Last night I had the opportunity to attend a reunion show of my favorite swing band from ten years ago. I was super excited about hearing the music, dancing, and most of all seeing all my old swing buddies. I had no idea what I was in for!
I read the facebook invite and it read that the reunion show was in Ofallon, Il. Bad because it's a thirty minute drive. Worse, because it's a thirty minute drive to a town next to my hometown! I finally arrive at the conference center and am amazed at the idea that I almost made it through an entire album on the ipod! As I walk in, I see a sea of high school kids in black wandering around. I ask the man at the desk where the Swing band show is, and he looks very puzzled.
"This is the O'fallon High School Jazz Band fundraiser concert."
I must have had a look on my face that represented someone facing a sentencing, because we both just stared at each other. I wandered around the hotel looking for a sign of another concert going on, alas there was none. I grabbed the mobile phone and called a friend and asked her to look at facebook and confirm the address. I explained that I was at some kind of high school concert. She crackberrys the website and laughs out the words,
"Your at the right place."
I then see warming up in a room my best friend, and trumpet player of the band. She ran out to greet me.
"Hey! Am I at the right place?"
She laughed and explained that this was a fundraiser and the high school jazz band was opening for them. It also was an auction with a collection of many autographed items. Including a guitar signed by Taylor Swift, that eventually made a home with a 13 year old boy, who's future is most certainly to be a server in Chelsea. I walked in and immediately found my old buddies. They stood out as bad as I did. Among the sea of Dockers, sequined blazers, and white zinfandel's was our table. Two toned shoes, low cut dresses, and whiskey.
The jazz band wasn't all that bad, and they better not be. Seeing as how their parents had all spent tremendous amounts of money on their instruments. It had it everything you'd expect. Timing issues, nervous solos, bad bassist, and flashbacks. I was sitting next to my old friend Tiffany who's jokes kept my shoulders rocking up and down all night. She is like a red headed George Carlin.
The barry sax player was the best. A fat kid of course. Tiffany leans over to me and says something along the lines of sax practice and masturbation, and i spit my drink out a little. His parents of course were sitting at the table in front of us. They didn't hear what we were saying but we were very unwelcome.
Trying to fit in and not be gawked at like the townie whores we looked like, we got involved in the auction. Of course dropping out every time an item went over $25.00. Finally, the band started!
We hooped and hollered, sang along with every song. Remembered all the audience cues, and were even asked by the band to do some dancing. The rest of the audience glared, glared and, oh yeah, glared at us. The bartender was atrocious! Which I can understand, when all you do is open bud select and pour white zin, but she told me she had no scotch. When I told her she had Dewars, she said "Oh that's whiskey."
When the show ended my friends told me that in a weird coinsidence that the other swing band we used to go to was playing 5 miles away in my hometown. They asked me if I knew where it was, and unlike my sister who has the navigational skills of a GPS, I do not, and did not. Still they asked me to lead the caravan. I of course, drove them to my high school, because that is the only way I could remember to get to Belleville from Ofallon. It was a disaster.
We finally arrived at the right place, and i was attacked by a gentleman (and I use that term loosely) named Roger. Roger was easily 74 years young, and had the breath of a hunter 3 days in the tree stand. He was quite the little dancer, and advancer. We danced many...many songs. My friends and I had a great time, but were getting too sauced to continue our east side adventure and still drive home. It was time to call it a night. I awoke this morning with a fever blister, and can't help thinking that Roger had something to do with it.
The show was a blast, and I hope in another ten years they do another reunion show! Maybe this time they can have a polka group warm up for them, that's the only way they can top all the comedy material we indulged in.
ROCKER TED!
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Jesus Healed My TV
One of the hurdles in my marriage and relationship with my husband has been the differences in faith. My husband claims to be an atheist and I am a christian. We for the most part have been able to keep this difference from forcing any wedges between us, but it is sometimes I can't help but giggle when God shows up.
Let me clarify that my husband is very supportive of my faith. He will even give me a little grief if I don't go to church. He encourages my prayer and bible time, and has even made jokes that if God does exsist that my family has a direct line. We are prayers. Prayer warriors. We like to get stuff done. If someone needs a job, a baby, a raise, a healing, we pray and God usually answers. It's not magic, it's just faith.
A couple weeks ago the unthinkable happened. The TV broke! I know that our culture as a whole has a serious addiction to technology, heck I saw a nun on Oprah with a blackberry. I was so upset. I had just paid the cable bill for one, and my favorite show was saved on the DVR. My husband and I did all we could but the thing just wouldn't turn on. Unplugged it and plugged it back in. We took a screwdriver to the switch, and nothing. We tried to fix it for 20 minutes. Deflated and defeated we gave up.
My husband went to the kitchen and started cooking dinner, I sat down at the laptop in the dining room and began to price televisions online. Then we had a discussion that if we are going to buy a new TV it should be the nice flat screen we were planning to buy with the tax return money. Those are very expensive, and we are still recovering from the wedding and have little of the proverbial pot to Tivo in. So I said a little prayer, well whined a little prayer out loud.
"Jesus, please fix the TV."
About three minutes later the TV came on! Yes all by it's self. My husband looked at me and I looked at him. I said "Thank you Jesus!" My husband laughed at me and said, "Jesus doesn't care about the TV." And I think he's right. Jesus doesn't care about my TV, but he'll take any opportunity to prove my husband wrong. Or at least mess with him a little.
Let me clarify that my husband is very supportive of my faith. He will even give me a little grief if I don't go to church. He encourages my prayer and bible time, and has even made jokes that if God does exsist that my family has a direct line. We are prayers. Prayer warriors. We like to get stuff done. If someone needs a job, a baby, a raise, a healing, we pray and God usually answers. It's not magic, it's just faith.
A couple weeks ago the unthinkable happened. The TV broke! I know that our culture as a whole has a serious addiction to technology, heck I saw a nun on Oprah with a blackberry. I was so upset. I had just paid the cable bill for one, and my favorite show was saved on the DVR. My husband and I did all we could but the thing just wouldn't turn on. Unplugged it and plugged it back in. We took a screwdriver to the switch, and nothing. We tried to fix it for 20 minutes. Deflated and defeated we gave up.
My husband went to the kitchen and started cooking dinner, I sat down at the laptop in the dining room and began to price televisions online. Then we had a discussion that if we are going to buy a new TV it should be the nice flat screen we were planning to buy with the tax return money. Those are very expensive, and we are still recovering from the wedding and have little of the proverbial pot to Tivo in. So I said a little prayer, well whined a little prayer out loud.
"Jesus, please fix the TV."
About three minutes later the TV came on! Yes all by it's self. My husband looked at me and I looked at him. I said "Thank you Jesus!" My husband laughed at me and said, "Jesus doesn't care about the TV." And I think he's right. Jesus doesn't care about my TV, but he'll take any opportunity to prove my husband wrong. Or at least mess with him a little.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
What's In a Name?
When I married my husband I had every intention of taking his name. Now, I will be the first to admit that I played around with the idea of hyphenating my name to his for a couple of reasons. First, I am the last of the girls in my family with this last name. And second, well, my last name rocks!
But after thinking about the idea of marriage really being a union between two people, two into one person, I wanted to acknowledge that. Besides if I was to hyphenate my last name would be seventeen letters, and well that's just stupid.
I'm not a person with whom a name is attached to my career. I'm not a partner at a major law firm, or an award winning actress. There is really no need to keep my name except for the idea that the girl who was on her own all through her twenties is now gone. This is okay. That girl wanted to get married.
So after the honeymoon ended and the holidays were over, I began the process to change my last name. First I was to go to City hall to acquire a "certified" marriage license. Apparently the one the state mailed me from the capitol city wasn't good enough. Or at least not going to help them make any money off me. You will see this trend continue through my story. I wait in line and stand at the counter and the same woman who issued the first license to us a week before is the one helping us. She of course didn't remember and couldn't care less. She did however give me a piece of advise and told me wherever I go to ask for this copy back or I'll have to come and pay another twenty dollars plus parking for each copy. Okay! She points me down the hall to the DMV where I can get my drivers license.
Down the hall I go, I pick another number and sit and wait. They call my number, and I jump up. Eager to get away from whatever that insane smell is coming from the woman in front of me! I go up to the counter and the woman is unpleasant at best. She tells me that all my waiting was for no reason that I could not be issued a drivers license with the new name until I change I name on my social security card. Okay, where the hell do I do that? She tells me of a place across town.
I arrive at the social security office and take another number. My husband and I quietly laugh at a person that we can't decide is a man or a woman, helps themselves to a desk telephone, and calls someone to ask for money for an apartment. This person is on the phone for ten minutes before a security guard catches them, and asks this person to "please not use our phones". The person says to the security guard, "Okay my bad, just a minute." Just a minute what? I was amused!
"99" Ooh goody that's me! I approach the counter and it seems that this woman has some sort of bird flu. She is coughing all over the place and wiping her nose as she takes my documents. I am charged another twenty dollars. Other than that, it is pretty quick and painless. I ask her if i can now go get my drivers license and she says yes.
Back into the car. We drive to the DMV and I pick.... you guessed it! Another number! I sit patiently and watch Judge Joe Brown and wait. Can I just say that everywhere I go the offices seem to have flat screen televisions! Well, I suppose if you charge everyone twenty dollars for every little frickin thing eventually the state has a little cash to throw around! When my number is called the woman at the counter tells me that I have to have a certified copy of my Birth Certificate from the county clerks office, they will not take the hospital copy, which of course is the one I have!
I call my Dad. Ask him if he has a copy of my original birth certificate, he says he does and he'll mail it to me and I should have it in a few days.
Finally I have all the necessary documents and go to change my name! The picture of me is awful. But I suppose everyone's is. Anyhow! Two weeks and $78.00 plus shipping later, I am Mrs. Newlywed! The lesson here is that no matter what anyone tells you, it does feel good to take his name. But it will cost you....at least your time. So make sure you really want it. I now longer judge the women out there that don't take their maiden name back after their marriage falls apart. After all, who has the time or the cash to do this more than once! And I'm sure it will take another series of twenty dollars and a certified copy of your vagina.
But after thinking about the idea of marriage really being a union between two people, two into one person, I wanted to acknowledge that. Besides if I was to hyphenate my last name would be seventeen letters, and well that's just stupid.
I'm not a person with whom a name is attached to my career. I'm not a partner at a major law firm, or an award winning actress. There is really no need to keep my name except for the idea that the girl who was on her own all through her twenties is now gone. This is okay. That girl wanted to get married.
So after the honeymoon ended and the holidays were over, I began the process to change my last name. First I was to go to City hall to acquire a "certified" marriage license. Apparently the one the state mailed me from the capitol city wasn't good enough. Or at least not going to help them make any money off me. You will see this trend continue through my story. I wait in line and stand at the counter and the same woman who issued the first license to us a week before is the one helping us. She of course didn't remember and couldn't care less. She did however give me a piece of advise and told me wherever I go to ask for this copy back or I'll have to come and pay another twenty dollars plus parking for each copy. Okay! She points me down the hall to the DMV where I can get my drivers license.
Down the hall I go, I pick another number and sit and wait. They call my number, and I jump up. Eager to get away from whatever that insane smell is coming from the woman in front of me! I go up to the counter and the woman is unpleasant at best. She tells me that all my waiting was for no reason that I could not be issued a drivers license with the new name until I change I name on my social security card. Okay, where the hell do I do that? She tells me of a place across town.
I arrive at the social security office and take another number. My husband and I quietly laugh at a person that we can't decide is a man or a woman, helps themselves to a desk telephone, and calls someone to ask for money for an apartment. This person is on the phone for ten minutes before a security guard catches them, and asks this person to "please not use our phones". The person says to the security guard, "Okay my bad, just a minute." Just a minute what? I was amused!
"99" Ooh goody that's me! I approach the counter and it seems that this woman has some sort of bird flu. She is coughing all over the place and wiping her nose as she takes my documents. I am charged another twenty dollars. Other than that, it is pretty quick and painless. I ask her if i can now go get my drivers license and she says yes.
Back into the car. We drive to the DMV and I pick.... you guessed it! Another number! I sit patiently and watch Judge Joe Brown and wait. Can I just say that everywhere I go the offices seem to have flat screen televisions! Well, I suppose if you charge everyone twenty dollars for every little frickin thing eventually the state has a little cash to throw around! When my number is called the woman at the counter tells me that I have to have a certified copy of my Birth Certificate from the county clerks office, they will not take the hospital copy, which of course is the one I have!
I call my Dad. Ask him if he has a copy of my original birth certificate, he says he does and he'll mail it to me and I should have it in a few days.
Finally I have all the necessary documents and go to change my name! The picture of me is awful. But I suppose everyone's is. Anyhow! Two weeks and $78.00 plus shipping later, I am Mrs. Newlywed! The lesson here is that no matter what anyone tells you, it does feel good to take his name. But it will cost you....at least your time. So make sure you really want it. I now longer judge the women out there that don't take their maiden name back after their marriage falls apart. After all, who has the time or the cash to do this more than once! And I'm sure it will take another series of twenty dollars and a certified copy of your vagina.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Cocktail Withdrawl
The New Year has brought my marriage some interesting twists. The biggest of these is with these tough economic times we have taken in a very close friend and her daughter and allowed them to stay with us for awhile, as she tries to get back on her feet. The whole roommate thing wasn't on the top of our list for our newlywed year, but life throws you some curve balls and you make lemon vodka. So anyhow things have been rough.
The roughest of all was a decision I made recently to take 30 days off from alcohol. This decision was based on a friend of a friends recent diagnosis of liver failure due to alcoholism. We were all shocked and in horror of the idea of the very thing that seems to hold us all together when we're depressed, have had a bad date, bad cramps, dumped, fired, or even helped us celebrate the good times would ever fail us in such a brutal way. Apparently, my friend had been told by her doctor, after several paranoid phone calls where she swore she was turning yellow, that our livers have incredible rejuvenation capabilities, and that if you were to take 30 days off a year you could theoretically hit the bars hard the rest of the year with little repercussion.
So let me first explain my profession. I am a bartender. I have been a bartender for over 10 years. I have not once in those 10 years taken 2 weeks off at a time from drinking...ever. No I am not a raging alcoholic. I'm not a real binge drinker either, in fact I hate feeling drunk. But I really enjoy drinking. I look forward to my glass of wine at the end of a very long night of watching everyone else drink. I enjoy beer with sports, wine with dinner, martinis with friends, champagne on New Years, warm brandy after a huge meal, scotch on a cold night, and the list goes on. I'm not a drunk, I'm a drinkee. (It's like a foodie with cocktails)
After this revelation that I had in fact not gone 2 weeks without a drink since the 90's I decided that I could give it up for 30 days. After all 30 days isn't that long, heck rent seems due every time I turn around. So I began.
Day 5 was the first test. I remember it was a Thursday and I realized that the weekend was approaching. Many friends would be coming to my job to visit. They would all be drinking, and I would be gnawing off my fingernails. Luckily the weekend was quick and I really didn't miss it too much.
Week 2 okay, I've now gone 14 days without alcohol and I am definitely thinking that this was a bad idea. I begin contemplating what a glass of chateneuf de pape would taste like. I explore the idea of buying some pot. I say a prayer and keep on, after all tomorrow I'm half way there!
Day 19. I run to grocery store and buy a jug of grape juice, put it in a wine glass and try to feel fancy, and forget how absolutely stressed out of my mind I am! I am feeling very disappointed that I don't feel different! It's been almost three weeks! Shouldn't I have more energy or something?
Last night was day 22. My husband calls me in a frantic voice and tells me that he just totaled the scooter and hit a dog, in a series of awful seconds that can not be erased! We were almost done paying off the scooter! When I arrive on the scene the scooter is completely smashed up, there is a beautiful husky like dog laying in the road howling the most awful sounds of pain I can fathom. My husband is okay physically but brokenhearted at the idea that he hurt an animal.
We call humane society and get the dog to an animal hospital, get the scooter in the mini van and arrive home.
My husband pours himself a very healthy scotch and tries to shake off the adrenaline that is coursing through his veins. I help him dress the couple wounds that were on his leg and quickly realize just how much alcohol has been a crutch in my life. The wine is sitting there staring at me. Just a glass won't hurt. It will help you relax. You'll feel better!
In that moment I looked up to the heavens and asked God, "So I just have to feel this?" Few times in my life have I felt like God has laughed at me. I swear I heard him laugh. So I did. I just felt it. Felt the frustration, felt the sadness, felt the helplessness, just felt it. And in a way it was beautiful.
Am I going to quit drinking for good? No, probably not. But I am going to remember that experience next time I want a liquid encourager. Drinking, for me, should have a place in my life for the good times, and no longer the bad.
Sunday is the Super Bowl, and my 30 day mark. I will spend it having cocktails with friends. Celebrating life, and hating myself tomorrow, the way God intended drinking!God bless us everyone!
The roughest of all was a decision I made recently to take 30 days off from alcohol. This decision was based on a friend of a friends recent diagnosis of liver failure due to alcoholism. We were all shocked and in horror of the idea of the very thing that seems to hold us all together when we're depressed, have had a bad date, bad cramps, dumped, fired, or even helped us celebrate the good times would ever fail us in such a brutal way. Apparently, my friend had been told by her doctor, after several paranoid phone calls where she swore she was turning yellow, that our livers have incredible rejuvenation capabilities, and that if you were to take 30 days off a year you could theoretically hit the bars hard the rest of the year with little repercussion.
So let me first explain my profession. I am a bartender. I have been a bartender for over 10 years. I have not once in those 10 years taken 2 weeks off at a time from drinking...ever. No I am not a raging alcoholic. I'm not a real binge drinker either, in fact I hate feeling drunk. But I really enjoy drinking. I look forward to my glass of wine at the end of a very long night of watching everyone else drink. I enjoy beer with sports, wine with dinner, martinis with friends, champagne on New Years, warm brandy after a huge meal, scotch on a cold night, and the list goes on. I'm not a drunk, I'm a drinkee. (It's like a foodie with cocktails)
After this revelation that I had in fact not gone 2 weeks without a drink since the 90's I decided that I could give it up for 30 days. After all 30 days isn't that long, heck rent seems due every time I turn around. So I began.
Day 5 was the first test. I remember it was a Thursday and I realized that the weekend was approaching. Many friends would be coming to my job to visit. They would all be drinking, and I would be gnawing off my fingernails. Luckily the weekend was quick and I really didn't miss it too much.
Week 2 okay, I've now gone 14 days without alcohol and I am definitely thinking that this was a bad idea. I begin contemplating what a glass of chateneuf de pape would taste like. I explore the idea of buying some pot. I say a prayer and keep on, after all tomorrow I'm half way there!
Day 19. I run to grocery store and buy a jug of grape juice, put it in a wine glass and try to feel fancy, and forget how absolutely stressed out of my mind I am! I am feeling very disappointed that I don't feel different! It's been almost three weeks! Shouldn't I have more energy or something?
Last night was day 22. My husband calls me in a frantic voice and tells me that he just totaled the scooter and hit a dog, in a series of awful seconds that can not be erased! We were almost done paying off the scooter! When I arrive on the scene the scooter is completely smashed up, there is a beautiful husky like dog laying in the road howling the most awful sounds of pain I can fathom. My husband is okay physically but brokenhearted at the idea that he hurt an animal.
We call humane society and get the dog to an animal hospital, get the scooter in the mini van and arrive home.
My husband pours himself a very healthy scotch and tries to shake off the adrenaline that is coursing through his veins. I help him dress the couple wounds that were on his leg and quickly realize just how much alcohol has been a crutch in my life. The wine is sitting there staring at me. Just a glass won't hurt. It will help you relax. You'll feel better!
In that moment I looked up to the heavens and asked God, "So I just have to feel this?" Few times in my life have I felt like God has laughed at me. I swear I heard him laugh. So I did. I just felt it. Felt the frustration, felt the sadness, felt the helplessness, just felt it. And in a way it was beautiful.
Am I going to quit drinking for good? No, probably not. But I am going to remember that experience next time I want a liquid encourager. Drinking, for me, should have a place in my life for the good times, and no longer the bad.
Sunday is the Super Bowl, and my 30 day mark. I will spend it having cocktails with friends. Celebrating life, and hating myself tomorrow, the way God intended drinking!God bless us everyone!
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Turning 30.....really!?!
I am aware that all little girls put expectations on their life, and even as easy as we try to make them, earmarks are embedded in the subconscious. Married to the perfect love of my life by 30. Maybe a child by 35, if I so chose to have one. (Still on the fence.) A name in the world of cultural arts, at least on a local level by 40.
I don't think that these goals are too hard to come by and so far I am on schedule. I got married exactly 53 days before my 30th birthday. To the man of my dreams. Everything is telling me to go out and celebrate! So I make plans to go see a cheesy discoesk band with some of my closest friends and my husband.
The morning arrives, I wake to the sun shining and the coziness of my new expensive sheets, (courtesy of the bridal registry) and for one second I didn't realize it was my birthday. Then my husband says, "Happy birthday honey. Honey is 30 today." And out of nowhere I started crying. I felt like a total loser. Why was I crying you ask? I have no idea. For some reason 30 is scary.
My husband asks me why I am crying, and I can't answer him. He very kindly reminds me of what a fantastic life we have. He tells me to look around at our beautiful home, and to look in the mirror. And I have to agree I look pretty damn good for 30. He continues to make me breakfast and take me out for gyros later at my favorite place. We go home I begin to get my 30 year old ass ready.
I look good, I feel good. I have my man at my side and lots of friends to celebrate. What was my problem? 30's looking pretty good! And then, in a twist of fate I still can't comprehend, it happens.
I come face to face with the man I was engaged to at the age of 24. I was greeting several people standing in a circle and after spending all of my late 20s terrified that I would run into him and never did, I let my guard down and thought perhaps he had taken my mental waves of advice that he should disappear and become a hermit. And the only person I didn't see, of course was him.
It was one of those incredibly awkward things that you play over and over in your head, and think how stupid you are that you didn't get the signals. I mean here I am hugging these two people whose faces are falling as I hug them, not smiling. They looked like political figures you see on Barbara Walters where she finally asks the question that every mom in the grocery store already knows the answer to, and they have that look of, "F$#@!!!!!". Only still trying to smile.
I hug these two people and turn and there he is. He gave me a look I will not soon forget, and in an effort to clear up the awkward silence, I say hello and extend a handshake? Of which he meets begrudgingly. Funny thing about that, you have no idea how familiar a persons hand can be.
Well I flipped out a little. And made my husband very angry. He said things like "I don't understand why you give a damn." And really why did I? Yes, it was an awful breakup, but it was six years ago.
I spent the next 2 days really searching myself to find out why. And this is what I have come up with.... wait for it..... I felt sorry for him. I broke his heart looking for a better life, and I found it. My husband is the most amazing man, friend, lover, and co-pilot. I suppose that part of me feels like I won, and I won by being selfish, and I hate selfish people.
This revelation came on New Years Eve. So 2010 baby, I let it all go. Here's to all the ladies out there that know what they want and don't want to settle. It's okay to be selfish, your life will be beautiful when you put your future first. And to that guy, I wish him all the happiness in the world with the girl that didn't settle for someone else! Cheers, Happy New Year, and Happy freaking birthday to me! 30 never looked so good!
I don't think that these goals are too hard to come by and so far I am on schedule. I got married exactly 53 days before my 30th birthday. To the man of my dreams. Everything is telling me to go out and celebrate! So I make plans to go see a cheesy discoesk band with some of my closest friends and my husband.
The morning arrives, I wake to the sun shining and the coziness of my new expensive sheets, (courtesy of the bridal registry) and for one second I didn't realize it was my birthday. Then my husband says, "Happy birthday honey. Honey is 30 today." And out of nowhere I started crying. I felt like a total loser. Why was I crying you ask? I have no idea. For some reason 30 is scary.
My husband asks me why I am crying, and I can't answer him. He very kindly reminds me of what a fantastic life we have. He tells me to look around at our beautiful home, and to look in the mirror. And I have to agree I look pretty damn good for 30. He continues to make me breakfast and take me out for gyros later at my favorite place. We go home I begin to get my 30 year old ass ready.
I look good, I feel good. I have my man at my side and lots of friends to celebrate. What was my problem? 30's looking pretty good! And then, in a twist of fate I still can't comprehend, it happens.
I come face to face with the man I was engaged to at the age of 24. I was greeting several people standing in a circle and after spending all of my late 20s terrified that I would run into him and never did, I let my guard down and thought perhaps he had taken my mental waves of advice that he should disappear and become a hermit. And the only person I didn't see, of course was him.
It was one of those incredibly awkward things that you play over and over in your head, and think how stupid you are that you didn't get the signals. I mean here I am hugging these two people whose faces are falling as I hug them, not smiling. They looked like political figures you see on Barbara Walters where she finally asks the question that every mom in the grocery store already knows the answer to, and they have that look of, "F$#@!!!!!". Only still trying to smile.
I hug these two people and turn and there he is. He gave me a look I will not soon forget, and in an effort to clear up the awkward silence, I say hello and extend a handshake? Of which he meets begrudgingly. Funny thing about that, you have no idea how familiar a persons hand can be.
Well I flipped out a little. And made my husband very angry. He said things like "I don't understand why you give a damn." And really why did I? Yes, it was an awful breakup, but it was six years ago.
I spent the next 2 days really searching myself to find out why. And this is what I have come up with.... wait for it..... I felt sorry for him. I broke his heart looking for a better life, and I found it. My husband is the most amazing man, friend, lover, and co-pilot. I suppose that part of me feels like I won, and I won by being selfish, and I hate selfish people.
This revelation came on New Years Eve. So 2010 baby, I let it all go. Here's to all the ladies out there that know what they want and don't want to settle. It's okay to be selfish, your life will be beautiful when you put your future first. And to that guy, I wish him all the happiness in the world with the girl that didn't settle for someone else! Cheers, Happy New Year, and Happy freaking birthday to me! 30 never looked so good!
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
The Holiday Road Trip
I wish someone would have told me the utmost importance of going on a road trip with your husband before you get married. I must have been crazy to never have done this with him before, and once more, to do this in our first year of marriage and also at the holidays!
My husband and I decided that in order to keep me from filling buckets of Christmas tears over not being able to see my family at Christmas, we would borrow a reliable car from a friend and do the unthinkable. Drive 16 hours to Orlando. Be there for 48 hours. Then drive all the way back to arrive Christmas morning in time to catch a cat nap and go to my in-laws for Christmas dinner.
When we began our journey south, I was in the best of spirits! I had my "ipod" full of Christmas music, a cooler filled with coca cola and hummus, and a bags of snacks. My husband got home from work at five o'clock, and I figured he'd quickly pack and we'd be on the road by six or seven. I underestimated the anal retentive and severely vein side of my new husband as he took 2 hours to pack! Mind you we were going for 48 hours! We finally hit the road just shy of nine p.m. and he was asleep by ten.
I thought to myself that to begin our memory of our first road trip I should let him sleep the first leg. After all, he did work three over night shifts in a row and was exhausted. He's much more tolerant of my elf like holiday cheer when he's had sleep, food, and a scotch. I drove and drove and drove! I drove half the way there in horrible fog and mountains. After just entering Georgia I had been driving 8 full hours and I decided it may be my turn to rest.
He awoke in good groggy spirits and said he would drive. I pull into a gas station and go into the bathroom to remove my makeup and brush my teeth. By the time I exit the questionable restroom, I find my husband staring at the doughnuts. He had already drank a huge red bull, a five hour energy, and was eating a Reeses peanut butter cup and holding a giant cup of coffee. We get on the road and begin lovely conversation for about an hour as the sun came up.
I finally lay my head in slumber and it seemed like 5 minutes went by, and I awoke to a very green husband. Covered in sweat and sighing a lot. The window is open and it is cold and loud.
"Honey can you close the window?"
"I don't feel so good."
"You don't say!'
I was very angry, and also felt very bad for him. Seriously though, what would possess a person to put all that into their system! He looked really awful. I was so sleepy I'm sure I didn't speak one full sentence with out whining. I drove the rest of the way. After finding him the right combo of scotch, fast food and water to soak up the trucker crack itching blood feeling, he slept the rest of the way.
We arrived in Orlando at 4 p.m. and I was very sad about our first road trip together. I felt robbed. Robbed of all the good conversation and sing-a-longs festive fun. Fortunately the drive home was much better. We had all those things..... and he did ALL the driving!
My husband and I decided that in order to keep me from filling buckets of Christmas tears over not being able to see my family at Christmas, we would borrow a reliable car from a friend and do the unthinkable. Drive 16 hours to Orlando. Be there for 48 hours. Then drive all the way back to arrive Christmas morning in time to catch a cat nap and go to my in-laws for Christmas dinner.
When we began our journey south, I was in the best of spirits! I had my "ipod" full of Christmas music, a cooler filled with coca cola and hummus, and a bags of snacks. My husband got home from work at five o'clock, and I figured he'd quickly pack and we'd be on the road by six or seven. I underestimated the anal retentive and severely vein side of my new husband as he took 2 hours to pack! Mind you we were going for 48 hours! We finally hit the road just shy of nine p.m. and he was asleep by ten.
I thought to myself that to begin our memory of our first road trip I should let him sleep the first leg. After all, he did work three over night shifts in a row and was exhausted. He's much more tolerant of my elf like holiday cheer when he's had sleep, food, and a scotch. I drove and drove and drove! I drove half the way there in horrible fog and mountains. After just entering Georgia I had been driving 8 full hours and I decided it may be my turn to rest.
He awoke in good groggy spirits and said he would drive. I pull into a gas station and go into the bathroom to remove my makeup and brush my teeth. By the time I exit the questionable restroom, I find my husband staring at the doughnuts. He had already drank a huge red bull, a five hour energy, and was eating a Reeses peanut butter cup and holding a giant cup of coffee. We get on the road and begin lovely conversation for about an hour as the sun came up.
I finally lay my head in slumber and it seemed like 5 minutes went by, and I awoke to a very green husband. Covered in sweat and sighing a lot. The window is open and it is cold and loud.
"Honey can you close the window?"
"I don't feel so good."
"You don't say!'
I was very angry, and also felt very bad for him. Seriously though, what would possess a person to put all that into their system! He looked really awful. I was so sleepy I'm sure I didn't speak one full sentence with out whining. I drove the rest of the way. After finding him the right combo of scotch, fast food and water to soak up the trucker crack itching blood feeling, he slept the rest of the way.
We arrived in Orlando at 4 p.m. and I was very sad about our first road trip together. I felt robbed. Robbed of all the good conversation and sing-a-longs festive fun. Fortunately the drive home was much better. We had all those things..... and he did ALL the driving!
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Good Hair
It has now been one month and 5 days since taking the plunge. I am slowly coming out of my funk and attempting to get into the holiday spirit. We are slowly financially recovering and today for the first time in weeks....I shaved!
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not opposed to shaving. In fact I find it hard to sleep without pants on if my legs aren't silky smooth. But after the wedding, and living borderline poverty level, I just couldn't justify spending $8.00 on razors instead of purchasing my lifeline Marlboro ultra lights. So I used the same razor for weeks until it was actually causing more damage than good. I finally told my husband. "Honey I'm taking a hiatus on the shaving." His response astounded me!
"That's okay, your not all that hairy anyway."
Is he just the perfect man or what? Didn't even put up a foul look. It was then that I realized he didn't understand what I meant.
"No honey, I'm not shaving anywhere but my underarms for awhile." Then there was the look I was waiting for.
He eventually got used to the idea, and I became furious. For the last week I have watched my peekachoo grow hair for the first time since the 90's. I blame the porn industry. Since when did we all decide to buy into the idea that a shaved girl is a better lay?
Itchy and uncomfortable I almost gave up. Then I realized why we all do this. Once you shave it, you have to keep shaving it. It itches as it grows out, and it itches when you shave too close. Its a pyramid scheme this shaving! Not one to ever give up, I conditioned the area and continued the fight.
So tonight I went to Walgreens and bought some razors. So beautiful all fresh and gleaming! There's nothing quite like a new razor! I hopped in the shower and shaved my legs. As I moved up to shave the area and free my sex to my husband I stopped. "I feel sexy". I haven't itched in days, and for the first time in my life, I like the hair! Its warmer for one, and the hair is soft, not coarse like when it's short.
I am turning 30 in 18 days. And this year...I'm gonna have pubic hair! I'm not saying that I will never go back, but for now, my middle finger to the world is concealed in my pants! It feels just like getting a piercing and hiding it from your parents! I see men checking me out, and I think to myself, "haha, you like pubic hair!"
Here's to womans liberation! If I want hair, damn it, I will have hair!
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not opposed to shaving. In fact I find it hard to sleep without pants on if my legs aren't silky smooth. But after the wedding, and living borderline poverty level, I just couldn't justify spending $8.00 on razors instead of purchasing my lifeline Marlboro ultra lights. So I used the same razor for weeks until it was actually causing more damage than good. I finally told my husband. "Honey I'm taking a hiatus on the shaving." His response astounded me!
"That's okay, your not all that hairy anyway."
Is he just the perfect man or what? Didn't even put up a foul look. It was then that I realized he didn't understand what I meant.
"No honey, I'm not shaving anywhere but my underarms for awhile." Then there was the look I was waiting for.
He eventually got used to the idea, and I became furious. For the last week I have watched my peekachoo grow hair for the first time since the 90's. I blame the porn industry. Since when did we all decide to buy into the idea that a shaved girl is a better lay?
Itchy and uncomfortable I almost gave up. Then I realized why we all do this. Once you shave it, you have to keep shaving it. It itches as it grows out, and it itches when you shave too close. Its a pyramid scheme this shaving! Not one to ever give up, I conditioned the area and continued the fight.
So tonight I went to Walgreens and bought some razors. So beautiful all fresh and gleaming! There's nothing quite like a new razor! I hopped in the shower and shaved my legs. As I moved up to shave the area and free my sex to my husband I stopped. "I feel sexy". I haven't itched in days, and for the first time in my life, I like the hair! Its warmer for one, and the hair is soft, not coarse like when it's short.
I am turning 30 in 18 days. And this year...I'm gonna have pubic hair! I'm not saying that I will never go back, but for now, my middle finger to the world is concealed in my pants! It feels just like getting a piercing and hiding it from your parents! I see men checking me out, and I think to myself, "haha, you like pubic hair!"
Here's to womans liberation! If I want hair, damn it, I will have hair!
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