New Ways to Chill June 25, 2012Posted by Kimmothy in Home Life.
Over the weekend, we acquired a new-to-us, free refrigerator from Brian’s boss, whose wife was threatening mild violence if he didn’t get rid of it immediately. My mild enthusiasm over it was but a pale imitation of Brian’s unbridled glee. He got up early Saturday morning, showered immediately (usually there’s a good hour of deck sitting with coffee and internet before anyone makes a move to get clean on the weekends) and excitedly took off to go get the thing. On his way home, he picked up beer and earthworms, two of three things he proclaimed now have their own special place – do I really need to reveal the third one? It’s deer meat, obviously, because this appliance was appointed the man-cave redneck fridge before it ever set foot in the basement. Of course this is the cue for the main refrigerator to go out, because now I’m certain that’ll be coming soon to a kitchen near me. I’m not bitter, just very experienced in these things.
I teased him throughout the weekend, but I remembered I felt the same way a couple years back when I got us our first down comforter, along with some new high thread count sheets. All of a sudden our bedding transformed into a lush, giant pillow-cloud that would definitely be Oprah-approved.*
I’m really dumb sometimes. One of the most exciting things about where we live now is the lake. My oft talked about Lake Murray, at one time the biggest man-made lake in the country? The world? Something like that – it’s a big lake. For quite a few years now, many people have used it for their boating, fishing, and any number of water-based fun-time needs. This lake is literally in my back yard, yet it took about eight months for me to go in. Oh, the excuses were convincing – things like not wanting to deal with a bathing suit, being nervous about the water itself (which isn’t strange for some, but considering I grew up in Florida and spent most of my childhood in various bodies of water, very weird for me) and the various things that could be swimming around nearby but unseen…whatever. I have no idea.
Either way, all that silliness came to an end yesterday morning. It was around 10:30 and already ridiculously hot and humid. Brian was fishing, but he’d already been in the water a few times to cool down. He kept saying I was crazy not to go in and finally I agreed and without ceremony plopped off the dock. As soon as my head resurfaced I said, What the F is wrong with me, and went on to spend a fantastic hour happily swimming around (in t-shirt and shorts because the bathing suit dilemma has yet to be resolved).
I mean, here I’ve been sweating my ass off (but unfortunately not my gut, no; never the gut) walking every night through the humidity and gnats and stupid grilling meat smells like I’ve done the last few summers but now there’s a lake and for the past few months I could’ve been doing this. Oh and burning twice the calories (because of course I looked it up) in a much more refreshing and enjoyable manner. See above where I said I’m dumb sometimes. But I forgive myself, because I have big plans after work this afternoon to go home and again take the short walk down to the lake and off the dock. Today and probably many days to follow. I guess it could’ve been worse – I could be writing this in early September, having missed an entire summer of swimming. Thankfully I’m not that dumb.
*I actually don’t give two shits what Oprah approves of, but I wholeheartedly agree with her opinion that having good linens improves quality of life.
In Brief January 24, 2012Posted by Kimmothy in Home Life, Marriage.
Friday night, after Brian intuitively taped an entire season of a show he had a strong feeling I’d like, we got into an actual argument over who in the household introduced The Walking Dead into the Favorite Show category. After giving him full credit for Breaking Bad, I tried to remind him of the circumstances surrounding the beginning of the zombie show. Just to egg me on (I think), he laughingly disagreed. I got so pissed, I heaved a gigantic, exaggerated sigh, grabbed my lemon water (I’ve heard it boosts metabolism; so far I can’t tell) and went up to read in bed. There’s that moment you know you’ve over-reacted but pride prevents you from conceding you’ve been an idiot and moving past it. By the time he came to bed, I was more than over it and we “made up,” by which I mean we totally did it. Which actually didn’t surprise me in the least since I was wearing my sexy micro-fleece Grinch pajama pants (inside out, no less). After relaying the story to a friend the next day she said, “I’d say your marriage is in pretty good shape if those are the kinds of things you argue about.” I hadn’t thought of that, but she had a point. Good to know.
Ch-ch-ch-changes October 24, 2011Posted by Kimmothy in Home Life.
I think the reason they include moving as one of the top five life stressors isn’t because it’s something that momentous (unless we’re talking about a really long-distance move, cross country or a different part of the world), but all the little things. The adjustments and changes in routine are suddenly a daily occurrence and it’s enough to throw you off kilter for a little while. And by “off kilter” I mean I’m lucky I’m managing to wear clean clothes to work every day.
We moved one county away, about forty miles from our old house. His mom actually uttered the words, “It’s like y’all are moving back to Florida!” and unfortunately I’d never have the balls to answer with something like, “When we lived in Florida we saw you once or twice a year as opposed to every week – would you like to go back to seeing what that’s like?” But I get it; we’re now almost double the distance away from them and it’s just long enough to have to put some thought into scheduling visits.
But honestly, that’s the least of my concerns right now. The following items aren’t exactly traumatic, but will definitely take some getting used to.
I went from a 15 – 20 minute commute to one that is forty, minimum. And that’s only if all the stars align to prevent accidents, anything but clear sunny weather, beating the school buses, and hoping a train doesn’t decide to stop and sit on the track for a leisurely twenty minutes, holding up miles of traffic on either side. All of these I’ve experienced in just the first week. As a bonus, the lovely late-Fall sun I otherwise love shines directly into my eyes both to and from work. I’ve gone without that for almost five years now; I guess the time had to come again eventually.
As rural as we now are, we’ll no longer enjoy the luxury of trash pick-up. Oh, surly trash men who liked to pick and choose what items they took arbitrarily, sometimes left lids open on rainy days and occasionally left garbage scattered in the yard, I’ll miss you so. This has already forced a big change in our trash tossing policies and procedures. With no garbage disposal either, any food waste is now being tied up in a plastic grocery bag, stuck in the fridge, and when a significant amount accumulates, I carry it along with me to work and dispose of it in a dumpster near my office. I’ve turned into a trash ninja. Luckily we have the redneck equivalent of an outdoor fireplace, the burn barrel, in which non-toxic but flammable things can go into, starting off with the roughly ten thousand boxes we’ve broken down the last few days.
Instead of City water, we’re now dealing with a well and sewage tank. Years ago when we would visit his dad, I have vivid memories of the showers’ crappy water pressure (if you have thick hair, the majority of your shower time becomes attempting to rinse all the shampoo out). I didn’t, however, remember the tap water smelling so farty. Yesterday at Lowe’s I learned there’s a very wide spectrum of price points for water purifying and I’m really hoping the fifty bucks I invested will be enough to help alleviate at least some of those issues, because ew.
As excited as I was to go from a 1950’s firetrap that had almost no working outlets and cloth-covered wiring (!) to a place where his dad put in outlets approximately every five feet, he must not have been a fan of overhead lighting. Because the house gets such great natural light during the day, I didn’t notice until nightfall how damn dark the place was; thank God K-mart was running a clearance sale on floor and table lamps (yeah, I classed the joint right up with some Big K décor) so I no longer feel like we’re watching TV and reading in a cave every night.
Then there’s the stair situation. I’ve wanted one for awhile, but I now have no reason to ever get a stair climbing machine. The house is split level and the stairs are everywhere and never ending. This was especially amusing during the move all the belongings into the place phase, but even now I spend most of my free time going up and down from the bottom floor where the TV is, to the top where the kitchen and bathrooms are. Granted, that’s part of what makes the place unique, but damn. I’ve already started making sure if I get up to do something I multi-purpose as much as possible. Half the time we’re all, “Where are you? Up here! Where are you? Down here!” but that’s not necessarily bad.
All of this is true, but it’s mostly just bitching in jest. I’m still pretty amazed every morning when I wake up and we’re there. The crappiest part of the move is finally, finally behind us (well, except for getting the old house fixed up) and now I get to finally do the fun stuff; i.e. pick out and rearrange where all our stuff will go, put the pictures on the wall, put the boxes with Brian’s stupid dude stuff into his man cave. Watch a bunch of HGTV.
In two weeks we’ll get our first house guests (Sister! Niece!) and two weeks after that we’ll have more (Grace! Elizabeth!). Soon what is now new and weird will be old hat and I’ll still be living in the house I love, so I’d have to say it’s all more than worth it.
Adieu Arbor Drive September 28, 2011Posted by Kimmothy in Home Life.
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With not having an actual deadline date we have to be out of the current house, I had a funny feeling (knowing us like I do) this was going to be a long, arduous process. And hey, I was right! I can’t remember the actual day we started packing boxes, but it feels like we’ve been living in a crowded cubist’s nightmare for months now. But there is an end in sight: we’re aiming to be all into the new place by mid-October. That still sounds pretty non-committal but it’s something.
I regularly talk about the new place and what’s going to go where and how I can’t wait to be drinking coffee on the deck, etc., until Brian the other night accused me of not having liked our current house (to be fair, he was sweaty and dusty and packing boxes at the time). It was a moment of assholishness on his part that quickly passed, but I started thinking I hope his mom and George don’t think that, having generously let us live there for four years while paying a 1980’s rent price.
I loved this house. Four years is the longest we’ve ever lived in a place and even with all the things wrong with it, I mostly always concentrated on (and verbalized) the things I liked about it. It’s small and old and quirky, but there are definitely things I’ll be sad to leave behind and it hit me yesterday when we saw the weather forecast.
Apparently we’re about to get our first significant “cold front,” so I asked if we could have one last fireplace night. The fireplace is numero uno on the list of things I’ll miss. The new place has a fireplace, but it’s gas and I’m sorry, but those barely count. People in Florida have gas fireplaces so they don’t have to be depressed when it’s 80 degrees on Christmas day and they can flip it on to pretend they don’t live somewhere lame. You can only feel acutal heat if you’re sitting on the hearth, and then it kind of smells like you’re in a grill. They do give that nice cozy look, but ours happens to be in a room we’ll never hang out in, as for some strange reason his dad figured why not put one in where no one ever sits but merely passes through. I know I’ll want a fire once in awhile, but it won’t be close to the same thing. Wow, all those years living in Florida have turned me into someone who can write a 300-word essay on Fireplaces: My Deepest Thoughts and Feelings.
The front porch swing. Many a good (and some bad) books have been read on it; I’ll miss that too.
The dogwood tree.
Okay, so I’m not going to miss that many things. But four years of our life were spent there, happily, and the house served us well. I can’t say I’m sad, exactly, to leave it but I have some form of nostalgia for every place we’ve lived and this one is no different. I hope whoever lives there next is as content as we were.
And doesn’t mind the three mean pit bulls who just moved in next door with their loud family. But that’s a whole ‘nother story.
What Probably Gets Left Behind August 27, 2011Posted by Kimmothy in Baby-Making, Home Life, Marriage.
There’s no turning back now: yesterday Brian paid a significant chunk of cash to get the key to the new house and today we’re bringing the first of the boxes over. (An aside: we’ve packed around fifteen boxes comprised of only books and that’s barely made a dent – what the hell? It’s like they mutate.) We were talking about the plans for today last night and while he was listing all the crap that has to happen over the next few weeks, I interrupted him to say, “This is literally a dream of mine that’s coming true.” He replied with what I considered to be one of the sweetest things he’s ever said to me: “I know; that’s why we’re doing this.”
It’s not as though he doesn’t want to move, but honestly he would’ve been okay not to. Between a slightly more expensive rent and the family politics that will generate some fallout, he’s been a little more stressed than I have over this whole thing. He suffers a little more from inertia than I do at times. This current house is the longest we’ve stayed in any one place, coming in right at four years and while he made it clear he never wanted to buy this place or settle here long-term, he would’ve been fine staying awhile longer. My stubborn stance of this new situation literally falling into our laps won him over, but I also was adamant he be on board with the move or it wouldn’t happen. No house is worth him being unhappy to me.
What this also feels like, a little, is a trade-off. We haven’t talked about the kid thing for awhile but the more time passes where nothing is done about it, the closer I get to accepting it not ever happening. Does any material thing make up for that – a new car a few months ago, a new house now? Obviously not. But with every significant financial decision we make, in my mind it nags me that this takes us further away from any kind of Let’s Try to Get Us a Kid plan. And I’ve been trying really hard to figure out if I can finally put the idea to rest. Mental lists of friends who are leading happy lives sans children. How traveling, both by myself and with him takes no more planning than making time in our schedules. And soon, waking up every morning to have coffee on a deck that’s right off of the kitchen that overlooks the yard I got married on next to my favorite lake.
I wouldn’t be me if there wasn’t that nagging voice whispering to me, but I’m trying really hard to silence the bitch for good.
A Dream, Realized August 16, 2011Posted by Kimmothy in Fam Damily, Home Life.
I’m pretty sure everyone who blogs regularly (maybe except for the Famous Bloggers or hell, maybe them too) has experienced a dry spell where they feel like, Okay maybe I’m done. I don’t know that I’ve reached that point as much as I literally have felt all summer that I’ve had nothing much to say. To friends, family, my written jounral, the internet. The 140-character limit of Twitter has been just about right lately, and even Facebook is feeling more like a chore/morbid curiosity than anything resembling fun.
This wouldn’t be the first summer I’ve turned hiding inside from the shitty heat into an actual life crisis; as much as I bitch about it, I don’t think people really realize how adversely it affects me. Like Seasonal Opposite Affective Disorder. To compound the malaise, I didn’t get my annual week-long trek to Florida this year due to losing my leave when I took my three-week hiatus from employment in the Spring. I thought I was dealing with it like a reasonable adult until I realized it was seriously bumming me out. It may only be a week, but it’s my reconnection back with the people who mean the most to me (besides that guy I live with, obvs) and something I look forward to to help bridge the gap between my Hate Season and Fall.
I’ve been a big pissy stagnant armpit and I hate it when that happens.
Until a couple of days ago and as it usually is, timing is everything.
Brian’s dad lives in Florida now, but he’s held onto the house he built and lived in here. For a lot of reasons: he designed and pretty much built it himself. It was his home for a lot of years, a quirky split-level that largely resembles one of those ski chalet places you rent for a week on the side of a mountain. Instead of a mountain, this one sits on the shores of a lake; Lake Murray, in this case. It’s a lake I’m very fond of and have some history with, as my first adult house was also located in one of its coves and I also got married a few feet away from its edge. Right in his dad’s back yard in fact, which is now very soon going to be OUR back yard.
His dad’s offer came completely unexpectedly and unsolicited by us – we would never presume to ask for such a thing. In fact, nothing against him, but we never dreamed he’d even offer it to us. But he’s had bad luck with renters and he’s sick of dealing with a property management company that can’t seem to get people in there who have any lasting power beyond a few months. He’s thought of selling it but luckily the real estate market sucks way too much for that to have been a viable option. He’s had Brian do some fixer upper things to it over the past few years and knows he cares about the place a lot. Me, well I’ve loved the house since the moment I first stepped inside of it, some fifteen years ago. Mentally decorating it, ruefully shaking my head over his spartan man-decor that was 90% function and 10% late mid-90’s Hunting Lodge. My favorite spot – on the deck I threw my bridal bouquet from, the deck that’s high up in the air, practically in the trees that overlook a wide green lawn that leads down to the water – I always visualize a “Serenity Now” thought balloon over my head when I’m out there.
It took a few days of intense discussion over the move, what it means in terms of commutes, budget, responsibility and logistics. The pros trumped the cons like a bitch and the final decision was made today.
Sometime on or around the first of October I will literally be living in the house of my dreams. I don’t even think it’s really hit me yet, but all of a sudden lists are being made, the first boxes came home with me today, and the forward momentum has blasted us out of the real and/or imagined rut and damn does it feel good to be out.
One Week In April 13, 2011Posted by Kimmothy in Home Life, Life, Marriage, Work.
Funny thing about being unemployed – Sunday late afternoons/early evenings still fill me with a morbid, creeping feeling of dread. Not surprising, since I’ve always had the Sunday Willies no matter what was going on in my life. I think that may be why I ended up loving The Sopranos (and Mad Men and Breaking Bad and Family Guy etc.) so much; ah, the mind-numbing comfort of television. I’m thinking if I do a quick search of Sunday night shows in the history of television from the late 1970’s until now, I’d bet a good many of them have made my favorites list. Intriguing.
I’m not the only one with Sunday Night-itis either; my sister knows what I’m talking about.
This week I have three interviews scheduled, one of which I completed yesterday. Is there anything more insidious than a job interview? After going to the monthly therapist appointment, it became apparent the similarities between a job interview and talking one-on-one to your shrink. In both cases, all attention is focused intensely on you. You’re being questioned and then worry about what the answers you give could mean to you. You’re being judged (and we all know your therapist judges you – I mean, come on) and analyzed. The only real difference is how I feel afterwards: the therapy makes me feel mostly positive and reaffirmed, while I spend the hours after the interviews going over all the things I wish I would’ve said and berating myself for being a dorky moron.
And I swear, if one more person asks me where I want to be five years from now this is the answer I’m giving: At the Botox doctor.
Brian, who I’ve many times established is a way more laid back and positive person than myself, is in no hurry for me to rush going back to work. He’s enjoying the fruits of the stay-at-home wife, including the thoughtfully prepared dinners that are ready soon after he gets home and all the clean laundry that is not only clean but also actually put away. I enjoy it for the most part as well, but I’d be having even more fun if I knew what the time frame I’m going to have was. If I knew for sure that sometime in the next few weeks I’ll be reporting to a new job, the next few weeks would be fantastically stress-free. But we all know that’s not the way things work, especially if you’re living my life.
One thing I’m really thankful for though – if you have to be unemployed, Spring is a very pleasant time to do it. And anyway, I’m not at all attractive during the Summer months, what with the make-up that slides off my face, the neverending war against the frizz and light colored, Summer-appropriate clothing that is NOT my preferred style in any way. I look best in dark colors and mostly all covered up. For many reasons, here’s hoping the Spring version of me gets hired, so by the time Summer version arrives it’s too late and they’re already stuck looking at me every day.
Don’t Go Away Mad, Feb, Just Go Away February 26, 2011Posted by Kimmothy in Books, Exercise, Fam Damily, Home Life.
The best way to describe how the past couple of weeks have felt: You know when you’re in a hurry and you stick a tampon in and maybe don’t get it quite right so when you stand up and start walking around you realize it’s bad but you don’t have time to fix it right then so you spend an hour or two feeling some discomfort and the occasional stab? That.
But it hasn’t all been a pain in the vagina. A lot of the craziness has involved working our non-day jobs, and that means extra money, which is of course good. I’ve tried to think the last time I’ve actually had any substantial amount in a SAVINGS account, and I think it was when my parents were saving for my college fund. Shameful. Which you’d think I’d just feel positive about, but that’s not in my genetic make-up. What I first feel is happiness, but that quickly slides into “Uh-oh; this must mean something expensive is about to go wrong.” It’s not a fun way to live but it’s unfortunately how I roll.
Which is the perfect segue to the fact that our bathroom is sinking. It quickly went from the initial, Hmm do you think the floor feels weird quickly to, Holy shit, what’s happening!?! We’ve determined there’s a leak in some pipes near the tub that is rapidly spreading throughout the sub-floor. Brian, who has a lot of sheetrock, drywall and tile experience but knows almost nothing about plumbing, seems to think this is something a quick trip to Home Depot and some floor chopping will take care of, but I’m pretty sure that’s not going to be the case. This is us we’re talking about; come on! And since it’s easier to run around doing other things that *earn* money and put off something that’s potentially going to *cost* money, nothing has been done to fix this yet. I’ll be sure to let you know the moment when instead of a nice bathroom skylight, all of a sudden we have a new ground light.
I’ve sort of been half-assedly working on taking off the seven pounds of “holiday weight” I gained during prime eating season, which means taking advantage of cool sunny days and walking during lunch hours, trying to keep up the ridiculous water intake I seem to require to make a difference and sporadically using my elliptical thingie and new bicycle. I realized I’m down to the point where food is my only acceptable drug though when you use food as a drug you run the risk of not being able to breathe when you put on your pants. Or being able to put on your pants at all. What I’m doing now isn’t the best plan, but you do what works at the time and hope for the best. Of course I’m not back down to where I was last Fall when I was doing everything right, but I’m hoping I’ll find the energy somewhere to get back there eventually, please God.
Work has been brutal in terms of random idiocy and general fuckery, and though that tends to happen from time to time, it’s been exhausting lately. The economy is affecting us because obviously we’re not immune and so a lot of the time lately I’m hating being there while simultaneously thanking God I’m there. This coming week I’m going to Florida for a long weekend and though it’ll only be two extra days off from work, I’m very much looking forward to the break. I’m excited to see Sister, Brother and Niece because when I’ve gone too long spending time with Brian’s family and not my own, I start to feel like I’m in some surreal identity crisis where everybody talks too slow and nobody gets me. I love his family, but I need to get back to my people for reals and it’s been too long since I have.
For relaxation right now I’m reading the book Away by Amy Bloom. If you’re feeling a little stressed and upset about your own life, reading about a Jewish Russian woman in 1925 who goes to live in New York City after her family is murdered certainly helps to put your problems in perspective. I guess The Diary of Anne Frank has that same effect, but I’m not feeling quite *that* masochistic at the moment – a little levity mixed in with the tragedy seems to be the perfect balance. I guess that’s true not just in books, but life too.
Forty-two February 13, 2011Posted by Kimmothy in Experience, Fam Damily, Foodies, Holidays, Home Life.
Ten years ago today when I turned 32, I was unaware that the year would bring separation from my husband, leaving my home to live like a nomad for several months and losing my dad. At least I was oblivious to all that on my actual birthday.
Twenty years ago today when I turned 22, I was in love with Delorme and making preparations to leave home and move with him to South Carolina. It was a heady time and several friends with birthdays near mine threw us a combined birthday party, in which I happily and drunkenly told a lot of people we were moving away.
Thirty years ago when I turned 12, I didn’t know it at the time, but that year would bring pivotal things like my first period and moving to Inverness, the small town where I spent the majority of my formative years – I started seventh grade there, graduated high school there was a slacker a couple of years post high school there and consider it to be my hometown, in the John Cougar Mellencamp sense.
I don’t remember exactly what was happening the day I turned 2, but I’ve seen the pictures and it looked like it was fun, except for the singing of the Happy Birthday song to me, which always made me cry and I still do not enjoy to this day. The center of attention has never been where I want to be and that’s pretty much the epitome of it, besides walking down your wedding aisle but that’s so surreal it kind of puts the terror on the back burner for those few seconds.
Today we’ll be going out to lunch at a place called Country Buffet, which I enjoy mostly because of the self-explanatory name. His mom made me a cake, so we’ll go to their house to eat that (Her cakes are something I’ve tried to replicate for years and have failed – homemade icing, for hell’s sake) and then the rest of the day Brian said is whatever I want to do. It’s sunny and the high’s are getting into the mid-60’s, so even though I haven’t quite made up my mind yet, I’m sure it’s going to involve being outside a good bit.
He’s usually fairly deferential to me, but way moreso around my birthdays. Last night, I asked if we could go out to eat since Red Lobster is heavily promoting that Dinner for Two for $30 campaign and even though going out to dinner isn’t his favorite thing, I know the promise of seafood makes it more attractive to him. As we very slowly made our way through town, inching along in traffic and seeing all of the full-to-bursting parking lots at the chain restaurants, I realized with a sinking feeling a lot of people probably had the thought We’re out-smarting those suckers who are planning to eat out Monday night for Valentine’s Day. As we attempted to pull into the Red Lobster parking lot where there wasn’t an empty parking space in sight, he looked at me and said It’s up to you, baby. And right then, I glanced over to the restaraunt’s front door with the many people spilling out of it and pictured us waiting and literally felt my stomach growl and said No. He laughed with relief and we got the hell out of there and went to a fast food place that has great fries and were eating within fifteen minutes. I loved the fact he was willing to do whatever would make me happy, but I’m not a moron.
I’m ignorant as to what the next year will bring, but I’m hopeful as always good things will prevail.
The Haps February 9, 2011Posted by Kimmothy in Celebrities, Fam Damily, Home Life, Weather, Whatever.
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I don’t know how it’s possible I’m turning forty-two Sunday. When people say “I don’t feel (insert age),” I totally get that, because I don’t. I still listen to Eminem. I find South Park, Family Guy, the Jackass franchise and farting to be way funnier than any cartoon I’ve ever seen in the New Yorker. I’m going to my tenth Kid Rock concert in a few weeks. I watch Glee. I mean…are these normal enjoyments for someone well into their 40’s? Somehow I didn’t picture this way back when I was still feeling like a teenager in my 30’s. Really the only changes I’ve noticed are that I pay more attention to moisterizers, small print is starting to look swimmy even when I’m wearing my glasses and after a couple of nights of staying up too late, I go on coma-like sleeping benders to recover.
The in-laws are on my last nerve lately. And by in-laws I mean pretty much his entire family. It happens this way sometimes, where because we moved back here (by choice, let’s not forget to rub that in to me when I’m bitching about stuff like this) partially to be close to them, there are periods of time it seems they are all up in our grills (yeah, forty-something white women probably shouldn’t be using that phrase either) and demanding our time and attention. And while I do enjoy them most of the time, especially the ones on his dad’s side who I can comfortably curse in front of, Brian is literally being pulled in two different directions right now as we speak, trying to fit into his work day doing something for his dad while having spent the last three days doing something else for his step-dad. Who called me up Saturday to help him “vacuum” a house that would be better served burned to the ground. I guess I’m not the only one who has trouble telling people no because that doesn’t seem to be in his vocabulary when it comes to his family lately. What happened to the long-haired twenty-three year old Prodigal son I met in a bar? Fifteen years, I guess. And the stupid part is, I love that he cares so much about family so then I feel like a whiny bitch for saying something to him about it. At least I have the birthday excuse to pull this weekend and oh yes, I will utilize it.
I was rushing around Friday, trying to grab a quick bite to eat before the monthly therapy appointment and dropped my phone into a toilet. It was one of those situations that seemed like it was happening in slow motion and my brain was screaming NOOOO. By the end of the day I was the shocked but happy owner of a Droid. By yesterday I was no longer happy, as I have no idea how to use most of the cool features I was once so happy about. When I get a spare hour, I’m heading to Sprint to either get a lesson on usage or to trade the damn thing for something that doesn’t make me feel like a simpleton.
As much as I talk about fall, winter, snow, I want it, I love it, fireplace, blah blah – I think I have a little case of spring fever going on at the moment. We’ve had schizo weather this winter and here lately some cold/gray/wet/bone aching days. Then every so often a sunny high fifties day will pop up and I notice my mood and energy level immediately improves. I give serious credit to the people I know who live in unforgiving climes this time of year (Heather, my NY relatives) for not turning into Jack Nicholson from The Shining. I wouldn’t blame any of them for hacking through a door with an ax, all HERE’S JOHNNY after dealing with the nastiness for months on end. Serious props for that, because I know deep down I need variety in my weather like Charlie Sheen with his porny friends to be truly happy.
I’m getting really close to my goal for the down payment I want to have for a new vehicle. It’s been almost a full year of driving that beast which is really a work truck in the sense it’s Brian’s so it’s always dirty and filled with things needing to be taken to the dump. Whatever I get is going to feel luxurious and like MINE ALL MINE. I’m really looking forward to it. That, and I’m buying myself a bicycle for my birthday. New transportation all over this place! And in keeping it age-appropriate, I have my eyes on a purple Huffy right now, one that will look so cute with a plastic daisy basket and the Justin Bieber license plate I have picked out. Oh, I’m kidding about that last part. It’s obviously an Eminem plate, personalized that reads “The real Kim Shady.” Obviously.