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.