Insomna-blog September 11, 2010Posted by Kimmothy in Experience, Life, Marriage, Music, The Man, World.
1 comment so far
I feel simultaneously amazed it’s already been nine years since September 2001 and also like it just happened. I guess that’s a fairly common thing. And selfishly, this anniversary always brings about other, more selfish feelings of unpleasantness, as it was September 12, 2001 the day I found out about Brian and the other woman. Last night during a bout of morbidness, I was thinking about whether or not Brian ever thinks about her (he’s human, so the answer to that would be yes) and when he does, what does he think about now about that whole thing. I still sometimes talk to the guy I passed my time with during our separation, but at this point there are no romantic feelings left, probably because I was never in love with him to begin with. It says a lot about Brian’s character that he’s aware of this and doesn’t seem bothered by it…although I’m sure it’s probably not his favorite either.
One of my friends said, But how would you feel if Brian still talked to HER? Well, okay – and this sounds like a lame justification but it’s different. He had a brief but intense relationship with her, whereas mine was more of a friendship that turned into something physical and that was mostly to help my damaged ego at the time. I never once considered ending my marriage to be with the other guy (I’ve had The Other Guy by the Little River Band in my head all week – coincidence, I think not), whereas Brian seriously entertained thoughts like that about her. Shudder.
The Redneck Couple friends of ours finally made it official with a divorce a few weeks ago (everyone who knows them is very relieved) and we were talking about it the other day. Once you bring lawyers into it and have the actual papers drawn up; well, that’s about as final as you can get. For months Nick tried his hardest to convince Sheri he’d change – stop drinking and smoking (tobacco and other substances), cajoled, threatened, plead his case to her mom and in a final stab of desperation got her name tattoo’d on his NECK. Sheri’s brother had the best comment about that: “Well THERE’S a perfect way to save a troubled marriage.” While Brian and I had some serious arguments and hurt feelings and crying marathons, we agreed the other day neither one of us ever came close to calling a lawyer. As messed up as everything was, I guess we both kind of knew if we rode it out for awhile we’d end up back together. Obviously that’s what happened, so in retrospect thank God.
It’s amazing the things you can remain intact through.
Today, nine years later, I can honestly say I would never have been able to picture back then. He’ll be waking up soon, singing and getting his freshly washed Gamecocks jersey on. Friends of his will be coming over this afternoon to watch the game with him and it’ll be his typical fun Saturday in Fall. I will be heading out later to drive a mere half mile to go see Kid Rock, who’s unbelievably playing a concert for the troops stationed here at Fort Jackson. So my day is going to be rather fun as well. It’s funny – my first ever blog post (on MYSPACE, my God) was about a Kid concert I’d just seen. I think that had been the fourth time I’d seen him and this is the eighth. Hi, I’m a well-adjusted super mature adult.
Those old scars will never fully heal, but maybe they’re not supposed to. If they serve to just remind me how grateful I am that we survived something like that, well good.
Birthday Weekend Stuff February 15, 2010Posted by Kimmothy in Fam Damily, Friends, Home Life, Photoblog, The Man, Weather.
For me it always ends up that the “big” birthdays – 16, 21, 30 – are usually the only ones noteworthy enough to remember. At 16, my best friend at the time threw me a surprise party, the only one I’ve ever gotten, and I got to debut my neon skinny belts and matching socks to the crowd and got Madonna’s Like a Virgin cassette. At 21, my parents took me and my boyfriend at the time and some friends out for a fancy dinner and my dad bought me my first legal drink, an Alabama Slammer. At 30, my oldest enduring friend threw me an engagement birthday party and many of the people who would travel to our wedding also joined us there and it was crazy fun. Forty was fun last year, but I was also on the high of being in the process of trying to get pregnant and that lent an air of Happy no matter what I was doing.
I guess what I’m trying to say is this past birthday nothing really special was going on. Yet I had an amazing weekend anyway. If you know me at all, you pretty much get to hear me bemoan the lack of snow in my life on a regular basis. For once, Mother Nature or Storm Track Doppler Radar answered my prayers and for about 8 hours it dumped over six inches on us Friday afternoon/evening, enough to keep us occupied and in awe for hours. I couldn’t believe how bright and pink everything was close to midnight and walking around the neighborhood it felt like we had been transported to Narnia or some other magical snow place. The dog loved it. We loved it. I photographed it. I want it again.
Saturday, the anniversary of my actual birth, Brian made me French toast for breakfast, took me to a place called Tokyo Grill for lunch, took me shopping for a replacement bottle of Happy perfume, told me another present is coming in the mail and was supposed to have been here by now but wasn’t and he was mad and we ended the day at Barnes & Noble. So in other words, a perfect day. We normally don’t do much for Valentine’s Day, but he told me my present was a month of tanning, he just doesn’t know the place to get the best deal and knows I do so when I decide to start back, he’ll slip me some cash. Awesome. It’ll be soon, of that I’m certain. Oh honey, skin damage for Valentine’s Day – you shouldn’t have but you know what I like!
Speaking of what I like. My mother is crazy; this has been well-documented. I don’t know if long-term alcohol abuse actually kills brain cells like they say, but she could be Exhibit A in support of that. What she usually does for my birthday is sends me a gift card, most of the time to Walmart – always very useful and I appreciate it. This year for reasons unknown she went for something different. In the package there was a red and white stuffed bear (yay, happy V-day to the dog!), a purple tote bag with a peace sign on it I would’ve loved on my 16th birthday (Her: “I figured since you got to go to Woodstock and I didn’t, what the heck.”) and this:
There are so many things wrong here, I was overwhelmed. With glee. Of course Emailing it to Sister was the first order of action. “Atrocity,” is the word she used and I thought that was a good one. Brian, always the one who tries to justify the Crazy, just threw out a cliche’: It’s the thought that counts. Thought? The actual thought process that went into this is the stuff of my nightmares. I think what knocks me out about it more than anything else though is how LITTLE she knows me. My mother, the woman who pushed me out, loved and nurtured me for a long time. Even my MIL, who is about as opposite-world from me as you can be, knows my taste in clothes and decor. I showed it to her yesterday, and ever the polite Southern lady all she could say was, “Oh Kee-yim, that’s not you at all.” No, no it’s not. However, I thanked her profusely like you do and she thinks I loved it so my job here is done. It’s currently in the donation pile, but if you know any 80-year-old ladies who live in South Florida and spend most of their time gardening and riding around in golf carts, let me know and I’ll ship it Express Mail.
And here’s the really funny thing. An amazing lady in the greater Chicago area, one whom I’ve only corresponded with through computer or text and still have yet to set eyes on wrote this for me. So it may be a little tragic my mom has no clue, but knowing there are people, amazing people out there who DO so totally get me, well that is all I or anyone can ever hope to have.
Sunday Bullets January 31, 2010Posted by Kimmothy in Books, Exercise, Fam Damily, Friends, Home Life, The Man, Weather, Whatever.
- I feel like this month has flown by. Normally January is like August for me in that it drags, drags, DRAGS. Not this time – tomorrow is February!
- I’ve been enjoying exercising again and reading and writing on the No Butts blog. If I could bottle that awesome adrenaline high that comes right after a good work-out, I’d be a very rich woman. Under obvious, see obvious.
- I finished the massive Stephen King book in just under three weeks’ time. Brian put it well: Anytime a long novel reads like a short story, you have a good thing on your hands. I’d recommend it to any SK fan.
- I’m doing well on my no-unnecessary-spending kick. It helps a lot that the last two weekends, prime money wasting time, have been so ugly weather-wise we haven’t really left the house. Avoiding Amazon helps too.
- Good friends are coming up from Florida at the end of this week. One of them is staying at a mutual friend’s house a little ways up the road apiece from here and the other is staying here. This coincides nicely with Brian leaving for another business-related-excuse-for-out-of-town-shennanigans (just how many trade shows are in the landscape business anyway?) trip to Myrtle Beach. Girl time, you know what that means: pedicures and pillow fights. All the way.
- Facebook continues to amuse and amaze me. Is it me, or do other people experience the weird phenomenon that people you thought you knew are really, really dumb. I went through and cleaned some people out this week. No offense, but if I didn’t like talking to you in real life I probably shouldn’t subject myself to your idiocy online either.
- The male half of our redneck friends helped Brian throw sod in our front yard Friday afternoon. We took him home later that night, around 7pm. I was eager to see the wife, as I haven’t since before Christmas and have heard she’s been going through some rough times re: their relationship. I wasn’t cheered by the fact she was in her pajamas when we got there, especially when I remembered the last time we were there – during the day – she was also dressed for bed. This isn’t a good sign as to her state of mind. I’m planning on giving her a call in the next few days to talk to her uncensored and see how she is. It seems Mr. Redneck is feeling pretty dreary too. Brian said when they were working on the yard, out of the blue with no segue he said, I can help you for as long as you want, man. I don’t have anything to do tonight, tomorrow, next week, or the rest of my life. Brian told me later, What do you say to that? Uh…we’ll be finished around 4?
- I’m continually flabbergasted by my office neighbors, especially the one who turns any subject, work-related or not, into an anecdote about her kids. I’ve decided to start a game with it. Starting tomorrow, anytime this happens, I’m going to do a shot make a little note. Then at the end of the week I’ll tally it up and see what the data looks like. Will this accomplish anything besides my own stupid amusement? No it will not. That’s never stopped me before though, and it adds fodder to my continued fascination with the human race.
- My SIL gave me what I do believe could qualify as one of the top three haircuts of all time this week. I don’t know how, because we were especially chatty the whole time and she kept snip, snip, snipping away until I started getting nervous. But no – I wake up in the morning and don’t resemble the Bugs Bunny monster anymore. She’s getting married March 6th and I’m looking forward to it despite the family drama that has already begun. It’s an outdoor affair and I’m curious as to what the weather will be like. I’d normally have something planned to wear by now but considering it could be anywhere from 30 degrees to 70 that day, I’m waiting. Smart, right?
- Not much else to report. Life is good.
SCHWING in the New Year December 17, 2009Posted by Kimmothy in Fam Damily, Holidays, Marriage, The Man, Uncategorized.
Don’t say anything, but I bought Brian a naughty magazine as a surprise stocking stuffer. (And no, I can’t write that without thinking, “Heh heh – I bet after that he’ll stuff my stocking”) Besides a subscription to Playboy that has recently lapsed (and by the way Hef, sending me renewal notices starting three months after we got the first issue is a really quick way to piss me off and you were already on my shitlist for letting Holly get away), it’s been awhile since I’ve purchased anything naked-related, so I was shocked, SHOCKED, to see that the price for one magazine was $11.99. I relented because well for one thing, this is actually a Hustler and I suppose the ratio goes up according to how much action there is and also it includes a bonus dvd – oo-la-la!
I had this whackjob of a friend once who completely flipped out when she found out I “let” Brian look at those kinds of magazines. Let him. I never realized I was in charge of what he can or cannot look at. This girl wasn’t a religious fanatic, or anything like that – she was just one of those weirdos who freaked the hell out if she and her husband were out in public and an attractive woman came within a three mile radius of her eyesight. Her husband wasn’t the type to ogle other women; in fact he went out of his way NOT to notice anyone, lest feel the wrath of Crazypants, and always tried to let her know she was beautiful, the only woman for him, blahblahblah. Of course irony won out in the end like it always does and she ended up cheating on him with three or four guys in the course of about a year, one of them being his brother.
I will admit that of course I have some insecurites. I’ve always pretty much assumed that comes along with being a human and a female. But getting seriously pissed at Brian if a pretty girl walks by? I just don’t have that kind of time. We kind of moved past that when both of us slept with other people and then decided to stay married anyway. And anyway, what usually happens with us is like a little private fun joke: the woman passes by and Brian looks at me because he knows I’m looking at him and smiling, then he smiles at me and I say, “What are you smiling about?” and he says, “What are YOU smiling about?” and so on. It’s retarded and fun, like most relationships’ little games are. I don’t know; I guess I just have a pretty laid back attitude about all that stuff. Especially pictures in a magazine or images on a TV screen. Some people aren’t comfortable with it; I am – pretty simple.
Tomorrow is my last day of work and then it’s sweet vacation action for the next seventeen days. I’m pretty excited. Of course I have a list of stuff I want to get accomplished in that time, but considering a week or so will be spent down in the Sunshine (and still stupid hot) State, we’ll see how much actually gets done. I know I will be dragging my warm & toasty ass out of bed bright and early Monday morning to hopefully finish up my shopping.
Which reminds me of a question. If you’re a dude (or just know what dudes like), what’s a good ten dollarish gift I can buy for the family gift swap? I have the girl thing already (a candle – mindless and boring but effective) but I’m downright stumped as to what would be a good cheap man gift.
I’m thinking a Hustler probably wouldn’t go over very well.
After All, Athletes Are Celebrities Too August 4, 2009Posted by Kimmothy in Celebrities, Marriage, Sports, The Man.
This is neither new nor groundbreaking and it’s been going on for most of my life. Well since tweendom at the very least.
I care too much about celebrities.
I know I’m not alone in this because if I were, things like US Weekly, Entertainment Tonight and half the Internet wouldn’t exist. Not that that makes me feel much better, but it always helps a little when you know you’re not alone in your psychosis. Ask anyone in AA; they’ll tell you the same thing.
I feel it’s a fairly unharmful obsession hobby. Besides an unmailed fan letter to Stephen King in 1985 and getting the balls to stand up and ask Kevin Smith a question at one of his Q & A’s last year, I’ve never attempted to go out of my way to make contact with anyone famous. I’ve stalked, sure, but only in my mind. Well, there was the time Sister and I spent hundreds of dollars on self-addressed stamped envelopes trying to win an All Access Trip to Toyko with Bon Jovi before reading the fine print and finding out Florida residents were not allowed to enter the fucking contest – I’ll see you in Hell, MTV, but even that wasn’t a total waste, as both of us got passports out of the deal and how useful is that? Ah, the early 90’s.
Apparently though, just because I feel this is an innocent pasttime, not everyone around me has always felt the same way. My first serious boyfriend, a tall, skinny, funny-looking-but-nevertheless-cocky dweebhole named George had big problems with my strong feelings toward Michael Jackson and Prince. So much so that I was finally forced to take down my hundreds of pictures and posters that covered my bedroom walls because I was sick of hearing about it all the time. I eventually wised up though and instead of having fights over Eddie Murphy as well, I simply told him my curfew was 1 a.m. on Friday nights and 11:30 p.m. on Saturday nights so I could be home in time to watch SNL every week. My brilliance is really underestimated sometimes.
Brian deals with it really well most of the time. There have been plenty of times when he might be staying up late, sees something about Kid Rock on the channel guide and tapes it for me. Or listens patiently and shares his opinion when I excitedly tell him some dirty gossip about someone famous. He’s really pretty good about it all. Except sometimes. We were having a sort-of-but-not-really argument a few weeks ago when he exclaimed that he wasn’t interested in hearing whatever I was telling him right at that moment. I snippily answered back with, “Well I don’t always care to talk about POLITICS, but I know you care about THAT, so I DO.” And like the always-has-an-answer-for-everything fucker he is, he said, “Well POLITICS, unlike CELEBRITIES, directly affect our lives!” I hate when he does that. And by “that” I mean “is right about something we’re arguing about.”
But. Leave it to Sister to give me the comeback I needed a few weeks too late. We were taking a walk around the hotel the other night, discussing all aspects of life and whatnot. She shares my deep celebrity love and we were talking about it and how our husbands are cool for the most part except when they aren’t. Then she said it. “They can’t really say that much to us about it though, when all this is is our sports!”
Holy hell, did she hit the nail on the head with that one. It’s so true. They get insane over football, basketball, whateverball and we (for the most part) enthusiastically support them. This is just like that except replace athlete recruiting, scores, stats, plays, records, and weekend-long, non-stop obnoxious announcers (I’m looking at you, Lee Corso) screaming in our living rooms with celebrity overdoses, marriages, divorces, pregnancies and bad plastic surgery.
I can’t believe I’ve never thought of the comparison before. Sister always has been smarter than me, after all.
But I’m SO prepared the next time he has a smartass comment. Because there will be a next time, oh yes there will be. Given that the college football season kicks off (Ha – I bet nobody’s ever used that one before) in a little less than a month, I’m sure the opportunity will present itself soon. Oh, I’m not saying I don’t enjoy some of it too – we live in a big college town smack in the middle of the Southeastern Conference and I work at the same place the Gamecocks call home. I get it and I like it. And I’m very happy for Brian, who every year at this time loses his mind (present year included) and can’t even talk about it without doing a little dance and excitedly pummeling the arm rests of the couch.
That’s all well and good. But the next time I read him something from Perez, he better at least FAKE some interest and recognize that he likes things as trivial as I do and sometimes life doesn’t always have to be all serious. Is all I’m sayin’.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go pick up this month’s issue of Vanity Fair – Heath Ledger is on the cover.
Short-timer’s Disease July 22, 2009Posted by Kimmothy in Fam Damily, The Man, Vacation, Work.
As I’ve briefly made mention on my other internet places, I really, REALLY, could use a couple of days off just to get ready to take more days off. Funny how that always happens. While at work, all I’m thinking about is all the shit I need to get done outside of work and when I’m not at work I’m worrying about getting all the crap I need to get off my desk before leaving. It’s irritating. Not to mention I’m completely wiped out every night and falling into a drooling sleep on the couch isn’t really conducive to knocking stuff off the to-do list, YET I’m wide-ass awake at 5:30 a.m. One might suggest maybe using that time to get things done, but one might not understand I don’t do my best cognitive thinking at that time of day. And one can mind their own damn business anyway.
I don’t think my boss means to be a bosshole, but damn does she ever get nervous when one of us takes leave. She came to see me yesterday to ask me to make sure I meet with one of the other girls so as to have “coverage” while I’m gone. Just to reiterate, my job is almost completely autonomous, I rarely get phone calls and we training coordinators all have our own trainings we cover and don’t deal with each other’s at all. Also, we don’t perform any life saving duties here, so any “emergency” that may arise while I’m gone doesn’t qualify as an emergency. But I assured her I’ll make sure to have COVERAGE. Over my empty office and non-ringing phone.
I still haven’t made up my mind whether I’m going to see my mom while I’m down there. Every time I try to picture it, a sinister, bubbling feeling starts happening in my stomach and I have to run-not-walk to the bathroom. I think I’ve finally found the cure for my constipation issues.
I’m going to miss my boys while I’m gone. I don’t really worry about Brian too much, as he’s proven capable of keeping both himself and the dog alive for days on end without me, but still. I know he’ll feed them both, but it will be at odd times. I’m sure he’ll stay up too late, drink too much beer, probably sleep on the couch with lights and TV on all night. It’s possible he’ll be late for work a couple of times. I always tell him to clean up after the hooker-and-blow parties so I don’t have to walk into any thongs on the floor, but I’m sure the house will still be in some state of disarray when I get back. It’s okay though; I understand the guy still has a 23-year-old bachelor living inside him and when I’m not around the bachelor escapes his husband-shell.
Conundrum: Should one wash her car knowing she’s headed straight to the land of Daily Afternoon Thunderstorms? Yeah, probably. Dammit.
It took a lot of thought and careful planning, but I think I’ve managed to plan it all out so that I’ll get to spend some time with each person I want to see in Florida. The only thing I’m sort of nervous about is my uncle’s surgery. He’s having it tomorrow so Friday I’m driving straight to the hospital, first stop. I’m pretty sure my aunt and cousins will already be there, but I get wiggy when a loved one is in the hospital. Another case of if I think about it too much I’ll have to run to the potty. Though he’s been hospitalized in the last few years and I’ve visited him, so I know he’s very amusing while on the morphine drip. I always ask him to share.
So starting Friday things will get crazy, but never you fear – I’d go into dt’s, withdrawls, the shimmy-shakes if I were to stay away from the computer for more than a day so I’m quite sure I’ll be updating fairly regularly while I’m gone.
I can feel your relief from here!
Customer Service, Where “Service” is Optional July 13, 2009Posted by Kimmothy in Experience, Life, Products, Shopping, The Man, Whatever.
Believe it or not, this post has nothing to do with my Walmart. Shocking, I know. But a couple of things happened to me in the last few days I can’t let pass without mention.
Thing the First:
I recently paid for a month of tanning. I’ve found this makes the whole diet/exercise thing much more bearable, as everybody knows tan fat looks MUCH better than white fat. It was my gift to myself for losing the first ten pounds, even though I’ve only lost seven. Believe me, it makes sense in my head. Anyhoo, the tanning salon. I figured there’d be a place close by that gave a discount to students and I was right. What’s that you say, I’m not currently a student? Well that’s technically true, although I am a student of life, but it doesn’t matter because you’d be surprised how often a college employee ID fools people. I’ve worked at a few colleges and this trick almost never fails; the secret is in the small print, always.
The place is in a clean, non-ghetto shopping plaza located conveniently between work and home. I quickly fell into a schedule like I normally do when tanning – stopping in after work on the weekdays and going in as early as possible on Saturday, to avoid the baking-myself-in-the-heat-of-the-day syndrome. I always know to start out slowly – usually eight minutes, increasing by two minutes a day every day until I hit twenty. That may not seem relevant now, but just wait. I got up Saturday morning and headed to the place around 10:00. I was feeling very congratulatory toward myself, getting both the exercise and tanning out of the way before noon. At the front desk, the over-tanned, highlighted and pierced teen asked for my last name, as they do and I told her. Without looking up from her BlackBerry, she said, “Okay, I’ll put you in bed thirteen.” Okie dokie; I started to head to the bed. She said “Oops, wait a minute; something’s not working.” This didn’t alarm me, as I have the feeling she’s easily confused. Then she told me something I’ve never heard in my tanning career.
“I’m sorry – you can’t tan until 2:39 this afternoon.”
“Yeah, it’s because of our 24 hour rule. You tanned yesterday at 4:39, so it won’t let me override the system. I’m sorry.”
Now, I’m no mathlete, but something about that bothered me. I said, “If there’s a 24-hour waiting period, why am I allowed to come back at only 22 hours?”
I swear, I wasn’t trying to confuse the poor girl. She looked at me blankly for a minute and said, “Well, I guess it’s a 22-hour waiting period. Sorry.”
I walked out. I may have cursed a little under my breath. It wasn’t that big of a deal; the place is literally a little over a mile from home. But I started playing the what-if game. What if I’d driven twenty or thirty minutes to get there (And I have driven that far to tan before – don’t judge.) In all my years of fake baking, I’ve never heard of this assinine rule. Sure, I understand they all have the safety features and I know these places only allow one tanning session a day, but how did someone come up with such an arbitrary number like 22? And what if I was a duplicitous tanner and had signed up at three different tanning salons – how would they know? There was one of those small-town myths that went around when I was in high school that some girl went to five different tanning salons the day before prom and fried herself to a crispy death. I don’t know if that’s a true story, but it’s certainly a good cautionary tale. But whatever – it’s called COMMON SENSE, YOU MORONS, AND I DO HAVE SOME.
Thing the Second:
Brian’s birthday is this Sunday and I was having trouble coming up with ideas for a present. Conveniently, his PlayStation decided to stop working yesterday. Now there’s something you need to understand about his gaming. He does love it, but realizes it’s a hobby that isn’t exactly age-appropriate or useful, so is okay with using game systems and games that are hand-me-downs and/or a few years’ out of date. For instance. NCAA Football 2010 comes out tomorrow, so when that happens, I buy him 2009, because it immediately drops in price when the new one comes out. Same with the system – he’s still using a PS2, (and a refurbed one at that) while the rest of the world laughs at him. But he’s okay with that.
He got excited as I gathered up the game system and three games to trade at Game Stop. I’m not a gamer, but I do enjoy that store and I’ve always managed to get him something he likes for a decent amount of money. Yesterday the place was busier than normal and there were two guys behind the counter. I sidled up to the first one who was available and put the stuff on the counter.
“Hi. I’d like to trade this stuff in and possibly get a new system.”
Dude takes the stuff out of the bag and looks it over.
“I bought that system here at Christmas, but it never really worked right and now it’s not working at all. We only had the one-month warranty on it.”
Dude goes, “I can already tell without checking you aren’t going to get much for this stuff.”
“Okay…but I will get something, right?”
“Yeah. Let me scan it in and I’ll tell you how much.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Call me crazy but I do prefer cold hard facts over a snotty employee’s opinion believe it or not. And what’s with the attitude anyway, buddy? You’re working here on a Sunday and I’m in here spending money. Condescend me, motherfuc…
“Okay, all this stuff would give you a credit of $19.43.”
“Great! That’s more credit than I had a minute ago, right?”
Sarcastic sniffing sound.
“Okay, then. Do you guys have any more refurbed PS2’s?”
“Well, I’m not sure, but I can go in the back and look.”
I stare for a minute. “Could you? That’d be awesome.” Sorry to inconvenience you, good sir. I know I’d be a much more attractive customer if I was spending the $400 on the PS3, but that ain’t me and it never will be. Unless I have a kid. Then, totally.
A minute or so passes by and out he comes with a system. Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.
“I found this one – do you want to know what the price would be with your credit?”
Are you kidding me. “Yes.”
*Punches numbers into computer* “It would come out to thirty-something.”
I sighed. And I seriously said the following: “Okay, I’m sorry to trouble you for one more thing, but can I get NCAA 2009 thrown in there too?”
“2010 comes out Tuesday!”
“I realize that.”
“Wouldn’t you want to get the newest one?”
“No. Every year when the new one comes out I buy the previous year’s.” Why the fuck am I explaining myself to this asshole?
Ringing me up: “Would you like to get the one-year warranty this time? It’s only ten dollars and that way maybe you wouldn’t have to come back for awhile.”
“Ten dollars not to come back in here for at least a year? Now THAT’S gotta be the best deal I’ve gotten all day!”
I don’t think he got it. But I’m glad I said it.
I’m wondering if it means I’m getting old, this complaining about these places and the idiots who work in them.
Don’t answer that.
The More Things Change July 5, 2009Posted by Kimmothy in Friends, Marriage, The Man.
Recently Brian reconnected with a good friend of his he hadn’t seen in almost ten years. I’ll call him Dirk.
I always liked Dirk, regardless that he could (and can) talk the ears off a herd of elephants. He was part of a group of Brian’s more, I guess, wilder friends – the ones who played in the Death Metal band, the ones who dated strippers, the ones who included some questionable substances in their daily diets. You know the type.
He came over the other night and I was glad to see him. His long blond hair was entirely gone, but baldness suits him just as much – Dirk is cute. He’s about an inch shorter than me, but isn’t one of those guys who tries to compensate for being short. When I walked in the door they were already here and he jumped up to give me a big hug. Then he pulled back and said, “Yep! Your tits are as big as ever – thank God!” I said, “And I see you’ve turned into a shy, introverted man in your old age, Dirk.” And then I never got another word in edgewise the entire night.
He told us he’s been engaged twice, to two different girls, but both relationships broke up before a wedding happened, (“Thank fucking God.”). He got laid off in January and hasn’t been able to find another full-time job since then, but has managed, as he put it, to stay living out on his own and not move back in with his parents. I was shocked to hear he’s 36, but then he was shocked to hear I”m 40. He said, “I always knew you’d hold up well.”
I observed him and Brian together. It seems they have that type of friendship where it doesn’t matter how many years you go without seeing the person, things almost pick up exactly where you left off. I love that. I have friends like that. But with them, there are some small, almost undiscernable differences. I don’t think Brian noticed, and Dirk doesn’t shut up long enough to notice much of anything.
But I did. I don’t know – it almost seemed like in the ten years that passed, I could see how Brian has grown a lot. We’ve had so many challenging times – with money, with our marriage, with moving all over the state of Florida. With Dirk it seemed like he was…exactly the same. Still very much a part of the party people. Still talking about the hot girls. When I went to bed they were trying to remember the name of a girl who dated a truck driver who’s now in jail for selling speed.
I don’t know; I guess it bothered me a little. Where would Brian be if we hadn’t gotten together and I “settled him down,” which is the popular opinion amongst his friends. I asked him the next day if he thinks he’d be happier now if he was single-ready-to-mingle like Dirk. He gave me that look, the one he gives me when I’m being a psycho and said, “No, I’m glad I’m married to you.”
And then handed me divorce papers.
But I hope he wasn’t.
I Smell (no) Sex & Candy June 26, 2009Posted by Kimmothy in Home Life, Marriage, Moods, The Man, Work.
Boy. Don’t ever go all over the internet about what a saintly wonderful man you are married to and how he’s so perfect it’s all you can do to keep from fallin’ on your knees to start blowin’. I should know better than to do something like that – my Spidey senses completely failed me yesterday.
It was true though and I came home from work with my heart full to bursting with love for my man. He was solely responsible for my good spirits, having been completely loving and supportive and saying all the right things outside the doctor’s office to console me after our not-so-happy appointment. Not that he was just “saying the right thing” to make me feel better; Brian doesn’t waste his words on platitudes and bullshit. I know he really meant all of it. So, yeah. Full of love. Whatever.
He arrived home shortly thereafter and only had a few minutes before sadly he had to change out of his landscaping clothes into his tile clothes and drive off to work away the second half of the day. I get it. He’s been working his ass off the past week and he’s exhausted to the point of the absurd. However.
He grabbed a sandwich and sat down so we could catch up for a few minutes with each other and the news. For news junkies like us, this has been a banner week both in our state’s government and the entertainment industy at large. Banner. I’d also started to sit down, when he did something so out of character, it literally stopped me in my tracks.
I’ve been counting calories, see. Like, really counting calories. To the point where if I eat five Now & Later’s and I don’t have my little calorie journal right there, I will save the five Now & Later wrappers so that I remember to log those stupid empty calories into the book. Well. Apparently I should’ve thrown away those wrappers Now rather than Later, because he sort of pissily (new word) pushed them aside and said “Nice. Were you just going to leave those there?”
I may have slightly overreacted a little.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME! OH MY GOD, THIS IS PERFECT. I SO NEEDED YOU TO TURN INTO A DICK TODAY; TODAY OF ALL DAYS! THIS WHOLE HOUSE IS A FILTHY PIECE OF SHIT AND YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT SOME CANDY WRAPPERS??? WHEN’S THE LAST TIME YOU DID ANYTHING AROUND HERE? ALL I DO IS WALK AROUND BEHIND YOUR ASS AND CLEAN UP YOUR SHIT – YOU CAN’T EVEN PUT A DIRTY DISH IN THE DISHWASHER, BUT OH FUCK NO, THAT’S OKAY BECAUSE YOU KNOW IT’LL MAKE IT IN THERE ANYWAY, RIGHT? NO NO, THAT’S OKAY – LEAVE YOUR LAUNDRY RIGHT THERE, I’LL WASH IT FOR YOU AND DRY IT AND PUT IT AWAY, RIGHT? AAAAAAGGGHHHHH!!!!”
Him: “Don’t bother; I’ll do it myself.”
“OH HELL NO! GOD FORBID I SIT AROUND HERE WITH NOTHING TO DO – THANKS FOR THIS, NOW I WON’T BE BORED TONIGHT! AAAAAGGGHHH!!!”
Yeah, I’m glad I’m so calm and rational.
We yelled back and forth for a few minutes (and by we I mean me since he really never yells), he left and then I called him so we could continue to argue while he drove. Drove to go work a second job after working the first job outside in the stupid heat all day. I know. I’m a delight. Of course, before he returned home (at 11:30, making it a nice quick 17-hour workday for him) we’d already talked a few more times and things were all better. In fact, he used the breaking news about Michael Jackson as an excuse for him to call and apologize for hurting my feelings.It usually isn’t too long before we’re friends again.
I was talking to a friend later and she so correctly summed it up: we’re both emotionally, mentally and physically drained, the steam’s been building and it had to blow sometime. He probably wasn’t really that upset about candy wrappers and I might have taken the criticism a tad too personally. A-yup.
But I need to say something here, just between you and me. I resent the fact that our society dictates that when a house is messy, the woman is the only one the criticism gets directed toward. Friends or family come over – they’re not going to look around and think, “Hmm, Brian could sure do some cleaning around here!” No. Brian isn’t even going to register on that radar. And no matter how much help he gives or doesn’t give me, it’s always going to reflect on me. It doesn’t matter that I work fulltime too. Or that a lot of my free time is spent helping him do extra work. If we’re both sitting on our asses long enough for things to fall into disarray, my ass is the only one getting called a shitty housekeeper.
Sadly I know this is never going to change. Whaddaya gonna do, right? He told me as soon as this ridiculous schedule is over with sometime next week, he will help me really clean the place up. But as evil as I can sometimes be, I can also be nice. I’ve already gotten a good start and by the end of this weekend, we’re going to be living in a whole new house. I know both of us are happier that way and really, isn’t that the ultimate goal?
So it’s good he got pissed about the candy wrappers. But I can’t help but wonder if he’d still have said anything if he knew I was planning a blow job for him last night. My guess is no.
Of Fertility and Beyond June 25, 2009Posted by Kimmothy in Baby-Making, Experience, The Man.
So I’m back from the fertility consultation. We spent an hour going over what’s been done over the past six months, possible reasons for why things didn’t work and what our future options are. Dr. Babymaker was very thorough and patient and answered all of our questions, but we didn’t even make it completely outside of the office before I started crying. I wasn’t surprised; it’s been building for awhile. The entire year so far has felt like a roller coaster ride, but not a smooth and fun one like Space Mountain; more like an old rickety wooden one where you hear scary creaking noises as you go up and down and are never sure when something might break, sending you flying off into space. Not a great analogy, but it’s all I got right now.
What it boils down to at this point with the three failed IUI attempts, is that our best bet financially and percentage-wise is IVF. When people say “You can always adopt,” they might not realize it’s actually twice as expensive as the typical IVF cycle. I didn’t realize it until today. In fact, the more the doctor cleared up all of my questions, the more hopeless I started becoming. Bascially where we’re at now is realizing my worst fear when we started this. The unsuccessful treatments due to “unexplained fertility.” He went over what some of the possible causes could be, but there is no solid answer. That and the fact that we’ve spent thousands of dollars of both ours and George’s money and for us to consider IVF would be another $10,000 plus, I’m amazed I held my shit together as long as I did.
So we walked outside and stood under a tree by Brian’s truck. I had the tears and snot happening, but no loud sobbing or hysterics. I started to complain about the doctor with no real reason except that I’m not pregnant. Brian stopped me and started talking. He said he understands I’m disappointed right now and that he is as well. But that no matter what happens, we have a life together and he loves it. And me. That I need to stop trying to place blame on things – myself, God, all the other women in the world who are currently pregnant or have had kids. (How’d he know that?) That all we can do is keep on trying and trust God that it’s going to work out either way. Immediately, I thought of something I’d just read earlier this morning
Excellent timing, I must say.
I think Brian said more about this today than he’s said all along; we were out there talking under that tree for a good thirty minutes. I still cried, but he does this great thing where he can usually make me laugh while I’m crying and he did that. I told him that if there’s anything positive to come out of this so far is that I’ve realized all over again how lucky I am to have him for my husband. That I could be married to the Governor right now and that would really suck. (I like making him laugh during heavy conversations too). Then we talked about whether or not we should bring the dog over with us on the tiling job tonight, how he’s down to only two good pairs of jeans so he needs to do laundry tonight and how maybe this weekend we’ll get him some new pairs. Then we kissed and hugged a lot and went our separate ways back to work.
I go see the therapist in a little while (how convenient these appointments both fell on the same day), but I don’t think there are going to be any big revelations today. If she asks how I’m feeling I’ll tell her the truth: unlucky. And very lucky. I should probably leave out the fact that Brian’s totally getting a blow job tonight, but knowing me, I’ll say it anyway. That’s what she gets paid the big bucks for, right?