That was no problem, and Momma proceeded to write out two checks.
Aside: Momma paid for these items.
In total, we spent $900 on makeup today. Correction: Momma paid $900 for both of our new kits today.
I've never felt so spoiled. Thank you, Mom. Thank you thank you thank you.
Aside: GPOM and I will have separate bathrooms always, because I alarm him with the vittles I bring to put on my face. I only brought a fraction!
I sat in the chair at the Chanel counter first, and Momma watched as the saleslady began to make me up/over. It wasn't long until Momma got her own sales consultant who, despite the need to cater to every wandering customer as she worked on Momma, made Momma's eyes some of the deepest blue I've ever seem.
Aside: Momma has grey eyes, and I've always been jealous.
Once I got past the weirdness of someone else drawing on my eyeliner, and my eyes recovered (an even worse propostion - it looked like I was about to cry for a few minutes), I saw something new in me. Cheekbones! Light off the bones under my eyes! A lipstick that my mouth has been crying for for about three years! Even more cat-shaped eyes!
Even more cat-shaped eyes. I never thought that possible.
I fell in love, as did Momma, and we checked off items we wanted from our consultants.
Aside: Note that they're now consultants.
Our goods were packed, and the woman who rung up our purchases asked if we minded if there were two different transactions, as we worked with different consultants. That was no problem, and Momma proceeded to write out two checks.
Aside: Momma paid for these items.
In total, we spent $900 on makeup today. Correction: Momma paid $900 for both of our new kits today.
I've never felt so spoiled. Thank you, Mom. Thank you thank you thank you.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Here's The Thing
It's Friday night, I have 1000 things to do this weekend, and potential filthy lucre to forward to, but I miss GPOM. I mean, of course I miss him in general, but I miss having the chance to speak with him tonight. He's out with friends, as he should be, as I should be, as we all should be, but I get stuck in routines and I drag him into mine and DAMNIT I MISS HIM.
I'll be fine. A night of spending time with me just might be what I need. So, ok, the truth is that I miss the option of talking with GPOM.
I really, really hope he's having fun with his friends. He deserves it.
I'll be fine. A night of spending time with me just might be what I need. So, ok, the truth is that I miss the option of talking with GPOM.
I really, really hope he's having fun with his friends. He deserves it.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Color Me...Oh, Hell
GPOM and I chose colors for the wedding a while back, and I deigned to his decision. This is important because:
1. The boy will now be know as GPOM, and if you want to know why, feel free to ask, and;
2. My sister figures into the second part of the first sentence.
Please know that the final decision was mutual, but I let GPOM choose because the wedding is more important to him than it is to me.
Yes, I am not a girl. I have not dreamed of weddings my whole life. I spent the last morning of his being here asking to go to the courthouse.
So, I sent color samples to my maid of honor and my bridesmaids. Since then, I've gotten no end of crap from my sister, who is my maid of honor. Why that color? Can't it be another color? I know you're only using this color because you let GPOM choose it. Why are you letting him decide about your wedding? This culminated in a card I got from my sister, which essentially told me that if she had to wear that color, she'd refuse to be in the ceremony.
I read it to GPOM, after I laughed, and he laughed as well, and we thought no more of it. My sister called me yesterday to apologize, and of course I forgave her because I didn't take it seriously. She still hates the color. She called me later to offer purple as a solution. I pointed out that as a blue-eyed blonde, she could wear anything, but that I have three bridesmaids, two of which have Italian roots, and one who is colored similarly to me. (And is turning 30 tomorrow - W00T!)
And I swore to her that if she kept it up, everyone would wear orange and we would have a pumpkin wedding.
Just wait until I tell her the threats that GPOM has in store.
1. The boy will now be know as GPOM, and if you want to know why, feel free to ask, and;
2. My sister figures into the second part of the first sentence.
Please know that the final decision was mutual, but I let GPOM choose because the wedding is more important to him than it is to me.
Yes, I am not a girl. I have not dreamed of weddings my whole life. I spent the last morning of his being here asking to go to the courthouse.
So, I sent color samples to my maid of honor and my bridesmaids. Since then, I've gotten no end of crap from my sister, who is my maid of honor. Why that color? Can't it be another color? I know you're only using this color because you let GPOM choose it. Why are you letting him decide about your wedding? This culminated in a card I got from my sister, which essentially told me that if she had to wear that color, she'd refuse to be in the ceremony.
I read it to GPOM, after I laughed, and he laughed as well, and we thought no more of it. My sister called me yesterday to apologize, and of course I forgave her because I didn't take it seriously. She still hates the color. She called me later to offer purple as a solution. I pointed out that as a blue-eyed blonde, she could wear anything, but that I have three bridesmaids, two of which have Italian roots, and one who is colored similarly to me. (And is turning 30 tomorrow - W00T!)
And I swore to her that if she kept it up, everyone would wear orange and we would have a pumpkin wedding.
Just wait until I tell her the threats that GPOM has in store.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Live Blog - The Bionic Momma
11:04am: The doctor just came by to confirm that Momma's OK and on her way to recovery. We can go see her in about fifteen minutes. Momma now has an ID card for her pacemaker, so TSA, I am putting you on full alert. You MAY NOT super-can my Momma. You also MAY NOT feel her up. We clear? That lady is tougher than all of us combined.
10:52am: The nurse just called, Momma's out of surgery and did "just beautifully". The doctor is on his way up to talk with us now.
10:05am: Ever have that feeling that your brain is actually protecting you from yourself? I tried to get up three times this morning, but I kept falling back asleep. It's like I wasn't emotionally ready to handle today. (I'm not, for the record.) I got up at eight and got clean, avoiding any thoughts at all. I called Wade and we visited for a bit, and then came to the hospital. I only started crying once in the car - fat, thick tears that stick to eyeballs and cheeks. The only good about this kind of tear is that it doesn't make my makeup run.
Got to the hospital, to find that the parking garage was apparently designed for Zip Cars - not too handy in a town of uber-trucks and Ford Exorbitants. But Circe is still in one piece. I tore through the waiting areas to get to something called Cardiac Short Stop, which is the pre-op patient waiting area. Of course, I was thirty minutes too late so I haven't yet seen Momma. My dad is here and I am doing my best to not engage.
While I wait for an update, let me expound: In times of worry, my father becomes a child again. I finally learned this lesson when my grandmother - my Momma's momma - died. I was pretty hysterical and looking for comfort, as she and I were pretty close. (Not as close as Momma and her momma were, but still.) I hugged my dad, and he started talking about how sad he was about the whole thing, how much he cared about her, what her death meant to him, etc. I was offended, and since then, I never look to him for comfort. This may sound harsh and unfair, but too bad. I've had to be a grown-up in my family for as long as I can remember. I don't have a lot left for someone who let me be the adult. This doesn't mean that I don't love my dad, just that I don't draw strength from him.
So now we wait.
10:52am: The nurse just called, Momma's out of surgery and did "just beautifully". The doctor is on his way up to talk with us now.
10:05am: Ever have that feeling that your brain is actually protecting you from yourself? I tried to get up three times this morning, but I kept falling back asleep. It's like I wasn't emotionally ready to handle today. (I'm not, for the record.) I got up at eight and got clean, avoiding any thoughts at all. I called Wade and we visited for a bit, and then came to the hospital. I only started crying once in the car - fat, thick tears that stick to eyeballs and cheeks. The only good about this kind of tear is that it doesn't make my makeup run.
Got to the hospital, to find that the parking garage was apparently designed for Zip Cars - not too handy in a town of uber-trucks and Ford Exorbitants. But Circe is still in one piece. I tore through the waiting areas to get to something called Cardiac Short Stop, which is the pre-op patient waiting area. Of course, I was thirty minutes too late so I haven't yet seen Momma. My dad is here and I am doing my best to not engage.
While I wait for an update, let me expound: In times of worry, my father becomes a child again. I finally learned this lesson when my grandmother - my Momma's momma - died. I was pretty hysterical and looking for comfort, as she and I were pretty close. (Not as close as Momma and her momma were, but still.) I hugged my dad, and he started talking about how sad he was about the whole thing, how much he cared about her, what her death meant to him, etc. I was offended, and since then, I never look to him for comfort. This may sound harsh and unfair, but too bad. I've had to be a grown-up in my family for as long as I can remember. I don't have a lot left for someone who let me be the adult. This doesn't mean that I don't love my dad, just that I don't draw strength from him.
So now we wait.
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