Reasons I'm a lazy blogger

So. I got my tree, and it only took me a week to finally finish decorating it. It was sort of a fiasco. First of all, we were a little lazy in going to get it in the first place. We planned to do it on a Friday, but ended up going out to dinner instead. We were going to get it the following day, but it was really snowy, and so we decided to rent movies and stay inside in our pajamas all day. So I was determined to get it on Sunday, although there was only a small window of time because I had a really busy day. So I picked out the tree – quickly, which is no small feat for me, what with the OCD-I-need-the-perfect-shaped-tree-that-doesn’t-cost-one-meeeellion-dollars tendency that I have. Chris hauled it up the stairs, we situated it perfectly in the stand, sat down on the couch and pretty much watched it fall over. Pine needles and water EVERYWHERE. Turns out, the (old) stupid tree stand was easily broken. So I left to go to my church event (without vacuuming, because I didn't want to risk breaking the vacuum by sucking up wet pine needles) and he went to go buy a new tree stand. I rushed home after I was done – all I could think about was vacuuming up that plethora of needles off the floor – and we re-set up the tree. I couldn’t deal with anymore tree stuff that day – I knew the lights were my next trouble, and I did NOT have the energy for THAT. Good thing, too, because when I got out the lights the next day, they didn’t work. I bought new ones and then I didn’t buy enough. FINALLY, I got enough lights, and I situated them on the tree how I liked them and put on the garland and the strategically placed ornaments. I love how I can turn a simple holiday activity into a weeklong task. Sad, really.

As I was getting out the ornaments, I remembered one of my favorite things about Christmas – the White House Ornaments. My former boss started a tradition of giving me one each year, and she called today to make sure she had my address so she can send me this year’s. I’m so excited – I’m a big fan of ornaments that mean something. I have ones on my tree from when I was really little and ones that represent family members – I totally think a tree is more about the history of the person/family than just about being pretty. Although I am sitting here in the dark with the tree lights on and it IS so pretty.

In other news, I have a job. Like a permanent, benefits-and-everything JOB! Not only am I getting hired by my company, but I’m getting promoted. The lady who is currently the marketing director is moving into a new job and so as of the new year, I’m going to be the NEW marketing director. I’m really excited – and sorta scared. I love my job and I really like the people I work with, so I think the fear will dissipate, because they clearly have confidence in my abilities.

Speaking of work, Chris and I went to the company party on Saturday night, which was really fun. It was a fancy “cocktail attire” party, which was a new one for me, because we didn’t have fancy schmancy parties at my old job. I got a mani and pedi and even got my hair done – just for fun. I felt like I was going to prom. We went to the cocktail hour, had a really nice dinner and champagne toast, and then called it a night. We stayed at the hotel where the party was, which was also fun, because I love staying in hotels.

So that’s pretty much that. My two year blogiversary was last Thursday, and I was totally planning to end the blog. However, I can’t seem to let go yet. I know I haven’t been keeping up very well, what with having an awesome boyfriend and also an awesome job where I’m actually busy 90% of the time. Plus, I feel like I have nothing to talk about. At any rate, I’ll try to update when I can. Way to commit, right?

Things you may or may not have wanted to know

So. I’ve started writing this post about a billion times, but always delete it after a couple of tries because apparently? I’ve lost all ability to write.

Anyway. My boy. His name is Chris (he gets no nickname, because I’ve mentioned him by name already here – you know, because it didn’t occur to me then that we’d end up together) and we’ve been together a little over a month. Sandra Dee wanted to know what our first three dates were, and I’m actually not sure. I know the first time we went out, the first time we kissed, and the second time we went out, but as for an actual “date”, I don’t know. We go out to dinner and breakfast and lunch and he mostly always pays (which is totally nice), so maybe those were considered dates. Who knows.

The thing is, we were totally comfortable around each other from the very beginning. The first time he came over, we sat and talked forever. And that pretty much hasn’t stopped. If we’re not together, we talk on the phone all the time – and our conversations last for like an hour. We were watching a movie at home last night, and we pretty much missed the whole thing because we got to talking about something. I’ve told him more stuff in a month than I’ve told pretty much anyone I’ve dated over the entire course of our relationship.

That’s probably one of the things that attracts me to him. The fact that we can talk and we are actually friends, not just “dating”. He makes me laugh and he’ll be silly with me, which is important – I can’t be with someone who takes themselves totally seriously. He’s got beautiful blue eyes and really long, dark eyelashes, which is also a plus. He calls when he says he will, he makes me a priority, and he tells me all the time how beautiful and how great I am. Seriously, who doesn’t love THAT?

It’s a strange situation, because while things have gone pretty fast, it’s also kind of slow, if that makes any sense. Like we spend all of our free time together pretty much, but no one is in a hurry to rush to the next level, whatever that might be.

I know he’s occasionally freaked out about stuff, which is fine because he always tells me about it. And when I freak out, I can tell him. That’s a good thing. It’s funny, because often times what I freak out about is him just leaving without warning one day (gee, can’t imagine where THAT fear came from), but at the same time, I also freak out a little bit that he WON’T leave and we’ll be together for a long time. Yes, I’m an idiot. It’s not that I don’t want to be with him, because I do, it’s just been a long time since I’ve dated someone long term and it’s kind of a scary pool to jump into again.

For now, we just go one day at a time. Actually, he told me that I can make concrete plans for this quarter, and we can talk about next quarter. Which is fine and also totally makes me laugh. So our plans are basically to spend as much time together as we can. He stays at my house pretty much all the time (and no, he’s not homeless – he has a house) and I’ll tell you what else is weird in a cool way. His contact case and toothbrush in the bathroom. His shirts hanging in the closet. His clothes mixed in with mine in the laundry. It’s nice to have his presence there even when he’s not.

So. As far as plans go, we're going to get a Christmas tree tonight so that he can watch me obsessively vacuum up pine needles for the next month...I mean, so we have some Christmas Spirit. In a couple of weeks, he’s going to be scrutinized by people at church when he goes with me on Christmas Eve, and also checked out by Sally and Joe and that whole crew when we go over there on Christmas Day. Sounds fun, right? He’s cool though – he can handle it.

Did I mention that he’s the best ever?

Thanks (and Thanksgiving) comes early

This past Saturday, I went to our annual early Thanksgiving dinner at John and Karen’s. This is the third year that they’ve hosted it, and it is one thing that I look forward to all year. Most of our friends from high school are there, and we all bring side dishes and dessert. John and the boys hang out in the garage, where they drink beer, deep fry the turkeys and talk about manly stuff. Karen and Kendra and the girls and I hang out in the kitchen, making sure everything else is getting cooked and also drinking delicious cocktails.

We eventually sit down to dinner, and no one is allowed to sit next to their significant other (that means Kendra and I sit far away from each other—HA!) and we dig into the piles and piles of food. It’s funny, that in three years, everyone has a specialty that the rest of the group looks forward to. Kendra makes the green bean casserole with the crispy onions on top, Kelly makes a spinach and cheese casserole, and I make sweet potatoes with a little bit of Jack Daniels and a lot of pecans and brown sugar on top. Karen sets a beautiful table, with the good china and pretty centerpieces, John picks out the wine, and Jim and Sean provide a large part of the hilarity. We eat ourselves silly, and then we sit around and laugh at each other’s stories. It’s so funny that even after knowing each other for 15 or so years, there are still stories that we haven’t heard. And then there are the stories that we tell over and over because they’re just that funny. Whatever it is, we laugh our asses off, making our stomachs hurt even more. We also made the decision this year that NEXT year is a pajama Thanksgiving – that way we’re more comfortable when we’re finished being gluttons. How sad is that? Pretty sad – and yet so very awesome.

The evening wouldn’t be complete without someone having some sort of “incident” – if by “someone” you mean “me”. Yes, I may or may not have singed off the hair on my right arm. This was after we totally overflowed the pot of potatoes, extinguishing the gas flame under the pot, so Kendra and I were moving the pot to another burner. I apparently thought it would be a good idea to turn on the burner FIRST and THEN move the pot, and hence, the burned off arm hair. I also couldn't seem to remember that the handles of the pot were hot. Neither could Kendra, so at least I wasn't alone there. I think part of the problem also could have been us laughing and trying (unsuccessfully) not to call attention to the kitchen tomfoolery.

At one point, I looked around the table and it was like one of those movie moments when the characters experience this moment of complete contentment as they realize how lucky and blessed they are to have such a wonderful group of friends.

And that? Is just one of the many things I'm unbelievably thankful for this year.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

*EDIT* Since you seem to be a little bit curious about My Boy, go ahead and leave your questions in the comments section and I'll answer them in my next post. Because I may be a blogtator, but I'm a pretty benevolent blogtator...

Best Ever

So I pretty much had the best weekend ever, and yet? I didn’t do much besides take naps and basically hang around in my pajamas. If you know me but at all, you know that whenever I’m home, I’m probably wearing pajamas. I love them – I have shelves full of pajama bottoms and t-shirts. Anyway. That’s really neither here nor there.

I slept better the past three nights than I have in at least two weeks. Which is strange, because I don’t generally sleep well when there is someone else in my bed. I’m so used to sleeping alone that the addition of another body throws me off. Also, I don’t like to be snuggled or touched very much when I’m trying to actually sleep. However, in this situation, the opposite is true. I sleep through the night when he’s here and I like to sleep as close to him as I can.

I haven’t written about him because I’m afraid of jinxing it. I’m afraid that he’ll freak out and leave me one day with no explanation – not because that’s how he is (because he’s not) but because it’s happened so many times before. So there’s that aspect. But I also haven’t written about him because I didn’t know what to say. I know what I FEEL but that’s not such an easy thing to translate into writing – I either sound like a sap or else the words don’t say what I mean them to. Or both.

What I will say is that yesterday was a cloudy, cold day. I got home from church and we hung out on the couch in our pajamas, watching football with the fire going. Ok, he watched football, I slept on his lap. I woke up and the house smelled like the pot roast I was cooking in the crock pot. We went to bed early and laid there talking for an hour, then went to sleep. Five a.m. came too soon, but I slept totally peacefully all night.

He’s the best ever – and yes, I realize that I sound like a sap.

My brain seems to have frozen up

I have the most massive case of writer's block EVER. Seriously. I've started about a brazillion posts and I can never get the words out that I want to.

I have tons of thoughts going through my head -- in fact, that's pretty much why I've barely slept for a week. It's gotten so I kind of dread going to bed, because I know I'm just going to wake up in the middle of the night and have a hard time going back to sleep. This is completely unlike me, as I love to sleep. I love it so very much. I wish my brain would remember that and shut the hell up.

I think part of the problem is that recently, I've had a hard time thinking of the right thing to say. Last week was rough, and for the first time ever, I found myself at a true loss for words. It's frustrating, especially when you want so badly to say something, but nothing comes to mind that is remotely helpful.

Every once in a while, I go through phases where I feel quiet. I don't have a lot to say because I've got other stuff on my mind. Not bad stuff necessarily, just stuff. People always assume I'm upset, because my mouth isn't going a mile a minute, but I'm not. I just feel quiet. That could be a part of the block as well.

As for the job situation, they're keeping me until November 19, which is the end of the fiscal year, and then they'll revisit it and make a decision. Oh good. That means another two weeks of stress over whether I'm going to be unemployed. This is also contributing to my lack of sleep.

All of that being said, I will say this. No matter what happens, I know that I have people in my life that love me, and that is more important than anything else. People who take good care of me, think about me, and make sure I know that I'm loved. I know things will work out -- I just have to trust that and keep moving forward.

Auuggggaaaaahhhh!! You know, for lack of a better title.

So I can’t remember if I told you this when I got my new job, but I’m a contractor. This is great in many ways, because my schedule is really flexible and when I work lots of hours, I get paid for lots of hours, instead of a flat salary. This is bad, because if there’s nothing for me to do, I don’t get paid and also I don’t get benefits. The worst part is that I’m easily expendable.

On Monday, the big boss of the office got the boot and was replaced by another guy in our office. So this week has been sort of interesting as people start to adjust and all that. The question is, will the new boss get rid of people who are expendable? You know, like me?

At first I wasn’t that concerned, because I heard that they were still lobbying to not only keep me, but also to hire me permanently. Then I was talking to my co-worker/supervisor this morning and she was saying that stuff is starting to slow down and that maybe there wasn’t enough work to justify having me. And even though we had talked about me learning some other skills, THAT’S not a sure thing either now. Apparently they’re going to talk about me on Monday when they have their weekly management meeting.

Monday. So that’s another four days for me to freak out. Because, yes, maybe I’m freaking out a little bit. I’m not sure if the situation justifies tears yet, but believe me, they’re waiting in the wings for their cue to come spilling out. Because as we’ve discussed previously, a) I’m a baby and b) tears are how I express pretty much every emotion. Anyway.

The reasons that this possible job-losing sucks are many. Besides the whole “not working” thing, I mean. Seriously, I had four months off and by the end, I was getting pretty bored. I don’t want to not work again. I never thought I’d hear myself say that I’m tired of not working, but I am. Secondly, I love my job. I love what I do and the people I work with are cool and I like going to work every morning. And thirdly, my first concern is always paying my mortgage. The extraneous stuff is no big deal – I could give up some of that stuff, but I don’t want to give up my house. I love my house. I always have the option of getting a roommate, but there’s also the fear of finding someone who’s not a psycho, since I had that one bad roommate situation back in the day. Plus, no one likes living with strangers. Gah. And Ack.

Anyway, I’m going to sit here and try to think about something else so that I can at least get through this day without worrying myself into, um, I don’t know , more worry? The good thing is, you’d never KNOW I was freaking out. Because outwardly, I'm pretty much my usual self. Unless you happened to maybe wander into my house later this evening and I’m face down on the floor, bawling. Not that that would happen. And not that most of you know where I live. And I certainly don't leave my front door unlocked. But that's neither here nor there. I’m just sayin’. Hypothetically.

Dispatch from Babyville

No, I’m not talking about actual babies, I’m talking about the fact that I’m a big baby.

I have a confession to make – I can’t watch scary movies. I mean, I can, but only if I want to have nightmares and not sleep at all. I love “The Sixth Sense”, but since I live alone, I can no longer watch it. I tried, and I had to turn it off. I can watch CSI with no problems – doesn’t bother me at all. But I can’t really watch CSI: Miami. When it first came on, I was all excited, because who doesn’t love an extra night of CSI every week. But then I started having horrible nightmares about burned up bodies and horrible death every Monday night, so I stopped watching. I probably would have anyway, because I can’t stand Horatio Caine and the incessant taking off and putting back on of the sunglasses. And the fact that every damn case is personal for him. And that -- wait. What was I talking about?

Oh yes. The issue I have with an overactive imagination added to living alone equaling my fear of the scary movies. Let’s try to keep me on track here, shall we?

P.I.C decided the other night that he wanted to watch scary movies in honor of Halloween. I agreed, because I’m an idiot. I mean, I’m a good friend. And it sounded fun – we were going to watch some bad, old scary movies. Plus, I figured if I drank enough, I wouldn’t remember the scary parts. So see, I had some theories I was hoping would work. The problem was, I was housesitting in a really big house, which I had to go home to – ALONE – and so I couldn’t drink enough to make me unable to drive home. Maybe my theory was flawed.

We started off with “Evil Dead”, which initially was great. The scariest parts were the “hero’s” monobrow, the horrible dialogue, and pretty much the plot in general. Then it was kind of funny when one of the stupid chicks got assaulted by the forest. But then she turned into a zombie demon thing, and that still wasn’t bad, because the makeup was also really lame. But then this other girl turned into a zombie demon thing and the makeup was still really bad but also scary and clearly when she was getting chopped up, it was a dummy, but the makeup was still freaking me out. Finally, I couldn’t stare at the bubbles in my champagne glass anymore in avoidance of looking at the t.v., and so I whimpered to P.I.C. about how I was scared and could we watch something else? So we watched “The Devil’s Rejects” instead. It was not scary. There was a lot of shooting and blood and swearing, which I’m totally ok with. That, coupled with the totally predictable dialogue made it ok for me to watch. Until I fell asleep. See, clearly I wasn’t that traumatized by it. And I didn’t have any nightmares.

The moral of the story is, I will perhaps watch a scary movie again. As long as I have someone to watch it with, who will then sleep over. For at least a week. Just kidding. Ok, no. Not kidding. I’m a baby – have we not established that yet?

Most expensive lunch ever

Mandy and I were the designated food runners the other day, and we ordered a bunch of stuff from Sonic. Our total?

“That’ll be 25 million and 21 cents.”

Mandy and I laughed until we were crying. We’d stop and then one of us would start again and we could barely contain ourselves when the guy came out to bring our food. The topper? His name was Timmy. We still can’t decide if he was fucking with us or if he really isn’t so good at the maths. Either way, it totally made our day. We’re going to be laughing at this for at least, oh, 25 million and 21 days.

You might be my type

Ok, so I’ve half-jokingly discussed what my type is, but let’s half-seriously talk about it now.

When I say that I like the emotionally unavailable or attract the newly-divorceds, it’s because I like to help people, to make them feel better. It’s true, I am a good listener. I’m everyone’s shoulder to cry on, and I like that. I like to take care of the people I care about – if you are sad, I’m your girl. I’m also a really great secret keeper. I used to suck, because I had this compulsion to tell everyone everything I knew. It was like Tourette’s, only with more secrets and less swearing. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve started being a lot better about not airing my (and more importantly, other people’s) dirty laundry. Anyway. So yes. I am here to take good care of you. Example: when we were not dating, I was everything Not Boyfriend needed. He was everything I wanted. Clearly a large obstacle there, but as it turns out, we made it through the ups and downs and now? I still talk to him all the time. I’m the one he calls with his funny stories and when he’s bummed out or missing home, because he knows I’m the one who totally gets him. Mission accomplished. Maybe not the mission I orginally thought I was embarking on, but the situation has yielded more good than bad. Always a plus, don't you think?

But that’s not what we’re talking about here. We’re talking about my type. I also tend (sometimes unconsciously) to choose boys who I know are either geographically or emotionally unavailable, because that’s safety for me. That way, I retain my independence and don’t have to look commitment in the eye. Because even though I WANT to be with someone so badly, having it actually happen is scary as hell for me. I’d like to think I’m getting better at it, because at least recently, I’ve learned to spell “commitment” correctly. I know that sounds stupid, but for the girl who can spell anything? I could not spell that word for the life of me. Beth calls me “the Freudian speller.” Ha.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t specifically choose who I like by whether or not they live close to me, or whether there’s a good possibility that nothing will come of the relationship because I’m just their rebound girl. But in the interest of time, here’s the basics of what I actually look for in a guy:

Funny, which I don't really need to explain
Smart -- and this doesn't necessarily mean someone highly educated, just someone who is intelligent
A good conversationalist – there has to always be something to talk about without it being boring or worse, a struggle
Willing to answer my myriad of questions about them
Also interested in knowing about me, not just superficially
Affectionate, because I am
Kind – not just a nice guy, but a truly kind person

Is big on family -- his own and the one we might possibly have together
Can hang with the people from each completely different aspects of my life
Likes kids and animals, because let’s face it, that’s a giant part of my life

As far as looks go, I like a hot guy just as much as the next girl, but if you have the above qualities, there’s a good chance I’m going to be attracted to you. If you also have dark curly hair, nice teeth and pretty eyes, well, please marry me. Um, but you're going to have to move to Colorado first, ok?

If I ever lose my faith in you

I'm losing my faith in people at a rapid pace.

Assorted words

So I wrote this last weekend, but posted other stuff this week instead, so that's why some of the items have updates. Yes, I am a dork.

I went to one of my girls’ homecoming games Saturday to see her perform with the Poms. She was great, but I gotta tell you – again with the Color Guard. I was there with another one of my girls and we could NOT stop laughing. They had on white t-shirts and denim shorts and – wait for it – black tennis shoes with no socks. For the love of all that’s holy, BLACK TENNIS SHOES? I mean the whole outfit is bad, but come on. And there was one girl who had on super short shorts that were riding up in the middle. Really. Bad. She was, um, stocky, as many of the girls on the team are, and it was cellulite-tastic. I just wonder if these girls look in the mirror and are like “It’s the biggest game of the year and DAMN! I look GOOD!” Sigh. I just don’t understand. I also don't get how their parents let them leave the house in stuff like that. And unfortunately for the team, the outfits were not redeemed by their skill. At all.

And so ends the totally judgemental portion of this entry. Hey, I can't be all introspective and philosophical all the time, right?

Wait, wait. I have one more judgy thing to say. I'm supposed to sing at a wedding for some people at my church and the other day they asked me if I could sing "You Light Up My Life." Shit. I think the better question here wouldn't be if I COULD (because I definitely have the skill) but rather if I WOULD. To which I say "oh hell no." So I'm really trying to steer them toward something not awful. Wish me luck. *UPDATE* They chose this equally as heinous, yet unknown-to-me song, and since they only gave me two weeks to learn it, I told them I couldn't. I probably COULD have, but I just didn't WANT to. They were getting more and more irritating -- I'm doing you a favor and you're being exceedingly difficult and rude. I'm a horrible person for writing this. Anyway, they had someone else they could ask, so it all worked out. Thanks. God.

I'm trying to write more, but I'm working all the time. I worked 50 hours this past week, and almost 12 hours Friday. I'm so busy at work that I rarely have time to go on the internet and I'm pretty worded out when I get home.P.I.C. says he barely knows me anymore, what with the "working" and the "getting up early".

Speaking of P.I.C, I was looking through my cedar chest o'memories the other day, and I found my diary from 2nd grade. The very first entry says "Dear Diary: Today P.I.C. said "you won't like your new baby. They're pests!" And I said "shut up stupid!" Ha. It was from when my mom was pregnant with my brother. There was another one where he said something I apparently didn't like and I came up with another equally snappy comeback. When I told him about it, he's like "Wow. I knew how to push your buttons even back then." He's so right. And the button pushing continues, even 22 years later! He has this love of the Ying Yang Twins (ok, we both do) and so most of the time when I answer my phone and it's him, I am treated to him whispering "The Whisper Song." How, HOW did I get so lucky? Although, I will grudgingly admit that I kind of love his sense of humor (that's me whispering. ha). And when he reads this, I will never live it down. Aren't we cute at his parents' house on Memorial Day though?

My boy Dane is off at college in Kansas and he's really homesick. I talked to him on the phone Sunday, and he's like "will you send me a care package?" I asked him what he wanted in it, and he said "food". And so of course I'm going to send him one. I put it together yesterday -- it's totally college and not at all healthy, and actually contains many items that we eat on mission trips: two bags of Chex Mix, one bag of mini powdered donuts, two bags of sunflower seeds (original and ranch), two cans of Pringles, like 15 mini bags of cookies, gum, three packages of ramen, peanut butter crackers, a "family sized" bag of Twizzlers, and dried apples. Oh and I also threw in the Sports Illustrated NFL Preview, a mix CD, and a picture of us from the summer. He loves me already, but he's going to LOVE me after he gets this package. You boys are so easy to please -- with food.

Anyway. That's about it. I have to go clean my house because I never feel like cleaning it when I get home late and I have a tendency to take off my clothes and leave them wherever I happened to be when I took them off. And so yeah. When I say I'm going to go clean the house, what I mean is "I'm going to go take a nap". Because I love naps, I work hard during the week, and dammit, that's just how I roll. *UPDATE* After I wrote this, I actually DID clean my house -- it finally looks less like a hurricane of clothing hit it and more like an actual home. NOW I'm going to go take a nap. Because I had a rough day of getting my hair colored and I have to get some rest before NOT going out tonight. You know you wish your life was like mine.

Musicology

I think of this a lot, but man. I would not want to live in a world where I couldn't hear music. Blind or deaf? I'd choose blind every time. Music is so unbelievably affecting -- it makes me happy, makes me cry, makes me able to articulate thoughts that I couldn't put into words. It calls up memories -- and there's nothing like the unexpected pang you feel when you hear a song you haven't heard forever and a memory comes rushing back. I love musicians. If you play an instrument, it's a good bet I'll get all swoony over you. I admire that talent, because I don't have it. Sigh. Anyway, I thought I'd share some of my latest playlist. Because I can.

Only You – Yaz – Yes, I realize that this album came out in 1982, but damn, this is such a great song. For some reason it reminds me of jr. high…and I love it. All I needed was the love you gave, all I needed for another day, and all I ever knew, only you…

Afterglow – INXS – This is the NEW INXS, featuring J.D. from the first season of Rockstar. Which I didn’t watch, but his voice is amazing on this. I can’t stop listening to it. This song is unbelievably sexy. UNBELIEVABLY. In between the longing to hold you again, I'm caught in your shadow, I'm losing control, my mind drifts away…

Into the Ocean – Blue October – I don’t know why I like this guy’s voice so much, but I do. I thought of just your face, Relaxed, and floated into space, I want to swim away but don't know how, Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in the ocean, Let the waves up take me down, Let the hurricane set in motion, Let the rain of what I feel right now...come down…

Run – Snow Patrol – I was making a mix, and I figured “Chasing Cars” was getting overplayed, so I chose this one. Light up, light up, as if you have a choice, even if you cannot hear my voiceI'll be right beside you dear…

Dark Blue – Jack’s Mannequin – I love the night – the sky, the stars, the quiet. I have some nights that were a perfect shade of dark blue. Dark blue, dark blue, have you ever been alone in a crowded room well I'm here with you, I said the world could be burning 'til there's nothing but dark blue..

Such Great Heights – Postal Service – Love this. Love the lyrics, the melody, all of it. It’s something I would totally write if I were any good at writing songs. Its thoughts like this that catch my troubled head when you're away, when I am missing you to death, when you are out there on the road for several weeks of shows and when you scan the radio, I hope this song will guide you home…

I also currently love “I Write Sins, Not Tragedies” and “It Ends Tonight”. And speaking of the All American Rejects, I also LOVE this song: I'll keep you my dirty little secret (dirty little secret), don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret (just another regret, hope that you can keep it), my dirty little secret, who has to know…

Because everyone needs a dirty little secret…or two…

The Reason

I’m a firm believer in the fact that everything happens for a reason. What the reason is sometimes isn’t apparent until later, but lately I’ve been thinking about how some of the stuff I’ve gone through in my life has helped me understand people better today.

For example, the last post I wrote about being totally depressed and how miserable my life was for that whole month. At about the same time, one of my youth group girls was going through a really hard time – she had gone away to college and was having a really hard time adjusting, and ended up being really depressed and needing to go to therapy and get medication and all that. I’ve said before that depression is a hard thing for people who’ve never experienced it to understand – and it is. So one day when I was feeling really sad, I was talking to my mom, and she said told me that even though what I was going through was really hard, maybe the reason why was so that I could understand my girl better and know how to help her, because her family didn’t understand. Plus, they’re bizarre. Anyway.

Thinking about it that way made it better. Yes, it sucked that I felt so awful. But that I could be helpful and understanding and supportive of my girl made it so that at least it wasn’t just for nothing. That may not be the best way to put it, but you get it.

Now I’ve got another girl going through a hard time, and I can be there for her and help her to understand what she needs to do and that it’s ok to feel bad. There’s no shame in getting help and in fact, not getting help is a horrible mistake. She’s recently been dealing with a psycho boy at her high school – it’s snowballed out of control into harassment and police involvement, and the thing about that is, I totally understand that too. When I was a freshman, there was this horrible sophomore girl who thought I was trying to steal her boyfriend and she made my life miserable the entire year. No police were ever involved, but my mom was, which if you know my mom and how protective she is of us, it’s almost kinda worse than the police.

Not to overthink it, but sometimes I think I’ve been preparing my entire life to be able to understand these kids and all the stuff they have to deal with that maybe their parents can’t understand. And if that’s the reason I’ve had to have some hard times and heartbreak, well, I’m totally ok with that.

Blast from the (sort of secret) past

Back in January, I had the worst month of my entire life. I was unbelievably depressed – I used up about 100 hours of sick time that month, because the thought of going to work was so overwhelming that I couldn’t even get out of bed. I cried all the time, because I didn’t know how else to deal with it. Luckily I had a really caring and understanding boss, and lots of help from people who loved me. I started a “secret” blog, because I needed to write stuff down, but I didn’t feel like it was something I could share with my regular readers (and friends) right then.

It’s far enough behind me now that I can post what I wrote then without feeling totally freaked out – in fact, I don’t feel freaked out at all. I’m in a really good place now, and I look back at what I wrote and I remember those awful feelings and I never want to feel that way again. To be totally honest, I’m sort of scared of January – I’m scared that I’ll have a breakdown again. I know I don’t have to worry – it’s not the MONTH, it’s the place where I was back then. And I’m not there anymore. But there’s still that little fear in the back of my head. I look at all the stuff I wrote then and I remember how I felt and THAT was fear. I was scared of how bad I felt and how powerless I felt to change it.

Anyway. Here it is. January 5, 2006.

Have you ever had a day where you wanted to take absolutely everything back? Everything you did, everything you said, everything you thought, even everything that you felt?

Have you ever done something completely stupid and even in the moment, when you’re actually doing it, you KNOW it’s stupid, you’re fully aware of it, and yet? Done.

Have you ever spent an entire day (or days, as the case may be) thinking yourself into a black hole in which the sheer force of the thoughts are pulling you into an inescapable vortex of awfulness? Like where there’s maybe one tiny thing bothering you, or something random irritated you. And then the next completely unrelated thing that happens (or doesn’t happen) not only magnifies the tiny thing, but then magnifies itself in the process. The next minor irritation magnifies the first two and before you know it, it’s three days later and you’re laying with your face on your desk, crying and wondering how you’re going to make it through the next 2 and a half hours before you can go home.

Have you ever said something that the second it’s out of your mouth (or out in cyberspace) you wish you’d never said it? It’s impossible to take back. You’re fucked. And quite possibly, depending on who you said it to, the un-take-backable (YES, it’s a word – at least NOW it is) ridiculousness that seemed like a fine idea a mere second ago has most likely caused irreparable damage to your relationship with the person you said it to. And no matter what you say after the fact, there’s no possible way to explain away what you said without either making things worse or sounding like a neurotic crazy person. Neither of those are good options. How do you tell someone that the stupid thing you said wasn’t really about them at all, but a result of the awful thought vortex and the self-magnifying random shit? And that that, coupled with your penchant for occasionally being overdramatic AND the above mentioned acts of stupidity collides in what can only be described as a hurricane of self-destruction in which they are the confused and unwitting victim? You can’t. At least not without sounding like a neurotic crazy person.

It’s a day (or days) that you can’t take back. Days in which every decision you made, every word out of your mouth, every thought in your head, was clouded by the hurricane. It’s days when your usually sane and rational and mellow and laid-back self was (if we’re going with the hurricane theme) blown into a wall, knocked unconscious and was taking entirely too long to shake it off. SHAKE IT OFF!! Damn. So now it’s shaken off, but you look back at the path of destruction and wish, over and over, that you could take it all back.

Has any of this happened to anyone? Yeah, me neither. I was just wondering.

Haven't you people ever heard of closing the goddamn door!

So I’m housesitting at Sally & Joe’s this weekend, and last night, Ian was here too. I was laying in bed, watching CSI, and he came in shooting a laser tag gun. He was allegedly testing it out for a work thing (he works with kids) but I have my doubts. I think he just wanted to play. So once he stopped shooting and falling into gun stances all around the room, I asked him if he had shut the garage door. He said yes.

Anyway, this morning I got up and walked into the living room. It was early, and so it was still dark, but I could see the outline of SOMETHING on the floor. GREAT. I turned on the kitchen light and saw that it was a giant bird’s wing. I knew exactly where it had come from – Joe ties some elaborate flies down in his office, and uses bird feathers in some of them. I picked up the wing and went downstairs, where, sure enough, the door to his office was wide open. I shut it and went back upstairs to feed the dog. I opened the door to the garage to get her food and what do you know, the door is WIDE OPEN. I knew Ian wasn’t up yet, so this must mean he did NOT, in fact, close the door the night before. I went and woke him up and I was like “Did you go into Joe’s office last night?” He said yeah. So I told him about the bird wing. Then I said “Also? You totally did NOT close the garage door last night.” And he said “Oops – good thing I’m not the housesitter”. Ha. Very funny. I had to go to work and I told him that under no circumstances was he to unlock any of the doors in the house. He could go out the side door when he left, which locks by itself. Because clearly he has a while before he can be trusted to lock up the house himself. Yeah. He’s 30.

The bird wing reminds me of an incident a couple of years ago when I was housesitting here and I pretty much killed one of their canaries. One of the birds was sick, and so Sally had him in one of the bedrooms with the door closed so he would be warmer. She said he might die, and if he did, that was ok. So I went in to check on him before I left for work and he was kind of listlessly sitting on his perch. When I got home that evening, I walked down the hall to check on him again, and to my absolute horror, the bedroom door was open. I went in, and the cage was knocked over, it was empty, and there was a spot on the carpet that looked suspiciously like blood. This is how my thought process went (oh, and if you know me BUT AT ALL, you know this isn't a SHORT thought process. Buckle in, party people):

Oh god. The cats got the bird. They’re just milling around, not meowing for food, and I swear they’re licking their chops. Shit. They ate the bird. Damn. Damn damn damn. They ATE! THE! BIRD!!! Wait, wait. There aren’t any feathers anywhere – if they ate the bird, there would have to be feathers somewhere. Ok, let’s be rational. Maybe the bird got away and is hiding in the house somewhere. Great. This house is not small. Look under everything. Call the bird. Curse the cats as they follow you around, watching in what you can only believe is amusement as you crawl all over the house. Stop and look closely at the cats’ mouths – you don’t see any blood, so the “bird as snack” scenario is looking less and less likely. Whew. But WHERE is that effing BIRD? Go downstairs and crawl around down there, looking under everything. Be followed by the cats, who are “pretending” to help. Why, WHY didn’t that door close all the way! Ok. You looked everywhere you possibly could. Go upstairs and vacuum up the spilled birdseed and think of how you’re going to explain this to Sally. Do you pretend that the bird died and you disposed of the body? Maybe. But further thought vetoes that idea. One, it would be out of character for me to dispose of the body. Two (and perhaps most importantly) what if the cats HID the bird, so that when their mom comes home, they could give her a “welcome home” gift. Yeah, Sally? Your bird died and I buried him in the compost pile. What? The cats brought him to you one morning? Hmmm. How DO I explain that. Uh, they must have dug him up from the compost pile when they NEVER GO OUTSIDE. This will never work. Plus, I’m a horrible liar and I hate lying. Ok. Go to bed (after carefully inspecting every inch to make sure there’s no oh, I don’t know, BIRDIE CORPSE in the bed with you) and think about it in the morning. Morning comes. You decide honesty is the best policy. Call Sally in Maine and tell her that you killed her bird. “No you didn’t,” she says “he was sick anyway.” Politely disagree and tell her that no, you’re pretty sure you and/or the cats killed the bird. Oh, and the icing on THAT cake is that you can’t find him. Ok then! Have fun in Maine! Go downstairs to watch t.v., and find the bird, ALIVE, sitting in the middle of the rug. Where, I might add, he totally was not the night before. Pick him up and put him back in his cage, and close the door. For real this time. Call Sally and tell her, oops! Ha ha! False alarm! The bird is not dead! Which may have been a premature call, as he died later that day. Poor guy.

Seriously. Who does stuff like that happen to? Oh right – me.

Well hi there!!

I just thought I’d stop by my own blog and say hello to all of you, since I’ve been seriously remiss in keeping up with your blogs. I blame my new job. I mean, no one told me that having a job means actually having to WORK! I’m just kidding – I love love LOVE the fact that I’m busy at the job. It’s so great to look up at the clock and realize that hours have passed without my even noticing it. So yeah, it’s busy, and as soon as I get my own workspace with my own computer, I may have more time to visit everyone during the work day. Because after hours of sitting in front of the computer doing design and page layouts, I don’t really have the desire to hang out much in front of the computer when I get home. AND I’ve been too busy to do a lot of home computering lately anyway. It’ll slow down, but for now, I’m just adjusting to my new schedule.

So yeah. Because I’m such a party animal and it’s nearly 10 p.m., I’m going to bed. Although in my defense, I stayed awake last night watching season 3 of “Arrested Development” on DVD while P.I.C. and The Bad Cop fell asleep. That NEVER happens – I usually always outsleep those two. But since AD is totally my favorite show, and I was so excited about the new season, well, I stayed awake. It might have also had to do with the large amount of Coke I drank earlier in the evening when I was trying to get rid of a headache. Then when I went home, my cats ever so sweetly woke me up three hours before I needed to get up this morning by running through the house like a herd of elephants and meowing loudly. I was angry.

Anyway. Nighty night and I’m sure I’ll have all kinds of terrific construction industry related stories for you in the near future. I know you’re excited about that, even if you won’t admit it…

Melon calling and Milahd

I was sitting in my parents’ yard today and as I looked around, I realized that today is the unofficial official last day of summer. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the end of summer so acutely – the past five years have been filled with work, so a summer day was just like a winter day, only hotter. I went to the office and I came home. Sure, I went on trips with the kids and did things outside, but the time flew by and it was mostly a series of “just another days.”

Obviously this summer was different. I went places with the kids. I hung out with my friends. I went to the pool at my complex for the first time ever, and I’ve lived here for three summers. I’ve loved every minute of my freedom from my job – I can’t tell you enough how thankful I am that that place is no longer and that because of that, I was able to take the time off that I needed to. I got to have summer and I LOVED it!

Fall is one of my favorite seasons. I love the change in the air – the nights are much chillier and even though we ate dinner outside at Sally and Joe’s last night, we had a fire going in the chiminea and sweatshirts on. It was beautiful out, and when I went to bed, I took my hair out of a ponytail, and it smelled like fire smoke. I love that smell. I love the smell of the crisp air, and I love the smell of fires burning in fireplaces. I love the colors of fall and I love the things that fall means. High school football games, carving pumpkins, a fire in my fireplace. I love that even though fall is an end for so many things, it’s always been a beginning for me.

I’ve started my last few jobs in the fall. Five years ago in October, I began my job at my now-defunct company. The fall before that I started working at REI. And now, tomorrow I start yet another new job. It’s exciting. It’s the promise that things will change and even though I fear change, I also love it. New people, a new place, new stuff to learn and do.

I’ve also began a lot of my relationships in the fall. My college boyfriend and I began dating in the fall and a year later, we got engaged in the fall. I started seeing my last serious boyfriend, the one I was with for four and a half years, in the fall. And two years ago, I started seeing Not Boyfriend in the fall.

So I guess it’s not weird that when fall comes around, I feel melancholy. Or “melon calling” as Kendra used to say. I was thinking about how to write about all of this, and I remembered that last year at this time, I was feeling the same way. I went back and read this entry, and the first paragraph kind of sums up how I feel right now. In the arena of melon-calling, that is. The entry ends with me keeping my fingers crossed for things to work out with Not Boyfriend, and a year later, they totally have. He’s living in another state, but we’ve stayed close friends. We talk about once a week, sometimes more, sometimes less. When he comes back to Denver, he makes time to see me. I still love him, it’s just a different love now, and I no longer hold on to the hope that we’ll be together. I still miss him, but how could you not miss a friend who’s far away?

As far as the other side of the coin, well, I got that covered as well. The job is new. The routine is new. The people will be new. The stuff I learn will be new. It’s the beginning of something that might last long, but that might not. It’s what I mean by “milahd” – that’s the name of my ex-boyfriend’s little boy. In Farsi, it means “new beginning”.

So. Here’s what we’re keeping our fingers crossed about this year. That my fall will have more milahds than I could possibly know what to do with. Because my summer has surpassed all expectations, so why should fall be any different?

Guess what?

Well, my lazy days of laying by the pool, taking naps and watching "Magnum, P.I." are officially coming to an end. Why, you might ask?

I GOT A JOB!!

Starting Tuesday, I’ll be working in the marketing department of a large construction company. I will be co-workers with John, Karen’s husband – who, I might add, is the reason I got the job (you're the best, JT!!). Apparently, it IS about who you know, not what you know. Although what I know is also coming in handy.

So. After almost five months of a lovely life of leisure, I can now put to rest my worries about paying the mortgage and go back to the land where people work for a living.

I’m happy about that, because as much as I love being at home and doing whatever I want whenever I want to, I’m getting sort of bored. I mean, I spent this week rearranging the living room and getting rid of stuff because I couldn’t stand all the clutter. I have way too much stuff. And I’m getting a desk, because I would really love to have my dining room table back for purposes of oh, I don’t know, eating, instead of as computer central. Plus, as part of my new job, I can work from home sometimes if I want to, so I should have an official “home office,” don’t you think?

Anyway. I’m excited. Yay! Job!

The story of them

My mom and I were talking the other day, and she was telling me about how she and my dad were out to dinner with some friends, and they got to talking about how each couple met and all that. I’ve heard the story before, but there was a twist to it that I’d never heard and I just had to post it.

My parents both grew up in Peoria, Illinois, but they went to different high schools so they didn’t know each other. My mom got married right out of high school, but her husband, Marty, was killed in a motorcycle crash nine months after they got married. She was a secretary at Bradley University, which was where my dad went to college, and so she had seen him there, but they never met, just knew who each other were. One night she was at Steak n’ Shake with a friend, and my dad was there with one of his friends, and so they got to talking. They were all going out to the same club, and so my mom and dad danced together, and they would see each other there on the weekends so they got to be friends. My dad asked her out on a date, and they went to a rock show. I said “Cool! Who’d you go see?” And she said “No. A rock show. Like with actual rocks.” Have I mentioned that my dad is an engineer? That should explain it. But he bought her a turquoise piece that could be made into a pendant, and it’s on her charm bracelet. Anyway.

They dated off and on for five years – not seriously, because they both went out with other people, but they really liked each other. Then my mom decided to move to California. My dad was bummed, but he wrote her lots of letters (which my mom still has) and called and came and visited her when he could. After two years, one day in August they were sitting outside my mom’s apartment in California, waiting for the bus to take my dad to the airport, and he says to her “How long are we going to do this?” She said she didn’t know – did he have any ideas? And he said “Well, we could move in together” and she said “Nope”. So he said “Well, do you want to get married?” And she said yes. So they decided to get married in January.

The part I’d never heard before was how he then had to go home and break up with the girl he’d been dating in Illinois for two years. I mean, she knew about my mom and my mom knew about her, but can you imagine? The guy you’ve been seeing for two years comes home from a trip and is like “I have to break up with you because I’m getting married.” WHAT? Apparently she didn’t take it well, as when my dad was trying to walk down the stairs from her apartment, she was holding onto his leg. She made not have gotten my dad, but at least she had her dignity. Or not.

This seemed so strange to me – I was like “Wait a second. Were you in love with him?” And my mom said “I loved him, but it wasn’t the infatuation of ‘first love’ I’d had with Marty. Your dad had been a committed friend and I knew no one would ever treat me as well as he did, and we were great friends.” And that she loved him more and more as time went on, especially after my brother and I were born, because she wouldn’t have had such wonderful kids without him. Aw.

My parents have been married for 33 years, and they’re still great friends. Now that they’re alone in their house, they do stuff together and with their friends all the time. They go see live music and to art shows and to dinner, and a lot of my mom’s stories will start out with “your dad made me laugh so hard last night…” I’ve never doubted for a minute that they didn’t totally love each other – they are affectionate and kind to each other, and they are excellent parents. They fight and get annoyed with each other too, but it would be weird if they didn’t.

I’ve said it before – I want a marriage like they have. It never occurred to me before how true the phrase “you should be friends first” is when it comes to relationships. There’s definitely something to be said for getting to know someone really well as a friend, and then if there turns out to be an attraction there too, even better. If sparks will fly, that’s awesome. But it’s the friendship that will take you through to forever.

Blah blee blah

Don’t you hate when you have things to write about, but you can’t because there are people that read your blog who you don’t want to know the stuff you’re writing about? Because maybe it’s about people you know that they know, or even worse, it’s about them? It’s times like this when I wish that I was a little more anonymous. But it is what it is, so I guess there are some things I just won’t write about. Sigh. But now where will I get valuable feedback and validation? Where, I ask you?! Just kidding.

Ok. So maybe brace yourself for some less than exciting tidbits from my brain.

So my mom is kind of a health nut and today she was all excited when she called me. When I was little, my favorite cereal was Alpha Bits. Go figure, right? Anyway, she found some that was made with whole grains and had zero grams of sugar. So she brought it over to my house and we opened it up and tasted it. GACK. It was seriously like eating cardboard. I opened my mouth and made the *gaaaaack* kind of noise and made my mom laugh, which is no small feat when all of your saliva has been sucked up by cardboard masquerading as cereal. So I am not recommending the whole grain no sugar Alpha Bits. What I will recommend is my mom’s delicious homemade black raspberry jelly, which she also brought me today. It totally made up for the gack-tastic cereal.

I would love to know why I don’t have a job yet. I’ve sent out a lot of resumes and applications and haven’t gotten anything back. It’s beginning to give me a complex. My one consolation is that my coworker hasn’t found a job yet either, so maybe it isn’t all about me.

I am sort of working. I’m helping out some friends by babysitting their 11 month old little boy three days a week. I love him. He’s the sweetest tempered baby, totally easy going, and of course, he’s adorable. However, he’s also at the point where he wants to go everywhere and put everything in his mouth on his way. So I spend a lot of time either making sure he’s not pulling himself up to a standing position using something that will fall over and crush him, or making sure he’s not eating paper or dog hair or something equally as appetizing. I also spend a lot of time carrying him around. He weighs 20 pounds and after the first day of toting him around the museum and the house on one arm and one hip, I was like “I’m 100 years old, because my back is KILLING me!” Other than that, though, I’m having fun with him. And I think the fact that I’m walking around like the Hunchback of Notre Dame will pass with time.

Not to toot my own horn...

So. I know I have tons of friends and family that love me. I’m blessed that way and I know that. But these trips with the kids always bring that back home to me because of how much they love me. Horn! Toot toot!

Maybe because when I’m home, I have all of these issues. Insecurities, worries, fears, whatever you want to call them. How do I look? My hair, my makeup, my outfit? Am I pretty enough? Am I saying the right thing? Am I sounding smart enough and funny enough? Blah blah blah – it goes on. Here’s where you have permission to agree that yes, I am a neurotic weirdo. Anyway.

But somehow, when I travel with the kids, all of that goes out the window. Part of it could be because when we go places on mission trips, we’re there for a reason bigger than any issue I could have back home. Part of it could be that no matter what, we’re going to be seeing each other at our worst. Sweaty, dirty, right before bed, right after we wake up, before we’ve showered or brushed our teeth, after we’ve showered, when we’re tired, when we’re sleeping – it’s all out there. There were girls from other churches on the South Dakota trip who would get up at 5 a.m. so they could shower and do their hair and makeup. My girls and I rolled out of bed at 6:45, which was when they rang the bell for breakfast. Because sleep is WAY more important. My girls worked their asses off – mowing knee high weeds, assembling beds – they were always the first to volunteer for a job, no matter how dirty or difficult it might be. While the girls who made sure they looked perfect sat in the shade of the bus. Clearly there for the right reasons. Not to say our boys weren’t the same – they were always right in there doing whatever was needed. I couldn’t be prouder of all of our kids. They seriously rock.

Anyway, back to the fact that I feel totally loved on these trips. We got these booklets from Jim (our leader) with really cool quotes in them and also blank pages so we could write notes to each other. I thought I’d share a sample of some of the notes I got:

“You complete me! This trip has had it’s ups and downs – well, just ups with you. You are one of the coolest people I have ever met and we have many more trips together still to come. This is only the beginning. I heart you!”

“You are my best friend, my sister, my mom (except for the old part) all wrapped up into one. It’s crazy on mission trips just how close we get and I feel that with you a ton. I just don’t know what I would do without you. I WUV YOU!”

“This trip has been one of the best by far and without you it would have sucked! You’re the coolest leader just ‘cause you’re FUNNY – you’re one of us but you can also teach us life lessons. I honestly don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“I don’t know how I would survive without you! Thanks for always being such a great listener and such an inspiration – you have made an impact on me and you will always have a special place in my heart!”

“It was so fun and I can’t wait until next year – it’ll be so fun! Don’t forget to send me that zombie thing.”
(I had to put that in there because what trip with 14 year-old-boys is complete without the mention of zombies and/or ninjas? None.)

Those kids? Make my life a million times better than it ever would have been without them.

My Grand Social Experiment into the Lives of Perverts

So the other day, P.I.C. and I decided to conduct a little social experiment. Maybe a little eeeeee-vil social experiment.

I know most of you haven’t been living under a rock, therefore you know what CraigsList is. I’m not a huge fan – it’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just that I don’t spend a lot of time looking at it. However, it’s one of P.I.C.’s guilty pleasures, and so he’ll often send me the links to, um, interesting postings.

We were on the phone on Friday afternoon, and I was telling him about how, a couple days previously, I had posted a fake ad on “casual encounters” and how it was crazy how many responses I got. It wasn’t a dirty ad, I just posted more out of curiosity -- you know, to see how many responses I might get. I had gotten about 120 before it was flagged and removed (apparently not pervy enough? Who knows) so P.I.C. and I decided we might kick it up a notch and try again.

And so. We composed an ad that we hoped would generate some interesting responses. According to my CL posting, I’m a 26 year old lonely married girl looking for some “discreet, no-strings-attached” fun. Because (boo hoo) my husband just doesn’t pay enough attention to me, and hey, a girl has NEEDS. We then added the piece de resistance, the random nipple picture that we found through the magic of search engines.

The listing specified that I wanted to hook up on Friday afternoon, and that it would have to be at the home of the magical random who was going to satisfy me beyond my wildest dreams. And so pretty much as soon as it got posted, the emails started pouring in. To my fake email address, created for just this occasion.

If you’ve looked at CL “casual encounters” pretty much EVER, you might notice that there seems to be a predominance of pictures of, um, packages. So P.I.C. and I were thinking that a post from someone wanting no strings sex might generate a lot of package pictures. Nope. I got a lot of pictures, but most were actual face pictures. Don’t get me wrong, I did get package pics as well, and OF COURSE a lot of emails lauding their,ah, oral abilities and the fact that they have a six inch (but OF COURSE usually larger) pleasure stick, but face pictures were a twist I didn’t expect.

Anyway, I was going to post some of the best responses, but the sheer volume of emails I got prevents me from going back and finding the good ones, and of course I didn’t have the presence of mind when I got them to keep them for the amusement of you, the readers. But again, much to my surprise, a lot of the guys seem to be looking for someone to “get to know” and THEN hook up with. Which to me seems to defeat the purpose of both a “casual” encounter AND no-strings sex. But maybe I’m missing the logic here. Most of the emails were pretty basic, although some included detailed descriptions of what they’d like to do to the married girl. Dirty. And some included pics that were certainly not of them. I mean really. I watch "The Dead Zone" on USA. I know what Anthony Michael Hall looks like now. That picture? Is of him. And some? Well, some were so badly misspelled and featured such atrocious grammar that I was almost hoping that their skills in the bedroom were as good as they claimed, because it was clear they didn’t have much to fall back on.

As of this morning, I have received 232 responses (and, just FYI, I didn't actually respond to any of them. Because as you know, I'm not 26 or married or looking for no-strings sex or desperate enough to post for real in "casual encounters). There are apparently a LOT of men (and a few women and some couples) in the metro area looking for a hook-up with a 26-year-old lonely married girl. And who don’t seem to have a grasp of what “Friday afternoon fun” really means, since it’s now Monday morning and I’ve not only kept receiving emails all weekend, but I've gotten at least three more emails in the time it’s taken to write this post. Actually, I just now got one of a guy who is totally naked except for his shoes and socks. Why wouldn’t he take off his shoes and socks? That’s not sexy! That’s just lazy! Anyway.

I’ve noticed that for many of the people who answered the post that the fact that "I'm" married is like the biggest selling point. I’m not sure which is more unsettling – the fact that they get off on that, the fact that they’re actively looking for it, or the fact that a large number of respondents are also married. As it turns out, maybe not all the good ones are taken – they’re just secretly answering casual encounters posts on CL…

Hey motherf***er! Get laid! Get f***ed!!

Ha! I’ll bet THAT caught your attention, especially since most of my posts lately have been about you know, church-related stuff. However, as you may or may not know by now, I can’t be appropriate ALL the time!

So the title refers to the fact that I went to the Billy Idol concert the other night. Yeah, you heard me – Billy. Idol.

Karen heard that he was coming to town and she mentioned it to me, and I was like “that would be cool” and then the next day I got a message from her saying that she had bought tickets and I was going. Ok then. I was excited, because I don’t always have a chance to wear a lot of extraneous black eyeliner and really, what better event to do so than a Billy Idol concert? There isn’t one, especially when you’re 30 and it’s not Halloween.

The other exciting part of this was that I knew there would be some Billy Idol superfans there who had totally seen him back in the 80s. And chances were, they’d probably be wearing similar outfits from when they saw him back then, and I do love to mock people’s outfits! What? I mean, I love to see people who are die hard fans of a musical icon. I wasn't disappointed. Lots of big hair on old ladies. Good times.

So Karen and I and her husband John and his work buddy Chris headed to the concert. After a few margaritas, because that’s how we roll. We got there and because it was like 90 degrees outside, inside the concert it was 6, maybe 700 degrees. Pleasant. You know, if you like to sweat profusely at all times. The boys went to buy beer and so Karen and I were trying to find a place to stand. We were walking to this aisle, and this guy let us cut in front of him, and so I was like “sorry about that” and he’s like “don’t apologize – what do you have to be sorry about?” And so I said “well, we totally just cut you off”, and so he says “well if you’re that sorry, why don’t you kiss me?” Uh, what? And so I said “Yeah. I’m only sorta sorry”. Luckily he laughed and didn't push for the kissing. Blech. Anyway.

Billy played a couple of new songs, but he also played most of his old stuff. White Wedding. Rebel Yell. Dancing with Myself. The most awesome version of Eyes Without a Face EVER. Which I love, because it totally reminds me of when I was little. And of course, Mony Mony, which is what the title of this post refers to, because apparently that’s what you yell as loud as possible. Like this: “Here she comes now, singin’ mony mony” then: “Hey motherf***er get laid, get f***ed!!” Now you know what to do if you ever find yourself at a Billy Idol concert. It’s clearly a very family-friendly show.

The man is 51. And he looks GOOD. Like he took off his shirt (of course he did) and he has this nice toned chest and it was all smooth and sweaty and his arms look all muscle-y and hot and I asked Karen if it was wrong that I thought he looked so smokin’ and luckily she said no because she thought so too, not that I would have cared because I also have sort of a crush on Tommy Lee, but really that’s neither here nor there. The one disappointment was that his hair wasn’t platinum. But it was just a small disappointment. And also he didn’t play Cradle of Love, which was also a little sad, but I got over it.

One of the best parts was that for once in the recent past, we weren’t the oldest people at the concert. By far. John and Chris were on another beer run and of course while they were gone, this weird drunk old guy comes and stands next to Karen and directly in front of me, and he keeps edging closer to her while also completely smushing me back into the railing behind me. Finally John and Chris came back, and I pulled Chris over and pointed out the Space Invader, and he laughed until the guy started crowding him. Chris kinda pushed him forward in a fakely jovial way, but the guy totally ignored him as he kept “dancing” closer to Karen. Now. Back in the younger days, Chris would have probably decked the guy when he didn’t get the first hint. Because he and John are not small guys. But instead he’s like “watch this” and he says something to John and John looks over and then he pushes past the guy and when the guy looks at him like “dude, I was here first”, John is like “hey buddy – I just wanted to come stand by my wife” and he kisses Karen, so Chris and I are totally laughing. The drunk guy played it off for about two seconds and then he left. Way suave.

So yeah. We had a great time. And because we’re mature adults, we listened to (and sang) Eminem’s “Shake That” at extremely high volume most of the way home. We may be 30 chronologically, but there’s just some ways in which we patently refuse to grow up. And also? We’re total rockstars – just ask Billy Idol. He knows from rockstars, you know.

Camp is all about...

...Amazing sunsets...
...Singing...
...Dancing...
... Gorgeous Scenery...

...And the best friends ever...
...Don't you wish you were there?

*For more camp pictures (you know you want them!!) click on the new Flickr box to the right*

Thanks...

...for all the advice for Em. Whether she takes it or not will remain to be seen, but at least now she knows that Mollie and I aren't crazy. At least not when it comes to this particular subject.

So I just thought I'd let you all know that I'll be posting some pictures from camp this weekend. Because I KNOW you've all been waiting with bated breath. Right? Ha.

Happy weekend!!

I'm telling you, there is a CODE

Ok, so this is a story about one of my girls. We’ll call her Em.

Em is a quiet and shy girl. She’s super smart and cute and she totally loves and values her friends. She looks for the best in people, especially her friends, which is where the trouble came about in this situation.

Em’s best friend is named Bee (as in “bee-otch” – but I’m not biased). I have never met Bee, but from everything Em has told me about her, she’s one of those girls who doesn’t know how to be a good friend. The reason I think this is that from the beginning, she’s ignored THE CODE. This is the code that says you never EVER try to steal a boy from a friend. You just don’t. But see, Bee just ignores that code and has tried since day one to sneakily steal the boy Em likes and has been dating – let’s call him Ken. Bee would constantly hang out with Em and Ken, which was fine in the beginning until Em got over her initial fear of dating Ken – he was her first boyfriend. But Bee would also say things to Em about how she thought Ken was so cute and she liked him and blah blah blah. What? You don’t tell your “best friend” that the guy she’s dating is hot and you want to go out with him. Anyway.

Recently, Em found out that Bee and Ken have been hooking up. Not just “oops, we accidentally drank too much and made out once” but “we hadn’t been drinking at all and it was on multiple occasions”. And it wasn’t just a kiss here and there. It wasn’t sex, but it was going in that direction big time. The way Em found out is that she asked Bee one day and Bee admitted it. She said she felt really guilty and all of that bullshit that people say when they don’t feel guilty at all about the act, they just feel guilty that they got caught.

Em is telling me this story and I’m like “so you’re no longer friends with her OR dating him, right?” And she’s like “I forgave them”. And I about lost my mind right there. She is still “best friends” with Bee and still dating Ken. She keeps telling me things like “they haven’t done it again”, which is when I point out that she doesn’t KNOW they haven’t done it again, and she says “Bee would tell me” and I was like “yes, because she was so honest and straightforward about it the FIRST few times.” We’ve gone in circles about this for a few weeks now, with me (and our other friend Mollie) telling Em that she has GOT to get rid of these two. Because here’s the other thing. Em is going back up to college next month, and Bee and Ken will both be going to college here. They work together and they obviously hang out together. So really, the logical conclusion is that they’ll most likely hook it up again, if they even stopped in the first place.

I could go on about this forever, because even though I’ve been known to steal a few boyfriends in my day, I would never EVER do that to a friend. My friends are way too important to me to risk ending a friendship over a boy who I’m most likely not going to marry. It just isn’t done. The thing that makes me extra crazy about this situation is that I’m really protective of Em. She’s only 18, and it’s a really naïve 18. That’s not a bad thing at all, except for when it comes to letting people walk all over you. Life is too short to keep people in your life who don’t know or even care how to be a friend. There’s no reason to let manipulative bitches and weak-ass boys have a free pass to continue to do what they feel like doing with no respect for you or regard for your feelings. Em is too young to start this pattern of relationships with men who treat her badly and “friends” who will screw her over given the opportunity. This is a learning experience for her, and the thing about learning experiences is that you have to LEARN and then MOVE ON. That means leaving people who claim to love you and claim to respect you and care for you, but who are really just about what they want in the dust.

Mollie and I have talked until we’re blue in the face about this and how even though it’s a really difficult thing to end a relationship and to end a friendship, in the long run, it’s so much better for Em, because she needs to watch out for herself and to surround herself with people who actually DO love and respect and care for her and who show that by being loyal.

SO, commenters. Tell Em what you think. Should she forgive Bee and Ken and continue dating him and being best friends with her? Or should she kick them both to the curb? Mollie and I of course believe that a swift ass kicking straight to curbville is in order, but we also decided to put it to you guys as well.

Opine away…

What I could tell you

So yes. Back when I used to blog, I would tell you about stuff that went on in my life. So I’ve had a bunch of potential posts that I can’t seem to get out of my head and onto paper. They seem boring to me. I could talk about the art of making a mix cd – at least I consider it an art. Or maybe a process. Anyway. I started to write it and then I was like “wow, this isn’t even interesting to ME” and I stopped.

I could write about how I am still unemployed and I still love it and I never want to go back to work ever again. But that’s not a whole post, because I pretty much just told you exactly how I feel about that. And it was a short paragraph.

I could talk about how lately I’ve been really wanting a baby. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on getting pregnant, because the sensible side of me (yes, I actually DO possess a sensible side, believe it or not) is like “you must be CRAZY because you don’t have a husband or a job or a desire to be woken up when you’re not ready and also look at that pile of laundry you haven’t folded – you can’t take care of a baby!” And then I see my neighbors’ brand new tiny baby and I’m like “but I WANT one of those” and then my head explodes, thereby preventing any further thought about it. So no. No baby.

I could talk about how there was this guy at my church who was essentially homeless and pretty, well, overweight, and he smoked like a chimney and also didn’t shower very much. And how he recently moved to another town because he met someone and was moving in with her. Are you KIDDING ME with this? I don’t smoke and I take showers and I’m STILL SINGLE. If it wasn’t so ridiculous, I’d be really upset. Apparently, my “standards” are getting in the way of me finding a man. Although, being logical and all, there’d be no way in hell I’d be desperate enough to lower my standards that low. Yes, sometimes it sucks being single, but I’d rather be single than settle. It’s like a mantra I keep saying to myself. Or something.

Speaking of being single, I could definitely talk more about the subject of relationships, but I will not. There’s tons of material in my head about THAT, but I can’t really get it out right now. Or ever. Who knows.

I could tell you about how I sent in a request today for an application to get into the teacher licensure program here. I’ve been told that I’d be a great teacher, and so I’ll send in the application and hopefully qualify to get into the program.

I could tell you about how I’m housesitting at the hot tub house and this morning I was walking the dog out by the pond and it started to rain and it was so pretty and so quiet. I wished it would have kept going all day. And how the last couple of nights the lightning has been amazing and so I sit in the hot tub room and watch the sky light up.

I could tell you about the horrifying nightmares I’ve been having. Last night was the first time in a few days that I’ve actually slept all the way through the night without waking up scared or crying. Maybe those nightmares are the result of me not being able to express anything lately. My sleep and my blog are suffering, I tell you!

So that’s about it for now. Give some suggestions – what do you want to know? Hopefully I’ll get camp pics soon. But until then, I need inspiration. Therefore I’m leaving it to you. Don’t fail me. No pressure though. Just don’t fail me. Ha.

The thing about camp...

The thing about camp is that I never want to come home. Theoretically, that is. A week is plenty long to plan activities and games for 25 teenagers. It’s long enough to be away from home. It’s long enough to never really have time alone. On the other hand, how long is long enough to spend in a place so unbelievably gorgeous that every time I walked outside, I was amazed again at the beauty of it? How long is long enough to fall asleep to the river right below my window? How long is long enough to watch the sunset not only in the west, but then bouncing off the mountains to the east? How long is too long to stand by a warm campfire, and then later pick up your shirt and smell that campfire smell? How long is too long to lay shoulder to shoulder in the meadow and look up into a pitch black sky, unmarred by any sort of city lights, and see what has got to be every star in the sky? I just don’t think there’s a “too long” for any of those, especially the last one. My favorite thing is by far the stars. Phenomenal.

The thing about camp is that you can never explain WHY it was so awesome, you just know that it WAS so awesome. When people ask what I did, and I try to explain it, it doesn’t work. We played cards and hung out and did all kinds of contests and teamwork type activities. We stayed up late and got up early and for the first time, I finally understood the phrase “fell asleep when my head hit the pillow” because one night, I actually fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.

I could tell you about all of the laughing and how I don’t think I’ve laughed that much in a realllllllly long time. I could tell you what we were laughing about, but it totally doesn’t translate to words. You definitely had to be there. I could tell you about the giant bear that came into camp and how I totally could have been mauled by him twice, but you’d probably say I was exaggerating. Yes, I would be exaggerating a little. There WAS a giant bear and I potentially COULD have walked right into him one night had I not been too lazy to walk across the meadow to the lodge where he happened to be destroying the trash enclosure. And the second time was less of a close call – I HEARD him over in the trash again, and it scared me, and so I decided since it was 2 a.m. and I was outside alone, I might head on into bed. I stopped at the bathroom and when I came out I freaked out because ohmygod what if he’s right outside the door? He was not. Hey, it was dark, it was late, and I have an active imagination. It could have happened to anyone.

The thing about camp is that yeah, maybe I was pretty tired when all was said and done – but whatever, I can sleep when I’m home. I could have gone to bed earlier, I could have taken a nap during the day, but then I’d miss something fun. I’m alone at home all the time – one week of being around people all the time was totally fun. Planning activities for the kids was fun because they’d do whatever we wanted them to in the name of competition. Clearly I avoided the bear, so I’m all in one piece.

The thing about camp is that I got to spend a lot of time with people that I love. So yeah. It’s pretty, it’s fun, it’s everything you could possibly ask for, and it’s all made even better by the people you’re there with. We’ve got it all – hugs, kisses, laughter, tears, singing, dancing, yelling, silence, and most of all, the best friends ever. It might sound cheesy, but it’s true.

The thing about camp is that you had to be there to even begin to understand how awesome it is. Are you jealous? Because you totally should be.

Super fast update

So I didn’t have time to tell you all that I was out of town last week. I was on trip number 2 of 3 – to Grand Junction, CO. I was there with 7 of our jr. high girls, and let me just tell you – while they are sweet and adorable, they are SO.MUCH.WORK. Four of them were just out of sixth grade, therefore they haven’t spent a lot of time away from home and therefore I have to pay a lot of attention to what they’re doing and not doing. I’m pretty tired. I decided that when I have kids, I’m going to go on a trip right around the time they turn 10 and come back when they’re about 15.

Anyway. We went to a lot of urban sites around Grand Junction and helped out at places like Habitat for Humanity, the Salvation Army, the Catholic Outreach soup kitchen, a shelter for homeless families, an after school place for teens who need to be away from their families, and a nursing home, just to name a few. My favorite place by far was the nursing home. I volunteered in the Alzheimer’s unit for two days and had the best time ever. I love Alzheimer’s patients because they’re hilarious. I mean yes, I know it’s a really sad disease – my grandma had it for years and finally died of it in 2001 – but THEY don’t know it’s sad and so you might as well laugh about it or you’ll just end up being sad all the time. It was great. It made me think that maybe I could be an activities director for people with Alzheimer’s – I’m not so much on the nursing side of things, but the interacting with people side is totally my thing. Who knows.

So I’m home for the week and then I leave for camp in Montana on Saturday. I may try and write some more before then, but I have a ton to do this week. I’m going to Sally & Joe’s for the 4th tomorrow night and then Wednesday, Joe and Mandy and I are going to see Jason Mraz in concert. Thursday I pick up my friend Chris at the airport (he’s been teaching in Croatia all year) and we are hanging out at my house until we leave to be camp counselors up in Montana. My social calendar is clearly just chock full o’fun. Ha. Anyway, hope everyone is doing well and I’m sure I’ll have some great camp pictures when I get back!!

Pine Ridge Reservation *

*Disclaimer: This is a long post, but I couldn't make it shorter and still say what I wanted to, so bear with me. Also, this isn't a political commentary, so please don't launch into discussion about the U.S. and foreign policy and war and whatnot. This is totally about the Pine Ridge Reservation and what I learned and experienced there. Thanks for reading.*

The U.S. has a history of riding roughshod over other cultures in pursuit of what they want or to convert everyone to our way of life. Apparently, the constitution and the declaration of independence only applied to white people, because the Indians? Got no freedom of religion. All men were not created equal – it was only all WHITE men. The Indians were not allowed the supposedly unalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. What they were allowed was the introduction to disease – and not just the introduction to, but the perpetuating of. In order to speed up the execution of the Indians, the white men would graciously supply them with blankets – blankets taken from victims of smallpox. There were countless atrocities committed against them, and for what? So that the white man could take land that didn’t belong to him and so that we could force the Indians to submit to the white way of life. It’s ludicrous how quickly the people forgot that the reason they came to this land was to escape persecution and have the opportunity to live as they wished without being oppressed and forced into a lifestyle that they didn’t want to live. And yet? They did all of that to the Indians and more.

One of the worst atrocities was in 1890 at Wounded Knee. I won’t get into it here, because it takes too long to explain. But I highly recommend that you go here and look at the pictures and read the story about what happened.

So what is it that we feared and hated so much that we had to slaughter hundreds upon thousands of Indians and destroy their way of life? Maybe it was their reverence and respect for their dead. I visited three cemeteries while I was on the reservation, and I was struck by the gravesites in every one. The unemployment rate on the res is upward of 80%, and the poverty is staggering. Yet I saw more beautiful headstones there than I have in any cemetery I’ve ever been in. Granite, marble, engravings and pictures, and so many of them had flowers planted around them or were decorated with traditional offerings. The graves of children were heartbreaking, because they are covered with toys and stuffed animals. The families visit the graves and the memories of their dead are preserved and cared for, not just buried in the ground and left there. Maybe we feared their spirituality. Their belief in a higher power and their rock solid foundation in the teachings of their tribe. They were put in catholic schools, and beaten for speaking their own language. Their hair, which is their source of strength, cut and their beliefs disallowed. Their torture and despair in the name of God so horrible that the children would run away from the school and be found dead miles away – they would rather die than forget their life and the things they held dear. Instead of respecting the dedication to their life and spirituality, we tried to extinguish it.

We did a pretty good job. At the extinguishing, I mean. I could go on and on about the way that we have treated the Indians – it’s shameful and horrible and tragic. We’ve broken every single treaty we ever made with them – every single one. And we continue to do so today. They’re relegated to land that is supposedly theirs, until the government decides that they need some of it, and they go ahead and help themselves. The Indians trust no one – not the white people, not even each other. They’ve been betrayed again and again – why would they trust anyone at their word?

I’m not saying that some of the fault doesn’t lay with the people themselves – poverty and unemployment are things that might be rectified, but at the same time, the reservation is so unbelievably hopeless sometimes. The reservation is 1.7 million acres and there is one grocery store to serve all of it. 30,000 people and one grocery store. There are farms there that grow wheat and things like that, but they’re all owned and run by white men. Because really, what bank would loan money to an Indian so that he can buy a combine and other necessary farming equipment? The reservation is dry, but just over the South Dakota/Nebraska border is the town of White Clay, Nebraska. The population is around 22 people, however the liquor sales there per year are upward of $4 million. That’s probably the reason that so many Indians die in car accidents – there aren’t any speed limits on the roads and lots of drunk drivers. About 40% of the Indians have diabetes, and the life expectancy is generally around 50 years. Few people graduate from high school and even fewer go on to college. I could go on, but I think you get the picture.

Even with all of that, I love it there. The Indians that we encountered were kind and welcoming. They would give whatever they had to help you. The day we blew a tire on our bus, no less than six cars stopped to see what they could do for us. This speaks volumes for Re-Member and the respect and appreciation they’ve earned on the reservation. They employ Indians and are respectful of the traditions and ways of the Lakota people. They are there to help, not to change what the Indians believe. And by the way, they prefer to be called Indians – “Native Americans” is stupid to them because they were here long before this place was called America.

When we toured the reservation, I sat near one of the Lakota employees of Re-Member – Kelly Lookinghorse. He was a cool guy who was willing to answer the millions of questions I asked him. After about 6 hours of touring, I had more knowledge in my head than I could even sort out. We had a speaker one night who was a member of the tribal council on the reservation. I learned a lot from him as well. Everyone there has their version of history and the present – Kelly put it well when he said that the things he says are his truth, but he puts them out there – “thoughts in the air”. That way we can take what we wish from what he says and add that to what we hear from others. The other Lakota employee, Jerome, had us all over to his house where his wife had prepared Indian tacos for us with piles and piles of homemade fry bread. She must have made over 200 pieces of fry bread. One woman whose house we were at to install beds, asked us if we wanted to stay for lunch. It’s like I said – they will share whatever they have with you.

I wish I could explain all of this better. I wish you could understand what I saw and felt and experienced. But it’s impossible. You really would have to be there to understand the sadness and the joy. The despair and the hope. The need and the generosity. The pride and the history and the tragedy and the living of life. I am unbelievably lucky to be able to experience what I get to when I’m there and the opportunities I have to affect and be affected. It puts life into perspective.